Courting Her Highness

by Jean Plaidy

  Dearly beloved Sarah! But how much more comfortable to lie back in the green closet. She thought of Hill’s white hands among the tea things. So pleasant.

  She was relieved when she could retire to her apartments.

  George sat wheezing in his chair. She noticed that he was very breathless after a banquet—even though George’s appetite made a banquet of every meal.

  “I fear this has been a little trial to you, my dearest,” she said.

  “Bed vill be goot.” George’s pronunciation grew more broad when he was tired.

  “The journey was too much for you, my love. I was saying to Mrs. Freeman I was uneasy about your making it.”

  “Oh … that journey. Never shall I forget. How glad I am, I said to Masham, how glad the Queen does not come. The roads … my dear love … the roads …”

  “The storm of course has devastated everything. It was really not necessary for you to go. I would rather have gone myself.”

  “That, my angel, I vould never allow.”

  Dear George—only stern when he felt the need to protect her!

  “It iss forty miles from Vindsor to Petvorth, they tell me. Fourteen hours it took, my angel, and no stop ve made safe vhen the coach was turned over and ve vas stuck in the mud.”

  “My poor, poor George. And how was your wheeze then?”

  “My veeze vas terrible, my love, vas very terrible.”

  “My poor, poor George.”

  “And ve should be there now, but for the men who lift up the coach vith bare hands, my angel, vith their bare hands … and they carry the coach and set it on the road.”

  “That was wonderful, George. What good and faithful servants! You must present them to me and I will tell them how grateful I am. I was so anxious. I said continuously to Mrs. Freeman how I wished you had not gone.”

  “But I vould not haf allowed my angel to go.”

  “Nor should I have allowed mine.”

  “Vell, ve are safe now … and tired … and let us to bed. But a little brandy vould be varming.”

  “A little brandy. I will call Hill. Hill! Hill!”

  She came at once. She could not have been far away. How pleasant she looked—how simple after all the brilliant costumes of the evening!

  “His Highness fancies a little brandy, Hill. I will take some, too. Such a tiring day … and another before us tomorrow. It will help us sleep.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  And almost at once—how was she so quiet and so quick?—there she was.

  So pleasant … sipping brandy with George dozing in the chair and Hill hovering in case she should be wanted.

  “Hill, tell Masham His Highness is ready for bed.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “I too, Hill. Oh, what a tiring day!”

  Samuel Masham went with the Prince into George’s dressing room and Abigail remained with the Queen.

  “Such a day, Hill! What ceremonies! And this young Archduke—King as he is now. I hope he is allowed to remain so, poor boy. But I daresay Mr. Freeman will see to that. I thought Mrs. Freeman looked magnificent. And so delighted to have Mr. Freeman back. But I am worried about the Prince, Hill. He does not look well to me and that journey to Petworth must have been an ordeal. His coach stuck in the mud … overturned, if you please. And the boors had to lift it out. I really cannot think it has done His Highness any good at all. I wish you would speak to Masham, Hill. I want the greatest care taken of His Highness. Make sure that his underwear is of the warmest and he should not be in draughts.”

  “Your Majesty can trust me to speak to Masham.”

  “I know, Hill. I know. And now to bed … I am so tired. And tomorrow of course there will be more and more ceremonies.…”

  More and more ceremonies, thought Abigail, with the Duchess of Marlborough at the Queen’s right hand, forcing herself forward, already recognized as the power behind the throne, as no King’s mistress had ever been more so. And Abigail Hill—confined to the bedchamber, but only for the term of Her Grace’s pleasure.

  The Archduke Charles was considerably refreshed next day when he joined the Queen in preparation for the ceremonies. Dinner must be taken in public, to be followed by a concert—instrumental and vocal—and after that there would be more music and, of course, cards.

  Charles looked even more handsome than he had the previous night, as dressed in his crimson coat he greeted the Queen and her attendants.

  Anne found it difficult to suppress her yawns as the day went on. Dinner at three and then the long afternoon of entertainment before supper. Oh for an hour or so in the green closet! She saw that George felt as she did and was thinking longingly of that comfort.

  Sarah of course felt no such desire. What energy! What vitality! Dear Mrs. Freeman makes me feel tired merely to look at her. But how handsome! How admired! And no wonder.

  Charles was paying attention to her. Like everyone else he knew her importance. And how she enjoyed it! Such occasions were perfection to her. We are really quite different! thought Anne.

  How glad she was that the supper was now over and there was dear Mrs. Freeman ready to perform her duty, standing before her with the bowl in which she would wash her hands and the towel across her arm.

  But Charles had risen and was attempting to take the towel from Sarah’s arm.

  Sarah said: “It was my duty and my honour to do this service for Her Majesty.”

  Charles replied: “But at this time you will let me have that honour?”

  He took the towel from Sarah and dipping it in the water, lifted one of Anne’s hands and washed it; and when he had done this he washed his own, while Sarah stood holding the bowl, with all eyes upon her; and then Charles took off a diamond ring and taking Sarah’s hand slipped it on her finger.

  Sarah’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. This was an acknowledgment of her importance.

