The Three Crowns: The Story of William a - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,15
of murder.”
“Oh, come, that suggestion is not serious.”
“Adultery. Lechery. They are to be expected in this Court. In fact, if one is not a lecher or an adulterer one is considered old-fashioned, behind the times. But murder has not yet been judged a virtue.”
“Anne, be calm.”
“I do not feel calm.”
“We cannot talk with ease until you do.”
“And you would rather leave me until I am calm? That is a good excuse. You would rather be off with that sly-eyed Churchill woman. Very well, go to her. I’ll warrant she has thought up some new request to ask of you in exchange for her favors.”
“Is that what Sidney did? What did you have to grant him for his?”
“You are insulting.”
“And are you not?”
“I have reason to be. Oh, you make a great show of being an irate husband. Banishing poor Sidney from the Court. It was such a shocking thing he did. Smiled at your wife. Showed her some pity because she must continually suffer the degradation of her husband’s infidelities paraded daily before the Court under her very nose with little regard for her feelings …”
In the anteroom Mary listened. She did not want to listen; but her father had forgotten that the door through which she had gone led only to the anteroom and once there, there was no escape.
She wished they would not talk so loudly. As she listened she kept seeing Elizabeth Villiers’s sly face. Elizabeth was right then. There was a shocking scandal about her father and her mother.
It was so hard to believe. A short while ago he had been laughing with her; she had sat on his knee and he had been telling her stories of his adventures as he loved to. Now he was quite different. She could not believe that the kind and gentle man was the same one who was shouting at her mother. To discover that people could change so quickly was alarming; it made the world seem an insecure place.
She did not want to hear their quarrels; she did not want to know of them; she wanted to live in a world where there were only herself and her sister Anne, where everything was pleasant and comfortable, and there were no grown up people with their sly furtive secrets which she only half understood.
She was afraid that one of them would come into the anteroom and find her there. She would not be blamed because they rarely blamed her, they were always kind to her; it seemed that it was only to each other that they were unkind. But she knew instinctively that they would be upset if they knew she had overheard their conversation, and that was why she remained.
After a long time they seemed to tire of the quarrel. She heard the door open and shut, and she wondered whether her father was now alone.
She opened the door of the anteroom cautiously and looked out. With great relief, seeing that the apartment was empty, she tiptoed away.
A postmortem showed that there was no poison in Margaret Denham’s body but the rumors still persisted and many were certain that the Duchess of York had murdered her for jealousy.
Sir John Denham continued to write his pieces which gave pleasure to certain members of the Court. It was beginning to be said that the affairs of the Duke of York were as notorious, though not nearly so skillfully managed, as those of his brother.
FAITH AND DEATH
It was the thirtieth of January, a very solemn day for members of the royal family and therefore throughout England.
Mary knelt on the window seat watching the snowflakes falling down. Every now and then the bells could be heard. All over the country they were tolling for Charles the Martyr.
Mary did not know why her grandfather was a martyr; she only knew that she had to be very solemn when she spoke of him. Her father’s eyes grew very bright when he mentioned Charles the Martyr; and she did not like to ask questions because it saddened him to talk of the subject. She had heard whisperings about the Dreadful Day. In Whitehall she averted her eyes at a certain place because that was where it had happened. It was a dreadful shadow which hung over the family, and which must never be mentioned all the year, only on that cold and dismal day which was the thirtieth of January.
Mary breathed on the glass and rubbed a hole in the mist. It was very cold