"The duty that I owe unto your Majesty
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe."
King Richard III.
It was not till the Queen had moved from St. James's, where her son
had been born, to take up her abode at Whitehall, that Lady
Oglethorpe was considered to be disinfected from her children's
whooping-cough, and could conduct Mistress Anne Jacobina Woodford to
her new situation.
Anne remembered the place from times past, as she followed the lady
up the broad stairs to the state rooms, where the child was daily
carried for inspection by the nation to whom, it was assumed, he was
so welcome, but who, on the contrary, regarded him with the utmost
dislike and suspicion.
Whitehall was, in those days, free to all the world, and though
sentries in the Life-guards' uniform with huge grenadier caps were
posted here and there, every one walked up and down. Members of
Parliament and fine gentlemen in embroidered coats and flowing wigs
came to exchange news; country cousins came to stare and wonder,
some to admire, some to whisper their disbelief in the Prince's
identity; clergy in gown, cassock, and bands came to win what they
could in a losing cause; and one or two other clergy, who were
looked at askance, whose dress had a foreign air, and whose tonsure
could be detected as they threaded their way with quick, gliding
steps to the King's closet.
Lady Oglethorpe, as one to the manner born, made her way through the
midst of this throng in the magnificent gallery, and Anne followed
her closely, conscious of words of admiration and inquiries who she
was. Into the Prince's presence chamber, in fact his day-nursery,
they came, and a sweet and gentle-looking lady met them, and
embraced Lady Oglethorpe, who made known Mistress Woodford to Lady
Strickland, of Sizergh, the second governess, as the fourth rocker
who had been appointed.
"You are welcome, Miss Woodford," said the lady, looking at Anne's
high, handsome head and well-bred action in courtesying, with a
shade of surprise. "You are young, but I trust you are discreet.
There is much need thereof."
Following to a kind of alcove, raised by a step or two, Anne found
herself before a half-circle of ladies and gentlemen round a chair
of state, in front of which stood a nurse, with an infant in her
arms, holding him to be caressed and inspected by the lady on the
throne. Her beautiful soft dark eyes and hair, and an ivory
complexion, with her dignified and graceful bearing, her long,
slender throat and exquisite figure, were not so much concealed as
enhanced by the simple mob cap and 'night-gown,' as it was then the
fashion to call a morning wrapper, which she wore, and Anne's first
impression was that no wonder Peregrine raved about her. Poor
Peregrine! that very thought came like a stab, as, after courtesying
low, she stood at the end of the long room--silent, and observing.
A few gentlemen waited by the opposite door, but not coming far into
the apartment, and Lady Oglethorpe was announced by one of them.
The space was so great that Anne could not hear the words, and she
only saw the gracious smile and greeting as Lady Oglethorpe knelt
and kissed the Queen's hand. After a long conversation between the
mothers, during which Lady Oglethorpe was accommodated with a
cushion, Anne was beckoned forward, and was named to the Queen, who
honoured her with an inclination of the head and a few low murmured
words.
Then there was an announcement of 'His Majesty,' and Anne, following
the general example of standing back with low obeisances, beheld the
tall active figure and dark heavy countenance of her Royal
godfather, under his great black, heavily-curled wig. He returned
Lady Oglethorpe's greeting, and his face lighted up with a pleasant
smile that greatly changed the expression as he took his child into
his arms for a few moments; but the little one began to cry,
whereupon he was carried off, and the King began to consult Lady
Oglethorpe upon the water-gruel on which the poor little Prince was
being reared, and of which she emphatically disapproved.
Before he left the room, however, Lady Oglethorpe took care to
present to him his god-daughter, Mistress Anne Jacobina Woodford,
and very low was the girl's obeisance before him, but with far more
fright and shyness than before the sweet-faced Queen.
"Oh ay!" he said, "I remember honest Will Woodford. He did good
service at Southwold. I wish he had left a son like him. Have you
a brother, young mistress?"
"No, please your Majesty, I am an only child."
"More's the pity," he said kindly, and with a smile brightening his
heavy features. "'Tis too good a breed to die out. You are
Catholic?"
"I am bred in the English Church, so please your Majesty."
His Majesty was evidently less pleased than before, but he only
said, "Ha! and my godchild! We must amend that," and waved her
aside.
The royal interview over, the newcomer was presented to the State
Governess, the Countess of Powys, a fair and gracious matron, who
was, however, almost as far removed from her as the Queen. Then she
was called on to take a solemn oath before the Master of the
Household, of dutiful loyalty to the Prince.
