The Three Crowns

THE WIFE AND THE MISTRESS

Those months stood out forever in Mary’s memory; they were the turning point in her life. Jemmy was dead … killed, on her father’s order.

“He was his uncle,” she said stonily to Anne Trelawny.

“Monmouth was a traitor, Your Highness.”

“I do not believe he meant to take the throne.”

“Your Highness was always one to believe the best of your friends. He called himself King Monmouth. He could not have been more explicit.”

“Others called him that.”

She could not be comforted. She shut herself in her apartments and thought of him—dancing, laughing—making love with numerous women. He was no saint. He was not a noble honorable man such as her husband was. But he was so beautiful, so charming, and she had never been so happy as when in his company—except of course on those occasions when William showed his approval of her.

If he had never come to The Hague, she thought, I should not be mourning him so bitterly now.

The entire Court was talking of what was called the Bloody Assizes which had followed Monmouth’s defeat at Sedgemoor. They spoke in shocked whispers of the terrible sentences which were passed on those who had rebelled against the new King of England. Death, slavery, whipping, imprisonment. It was a tale of horror.

And this, said Mary, is done in the name of my father.

Dr. Covell, who had succeeded Dr. Kenn as chaplain to the Princess of Orange was flattered to receive a call from Bevil Skelton the English Envoy at The Hague.

Skelton implied that he wished to speak to Covell alone and when he came into the chaplain’s apartment there was an air of secrecy about him which delighted Covell. Covell, an old man, who lacked the courage and personality of Hooper and Kenn, his two predecessors, guessed that some highly confidential matter was about to be communicated to him.

He was right.

“Dr. Covell,” began Skelton, “I know that I can rely on your discretion.”

“Absolutely, my dear sir. Absolutely.”

“That is well, because I am going to take you into my confidence regarding a very secret matter.”

“You may have the utmost trust in me.”

“I believe,” said Skelton, “that you deplore the way in which the Prince treats our Princess.”

“Scandalous, sir. Quite scandalous.”

“And you are a faithful servant of King James II, our lawful sovereign.”

“God save the King!”

“I must insist that you keep this absolutely to yourself.”

“I give my word as a priest.”

“Well, then, this Orange marriage is not satisfactory. Not only is it without fruit but the Princess is treated like a slave. His Majesty knows this; the Princess is his favorite daughter and he is deeply concerned. It is clear that she is unhappy. She must be unhappy. No wife could be otherwise, neglected as she is. The King wishes to have the marriage dissolved and it is my duty to find a way of doing it.”

Covell was too astonished to speak and Skelton went on: “Oh, I know you are thinking this is impossible. On the contrary it is not so. There is ample reason why this marriage should be dissolved.”

“You mean the Prince is incapable of getting a son?”

“I mean that he spends his nights with another woman.”

“I understand.”

“The Princess does not seem aware of this.”

“The Princess is not always easy to understand. At times she seems almost childlike; at others her control is astonishing and one feels that she is very wise indeed.”

“I believe that if she were made aware of what is going on behind her back her pride would be wounded. She is a proud woman. Remember she is a Princess. Our first step should be to make sure that she is aware that her husband has a mistress to whom he must be devoted considering she has occupied that position since she came into Holland.”

“Do you wish me to tell the Princess?”

“We must be subtle. Have a word with her women—those you feel will be most likely to put the case to her … as it should be put. I should not ask either of the Villiers sisters to betray the elder one.”

Covell nodded. Skelton was referring to Anne Bentinck and Katherine Villiers, who had married the Marquis de Puissars, and were both in Mary’s service.

“I will have a word with Anne Trelawny,” said Covell. “She loves her mistress dearly and I feel sure she hates the Prince almost as much as His Majesty does.”

“I see you have the right idea,” said Skelton. “Now … let us go into action without delay.”

Covell, who enjoyed intrigue and liked to think he was not too old to indulge in it, immediately sought out Anne Trelawny and as Mrs. Langford was with her, and he knew that lady to be as fiercely against the Prince of Orange as the other, he decided to take them both into his confidence.

He explained the nature of the plot and there was at once no doubt that he would have the assistance of these two.

