God and the King

  CHAPTER V

  THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE

  Basilea de Marsac waited on Her Highness the day after her interviewwith M. D'Avaux; a curious coincidence had strengthened her desire tosee the Princess, and piqued her curiosity as to the sentiments of thatlady. One of the fast packets that were constantly plying between theStates and England had brought her a letter from Lady Sunderland, whowas, to Basilea, a person who of all others must find it her interestand duty to be intensely loyal. My lady wrote a long and involvedletter, but the sum of it seemed to be what M. D'Avaux had put much moreplainly, namely, that the King's party (among whom was, of course, LordSunderland) had become alarmed at the crisis the actions of His Majestyhad brought upon the country in attempting to push forward his ownreligion, and that they feared an active interference on the part of thePrince of Orange, now his wife's claims were indefinitely postponed bythe birth of the Prince of Wales, and his hopes of an English allianceagainst the French for ever shattered by the policy of King James.

  Lady Sunderland concluded by asking of Basilea what M. D'Avaux hadasked--that she should discover the mind of the Princess, and draw somepromise from her for the satisfaction of Royalist and Romanist, to theeffect that Her Highness would never let her title to the English thronebe a handle for her husband's political designs.

  Basilea was half roused, half amused by the double errand. She was notvery well informed about politics, but she felt in her heart an absolutedoubt of any revolution in England. All her life there had been talk ofit, but it had always ended in a few executions or fights in Scotland,or some such vague conclusions in which she had never been veryinterested; but she could understand that Lady Sunderland did not feellukewarm in the matter. Ever since the May of last year, when the Earlhad been converted to the Church of Rome (a step which none other of theKing's ministers had taken), he had been as detested in England as itwas possible for a man to be. The King alone protected him, and if hefell, there was little doubt that his fall also would be swift andterrible.

  Basilea liked the Countess; she was better pleased to serve her than toserve M. D'Avaux, and she anticipated, with pleasure, being able towrite in answer that the Princess was still a Stewart, despite tenyears' residence in Holland.

  It was late afternoon when Basilea had her audience (accorded withoutdifficulty) at the Prince's villa beyond The Hague, called the 'huis tenbosch' by reason of the beautiful wood and deer park in which it stood.This house had been built by the Prince's grandmother, Amalia of Solms,and contained the famous hall which she had decorated in honour of herhusband, the Stadtholder Frederick Henry. There was no splendour,however, in the apartments Basilea saw; the appointments were neat andcomfortable, but neither lavish nor rich, and she had known Englishladies better served as to the quantity and appearance of servants thanwas the Princess Royal of England.

  In a room at the back, that overlooked a formal garden filled with rosesand box hedges, Basilea found the mistress of the quiet house and thelady whose mind two great kingdoms were anxious to know.

  It was a chamber panelled in walnut, and furnished by chairs with workedseats and stools with fringed covers, several fine pieces of Easternfurniture, and many shelves on which stood curious and vivid chinamonsters and vases, and low pots filled with roses.

  Basilea did not know which of the two young ladies seated by the windowwas the Princess, so utterly had ten years worked their change.

  She hesitated after her courtsey, and the taller of the two ladies cameforward and took her hand warmly.

  "Are you Basilea Gage with whom I used to play at Twickenham?" sheasked. "Why did you not come to see me sooner?"

  She smiled half wistfully, and turned to her companion.

  "This is Mademoiselle Dyckfelt, and this is Madame de Marsac, Anne, whomI told you was coming to-day."

  She had a timid way of speaking, as if she was shy, and, to Basilea,something of the formal in her manner, as if she was preoccupied.

  The Dutch lady was like most of her countrywomen whom Basilea hadobserved, very fair and pretty, with that glow and robust brightnessthat gave the women of Holland their reputation for handsomeness. Shewas plainly dressed in grey branched with silver, and was engaged inworking a chair-cover in cross stitch. The vivid green and blue of thewools she used showed off her small, plump white hands--a common beautyamong her nation.

