the Whitehall banquets for Anne’s delight.
Then he turned to Mary. “But you would rather dance, I’ll swear.”
Mary admitted it.
“Then you must come to Court and we will dance together. I will tell them to devise a ballet in which you shall join.”
“Oh my lord Monmouth,” cried Mary, “that would be wonderful.”
“I’m your cousin,” he replied. “You should call me Jemmy, as my father does.”
“Cousin Jemmy,” repeated Mary looking happily into his face, which she thought was the most beautiful she had ever seen. He was grown up, yet not old. His skin was fresh and smooth, his eyes flashing and deeply set. He was kind, too.
“Always at your service,” he said, standing up and bowing. Then he took her hand and made her dance a few steps.
“You would be a good dancer,” he told her. “You must ask your father to have you taught.”
“We are to be soon.”
He whispered: “Before your sister grows too fat.”
“I am always telling her she eats too much,” Mary whispered back.
They laughed together; it was so pleasant sharing a joke with Cousin Jemmy.
He showed her how to dance as they did in the ballet while Anne remained on the window seat; she was not interested in dancing; nor was she so taken with Cousin Jemmy who had brought her no sweetmeats when all the visitors who wished to please her brought them for her.
As for Mary she clearly adored her cousin and he was delighted with her. She was a pretty creature, so innocent and unaware of her rank. He was certain that if he told her she took precedence over him she would not know to what he referred, and when he explained, assure him that he was certainly more important than she was. She soothed his mood, and to his surprise he found that his visit to the Duke of York’s house in Richmond was more pleasant than he had believed it could be.
As they danced and smiled at each other Mary suddenly grew serious. He asked her if anything troubled her and after a moment’s hesitation she said: “Cousin Jemmy, could you tell me about my grandfather?”
He looked at her in some astonishment. Then he said: “Oh, he lives in France now. He felt it was best to leave England for a while.”
“I don’t mean Grandfather Clarendon but Grandfather Charles the Martyr. They cut off his head didn’t they … because they didn’t like him?”
“Some didn’t like him. It was the wicked Parliament men. They cut off his head and afterward were made to wish they hadn’t.”
“They were very wicked, were they?”
“Very wicked.”
“Cousin Jemmy, no one will cut off Uncle Charles’s head … or my father’s?”
Cousin Jemmy laughed, not as Elizabeth laughed, but to show that what she suggested was not possible. She felt very relieved.
“Lady Denham died because of my father …” she began.
“Why,” said Jemmy, “you have been listening to the scandalmongers. There are always plenty of them about. The thing to do is to let what they say go into one ear and out of the other.” As he said this he was laughing; and somehow only to look at Cousin Jemmy’s kind face—which must also be the most handsome in the world—was a comfort.
Mary found that it didn’t matter what Elizabeth said about kings or her father; Elizabeth was not important now that Cousin Jemmy was her friend, and that made her very happy. Whenever she was frightened or bewildered she would remember Jemmy; perhaps she could tell him what puzzled her and she was sure he would always be able to explain it.
Jemmy took her hands and twirled her round; she was laughing and a little breathless but so happy.
She was thinking how different everything seemed since he had come; as for Monmouth, he was asking himself why they had not married him to Mary. If Charles had no legitimate heirs and James’s sickly boys died, this girl could one day be Queen. If he had been her husband would they have been ready to waive his illegitimacy?
This thought made him warm toward
Then he turned to Mary. “But you would rather dance, I’ll swear.”
Mary admitted it.
“Then you must come to Court and we will dance together. I will tell them to devise a ballet in which you shall join.”
“Oh my lord Monmouth,” cried Mary, “that would be wonderful.”
“I’m your cousin,” he replied. “You should call me Jemmy, as my father does.”
“Cousin Jemmy,” repeated Mary looking happily into his face, which she thought was the most beautiful she had ever seen. He was grown up, yet not old. His skin was fresh and smooth, his eyes flashing and deeply set. He was kind, too.
“Always at your service,” he said, standing up and bowing. Then he took her hand and made her dance a few steps.
“You would be a good dancer,” he told her. “You must ask your father to have you taught.”
“We are to be soon.”
He whispered: “Before your sister grows too fat.”
“I am always telling her she eats too much,” Mary whispered back.
They laughed together; it was so pleasant sharing a joke with Cousin Jemmy.
He showed her how to dance as they did in the ballet while Anne remained on the window seat; she was not interested in dancing; nor was she so taken with Cousin Jemmy who had brought her no sweetmeats when all the visitors who wished to please her brought them for her.
As for Mary she clearly adored her cousin and he was delighted with her. She was a pretty creature, so innocent and unaware of her rank. He was certain that if he told her she took precedence over him she would not know to what he referred, and when he explained, assure him that he was certainly more important than she was. She soothed his mood, and to his surprise he found that his visit to the Duke of York’s house in Richmond was more pleasant than he had believed it could be.
As they danced and smiled at each other Mary suddenly grew serious. He asked her if anything troubled her and after a moment’s hesitation she said: “Cousin Jemmy, could you tell me about my grandfather?”
He looked at her in some astonishment. Then he said: “Oh, he lives in France now. He felt it was best to leave England for a while.”
“I don’t mean Grandfather Clarendon but Grandfather Charles the Martyr. They cut off his head didn’t they … because they didn’t like him?”
“Some didn’t like him. It was the wicked Parliament men. They cut off his head and afterward were made to wish they hadn’t.”
“They were very wicked, were they?”
“Very wicked.”
“Cousin Jemmy, no one will cut off Uncle Charles’s head … or my father’s?”
Cousin Jemmy laughed, not as Elizabeth laughed, but to show that what she suggested was not possible. She felt very relieved.
“Lady Denham died because of my father …” she began.
“Why,” said Jemmy, “you have been listening to the scandalmongers. There are always plenty of them about. The thing to do is to let what they say go into one ear and out of the other.” As he said this he was laughing; and somehow only to look at Cousin Jemmy’s kind face—which must also be the most handsome in the world—was a comfort.
Mary found that it didn’t matter what Elizabeth said about kings or her father; Elizabeth was not important now that Cousin Jemmy was her friend, and that made her very happy. Whenever she was frightened or bewildered she would remember Jemmy; perhaps she could tell him what puzzled her and she was sure he would always be able to explain it.
Jemmy took her hands and twirled her round; she was laughing and a little breathless but so happy.
She was thinking how different everything seemed since he had come; as for Monmouth, he was asking himself why they had not married him to Mary. If Charles had no legitimate heirs and James’s sickly boys died, this girl could one day be Queen. If he had been her husband would they have been ready to waive his illegitimacy?
This thought made him warm toward
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