The Three Crowns epub by Jean Plaidy Read Free Book Online Page B

it’s because it’s the thirtieth. It’s silly anyway to pretend to be sad. It was all a long, long time ago. Before I was born.”
    “What was?”
    “The execution. That’s what they’re supposed to be remembering. But they are only really pretending to be sad.”
    “When was it?”
    “Don’t you know?” This was one of Elizabeth’s favorite remarks. She could never tell anything without prefacing her revelation with an incredulous observation on one’s ignorance. On this occasion Mary was too curious to pretend.
    “No, I don’t know,” she said.
    “They took him to the banquetting hall and chopped off his head.”
    “Who?”
    “Charles the First. Your grandfather, of course.”
    “Who did?”
    “The Parliament, of course.”
    “They didn’t.”
    “They did.” Elizabeth smiled knowledgeably. “It’s what they do to Kings and Queens when they don’t like them,” she said maliciously.
    Elizabeth knew when to make an exit. She retired, leaving a very uneasy little girl kneeling at the window seat. There was no pleasure now in looking out of the windows and trying to count the snowflakes. Every time a bell tolled she shivered. The world had become very insecure. Mary’s imagination was showing her her grandfather, who looked like her father or her Uncle Charles, only much older; his head was not on his shoulders. It rolled in the snow making it red instead of white. She pictured the crowds watching and they were whispering about her grandfather and her father. Margaret Denham had died because of her father—her good kind father who would never hurt anyone. What did it mean? There was so much in the world that she could not understand and Elizabeth was telling her that the world could be a frightening place.
    A terrible place indeed where the people cut off the heads of Kings.
    Elizabeth’s voice kept coming back to her.
    “It’s what they do to Kings and Queens—if they don’t like them.”

     
    James Scott, who had been known as Fitzroy and Crofts and was now the Duke of Monmouth and Buccleuch, rode from Whitehall to Richmond on his way to visit his uncle the Duke of York, whom he would always loathe because he believed that but for him the King might have been persuaded to legitimize him.
    The King had said: “Now, Jemmy, ride over to Richmond where your uncle James is with his family. Make yourself pleasant. I like not quarrels in families.”
    Monmouth had scowled; he knew his father was very indulgent toward him and he exploited this; but there were occasions when Charles reminded him that he was the King and then Monmouth knew it was wiser to obey.
    So here he was, riding over to Richmond, in order to make himself pleasant to his uncle and his fat wife.
    There was one burning passion in Monmouth’s life and that was to be King of England. It seemed so cruel to him that merely because his father had omitted to marry his mother he should be set aside. Why should James’s children—those two girls and the sickly boys, whom everyone said would never reach maturity—come before him, simply because their father had married their mother. That marriage might so easily not have taken place, but Anne Hyde had been more fortunate than Lucy Walters.
    There were some who whispered to him that there had actually been a marriage—those he called his friends. Yet his father had not denied it but considering how at one time he had longed to make him legitimate, would he not have been delighted to admit he had married Lucy Walters if this had been the case?
    Monmouth believed he would have made a perfect Prince of Wales. The King doted on him, forgave him his misdeeds, had bestowed on him titles and a rich heiress. In fact, Charles had given him everything except the one thing he wanted: to be heir to the crown.
    People bowed to him as he passed. He was such a handsome fellow, so charming, so personable. The gay son of a gay king. His spirits rose for he was certain that the people wished he was