Reading between the lines of my father’s letters, I could see how wild his dreams were. He did not work toward his goal as William did — quietly, deviously, keeping his secrets; he did not plan with his mind but with his heart. He was fervently religious. I thought of my great grandfather, King Henri IV of France, the Huguenot, who changed his religion for the sake of peace. He must have been rather like my Uncle Charles in more ways than one. “Paris is worth a mass,” he said, and for that the people accepted him and his great reign began.

My father was a good man, an honest man; and why should I criticize him for that? I had loved him so dearly, but I could not help deploring what he was doing to his country. Then I would see Jemmy’s head ... that beautiful head which I had loved — bowed and bloody on the block; I could see my cousin as he pleaded with my father who had turned aside and left him to his fate.

My emotions were in turmoil.

It need not have been so, I kept saying to myself. What is a principle compared with the lives of people? I had read of the Spanish Inquisition and the torture and cruelty inflicted in the name of religion. Should we have that in England? No, never!

Gilbert advocated tolerance. He was right.

Meanwhile my father planned for me to be divorced from William that I might marry a Catholic husband. Then he planned that I should come to England and with my Catholic husband reign in that Catholic land which he had created. That should never be.

One day Gilbert came to me in some alarm.

“There is a plot to kidnap the Prince and take him to France,” he said. “Let us ask him to come to your apartments without delay. It will be quieter there. I want none to overhear this.”

William came. He greeted me with that mild show of affection which he had displayed since the coming of Gilbert, for whom he had a friendly word.

“Gilbert has disturbing news,” I told him.

William raised his eyebrows and turned to Gilbert.

“Your Highness,” said Gilbert, “is in the habit of riding on the sands at Scheveling for a little exercise in the evening.”

“That is so,” agreed William.

“You must not do it tomorrow.”

“I have arranged to do so. It is a favorite exercise.”

“Tomorrow your enemies plan to surround you. They will have a boat waiting to take you to France.”

William shrugged his shoulders. “I shall not allow them to do that.”

“You will be ill protected and they will be in force. Once they have you out of the country, they will not allow you to come back.”

“This is ridiculous,” said William. “Of course I shall not allow them to take me. I have work to do.”

“And Your Highness must be on hand to do it.”

I put my hand on William’s arm. “I want you to take the guards with you tomorrow,” I said.

He gave me a wry look. He could see the real concern in my face and I think he may have been touched, though he did not show that he was. Was he wondering why I should care what became of him after the way in which he had treated me? Many people would. I saw the corners of his lips turn up slightly.

“I think it is unnecessary,” he said.

“You must take the guards with you,” I entreated. “Please do.”

The expression on his face did not change as he turned to Gilbert and said: “Since my wife wishes it . . .”

Gilbert Burnet smiled and the outcome was that when William went riding on the Scheveling sands he took a bodyguard with him. It was fortunate that he did, for an ambush was lying in wait for him and made off with all speed when it was realized that the plan must have been discovered since he was accompanied by his guards.

Burnet’s warning had been timely and so had my request that William should take the guard.

This incident was an indication of my changing relationship with my husband. It also showed how far my father was prepared to go in order to get rid of William and replace him with a husband for me of his choosing.

The plan in itself made me angry. I did not wish to be buffeted from one marriage to another, to suit my father’s obsession. I was turning away from him and I could not explain how I felt about William, for I was not sure.


* * *

I LEARNED MORE ABOUT WHAT WAS HAPPENING in England and I could see that day by day my father was plunging deeper into disaster. He was determined to make England Catholic and the people were equally determined that he should not. Why could he not see what was happening? It appeared that he was adopting his father’s belief in the Divine Right of Kings. Had he forgotten that that had led to his father’s death?

Sir Jonathan Trelawny — a kinsman of Anne’s — was in conflict with him over the Declaration of Indulgence and was sent to the Tower. Seven bishops were on trial for seditious libel. In the Duchy of Cornwall they were singing:


And shall they scorn Tre Pol and Pen


And shall Trelawny die


Then twenty thousand Cornishmen


Will know the reason why.


These were pointers showing what was to come. Why could my father not see it? I believed he could and refused to. He was meant to be a martyr.

I was beginning to know him from this distance as I never had when I was near him. It was like looking at a painting. One must stand back to see the details clearly. Now, in place of that god-like creature was a weak man who must fall and take others with him because he would cling to a principle which had no roots in possibility.

He continued to write long letters to me, extolling the virtues of the Catholic faith. He was fanatically eager to carry me along with him.

He knew there was a Jesuit priest at The Hague — a certain Father Morgan — and he thought it would be edifying for me to meet him. He would be able to explain a great deal to me, said my father.

I saw immediately how dangerous this could be. If I were to invite the Jesuit to come to me, it would be commented on. I knew how such news traveled. It would be assumed that I was leaning toward my father’s faith.

Did he know this? Perhaps. He would do anything to make a Catholic of me and free me from my marriage so that I might make an alliance with a man of his choosing — an ardent Catholic, of course.

I felt angry with him. I had been forced into marriage in the first place, though I could not blame my father for that. I would make my own decision about my religion. I did not want to be freed from my marriage, though a few years earlier I might have welcomed it. But not now.

My father must know that if I were to see Father Morgan, it would be tantamount to a declaration that I was seriously considering the Catholic faith.

“I certainly would not see him,” I wrote.

I had an opportunity of speaking to William about it.

I saw the approval in his face and I felt a certain pleasure because I had won it.

“You are right,” he said. “You must not see this man.”

“Assuredly I will not,” I told him. “I hope there will be no rumors of a possible meeting. I thought I might write to someone of authority in England in case there have been rumors that this meeting might take place. Perhaps a bishop or archbishop to state my adherence to the Church of England.”

“Pray do that,” said William. “It is right that you should.”

Excited by his approbation, I wrote a letter to William Sancroft, the Archbishop of Canterbury, in which I set down my feelings, saying that although I had not had the advantage of meeting him, I wished to make it known to him that I took more interest in what concerned the Church of England than myself, and that it was one of the greatest satisfactions I could have to hear that all the clergy showed themselves to be firm in their religion which made me confident that God would preserve the Church since He had provided it with such able men.

In view of the conflict which had existed between my father and the Church of England, this was clearly saying on whose side I stood; and in view of my position as heir to the throne, it was of great significance.

When I showed the letter to William his smile was so warm that I fancied he looked at me with love. All it meant, of course, was that he no longer feared my defection to my father. I had now placed myself firmly beside William.


* * *

ONE DAY WHEN GILBERT BURNET WAS TALKING TO ME, he said suddenly: “It is not natural in a man to be subservient to his wife.”

I agreed. “It is clear from the scriptures that a woman should obey her husband,” I said.

“That is so,” went on Gilbert. Then he paused for a while before he went on: “It would seem from events in England that the day of reckoning is not far off.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” I asked.

“I think they will not have King James much longer.”

“They must not harm him,” I said. “Perhaps he will go into a monastery.” I paused, thinking of his mistresses. How could he live in a monastery? Where would he go? Exile in France? Wandering from place to place, as he had done in his youth, to the end of his days? As long as they did not harm him ... I thought. To lose his kingdom will be grief enough.

I was melancholy thinking of his fate. Then Gilbert roused me from my gloom.

“There is much dissatisfaction,” he said. “It has to be. He must be aware of that. Everywhere it is felt that he cannot go on.”

I shivered. Gilbert looked at me intently.