Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II

The news of what had happened was hurried south.

Innocent men and women murdered by the orders of the Dutch Monster! MacIan had sworn the oath—but because he was a few days late doing it his entire clan was destroyed.

“This is a deed which will be remembered long after Dutch William lies in his tomb,” growled the people.

There was no peace to be had. Ireland was still not completely subdued; the news of the Massacre of Glencoe was shocking the British Isles, and in Scotland many were ready to rise against the Dutchman whom they blamed for that tragedy.

On the Continent James was raising an army and Louis was helping him. His wife was pregnant and James had sent invitations to all those who should be present at the birth of one who was in the line of succession to the throne. Mary and Anne were sent invitations—and all were promised a safe conduct into France and liberty to return to England when they wished.

The discovery of Marlborough’s duplicity, while it had made William and Mary so apprehensive, had put heart into James. He believed that if he could gain one big victory many important men who now served William— somewhat discontentedly—would come over to him. Marlborough was one; Godolphin was another; he believed that Nottingham was a Jacobite at heart; and who was most important, Admiral Russell who could bring over a part of the fleet.

William’s health had taken a turn for the worse and he was spitting blood so frequently that he found it difficult to keep this a secret. Mary was beside herself with anxiety. But when he came to her and told her that he must go to Holland, for matters seemed to be coming to a head on the Continent, she knew that she could do nothing to dissuade him.

“I know that I can safely leave the government in your hands,” he said with more kindness than usual.

“I trust I shall not disappoint you,” she answered.

He pressed her hand, which was as near a caress as he could get.

“One thing that pleases me is that the greatest of all troublemakers is banished from Court. But what of the woman? I fancy she is more deadly than the man.”

So once more he sailed away and Mary was left to govern her turbulent realm alone.

Soon after he had left she developed a cold which because of the pressure of business she ignored. In a few days she was delirious and those about her feared she was dying.

In Sion House Sarah was so delighted she could not hide her pleasure.

“Think what this is going to mean, Mrs. Morley. He was spitting blood before he went to Holland. She is laid low. After all Providence cannot go on forgetting us. Evil is always punished; good rewarded. You will see.”

But Sarah had her anxieties; when she looked at Anne whose pregnancy should end in a month or so, she wondered if she were not in as bad a state as her sister and brother-in-law. She was enormous. Surely something must be wrong for a woman to be so large. If Anne should die that would be the biggest misfortune which could befall the Marlboroughs. Sarah bustled around Anne, never allowing her for one moment to be in a draught, cosseting, fussing to such an extent that Anne was often in tears merely to contemplate the devotion of her beloved Mrs. Freeman.

Meanwhile Mary was growing so ill that those about her were certain she was near her end.

Mary herself believed this. She was young to die—thirty; and she felt that she was leaving her affairs in the utmost disorder. William needed her, she was sure, far more than he realized. She thought of him, driving himself to work in Flanders when he was suffering acutely from all the disorders which had been with him so long that he considered them a part of his life.

There were times when she was so ill that she was not sure where she was. Sometimes she thought she was a little girl again playing in Richmond Palace with the Villiers girls. Sarah had intruded there, and was a shady figure in her dreams to disturb her. The pleasantest dreams were those in which Monmouth figured—gay and dashing, dancing with her at The Hague; and sometimes the face of Monmouth changed to that of Shrewsbury. She was depressed to be dragged from such dreams to the reality: her sickbed, with troubles crowded about her; rebellion abroad and at home; surrounded by spies so that she did not know whom she could trust; her own sister, under the influence of that venomous woman—her enemy.

To her surprise and that of everyone else Mary recovered.

She believed this to be a sign. She had been spared because she had more work to do on earth. She surprised everyone by the speed of her recovery.

There were letters from William. She must realize that James was amassing an army in Normandy at this time, and she must be prepared for invasion. She must be watchful for it was possible that those whom she felt she ought to be able to trust were at this moment working against her. If there should be an invasion he would immediately send Bentinck to her. He himself would not be able to come until he had raised the siege of Namur.

“He shall not be disappointed in me,” she murmured.

Sir Benjamin Bathurst was asking for an audience with the Queen.

In the midst of all the preparations, when a knock at the door would make Mary start and wonder what fresh disaster was about to be announced, Mary’s heart began to beat fast, for Benjamin Bathurst was the husband of Frances Apsley, the woman whom Mary had once loved best in all the world.

“Frances’s husband … to see me,” she murmured; and her thoughts ran on. Is Frances dying? Is she asking for me?

She was trembling a little when Sir Benjamin entered.