The Three Crowns: The Story of William a - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,2

he was ready to sacrifice his daughter!

There had been one who had taken the situation more lightly, and it was fortunate for her that he was the most powerful of them all. The marriage was made, said Charles, with a shrug; his sister-in-law was an intelligent woman; James wanted her for his wife. Let the matter rest there.

He was ready to embrace her and welcome her into the family.

She smiled now, thinking of him, with his clever, swarthy face, ready to light up with appreciation for a handsome woman, or to give a kind and careless smile to any who wanted it.

It was small wonder that Anne’s thoughts went back to that time of terror now that she was to bear another child. She remembered lying in her sickbed after her confinement when the news had been brought to her that her husband was in a state of frenzy because he had heard a rumor that the child was not his. Sir Charles Berkeley, the Captain of her husband’s guard, had declared that he was the father, that he was ready to claim it and make Anne his wife.

How she had hated the lying Berkeley! He had desired her and because she had refused his attentions, this was his revenge. So distressed had she been that her attendants had feared for her life; and in her despair she had begged the Bishop of Winchester to come to her, and before him and the Duchess of Ormonde she had taken a solemn vow swearing that Berkeley had never been her lover and that the father of her child was James, Duke of York. She might have died then; she would always believe that she had been near to death; but into her bedchamber had come the King, his smile kind, his eyes troubled and she knew that he was thinking: “God’s fish, what does my brother see in this woman!” But with what gratitude did she kiss the long white fingers which were held out to her.

“Never fear, sister. You have been wronged, but we’ll put the scandalizers to shame.” And because he had stood beside her, events had turned in her favor. “Get well,” he commanded, “and join us for the Christmas festivities.”

She had wondered what her reception would be. Because the King had shown her kindness, the Court would—publicly; but that virago, Henrietta-Maria, had insisted that she would not receive her, nor would the Princess of Orange; and they would have their followers. Moreover, James, beset by fears and suspicions, did not come near her, and that was the worst blow of all. She had often since wondered what would have happened if the Princess of Orange had not been struck down with the smallpox. She had died in December, just as the Christmas festivities were beginning; but on her deathbed she made a confession that she had slandered Anne Hyde; and Berkeley, fearing that she had betrayed his duplicity, had presented himself to James and confessed that he had lied.

Berkeley was subtle enough to make a good case for himself. “Your Highness,” he had pleaded, “I was anxious to serve you, and greatly fearing the effects of this marriage on your future, hastened to break it. I would have married the lady Anne and cared for the child for your sake. And it is because I see how heart-wounded you are that I make my confession.”

James was so delighted by this confession of devotion that, with typical Stuart good nature instead of taking revenge on Berkeley, he remembered how they had always stood together in battle and how firm their friendship had always been. He came rejoicing to Anne, begged her forgiveness forever doubting her; and all was well.

And now that child was dead, but she was about to bring another into the world.

But this child would arrive with little notoriety, for the King had a wife and all believed that in a year the marriage would be fruitful; and the child Anne Hyde was bearing on this April day would merely be the cousin of a King.

Now she must retire to her bed for the pains were beginning in earnest.

On the last day of April a daughter was born to the Duke and Duchess of York; she was christened Mary after her Aunt Mary of Orange and her ancestress, Mary Queen of Scots.

In the streets the bonfires burned and the people rejoiced; but it was not the birth of the little girl that the people were celebrating;