apparition had actually been in the room. It was so vivid that she made up her mind that she had actually been visited by Margaret Denham’s ghost.
She felt the heat on her chin and putting her fingers to it found they were wet.
She began calling for candles and in a short time several of her women were hurrying into the room. They gasped when they saw the blood on her face.
“Your Grace, what has happened?” cried one.
“Margaret Denham has been in this room,” answered Anne.
“She … has harmed Your Grace?”
Seeing that there was blood on her sheets Anne recoiled from it in dismay.
By this time the commotion had awakened the Duke in the nearby chamber and he came hurrying in and when he saw the blood on the Duchess’s face he cried out in dismay and taking her in his arms demanded to know what had happened.
“Margaret Denham came to me. This is the result.”
The Duke called for more candles, and saw that the blood was coming from the Duchess’s mouth. When closer examination proved that she had bitten her tongue, there was great relief in the apartments.
“It was the fright, Your Grace,” said one of her women.
“Her Grace has had a bad dream,” said the Duke. “Awaken one of the physicians and send him here.”
When the doctor came he was able to assure the Duke and Duchess that no harm was done; she had bitten her tongue, which would be a little sore, particularly when hot food was taken, but it would quickly heal.
The blood had been washed from the Duchess’s face and hands; the sheets had been changed and she lay back while the Duke sat by her bed watching her.
“I fear,” said James, “that you have had this evil dream because Margaret Denham has been much on your mind.”
“She will not be forgotten it seems.”
“Nonsense. In a few months no one will remember her name.”
“Oh, James, make sure that there are no more Margaret Denhams.”
“My dear, how could I know that she would die in such circumstances?”
“It would have been of no account how she died if you had been a faithful husband to me.”
James sighed. “That is a matter we have discussed many times before, Anne. Let us have done with it.”
“It was as though she were here … in this room, James. As though she upbraided me .”
“You are not well. I have noticed that you have been looking tired of late.”
“There is nothing wrong with me.” Her hand imperceptibly touched her breast.
He leaned over and kissed her. “Oh, Anne,” he said, “if you were a humble merchant’s wife and I that merchant, it would have been different.”
“Being humble would not have changed your nature, James. There is a wildness in you … a need for women which is paramount to all else. You inherited it from your grandfather who, I have heard, had more mistresses than any King of France. What more could be said?”
“Yet,” said James, “there is no other that can claim my heart but you.”
“Spoken like a Stuart.” She laughed. “I’ll swear Charles is saying the same at this moment to one of his ladies.”
“But I mean it, Anne.”
“Stuarts always mean what they say … when they say it.” She lay against him. “It is good to have you with me, James. There is much of which I would speak to you.”
He kissed her and she was aware of the passion which was so ready to be aroused. Perhaps it was not for fat Anne Hyde, the mother of his children (two only of whom were strong and healthy and they girls), no, not for that Anne Hyde, but for the young girl whom he had met and loved at Breda, the girl whom he had seduced, making marriage a necessary but still a greatly desired event.
This was how it should have been for all the years of marriage—James forgot his mistresses; Anne forgot the recurring pain in her breast, the secret visits to the priest. Though fleetingly she assured herself that soon she would discuss her views with James, for she wanted to share her faith with him as she had
She felt the heat on her chin and putting her fingers to it found they were wet.
She began calling for candles and in a short time several of her women were hurrying into the room. They gasped when they saw the blood on her face.
“Your Grace, what has happened?” cried one.
“Margaret Denham has been in this room,” answered Anne.
“She … has harmed Your Grace?”
Seeing that there was blood on her sheets Anne recoiled from it in dismay.
By this time the commotion had awakened the Duke in the nearby chamber and he came hurrying in and when he saw the blood on the Duchess’s face he cried out in dismay and taking her in his arms demanded to know what had happened.
“Margaret Denham came to me. This is the result.”
The Duke called for more candles, and saw that the blood was coming from the Duchess’s mouth. When closer examination proved that she had bitten her tongue, there was great relief in the apartments.
“It was the fright, Your Grace,” said one of her women.
“Her Grace has had a bad dream,” said the Duke. “Awaken one of the physicians and send him here.”
When the doctor came he was able to assure the Duke and Duchess that no harm was done; she had bitten her tongue, which would be a little sore, particularly when hot food was taken, but it would quickly heal.
The blood had been washed from the Duchess’s face and hands; the sheets had been changed and she lay back while the Duke sat by her bed watching her.
“I fear,” said James, “that you have had this evil dream because Margaret Denham has been much on your mind.”
“She will not be forgotten it seems.”
“Nonsense. In a few months no one will remember her name.”
“Oh, James, make sure that there are no more Margaret Denhams.”
“My dear, how could I know that she would die in such circumstances?”
“It would have been of no account how she died if you had been a faithful husband to me.”
James sighed. “That is a matter we have discussed many times before, Anne. Let us have done with it.”
“It was as though she were here … in this room, James. As though she upbraided me .”
“You are not well. I have noticed that you have been looking tired of late.”
“There is nothing wrong with me.” Her hand imperceptibly touched her breast.
He leaned over and kissed her. “Oh, Anne,” he said, “if you were a humble merchant’s wife and I that merchant, it would have been different.”
“Being humble would not have changed your nature, James. There is a wildness in you … a need for women which is paramount to all else. You inherited it from your grandfather who, I have heard, had more mistresses than any King of France. What more could be said?”
“Yet,” said James, “there is no other that can claim my heart but you.”
“Spoken like a Stuart.” She laughed. “I’ll swear Charles is saying the same at this moment to one of his ladies.”
“But I mean it, Anne.”
“Stuarts always mean what they say … when they say it.” She lay against him. “It is good to have you with me, James. There is much of which I would speak to you.”
He kissed her and she was aware of the passion which was so ready to be aroused. Perhaps it was not for fat Anne Hyde, the mother of his children (two only of whom were strong and healthy and they girls), no, not for that Anne Hyde, but for the young girl whom he had met and loved at Breda, the girl whom he had seduced, making marriage a necessary but still a greatly desired event.
This was how it should have been for all the years of marriage—James forgot his mistresses; Anne forgot the recurring pain in her breast, the secret visits to the priest. Though fleetingly she assured herself that soon she would discuss her views with James, for she wanted to share her faith with him as she had
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