Lucy now spent every day in silent prayer in the queen’s private chapel, a privilege arranged for her by Lewis Innes, and ate her meals alone in our room. On the nights leading to Lucy’s departure, Grace began to pack her things and I often found a dress or piece of jewellery left in my closet, of no further use to her. At night, in our shared bed, I argued and pleaded with Lucy not to leave us. France was at war with practically everyone and, apart from my own need to cling to her, I worried for her safety.
‘I’ll miss you, Winifred, of course I will,’ Lucy whispered into the icy dark, ‘but you have to understand that my life at St Germain is empty of purpose. I must leave soon, under cover of winter darkness.’
‘But you are my only family here. Father doesn’t care about me or he would have intervened with the Earl of Melfort.’
Lucy turned towards me and I felt her warm breath. ‘Thank goodness he’s disappeared. I would have worried about leaving you if he was still here.’
‘What do you think happened to him?’ I asked.
‘Lewis hinted that Melfort treated powerful people just like he treated us. While he watched over St Germain, others were watching him and in the end his enemies outnumbered his friends.’
When the evening of our parting came, I shivered alongside Lucy’s carriage, my cloak wrapped tightly against a wind that whipped around the corners of the courtyard. There was nothing more to be said and I was keen to get the farewell over and return to the warmth of my room. Father gave no indication of wishing to linger either and I guessed that he wanted to return to his wine and court accounts.
As Lucy climbed into her seat and turned to wave farewell, I thought of the night she left for France with our mother and remembered that I had something belonging to her in my room … something special. I called up to the coachman and the horses startled, tossing their heads and shaking their harnesses. He calmed them with some soothing words before giving me his attention. ‘Yes, my lady?’
‘Please wait, I’ve left something in my room that I need to give Lady Lucy.’ He gave a grunt of assent but I heard Father ‘tut’ as I hurried past him towards our staircase. Searching at the back of my closet I found Lucy’s doll, hidden there because I had been too ashamed to admit that I’d brought her from England.
Lucy looked surprised but took the doll from me, turning over the threadbare toy in her hands.
‘Goodness, it’s Elizabeth. Where on earth did you find this?’
‘I took her from your room at home, after the fire. I’ve had her with me all this time.’
Lucy kissed the doll and passed her back to me. ‘Keep her with you, my dearest sister, and remember how much I love you. I have no use for toys but one day you might have a child who will play with her and you can talk about me and the games we played.’
My father left as soon as the carriage door closed but I remained standing until the back of the coach disappeared through the archway, pressing Lucy’s singed doll against my cheek to catch the tears.
Within a week, we heard from the coachman that Lucy had arrived safely but I knew that war would make further contact between us difficult. With Lucy gone, I had no further meetings with my father. Apart from Grace, I was alone.
As soon as Princess Louise-Marie was born in June and was seen to be healthy and thriving, the queen sent for me and I was allowed to hold the exquisite, sweetly perfumed baby girl. I had never before held a baby. I cradled her in the crook of my arm and she instinctively turned to my breast. I touched her cheek with my finger and her skin felt like the smooth surface of a field mushroom on a summer’s day. I knew for certain that I wanted one of my own but I was only twenty and there was plenty of time. I wrote to Lucy to tell her of the birth and months later received a reply. Her description of the convent’s ordered routine of contemplation meant little to me and I saw that Lucy and I, so close as children, now travelled paths that very soon neither of us could share.
When the queen recovered from the birth, I was formally appointed as one of the Ladies of the Bedchamber. This caused some resentment amongst the older women, those who hoped their daughters, left behind in England or Scotland might join them in the queen’s household. I found Mary Beatrice’s court to be a world within a world, one quite unlike the rest of St Germain. The queen was intelligent and politically astute. Her opinion was valued by powerful men and she smoothed the path between her husband and those who despaired of him. Best of all, she shared some of this with us, relying on our discretion or perhaps our indiscretion, ensuring that husbands heard only what she chose. She was skilled at making other people love her, while remaining the centre of attention. She flirted with men yet remained friends with their wives. She was deeply religious but moved with a grace charged with sexual energy.
The queen took me with her to Marly, Versailles and Fontainebleau when she visited the French royal family. More often now she went without her husband, as it was rumoured that relations were strained between James and Louis, but Mary Beatrice’s influence with Louis kept us securely in France. She enjoyed the strict French protocol which gave her precedence even above Louis’ wife, as there was no French queen and, without James, she was able to command all of his attention.