Mrs. Labadie was head nurse as well as being wife to the King's
French valet. She was a kindly, portly Englishwoman, who seemed
wrapped up in her charge, and she greeted her new subordinate in a
friendly way, which, however, seemed strange in one who at home
would have been of an inferior degree, expressed hopes of her
steadiness and discretion, and called to Miss Dunord to show Miss
Woodford her chamber. The abbreviation Miss sounded familiar and
unsuitable, but it had just come into use for younger spinsters,
though officially they were still termed Mistress.
Mistress or Miss Dunord was sallow and gray-eyed, somewhat older
than Anne, and looking thoroughly French, though her English was
perfect. She was entirely dressed in blue and white, and had a
rosary and cross at her girdle. "This way," she said, tripping up a
steep wooden stair. "We sleep above. 'Tis a huge, awkward place.
Her Majesty calls it the biggest and most uncomfortable palace she
ever was in."
Opening a heavy door, she showed a room of considerable size, hung
with faded frayed tapestry, and containing two huge bedsteads, with
four heavy posts, and canopies of wood, as near boxes as could well
be. Privacy was a luxury not ordinarily coveted, and the
arrangement did not surprise Anne, though she could have wished that
on that summer day curtains and tapestry had been less fusty. Two
young women were busy over a dress spread on one of the beds, and
with French ease and grace the guide said, "Here is our new
colleague, Miss Jacobina Woodford. Let me present Miss Hester
Bridgeman and Miss Jane Humphreys."
"Miss Woodford is welcome," said Miss Bridgeman, a keen, brown,
lively, somewhat anxious-looking person, courtesying and holding out
her hand, and her example was followed by Jane Humphreys, a stout,
rosy, commonplace girl.
"Oh! I am glad," this last cried. "Now I shall have a bedfellow."
This Anne was the less sorry for, as she saw that the bed of the
other two was furnished with a holy water stoup and a little shrine
with a waxen Madonna. There was only one looking-glass among the
four, and not much apparatus either for washing or the toilet, but
Miss Bridgeman believed that they would soon go to Richmond, where
things would be more comfortable. Then she turned to consult Miss
Dunord on her endeavour to improve the trimmings of a dress of Miss
Humphreys.
"Yes, I know you are always in Our Lady's colours, Pauline, but you
have a pretty taste, and can convince Jane that rose colour and
scarlet cannot go together."
"My father chose the ribbons," said Jane, as if that were
unanswerable.
"City taste," said Miss Bridgeman.
"They are pretty, very pretty with anything else," observed Pauline,
with more tact. "See, now, with your white embroidered petticoat
and the gray train they are ravishing--and the scarlet coat will
enliven the black."
There was further a little murmur about what a Mr. Hopkins admired,
but it was lost in the arrival of Miss Woodford's mails.
They clustered round, as eager as a set of schoolgirls, over Anne's
dresses. Happily even the extreme of fashion had not then become
ungraceful.
"Her Majesty will not have the loose drapery that folks used to
wear," said Hester Bridgeman.
"No," said Pauline; "it was all very well for those who could
dispose it with an artless negligence, but for some I could name, it
was as though they had tumbled it on with a hay-fork and had their
hair tousled by being tickled in the hay."
"Now we have the tight bodice with plenty of muslin and lace, the
gown open below to show the petticoat," said Hester; "and to my mind
it is more decorous."
"Decorum was not the vogue then," laughed Pauline, "perhaps it will
be now. Oh, what lovely lace! real Flanders, on my word! Where did
you get it, Miss Woodford?"
"It was my mother's."
"And this? Why, 'tis old French point, you should hang it to your
sleeves."
"My Lady Archfield gave it to me in case I should need it."
"Ah! I see you have good friends and are a person of some
condition," put in Hester Bridgeman. "I shall be happy to consort
with you. Let us--"
Anne courtesied, and at the moment a bell was heard, Pauline at once
crossed herself and fell on her knees before the small shrine with a
figure of the Blessed Virgin, and Hester, breaking off her words,
followed her example; but Jane Humphreys stood twisting the corner
of her apron.
In a very short time, almost before Anne had recovered from her
bewilderment, the other two were up and chattering again.
"You are not a Catholic?" demanded Miss Bridgeman.
"I was bred in the Church," said Anne.
"And you the King's godchild!" exclaimed Pauline. "But we shall
soon amend that and make a convert of you like Miss Bridgeman
there."
Anne shook her head, but was glad to ask, "And what means the bell
that is ringing now?"
"That is the supper bell. It rings just after the Angelus," said
Hester. "No, it is not ours. The great folks, Lady Powys, Lady
Strickland, and the rest sup first. We have the dishes after them,
with Nurses Labadie and Royer and the rest--no bad ones either.
