"Baby born to woe."
F. T. PALGRAVE.
When Anne Woodford began to wake from the constant thought of the
grief and horror she had left at Portchester, and to feel more alive
to her surroundings and less as if they were a kind of dream, in
which she only mechanically took her part, one thing impressed
itself on her gradually, and that was disappointment. If the
previous shock had not blunted all her hopes and aspirations,
perhaps she would have felt it sooner and more keenly; but she could
not help realising that she had put herself into an inferior
position whence there did not seem to be the promotion she had once
anticipated. Her companion rockers were of an inferior grade to
herself. Jane Humphreys was a harmless but silly girl, not much
wiser, though less spoilt, than poor little Madam, and full of
Cockney vulgarities. Education was unfashionable just then, and
though Hester Bridgeman was bettor born and bred, being the daughter
of an attorney in the city, she was not much better instructed, and
had no pursuits except that of her own advantage. Pauline Dunord
was by far the best of the three, but she seemed to live a life
apart, taking very little interest in her companions or anything
around her except her devotions and the bringing them over to her
Church. The nursery was quite a separate establishment; there was
no mingling with the guests of royalty, who were only seen in
excited peeps from the window, or when solemnly introduced to the
presence chamber to pay their respects to the Prince. As to books,
the only secular one that Anne saw while at Whitehall was an odd
volume of Parthenissa. The late King's summary of the Roman
controversy was to be had in plenty, and nothing was more evident
than that the only road to favour or promotion was in being thereby
convinced.
"Don't throw it down as if it were a hot chestnut," said her Oriana.
"That's what they all do at first, but they come to it at last."
Anne made no answer, but a pang smote her as she thought of her
uncle's warnings. Yet surely she might hope for other modes of
prospering, she who was certainly by far the best looking and best
educated of all the four, not that this served her much in her
present company, and those of higher rank did not notice her at all.
Princess Anne would surely recollect her, and then she might be safe
in a Protestant household, where her uncle would be happy about her.
The Princess had been at Bath when first she arrived, but at the end
of a week preparations were made at the Cockpit, a sort of appendage
to Whitehall, where the Prince and Princess of Denmark lived, and in
due time there was a visit to the nursery. Standing in full
ceremony behind Lady Powys, Anne saw the plump face and form she
recollected in the florid bloom of a young matron, not without a
certain royal dignity in the pose of the head, though in grace and
beauty far surpassed by the tall, elegant figure and face of Lady
Churchill, whose bright blue eyes seemed to be taking in everything
everywhere. Anne's heart began to beat high at the sight of a once
familiar face, and with hopes of a really kind word from one who as
an elder girl had made much of the pretty little plaything. The
Princess Anne's countenance was, however, less good-natured than
usual; her mouth was made up to a sullen expression, and when her
brother was shown to her she did not hold out her arms to him nor
vouchsafe a kiss.
The Queen looked at her wistfully, asking--
"Is he not like the King?"
"Humph!" returned Princess Anne, "I see no likeness to any living
soul of our family."
"Nay, but see his little nails," said the Queen, spreading the tiny
hand over her finger. "See how like your father's they are framed!
My treasure, you can clasp me!"
"My brother, Edgar! He was the beauty," said the Princess. "_He_
was exactly like my father; but there's no judging of anything so
puny as this!"
"He was very suffering last week, the poor little angel," said the
mother sadly; "but they say this water-gruel is very nourishing, and
not so heavy as milk."
"It does not look as if it agreed with him," said the Princess.
"Poor little mammet! Did I hear that you had the little Woodford
here? Is that you, girl?"
Anne courtesied herself forward.
"Ay, I remember you. I never forget a face, and you have grown up
fair enough. Where's your mother?"
"I lost her last February, so please your Royal Highness."
"Oh! She was a good woman. Why did she not send you to me? Well,
well! Come to my toilette to-morrow."
So Princess Anne swept away in her rich blue brocade. Her behest
was obeyed, of course, though it was evidently displeasing to the
nursery authorities, and Lady Strickland gave a warning to be
discreet and to avoid gossip with the Cockpit folks.
Anne could not but be excited. Perhaps the Princess would ask for
her, and take her into the number of her own attendants, where she
would no longer be in a Romish household, and would certainly be in
a higher position. Why, she remembered that very Lady Churchill as
Sarah Jennings in no better a position than she could justly aspire
to. Her coming to Court would thus be truly justified.