“I have always said it was monstrous!” declared Mrs. Langford. “My Princess ignored for Squinting Betty!”

“What he sees in her, I can’t imagine,” added Anne. “When I think of my beautiful Lady Mary …”

“See if you can bring what is happening to her notice,” said Covell.

“It should not be difficult,” said Mrs. Langford.

“Sometimes,” added Anne, “I wonder whether she knows and pretends it is not so. That would be like her. I am sure she is too clever not to have discovered it. After all it’s been going on long enough.”

“I don’t know, Squint-eye is clever. Have you noticed since we have been in Holland and she’s been playing the whore how retiring she’s been. She’s never given the Princess any cause to complain about her. Whereas before …”

“Never mind,” said Anne, “the Princess is going to know now.”

Anne was dressing Mary’s hair and Mary said: “You are preoccupied, Anne. Is anything wrong?”

Anne stood still biting her lip. In apprehension Mary glanced at her body, remembering the case of Jane Wroth. Not Anne, surely!

Anne said: “I … cannot speak of it.”

“Nonsense. Not tell me! Come! Out with it.”

“Oh, I get so angry. It is Elizabeth Villiers. How dare she … deceive Your Highness so … and glory in it. There, I’ve said it. It’s been on the tip of my tongue these last six years. Six years! It’s no wonder …”

Mary had turned pale. That which she had forced herself to ignore and refuse to accept was now being thrust at her; and it was a hateful realization that she could not ignore it any longer.

“What are you saying, Anne?”

“What I should have said before. Your Highness does not know. They are so sly. But I hate … hate … hate to see it, and I can’t keep silent any longer.”

“Anne, you are becoming hysterical.”

“I feel hysterical. I have to stand by and see your life ruined. You might have dear little children by now. But how can you? He is never with you … or hardly ever. Something will have to be done.”

Mary called Mrs. Langford. She said: “Help Anne to her bed. I fear she is not well.”

Mrs. Langford came to Mary.

“Your Highness,” she said sorrowfully, “Anne Trelawny has told me what she said and she is afraid you are angry with her. She said it only out of her love for you.”

“I know.”

“Oh, my lady, my dear little lady, it’s true.”

“I do not wish to hear the subject mentioned again.”

“My lady, I’ve nursed you since you were little. I know you are a Princess but you will always be my baby.” Mrs. Langford began to cry. “I cannot bear to see you treated in this way.”

“There is no need for you to be sorry for me.”

“You don’t believe it, do you? You don’t believe he goes to her bed … almost every night. You don’t believe that when he tells you he has state matters to deal with he is there. She is his state matter, the sly squint-eyed whore.”

“You forget yourself.…”

“Oh, my little love, forgive me. But I cannot endure much more of this. Something should be done.”

Mary was silent. It was true. She had always known it. For years she had known it and pretended. No one had ever mentioned it and that had made it easy to live in a world of make-believe. But now they had drawn aside the veil of fantasy and there was the unpleasant and unavoidable truth to be faced.

“You don’t believe it, do you, my Princess?” went on Mrs. Langford. “It wouldn’t be so difficult to prove. They’ve got careless over the years. Over the years! Years of deceit. Think of it. And you longing for babies!”

Years of deceit! thought Mary.

She closed her eyes and saw the little boy who had come to her table to steal sweetmeats. Jemmy had noticed—so had others. They had been sorry for her; and many of them would have said: How she longs for a child; but she is barren. Some say the Prince is impotent. Others that he spends too much time with his squint-eyed mistress.

Hundreds of pictures from the past crowded into her mind. Elizabeth in the nursery—sly hurtful remarks … always making her uncomfortable … an enemy.

And now, William loved her. What was the use of hiding the truth. What was the use of pretending that William was a noble hero when everyone knew he was committing adultery under the same roof as that which sheltered his wife.

Perhaps they were right. Perhaps it was time something was done.

She spent a sleepless night and in the morning she told herself that she must ignore these whispers. She must speak severely to Mrs. Langford and Anne Trelawny.

But it was not easy.

“You don’t believe us,” said Mrs. Langford sadly.

Anne, that dear friend whom she knew had always loved her since their childhood, was bolder. “Your Highness does not want to believe,” she said, “and that is why you will not put us to the test.”