  The Princess began talking of England and the people she rememberedthere; while Basilea answered she observed Mary, who seemed to herdisappointingly strange and indifferent.

  Still little more than a girl, she was extremely beautiful, uniting herfather's aristocratic grace and her mother's soft charm; thoughdignified and above the common height, she bore herself humbly and witha deprecating sweetness.

  Basilea was not the only one who at first sight had been impressed withthe air of simple purity which heightened and glorified Mary's beauty,for it was impossible to find a fault in her person or manner: she wasunconscious of herself, tactful, without affectations or vanities,watchful for others, and charming in address, though with that prettyreserve that Basilea called formality.

  Her features were not unlike those of her ancestress--another MaryStewart, Queen of Scotland--soft and lovely, childlike in profile, withthe gentle curve of contour; but grave and rather sad in the full look,and with the expression of a woman, and a woman who has observed,grieved, and pitied.

  Her brown eyes were very large, misty, and continually narrowed fromweak sight, her hair, of the Stewart red-brown, hung in thick naturalcurls from a simple knot in her neck.

  She gained no advantage from her dress, which would not have offended aPuritan: the straight, boned bodice and stiff falling stuff of a dullpink colour held no line of grace, and the prim ruffles to wrist andthroat were more decorous than becoming. At the English court herattire would have been considered ugly, if not ridiculous, and Basileadid not find it pleasing. She was not herself of a type that can affordto forego the advantages of adornment, and she reflected that with thePrincess's beauty and her own taste she could have made a sumptuousappearance.

  While thus inwardly admired and criticized, Mary was speaking of Englandand all her one-time friends there, and Mademoiselle Dyckfelt makingcomments in pretty broken English, accompanied with a little gaspinglaugh which Basilea had noticed in many Dutch people.

  Through all her amiable converse Mary betrayed some slight inneragitation and expectation, as if she feared the visit might have anothermeaning than mere courtesy; and Basilea guessed that she, whose positionwas one of such importance in Europe, must be used to oblique attemptsto sound her views.

  With a half-faint amusement she made her own essay--

  "Highness, I was in good hopes that you would not seem such a strangerto me, because I am instructed to make the venture to speak withyou----"

  Mary looked at her quickly, and interrupted--

  "By whom instructed?"

  "Lady Sunderland, Madame, for whom your Highness was wont to have somekindness."

  The Princess flushed, and Basilea wondered why, as her sole answer was--

  "I think Lady Sunderland a good woman."

  Basilea smiled.

  "She is also, as Your Highness knoweth, a great politic, which I neverwas nor could be, and hath set me to ask Your Highness some questionsbearing on great affairs."

  "Great affairs," said Mary under her breath. She rose gravely. "Ithink we must not plague Mademoiselle Dyckfelt with this talk. Willyou, Madame, come into the garden?"

  The Dutch maiden rose and unlatched the long window, then returnedplacidly to her sewing.

  Mary and Basilea descended a few steps into the formal garden, mainlycomposed of box hedges and clipt rose bushes, with a square pond in thecentre bordered with little yellow yew trees in wooden tubs and precisebeds of pinks and herbs.

  The tall and beautiful trees of the deer park in which the villa stoodrose up, with the elegant air of loftiness
peculiar to the trees of aperfectly flat country where they are the highest things the eye haswithin range; the air also was characteristic, being of that strangelyexhilarating quality of salt freshness that in every part of the UnitedProvinces served as a perpetual reminder of the sea. It was warmto-day, and the sun was golden in the foliage, and lay in scatteredflecks of light among the flowers, and on the pond where two waterlilieswere slowly closing to the evening.

  "You may speak quite frankly now," said Mary, as they proceeded slowlydown the gravel path. "Have you a message from Lady Sunderland?"

  "No, Madame," said Basilea, surprised that the Princess should seem toexpect it. "Only--it is difficult to express, Highness--but there aremonstrous tales abroad in France, England, and even here----"

  The Princess looked at her silently.

