When Kensington Palace became a Royal Residence

by Andrea Zuvich

There’s something about Kensington Palace that immediately conjures up the word glamorous. Perhaps it is because in recent memory, it has been the home of notable, glamorous royals such as the late Princess Margaret, the late Diana, Princess of Wales, and also because of its current inhabitant, Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. But what we now know of Kensington Palace is very different from what it once was. As I had the great honour to have been on the original team that developed the Garden History Tours at Kensington Palace, I learned first-hand about the history and rather more humble origins of the great royal palace – and I hope to share some of that here with you all today. 

Before modern Kensington became the playground of the world’s richest people, it was a sleepy verdant little village renowned for its purity of air. Royals have only inhabited the house since the late 17^th-century, when William III and Mary II moved in. But the history of the land goes back farther than that. According to Kensington Palace by W.J. Loftie, a late Victorian historian, the land upon which Kensington Palace now lies was (in the 14^th century) on an area called Neyt Manor, one of three manorial estates owned by the Abbey of Westminster. Indeed, archival documents and archaeological assessments from the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea state there was a Neyt Manor in 1386. Whatever building was left standing is believed to have been demolished in 1602.

A Jacobean house was built in 1605 for Sir George Coppin three years after the Neyt Manor structure was razed. Following Coppin’s death in 1619, it was purchased by the Finch family. Much later on, the house was named “Nottingham House” because Sir Heneage Finch was the Earl of Nottingham (since 1681).

In 1688, what is known as the “Glorious Revolution” occurred in which James II was ousted from power by his nephew/son-in-law William of Orange and James’s daughter/William’s wife and cousin, Mary. In 1689, William and Mary were crowned King and Queen, and they soon set out to find where to live. Why? You may well wonder, considering that they already had St. James’s Palace and Whitehall Palace. But Whitehall rested in an area by the River Thames that was full of fog, smoke, and generally unpleasant air. This wreaked havoc with King William’s chronic asthma and so more verdant climes were sought. They soon purchased Nottingham House from Daniel Finch, the 2^nd Earl of Nottingham (who happened to be his Secretary of State), for a whopping £14,000-18,000.

After this, they hired Sir Christopher Wren to expand and modernise the Jacobean building into something bigger and more fashionable. Construction work went on between 1689-1690. Unfortunately, Mary was a bit impatient with what she perceived to be the slow progress of the building. This can probably be attributed to her desire to make a comfortable home for William. She wrote to her beloved:

“the schafolds are up, the windows must be boarded up, but as soon as it is done, your own apartment may be furnished.”

Her over-eagerness to get the building works completed meant that the workman built too quickly, and so the quality of their work became a secondary consideration. Mary wrote (original spelling maintained): “This made me go often to Kinsington to hasten the worckmen, and I was so impatient to beat that place, imagining to find more ease there.”

As a result of this, sadly, November 1689 saw part of the newly-built building fall down ‘killing seven or eight workman’ – and this tragedy also occurred during renovation work to Hampton Court Palace. Mary characteristically blamed herself for these deaths.

Her diary continues: “This I often reproved my self for and at last it pleased God to shew me the uncertainty of all things…All this much as it was the fault of the worckmen, humanly speacking, yet shewed me the hand of God plainly in it, and I was truly humbled.”

The gardens were redone at this time as well, with heavily manicured box hedging – elaborately formed in the formal Baroque (modern) style which was then so popular. William and Mary spent nearly the same amount on these magnificent gardens as they did on the house! They both loved gardening and their previous homes in the Dutch Republic (The Netherlands), especially Paleis Het Loo, also had wonderfully symmetrical parterres in this elegant style. Sadly, none of their Kensington gardens exist to this day!

In 1690, the interior of the house began to be decorated with glorious woodcarvings from Baroque carver Grinling Gibbons. Visitors to Kensington Palace’s State Apartments can see these for themselves, in the King’s Presence Chamber and in Queen Mary’s Gallery. Outside the Queen’s Entrance, the monogram (entwined initials) of William and Mary is clearly visible above the doorway.

Mary died from haemorrhagic smallpox in 1694, plunging her husband into a deep grief. John Evelyn, the diarist and courtier, visited the now-sole-monarch William in 1696 at Kensington House and said of it:

“I went to the King’s house at Kensington with some Ladys: The House is very noble, tho not greate; the Gallerys furnished with all the best Pictures of all the Houses, of Titian, Raphael, Correggio, Holbein, Julio Romano, Bassan, V. Dyke: Tintoret, & others, with a world of Porcelain; a pretty private Library; the Garden about it very delicious.”

King William III died in 1702, leaving the throne to his sister-in-law, Anne, who became the last of the Stuarts. The famous statue of William III that faces High Street Kensington is a 20^th-century addition – a gift from Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany in 1907. I hope that those who are able to visit Kensington Palace in the future will take a moment and think about this – about the time when Kensington Palace first became a royal residence.

All photos © Andrea Zuvich.

           

Sources:

·         Ashworth, Helen. York Place Kensington. The Heritage Network, via Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea. Access date: 27/02/2015.

·         Beard, Geoffrey. The Works of Grinling Gibbons. John Murray Publishers Ltd, London, 1989.

·         Evelyn, John. Diary.

·         Faulkner, Patrick A. Nottingham House: John Thorpe and his Relation to Kensington Palace.  Archaeology Data Service. Access date: 27/02/2015.

·         Howard, Philip. The Royal Palaces. Hamish Hamilton, London, 1970.

·         Loftie, W.J. Kensington Palace. 1898.

·         Mary II, Queen. Letters & Memoirs, 1689.

·         Tinniswood, Adrian. His Invention So Fertile: A Life of Christopher Wren. Pimlico, London, 2002.

·         Williams, Neville. Royal Homes of Great Britain from Medieval to Modern Times. Lutterworth Press, London, 1971.

·        WORK 38/428. Sir George Coppin’s House, Kensington. National Archives, Kew, UK.


This is an Editor’s Choice from the #EHFA archives, originally published February 28, 2015.

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Andrea Zuvich is an independent seventeenth-century historian and anthropologist specialising in the House of Stuart (1603-1714). Zuvich obtained degrees in History and Anthropology at the University of Central Florida and is the host of the popular ‘The Seventeenth Century Lady’ blog. Zuvich is also a historical consultant for TV, film, and radio. She most recently appeared in BBC Four’s ‘Charles I: Downfall of a King’. She was one of the original developers of and leaders on the award-winning Garden History Tours at Kensington Palace and has written six books about the Stuart period. Zuvich is also a trained actress and professional voice-over artist, narrating audiobooks and providing voice work for several mobile apps.