The Princess sat in a silken wrapper, called a night-gown, in her
chamber, which had a richly-curtained bed in the alcove, and a
toilet-table with a splendid Venetian mirror, and a good deal of
silver sparkling on it, while a strange mixture of perfumes came
from the various boxes and bottles. Ladies and tirewomen stood in
attendance; a little black boy in a turban and gold-embroidered
dress held a salver with her chocolate cup; a cockatoo soliloquised
in low whispers in the window; a monkey was chained to a pole at a
safe distance from him; a French friseur was manipulating the
Princess's profuse brown hair with his tongs; and a needy-looking,
pale thin man, in a semi-clerical suit, was half-reading, half-
declaiming a poem, in which 'Fair Anna' seemed mixed up with Juno,
Ceres, and other classical folk, but to which she was evidently
paying very little attention.
"Ah! there you are, little one. Thank you, Master--what's name;
that is enough. 'Tis a fine poem, but I never can remember which is
which of all your gods and goddesses. Oh yes, I accept the
dedication. Give him a couple of guineas, Ellis; it will serve him
for board and lodging for a fortnight, poor wretch!" Then, after
giving a smooth, well-shaped white hand to be kissed, and inviting
her visitor to a cushion at her feet, she began a long series of
questions, kindly ones at first, though of the minute gossiping
kind, and extending to the Archfields, for poor young Madam had been
of the rank about which royalty knew everything in those days. The
inquiries were extremely minute, and the comments what from any one
else, Anne would have thought vulgar, especially in the presence of
the hairdresser, but her namesake observed her blush and hesitation,
and said, "Oh, never mind a creature like that. He is French,
besides, and does not understand a word we say."
Anne, looking over the Princess's head, feared that she saw a
twinkle in the man's eye, and could only look down and try to ignore
him through the catechism that ensued, on when she came to
Whitehall, on the Prince of Wales's health, the management of him,
and all the circumstances connected with his birth.
Very glad was Anne that she knew nothing, and had not picked up any
information as to what had happened before she came to the palace.
As to the present, Lady Strickland's warning and her own sense of
honour kept her reticent to a degree that evidently vexed the
Princess, for she dropped her caressing manner, and sent her away
with a not very kind, "You may go now; you will be turning Papist
next, and what would your poor mother say?"
And as Anne departed in backward fashion she heard Lady Churchill
say, "You will make nothing of her. She is sharper than she
affects, and a proud minx! I see it in her carriage."
The visit had only dashed a few hopes and done her harm with her
immediate surroundings, who always disliked and distrusted
intercourse with the other establishment.
However, in another day the nursery was moved to Richmond. This was
a welcome move to Anne, who had spent her early childhood near
enough to be sometimes taken thither, and to know the Park well, so
that there was a home feeling in the sight of the outline of the
trees and the scenery of the neighbourhood. The Queen intended
going to Bath, so that the establishment was only that of the
Prince, and the life was much quieter on the whole; but there was no
gratifying any yearning for country walks, for it was not safe nor
perhaps decorous for one young woman to be out alone in a park open
to the public and haunted by soldiers from Hounslow--nor could
either of her fellow-rockers understand her preference for a
secluded path through the woods. Miss Dunord never went out at all,
except on duty, when the Prince was carried along the walks in the
garden, and the other two infinitely preferred the open spaces,
where tables were set under the horse-chestnut trees for parties who
boated down from London to eat curds and whey, sometimes bringing a
fiddler so as to dance under the trees.
Jane Humphreys especially was always looking out for acquaintances,
and once, with a cry of joy, a stout, homely-looking young woman
started up, exclaiming, "Sister Jane!" and flew into her arms. Upon
which Miss Woodford was introduced to 'My sister Coles' and her
husband, and had to sit down under a tree and share the festivities,
while there was an overflow of inquiries and intelligence, domestic
and otherwise. Certainly these were persons whom she would not have
treated as equals at home.
Besides, it was all very well to hear of the good old grandmother's
rheumatics, and of little Tommy's teething, and even to see Jane
hang her head and be teased about remembering Mr. Hopkins; nor was
it wonderful to hear lamentations over the extreme dulness of the
life where one never saw a creature to speak to who was not as old
as the hills; but when it came to inquiries as minute as the
Princess's about the Prince of Wales, Anne thought the full details
lavishly poured out scarcely consistent with loyalty to their oaths
of service and Lady Strickland's warning, and she told Jane so.
She was answered, "Oh la! what harm can it do? You are such a proud
peat! Grand-dame and sister like to know all about His Royal
Highness."
This was true; but Anne was far more uncomfortable two or three days
later. The Prince was ailing, so much so that Lady Powys had sent
an express for the Queen, who had not yet started for Bath, when
Anne and Jane, being relieved from duty by the other pair, went out
for a stroll.
"Oh la!" presently exclaimed Jane, "if that is not Colonel Sands,
the Princess's equerry. I do declare he is coming to speak to us,
though he is one of the Cockpit folks."
