He appealed for support against the Dutch invasion.
But James was as ineffectual as he had ever been. It was too late to turn his coat now. There were many in the country who, while they deplored his Catholic leanings, did not approve of his son-in-law’s actions. They were asking themselves why William of Orange should be the one to take the crown which, if James and the Prince of Wales were to be dismissed, rightly belonged to his daughter Mary. There were some who did not care to see a daughter working for her father’s downfall, however much the actions of that father were to be deplored.
But James failed to see that he still had a chance.
He was concerned for the safety of his wife and the Prince of Wales; in his anxiety he was ungracious. He sent the young Prince to Portsmouth and kept his wife in London, and decided to march west and deliver a knockout blow to the forces assembled there.
His daughter Anne was popular, and he was sure he would have her support; and he would never believe that Mary, his best loved, would work against him. No, he decided, this was the work of his nephew Orange, whom he had always hated. He cursed the day he had ever agreed to that marriage in which he saw the seed of all his troubles.
He rode to Salisbury.
The shock of the invasion had been too much for him. Everyone else it seemed had been expecting it, except him. He had refused to believe the Dutch had set sail even when his trusted spies told him so; and when the fleet had been scattered he had assured himself that that was the end of the fine dreams of the Prince of Orange!
Now William was actually in England and he was marching to destroy him. At Salisbury James’s nose suddenly began to bleed so violently that he was forced to rest there before joining the army under Churchill at Warminster.
Churchill and Grafton were reckoned to be two of the finest soldiers in England. The Orange would not be able to stand up long against them.
He should be at Warminster now, conferring with Churchill, but must lie on his bed while they tried to stem the bleeding. He could rely on Churchill, who had received great good through Anne, whose great friend was Churchill’s wife, Sarah.
He had good generals; he had his dear daughters on whom he would rely, for nothing would convince him that Mary did not deplore what her husband was doing. It had been an unhappy marriage; Orange had deceived her with Elizabeth Villiers. My dear Mary, he thought, when Orange is my prisoner, when he is no longer in possession of his head, you shall tell your old father of your troubles and he will seek to make you happy.
A messenger to see the king. A messenger from Warminster!
“Show him in. Doubtless he comes from Churchill.”
“Your Majesty, Churchill is no longer at Warminster. He has left with his men …”
“Left? For what destination?”
“Torbay, Your Majesty. He is joining Orange. Grafton is with him. They have gone over to the enemy.”
James lay back on his pillows.
He saw defeat very near.
Churchill gone! Grafton gone! And there was one other. Prince George of Denmark, husband of the Princess Anne, had joined with Churchill and Grafton. They no longer served the King of England but had gone to Orange.
“There is a conspiracy in my army,” said James.
“Sire,” was the answer, “you no longer have an army.”
He must return to London, he must see his daughter at once.
She would comfort him. His dear Anne! Her husband was a traitor, even as Mary’s was; but George had always been a weak fellow, never much use.
In desperation he rode toward his capital. When he had seen Anne his faith would be restored. They would stand together; the people loved her; she was a Protestant as William was; they would prefer to see her on the throne rather than this foreigner who had no right to it while Mary and Anne lived.
But in London came the last defeat.
The Princess Anne had left hurriedly with Lady Churchill.
He knew what this meant; his daughter had deserted him.
So they are both against me, mourned James. My little girls. My Mary! My Anne!
He could see them so vividly—one dark, one fair, and he could recall his delight in them.
Charles had envied him his children and they had brought great joy to his life … when they were children and afterward.
He was a family man; the happiest times of his life, he believed, had not been when he was with his mistresses, but in the center of his family.
My daughters, he mourned, whom I loved with all my heart—and they have placed themselves among my enemies.
Mary Beatrice tried to comfort him.
“They cannot succeed,” she cried. “They are so wrong, so cruel. You are the King.”
“They do not intend that I shall remain so.”
“You think they will make William King? Never! He is not the heir. Even if they will not accept the Prince of Wales, Mary comes before him. She is your daughter. She would never agree to take your place.”
“He will set himself up with Mary. It was for this reason he married her. Would to God I had never allowed the marriage.”
“I am sure Mary will never agree to force you from your throne.”
“Mary is his creature … Anne is against me. I have lost both my daughters.”
“You have your wife,” she told him. “You have your son.”
“I bless the day you came to England.”
She closed her eyes and momentarily thought of it; the fear of this roué whom she had grown to love; the years of jealousy; and she was almost glad that he was brought so low for she was the one who could help him now; his mistresses could give him nothing but passing pleasure; she could give him unfaltering love and devotion.
“What should I do without you?” he asked.
“What should we do without each other?”
She saw that a slip of paper had been pushed under the door and withdrawing herself from his arms went to it.
It was a lampoon about the Prince of Wales having been brought to her bed in a warming pan.
She dropped it to the floor with a cry of distaste. James picked it up and read it.
“We are in danger,” he said. “You and the boy must leave England without delay.”
The Queen and the Prince of Wales had fled to France. Before the end of the year James had followed them. This was success beyond that for which they had dared hope. William was in London, and it would not be long before Mary must join him.
She was afraid.
There was no longer need to pray for William’s safety, the revolution was over. The people had accepted William, although Mary was the Queen. William’s position would depend on her, but he had no qualms; nor need he have. All that he desired should be his.
And now Mary must prepare herself for the great ordeal. What would she find on her arrival in England?
She did not want to think too much of it; yet she must make ready.
Elizabeth Villiers would make ready too. She had been calm and self-effacing during the difficult weeks, withdrawing herself from Mary’s society as much as possible. She would of course leave for England when Mary went and both of them could not help wondering what her position would be when she was there.
Would William after the long absence have forgotten his mistress? Mary believed he would; his new responsibilities would be great; and she, Mary, would be the Queen, and he the King, to rule through her grace. He would not forget that; and surely he would not insult the Queen by continuing to keep a mistress?
No, thought Mary, this would be the end of Elizabeth’s influence.
Elizabeth knew otherwise. While he lived, she was certain, he would never do without her.
She, far more than Mary, eagerly awaited the call.
Elizabeth and her sister Anne had not been on good terms since Bentinck had quarreled with William over his treatment of Mary; Anne had of course sided with her husband, which Elizabeth looked upon as treason in the family. They had tried to turn William away from her toward his own wife. She could not forgive that.