"Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, _here_:
I can scarce speak to thee."
King Lear.
"Am I--oh! am I going home?" thought Anne. "My uncle will be at
Winchester. I am glad of it. I could not yet bear to see
Portchester again. That Shape would be there. Yet how shall I deal
with what seems laid on me? But oh! the joy of escaping from this
weary, weary court! Oh, the folly that took me hither! Now that
the Prince is gone, Lady Strickland will surely speak to the Queen
for my dismissal."
There had been seventeen days of alarms, reports, and counter-
reports, and now the King, with the Prince of Denmark, had gone to
join the army on Salisbury Plain, and at the same time the little
Prince of Wales had been sent off to his half-brother, the Duke of
Berwick, at Portsmouth, under charge of Lady Powys, there to be
embarked for France. Anne had been somewhat disappointed at not
going with them, hoping that when at Portsmouth or in passing
Winchester she might see her uncle and obtain her release, for she
had no desire to be taken abroad; but it was decreed otherwise.
Miss Dunord went, rejoicing and thankful to be returning to France,
and the other three rockers remained.
There had already been more than one day of alarms and tumults. The
Body-guards within were always on duty; the Life-guards without were
constantly patrolling; and on the 5th of November, when the Prince
of Orange was known to be near at hand, and was in fact actually
landing at Torbay, the mob had with difficulty been restrained from
burning in effigy, not only Guy Fawkes, but Pope, cardinals, and
mitred bishops, in front of the palace, and actually paraded them
all, with a figure of poor Sir Edmondbury Godfrey bearing his head
in his hand, tied on horseback behind a Jesuit, full before the
windows, with yells of
"The Pope, the Pope,
Up the ladder and down the rope,"
and clattering of warming-pans.
Jane Humphreys was dreadfully frightened. Anne found her crouching
close to her bed, with the curtains wrapped round her. "Have they
got in?" she cried. "O Miss Woodford, how shall we make them
believe we are good Protestants?"
And when this terror had subsided, and it was well known that the
Dutch were at Exeter, there was another panic, for one of the Life-
guardsmen had told her to beware, since if the Royal troops at
Hounslow were beaten, the Papists would surely take their revenge.
"I am to scream from the windows to Mr. Shaw," she said; but what
good will that do if the priests and the Frenchmen have strangled
me? And perhaps he won't be on guard."
"He was only trying to frighten you," suggested Anne.
"Dear me, Miss Woodford, aren't you afraid? You have the stomach of
a lion."
"Why, what would be the good of hurting us?"
However, Anne was not at all surprised, when on the very evening of
the Prince's departure, old Mrs. Humphreys, a venerable-looking dame
in handsome but Puritanically-fashioned garments, came in a hackney
coach to request in her son's name that her granddaughter might
return with her, as her occupation was at an end.
Jane was transported with joy.
"Ay, ay," said the grandmother, "look at you now, and think how
crazy you were to go to the palace, though 'twas always against my
judgment."
"Ah, I little knew how mortal dull it would be!" said Jane.
"Ye've found it no better than the husks that the swine did eat, eh?
So much the better and safer for your soul, child."
Nobody wanted to retain Jane, and while she was hastily putting her
things together, the grandmother turned to Anne: "And you, Mistress
Woodford, from what I hear, you have been very good in keeping my
silly child stanch to her religion and true to her duty. If ever on
a pinch you needed a friend in London, my son and I would be proud
to serve you--Master Joshua Humphreys, at the Golden Lamb,
Gracechurch Street, mind you. No one knows what may hap in these
strange and troublesome times, and you might be glad of a house to
go to till you can send to your own friends--that is, if we are not
all murdered by the Papists first."
Though Anne did not expect such a catastrophe as this, she was
really grateful for the offer, and thought it possible that she
might avail herself of it, as she had not been able to communicate
with any of her mother's old friends, and Bishop Ken was not to her
knowledge still in London.
She watched anxiously for the opportunity of asking Lady Strickland
whether she might apply for her dismissal, and write to her uncle to
fetch her home.
"Child," said the lady, "I think you love the Queen."
"Indeed I do, madam."
"It is well that at this juncture all Protestants should not leave
her. You are a gentlewoman in manner, and can speak her native
tongue, friends are falling from her, scarcely ladies are left
enough to make a fit appearance around her; if you are faithful to
her, remain, I entreat of you."
