now this terrible plague. Why if our Duke and Duchess were to have a boy, do you realize he could be King of England? Imagine us. In the nursery of the King of England.”
“And if they shouldn’t and the King not either … well, then, our little Lady Mary would be Queen.”
They stared at the children with fresh respect.
The one grimaced. “That’s if we all survive this terrible plague.”
“Oh, we’re safe enough in Twickenham.”
A third woman joined them. It was obvious from her expression that she brought news which she knew was of the greatest importance.
“Haven’t you heard. Yesterday one of the stewards complained of pains. He’d been to the City.”
“No! How is he now?”
“I heard that he was most unwell.”
The two women looked at each other in dismay; the shadow of the plague had come to pleasant Twickenham.
That night the steward died, and the next day two more of the Earl of Clarendon’s servants fell sick. Within a few days they too were dead. Twickenham was no longer a refuge. The plague had discovered it.
When the Duke and Duchess came in haste to Twickenham there was a tremor of excitement all through the house. The Duke went straight into the nursery and picking up Mary kissed her tenderly before looking earnestly into her face.
“My little daughter is well?” he asked anxiously. “Quite well?”
“Your Grace,” said her nurse, “the Lady Mary is in excellent health.”
“And her sister?”
“The Lady Anne also.”
“Begin preparations without delay. I wish to leave within the hour.”
The Duchess was fondling Anne, feeling in the pockets of her gown for a sweetmeat to pop into that ever ready mouth.
“Well, there is no time to be lost,” said the Duke.
He looked at the Duchess who had sat down heavily with Anne on her knee. She held out her arms for Mary who ran to her and was embraced while her Mother asked questions about her daughter’s lessons. But Mary sensed that she was not really listening to the answers.
The Duke watched his wife and their two daughters, and in spite of his anxiety and the need to hurry he had time to remind himself that he was pleased with his marriage. Not that he was a faithful husband. Charles was furious with him at the moment, because he had tried to seduce Miss Frances Stuart whom Charles’s roving eyes had selected for his own. There was not much luck in that direction, either for himself or Charles, he feared. Arabella Churchill was more amenable, so was Margaret Denham. Ah, Margaret! She was an enchanting creature. Eighteen years old and recently married to Sir John Denham who must have been over fifty and looked seventy. Denham was furious on account of this liaison, but what could he expect? The King had set the tone at Court, so no one expected his brother to live the monogamous life of a virtuous married man.
Anne objected of course, but mildly. Anne was clever; her only folly seemed to be her over-indulgence at the table. Nor was her desire to gratify a perpetual hunger obvious at the table only. In her apartments there were boxes of sweets in most drawers and on tables so that she found them at her elbow wherever she happened to be.
He had not been so unwise after all when he married Clarendon’s daughter, although Clarendon was fast falling out of favor. Poor old man! He had suffered real terror at the time of the marriage and now declared that his fortunes had begun to sink ever since his headstrong daughter had married the heir presumptive to the throne.
Anne had been upbraiding him for blatantly indulging in his affair with Margaret Denham when news had reached them of the outbreak of plague in Twickenham. That had sobered them both. Of what importance was her obesity, greed, and dominating ways, or his unfaithfulness compared with the safety of their children!
Perhaps more than anything in the world, he mused, he loved his elder daughter.
“Mary,” he said, “come here, my child.”
He noticed with pleasure how eagerly she came to him.
“My darling,” he said, “you are a big girl now, old enough to understand a great many things.”
He lifted her on to his knee. She was delighted by the satin of his coat, the lace ruffles at his neck and sleeve, his long dark curls which seemed all the more wonderful because they could be taken off and put on a stand.
“We are going away, Mary.”
“Now?”
“We are leaving in an hour. You will like