Ferguson nodded. “With William of Orange’s army, and we make him swear to a constitution. We crown William king and tie his hands, and stop his mouth.”
“We have an army? We have ships?”
Ferguson laughed. “It’s not like last time! We have his army and his ships, to fight our own battle. William of Orange knows he has to defend the English church or lose it to Rome forever. He’s paying, mustering, shipping, and he’ll lead us. He himself is invading England.”
“And what happens if James Stuart, the king, doesn’t have a son?”
“He’s never going to admit to a girl or a stillbirth. They’ll put some poor little bastard in the royal cradle.”
There was a rumble of assent around the table. Some man said that he knew for a fact that a midwife had already been hired to bring in a changeling.
“We wear the green sash again?” Ned asked.
Ferguson laughed out loud and raised his glass. “We wear the green sash again. To liberty!”
WHITEHALL PALACE, LONDON, SPRING 1688
Matthew was announced to Livia’s private rooms in the palace and found her tying the black silk bows of her hat under her chin before a large gilded mirror. He took her silk-gloved hand and bowed his head for her kiss.
“Signora Madre, I don’t think we can go to Hatton Garden,” he said.
Livia did not take her eyes from the mirror and moved the bow a little more to one side. “We have to go,” she said simply.
“It’s not safe in the streets! I had to dodge two gangs of apprentices on the way here. There are people ringing the palace, shouting all sorts of things. The guards are closing the gates, but they can’t hold this palace against a full riot; there are too many entrances, they can’t guard them all.”
“Rowdy apprentice lads,” she suggested.
“Not just young lads, it’s the market people, women as well as men. A lot of tradesmen, by the looks of it, and watermen, chairmen, grooms. Everyone, really. People from the country, farmers andcountrywomen. Everyone is up in arms about the king trying to destroy the church.”
She snapped her fingers with irritation. “We know nothing in this palace, and everyone tells the king only what he wants to hear.”
“You don’t know about the embassy?”
“Allora!What?”
“The Spanish ambassador has closed up his house and run away—no one knows where. The mob threatened to burn the embassy to the ground. The new chapel has been closed. They broke in and robbed it of everything, they pissed on the walls.”
She was pale. “Why doesn’t the Lord Mayor stop this?”
“He’s out every weekend, trying to control the streets. They won’t listen to him.”
“I never get outside these walls, and all we talk about in here is the baby.”
“She’s not safe here. She should go to somewhere that could be defended.”
“She wanted to go to Windsor, but they say the birth has to be here, witnessed by all the privy councillors… what with everyone saying…”
“What?”
“…all the things that they are saying,” she finished.
“She can’t give birth here. What if they break in?”
“Surely we have the militia?”
“Signora Madre, the London militia is the very people who are running wild in the streets, shouting that they won’t have a changeling foisted on them, that the nuncio is the real father, and the Pope is invading! They are the same men and lads as the rioters.”
“Hush, hush, don’t say such things! The king will have to bring in the army.”