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The Glorious Revolution

by Judith Thomson

On the 10th of July 1688 a momentous event in the history of England took place – a baby was born! He was not just any baby, he was the son of King James ll and his wife, Mary Beatrice. Or was he?

The news was the very last thing most people in England wanted to hear. James had succeeded his charismatic brother, Charles ll, to the throne but James was nothing like him. When the monarchy had been restored after the troubled years following Civil War, Charles had vowed that he would never go upon his travels again and he had used his charm, and his intelligence, to make sure of it. James was unfortunately lacking in both these qualities. Lord Rochester, who had a cruel wit, summed up their differences by saying that “Charles could see all things if he would, whilst James would see all things if he could!”

But the worst thing about James, in most people’s eyes, was that he had declared himself to be a Catholic and had married a Catholic after the death of his first wife. To a Protestant nation, to whom the horrors of the Popish Plot were still a vivid memory, this was unforgiveable. Catholics had been accused at that time of all sorts of heinous crimes, including attempting to kill his brother, Charles, and whether or not the charges had been proved false, Papists were still viewed with suspicion, and even hatred, by most. Now, thanks to James, they were being given important positions of power.

Charles’ illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth, had, three years earlier, led a rebellion against his uncle James, but it had been a disaster and resulted in a great many deaths, including that of the young Duke himself. After that, the people had, in the main, accepted James’ rule sullenly, safe in the knowledge that James could not live for ever. When he died, his eldest daughter, Mary, a good Protestant married to another of James’ nephews, the Dutch Prince, William of Orange, would inherit the throne.

Except now she wouldn’t. The new baby, being a boy, would take precedence over her, and he was baptised into the Catholic faith before he was a day old. The Papist rule would continue. Small wonder few welcomed the announcement of the Prince’s birth.

The word was even spread about that the Queen’s baby had died and that the new Prince of Wales had been a substitute, smuggled into her bedchamber in a warming pan. Some people went so far as to claim that she had never been pregnant in the first place, but had just been wearing a cushion tied around her! Those who were present at the birth disputed the tale of the ‘warming pan baby’ but, since it was only Catholics who been there whilst the Queen was in labour, their words did not carry too much weight.

Whatever people believed, or pretended to believe, there were a few who had decided that the time had come for action. Since the throne would no longer be given on James’ death to William of Orange and Princess Mary, then why not ask them to take it now, whilst James was still alive?

William of Orange

However, William had quite enough problems as it was, with the French troops of Louis XlV encroaching on his borders. He accepted the desirability of ensuring Protestant rule in England, especially since his arch-enemy, the Catholic King Louis, was James’ cousin, but, before he embarked upon so great an enterprise, he needed to be absolutely certain that it was what the nation truly wanted. He insisted upon being actually invited to take the English crown.

This was tricky, for anyone signing such an invitation would be taking a great risk. King James would show no mercy to any he suspected of working against him but, even so, a document was drawn up in secret. It bore the coded signatures of men representing the organisations whose welcome William had desired. These were Compton, the Bishop of London, for the Church, Admiral Russell for the Navy, Lord Danby for the Tories and Henry Sidney, Lord Shrewsbury, Lord Devonshire and Lord Lumley for the Whigs.

Seven brave and desperate men.

William received his invitation with more resignation than pleasure, but he knew where his duty lay and, upsetting as the prospect must have been of siding with her husband against her father, so did his wife, Mary.

Preparations for an invasion of England began at once. As well as the Dutch, there were troops assembled from all parts of Protestant Europe, and they were joined by Englishmen who had taken up residence in Holland and Huguenots who had fled France when the edict which had once protected French Protestants had been revoked.

It was a mighty army. Two hundred transport vessels were needed to take the sixteen thousand soldiers and their equipment over the North Sea. As well as food for the men and fodder and saddles for the horses they were taking, there was a mobile smithy and wagons, boats, a portable bridge and even a printing press with moulds for striking money! There were also fifty men o’ war with fire ships and lighter craft to escort them and many small boats that needed to be lashed to the side of larger vessels to enable them to make the crossing.

And what was King James doing whilst these preparations were going on? Not a lot, actually, at first. There were rumours that Prince William was planning to invade but he did not take the threat seriously. Samuel Pepys, the Secretary of the Admiralty, did take it seriously and tried to persuade him to commission the first and second rates, the grand battle fleet, but James was unwilling to spend the money. Pepys did manage to persuade him to man two third rates and three fourth rates, but James refused to be panicked and listened to his advisers, such as his chief minister, Lord Sunderland, who were convinced that if William did come he would not be foolish enough to brave the Autumn weather but would wait until the Spring.

Samuel Pepys

When they finally realised they were wrong, Pepys put to sea everything the Navy had that would stay afloat in the Autumn storms and even recalled the fleet from the straits of Gibraltar, all the way from the southern tip of Spain. Ships from every shipyard in the country were assembled at the Buoy of the Nore, in the mouth of the Thames estuary, and he worked round the clock to equip them, but he was short of guns and sailors. The press gangs were waiting for the merchant ships to come into port and soldiers were being taken on board if no others could be found.

William’s expedition did not have a very auspicious start. The first time they set sail the gales scattered the ships and they were forced to return. Only one ship was lost and no men but, sadly, thirteen hundred of the horses had suffocated by the time they managed to get them out. When the news reached James, he insisted that the wind had declared itself Popish!

Pepys was still concerned and pointed out to him that if the wind had not stopped William then their own fleet, which had been moved from the Nore to the Gunfleet, would have been trapped and powerless to prevent him from landing. James sent an order for Admiral Dartmouth to cross the sea and put a stop to the invasion whilst it was still in shambles but Dartmouth had a dilemma; most of his captains were Protestant and many of them were not loyal to James. He feared they might simply turn their ships over to William, given the chance.

And so it was without any opposition that William’s fleet finally sailed to England on the 1st of November 1688, saluting Dover and Calais with their guns as they passed through the Straits of Dover and playing drums and trumpets for the benefit of the people watching them from the Dover cliffs.

William had originally planned to land in the north but the wind was making it difficult so he decided to make for Torbay, in the west, instead and the huge fleet anchored off the little fishing village of Brixham, much to the surprise of the villagers!

Brixham - William of Orange Monument

There was little accommodation to be had there so William, the future king of England, spent his first night in his new country sleeping in a fisherman’s hut!

They marched to London, gathering recruits and supporters along the way, slowly at first, for people still remembered the terrible price paid by those who had supported the Duke of Monmouth’s ill-fated rebellion, but it soon became obvious to James that he was under a real threat and he rallied his forces to meet him in battle.