“Put you to the test?”

“Yes. Make sure that we are speaking the truth.”

“How?”

“He goes to her apartment almost every night. You could wait for him to leave it.”

She shook her head.

But she went on thinking about William and Elizabeth. She pictured him, slyly mounting the stairs to the maid of honor’s room, opening the door, Elizabeth waiting … the embrace. Sly Elizabeth! Cold William! What was this attraction between them? Were they laughing at her for being so simple that she had not discovered their deceit?

The card game was over. Mary said that she was tired and would retire to her room.

She smiled at the Prince, who although he did not play cards, had joined the assembly.

“You are looking tired,” she told him. “Could you not desert your work for one night and retire early?”

He looked at her coldly and replied that urgent dispatches were awaiting his attention.

“You work too hard,” she said, smiling fondly, and bade him goodnight.

Her ladies prepared her for bed and she dismissed them all except Anne Trelawny and Mrs. Langford. Then Anne brought a robe and wrapped it about her.

“It may well be that you will have to wait a long time at the foot of the privy stairs to the maids of honors’ apartments,” she said.

“I shall wait,” said Mary firmly.

They made her comfortable there.

They knew that he was visiting Elizabeth Villiers that night because Mrs. Langford’s son had been set to wait behind the hangings and he had seen him go to her.

Only Mary’s anger saved her from tears.

They had successfully convinced her that she had allowed herself to become an object of pity since, it seemed, all knew of the adulterous intrigue except herself.

William looked down at Elizabeth who yawned sleepily as she smiled up at him. She implied that she was utterly contented.

He felt rejuvenated, as he always did after these occasions. She attracted him as no other woman ever could. He did not know exactly what it was; she was knowledgeable, dignified, and without a trace of humility, which surprised him for he had always thought that docility was what he would ask in a woman, but she was so eager to be all that he wanted, he was deeply aware of that and it flattered him. She kept in step with him on state affairs and he guessed that must have been a great task; she was not afraid to offer an opinion. She was sensual but never over demanding; she seemed to be able to assess his strength to the smallest degree. She had made him her life, and she flattered him without seeming to do so. He would not have known what he wanted of a woman until he met Elizabeth and she had shown him.

He could never break with her, however much the intrigue worried his Calvinistic soul. He told himself that she was a necessity to him. She supplied the recreation he needed; with his frail body and active mind, he needed that relaxation and only she could give it. That was his excuse; and he would scheme and lie to keep her.

Sleek as a satisfied cat she watched him, delighted with the part she was called upon to play. The power behind the throne! She could not have asked for a more exciting role. She was no longer jealous of foolish sentimental Mary as she had been in the nursery days and she could always hug herself with delight to consider their positions now.

William shut the door gently and cautiously descended the privy stairs.

As he reached the last step a figure rose before him. He stared, unable to believe in those first seconds that it was his wife.

“Yes,” she said. “It is I.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to finish dealing with those … state papers. I did not know that you kept them in Elizabeth Villiers’s bedchamber.”

“This is most unseemly.”

“I agree. The Prince of Orange tiptoeing from his mistress’s bedroom!”

“I do not wish to hear another word about this.”

“I do not suppose you do. But I wish to speak of it.”

“You are behaving even more foolishly than usual.”

“And, William, how are you behaving?”

“With great restraint, I assure you.”

“William …”

He pushed aside her arm.

“Go back to your apartments. I am most displeased with you. I should have thought you would have had more dignity than to behave like a cottage shrew.”

“And your behavior …” But her voice had faltered, he noticed, and he seized the advantage.

“I am more than displeased by your conduct,” he said. “I am very angry. I do not wish to see you or speak to you until you are in a more controlled and reasonable state of mind.”

With that he left her standing there, forlorn and tearful.

Anne Trelawny and Mrs. Langford, who had been listening, came out to take her to her bed.

They looked at each other in exasperation. One would have thought that she was the sinner. Oh, it was indeed time she had a kind and loving husband.

They got her to bed and she lay shivering and sleepless.

For some days William avoided her but he was very uneasy.

He sent for Bentinck as he did when he was perplexed, and told him what had happened.