  In their apartments Sarah held out her hand with the flashing diamond in it.

  “Worth a fortune,” she said.

  John took the hand and kissed it.

  “You know why he did it?” he said.

  “Because he knows that if he wishes for England’s support he has to have mine.”

  “Spoken like my Sarah.”

  “And how else should I speak, pray?”

  “In no other way, for I would not have my Sarah different in any small detail.”

  “So I am appreciated.”

  He caught her in his arms.

  “It pleases me,” she said, “to be embraced by the greatest genius of our day.”

  “No,” he said, “it is the great genius who is being embraced.”

  “Together we are supreme, John.”

  “You understand the meaning of that gesture of the Archduke?” he asked her.

  “Of course. I have just told you.”

  “It’s more than that. His ancestor Charles V gave a diamond ring to the mistress of François Premier when she held the bowl for him in similar circumstances. But he left his in the bowl. Charles put his on your finger. He could not treat the Duchess of Marlborough as a King’s mistress.”

  “I should hope not. I am a respectable woman and I am thankful that at least my fat friend sets a good moral example to her subjects.”

  “Ah, Sarah, what of the Queen? Should you not be in attendance?”

  “There is only one on whom I intend to attend this night, my lord. Why do you think I got Abigail Hill her place?”

  “You think it wise to neglect her …” began John.

  But she laughed in his face and such times as these were the most precious occasions for them both.

  All over Christmas John remained in England, but he was making plans for his spring campaign. Sarah spent her time between the Queen and her husband and whenever possible they escaped to St. Albans. A sullen Mary had been given a place in the Queen’s household as lady in waiting on the death of Lady Charlotte Beverwaret. “Where I can keep an eye on her,” said Sarah grimly. But r
elations between mother and daughter were decidedly strained, for Mary was not one meekly to accept meddling in her life. John, distressed by the relationship between his wife and daughter, did all he could to put it right, but while Mary continued affectionate towards him she made it clear that she had no love for her mother.

  “Who would have children!” cried Sarah. “Ungrateful creatures!” But Mary continued resentful and brooding, and avoided her mother as much as she could. “It’ll pass,” said Sarah. “I remember her sullen moods of the past.”

  During Anne’s birthday celebrations John Dryden’s play All for Love was performed in St. James’s Palace.

  It was a pleasant occasion, particularly as Anne had announced on that day that she intended to celebrate her birthday by making an endowment to poor clergy. It had disturbed her for some time, she had explained to her ministers, because those who were working in the Church were so ill paid.

  She had talked about this with Hill during those winter days when George had dozed, awaking now and then to emit a grunt when she addressed him, and Hill had understood perfectly how anxious she was, for she had heard that some of the clergy and their families were actually in want. “Doing the Church’s work, Hill, and in want! I remember Bishop Burnet’s advising my sister Mary and her husband William to do this. But it was useless. William thought only of war … and Mary thought exactly what he wanted her to think. I am thankful that the dear Prince is quite different. There could not be a better husband.…”

  Abigail only interrupted with: “Nor a better wife than Your Majesty.”

  Anne smiled. “Thank you, Hill. I could wish all my subjects could enjoy the happiness of marriage as I have done. There is only one sorrow, Hill. My babies … and particularly my boy. But I was telling you of my plan. I intend to establish a fund for the clergy. I shall make over my entire revenue from the First Fruits and the Tenths … which is from the Church … back to the Church for the benefit of the Clergy. I have been discussing this with my ministers and I have asked them to make it legal. My uncle Charles took this money to give to his mistresses, Hill. But I want to give it to those who are dedicating their lives to my church.”

  “Your Majesty is so good.”

  “I want to do good to my people, Hill. You, I know, understand that.”

  Hill lowered her eyes and nodded.

  Shortly afterwards the fund was created and made known throughout the country. It was called Queen Anne’s Bounty; and when the Queen rode out the people cheered her. She was becoming generally known as Good Queen Anne.

  THE JEALOUS DUCHESS

  ll through the spring John was making preparations for his campaign.

  “I have done with sieges and petty battles,” he told Sarah. “Now the time has come to settle the fate of Europe.”

  “I long for the time,” Sarah told him, “when your battles are over and you come home to enjoy your deserts.”

  “Sometimes,” he answered passionately, “I think I would give up ambition … everything … for the sake of a life we could share together.”

  Gratifying, thought Sarah, but impossible. It was because of his ambition that she loved him.

  She spent a great deal of time with him at St. Albans, for, as she said, I can safely leave Hill to look after the Queen. But there were frequent interruptions to their idyl when Marlborough must be in London; and often on this occasion she remained waiting for his return.

  She saw a great deal of her daughters, particularly Henrietta and Anne, for she looked upon their husbands as her creatures who must, since they were politicians, take their orders from her. Francis Godolphin, Member for Helston, was a mild man, and under the thumb of his wife, and although Henrietta was inclined to be truculent with her mother, there had been no open quarrel. Sunderland who, since his father’s death had inherited the title as well as vast wealth, was a different matter. He it was who had voted against Prince George’s annuity which, in Sarah’s mind, was a foolish thing to do for it brought no gain to the family and at the same time antagonized both the Prince and the Queen. He was a rash man and notoriously quick-tempered. Anne, his wife, was one of the gentlest of the Churchill girls, and unlike her mother avoided rather than made quarrels. But there was constant friction between Sunderland and Sarah.

