Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughter Page 0,52

responsible; she must not forget the wickedness of the warming-pan incident. It was thoughts of Sedgemoor which hardened her heart; it had always been so. After that William had had little difficulty in turning her against her father. When she thought of Jemmy, holding her hand in the dance, his dark eyes aflame with … not passionate love, but could she say passionate friendship? … when she thought of that charming head being severed from that handsome body, at the command of her father, then she could hate him. James, Duke of Monmouth, the most handsome man in the world (for admirable as William was even she could not call him handsome) had come to The Hague, had danced as only he could dance, had taught her to skate … and those had been days which seemed apart from all others. But Jemmy was dead and James had killed him.

My father killed Jemmy. That was what she had to keep saying; and then a fierce anger destroyed her calmness and she knew that she would walk into the palace where her father and stepmother had recently lived and she could laugh and be gay and say to herself: He deserves his misery … for what he did to beautiful Jemmy.

“Your Highness, we should be preparing to land.”

Elizabeth Villiers stood beside her, smiling her discreet smile, those peculiar eyes, with what some called a squint, downcast.

Mary bowed her head and wondered whether when they stepped ashore William would be more aware of Elizabeth than of her. Oh, no, he would be watching his wife, making sure that her expression was what he had commanded it to be, that she gave no sign of uneasiness because she was coming to take her father’s crown. Matters of state would come before any mistress.

But Elizabeth was there and Mary believed in that moment that she always would be. Why? she asked herself passionately. What can she give that I cannot? But who could probe the strange powers of attraction?

A crowd was gathered at the landing stairs, but William was not among them. That was characteristic. He could make no gracious gestures. He would wait and receive her formally at the Palace of Whitehall, to remind her perhaps that although she was the Queen of England, he was the King.

Elizabeth had slipped the cloak from her shoulders and handed it to a page; it seemed to weigh the boy down so voluminous was it with its hanging sleeves and its vivid orange color. The people wanted to see her and she was a handsome sight, for she would have been a very beautiful woman had she not grown so fat. She removed her hood that they might see her face and she stood, tall, stately, and smiling. Her bodice, low cut partly exposing a magnificent bosom, was draped with fine muslin looped with pearls; beneath her purple velvet gown was an orange petticoat which, as she lifted her skirts, showed its flamboyantly symbolic color. Her dark hair was piled high and adorned with agraffes of pearls and ribbons in the same color as the petticoat. She was a magnificent sight: a queen in her glory. Those watching thought: She will be decorative enough to make up for dull William.

Formally she was greeted by the officials of the Court; then she was led to her waiting horse by her Master of Horse, Sir Edward Villiers, as young girls strewed flowers in her path.

A colorful homecoming.

Anne was waiting with Sarah at Greenwich Palace.

Anne was excited at the prospect of meeting her sister. Sarah was alert. Mary had already shown signs of animosity and Sarah felt she would need to be careful. Anne looked enormous, she was pregnant again, but quite attractive in her excitement apart from her bulk, and beside her was her husband, fat and genial.

Sarah was thinking that life would be more complicated now that the two sisters would be together.

As the Queen approached her eyes immediately sought her sister and when she did so, she could not restrain her pleasure.

There could be no ceremony at such a meeting. Mary dismounted and held out her arms and they embraced.

“My dearest Anne!”

“Oh … Your Majesty … you are that now, are you not, now that our father is gone …”

Mary said: “It is wonderful to see you. This meeting is something I have been anticipating for so long.”

“To think you will be home again! It is quite wonderful.”

“And you have been good, dear sister. William appreciates