There was a great deal of activity going on at the supper parties. Elizabeth Villiers was still hostess at these affairs and I was astonished that she should be in such prominence even when William was there. But he did not seem to notice her presumption. I had even seen him talking to her when she joined him and some of the English visitors.

As for myself, I was gaining confidence. I had proved to myself that I could stand up to William and I felt better for it.

I had a feeling at those parties which I attended, that they were all very much aware of my presence and that it put a curb upon them. Perhaps that was just a fancy, for how could I know what they were like in my absence? Perhaps I imagined that there was a watchfulness.

On one occasion, soon after my father and Mary Beatrice had left, I noticed a man who stood out among the others because he was so different. He did not look like a man accustomed to court ways. I guessed him to be English and he was deep in conversation with Sidney. Sunderland joined them and they all talked together very earnestly.

I called Betty Selbourne to my side. She seemed to know everyone and was noted for her discretion.

I said to her: “Who is that man talking to Lord Sunderland?”

She paused for a moment and then replied: “I could not remember for the moment, but I do now. I believe him to be a Mr. William Bedloe.”

“Who is he?”

“I do not know, Your Highness. I have not met him. I think he came over with a message for Lord Russell.”

“Bedloe,” I murmured. I thought the name seemed faintly familiar.

“Would Your Highness like him to be presented to you?”

I looked at the man’s mean face and awkward bearing.

“No, Betty,” I said. “I think not.”

It was later, when I lay in bed, sleepless, thinking of my father and poor Queen Catherine, when I remembered where I had heard the name before. “Titus Oates and his friends — Tonge and Bedloe.”

My suspicions were beginning to be formed. William Bedloe was a confederate of Titus Oates.

What were these men who were plotting to ruin the Queen and my father doing here at The Hague? The answer was clear: my father was going to be robbed of his inheritance and William, through me, was going to take the crown of England.

I felt sick with horror. I wanted no part in it. I wanted to break away from it all.

How could my father have plunged us all into this morass of intrigue and misery?

And William? How much was he involved in it?


* * *

I HAD BEEN HORRIBLY SHOCKED that a man concerned in the popish plot with Titus Oates should be received at the court of The Hague, and even more so by a discovery I made soon afterward.

I was really fortunate in having in my service that rather feckless pair Betty Selbourne and Jane Wroth, for I learned a great deal from little details which they thoughtlessly let slip from time to time in their everyday tittle-tattle. Anne Trelawny was discreet and always concerned not to alarm me, and I believe she kept from me any news which she thought might do so.

Some reference was made to my father’s visit, and Jane said: “It was the day before his illness.”

“His illness?” I asked. “What was that?”

Betty was there too and she and Jane exchanged glances.

Betty said: “Oh, it was nothing much. It quickly passed. It was a day or so before he left.”

“Why did I know nothing of this? What sort of illness?”

“It was of no importance,” said Betty. “I suppose he did not want to worry Your Highness.”

“If it were of no importance, how could it worry me?”

They were both silent and I went on: “How did you know of it?”

“People were talking about it,” said Jane. “Your Highness knows how people will talk. The Duchess was so anxious.”

I knew there was something mysterious about this illness and, instead of gently urging them to talk and eventually prizing the news from them, I said imperiously: “I want to know the truth. Please tell me immediately.”

I could see the expressions on their faces. There was no help for it. They must tell me.

“Well,” said Betty. “It was just before the Duke and Duchess left. The Duke was troubled in the night with sickness and gripping pains — so they said.”

“Why did I not know of this?”

“We were told not to speak of it. We should not have mentioned it.”

“But I insist on knowing,” I reminded her. “Go on.”

“The Duchess was very worried. Their servants were there. They thought he was . . .”

I found I was clenching my fists. It was hard to control my dismay and alarm.

“What caused it?” I demanded.

Again that exchange of a glance between the two young women.

“It must have been something he had eaten at supper,” said Jane.

“But he was much better in the morning,” added Betty. “And then, of course, he left for Brussels.”

“Why was this kept from me?”

“Your Highness was recovering from your own illness. The Prince had given orders that you were not to be worried. It was just that your father was briefly indisposed.”

“And my father left almost immediately and instructions were given not to tell me.”

“No one was supposed to mention it, for it would seem as though the cooks did not know their business.”

“And you ladies were told not to mention it? By whom?”

“It was Elizabeth. She is the one who says what we must do or not do now.”

I was very disturbed. Had they tried to kill my father? Those men who assembled for the supper parties were his enemies. They wanted to see him removed to make way for William.

And William? I could not believe that such a religious man would contemplate ... murder.


* * *

I WAS ASHAMED OF MYSELF for entertaining for a moment such a thought of my husband. William was stern, unbending, overwhelmingly ambitious, but he would never be a party to murder — and the murder of his father-in-law.

I felt I wanted to make up for such an unworthy thought.

My attitude toward my father had changed a little. There were those who called him a fool and my uncle was one of them. I had heard that the King had said of him: “The people will never get rid of me, because if they did they would have to have James. That is something they would not want. I doubt he would last four years on the throne.”

My poor misguided father. Such a good man, he was, apart from that lechery which he shared with his brother; but he could be foolish in the extreme.

It surprised me that I could think this of one whom I had idolized for so long. I began to wonder if I were seeing him through William’s eyes.

I was very eager for news of what was happening in Brussels, and I was overjoyed when I heard that my half-sister, the little Isabella, and my sister Anne were going to Brussels to stay with my father for a while.

This appeared to be a great concession, for previously Anne had not been allowed to go with him for fear he should attempt to make a Catholic of her; and I wondered if the feeling in England was less fanatical than it had been, though I still heard that people were being accused by Titus Oates, arrested, tried for treason and executed. Moreover, my father was still in exile; but the fact that Anne was allowed to visit him in Brussels did seem a good omen.

When they arrived they wanted to come and see me. I was very eager that they should do so, and it was arranged. Once again, it would not be a state visit, for, in view of my father’s position as an exile, that would be undiplomatic. I think William was loath to receive him, wondering what effect this would have when the news reached England that the exiled Duke had been received at The Hague.

My husband was in a delicate position. He was certain now that I would be Queen and he, as my consort, would share the throne. No, not consort. If I were Queen, he would insist on being King. After all, he had a claim in his own right. But he had to remember the importance of my position. He had certainly changed toward me since I had begun to show a little spirit.

So I wanted to see my family and he could not deny me that. Nor did he wish to make his ambitions too plain. He had a difficult path to tread.

So they came and he greeted them with a certain amount of warmth. As for myself, I was overcome with joy. We embraced and clung together, mingling our tears. We Stuarts have a streak of sentiment in our natures.

There was one irritation. Anne had brought Sarah Churchill in her suite and as Sarah had refused to be parted from her husband, Colonel Churchill was of the party.

Anne was growing up. She was nearly as old now as I had been at the time of my marriage. So far there had been no one selected for her and she was blithely unconcerned, and she doted on Sarah; she seemed completely subservient to her. It was, still “Sarah says this . . .” “Sarah does it this way... .” I was tired of Sarah. Anne seemed unable to make a decision without her. But then she had always been too lazy to make decisions.

Sarah was quick to see my irritation with her and she was too autocratic to accept it. I wondered what John Churchill thought of his wife, for I was sure she attempted to control him as she did Anne. I was amazed when I saw them together, for he seemed almost slavishly devoted.

Anne said: “Oh, Sarah is so clever. I am not surprised that he is her devoted slave.”

“Does she seek to make you one?” I asked.

Anne blinked at me with her shortsighted eyes. “How could she? She is my attendant.”