Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughter Page 0,83
of the invader. The French were at her coast. Torrington was locked up with the fleet in the estuary of the Thames; and while the King was in Ireland the Jacobites, who may well have been waiting for this opportunity, could now rise—and who knew who would support them?—and bring back James.
Marlborough, thank God, was at hand. He could, better than any man, protect his country should an invasion be attempted—if he would. But what of Marlborough, who could, Mary was sure, jump this way and that with agility? It would depend of course on which attitude would best serve Marlborough.
She felt that she had reached the very depth of despair, but two events, following closely on one another, brought fresh hope; and she believed them to be an answer to her prayer.
She was in her apartments writing a letter to William—for her only solace was in writing to him—when the Countess of Derby came to tell her that the Earl of Shrewsbury was asking to see her.
As Charles Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury came into the room, Mary’s spirits lifted. He would have been extremely handsome—perhaps the handsomest man at Court, now Monmouth was gone—but for a blemish in one eye. Even so, he had been called “The King of Hearts”; it was said that women loved him on sight, but he had never taken advantage of that, being gentle and retiring. He would be faithful, Mary was sure, to a woman … or a cause.
His character had begun to show in his face for he was almost thirty now; gentleness blended well with the features which could almost be called beautiful; delicacy was there; his enemies might call it nervousness.
He did not enjoy good health, and this was the reason he had not been a member of the Council. Strange that an old man like Danby clung to office; and a young one like Shrewsbury pleaded ill health in order to stay out of it.
They had been children together for he was only a few years older than Mary, but there was a stronger bond than age and similar environment between them. When Mary had been a child she had constantly heard scandals about her father’s affairs with women and there was one—the case of Margaret Denham whose husband had murdered her because of her association with James—which had shocked her deeply. Shrewsbury had suffered a similar shock when his mother’s lover, the Duke of Buckingham had killed his father in a duel because of his mother; and then created a scandal by living openly with her.
Both Shrewsbury and Mary had been deeply affected by the adulterous intrigues of their parents. Mary had sought companions of her own sex until marriage with William had made her build up an ideal so that she convinced herself that she adored her husband. Shrewsbury wanted to shrink from the world of intrigue and responsibility, which was difficult for a man in his position. He had become abnormally interested in his health and whenever a situation from which he flinched arose he would invariably become ill and make this the excuse of his retirement from it.
This was what had happened when William announced his intention of leaving England for Ireland. Shrewsbury, contemplating those who would have been his fellow councillors, had no wish to be in office; and to the chagrin of William and the disappointment of Mary he had pleaded “the comfortless prospect of very ill health.”
And now here he was, looking serious but determined; and the most attractive man Mary had seen—since she last saw him.
“Charles!” she cried affectionately.
He knelt. “Your Majesty.”
“Rise and welcome. I am pleased to see you. You are in better health?”
“Your Majesty, I could not lie abed while you are in such straits. I have come to offer you my services in whatever capacity you wish to use them.”
She began to smile; she was beautiful when animated and as the strain of the last days dropped from her she was young again.
“That makes me very happy,” she said. “I have great need of friends whom I can trust.”
Meanwhile William had arrived in Ireland. He was more melancholy than usual, for the climate did not suit his health, being even more damp than that of England. He said grimly to the Earl of Portland, who had been Bentinck, that he would give much to be back in London, even Whitehall; and having tested this climate he wondered why he had ever cursed the other.