Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughter Page 0,119

was so unfair to Sarah who thought only of her comfort. But what to do about this Mrs. Pack? The woman was a spy for the Queen. There would always be spies. If you were rid of one, others took their places. That was why Barbara Fitzharding had remained. She was a good governess to Anne’s boy even though she did report everything to her sister. There must always be spies.

“Pack must pack,” said Sarah facetiously.

But Anne shook her head. “My boy wouldn’t like that. Remember she fed him. I shall never forget the day she came to the nursery. Dear Mr. Morley and I were breaking our hearts because we thought we were going to lose our boy.”

“My dear Mrs. Morley, because Pack was a good wet nurse that does not mean that she should be allowed to spy on your household.”

“The boy is fond of her.”

“Then you will not let her go?”

“I do not care to make a hasty decision on such a matter.” Sarah was quite obviously angry, but Anne was firm.

It was Mrs. Pack who made the decision. She had been found out and she guessed her usefulness was at an end. She told the Queen what had happened and Mary gave Mr. Pack a place in the Custom House which Mrs. Pack gratefully accepted on his behalf. Then Mrs. Pack addressed herself to Anne.

“Madam,” she said, “I am begging leave to retire as the Duke is now growing too old for a nurse and I find my health failing me.”

Anne was pleased. This gave her an opportunity of pleasing Sarah without upsetting a woman to whom she must always be grateful, so she settled an annuity of forty pounds a year on Mrs. Pack who went to join her husband and family at Deptford.

It was true that Mrs. Pack’s health was not as good as it had once been; and the Deptford air did not suit her as Kensington had.

Only a few weeks after she had left she caught the small pox.

The Duke of Gloucester who had been distressed when she left was even more so when he heard that she was ill. He wanted to visit her, but when this was forbidden, he sent messengers each day to inquire for her health.

He was noticeably less exuberant than he had been; and the attendants said that there was a closeness between a wet nurse and a child she had suckled which nothing could break.

The Duke of Gloucester stood staring disconsolately out of the window. Several of his attendants noticed that he had been quiet that day.

Mrs. Wanley, one of the women of the household, asked him if he were feeling ill.

“No,” he told her; and continued to stare out of the window.

There was something odd about the child, yet at the same time lovable. He was so grown up in his mind and yet so physically delicate. Everyone in the household was constantly on the watch for a cold or an ague or fever.

“I know what,” said Mrs. Wanley; “you miss Mrs. Pack. You haven’t been the same since she went.”

He did not answer and she went on: “Poor Mrs. Pack. I always said the Deptford air wasn’t to be compared with this at Kensington. Why, she hadn’t been there a week when she took this small pox. Mind you, I haven’t heard that she’s got it badly …”

Gloucester said slowly: “Mrs. Pack will die tomorrow.”

Then he walked slowly out of the room.

Mrs. Wanley staring after him, murmured: “Lord have mercy on us!” and then shrugged her shoulders.

She remembered the remark the next day, though, for Gloucester did not send to Deptford as he had every day since he had heard of Mrs. Pack’s illness.

Lewis Jenkins, thinking that he had forgotten, reminded him.

“It is no use sending,” said Gloucester gravely, “for Mrs. Pack is dead.”

“Dead!” cried Lewis. “How do you know.”

“That is no matter,” answered Gloucester, “but I am sure she is dead.”

The entire household was discussing this strange incident and Jenkins, out of curiosity, sent a messenger to Deptford to find out the state of Mrs. Pack’s health.

When the messenger returned several of the servants were eagerly waiting for him.

“Mrs. Pack died today,” he said.

They looked at each other. The little Duke of Gloucester was strange in more ways than one.

Oddly enough now that Mrs. Pack was dead he ceased to grieve for her, and it was almost as though she had never existed.

Mary, hearing the story, was struck by the strangeness of her