The Three Crowns: The Story of William a - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,7
firm.”
“I am sure you will, my dear,” her husband answered.
“In fact,” went on Lady Frances, “I shall speak to Elizabeth without delay.”
She sent one of her maids to find her eldest daughter and when Elizabeth stood before her she surveyed her with a certain uneasiness. Elizabeth was disquieting. Although only ten years old, she seemed already wise; she would be the eldest in the royal nursery and for that reason, as well as because of her character, would attempt to take charge.
“Elizabeth,” said her mother somewhat peevishly. “Stand up straight. Don’t slouch.”
Elizabeth obeyed. She was graceful, but there was a cast in her eyes which gave her a sharp yet sly look.
“The Lady Mary and the Lady Anne will soon be arriving. I trust you realize the honor which the Duke and Duchess are bestowing on you by allowing you to be their companion.”
“Is it an honor?” asked Elizabeth.
Yes, she was sharp, alert, and a little insolent.
“You are foolish. It is a great honor as you know well. You know the position of the Lady Mary.”
“She is only a little girl … years younger than I.”
“Now you are indeed talking like a child. The King is without heirs; the Lady Mary is the Duke’s eldest daughter and he has no son. If the King has no children and the Duke no son, the Lady Mary could be Queen.”
“But the King has sons, and they say …”
“Have done,” said Lady Frances sharply. “You must remember that you are in the royal service.”
“But I do not understand. We are the Villiers.”
“Then you are more foolish than I thought. Even a child of your age should know that every family however important must take second place to royalty.”
“Yet they say that my cousin Barbara Villiers is more important than Queen Catherine.”
She was indeed sly? And how old? Not eleven yet. Lady Frances thought that a whipping might be good for Miss Elizabeth. She would see.
“You may go now,” she said. “But remember what I have said. I should like you and the Lady Mary to be friends. Friendships made in childhood can last a lifetime. It is a good thing to remember.”
“I will remember it,” Elizabeth assured her.
Lady Frances, her daughters ranged about her, greeted the Princesses as they entered the Palace.
She knelt and put her arms about them. “Let us forget ceremony for this occasion,” she cried. “Welcome, my Lady Mary and my Lady Anne. I think we are going to be very happy together as one big family.”
Mary thought they would be a very large family. There were six daughters of Lady Frances: Elizabeth, Katherine, Barbara, Anne, Henrietta, and Mary. Barbara Villiers was a name Mary had often heard whispered; but she did not believe that this little girl was that Barbara whose name could make people lower their voices and smile secretively.
Lady Frances took her by the hand and showed her her apartments. Anne’s she was relieved to find were next to her own. Lady Frances seemed kind but Mary wanted to be back in York with her own mother and the possibility of her father’s coming any day; she was disturbed because she sensed change, and she did not like it. Anne was not in the least worried; she believed that she would be petted and pampered in Richmond as she had been in York.
Mary was not so sure. She was constantly aware of Elizabeth Villiers, who was so much older than she was, seemed so much wiser, and was continually watching her, she was sure, in a critical manner.
Those days became faintly uneasy; and it was mainly due to Elizabeth Villiers.
Supper was being prepared in the King’s apartments. Barbara Villiers, Lady Castlemaine, would be his chief guest; Rochester, Sedley, and the rest would be present; and it would be one of those occasions on which the King could indulge his wit, and afterward they would all leave except Barbara with whom he would spend the night. A pleasant prospect, particularly for a man who had known exile.
It had been said that “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” he ruminated, which was true enough. Not that he was a man to worry unduly. He had had enough of cares and intended to enjoy life, but there was one anxiety which haunted him; he had made a declaration never, if he could help it, to go a-wandering again, and there had been more determination and sincerity behind that declaration than there often was in his utterances.