The Queen's Devotion: The Story of Queen Mary II by Jean Plaidy

husband, whom she found to be so gentle and kindly; she was very fond of her royal brother-in-law; and she had her baby.
    What a tragedy it was that little Catherine Laura should only live ten months!
    I talked to Anne Trelawny about it. I said: “It is so strange. The King has several children by women other than his wife, but the Queen cannot have one. And my father . . . well, he has only Anne and me, although he has had others . . .”
    â€œAnd strong ones too,” Anne reminded me.
    â€œWhy is it, Anne? Do you think it is a judgment on them?”
    I could see that Anne thought this might be so but was afraid to say so.
    â€œBecause,” I went on, “they are not faithful to their wives.”
    I thought how sad it was, how difficult to understand. The King loved the Queen, but he loved others, too. And I was forced to admit that my father was like his brother in this respect.
    I did not want to think of Arabella Churchill and people like that. But they existed and there were several of them.
    We tried to comfort poor Mary Beatrice over the loss of little Catherine Laura. It was not easy. I heard it whispered that the little girl’s death was an indication. It was going to be the King’s story all over again. Illegitimate children were easy to come by for the royal brothers. It was only legitimate ones who were denied them.
    It was very strange indeed and I was convinced that it was indeed a judgment on their immorality. I wondered why two of the most charming people I had ever met should be afflicted in this way.
    There was no long period of mourning for Catherine Laura and it seemed to me that her death was quickly forgotten at court.
    Perhaps because my uncle now shared the view that it was very possible that my father, like himself, would never get a legitimate son, he decided that Anne and I should be brought into prominence. We had achieved a little attention with our play and ballet and we went to the Lord Mayor’s banquet and sat with the King and Queen that all might see us.
    I was confirmed by Henry Compton, Bishop of London, to make it clear to all that I was not following my father’s religion, and I believe this event was viewed with great satisfaction by the people. They cheered us enthusiastically. They always cheered the King. I had heard it said that, in spite of the immoral life he led, the people loved him more than any king since Edward IV, who was a little like him. Licentious indeed, tall as Charles and very handsome. My uncle could not be called that, but he had that overwhelming charm to make up for it.
    I enjoyed being cheered and knowing that the people approved of me.
    â€œThere is nothing the people like more than a beautiful young girl,” said my uncle.
    And that was very comforting.
    So . . . life was changing. I loved Frances as dearly as ever. True, we only met on Sundays and Holy Days, and then in the company of others, but my great joy was writing to her and knowing that she was there. I wished sometimes that we could go off together and live quietly in a country cottage, surrounded by a garden full of beautiful flowers. I should want Anne Trelawny, of course, and my sister Anne—and she would not come without Sarah Jennings. And my father and Mary Beatrice must be there . . . and one or two more.
    I laughed at myself. I was just living in an impossible dream.
    Mary Beatrice was considerably comforted because she was pregnant again and in the August of the following year, only ten months after the death of little Catherine Laura, she gave birth to another daughter.
    There was the usual disappointment over the sex of the child, but at least she seemed strong and Anne and I were delighted to have a stepsister. She was called Isabella after Mary Beatrice’s great-grandmother.
    Life seemed very good at that time and then came the bitter blow.
    I was fifteen years of age in April of that year. I was so innocent in many ways. Life was good; I