They are allowed five dishes and two bottles of wine apiece, and
they always leave plenty for us, and it is served hot too."
The preparations for going down to the second table now absorbed the
party.
As Hester said, the fare at this second table was not to be
despised. It was a formal meal shared with the two nurses and the
two pages of the backstairs. Not the lads usually associated with
the term, but men of mature age, and of gentle, though not noble,
birth and breeding; and there were likewise the attendants of the
King and Queen of the same grade, such as Mr. Labadie, the King's
valet, some English, but besides these, Dusian, the Queen's French
page, and Signer and Signora Turini, who had come with her from
Modena, Pere Giverlai, her confessor, and another priest. Pere
Giverlai said grace, and the conversation went on briskly between
the elders, the younger ones being supposed to hold their peace.
Their dishes went in reversion to the inferior class of servants,
laundress, sempstress, chambermaids, and the like, who had much more
liberty than their betters, and not such a lack of occupation as
Anne soon perceived that she should suffer from.
There was, however, a great muster of all the Prince's
establishment, who stood round, as many as could, with little
garments in their hands, while he was solemnly undressed and laid in
his richly inlaid and carved cradle--over which Pere Giverlai
pronounced a Latin benediction.
The nursery establishment was then released, except one of the
nurses, who was to sleep or wake on a couch by his side, and one of
the rockers. These damsels had, two at a time, to divide the night
between them, one being always at hand to keep the food warm, touch
the rocker at need with her foot, or call up the nurse on duty if
the child awoke, but not presume herself to handle his little Royal
Highness.
It was the night when Mistresses Dunord and Bridgeman were due, and
Anne followed Jane Humphreys to her room, asking a little about the
duties of the morrow.
"We must be dressed before seven," said the girl. "One of us will
be left on duty while the others go to Mass. I am glad you are a
Protestant, Miss Woodford, for the Catholics put everything on me
that they can."
"We must do our best to help and strengthen each other," said Anne.
"It is very hard," said Jane; "and the priests are always at me! I
would change as Hester Bridgeman has done, but that I know it would
break my grand-dame's heart. My father might not care so much, if I
got advancement, but I believe it would kill my grandmother."
"Advancement! oh, but faith comes first," exclaimed Anne, recalling
the warning.
"Hester says one religion is as good as another to get to Heaven
by," murmured Jane.
"Not if we deny our own for the world's sake," said Anne. "Is the
chapel here a Popish one?"
"No; the Queen has an Oratory, but the Popish chapel is at St.
James's--across the Park. The Protestant one is here at Whitehall,
and there are daily prayers at nine o'clock, and on Sunday music
with three fiddlers, and my grandmother says it might almost as well
be Popish at once."
"Did your grandmother bring you up?"
"Yes. My mother died when I was seven years old, and my grandmother
bred us all up. You should hear her talk of the good old times
before the Kings came back and there were no Bishops and no book
prayers--but my father says we must swim with the stream, or he
would not have got any custom at his coffee-house."
"Is that his calling?"
"Ay! No one has a better set of guests than in the Golden Lamb.
The place is full. The great Dr. Hammond sees his patients there,
and it is all one buzz of the wits. It was because of that that my
Lord Sunderland made interest, and got me here. How did you come?"
Anne briefly explained, and Jane broke out--
"Then you will be my friend, and we will tell each other all our
secrets. You are a Protestant too. You will be mine, and not
Bridgeman's or Dunord's--I hate them."
In point of fact Anne did not feel much attracted by the proffer of
friendship, and she certainly did not intend to tell Jane Humphreys
all her secrets, nor to vow enmity to the other colleagues, but she
gravely answered that she trusted they would be friends and help to
maintain one another's faith. She was relieved that Miss Bridgeman
here came in to take her first turn of rest till she was to be
called up at one o'clock.
As Jane Humphreys had predicted, Mrs. Royer and Anne alone were left
in charge of the nursling while every one went to morning Mass.
Then followed breakfast and the levee of his Royal Highness, lasting
as on the previous day till dinner-time; and the afternoon was as
before, except that the day was fine enough for the child to be
carried out with all his attendants behind him to take the air in
the private gardens.
If this was to be the whole course of life at the palace, Anne began
to feel that she had made a great mistake. She was by no means
attracted by her companions, though Miss Bridgeman decided that she
must know persons of condition, and made overtures of friendship, to
be sealed by calling one another Oriana and Portia. She did not
approve of such common names as Princess Anne and Lady Churchill
used--Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman! They must have something better
than what was used by the Cockpit folks, and she was sure that her
dear Portia would soon be of the only true faith.