In Brussels he dreamed of home. Mary Beatrice did her best to console him—and herself, with the reminder that at least he was separated from some of his mistresses, but she was certain that it would not take him long to fill those vacancies. It was a pity he could not find men to support him as easily as he found women to share his bed.

Mary Beatrice loved him dearly and to her he was always tender. Like Anne Hyde she found him a good husband apart from this failing—which was, alas, the cardinal sin of marriage. He himself deplored it, but found temptation irresistible. Poor James! He could not help failing in everything he did.

Mary Beatrice longed for the company of her enchanting little daughter Isabella, the only child who had survived and had now lived three years. Such an adorable creature, a delight not only in herself but because she was a symbol that Mary Beatrice could have healthy children, a promise that one day she would have a son.

If her stepdaughter Anne could have accompanied them she would have enjoyed those days in Brussels more; and of course she saw nothing now of dear Lemon; in any case she was worried about this stepdaughter, because William was not pleasant to James and it seemed that Mary was a little cowed by him.

A not very happy state of affairs for James—with Monmouth setting himself up in opposition to his uncle, ostentatiously calling himself the Protestant Duke, William of Orange an ungracious host, and all the enemies at home! Just when Mary Beatrice was beginning to be happy and to love England all these troubles were rising round her.

“If,” she told her husband, “I could only have little Isabella with me, I could I think be more reconciled.”

James clenched his fists and cried: “Why should we endure this? Why should we be cut off from home and family? I shall write to my brother without delay. I am going to tell him that since we are to stay here we must have our children with us.”

“They may allow Isabella to come. But will they allow Anne?”

“I will promise not to contaminate my own daughter,” retorted James bitterly.

He went to his table and wrote such an impassioned appeal to his brother that in a short time news came to them that the Princesses Anne and Isabella with suitable attendants were on their way to Brussels.

The Princess of Orange was suffering so acutely from the ague that her father was summoned to her bedside at The Hague.

James went at once and there was no doubt that his presence comforted Mary. When she heard that Anne and Isabella were on their way she was delighted and her determination to get well quickly was so beneficial that in a short time she had left her bed.

But relations between the Prince of Orange and his father-in-law were as uneasy as before and James declared his intention of returning to Brussels. Mary said that when her sister and half-sister arrived they must be her guests and William made no objection.

There followed a few happy weeks. Anne had arrived with the adorable Isabella who took an immediate fancy to her half-sister Mary which was reciprocated. In Isabella Mary saw the child she had recently lost and could scarcely bear her out of her sight; and to have her dearest Anne with her, that she might hear all the gossip from England, filled her with delight. How was Frances? she wanted to know. She had only her letters to tell her and letters were inadequate. There was Sarah Jennings, now Sarah Churchill, full of vitality, governing all those about her, including her Colonel John who had accompanied the party. After a few days Mary felt she could have been very happy without the company of Sarah Churchill who seemed to have completely bewitched Anne, for she listened attentively to everything she said and appeared to take her advice on all matters.

Sarah, sensing the hostility of the Princess of Orange, was not in the least perturbed. She thought Mary a ninny who was considerably under the thumb of the man she had married. That was no way to live, in Sarah’s opinion. And her John, who adored her more as the weeks passed and who rarely acted without taking her advice, was proving her right.

She had the Princess Anne in leading strings; she was determined to make a great career for John; so she was in no mood to allow the faint criticism of such a weakling as the Princess of Orange to disturb her ways.

Mary Beatrice awoke each day with desire to enjoy it which was almost fanatical. She wanted each day to be twice as long; for always at the back of her mind was a fear that it could not last; and in fact she knew it could not. When her mother arrived from Modena, she felt that this was the happiest time of her life—or would have been if she were not continually reminded of the exile and the memory of their enemies.

The Duke of York burst into his wife’s apartment; an unusual color burned in his cheeks and his eyes were brilliant. He shut the door and made sure that they were alone before he told her what had excited him.

“A letter,” he cried, “from Halifax! Charles is ill … unto death, they say. Essex joins with Halifax. They say a few days will see the end of my brother.”

“Charles … dying!” Mary Beatrice was horrified, vividly picturing her brother-in-law with his dark, smiling face showing her such kindness and understanding on her arrival in England that he had made the future seem just tolerable.

James nodded. He, too, was fond of his brother, but this was no time to indulge in sentimentality.

“You see what this could mean! Charles, dying, and myself in exile. Just the chance Monmouth and his friends are waiting for. I have to go back to England … without delay.”

“But, James, it is forbidden. If you were betrayed they could send you to the Tower.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled at her tenderly. “My dear,” he said, “if this be the end of my brother, I shall be the one who decrees who and who shall not be sent to the Tower.”

“So you are going to England?”

“I am.”

“But James, Charles is not dead. You are not yet King.”

“Have no fear. I shall be disguised and no one will recognize me.”

Mary Beatrice clasped her hands in dismay. This was an end of peace. James was going into danger. And what would happen to them if her dear kind brother-in-law were no longer there to protect them?

She would be Queen of England and James King—but, she asked herself, what would become of them?

A party of five men were riding to the coast. At the head of them was the Duke of York and with him rode John Churchill, Lord Peterborough with Colonel Legge; his barber came on behind.

They spoke little as they rode; every one of them was aware of the need for speed; even now what could they know of what was happening in England? Delay could be disaster.

It took them two days to reach Calais; the first night they spent at Armentières and when they arrived at the coast James bought a black wig and with this hoped he would disguise himself. They found a French shallop and in this crossed to Dover; from there they rode with all speed to London, and went to the house of Sir Allen Apsley in St. James’s Square, where Frances and her father welcomed the party warmly.

“The King still lives,” said Sir Allen, “and indeed is much better. It is well that you have come, but I trust the Monmouth gang are unaware of your arrival.”

“ ’Tis to be hoped so,” said James, “for I must see my brother before my enemies know I am here.”

Frances was longing to ask for news of Mary but this was not the appropriate time. The Duke’s brother-in-law, Laurence Hyde and Sidney Godolphin, came at once when Sir Allen let them know that James had arrived. Both these men occupied high places in the government. Godolphin was now a widower having married Margaret Blagge, the gentle girl who had been reluctant to join the ballet and so upset when she had lost the borrowed jewel; Margaret had died three years after her marriage and Godolphin had never married again. Charles, one of whose favorite ministers he was, had said of him that he had the great quality of “never being in the way and never out of the way.”

These two, being aware of the aspirations of Monmouth, were determined to flout them and on their suggestion James left at once for Windsor to see the King.

Four days after he had left Brussels, James arrived at Windsor. It was nearly seven o’clock when he saw the towers of the castle and he made his way at once to his brother’s apartments where Charles, miraculously recovered, was being shaved.

Charles looked at him, feigned astonishment—but in fact he was well aware that he had been sent for—and then embraced his brother with affection.

“It does me good to see you,” he said. “We are brothers and good friends … nothing should be allowed to part us.”

James expressed his emotion less gracefully but it was more genuine. He was fond of Charles and always would be; and he was sincerely delighted to see him well.

He knelt and begged Charles forgiveness for returning.

“You should be at my side at this time,” said Charles seriously.

James was welcomed by the King’s courtiers but it soon became clear that he would not be allowed to stay. There was a large section of the people who did not want him; the cries of: “The Duke is back. No popery!” were heard again. His enemies were too numerous.

Charles said: “You will have to go away, James. I sometimes fear that if you stay they’ll send me off too.”

“Return to Brussels!” cried James. “Have you an idea what my life is like there?”

“A very good idea. I was once an exile myself in Brussels.”

“Then you will understand that I find it … unbearable.”