There was no resisting such an appeal, and Anne remained in the
rooms now left bare and empty, until a message was brought to her to
come to the Queen. Mary Beatrice sat in a chair by her fire,
looking sad and listless, her eyes red with weeping, but she gave
her sweet smile as the girl entered, and held out her hand, saying
in her sweet Italian, "You are faithful, Signorina Anna! you remain!
That is well; but now my son is gone, Anna, you must be mine. I
make you my reader instead of his rocker."
As Anne knelt on one knee to kiss hands with tears in her eyes, the
Queen impulsively threw her arms round her neck and kissed her.
"Ah, you loved him, and he loved you, il mio tesorino?"
Promotion _had_ come--how strangely. She had to enter on her duties
at once, and to read some chapters of an Italian version of the
Imitation. A reader was of a higher grade of importance than a
rocker, and for the ensuing days, when not in attendance on the
Queen, Anne was the companion of Lady Strickland and Lady
Oglethorpe. In the absence of the King and Prince, the Queen
received Princess Anne at her own table, and Lady Churchill and Lady
Fitzhardinge joined that of her ladies-in-waiting.
Lady Churchill, with her long neck, splendid hair and complexion,
short chin, and sparkling blue eyes, was beautiful to look at, but
not at all disposed to be agreeable to the Queen's ladies, whom she
treated with a sort of blunt scorn, not at all disguised by the
forms of courtesy. However, she had, to their relief, a good deal
of leave of absence just then to visit her children, as indeed the
ladies agreed that she did pretty much as she chose, and that the
faithful Mrs. Morley was somewhat afraid of the dear Mrs. Freeman.
One evening in coming up some steps Princess Anne entangled her foot
in her pink taffetas petticoat, nearly fell, and tore a large rent,
besides breaking the thread of the festoons of seed pearls which
bordered it, and scattering them on the floor.
"Lack-a-day! Lack-a-day!" sighed she, as after a little screaming
she gathered herself up again. "That new coat! How shall I ever
face Danvers again such a figure? She's an excellent tirewoman, but
she will be neither to have nor to hold when she sees that gown--
that she set such store by! Nay, I can hardly step for it."
"I think I could repair it, with Her Majesty's and your Royal
Highness's permission," said Anne, who was creeping about on her
knees picking up the pearls."
"Oh! do! do! There's a good child, and then Danvers and Dawson need
know nothing about it," cried the Princess in great glee. "You
remember Dawson, don't you, little Woodie, as we used to call you,
and how she used to rate us when we were children if we soiled our
frocks?"
So, in the withdrawing-room, Anne sat on the floor with needle and
silk, by the light of the wax candles, deftly repairing the rent,
and then threading the scattered pearls, and arranging the festoon
so as to hide the darn. The Princess was delighted, and while the
poor wife lay back in her chair, thankful that behind her fan she
could give way to her terrible anxieties about her little son, who
might be crossing to France, and her husband, suffering from fearful
nose-bleeding, and wellnigh alone among traitors and deserters, the
step-daughter, on the other side of the great hearth, chattered away
complacently to 'little Woodford.'
"Do you recollect old Dawson, and how she used to grumble when I
went to sup with the Duchess--my own mother--you know, because she
used to give me chocolate, and she said it made me scream at night,
and be over fat by day? Ah! that was before you used to come among
us. It was after I went to France to my poor aunt of Orleans. I
remember she never would let us kiss her for fear of spoiling her
complexion, and Mademoiselle and I did so hate living maigre on the
fast days. I was glad enough to get home at last, and then my
sister was jealous because I talked French better than she did."
So the Princess prattled on without needing much reply, until her
namesake had finished her work, with which she was well pleased, and
promised to remember her. To Anne it was an absolute marvel how she
could thus talk when she knew that her husband had deserted her
father in his need, and that things were in a most critical
position.
The Queen could not refrain from a sigh of relief when her step-
daughter had retired to the Cockpit; and after seeking her sleepless
bed, she begged Anne, "if it did not too much incommode her, to read
to her from the Gospel."