Unfortunately for James, most of the soldiers felt the same way about him as the sailors did. Many deserted and went over to join William, including his own son-in-law Prince George, who was married to his younger daughter, Anne. The real blow came for James, though, when John Churchill, later to become the Duke of Marlborough, changed sides. James had been a generous patron to Churchill, whose sister, Arabella, had once been his mistress, and could have expected that he, at least, would have remained loyal.

He returned to London and, when it became evident that he would not be able to negotiate a settlement with William, he managed to escape, on the second attempt, and followed his wife and baby son to France, where his cousin Louis welcomed him, even giving over to him the chateau of St. Germain.

So the ‘Glorious Revolution’ came about without battle or bloodshed, which had been exactly William’s intention. He and Mary were crowned as joint King and Queen on the 11th of April 1689 and became our first constitutional monarchs, not absolute as their predecessors had been, but answerable to the parliament and the people.

And James? The following year King Louis equipped him with an army and he sailed to Ireland in an attempt to raise supporters there and regain his crown.

But that is quite another story!

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Judith Thomson lives in Sussex and is passionate about the seventeenth century She has gained much inspiration from her time spent in London and her regular visits to Paris and Versailles.
She likes to paint, enjoys boating on the French canals and scuba diving.
Judith has written five historical novels to date, based around the actual events of the period, set in both England and France. They follow the life and adventures of her main character, Philip Devalle, and have been published by Troubador. They are all available from https://www.troubador.co.uk/ as well as Amazon  and most book stores.

For more information about Judith and her books, please visit:
https://www.judiththomsonsite.wordpress.com/
She also writes regular blogs on:
https://www.judiththomsonsite.wordpress.com/
Follow her on Twitter @JudithThomson14

Also by Judith Thomson:

Loyalty unto death – of a gallant man and the First Jacobite Rising

by Anna Belfrage

In July of 1689, the first battle of the Jacobite rebellion took place up in Scotland. I see some of you wrinkling your brows: for most people, the Jacobite rebellion is an 18th century thing involving Bonnie Prince Charlie and the brave Highlanders. Well, before there was a bonny prince there was an ousted king, grandfather to the young man who led the clans to their death at Culloden.

James II

In 1688, James II of England was faced with a most unpalatable challenge: seven of his Protestant grandees had offered the English crown to James’ son-in-law, William of Orange, and his daughter, Mary. Why? Well, the Protestant powers-that-were had been made most nervous back in June of 1688, when James II’s second wife, Mary of Modena, presented him with a healthy son.

One would assume the birth of a prince would have been greeted with joy. Problem was, James II and his wife were Catholics. The baby boy was therefore a vile papist, and England in the late 17th century was not exactly tolerant when it came to papists. The birth of little James Francis Edward was, according to the good Anglicans, a catastrophe. Prior to his birth, James’ heir was Mary, safely married to that most staunch of Protestants, Dutch William. With the baby prince, the English could potentially face a dynasty of Catholic kings, a fate to be avoided at all costs, even if the cost was treason.

No sooner was baby James Francis Edward born but the rumours started: the baby was obviously a changeling, smuggled in via a warming pan to replace the stillborn babe Mary of Modena had birthed. Anyone who has seen a warming pan and compared it size wise with a living baby would realise transporting a newborn child in one was risking the baby’s life, but people were more than happy to believe this lurid tale. Poor James. Poor Mary of Modena. This was a couple who’d seen more than their fair share of babies die away from them and now, when at last there was a healthy son, they had to listen to all this evil gossip. Even worse, it seemed it was James’ two eldest daughters who had fanned these rumours into life.

In November of 1688, William landed in England. Upon his arrival, there was a general stampede among James’ closest men, all of them falling over their feet in their eagerness to declare themselves for William.

Not all Protestants sided against James. Very many remained loyal to their king. James was a proven general and as his army was superior to that of William, one would have thought he’d chase his son-in-law straight back into the North Sea.

Mary of Modena and James Francis Edward

Problem was, James lost his nerve. First, he had no desire to submerge England into yet another civil war—he remembered well the terrors of the previous war. Secondly, too many of the men he had trusted and believed in had turned their backs on him. So James dithered. Never a good thing to do. William did not dither. Come December, James was a prisoner of his son-in-law, but William found all this rather uncomfortable so he obligingly looked the other way when James “escaped” and fled to France, where his wife and baby son were waiting.

Back in England, those loyal to James regrouped. Among these was a certain James Graham of Claverhouse, a Scotsman who had served both Charles II and James. In Ayrshire, John Graham went by “Bluidy Clavers”, held responsible for the brutal oppression of the Covenanter movement. This is probably not entirely correct: James Graham was married to Jean Cochrane, daughter to a very Presbyterian family, and in his letters he generally advocated leniency, not violence.

James Graham

Whatever the case, James Graham was a competent man. Among the last things James II did before fleeing England was to raise John Graham to the viscountcy by making him Viscount Dundee. In many ways an empty gesture, but James II also made Dundee commander-in-chief of the Scottish forces. This was not quite as empty a gesture—Dundee had quite the reputation as a soldier and inspired loyalty among the men who served with him.

In the beginning of 1689, Dundee did his best to convince his fellow Scotsmen that they should fight for their Stuart king. At one point, he even climbed up the extremely steep castle rock to ensure the Duke of Gordon, governor of Edinburgh Castle, remembered to whom he owed his loyalty. Gordon did, and for some months more he held the castle for the king—albeit with waning enthusiasm. To be fair to Gordon, his situation was precarious: James was nowhere close (he was in Ireland at the time) and William’s forces under Hugh Mackay were advancing north. Public opinion in Lowland Scotland was firmly with William, no matter how “Scottish” the Stuart dynasty may have been. Most Lowland Scots were suspicious of papists in general, and William of Orange had proved himself a capable defender of the Protestant faith.

William III

In April of 1689, the Scottish Estates decided to acclaim William as their king. Some days later, Dundee raised the Scottish Royal Standard, calling for all men loyal to their true king to join him. Many men did. Not quite as many as Dundee had hoped for, however, and his situation was made precarious when the Scottish Estates declared him a traitor and attempted to arrest him. Dundee entrusted his pregnant wife into the care of his father-in-law and took to the hills.

Over the coming months, Dundee breathed fire into the Highland hearts. Clan Cameron under Ewen Cameron of Lochiel brought a further 1800 men to the Jacobite cause, but leading an army of Highlanders was a challenge—as was keeping them fed. It is testament to Dundee’s leadership skills that he managed to keep his troops together throughout late spring and the summer of 1689. Meanwhile, Mackay marched in pursuit, his ranks swelled by eager volunteers. For a while there, Mackay and Dundee played a complicated game of hide-and-seek, neither of them willing to commit to a full out confrontation.