“Someone must have advised her to do this. I suspect that girl Trelawny. I am going to find out, and if she is guilty she shall go back to England.”

“It’s a little harsh on the Princess,” suggested Bentinck.

“I don’t understand.”

“Your Highness was visiting my sister-in-law. She is your mistress. The Princess would naturally be disturbed to discover this!”

“And you think it right and fitting for her servants to help her to spy on me?”

“I think it a very natural state of affairs,” said Bentinck.

“There are times, my friend, when you exceed your duty.”

“I had believed that Your Highness always wanted me to answer your questions truthfully.”

“I do not want insolence … even from my friends.”

“I would respectfully point out that there was no insolence in my reply.”

“You are being insolent now. You may go, Bentinck. I no longer need your presence.”

As Bentinck bowed and retired, William stared at the closed door in dismay. This was the first time he had ever quarreled with Bentinck; he could scarcely believe it had happened.

First to be discovered in that undignified way by a wife waiting at the bottom of a staircase! Then to be told he was in the wrong by one whose friendship he valued!

He was ashamed, and when he was ashamed he was angry.

Elizabeth opened very wide those eyes with the—to him—enchanting cast and said: “It is simple. Anne Trelawny and the Langford woman are at the bottom of this. They are always whispering together. Get rid of them and everything will be well.”

“I should want to prove them guilty first.”

“It should not be difficult. Others will be in it. Leave it to me. I’ll find out.”

He kissed her. He could trust her he knew, his clever Elizabeth.

In a few days she had the answer.

“It is more serious than we believed. James is behind this.”

“James? But how?”

“His idea is to have your marriage annulled so that Mary can make a marriage more to his liking.”

“A Catholic marriage!”

“That is exactly what he would like. Whether the people of England would accept that is another matter. In any case, James does not want you to remain his son-in-law. Covell is an old fool … fortunately. He cannot keep his mouth shut. He’s delighted to be working with Skelton who has his orders straight from Whitehall. You see the nature of our little plot?”

“You’re a clever girl, Elizabeth.”

“Have you only just discovered it?”

“I always knew it.”

“I am glad, for the more clever I am the greater service I can offer my Prince.”

She took the frail little hand and kissed it. She expressed herself charmingly; her gestures were delightful.

I’ll never give her up, he thought. I’ll defy James and all England if necessary; and I’ll keep Elizabeth … and Mary.

The Prince of Orange was out hunting but his thoughts were not on his quarry. They were back at the Palace where he had given instructions to a few trusted servants to keep watch for anyone leaving with letters.

These were to be stopped and searched, and any letters found on them were to be subjected to scrutiny.

The stratagem worked.

When he returned to the Palace several letters from Covell to Skelton and from Skelton to his master were laid before him.

In these it was quite clear that a plot was in progress to bring about the dissolution of the Orange marriage. The Princess was first to be made aware of her husband’s infidelity with Elizabeth Villiers, then to be made to see she could not condone it. The names of Anne Trelawny and the Langfords were mentioned.

William, having read the letters, sent for Covell.

There was nothing brave about Covell, and William in a cold rage could be intimidating.

“Do you admit that you have been plotting against me?” demanded William.

Dr. Covell, seeing that he could not deny it considering William was holding his letter in his hand, confessed that this was so. He told him that he was acting on instructions from Skelton, who had received his orders from Whitehall.

“Get out,” said William.

When he had gone he sent for Mary.

She came in fear. He studied her coldly for some seconds before speaking.

Then he said: “I can only believe that you are so stupid that you do not understand you have been the victim of a conspiracy.”

“I … William?”

Now she was like the Mary he knew, meek and frightened of him.

“Yes, you. Your father has decided to marry you to a Papist.”

She gasped in horror. “But I am married to you, William.”

“He does not intend you to remain so.”

“But how could I …?”

He lifted a hand to silence her. “You have been very weak. You have listened to gossip and believed the worst of me. In so doing you have played into their hands. Your father is a ruthless man. Have you forgotten Monmouth and the Bloody Assizes? Your father is to blame for those tragedies, and now he wants to add another to their number.”

“He has had to defend his crown, William.”

“So you make excuses for him?”

