The Three Crowns: The Story of William a - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,19

Elizabeth was not important now that Cousin Jemmy was her friend, and that made her very happy. Whenever she was frightened or bewildered she would remember Jemmy; perhaps she could tell him what puzzled her and she was sure he would always be able to explain it.

Jemmy took her hands and twirled her round; she was laughing and a little breathless but so happy.

She was thinking how different everything seemed since he had come; as for Monmouth, he was asking himself why they had not married him to Mary. If Charles had no legitimate heirs and James’s sickly boys died, this girl could one day be Queen. If he had been her husband would they have been ready to waive his illegitimacy?

This thought made him warm toward the enchanting little creature who so adored him.

When James, Duke of York, entered the apartment, he saw the Duke of Monmouth dancing with his daughter, and Mary so evidently enjoying the boy’s company. There was nothing which could have endeared him more to his nephew than this friendliness toward his favorite daughter.

Monmouth felt that visit to Richmond was well worthwhile. Effortlessly he had made peace with James; and it was pleasant to be adored by the Lady Mary of York who could, in certain circumstances, become the Queen of England.

The Duchess of York lay on her bed, where she now spent a good deal of her time. Many thought her indolent physically, although mentally alert. She was growing more and more unwieldy and she knew that she would continue so unless she cut down the consumption of sweet things. A cup of chocolate! How soothing to the nerves! How comforting the hot sweet drink which helped to divert the thoughts from the dull nagging pain which she was feeling more and more frequently in her left breast.

She was afraid of that pain; it had been slight at first—just a twinge which she had felt for the first time during a Court Levee; she had forgotten it until a month or so later when she had felt it again. Now scarcely a day passed when she was not given a twinge to remind her that all was not well.

When one was young it was natural to believe that one would live forever. Death seemed so far away as to be an event which overtook others; but recurring pain brought death nearer, and to contemplate death meant that one grew more and more concerned with the hereafter. She was beginning to believe that the Catholic Faith was the true one.

For this reason she often slipped out of the Palace of Whitehall or Richmond or wherever she should happen to be to visit Father Hunt, a Franciscan who talked with her, gently and persuasively and after each meeting with the friar she felt closer to Catholicism.

It was dangerous. The people of England were firmly Protestant. The memory of the Smithfield fires was too recent; and some old men had heard their fathers talk of those days when the island had been under the shadow of an attack from Spain, when it had been feared that the ships of the Armada, which were being assembled to attack England, came not only with guns and weapons of war but the rack and all the Inquisition’s instruments of torture. “Never shall the Inquisition come to these shores!” said the English; “The Church of England for us. No popery!” The Sovereign of England was head of the English Church and the English wanted no direction from Rome.

It was a dangerous matter therefore when the wife of the man who might well be the King of England should become a Catholic. Yet, if one believed one had discovered the truth, what was to be done? Worship in secret was the answer—as thousands were doubtless doing at this time.

A difficult problem, but at least one which turned her mind from the nagging pain in her breast.

She wanted to talk with James of her religious feelings and wanted to share this new experience with him, for she believed that he, like herself, would find much to attract him in Rome. But she was uncertain and this was a dangerous matter.

Her women came in to help her to bed. Indolently she allowed them to disrobe her and put on her night clothes. She lay lazily on her bed when they had left her, thinking of the meeting with Father Hunt tomorrow, and the points she would raise with him; and at the same time