He was indeed a very strange little boy.


* * *

I WAS UNWELL and had been for some months. I think it was due to the strain of perpetual war, William’s comings and goings, the burden of greater responsibilities taken up and then taken away. This was all having an effect on me. Sometimes I felt old and tired. I was only thirty years old and never free of remorse on account of my father.

I was beset by continual anxiety. Every time a messenger came I would tremble and wonder what ill news he brought. If only there had not been this coldness between my sister and myself. My great consolation was little William. He seemed to be the only one who could lift my spirits. He did visit me often, and I could always be brought out of my melancholy to smile at his droleries.

I looked back over the last months and thought of the torments I had suffered over the Grandval plot.

Grandval was a French officer who had been hired to assassinate William. Fortunately, his design had been discovered in time and he was arrested by the English.

At his trial it was revealed that, before he left Paris, he had had a meeting with my father and stepmother and that my father had told him that if he carried out his plan successfully, he, personally, would see that Grandval never wanted for anything as long as he lived.

So ... while I could rejoice in William’s escape, I was overcome with sadness because my father had given his blessing to this murderous plot.

It made me very weary of life.

I suffered from the ague, from heavy colds, from a weakness of the eyes and a swelling in the face. I longed for the war in Europe to be over; I wanted William to come home. Sometimes I felt myself drifting into fancy and believing that our troubles were over. William would come back a hero, the people would be cheering in the streets, my father would come home and announce that he realized he could never reign as a Catholic and it was right for William to take his place, William loved me, Elizabeth Villiers had married and gone far away and we all lived happily together. What a fantasy! What a dream! But dreams were useful at times when reality was hard to bear.

There was no end to disaster.

It was June when one of the greatest of them occurred. This was the expedition to Brest. It had been essential that this should be a surprise attack, but the plan had been foiled and the French had had warning and strengthened their defenses so that when the English landed they found the enemy waiting for them. General Tollemache was mortally wounded and four hundred soldiers were lost.

It was a major disaster. But the most shocking feature of the affair was that the French had been warned, and there was a strong suspicion by whom. Lady Tryconnel, Sarah Churchill’s sister, was with my father and stepmother in France, and Sarah, it appeared, had written to her telling her of the activity in London concerning the coming attack in Brest.

It was an act of treachery and left no doubt in my mind as to what the defeat was due to.

When William questioned Marlborough on the matter, he swore that he had had no part in the betrayal. His wife? Well, women will gossip. She may have mentioned, casually, to her sister, that there was much activity in progress. These things happened.

I knew William would like to have sent Marlborough back to the Tower for trial. But Marlborough had many friends and there was a lack of evidence against him.

What a melancholy state of affairs! So many deaths, so many disasters, suspected treachery all round us, and worst of all, my family in conflict. I was tired. I suppose it was because my health was deteriorating, and there was no end to the aggravation.

When I think of my idyllic youth, I see that already in the household were those who were to plague me. Strange that they were already there, a part of my childhood. Elizabeth Villiers, who had caused me great grief, and Sarah Churchill, who had done her share.

They were clever, those Marlboroughs. How could they be so blatantly treacherous and escape? They were devious, and Marlborough was undoubtedly powerful, so William must be careful when dealing with him, otherwise he would have been safe in the Tower and found guilty — as he undoubtedly was, and his wife with him.

She was a malicious woman, and I was sure she was responsible for the scandal which arose about Shrewsbury and myself.

It was quite unfounded.

Charles Talbot, Duke of Shrewsbury, was about two years older than I. He was very charming, tall, well-made and reckoned to be one of the most attractive men at court. He was very handsome, in spite of the fact that there was an imperfection in one of his eyes. This did not however detract from his charm — but rather added to it, and made him more distinguished.

His early life had been overshadowed by the conduct of his parents. His mother, Countess of Shrewsbury at the time, was the mistress of the notorious Duke of Buckingham, who had created such a scandal during the reign of my uncle Charles. The Countess had lived openly with Buckingham after he had killed her husband in a duel.

It had been one of the great scandals of a scandalous age.

I liked Shrewsbury because he was a good, honest man, not afraid to state his opinions. After the disastrous defeat of Beachy Head, when he was out of office, he came to me and offered his services; and in March of that year, he had accepted the post of Secretary of State, which meant that I saw him frequently in the course of the country’s business.

We had a great deal to discuss together; and in addition to state affairs, he liked to talk about his health and he was very interested in mine, and at that time, when I was suffering from a great many ailments, I found that comforting.

And so Sarah Churchill circulated rumors that I was in love with Shrewsbury. She said that when he came into my presence it had been noted that I turned pale and trembled. If I did, it must be because I feared what news he might bring.

It was a trivial matter and I suppose there will always be unfounded rumors about people in high places; such will always have their enemies and Sarah Churchill was, without doubt, one of mine.

Of course, it was not all gloom. There were times when I could feel almost happy. At last I had begun to realize that I could be successful in my role. The people were growing more and more fond of me. Indeed, I think they no longer cared that the King was so often away fighting battles on the Continent. They had Queen Mary. She was a good Protestant; she was English and their rightful Queen; they had never wanted a Dutchman to rule over them. If only he had been different, they might have been reconciled. I knew he suffered pains in his back and arms, but he looked quite magnificent on horseback when his low stature was not evident. If he would have taken a little more care to make a more acceptable image of himself, it could have been so different; but he would consider such things frivolous and unimportant. I knew he was wrong.

It began to dawn on me that I could have been a good queen. I understood the people. I had had my successes when I had been in charge. That was why the people chanted: “God bless Queen Mary. Long life to her.” Silence was usually what greeted William. Perhaps if I had gone my way, doing what I thought was best, with my ministers to help me, of course, the monarchy might not merely have been tolerated, but loved.

After the action at La Hogue, which must have been a crippling blow to my father, I had made sure that the people realized what a great victory it was.

We had had so many defeats, so much depression, that when there was something in which we could rejoice, I was determined this should be done wholeheartedly.

I made it a great day when the ships, bringing the victorious men, arrived at Spithead. I sent £30,000 to be distributed among the common soldiers, and the officers received gold medals. I wanted them to know that their loyalty and bravery were rewarded. I would persuade William that it was money well spent, though I was sure he would not agree with me.

I arranged rejoicing in the streets of London and I myself, attired in all my regalia, rode among the people.

They cheered me delightedly. There were no complaints at that time.

It was during William’s absence that the question of new coins arose. These were to have our heads — mine and William’s — engraved on them.

There was a very fine artist named Rotier, who had made the engravings when they had last been done during my father’s reign, but, when approached, he said that he worked for the King, and as the King was across the water, he could not work for him. He had a son, Norbert, who offered to do the work in his father’s place, and as I was aware what trouble might grow out of disloyalty to William and me, I decided to forget the father and employ the son. I was rather horrified when I saw the result, for William’s likeness had certainly not been flattering. He was made to look satanic. I was disturbed, not only by the coins, but by the hostility of the people toward William.

I did hear a little later that the Rotiers had fled to France, fearing some kind of retaliation.

William returned from the Continent and I handed over the reins to him. Although I had felt some confidence in my own government, I was not sorry to do this, for I was beginning to feel quite ill and tired.

I had hoped that William might compliment me on my rule, for I knew there were many who were pleased with it, but he did not. He just nodded without comment when I explained certain of my actions to him, and I was expected to slip back into my old place of consort.