Things were to come to a head at Killiecrankie, a pass south-east of Blair Atholl. Blair Castle was under Jacobite control, thereby barring access to the Highland north and Mackay led his troops north to offer support to John Murray, at present besieging the castle. (This is all very complicated: Blair Castle was the seat of the Duke of Atholl and in an attempt to keep his options open no matter who won the ongoing conflict, Atholl himself retired to England, bemoaning the Jacobite garrison holding his castle while leaving his son, Murray, to “besiege” the castle. Thing is, the garrison was commanded by one Patrick Stewart, one of Atholl’s loyal retainers. A rather elegant way of hedging one’s bets…)

James Graham - not quite as dashing
as in the first pic

When Dundee heard Mackay was trundling north and making for the pass at Killicrankie, he mobilised with speed. Here was a golden opportunity to wreak havoc on Dutch William’s men, and Dundee intended to make the most of it. Killicrankie was a two-mile pass, on one side bordered by the river Gerry, on the other by steep hills. Mackay must have been aware of the risk he took, but his information was probably not entirely up to date so it must have come as quite a surprise when Mackay’s army emerged from the pass only to find the slopes facing them bristling with Jacobite soldiers.

Retreating down the narrow track was the equivalent of suicide and so Mackay did the only thing he could do: he prepared for battle. He deployed his men, had his artillery move forward and then he waited for the Highlanders to charge. After all, everyone knew that once the Highlanders charged, discipline went out their head and Mackay was probably gambling on them becoming so disorderly he’d be able to fight back.

Mackay waited. And waited. He waited some more. His men were beginning to fidget. It was a nerve-wracking experience to stand in front of the slope, knowing full well the Highlanders had all the advantages on their side. Mackay’s men had the Gerry at their back, they couldn’t run left or right and before them the Highlanders had their muskets and swords at the ready.

The July afternoon waned. Men were thirsty and hungry and probably in need of a human break or two. Still, the Highlanders did not move. Guns roared, but Mackay’s cannon were too far away to cause any damage, nor did the shots provoke the Highlanders into doing something. Dusk began to seep upwards from the ground. The sun dipped out of sight. At last, Dundee ordered his men to attack. Wave after wave of Highlanders came rushing down the slope.

Mackay’s men did not stand a chance. Many of them were untrained, few had seen real action and here they were, staring at a horde of roaring men wielding swords. Many turned and fled. Most of these drowned in the Gerry. Some tried to jump across, but the river was too wide, and man after man fell to die in the waters. Others were hewn down, incapable of withstanding the sheer momentum of the Highlanders who came leaping down the hill.

There was blood, there was gore, there were screams. Men died, men fell. Bodies were trampled underfoot as the Highlanders rushed onwards. Approximately 2000 of Mackay’s 3500 men died. The Jacobite army had won the day and one would have thought the coming night would have been spent in rejoicing.

But it wasn’t only Mackay’s men that died. The Jacobites had losses of their own. In the final minutes of the battle, Dundee was hit by a musket ball just below his breastplate. By the time the battle dust had settled, Dundee was dead. He had won the battle but lost his life. Even worse, the Jacobite army had lost its general. The victory at Killiecrankie was therefore flavoured with the bitter taste of crushed hope. Without the gallant and talented Dundee, the Stuart cause in Scotland was a dead duck in the water.

Mackay's men defending Dunkeld

Mackay and 500 or so of his men managed to escape when the victorious Highlanders turned to looting Mackay’s baggage train. Desperate and exhausted, they made it to Stirling Castle, there to regroup. Some months later, Mackay led his troops to a decisive victory over the Jacobites at Dunkeld. The First Jacobite Rising had come to an end, but over the coming six decades or so the men of the Scottish Highlands would die repeatedly on behalf of the Stuarts—right up to the crushing defeat at Culloden.

Dundee was buried in St Bride’s crypt, Blair Castle. Some months later, his wife gave birth to a son—Dundee’s only known child.  By then, Dundee was already becoming a legend, a valiant man who would rather die than betray his king. Not much of a comfort to his widow, I imagine.

Many, many years ago, a man chose to hold to the oath he had sworn to always serve and protect his king. To this day, the memory of James Graham lives on. In the words of Sir Walter Scott:

"Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks
Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the fox;
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!"

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle the horses, and call up the men,
Come open your gates, and let me gae free,
For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!

He waved his proud hand, the trumpets were blown,

The kettle-drums clashed and the horsemen rode on,

Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee

Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, etc. 

And just so you know, James Graham rides, fights and dies in the eight book of The Graham Saga. Such a gallant man deserves some air-time...

All pictures in public domain and/or licensed under Wikimedia Creative Commons

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Had Anna Belfrage been allowed to choose, she’d have become a professional time-traveller. As such a profession does not exist, she became a financial professional with two absorbing interests, namely history and writing.

Anna's most recent series is The King’s Greatest Enemy, a series set in the 1320s featuring Adam de Guirande, his wife Kit, and their adventures and misfortunes in connection with Roger Mortimer’s rise to power.  The fourth instalment, The Cold Light of Dawn, was published in February 2018.

When Anna is not stuck in the 14th century, she's probably visiting in the 17th century, specifically with Alex(andra) and Matthew Graham, the protagonists of the acclaimed The Graham Saga. This is the story of two people who should never have met – not when she was born three centuries after him. The ninth book, There is Always a Tomorrow, was published in November 2017.

Anna has recently published the first book in a new series, The Wanderer. A Torch in his Heart tells the time-spanning story of Jason, Sam and Helle who first 3 000 years ago and have since then tumbled through time, trapped in a vicious circle of love, hatred and revenge.

The Jacobite Rebellion of 1715

by Morag Edwards

James II of England and VII of Scotland had two Protestant daughters with his first wife but following his second marriage to the teenage Mary Beatrice of Modena, the birth of a son in 1688 meant that there was now a Catholic heir to the throne. The baby was sickly and expected to die, but his survival led to rumours that the royal baby had been swapped for another in a warming pan.
James’ inconsistent domestic and foreign policy meant that friends and foes were suspicious of him. Louis XIV of France, who should have been his greatest ally, was puzzled by his vacillating support for France and had never forgiven James for agreeing to a marriage between his eldest daughter Mary and William III of Orange, instead of to the dauphin.

