And she had sworn always to obey; she must obey him. He was her husband and she had promised herself that hers should be an ideal marriage. It could only be so if she obeyed him absolutely.
She changed her plea. “William,” she said, “promise me that if my father should become your captive, he shall be unharmed.”
William had never been a violent man; it was easy to give that promise.
KING WILLIAM AND QUEEN MARY
William was ready to leave for England.
In spite of his ill health—that terrible cough which racked his body day and night and the ever-threatening asthma—he seemed to have grown younger during the last weeks. The dream was about to be realized; and he could scarcely wait for its fulfillment. Outwardly he was as calm as ever; but Mary sensed the inner excitement.
He looked at her intently and with more tenderness than he had ever shown her before. It might be that he understood her feelings, that he was appreciative of this immense loyalty to him which had forced her to turn her back on her father.
He had groomed her well and was pleased with her. Momentarily he thought of the shrinking girl who had been his bride. She was gone forever. She had turned into the docile wife and if he had the wish—or the potency—he could have made of her a passionate woman.
But such trivial dallyings were not for him. He had a destiny and he was about to grasp it in his frail, but nonetheless eager, hands.
“Mary,” he said, taking her hands, “pray God to bless and direct us.”
She bowed her head; this time the tears did not exasperate him.
“You have been a good wife to me. It is something I shall never forget.”
“And shall always be, William, in the years to come.”
“The years to come …” His expression darkened and he saw the fear leap into her eyes. Again he was satisfied.
“William, you frighten me.”
“We must be prepared for all eventualities,” he said. “I do not go in peace to your father’s kingdom. You must prepare yourself for that. And if it should please God that you should never see me again, it will be necessary for you to marry again.”
“Do not speak of it, William. Such words pierce me to the heart.”
“Then you must steel your heart, for you will be a Queen, Mary, if all goes as it must go for the sake of England and our Faith. I need not tell you that if you marry again your husband must not be a papist.”
He turned away as he spoke for the stricken expression in her eyes moved him as she had never been able to move him before.
“I give you pain by this plain speaking, I fear,” he said quietly. “But I do it only because of my strong convictions. Protestantism must be preserved in England.”
She nodded.
Then she went to him and clung to him; for some seconds he remained unresponsive then he put his arms about her and held her against him.
“I have never loved anyone but you, William,” she declared tearfully; and even as she spoke she saw the reproachful dark eyes of Frances that “dearest husband” who had remained a dear friend; she saw the jaunty ones of Jemmy and for a few revealing seconds she seemed to glimpse a different life, a life of gaiety and adventure which might have been hers if she had married him. She shut out these images. Dreams. Fantasies. Her life with William was the reality.
“William, William,” she cried, “all these years I have been married and have no child. If God does not see fit to bless me with children there would be no reason for my marrying again.”
She delighted him. This failure to produce a child she took upon herself; she did not hint as so many did that William was the one who had failed in that respect. She was a wonderful wife. Only now that he was leaving her did he realize how wonderful.
“I shall pray to God that I do not survive you, William. And if it does not please God to grant me a child by you I would not wish to have one by an angel!”
She was overflowing with her emotions, which on this occasion was pleasant.
“Your devotion pleases me, my dear wife,” said William; and Mary believed she saw a glint of tears in his eyes.
Again she clung to him and he did not resist. His kisses were warmer than they had ever been before.
“You must live, William,” she cried. “You cannot leave me now.”
“If it is God’s will,” he said, “victory will be mine. We will share the throne. God willing, there are good years ahead of us.”
They left the Honselaarsdijk Palace together and Mary accompanied him to the brink of the river and watched him embark.
Throughout Holland the people fasted as they prayed for their Prince’s victory. There was consternation when no sooner had he set out than a tempest rose which scattered his fleet and forced it to return to port.
Mary was frantic with anxiety; her doctors implored her to consider her health; but it was necessary to bleed her and it was a letter from her husband asking her to come to Brill which revived her more than any remedies.
There William spent two hours with her. He told her that there was no real disaster to the fleet and the rumors were being greatly exaggerated in England; he was going to set out immediately but he had wanted to see her once more before he left.
“Oh, William,” she cried, “how happy I am that you should spare me this time … but it only makes the parting more bitter.”
“As soon as I have succeeded in my task I shall send for you.”
She shivered slightly. She saw herself going to England, but she could only go on the defeat of her father. Her exultation in William’s response to her affection had temporarily driven everything else from her mind; but she dreaded returning to the land of her birth, for how would she ever be able to forget her childhood?
“It will not be long, I trust. And should it go against me, you will know what to do.”
He kissed her tenderly once more; and left her.
She went to the top of a tower to see the last of the fleet. Tears blinded her eyes.
It does not matter now, she thought; I can weep my fill for he is not here to be offended by my tears.
“God Save William,” she prayed. “Bring him success.”
She went back to her apartments and shut herself in to pray; but as she prayed for her husband’s success she kept seeing images of her father, and her stepmother; she kept hearing the latter’s voice appealing to her “dear Lemon” to remember her father and all his goodness to her. And she thought too of the newly-born child.
She could settle to nothing. She was continually on her knees. On waking she went to her private chapel and was again there at midday; at five o’clock she was back, and again at half past seven she attended a service.
Her prayers were all for William.
“But,” she cried to her chaplain, “what a severe and cruel necessity lies before me! I must forsake a father or forsake my husband, my country, character, and God himself. It is written Honor thy father.… But should not a wife cleave to her husband, forsaking all others?”
She wept. Never, she declared, was a woman confronted by such a cruel decision.
But her dreams came to her help. Why should not her father continue to wear the crown and William be set up as Regent? Thus her father would not be deposed; her husband would rule, and England be saved from popery.
This dream helped her through those dark days.
William had landed safely at Torbay, and the news filled James with alarm. In desperation he sought to win the approval of those whom he had offended. Catholics were not to stand for Parliament; he would support the Church of England; he would restore officials in Church and State who had lost their places due to their opposition of his will.