He was a very fine gentleman indeed, all scarlet and gold, and no
wonder Jane was flattered and startled, so that she jerked her fan
violently up and down as he accosted her with a wave of his cocked
hat, saying that he was rejoiced to meet these two fair ladies,
having been sent by the Princess of Denmark to inquire for the
health of the Prince. She was very anxious to know more than could
be learnt by formal inquiry, he said, and he was happy to have met
the young gentlewomen who could gratify him.
The term 'gentlewoman' highly flattered Miss Humphreys, who blushed
and bridled, and exclaimed, "Oh la, sir!" but Anne thought it
needful to say gravely--
"We are in trust, sir, and have no right to speak of what passes
within the royal household."
"Madam, I admire your discretion, but to the--(a-hem)--sister of
the--(a-hem)--Prince of Wales it is surely uncalled for."
"Miss Woodford is so precise," said Jane Humphreys, with a giggle;
"I do not know what harm can come of saying that His Royal Highness
peaks and pines just as he did before."
"He is none the better for country air then?"
"Oh no? except that he cries louder. Such a time as we had last
night! Mrs. Royer never slept a wink all the time I was there, but
walked about with him all night. You had the best of it, Miss
Woodford."
"He slept while I was there," said Anne briefly, not thinking it
needful to state that the tired nurse had handed the child over to
her, and that he had fallen asleep in her arms. She tried to put an
end to the conversation by going indoors, but she was vexed to find
that, instead of following her closely, Miss Humphreys was still
lingering with the equerry.
Anne found the household in commotion. Pauline met her, weeping
bitterly, and saying the Prince had had a fit, and all hope was
over, and in the rockers' room, she found Hester Bridgeman
exclaiming that her occupation was gone. Water-gruel, she had no
doubt, had been the death of the Prince. The Queen was come, and
wellnigh distracted. She had sent out in quest of a wet-nurse, but
it was too late; he was going the way of all Her Majesty's children.
Going down again together the two girls presently had to stand aside
as the poor Queen, seeing and hearing nothing, came towards her own
room with her handkerchief over her face. They pressed each other's
hands awe-stricken, and went on to the nursery. There Mrs. Labadie
was kneeling over the cradle, her hood hanging over her face, crying
bitterly over the poor little child, who had a blue look about his
face, and seemed at the last gasp, his features contorted by a
convulsion.
At that moment Jane Humphreys was seen gently opening the door and
letting in Colonel Sands, who moved as quietly as possible, to give
a furtive look at the dying child. His researches were cut short,
however. Lady Strickland, usually the gentlest of women, darted out
and demanded what he was doing in her nursery.
He attempted to stammer some excuse about Princess Anne, but Lady
Strickland only answered by standing pointing to the door and he was
forced to retreat in a very undignified fashion.
"Who brought him?" she demanded, when the door was shut. "Those
Cockpit folk are not to come prying here, hap what may!"
Miss Humphreys had sped away for fear of questions being asked, and
attention was diverted by Mrs. Royer arriving with a stout, healthy-
looking young woman in a thick home-spun cloth petticoat, no
stockings, and old shoes, but with a clean white cap on her head--a
tilemaker's wife who had been captured in the village.
No sooner was the suffering, half-starved child delivered over to
her than he became serene and contented. The water-gruel regime was
over, and he began to thrive from that time. Even when later in the
afternoon the King himself brought in Colonel Sands, whom in the joy
of his heart he had asked to dine with him, the babe lay tranquilly
on the cradle, waving his little hands and looking happy.
The intrusion seemed to have been forgotten, but that afternoon
Anne, who had been sent on a message to one of the Queen's ladies,
more than suspected that she saw Jane in a deep recess of a window
in confabulation with the Colonel. And when they were alone at bed-
time the girl said--
"Is it not droll? The Colonel cannot believe that 'tis the same
child. He has been joking and teasing me to declare that we have a
dead Prince hidden somewhere, and that the King showed him the
brick-bat woman's child."
"How can you prattle in that mischievous way--after what Lady
Strickland said, too? You do not know what harm you may do!"
"Oh lack, it was all a jest!"
"I am not so sure that it was."
"But you will not tell of me, dear friend, you will not. I never
saw Lady Strickland like that; I did not know she could be in such a
rage."
"No wonder, when a fellow like that came peeping and prying like a
raven to see whether the poor babe was still breathing," cried Anne
indignantly. "How could you bring him in?"
"Fellow indeed! Why he is a colonel in the Life-guards, and the
Princess's equerry; and who has a right to know about the child if
not his own sister--or half-sister?"
"She is not a very loving sister," replied Anne. "You know well,
Jane, how many would not be sorry to make out that it is as that man
would fain have you say."
"Well, I told him it was no such thing, and laughed the very notion
to scorn."
"It were better not to talk with him at all."