“He is my father.”

“I wonder you are not ashamed to call him so.”

“I know that he is mistaken so often in what he does. But it is true, William, that Elizabeth Villiers is your mistress.”

A quiver of alarm touched him. That vein of strength in her was apt to appear when he believed he had subdued her, to make him never quite sure of her.

He felt a stirring of panic and said quickly: “She is nothing to me.”

“William!”

“But …”

He would not let her speak, lest she ask questions he could not parry. He had heard the note of joy in her voice. She wanted Elizabeth Villiers to be of no importance to him. She was willing to meet him halfway.

“Why,” he said, “have you forgotten that you are my wife?”

“I feared you had forgotten it, William.”

“It is something I could never forget.” That was true enough. Was she not the heir to the three crowns he coveted? “So let us be sensible, Mary.”

“Yes, William.”

“This affair … it was nothing. It meant little to me.”

“And it is over?”

“I will never forget that you are my wife. Our marriage is important … to us … to Holland … to England. We have our duty. Let us never forget that.”

“No, William.”

He put his hands on her shouders and gave her his wintry smile. He saw the tears in her eyes and knew that he had won.

When she had gone he sent for Covell, Anne Trelawny, and the Langfords.

“You should begin your preparations,” he said. “You leave for England tomorrow.”

Then he sat down and wrote to Laurence Hyde—the King’s brother-in-law—and asked that Skelton be recalled and another envoy sent to Holland in his place.

Mary was saddened by the loss of her dear friends. She had particularly loved Anne Trelawny and when she remembered how they had been allies in the days of Elizabeth Villiers’s ascendancy in the nursery she felt her departure the more.

For it was useless to pretend Elizabeth was not William’s mistress. William had said that the affair was of little importance, but he continued it. Elizabeth Villiers seemed slyer and more smug than ever; and now that Mary had been forced to face the truth she could not get it out of her mind.

Why should she endure this? When William was absent she felt very bold; it was only when he was with her that she told herself she must reconcile herself to her fate.

William had left The Hague for a short visit inland on official business—actually so this time, for Elizabeth Villiers remained in the palace.

Why should I stand aside while they conduct this intrigue under the very same roof? Mary asked herself. They think that I acted as I did because Anne Trelawny and Mrs. Langford advised me to. They think I have no will of my own.

They were wrong. Although she longed for ideal relationships, for peace between her father and her husband, she was not afraid to assert her will when she thought it necessary to do so; she would show them this.

She sent for Elizabeth Villiers.

Elizabeth stood before her—sly, always sly, and alert, wondering with what she was about to be confronted.

“I want a very special and important message to be delivered,” said Mary, and her regal manner alarmed Elizabeth.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Knowing your discretion and intelligence I am giving you the task of delivering it.”

“Your Highness can be assured that I shall obey you to the best of my ability.”

“I am sure you will do well what you must.”

Mary went to her table and picked up a letter which was sealed with her royal seal. A great deal of thought had gone into writing that letter.

“You should leave at once,” she said; and as she turned to look at her enemy a fierce jealousy struck at her. What had Elizabeth to offer him? She was clever; no one doubted that. But as far as beauty was concerned she was not to be compared with Mary who had been called one of the most beautiful women in Europe, and although royalty was always given more credit for beauty than it deserved, that opinion was not all flattery. It was true that she had put on too much weight but her hair was still abundant, her dark shortsighted eyes, although they were giving her a great deal of trouble, were still attractive.

And there was Elizabeth with that extraordinary cast; perhaps that was attractive, that, and her wit and her boldness.

“To whom is the message to be delivered, Your Highness?” asked Elizabeth.

“To my father.”

It gave Mary pleasure to see the start of amazement quickly followed by panic.

“I beg Your Highness’s pardon but … did I understand …”

“You understood very well,” said Mary. “You surely do not imagine that I would ask you to deliver an ordinary message … like a page?”

“No, but …”

“I wish you to leave within the hour. You will be taken to the coast where a ship will be found for you. I trust you will have an easy crossing.”

Mary was sure that never in her life had Elizabeth Villiers been so bewildered. Quite clearly she did not know what to say. William was away from The Hague therefore she could not appeal to him, and in his absence, Mary’s orders must be obeyed without question.

