by Jean Plaidy
“I should say he is right,” said Sarah. “And the best way, Madam, if you will excuse my saying so, is not to embrace in the courtyards.”
“We were well hidden from sight.”
“H’m,” said Sarah sharply. She peered up at Mulgrave. “You are silent, my lord.”
“My dear lady, you seem well equipped to keep the conversation alive.”
Anne smiled fondly from one to the other. “You must know that I want you two to be friends.”
“Anyone who is Madam’s friend is my friend,” said Sarah.
Mulgrave put in: “That is a great relief.”
“And now,” went on Sarah, “I think, Madam, that I should conduct you to your apartments. I will keep watch while you say your farewells.”
With that she turned her back on them and for a moment they clung to each other.
“John,” whispered Anne, “what shall we do?”
“Nothing … as yet,” he told her. “We must think of a way.”
“Yes, John. You think of a way … but think quickly.”
“I have only one desire in my life.”
“And I.”
Sarah said without turning her head: “I think I hear footsteps approaching. It would be well to go now.”
The lovers looked longingly at each other for a few more seconds; then John dropped Anne’s hand and she went to Sarah.
Mulgrave watched the two young women walk into the palace.
In the Princess’s apartments Anne was telling Sarah about her love for Mulgrave. Sarah was displeased; she had learned of this through her own indefatigable efforts as she would always discover any intrigue; but it was disturbing that Anne had not confided in her, for it was unlike the Princess to exclude her from her secrets.
Although Sarah was lady-in-waiting to the Duchess of York, she was constantly in the company of the Princess Anne; and before Mulgrave had enchanted the Princess, Sarah had been more important to her than anyone. Sarah was piqued, but she did not show it. Arrogant and overbearing as she invariably was to others, she was careful in her approach to Anne.
Little fool! thought Sarah. Her sister Mary has a husband, and I have a husband; therefore she must have one. She always had to imitate, not having a mind of her own.
So she had chosen to fall in love with the Earl of Mulgrave—an ambitious young man, if ever Sarah saw one; and she was not going to tolerate ambitious people about the Princess, particularly those who would have more influence than Sarah Churchill.
She did not tell her this now; instead she pretended to be pleased.
Anne was explaining how she had loved him from the first moment she had seen him. “And the fact that his name was John … like your dear husband’s … endeared him to me, Sarah.”
“Ah, Madam, you always wish to do as I do.”
“Mary used to say I imitated her. Alas, I can no longer imitate my dear sister.”
“Nor should you wish to, Madam, seeing that the Princess of Orange spends a great deal of her time in tears.”
“Poor, poor Mary, married to that hateful creature.”
“Caliban!” said Sarah venomously.
“I pity Mary,” said Anne, her lips trembling.
“Pity can do her no good, Madam. Let us hope that you never have to make a marriage of state.”
“It will not be necessary,” said Anne complacently. “Mary has done that. I believe I can persuade my father to let me marry for love.”
“It will not rest with your father,” Sarah reminded her grimly. “Remember the position he is in.”
“Poor Papa!”
Poor Papa, indeed! thought Sarah. His future was not very certain. If this Bill succeeded and he was excluded from the throne, unless he had a son it would be the turn of Mary. And after that … Anne.
Sarah was a woman who had to make her way in the world by means of her own wits, and she constantly thanked God that they were sharp ones. She had to fight for herself and her John and she was going to find such a niche for them that would be the envy of the country. Both she and John had come to their present hopeful positions by great good luck; they must work hard to keep them.
John had been wise to choose her for his wife; and she had also chosen wisely. She would make him the greatest soldier in the world; yes, and have the world recognize him as such.
But that meant playing the game of life very carefully; knowing your luck for what it was and exploiting it.
Sarah had been a little shocked when she realized how far the Mulgrave affair had gone; not that she was alarmed; she was certain it could not go much farther. For one thing, she, Sarah Churchill, would not allow it.
“However,” went on Sarah, “the King is kind to lovers.”
“Oh, Sarah,” laughed Anne, “how right you are! And so he should be.”
“But,” went on Sarah sternly, “for the time, you must be careful. This must go no farther than letters and an occasional meeting with another present.”
“You, Sarah, of course.”
“There is no one else you can trust.”
“Oh, Sarah, how wonderful to have you to look after me! All will be well, I am sure. When you think they might have married me to that hateful George who, to my mind, was as bad—or almost—as poor Mary’s Orange.”
Prince George of Hanover! thought Sarah. She had been alarmed when that possibility had arisen. She had not liked the little German, who could not speak a word of English and gave the impression that he was not going to try. He was small of stature and uncouth in manners.
Ugh! shivered Sarah. And what place would there have been for John and Sarah Churchill at Hanover? She was glad that had come to nothing.
“A most distasteful man!” she muttered.
Then she remembered that Anne had been complacent enough. Of course Mulgrave had not appeared on the scene at that time; but Anne had shown no qualms, although the creature was so repulsive and would have carried her off to Hanover.
Anne was adaptable. That was why she was such an excellent mistress for an ambitious woman to serve. Serve! Proud Sarah was not one to serve. She wanted to guide her mistress into giving all that was best to Sarah Churchill, that Sarah might make use of it for John, and this clever couple become the most powerful people in the world.
She was not even in the service of Anne, but that of Mary of Modena, Duchess of York, so she would not have accompanied the Princess to Hanover. Nor had she had any intention of going—although with the Duke and Duchess so unpopular that they must periodically be banished from England, she could not see clearly ahead. If the Duke of York were King it would be good to be in the service of his wife; and to be in the service of Anne might mean that one were sent anywhere in the world if she made a foreign marriage—as the Princess Mary had been sent to Holland.
To play this game now was like walking a tightrope, but Sarah knew she was capable of coming safely across.
“Write your love letters,” said Sarah. “I will see that they are delivered. Then … in time … we must think of a plan.”
Anne threw herself into her friend’s arms.
“I am thinking of all I owe you, Sarah,” said Anne.
Sarah was thinking: She grows fatter than ever.