  "They do say," continued Basilea, "that His Highness meddleth in theaffairs of England, and these rumours give disquietude to HisMajesty----"

  Mary broke in, rather breathless--

  "I know nothing of business--my husband heareth so much of it abroadthat he is glad to talk of other matters at home. What doth LadySunderland want of me?"

  Basilea answered directness with directness.

  "She wisheth to know--that the Earl may put it privately before HisMajesty--your mind on the matter between His Highness and the King."

  "What matter is that?" asked Mary.

  Basilea was at a loss.

  "Your Highness must know better than I: as for these horriblerumours----"

  Mary paused by a rose bush and asked steadily--

  "What rumours?"

  "I think it would be unseemly to name them!"

  "I will hold you excused," said the Princess, still gravely.

  "Then, Madame, 'tis said that His Highness is so exasperate with thepolicy of His Majesty and postponement of your claim by the birth of thePrince, that he might attempt to do what my Lord Monmouth did----"

  Mary's fine fingers pulled delicately at the rose leaves.

  "My husband and that poor unhappy gentleman are such differentcharacters and in such different situations," she said, "that there canbe no comparison. I think the Prince would never do as the Duke did."

  Basilea looked at her keenly.

  "'Tis asserted, Lady Sunderland saith, that the Prince is in league withall the discontents of England, that he sheltereth many at TheHague----"

  "This country," answered the Princess quietly, "hath always been arefuge for the unfortunate, and it is reasonable that the nearconnection of my husband to the throne should give him an interest inEnglish business."

  Basilea was older than the Princess, whose air of extreme gentlenessfurther emboldened her to take, half unconsciously, a masterful tone.

  "I can assure Lady Sunderland that His Highness is innocent of thedesigns imputed to him."

  Mary glanced up from the rose bush; she smiled very slightly.

  "Why, you must go to the Prince for that assurance; I know nothing aboutit."

  Basilea stirred the gravel with her square-toed red shoe.

  "You must know, Madame," she said slowly, "whether you would hinder orfurther the Prince his projects?"

  Mary flushed, and the full brown eyes narrowed.

  "Neither you nor I," she answered, "can discuss His Highness hisprojects, which ever have been and will be for the good of Europe."

  Basilea looked at her curiously.

  "I fear Your Highness will think me impertinent, but," she thought ofthe grave words of M. D'Avaux, and the memory urged her not to be putoff by the evasiveness of the Princess--"but there are strange thingssaid in Paris and London----"

  "Madame de Marsac," interrupted Mary gently, "if my father hath cause tocomplain of me, he must send a direct messenger."

  Basilea felt herself rebuked.

  "I do not carry His Majesty's complaints, Highness," she answeredhumbly. "I am but the poor engine of the fears of my Lady Sunderland,who saith that in London the Prince his name is on the lips of all thediscontents, and it is feared that they might set him up as a pretender;and since that could not be if you refused your consent, it would be agreat comfort to His Majesty and his faithful ministers if you wouldgive that assurance."

  The Princess took a step forward, then stopped as if by an effort ofself-control.

  "I cannot deal with these secret and underground counsels," she saidfirmly; "and my poor brains are not fit for business."

  "This is not business, Highness," urged Basilea.

  "Whatever you call it," demanded the Princess, "why did you undertakeit?"

  "Because M. D'Avaux----" began Basilea, then stopped vexed; she had notmeant to mention that name.

  "M. D'Avaux," repeated Mary, with a heightened colour; "so he hath amind to know what I shall do if a certain crisis cometh?"

  Both the tone and the words seemed to betray more interest and knowledgethan she had yet disclosed, and Basilea was encouraged.

  "M. D'Avaux is an acquaintance of mine," she said frankly.

  "Ah yes," replied Mary; "you are a Papist, and your husband was aFrenchman. I think that meaneth," she added courteously, "that wecannot see things the same."

  "Your Highness doth not desire to behold Europe embroiled in anotherwar!"