Two of Mary’s male servants came into the room as they had obviously been commanded to.

“Everything is ready,” Mary told them. “You will leave immediately.”

Nonplussed, Elizabeth could do nothing but follow them; Mary stood at her window watching the departure.

Now all she had to do was await the return of William.

William was back at The Hague for two days before he discovered Elizabeth’s absence.

It was Bentinck who told him. The quarrel between them had been mended, and although William had not apologized—that would have been asking too much—he had implied he was no longer displeased, while at the same time he wanted his friend to know that while he respected his advice on matters of state he wanted no interference with his domestic affairs.

“My sister-in-law has left for England,” Bentinck said.

For a moment William was so taken off his guard that he expressed bewilderment.

“She went on orders of the Princess.”

William still did not speak, and Bentinck waited for the storm.

It did not come.

“I wish you to peruse these letters from Celle and give me your opinion.”

Bentinck bowed his head. His master’s control was admirable, but he wondered what he would do now, and he was sorry for the Princess, although he admired her action.

Anne Bentinck, advised by her husband to do so, warned Mary that the Prince knew of Elizabeth’s dismissal. Mary waited for his reaction, but there was no sign that he was in the least affected. William might not have been the slightest bit interested in Elizabeth Villiers.

But inwardly he was deeply disturbed, because he realized that he did not know his wife. When he believed that he had subdued her, she would act in such a way as to confound him. He had been congratulating himself on the manner in which he had handled her discovery of his intrigue. She had seemed meek enough, ready to see it as he wished her to; and then, when he absented himself, she cleverly got rid of Elizabeth. He could imagine what would happen to Elizabeth when she reached England. Mary was clever enough to have arranged that. She was carrying a letter to James. He could picture what was in that letter.

How could Elizabeth have been so foolish? She should never have gone to England. She should have escaped to him and told him what had happened.

But Mary had planned well; Elizabeth had left the Palace in the company of Mary’s servants—who were for that occasion Elizabeth’s guards. Who would have believed it possible that while Mary was playing the docile wife she was making a careful plan to send Elizabeth out of Holland?

The thought which was never far from his mind came back to torment him. When Mary was Queen of England, with powerful ministers to back her—Englishmen who would work for her—what would her attitude be toward her husband? What would she make him: King or consort?

It was the burning question which was always between them; it was one he dared not ask her because he was afraid of the answer. He had tried to make her completely subservient to his will and he so frequently believed he had succeeded; then—usually choosing one of his absences—she would show that she could have her own way.

Their relationship would never be a comfortable one until this question was answered. He could never show her that he was an affectionate husband until she said to him: “When and if the crown of Britain comes to me, you shall still be my master.” That was what he wanted from her; if she would give it, he would be prepared to treat her with respect and affection (although he would never give up Elizabeth). Until then, he would be cold to her, because he was uncertain of her.

He was miserable. Mary baffled him; and Elizabeth, the balm of whose company he needed, was gone.

But he told no one this; he asked no questions of anyone concerning her.

Nor did he mention to Mary that her action had angered him.

It is true, she thought. Elizabeth Villiers was not important to him.

Once she was safely on the boat which was to carry her to Harwich, Elizabeth’s captors relaxed their vigil, while she sat huddled against the wind and cursed her bad luck. What was she, who had made herself so comfortable in Holland, doing on a boat which was carrying her to England?

What would William say when he returned and found her gone? She knew William well. He would deplore her loss but he would do nothing about it. What could he do? He was not a man to rant and rave about something that could not be altered.

Who would have believed Mary capable of such a plan! But Mary was often deceptive. She had been in the old nursery days. But for the fact that she was so sentimental and, strangely enough, over-modest, she would have got far more of her own way. Mary was a dreamer who wanted others to dream with her.

But why waste time thinking of Mary now! Her plan had succeeded, Elizabeth had left Holland, and that was an end of that. What Elizabeth had to think of now was how to get back to Holland.

She touched the letter which was in her pocket. A letter to the King. She could imagine what was in it. “Keep this woman in England and do not let her return to Holland.” That was almost certain to be the gist.