The next day was Sunday, and Anne felt almost as if deserting her
cause, when going to the English service in Whitehall Chapel Royal,
now almost emptied except of the Princess's suite, and some of these
had the bad taste and profanity to cough and chatter all through the
special prayer drawn up by the Archbishop for the King's safety.
People were not very reverent, and as all stood up at the end of the
Advent Sunday service to let the Princess sweep by in her glittering
green satin petticoat, peach-coloured velvet train, and feather-
crowned head, she laid a hand on Anne's arm, and whispered, "Follow
me to my closet, little Woodford."
There was no choice but to obey, as the Queen would not require her
reader till after dinner, and Anne followed after the various
attendants, who did not seem very willing to forward a private
interview with a possible rival, though, as Anne supposed, the
object must be to convey some message to the Queen. By the time she
arrived and had been admitted to the inner chamber or dressing-room,
the Princess had thrown off her more cumbrous finery, and sat at
ease in an arm-chair. She nodded her be-curled head, and said, "You
can keep a secret, little Woodie?"
"I can, madam, but I do not love one," said Anne, thinking of her
most burthensome one.
"Well, no need to keep this long. You are a good young maiden, and
my own poor mother's godchild, and you are handy and notable. You
deserve better preferment than ever you will get in that Popish
household, where your religion is in danger. Now, I am not going to
be in jeopardy here any longer, nor let myself be kept hostage for
his Highness. Come to my rooms at bedtime. Slip in when I wish the
Queen good-night, and I'll find an excuse. Then you shall come with
me to--no, I'll not say where, and I'll make your fortune, only
mum's the word."
"But--Your Royal Highness is very good, but I am sworn to the Prince
and Queen. I could not leave them without permission."
"Prince! Prince! Pretty sort of a Prince. Prince of brickbats, as
Churchill says. Nay, girl, don't turn away in that fashion.
Consider. Your religion is in danger."
"Nay, madam, my religion would not be served by breaking my oath."
"Pooh! What's your oath to a mere pretender? Besides, consider
your fortune. Rocker to a puling babe--even if he was what they say
he is. And don't build on the Queen's favour--even if she remains
what she is now, she is too much beset with Papists and foreigners
to do anything for you."
"I do not," Anne began to say, but the Princess gave her no time.
"Besides, pride will have a fall, and if you are a good maid, and
hold your tongue, and serve me well in this strait, I'll make you my
maid of honour, and marry you so that you shall put Lady before your
name. Ay, and get good preferment for your uncle, who has had only
a poor stall from the King here."
Anne repressed an inclination to say this was not the way in which
her uncle would wish to get promotion, and only replied, "Your Royal
Highness is very good, but--"
Whereat the Princess, in a huff, exclaimed, "Oh, very well, if you
choose to be torn to pieces by the mob, and slaughtered by the
priests, like poor Godfrey, and burnt by the Papists at last, unless
you go to Mass, you may stay for aught I care, and joy go with you.
I thought I was doing you a kindness for my poor mother's sake, but
it seems you know best. If you like to cast in your lot with the
Pope, I wash my hands of you."
Accordingly Anne courtesied herself off, not seriously alarmed as to
the various catastrophes foretold by the Princess, though a little
shaken in nerves. Here then was another chance of promotion,
certainly without treason to her profession of faith, but so offered
that honour could not but revolt against it, though in truth poor
Princess Anne was neither so foolish nor so heartless a woman as she
appeared in the excitement to which an uneasy conscience, the
expectation of a great enterprise, and a certain amount of terror
had worked her up; but she had high words again in the evening, as
was supposed, with the Queen. Certainly Anne found her own Royal
Mistress weeping and agitated, though she only owned to being very
anxious about the health of the King, who had had a second violent
attack of bleeding at the nose, and she did not seem consoled by the
assurances of her elder attendants that the relief had probably
saved him from a far more dangerous attack. Again Anne read to her
till a late hour, but next morning was strangely disturbed.
The Royal household had not been long dressed, and breakfast had
just been served to the ladies, when loud screams were heard, most
startling in the unsettled and anxious state of affairs. The Queen,
pale and trembling, came out of her chamber with her hair on her
shoulders. "Tell me at once, for pity's sake. Is it my husband or
my son?" she asked with clasped hands, as two or three of the
Princess's servants rushed forward.