  Mary answered earnestly--

  "There is nothing further from my wishes, and no ambition of mine," sheadded half wistfully, "would disturb anybody's peace. I bless my Godthat I know the life I am suited to, and I thank Him that He hath givenme the grace to know when I am happy."

  She put her hand gently on Basilea's sleeve.

  "It is getting too dark to remain here, and you have not even looked atmy roses!"

  Basilea admitted herself defeated. She was a little chagrined at thethought of the lame report she would have to give M. D'Avaux, but shecould press no more, especially as she had an uneasy feeling that thePrincess thought the less of her for the errand she had come upon.

  She left talk of politics, and Mary accompanied her with easy courtesyto the front of the villa, where her hired chariot waited with her maidyawning herself to death over an old-fashioned romance by Mademoisellede Scudery, which she had found in the inn parlour.

  The sky was paling and flushing behind the great avenue of trees rich intheir full leafage, and the rooks were noisy in the branches.

  "This is a pretty spot, Highness," said Basilea, on the impulse of themoment.

  Mary smiled.

  Two men were mounting the few wide entrance steps. Basilea noticedthem, because one was the red-breeched sailor whom she had seenyesterday beneath her window, the other was a slight gentleman in acircular mantle turned up over one shoulder, wearing riding boats andcarrying a whip; Basilea saw his horse being led off by a bareheadedgroom.

  She could not restrain her curiosity at seeing the seaman entering thePrince's villa.

  "Doth Your Highness know that man?" she asked.

  Mary glanced at the two as she closed the gate in the garden wall.

  "Which?" she asked, smiling.

  "The English sailor----"

  "No; but he hath good credentials, for that is the Prince with him,"said Mary quietly.

  Basilea was further surprised; she endeavoured to gain a closer view ofthe Stadtholder and his companion, but they had entered the house; shewas satisfied, however, that she had something to tell M. D'Avaux.

  "You must not marvel at the companion of His Highness," continued thePrincess; "there are many come here who are glad to wear disguises,owing to the rancour of the persecution of the Protestants in France."

  Basilea courtsied her leave. She was quite convinced that the seamanwas not French nor on any message from France, and she was beginning tobe convinced, too, that the Princess was marvellously changed anddifferent, and that it would be well for neither Lady Sunderland nor M.D'Avaux to be too sure of her compliance.

  Mary allowed her to depart without that demonstration of kindness withwhich she had received her, and Basilea stepped into her chariot
feelingdisappointed and dissatisfied.

  Mary, still standing by the garden wall at the side of the house,watched the little coach swing out of sight down the long darkeningdrive, and when it was lost in the shadows ran lightly up the steps andin through the tall doors: there, in the light painted vestibule, shefound the Prince and the English seaman conversing.

  She paused, flushed, and breathing in pants. The Prince took off hishat, and said--

  "This is the Princess, sir."

  The sailor turned quickly, and gave her a sharp look as he bowed.

  "This is Admiral Herbert, Madame," continued the Prince, "who is newcome from England."

  The colour receded from Mary's face. She glanced in a half frightenedway at her husband.

  "Oh," she murmured, "I wished to speak to you--but it can wait--for Isuppose Admiral Herbert his business is ... important."

  There was a tenseness of containment among the three of them, as if theywere all aware of great events and would not speak of them.

  "If the Princess is informed----" began Arthur Herbert.

  The Stadtholder interrupted.

  "The Princess knoweth everything, Mr. Herbert."

  Arthur Herbert betrayed the slightest surprise, covered instantly by aready turn of speech.

  "Her Highness will understand, then, the importance of my business."

  He bowed again, very courteous, to Mary, who answered instantly--

  "I will not hinder you, Mr. Herbert, not for an instant."

  The Prince looked at her.

  "Send for me when I am free, Madame."

  With that they both saluted her, and turned into the room at the rightof the vestibule.

  Mary stood motionless in the twilight, staring at the spot where theEnglish messenger had stood, peered at the closed door that concealedhim, then went softly and, it seemed, fearfully away.