James II by Peter Lely - Public Domain Image

William of Orange had been preparing to invade England since June and invited by parliament, he landed with his army in Devon in November 1688. James made a half-hearted attempt to resist but distraught that his son-in-law would take such action against him and deserted by his other son-in-law, Prince George of Denmark, he returned to Whitehall. Determined to save his young wife and baby son, he sent them to France, into the protection of an unprepared Louis XIV. James tried to follow and was captured but he was allowed to make a second successful escape to France. To all but his most loyal supporters, he was widely regarded to have willingly renouncing his right to rule, in other words to have abdicated.

Had he been more astute, James could have saved the Stuart dynasty in Scotland, as Scotland did not have to accept the new English monarch. The Scottish Convention of Estates asked both candidates to promote their suitability by letter. William of Orange promised the Scottish people that he would respect and maintain the Protestant faith, while James’ appeal was considered arrogant and threatening. The Convention invited William and Mary to accede to the Scottish throne.

William & Mary Engraving

The exiled court of James II settled at the chateau of St. Germain-en-Laye, just outside Paris, as guests of Louis XIV. Louis’ relationship with the exiled court was courteous and hospitable but often tense. Numbers varied from 1,000 to almost 2,000 residents, who had to be supported financially by the French king. Louis XIV had great concerns about the unreliability of the Jacobite court and maintained high levels of surveillance of their movements and communications. Privately, Louis felt that few men of ability had joined the court in exile. Mary Beatrice of Modena had considerable influence on Louis XIV through her lively intelligence, her social confidence and her beauty. Despite the tension between the men, the royal families met often.

Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye Attribution Link

Frustrations arose on both sides as James II continued to pursue unrealistic ambitions to regain his throne, while Louis XIV used the Jacobites’ hopes to support French interests. James pressed for an invasion of England or Scotland, while Louis thought that a Jacobite presence in Ireland, supported by French military strength, would divert English attention from the French. James’ reluctant expedition to Ireland to fight the Williamite forces was financed by the French and ended in a rout at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690. James II fled the battlefield and once back in France he asked Louis to support an immediate invasion of England. Louis refused, maintaining that a rebellion must already be underway in England before he would agree.

In 1692, Louis was finally persuaded to support an invasion of England as James’ sources reported rising Jacobite support in England and it was believed that Admiral Russell of the English fleet would desert to the French. However, news of the invasion leaked and at the same time James II published an ill-timed proclamation that destroyed public support for him in England. When James reached Cherbourg, he found the French fleet damaged by a storm. Tourville, the commander of the French fleet, advised against the attempted invasion but was ignored. In May 1692, the French fleet was destroyed at Cap La Hogue by a combined Anglo-Dutch fleet, the greatest military disaster of Louis’ reign. Preoccupied by the birth of his baby daughter, James made an error of judgement in sending the insensitive Earl of Melfort to account for the failure of intelligence. Louis was furious and in 1693, the French recognised William III as king of England. Thereafter, there were fewer social contacts between the courts.

James planned another invasion in 1696 but Louis remained adamant that there would only be French support if there was an active rebellion in England. At the same time, the Jacobite conspirators hoped the landing of a French army might awaken the English people to their cause. Unfortunately, the conspiracy was uncovered and linked with a plot to assassinate William III. The plotters were arrested, and both James II and Louis XIV were implicated. Louis was again enraged and his relationship with the exiled court became even more distant. He let it be known through his wife Madame de Maintenon that he would never again rely on intelligence from the Jacobite court. The remaining years of James II’s life were dominated by failing health and there were no further invasion attempts.

James II died in 1701 and Louis recognised his son, James Francis Edward Stuart (later nicknamed The Old Pretender) as the true heir to the English throne. However, there was little enthusiasm in England for a boy who had been raised in France and was a stranger to his native land.

For the Scottish people, the end of the Stuart dynasty had brought a decade of natural and political disasters. There were ten years of failed harvests and the struggle between France and England for dominance in Europe, severely affected Scottish exports. Young men were drafted from the fields to supply the Scots regiments fighting the wars in Europe, depleting Scottish agriculture of men to work the land. The failure of the Darien Scheme contributed significantly to Scotland’s financial ruin, since half the nation’s capital had been invested. Originally, the scheme was a joint English/Scottish enterprise to establish new trading colonies in Caledonia and the English were widely blamed in Scotland for the failure of the project.

When William of Orange died in 1702, his successor Queen Anne pushed hard for parliamentary union between England and Scotland. The view from Westminster was that the Scottish parliament was beyond control. A joint Anglo-Scottish parliamentary commission drew up a draft Treaty of Union in 1706 but the union was opposed by both the Jacobites and the Church of Scotland; an uncomfortable political liaison. The Jacobites feared that political union would end the dream of a Stuart restoration and the church feared the undermining of Scots Protestant tradition. The Act of Union was ratified in 1707, through a combination of reasoned argument, bribery and political coercion but was universally unpopular with ordinary people.

Queen Anne Public Domain Image

The Jacobites’ exploited Scottish unrest following the Act of Union and promoted their cause as one of Scottish nationalism. The words ‘No Union’ now appeared on their banners. In 1708, mindful as ever of the possibilities of using the Jacobite cause to distract the English government from the campaign in Europe, Louis XIV financed another attempted invasion of Scotland. A combination of young James’s ill health, bad weather and navigation problems meant that the French fleet could not make land and the conspirators were arrested long before the French ships appeared in the Firth of Forth. The English parliament believed that the Scots failed to adequately punish the conspirators and a series of provocative legislative acts were passed that threatened to undermine the promises of the union. Huge taxes were exacted on key Scottish exports such as linen, salt, cattle and Scotland was forbidden to trade with the English Colonies. In England too, there was little enthusiasm for their difficult neighbours to the north and in 1713 an attempt to repeal the Act of Union was defeated by only a narrow margin. Had it been successful, the political fervour that led to the Jacobite uprising of 1715 might have been avoided.

George of Hanover came to the throne in 1714. John Erskine, the Earl of Mar had been Secretary of State for Scotland under Queen Anne and had played a key role in preparing the Articles of Union. He anticipated a similar political role under George 1st and when this was not forthcoming, he became a militant Jacobite almost overnight. This sudden change of heart, combined with a cautious and indecisive nature, earned him the nickname ‘Bobbing John’.

Earl of Mar - Pubic Domain Image

In September 1715, Mar called together the clans and lowland lairds of Scotland on the pretext of a hunting party. The Stuart standard was raised on the Braes of Mar and war declared on the union. It was estimated that Mar had control of 10,000 men, the strongest ever Jacobite force, formed from an extraordinary alliance of Catholics, Episcopalians and Presbyterians, Lowland lairds and Highland chiefs. The support of peers from the English border regions, represented by the Earl of Derwentwater, was crucial.