  It was while Sarah was visiting the Sunderlands that the Earl made some references to Marlborough’s visits to London. He smiled as he did so and this Sarah passed, but when she heard Sunderland in conversation with one of his guests beneath her window she listened in horror.

  “You can scarcely blame my father-in-law. He must have some respite from that tongue.”

  “I thought it was impossible for a man of his nature to remain a virtuous husband. Why, before Sarah got her talons into him he was one of the biggest rakes in Town.”

  Sunderland’s burst of laughter maddened Sarah, but she had to go on listening.

  “He braved the King of England when he slept with Barbara Castlemaine, so why shouldn’t he brave Sarah for this woman. I hear she is very attractive … kind and gentle. A change. A man must have variety. But after Hurricane Sarah the most blatant fishwife would seem like a soft breeze.”

  Sarah could bear no more; she leaned out of the window.

  “What wicked scandal is this.”

  They were silent for a few seconds.

  “I am sorry Your Grace overheard us,” said Sunderland, then, sardonically, caring for nothing, “We were discussing the news from London.”

  “The news from London! I’d like to hear more of such news. And where you heard it.”

  She came down to the gardens to find Sunderland alone—his friend having fled. Not many would care to face Sarah in such a mood.

  “Now, young man, what is all this.”

  Sunderland tried to remind her by his haughty demeanour that as the son of a great family he was in no mood to be so addressed by her, for Duchess though she might be, her background was not to be compared with his.

  “Don’t prevaricate,” cried Sarah, her rage blinding her to everything else. “I want the truth from you or you’ll be sorry.”

  “The truth, Madam? Who knows the truth of these affairs but those who participate in them? You have come to the wrong man. I am sure the Duke can tell you far more of this matter than I. Why not ask him?”

  Why not? Sarah was going to lose no time. She was going straight to John Churchill to tell him that the tricks he got up to before his marriage could not be played now. Or if they were, that was the end of his life with her.

  She raged up and down the room. In vain did he try to comfort her. “Sarah, there is no other woman.”

  “And what of this story of Sunderland’s?”

  “It is a lie.”

  “I am not certain of that.”

  “Then you don’t know me. How could it possibly be?”

  “It could possibly be in the past, John Churchill. A fine fool you must have looked leaping out of Castlemaine’s window—naked! A fine sight indeed. And the King laughing at you from the window, insulting you, calling out that you were only earning your living.”

  He was stricken. The story was one he had hoped was forgotten. Now she was recalling it and giving it more lurid details than it had possessed in reality.

  “And,” she shrieked, “getting paid for your attentions. Five thousand pounds for serving in the bed of the King’s mistress. You must have been most worthy, for you have to admit your price was high.”

  He took her by the shoulders and shook her, but it was no use. She was deeply wounded; she was filled with rage; and Sarah loved her rage; she loved to flagellate it into wilder and wilder fury, and at this moment she loved that fury more than she loved John Churchill.

  “Listen to me, Sarah,” he said.

  “I want no lies.”

  “There is no need to tell lies.”

  “So now you are going to say that you were never Barbara Castlemaine’s lover.”

  “I was going to say no such thing.
What happened before we married is past and done with. It is what happens now that is important. I tell you I have always been faithful to you. These are lies you have heard. Sunderland told you, you say. I wish we had never allowed that marriage. I shall never forgive him for this.”

  “He only repeated what he heard and it is right that I should know.”

  “There is no truth in this. You must believe me. You must.”

  But Sarah was not going to be placated. She had been jolted out of her complacent belief. She paced the apartment like a madwoman and when John tried to embrace her, she cried out: “Don’t dare touch me, John Churchill. I’ll never share your bed again. So you had better find yourself more women. One will not be enough for such as you.”

  There was nothing to be done with Sarah in such a mood.

  Soon John would leave for the battlefield and Sarah still refused to speak to him. No matter how he pleaded, how much he begged to be allowed to explain, she would not listen.

  John’s only way of communicating with her was by means of letters. At first she refused to read them, but she thrust them into a drawer, knowing that she would do so later.

  John could not understand this change in her. She had always been forceful and naturally was angry when Sunderland had told his lies, but he was bewildered by her refusal to listen to him. He was innocent. He wanted no one but Sarah; he was as completely fascinated by her now as he had been in the days of their courtship and early marriage. And she would not listen to him!

  Sarah was a little astonished at herself. Deep in her heart she did not believe in this scandal. There was always scandal concerning people in high places. To be successful was to create envy; and no one in England could have more enemies than Sarah Churchill. She made little attempt to keep her friends and none to lose her enemies. She was married to the war hero who adored her. Her successful marriage was the envy of all those who had failed to achieve such an ideal partnership. Therefore it was natural enough that those who had failed should seek to besmirch that which they could not emulate. In vain did John try to make her see this.