"The Princess, the Princess!" was the cry, "the priests have
murdered her."
"What have you done with her, madam?" rudely demanded Mrs. Buss, one
of the lost lady's nurses.
Mary Beatrice drew herself up with grave dignity, saying, "I suppose
your mistress is where she likes to be. I know nothing of her, but
I have no doubt that you will soon hear of her."
There was something in the Queen's manner that hushed the outcry in
her presence, but the women, with Lady Clarendon foremost of them,
continued to seek up and down the two palaces as if they thought the
substantial person of the Princess Anne could be hidden in a
cupboard.
Anne, in the first impulse, exclaimed, "She is gone!"
In a moment Mrs. Royer turned, "Gone, did you say? Do you know it?"
"You knew it and kept it secret!" cried Lady Strickland.
"A traitor too!" said Lady Oglethorpe, in her vehement Irish tone.
"I would not have thought it of Nanny Moore's daughter!" and she
turned her eyes in sad reproach on Anne.
"If you know, tell me where she is gone," cried Mrs. Buss, and the
cry was re-echoed by the other women, while Anne's startled "I
cannot tell! I do not know!" was unheeded.
Only the Queen raising her hand gravely said, "Silence! What is
this?"
"Miss Woodford knew."
"And never told!" cried the babble of voices.
"Come hither, Mistress Woodford," said the Queen. "Tell me, do you
know where Her Highness is?"
"No, please your Majesty," said Anne, trembling from head to foot.
"I do not know where she is."
"Did you know of her purpose?"
"Your Majesty pardon me. She called me to her closet yesterday and
pledged me to secrecy before I knew what she would say."
"Only youthful inexperience will permit that pledge to be implied in
matters of State," said the Queen. "Continue, Mistress Woodford;
what did she tell you?"
"She said she feared to be made a hostage for the Prince of Denmark,
and meant to escape, and she bade me come to her chamber at night to
go with her."
"And wherefore did you not? You are of her religion," said the
Queen bitterly.
"Madam, how could I break mine oath to your Majesty and His Royal
Highness?"
"And you thought concealing the matter according to that oath? Nay,
nay, child, I blame you not. It was a hard strait between your
honour to her and your duty to the King and to me, and I cannot but
be thankful to any one who does regard her word. But this desertion
will be a sore grief to His Majesty."
Mary Beatrice was fairer-minded than the women, who looked askance
at the girl, Princess Anne's people resenting that one of the other
household should have been chosen as confidante, and the Queen's
being displeased that the secret had been kept. But at that moment
frightful yells and shouts arose, and a hasty glance from the
windows showed a mass of men, women, and children howling for their
Princess. They would tear down Whitehall if she were not delivered
up to them. However, a line of helmeted Life-guards on their heavy
horses was drawn up between, with sabres held upright, and there
seemed no disposition to rush upon these. Lord Clarendon, uncle to
the Princess, had satisfied himself that she had really escaped, and
he now came out and assured the mob, in a stentorian voice, that he
was perfectly satisfied of his niece's safety, waving the letter she
had left on her toilet-table.
The mob shouted, "Bless the Princess! Hurrah for the Protestant
faith! No warming-pans!" but in a good-tempered mood; and the poor
little garrison breathed more freely; but Anne did not feel herself
forgiven. She was in a manner sent to Coventry, and treated as if
she were on the enemy's side. Never had her proud nature suffered
so much, and she shed bitter tears as she said to herself, "It is
very unjust! What could I have done? How could I stop Her Highness
from speaking? Could they expect me to run in and accuse her? Oh,
that I were at home again! Mother, mother, you little know! Of
what use am I now?"
It was the very question asked by Hester Bridgeman, whom she found
packing her clothes in her room.
"Take care that this is sent after me," she said, "when a messenger
I shall send calls for it."
"What, you have your dismissal?"
"No, I should no more get it than you have done. They cannot afford
to let any one go, you see, or they will have to dress up the
chambermaids to stand behind the Queen's chair. I have settled it
with my cousin, Harry Bridgeman, I shall mix with the throng that
come to ask for news, and be off with him before the crowd breaks
in, as they will some of these days, for the guards are but half-
hearted. My Portia, why did not you take a good offer, and go with
the Princess?"
"I thought it would be base."