The Jacobite force remained in Perth and Inverness until October 1715, allowing the government forces ample time to arm, while Bobbing John waited for support from the French. Finally, he sent two thousand men south under the command of an experienced soldier, Mackintosh of Borlum. Borlum reached Kelso and Jedburgh where he was joined by a few hundred English soldiers led by Thomas Forster, MP for Northumberland. Forster wanted to head for Liverpool, where he believed there was popular support, but disagreement led to further delays and prevarication. The force did eventually aim for Liverpool but they met nothing but hostility on their way. By the time they reached Preston, five hundred clansmen and borderers had gone home. On November 12th, the Jacobite army fought with great bravery and held Preston against the Hanoverian battalions. The next day, facing a reinforced Hanoverian army, Forster surrendered. Nineteen Scots and two English peers were arrested and condemned to death.  Twenty-two ordinary soldiers were hung at Preston and hundreds more soldiers and officers transported to the colonies.

John Campbell, 2nd Duke of Argyll 

On the same day as the defeat at Preston, the Earl of Mar fought against the Duke of Argyll’s force at Sherriffmuir. Despite Mar’s military superiority the outcome was inconclusive, and Mar retreated to Perth. There, he waited until December 17th when James, once again in poor health, landed at Peterborough. Although James marched in triumph into Perth and Dundee, faced with the Duke of Argyll’s advancing army, he gave the order to burn all the land, animals and homes ahead of Argyll’s troops, leaving ordinary people to starve through the Scottish winter. James retreated to Montrose and left for France in February 1716, his reserved and aloof manner having disappointed all who met him.  The Jacobite cause fell silent for thirty years until the young Charles Edward Stuart (Bonnie Prince Charlie) attempted a second Jacobite rebellion in 1745.

[all images Public Domain unless otherwise stated]

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After trying many different forms of writing, in 2005 Morag Edwards decided to focus on the novel and took a leave of absence from her work to do a full-time M.A in creative writing. The Jacobite’s Wife is her first published novel and is a fictionalised account of the life of Winifred, Countess of Nithsdale from the ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688 to the aftermath of the Jacobite uprising of 1715. Winifred aided her husband’s escape from the Tower of London on the eve of his execution in 1716.

Researching Winifred’s life story revealed a headstrong, impulsive and ultimately wise woman whose turbulent life story needed to be told. As a child psychologist, Morag used her knowledge of child development and adult relationships to try and understand what drove Winifred but there remains much room for conjecture. She looks forward to hearing the views of readers!

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Setting the Pope on Fire – the Exclusion Crisis of 1678-1682

by Kate Braithwaite

At three in the morning on November 17th 1680, Londoners woke to the sound of bells ringing out across the City. It was an important day – a day to commemorate the ascension to the throne of Queen Elizabeth I – and it would be celebrated with a splendid pope-burning procession.

The participants gathered in Moorgate. When all were ready, a man ringing a large bell led them out through Aldgate. In a “loud and dolesom voice” he cried, “Remember Justice Godfrey” and was followed by a man riding a white horse and pretending to be the corpse of well-known magistrate, Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey, who had been strangled in 1678.  Around him other men assumed the role of his murderers, prodding him with swords as he slumped on the horse.

Next came men carrying a huge banner depicting four bodies hanging from the gallows: Catholic priests who had been hanged for their part in the Popish Plot. After the banner holders came the first pageant, displayed on a cart, much like a modern day float. This pageant showed a meal tub and the figure of a woman, representing Mrs Cellier, a Catholic midwife accused of planting false evidence of Protestant treachery in her meal tub.

Next to Mrs Cellier came a man with a fiddle, sitting backwards on his horse with a sign decrying him as an enemy of Parliament. This was the writer, Roger L’Estrange, one of the few men in London publicly doubting the truth of the Popish Plot and opposing those seeking to exclude King Charles II’s brother - and heir to his throne - from his right to succeed, on the grounds that James, Duke of York, was a Catholic.

©Trustees of the British Museum

Other pageants followed.  The elaborate procession filed through Leadenhall and Fleet Street toward Temple Bar, watched by enormous crowds. Hundreds of young men were involved, some dressed as devils and some as priests. Some pageants reminded the watching crowds of the perceived greed of the Catholic Church. Others bore signs declaring that Catholic Jesuits were bent on burning the city and destroying the monarchy. The procession was opulently dressed. Sir William Waller, a Justice of the Peace, active in prosecuting the Popish Plot, provided Catholic relics, books and vestments from the stores of material he had seized during his investigations. The Green Ribbon Club, a group committed to excluding James from the succession, funded the event and provided free alcohol to those who took up the cry of “No Popery.”

The final pageant was the handiwork of a carpenter, Stephen College: an enormous effigy of the Pope who travelled in the company of the devil. All through the streets, and throughout the day the devil tweaked at the false Pope’s nose and when they arrived at last in Temple Bar, as late as eight o’clock that evening, a bonfire was lit. As the crowd roared, the effigy of the Pope was pushed head first into the flames.

In 1682, in his prologue to Southerne’s play The Loyal Brother, poet John Dryden gave this account of the pope-burning processions he had witnessed:

        Sir Edmondbury first, in woful wise,

        Leads up the show, and milks their maudlin eyes.

        There's not a butcher's wife but dribs her part,

        And pities the poor pageant from her heart;

        Who, to provoke revenge, rides round the fire,

        And, with a civil congé, does retire:

        But guiltless blood to ground must never fall;

        There's Antichrist behind, to pay for all.

        The punk of Babylon in pomp appears,

        A lewd old gentleman of seventy years:

        Whose age in vain our mercy would implore;

        For few take pity on an old cast whore.

        The Devil, who brought him to the shame, takes part;

        Sits cheek by jowl, in black, to cheer his heart;

        Like thief and parson in a Tyburn-cart.

        The word is given, and with a loud huzza

        The mitred puppet from his chair they draw:

        On the slain corpse contending nations fall:

        Alas! what's one poor Pope among them all!

        He burns; now all true hearts your triumphs ring:

        And, next, for fashion, cry, God save the king!

Demonstrations against Catholics in London and throughout the country were nothing new but at the end of the 1670’s, religious tension had reached a whole new level because of the Popish Plot and ensuing Exclusion Crisis.

In September 1678, Titus Oates came to prominence, shocking London with wild claims of a terrifying plot to assassinate King Charles II. His revelations were detailed and rang with authenticity. He named well-known Catholic priests and private citizens as traitors in what became known as the Popish Plot. Oates was asked to address Parliament. He claimed that Jesuit cells planned to stab King Charles as he walked in St James’ Park, that French troops were preparing to invade England and that secret uprisings had been planned in Ireland and Scotland.

