The Three Crowns: The Story of William a - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,95

as she supposed it was never completely happy. From the day of her arrival she had sensed the approval of her husband’s subjects. She was so much more friendly than William, and the people liked it, while at the same time she had a natural dignity and air of royalty which appealed to them. She walked beside her husband with a meekness which was apparent; and she was attractive; her dark hair and eyes being unusual in this land of the flaxen-haired; she danced exquisitely and played delightfully on the harpsichord, viol, and lute. The people clearly believed that their Prince had made a worthy match; and since she was the heiress to the English throne—for the little boy who had “disappointed the marriage” had died shortly after his birth—she was very welcome in Holland.

Mary sensed this and it helped her to settle down more happily.

The cleanliness of her new country delighted her, for after the shabbiness of St. James’s and Whitehall the palaces were magnificent. There were three at The Hague. The Hague itself, the Old Court, and the Palace in the Wood. It was at this last that Mary had taken up residence and to her surprise she quickly grew to love the place which was situated about a mile from The Hague in one of the most beautiful settings Mary had ever seen, surrounded by oak trees and magnificent gardens.

To compare these palaces with those at home surprised her, because her husband’s were so much more modern than those of her uncle. The murals were exquisite and the domed ceiling of the ballroom with its Vandycks was fascinating. In all the palaces there were pictures and some of these represented Mary’s intimate relations. Her aunt, William’s mother, was there; and there was one which delighted her of her martyred ancestor Charles I portrayed trampling on anarchy. There were portraits naturally of William the Silent, the Dutch hero; and when Mary heard stories of his greatness she thought he was very like her husband who bore the same name and could, as reasonably, have been given the title of Silent.

Her husband was a man of ideals. That she must accept. When she listened to stories of William the Silent she began to picture her husband as the hero of them. This pleased her; and she found that William was often in her thoughts—not so much the brusque indifferent husband of reality, but the hero, the idealist, who, because he was so concerned with righting the wrongs of his country, had little time to become a romantic lover.

The little group sat over their needlework, and they were all occupied with their own thoughts.

Mary was thinking of home and wondering what her sister was doing. Talking, she guessed, with Sarah Jennings. Perhaps writing to Frances, her dear Semandra. Mary was momentarily jealous. Lucky Anne to be so near the loved one.

She glanced away from her needlework, for her eyes often tired her and although she loved to do fine work she did feel the need to rest continually.

Elizabeth Villiers was smiling at the pattern of her tapestry as though she found it slightly amusing. She had changed since she had come to Holland. The death of her mother has made her more gentle, thought Mary.

Then there was Elizabeth’s sister Anne, who had always been gentle—so different from Elizabeth—meek and kind. There was Jane Wroth and dear Anne Trelawny. Were they dreaming of home as they worked?

She would have been surprised if she could have read their thoughts, for Mary was inclined to endow others with her own innocence.

Anne Villiers was thinking of William Bentinck, who had begun to show that he was interested in her. She had been interested in him from the moment she had first seen him. Anne Trelawny was telling herself that the Princess was being badly treated by her boor of a husband. Caliban! Anne secretly called him, a name given him by Sarah Jennings before they left England. Anne loved Mary dearly; every time she saw the tears start to her eyes she felt furiously angry; and it occurred to her that someone ought to tell them at home how badly her husband behaved toward her.

Jane Wroth was dreaming of her lover William Henry Zuylestein who but a few weeks before had succeeded in seducing her. He had promised to marry her and she was wondering whether he would, because it was doubtful if here in Holland they would consider the daughter of Sir Henry