"And much you gained by it! You are only suspected and accused."
"I can't be a rat leaving a sinking ship."
"That is courteous, but I forgive it, Portia, as I know you will
repent of your folly. But you never did know which side to look for
the butter."
Perhaps seeing how ugly desertion and defection looked in others
made constancy easier to Anne, much as she longed for the Close at
Winchester, and she even thought with a hope of the Golden Lamb,
Gracechurch, as an immediate haven sure to give her a welcome.
Her occupation of reading to the Queen was ended by the King's
return, so physically exhausted by violent nose-bleeding, so
despondent at the universal desertion, and so broken-hearted at his
daughter's defection, that his wife was absorbed in attending upon
him.
Anne began to watch for an opportunity to demand a dismissal, which
she thought would exempt her from all blame, but she was surprised
and a little dismayed by being summoned to the King in the Queen's
chamber. He was lying on a couch clad in a loose dressing-gown
instead of his laced coat, and a red night-cap replacing his heavy
peruke, and his face was as white and sallow as if he were
recovering from a long illness.
"Little godchild," he said, holding out his hand as Anne made her
obeisance, "the Queen tells me you can read well. I have a fancy to
hear."
Immensely relieved at the kindness of his tone, Anne courtesied, and
murmured out her willingness.
"Read this," he said; "I would fain hear this; my father loved it.
Here."
Anne felt her task a hard one when the King pointed to the third Act
of Shakespeare's Richard II. She steeled herself and strengthened
her voice as best she could, and struggled on till she came to--
"I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,
My gay apparel for an almsman's gown,
My figured goblets for a dish of wood,
My sceptre for a palmer's walking-staff,
My subjects for a pair of carved saints,
And my large kingdom for a little grave,
A little, little grave."
There she fairly broke down, and sobbed.
"Little one, little one," said James, you are sorry for poor
Richard, eh?"
"Oh, sir!" was all she could say.
"And you are in disgrace, they tell me, because my daughter chose to
try to entice you away," said James, "and you felt bound not to
betray her. Never mind; it was an awkward case of conscience, and
there's not too much faithfulness to spare in these days. We shall
know whom to trust to another time. Can you continue now? I would
take a lesson how, 'with mine own hands to give away my crown.'"
It was well for Anne that fresh tidings were brought in at that
moment, and she had to retire, with the sore feeling turned into an
enthusiastic pity and loyalty, which needed the relief of sobs and
mental vows of fidelity. She felt herself no longer in disgrace
with her Royal master and mistress, but she was not in favour with
her few companions left--all who could not get over her secrecy, and
thought her at least a half traitor as well as a heretic.
Whitehall was almost in a state of siege, the turbulent mob
continually coming to shout, 'No Popery!' and the like, though they
proceeded no farther. The ministers and other gentlemen came and
went, but the priests and the ladies durst not venture out for fear
of being recognised and insulted, if not injured. Bad news came in
from day to day, and no tidings of the Prince of Wales being in
safety in France. Once Anne received a letter from her uncle, which
cheered her much.
DEAR CHILD--So far as I can gather, your employment is at an end,
if it be true as reported that the Prince of Wales is at
Portsmouth, with the intent that he should be carried to France;
but the gentlemen of the navy seem strongly disposed to prevent
such a transportation of the heir of the realm to a foreign
country. I fear me that you are in a state of doubt and anxiety,
but I need not exhort your good mother's child to be true and
loyal to her trust and to the Anointed of the Lord in all things
lawful at all costs. If you are left in any distress or
perplexity, go either to Sir Theophilus Oglethorpe's house, or to
that of my good old friend, the Dean of Westminster; and as soon
as I hear from you I will endeavour to ride to town and bring you
home to my house, which is greatly at a loss without its young
mistress.
The letter greatly refreshed Anne's spirits, and gave her something
to look forward to, giving her energy to stitch at a set of lawn
cuffs and bands for her uncle, and think with the more pleasure of a
return that his time of residence at Winchester lay between her and
that vault in the castle.
There were no more attempts made at her conversion. Every one was
too anxious and occupied, and one or more of the chiefly obnoxious
priests were sent privately away from day to day. While summer
friends departed, Anne often thought of Bishop Ken's counsel as to
loyalty to Heaven and man.