The Murder of Edmund Berry Godfrey -
Public domain image via WikiCommons

Circumstantial evidence supported his story. Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey, with whom Oates had lodged evidence, was found dead in ditch, apparently stabbed and strangled. One of the men Oates accused, Edward Coleman, a Catholic and close associate of the King’s brother James, was arrested and treasonous papers were found in his possession. Oates’ claims touched a raw nerve with the public. London, he declared, would be burned to the ground. The effect of this on a populace only twelve years away from the catastrophic fire of 1666, an event many firmly believed was an act of Catholic terror, was incendiary. 

The apparently real prospect of the assassination of Charles II caused immense concern. If the King remained childless, his Catholic brother would become King. Unrest against the Duke of York had been in evidence throughout the 1670’s – ever since James refused to sign the Test Act of 1673 that excluded from public office anyone who would not publicly renounce the Catholic Church. But with the advent of the Popish Plot, a new political impetus emerged. The whig party began to take shape, under the stewardship of the Earl of Shaftesbury, and actively sought to exclude James from the line of succession to the throne.

James II By Ann Killigrew - Royal Collection, Public Domain,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6991362

The resulting Exclusion Crisis marks an important development in the history of politics and propaganda. In 1670’s London, male literacy is estimated at 70%. The printing and pamphlet business was thriving, the newspaper industry about to be born. Coffee shops were in their hey-day: warm, welcoming spaces where men would meet, discuss the news of the day, read pamphlets and share opinions over coffee or beer at all hours of the day and night. Supporters of the exclusion cause exploited all these avenues to gain public support. Public sermons became quasi-political stump speeches. Familiar songs were given new, political lyrics. Polemical plays brought the perceived Catholic threat to life. Wild claims of Catholic violence against women and children were circulated and the memory of Elizabeth I was evoked wherever possible to underline the country’s hard-won Protestant heritage.

Watched by an estimated 200,000 people, the pope-burning processions, held in 1679,1680 and 1681, were without doubt the most effective propaganda tool of all. But by 1682, belief in the Popish Plot had fallen away. The push to exclude James from the succession failed. The time for pope-burning had passed.

Sources:

London Crowds in the Reign of Charles II, Tim Harris, Cambridge UP 1987.

The Pope-Burning Processions of 1679, 1680 and 1681, Sheila Williams, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol 21 1958.

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Kate Braithwaite grew up in Edinburgh but has lived in various parts of the UK, in Canada and the US. Winner of the University of Toronto Marina Nemat Award and Random House Student Writing Prize, she writes atmospheric historical fiction exploring dark secrets and unusual episodes from the past: the stories no one told you about in history class at school. Her debut novel, CHARLATAN, was long-listed for the Mslexia New Novel Award and the Historical Novel Society Novel Award in 2015. Kate and her family live in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania.

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The Loyal Bastard - of James FitzJames Stuart

by Anna Belfrage

James FitzJames Stuart

In November of 2014, that most famous of Spanish grandees, the Duchess of Alba, died. At the time of her death, this the most titled of all aristocrats in Europe was 88 years old, leaving behind six children, nine grandchildren and a couple of great grandchildren. And, of course, the ancient duchy of Alba, the Jacobite title Duke of Berwick and the duchies of Liria and Xérica, in her family since the 17th century. Plus a lineage tracing all the way back to the hereditary High Stewards of Scotland.

This is where my interest was tweaked. The Spanish Duchess’ full name was María del Rosario Cayetana Fitz-James Stuart y de Silva (a mouthful I bet her mother NEVER used when she was calling for her daughter), and it is in particular the Fitz-James Stuart that I was aiming to talk about today. You see, the late duchess (and now, of course, her son) are descendants to the last Stuart king of England, James II.

Like his older brother, James liked the ladies. He was especially fond of Arabella Churchill, a lady with whom he had a long-standing relationship. Arabella was considered plain, and it was with great joy her relatives – including her father, Sir Winston Churchill, not to be confused with the Winston Churchill – received the news that this tall, pale young lady had attracted the interest of the flamboyant (and married) Duke of York, a.k.a. James Stuart, soon to be James II. At the time, the Churchill family fortunes were at something of an ebb, so maybe Arabella was considered a stepping stone upwards. Whatever the case, Arabella was given a position as lady in waiting to Anne, Duchess of York, thereby ensuring she was on hand to satisfy her lover’s whims.

Arabella

I’m not so sure how poor wife Anne felt about this arrangement – especially not when Arabella went on to present James with a healthy son, something Anne had failed at doing. Maybe Anne was counting on James tiring of Arabella, but he seems to have been quite fond of his plain mistress – if nothing else he stayed around long enough to leave her with four children over seven years. (but by then Anne was dead, having given birth to eight children of which “only” two girls survived)

James Sr, Duke of York, may have had many faults – and while I am of the opinion that he has been much maligned, I’m not sure this post will benefit from an in-depth perusal into James II as king  – but he seems to have been a good father, genuinely fond of his children. Like his brother, he also recognised and cared for his bastards, and James Jr, siblings Henrietta, Henry and Arabella, grew up in material comfort.

Little James was born in 1670 in France. His mother had apparently been sent off to birth her child somewhat discreetly, although why there should be any need for secrecy at this point is beyond me. After all, everyone knew the Duke of York enjoyed Arabella’s B & B (body & bed) on a regular basis, just as everyone knew he also had other ladies he kept happy.

Whatever the case, James Jr was born, and things were a bit sticky for a while, seeing as James Sr was presently wrestling with his conscience – he had recently converted to the Catholic faith, but at Charles II’s behest he had not gone public with his change of faith.

In 1673, the Duke of York’s conversion became public knowledge, and in that same year James Sr married a Catholic princess, Mary of Modena. What Arabella might have thought is not recorded, but despite his new wife James still visited her regularly, as evidenced by their last child born in 1674. After this, Arabella went on to marry elsewhere and have more babies. James was also to have many, many more babies with his new wife – sadly, of all these infants (ten or so) only two survived beyond early childhood.

James II, while Duke of York

It was James’ wish that his children with Arabella be raised as Catholics, which was why little James and his younger brother Henry were educated in France, seeing their father only intermittently. Not only did James Sr want a Catholic son, he wanted a son educated in the fine art of warfare – James himself was a capable leader of men – and so a very young James Jr accompanied the Duke of Lorraine to Hungary, there to besiege Buda. At the time, the lad was only sixteen, but his age did not inure him from action, so he ended up wounded. He was also present when Buda finally fell, and took part in the resulting sacking, returning to France somewhat richer than he’d set out.