"But you will not speak of it. If I were turned away my father
would beat me. Nay, I know not what he might not do to me. You
will not tell, dear darling Portia, and I will love you for ever."
"I have no call to tell," said Anne coldly, but she was disgusted
and weary, and moreover not at all sure that she, as the other
Protestant rocker, and having been in the Park on that same day, was
not credited with some of the mischievous gossip that had passed.
"There, Portia, that is what you get by walking with that stupid
Humphreys," said Oriana. "She knows no better than to blab to any
one who will be at the trouble to seem sweet upon her, though she
may get nothing by it."
"Would it be better if she did?" asked Anne.
"Oh well, we must all look out for ourselves, and I am sure there is
no knowing what may come next. But I hear we are to move to Windsor
as soon as the child is strong enough, so as to be farther out of
reach of the Cockpit tongues."
This proved to be true, but the Prince and his suite were not lodged
in the Castle itself, a house in the cloisters being thought more
suitable, and here the Queen visited her child daily, for since that
last alarm she could not bear to be long absent from him. Such
emissaries as Colonel Sands did not again appear, but after that
precedent Lady Strickland had become much more unwilling to allow
any of those under her authority to go out into any public place,
and the rockers seldom got any exercise except as swelling the
Prince's train when he was carried out to take the air.
Anne looked with longing eyes at the Park, but a ramble there was a
forbidden pleasure. She could not always even obtain leave to
attend St. George's Chapel; the wish was treated as a sort of
weakness, or folly, and she was always the person selected to stay
at home when any religious ceremony called away the rest of the
establishment.
As the King's god-daughter it was impressed on her that she ought to
conform to his Church, and one of the many priests about the Court
was appointed to instruct her. In the dearth of all intellectual
intercourse, and the absolute deficiency of books, she could not but
become deeply interested in the arguments. Her uncle had forearmed
her with instruction, and she wrote to him on any difficulty which
arose, and this became the chief occupation of her mind, distracting
her thoughts from the one great cloud that hung over her memory.
Indeed one of the foremost bulwarks her feelings erected to fortify
her conscience against the temptations around, was the knowledge
that she would have, though of course under seal of confession, to
relate that terrible story to a priest.
Hester Bridgeman could not imagine how her Portia could endure to
hear the old English Prayer-book droned out. For her part, she
liked one thing or the other, either a rousing Nonconformist sermon
in a meeting-house or a splendid Mass.
"But, after all," as Anne overheard her observing to Miss Dunord,
"it may be all the better for us. What with her breeding and her
foreign tongues, she would be sure to be set over our heads as
under-governess, or the like, if she were not such an obstinate
heretic, and keeping that stupid Humphreys so. We could have
converted her long ago, if it were not for that Woodford and for her
City grand-dame! Portia is the King's godchild, too, so it is just
as well that she does not see what is for her own advantage."
"I do not care for promotion. I only want to save my own soul and
hers," said Pauline. "I wish she would come over to the true
Church, for I could love her."
And certainly Pauline Dunord's gentle devotional example, and her
perfect rest and peace in the practice of her religion, were strong
influences with Anne. She was waiting till circumstances should
make it possible to her to enter a convent, and in the meantime she
lived a strictly devout life, abstracted as far as duty and kindness
permitted from the little cabals and gossipry around.
Anne could not help feeling that the girl was as nearly a saint as
any one she had ever seen--far beyond herself in goodness.
Moreover, the Queen inspired strong affection. Mary Beatrice was
not only a very beautiful person, full of the grace and dignity of
the House of Este, but she was deeply religious, good and gentle,
kindly and gracious to all who approached her, and devoted to her
husband and child. A word or look from her was always a delight,
and Anne, by her knowledge of Italian, was able sometimes to obtain
a smiling word or remark.
The little Prince, after those first miserable weeks of his life,
had begun to thrive, and by and by manifested a decided preference
not only for his beautiful mother, but for the fresh face, bright
smile, and shining brown eyes of Miss Woodford. She could almost
always, with nods and becks, avert a passion of roaring, which
sometimes went beyond the powers of even his foster-mother, the
tiler's wife. The Queen watched with delight when he laughed and
flourished his arms in response, and the King was summoned to see
the performance, which he requited by taking out a fat gold watch
set with pearls, and presenting it to Anne, as his grave gloomy face
lighted up with a smile.
"Are you yet one of us?" he asked, as she received his gift on her
knee.
"No, sir, I cannot--"
"That must be amended. You have read his late Majesty's paper?"
"I have, sir."
"And seen Father Giverlai?"
"Yes, please your Majesty."
"And still you are not convinced. That must not be. I would gladly
consider and promote you, but I can only have true Catholics around
my son. I shall desire Father Crump to see you."