The Queen's Devotion: The Story of Queen Mary II by Jean Plaidy Read Free Book Online Page B

ever this year,” said Elizabeth. “There were grotesque images of Guy Fawkes. Hideous, they were. Well, he did try to blow up the Houses of Parliament, so it is understandable that people remember. It was all due to the Papist Plot. It will never be forgotten while there are Catholics in the country.”
    She began to chant,

    Remember, remember the fifth of November
The gunpowder treason and plot
I see no reason,
The gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!

    â€œThat is what they sing!” Her eyes were wide with innocence. “Why did they make such a special occasion of it this year?” she asked.
    This was Elizabeth stressing the unpopularity of my father’s marriage.
    I was pleased when it became clear that Mary Beatrice was not afraid of my father as she had been at first. When I grew older I realized that, with his great experience of women, and his considerable charm—although some degrees less than that of the King—he had begun to win her affection. I noticed the smiles they exchanged and that the melancholy which she had not succeeded in hiding on her arrival was no longer there. There was an acceptance of her new life which grew firmer every day.
    Card-playing was one of the most popular pastimes at court and Mary Beatrice was expected to join in. She told me that she disliked it and that she found no excitement when she won and she hated to lose.
    â€œThen if you do not want to play, why did you do so?” I asked.
    â€œI am told it is expected of me and some of the company look very displeased when I show no enthusiasm for the game.”
    â€œBut it is amusing!” I cried. “I play now and then. Even my sister does. We like it very much.”
    Mary Beatrice shook her head. But that was just a minor irritation.

    DURING THE MONTHS that followed and as my father was revealed to Mary Beatrice as the considerate and kindly man he was, she grew to love him. The lazy manner of our court must have seemed a great contrast to that of her mother’s. She remained enchanted by the courteous attention paid to her by the King. And she was becoming a lighthearted girl of sixteen.
    Of the four ladies she had brought with her from Modena two were young. One of these was Anna, the daughter of Madame Montecuculi, the lady who was in charge of them all; and the other was Madame Molza, who was only a little older than Mary Beatrice herself. The other lady was Madame Turenie, who had been with Mary Beatrice since she was a baby.
    Through the veiled remarks of Elizabeth Villiers and the sophisticated comments of Sarah Jennings and some of the older girls, I was getting a deeper understanding of my father’s position.
    There had been a time when he had enjoyed a popularity almost to rival that of the King. His dalliance with Arabella Churchill and involvement in the Sir John Denham affair were dismissed as romantic waywardness, to be expected in a man of the world; but what remained unforgiven was his adherence to the Catholic faith and now his marriage to a Catholic. The King and heir to the throne might be as lecherous as they pleased. Their religion was another matter. England had experienced Catholic Queen Mary, the bigoted daughter of King Henry VIII, and they were determined never to have another Catholic monarch on the throne if they could help it.
    And as time was passing, it seemed more and more likely that my father would inherit the throne. Forgotten were the victorious naval battles which had made a hero of him. Now could be heard the first rumblings of the storm and I was to learn how significant that would prove to be.
    There came a day when Mary Beatrice had some exciting news.
    â€œI am going to have a baby,” she said, her beautiful eyes alight with happiness.
    We were all very excited, particularly my father. He embraced me with the fervor he always showed at our meetings.
    â€œI am so happy that you and your stepmother are such good friends,” he