By now, James Jr was the eldest bastard son of a crowned king, his father having succeeded to the crown of England in 1685. To do right by his son, James II created him Duke of Berwick, and also gave him a senior command in his army – a position John Churchill, the future Earl of Marlborough and James Jr’s maternal uncle, had his eyes on.

As we all know, James II’s reign was destined to be short and troubled. His faith was a constant cause for controversy, and when his wife was brought to bed of a healthy son, a future Catholic heir to the crown, the powerful Protestant lords were less than pleased and decided it was time to act.

Personally, I think the birth of James Francis Edward Stuart was an excuse – opposition to James II’s policies had been brewing for quite some time, and many were those who’d lost loved ones in the brutal aftermath of the Monmouth Rebellion, a foiled attempt by Charles II’s bastard (but Protestant) son to claim the throne.

In 1688, James Jr was in England at his father’s side when things started to go seriously pear-shaped. Baby James Francis Edward had been born in June, and some weeks later those (in) famous seven Protestant Lords had sent a letter to William III, Prince of Orange and ruler of the United Provinces (present day Netherlands, more or less), inviting him to come to England and replace James II.

Hmm, one might think. Hmm, William III probably thought, seeing as not only was he James II’s nephew, he was also married to James II’s daughter. Problem was, until the birth of little James Francis Edward, William III had been quite comfortable in the knowledge that at some point the crown of England would come to him – well, to his obedient wife – thereby giving him the power base he required to keep Catholic France under control.

William III decided to invade England, and was welcomed by his supporters. James Jr stood by his father – watched him struggle with despair, no doubt – but late in 1688 James FitzJames fled to France, as did his father. The bastard son of a king was reduced to being the bastard son of an exile – not the best of career developments.

James FitzJames 

James FitzJames did his best for his father, playing an important role in the failed attempt to regain James II’s throne through Ireland in 1690. He was wounded and almost killed at The Battle of the Boyne, and in 1691 he was back in France, determined to make a life for himself the only way he could – by his sword.

Over the coming years, James FitzJames built a reputation as a good officer, a fearless leader of men. Fighting for the French, he had occasion to stand on opposing sides to his maternal kin, was at some point even captured by one of his Churchill uncles, but was quickly exchanged for an English Duke. By 1695, James FitzJames had been formally attainted, his English titles stripped from him. He retaliated by sneaking into England in 1696, where he attempted to foment a rebellion against William III. Didn’t work.

Europe at the time was at war – well, a more or less constant state for this poor continent. In the first decade of the 18th century, the Spanish War of Succession broke out, with on the one side, the Dutch and English teaming up to support the Austrian candidate to the Spanish throne, while on the other side the French allied with the Spanish Bourbon king.

James FitzJames saw plenty of action, and in 1706 he led the French army to a decisive victory over the allied English-Dutch forces (ironically lead by a Frenchman). By then, James was a French Field Marshal. The victory at the Battle of Alamanza elevated him to the peerage, both in France, where he was given the title of Duc de Fitz-James, but also in Spain, where he was awarded two duchies, thenceforth to be known as the Duque de Liria y Xérica. The bastard-born boy had made good, so to say, heaped with honours and riches that far exceeded those English titles stripped from him by William III.

Honora

James had not only been busy on the battle field. He’d married twice, first Honora de Burgh, the pretty widow of his Irish friend and comrade-in-arms, Patrick Sarsfield, then Anne Bulkeley, daughter to fellow English exile (and former Master of the Household to both Charles II and James II) Henry Bulkeley. Where his father had been singularly unlucky when it came to the fertility of his wives, James FitzJames was father to close to a dozen legitimate children, of which six were boys.

The Battle of Alamanza determined the Spanish war, but generals and kings being what they are, the war ground on a further number of years until our James stormed Barcelona in 1714. With the exception of some skirmish in 1718, James was now free to sit about and enjoy his wife and family – and riches. Not everyone agreed. In fact, one angry young man felt entitled to demand FitzJames’ services.

James Francis Edward when young

Had James’ younger half-brother and namesake had his way, James FitzJames would have led the Jacobite Rising in 1715, his fame as a military leader ensuring the disgruntled Scotsmen flocked to his banner. FitzJames refused. Far too pragmatic to see any possibility of victory, he told his young brother to forget the venture. James Francis Edward would ever after blame the failure of the rising on his half-brother, a convenient way of exonerating himself, I believe.

Men who live by the sword have a tendency to die by the sword, and FitzJames was to be no exception. In 1733, he was requested to lead the Army of the Rhine in the War of Polish Succession. At the time, he was sixty-three, too old, one would have thought, to clamber atop a horse and set off to do battle so far from home. The powers that were thought differently, so off James went, and in keeping with his track record he was just as successful here as he’d been in Spain. Until that June day in 1734 when he decided to inspect the siege works and was decapitated by a cannon ball, that is.

Upon FitzJames’ abrupt death, his eldest son, by Honora de Burgh, took over the Spanish titles, as well as FitzJames’ original style of Duke of Berwick. His second son, firstborn in his marriage to Anne Bulkeley, took over the French title, which lived on well into the 20th century before it became extinct. The Spanish branch, however, lives on, as hale as ever.

By the time of his death, James FitzJames had more than overcome the stigma of his illegitimate birth. A respected soldier, a wealthy man, he was first and foremost a man of honour, the son who stuck with his father through thick and thin. Not a quality he shared with his two older half-sisters, both of whom contributed to James II’s fall. Ironically, neither of those sisters would leave a living heir (divine retribution?), and as to James Francis Edward, his line died out with his sons. And so, just like with Charles II, James II’s present day descendants all come from the wrong side of the blanket. I’m thinking that if James FitzJames was sitting atop my particular branch of the family tree, I’d be proud – very proud, even. I guess the Duke of Alba is.

(NOTE! This post was first published on Anna Belfrage's own blog, in June 2015)

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Anna Belfrage is the successful author of eight published books, all of them part of The Graham Saga. Set in 17th century Scotland, Virginia and Maryland, this is the story of Matthew Graham and his wife, Alex Lind - two people who should never have met, not when she was born three centuries after him.

Presently, Anna is hard at work with The King’s Greatest Enemy, a series set in the 1320s featuring Adam de Guirande, his wife Kit, and their adventures and misfortunes in connection with Roger Mortimer’s rise to power. The first instalment, In the Shadow of the Storm, was published on November 1, 2015.

For more information about Anna and her books, please visit her website. If not on her website, Anna can mostly be found on her blog.