And was she going to be so foolish as to present that letter to the King and meekly accept a lodging, possibly in the Tower?

When they reached England her captors were at her side.

She said: “I have to await an answer from my request to the King. I propose to have a message sent to him telling him I come from the Princess. In the meantime I shall lodge at my father’s house.”

This seemed reasonable and her guards accompanied her to the house of her father, Colonel Villiers, in Richmond. There her father welcomed her warmly for he knew of her position at The Hague and that of all his children she was, through her connection with William, the most influential.

As soon as she was alone with him she told him what had happened.

He listened gravely and said: “If James reads that letter you will never return to Holland.”

“So I believe.”

“You know what is happening here? There is trouble … Each week there are further complaints of the King’s rule. What the people dread is that James will have a son who will be brought up as a Catholic and thus we should have Catholicism back in England. They will never endure it. If the Queen has a son there will be big trouble.”

“You think that they will ask James to abdicate and set Mary in his place.”

“They might ask it, but James would not go. He is a fanatic, I do assure you. But that is for the future. More immediately, what of your future, my dear?

“I want to return to The Hague as soon as possible.”

“Before delivering that letter?”

“I should not be such a fool as to deliver that letter to the King.”

“Where is it?”

She brought it out and showed him.

“Her Highness’s seal,” said the Colonel. “Well, we must break it in a good cause.”

They did so and read the letter which was, as Elizabeth had suspected, an account of how the bearer, Elizabeth Villiers, was the mistress of the Prince of Orange and the Princess asked her father not to allow her to return to Holland.

“Well?” said the Colonel.

“There is only one thing to be done with such a document,” answered Elizabeth briskly, leaning forward and holding it in the flame of the candle.

Her father watched her with amusement. “And now?”

“I will rest, for I am tired. While I sleep you must prepare an account of everything you know is happening here. At dawn I rise and ride for Harwich. With a good wind I shall soon be back in The Hague.”

Anne Bentinck presented herself to Mary.

“Your Highness, my sister Elizabeth is in the Palace and asking to be received.”

Mary said: “I do not wish to receive her.”

“But Your Highness, her place …”

“Your sister has no place in my service.”

Anne Bentinck retired to tell Elizabeth that she would have to leave the Palace at once; for Anne’s husband had forbidden her to shelter her sister and as Anne was as docile a wife as Mary often was, she dared not disobey him.

When she was alone Mary asked herself why her father had failed her. Surely he would not, as he was trying to break her marriage with William. But of course Elizabeth had not given him the letter. She had guessed its contents, or read them.

In any case she was not going to have her back as a maid of honor. William might attempt to insist but she would stand out even against William.

Elizabeth was waiting for William in a small anteroom of the palace.

They embraced and she told him how Mary had planned to be rid of her.

William nodded. “She astonishes me.”

“And me. Will you command her to take me back?”

“No,” said William. “Not yet. I think she would stand against it.”

“And you will allow her to?”

“For the time, I can do nothing else.”

Elizabeth was surprised but too clever to show her surprise. He was, then, afraid of Mary. Well, he had to remember that if ever the crown of Britain came to him it would be through Mary, for Anne and her children would stand between his inheriting it in his own right.

Elizabeth accepted this. She had much to tell him. There was above all the information she had collected from her father in England.

“I made him sit up all night that he might write a clear account of what was happening there. I thought you would find it useful.”

William pressed her hand.

“For the time,” he said, “go to your sister Katherine. I will visit you at their house. And later …”

She kissed his hand.

“Later,” he went on, “you shall come back to Court.”

William Bentinck had a commission to carry out for his master.

Bentinck guessed for whom the Prince was buying the necklace, and was sorry for the Princess, for a few months after Elizabeth’s return she was back in the Palace wearing a diamond necklace.

Mary did not know her strength; or perhaps she did not want to know it. She could have dismissed Elizabeth; she could have made her husband understand that she demanded to be treated, not as a meek consort, but as a Princess in her own right.

But she did not seem sure of the way she wanted to go. Thus there were these spurts of independence followed by subservience.

What would happen? wondered Bentinck, if she came to the throne of Britain? He knew that it was a question which disturbed his master.