The Three Crowns: The Story of William a - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,13

every now and then glancing at Mary who sat with her sister Anne trying to interest her in writing her name. Anne was smiling as Mary guided her hand. She did not greatly care for the task, but she loved to be with Mary and tried to do all she could to please her and their heads were close together as they bent over the table.

“There were such crowds,” whispered Elizabeth. “They were going to kill him. And they would have … if he had not promised them wine at the funeral.”

“It would have served him right,” put in Katherine.

“Oh no, it wouldn’t. It wasn’t his fault. He was just angry.”

“But if he poisoned her …”

“Don’t talk so loudly.” Significant glances were sent toward the Princesses at the table. Anne did not hear them; the tip of her tongue slightly protruded from the corner of her mouth showed that she was trying hard to do what was expected of her. Mary was listening intently, because she knew by the tone of Elizabeth’s voice that she was talking of something which was unpleasant and which in some obscure way, concerned her, Mary. “Our mother would punish you if she knew you talked of such matters … especially …” A quick look in the direction of the two at the table.

So it is before us, that she must not speak of this, thought Mary.

“If a wife takes a lover,” went on Elizabeth speaking very distinctly, “her husband has a right to poison her, even if …”

“But the people are angry that he poisoned her?”

“Don’t interrupt. Even if her lover was … someone in a high position.”

“But if …”

“Katherine! You know you must not speak of it … here.”

Mary leaned over her sister so that Anne’s soft hair caressed her cheek. How happy she would be, she thought then, if there was no one in her nursery but her dear sister. They could have been happy together—perhaps Barbara might stay with them. Barbara was the Villiers girl she liked best, and was more gentle than the others.

“No, Anne,” she said, “that is not good. Just look at that second ‘n’.”

Anne put her head on one side and smiled adoringly at her sister.

“You do it, Mary. You do it so beautifully.”

Mary wrote “Anne” firmly in the script of which she was rather proud.

“It’s a much nicer name when you write it,” commented Anne, snuggling close to her sister. “I don’t think I should learn to write it when you do it so well.”

“Oh, Anne, you are lazy!”

The Villiers girls were still whispering together; but Mary wanted to go on laughing with Anne; she wanted to shut her ears for fear she heard so much of what they were saying that she understood. She was sure it was unpleasant.

The Duchess of York was a proud woman. The passion which had inspired the Duke to shut his eyes to all obstacles when he married her, had perhaps made her expect too much from their marriage. She had certainly gained a great deal for, as wife to the heir presumptive, she was a powerful woman and as it was said that she led the Duke by the nose in all things but his codpiece, her significance was accepted by all.

But her pride was deeply wounded by his constant love affairs. She was a fool to expect fidelity perhaps; but he might have used a little discretion. Of all his mistresses there was one who stood most firmly in his affections; and it was this very firmness which infuriated Anne. Arabella Churchill was a woman to be reckoned with. She was ambitious, Anne was sure; and the fact that she was no real beauty, made her all the more to be feared.

Lady Southesk, Anne had forgiven him. The woman had, as Anne had remarked cuttingly to her husband, “passed through the hands of so many gentlemen that she must be slightly soiled by now.” Anne would not demean herself by showing jealousy of such a creature whose powers to amuse must surely be short-lived.

Frances Jennings had succeeded in giving Anne a few anxious moments when the slut deliberately dropped the Duke’s love letters to her at the feet of the Duchess. There was Elizabeth Hamilton and of course Margaret Denham who had come to an end which was unfortunate for her; but none of these worried the Duchess as the Churchill woman did. She was ambitious that one; already she had induced James to look after her family.