[185]. Mary Kirke was another of Anne’s maids, according to Grammont.
FRANCES JENNINGS, DUCHESS OF TYRCONNEL
But attached likewise to the Duchess’ person was one who, one cannot but think, must have been to some extent a support and comfort in a life that became more and more lonely and difficult as time went on. Margaret, daughter of Colonel Thomas Blagge of Horningsheath in Suffolk, a loyal Cavalier through the Civil War, during which he was governor of Landguard Fort, became maid of honour to Anne, when a little girl, probably not more than twelve years of age. The story of her short life has been told by Evelyn, who watched over her with the care of a father, and to whom she seems to have been almost an inspiration.[[186]] As a little child she had been sent to France with the Duchess of Richmond (that wayward, beautiful Mary Villiers, so long and deeply beloved by Prince Rupert, and whose chivalrous lord had died broken-hearted for the loss of his master, Charles I.). The child was then confided to the care of Lady Guildford, Groom of the Stole to the queen-mother Henrietta, yet even then we are told that little Margaret resisted being taken to Mass. After her return to England she was confirmed by Gunning, Bishop of Ely, at the age of eleven, and admitted to Holy Communion at that early period. It was not long after this that the Duchess of York asked for her, and from that time she lived, outwardly, the beautiful, admired, lively maid of honour; inwardly, a life “hid with Christ.” Evelyn himself was long unwilling to know much of her, fancying her “some airy thing that had more wit than discretion”; and Pepys with much relish relates that he, in company with Sir John Smith, dined with her, Mrs Ogle and Mrs Anne Howard (another maid of honour, afterwards Lady Sylvius), and that it “did me good to have the honour to dine with them and look upon them.” In the whirl of the Court life Margaret Blagge moves like the “Lady” in Comus, with spotless garments unsmirched by the mire through which she treads, and leaving behind her the ineffable perfume of the “white flower of a blameless life.”[[187]] She was destined to die young, in the twenty-sixth year of her age, the passionately beloved wife of Sidney Godolphin, the best part of whose life and character was buried in that early grave. It is hard to think that he who was to know such a consecration could write verses to Moll Davis!
[186]. “Life of Mrs Godolphin,” by John Evelyn, ed. by E. W. Harcourt.
[187]. “Diary of John Evelyn,” introduction by Austin Dobson. “1667. June 30th.—My wife went a journey of pleasure down the river as far as the sea with Mrs Howard and her daughter the maid of honour (after Lady Sylvius) and others, amongst whom that excellent creature Mrs Blagge.” This is his first mention of her.
To Anne Hyde, whose almost stern character could appreciate honesty, the straightforward mind and transparent truth of Margaret Blagge must have appealed, in spite of the divergence of faith which came before the end. For we hear of the Duchess, that “her frankness was such that she could as little conceal her antipathies as she could disguise her affections.”[[188]] This candour was, it may very easily be seen, dangerous in her position and must have made for unpopularity.
[188]. “Anecdotal Memoirs of English Princes.” Davenport Adams.
Meanwhile the Duke of York, whatever else he was, was by no means reconciled to a life of idleness. Pepys, in his character of Naval Secretary, affirms early in 1664: “The Duke of York do give himself up to business, and is likely to prove a noble prince, and so indeed I do from my heart think he will.”[[189]] The former had, indeed, every opportunity of judging, as his post brought him necessarily into constant communication with the Lord High Admiral, communication of the most intimate kind, for another time he remarks: “Up and carrying my wife to Whitehall to the Duke where he first put on a periwigg to-day, but methought his hair cut short in order did look very prettily of itself before he put on his periwigg.”[[190]] This is the last we see of James’ fair curls. King Charles was turning grey—it was said from anxiety on account of the Queen’s dangerous illness—and so assumed a black peruke; therefore his brother, no less than his whole Court, must needs do likewise. Another of the honest secretary’s remarks conveys a certain pathos: “To St James’s, and there did our business as usual with the Duke and saw him with great pleasure play with his little girle like an ordinary private father of a childe.”[[191]] If Pepys was what Thackeray calls a snob, he was at any rate a very candid one, and perhaps there was, besides, lurking in that commonplace mind a little envious pang at the sight, for he, we know, was childless. Yet could he have foreseen the future he had no need to envy James that pretty plaything, for twenty-four years later “Mary the daughter,”[[192]] as the bitter Jacobite rhyme calls her, was destined to grasp the crown torn from the head of the father who so loved her, the father driven into exile by his children.
[189]. “Calendar of Domestic State Papers.” Ambassador Van Gogh to the States General. 1664-1665.—March: “The Duke of York is recovered, and will soon go to Deal, it is believed he will go out with the Fleet. The Duchess goes with him, and has taken a country house near so as to be at hand to receive news of him during the expedition.”