Courting Her Highness (22 page)

Sarah was furious
. Anne had of course immediately sought some means of providing an income for the Churchills which would enable them to accept the Dukedom and proposed an annual grant of five thousand pounds which would be taken from Post Office revenues. This she declared was necessary in view of Marlborough’s new title, and as his son would inherit that title in due course the income must be granted to the new Duke’s heirs.

The Government revolted. Marlborough’s services to the nation were appreciated but bestowing hereditary grants on individuals was frowned on; and to avoid an adverse vote Marlborough, now home once more, could only decline the offer of revenue from that source.

Sarah raged and ranted, but John tried in vain to soothe her.

“They are so ungrateful!” she cried. “When I think of all you have done for them. And now for a miserable five thousand …”

She went to the Queen.

“You see, Mrs. Morley, how wise I was to refuse the Dukedom in the first place. I know Mr. Freeman has no wish to accept so called honours when they are so grudgingly given. If he had taken
my
advice he would
never
have accepted the title. But now it is done … and here he is—the man who brought honour to his country, a Duke without the means to keep up his rank. A pretty state of affairs! A pretty example of a country’s ingratitude! I said to Mr. Freeman: It is folly to take this from a country who so clearly does not wish to honour you … rather to humiliate you.”

“My dear,
dear
Mrs. Freeman, this is most distressing. You shall have two thousand from my privy purse. No one shall know of it. It shall be a secret between us.…”

“Mrs. Morley should know that Mrs. Freeman could not easily be persuaded to enter into secret bargains.…”

She could not be comforted, and when she left the Queen was trembling and in tears.

Abigail came to her and bathed her forehead.

“There, Madam.” Anne accepted the brandy. “Would Your Majesty wish me to play a little on the harpsichord?”

“No, Hill. Just sit beside me. Your presence comforts me.”

Abigail took the trembling hand in hers and the Queen smiled at her.

“It seems peaceful now, Hill. Let us talk for a while and later perhaps when I am sleepy you will play me to sleep.”

Sarah stormed back
to Marlborough.

“She is ready to pay us two thousand from the privy purse,” she said. “What’s the use of that?”

John shook his head. “We couldn’t take it, Sarah. It could be embarrassing if it leaked out that we were being supplied in this way. But there is something else. I’ve a letter here from Sidney Godolphin. He writes from Newmarket.”

“Newmarket. I should have thought he might have been in London. Here is the Government treating you in this churlish way and he is at Newmarket if you please.”

“Our John is with him.”

“
Our
John! But why is he not at Cambridge?”

“There’s smallpox in Cambridge.”

Sarah turned pale. “John?”

“He’s all right. Sidney thought it better for him to leave Cambridge and go to stay at Newmarket. The air there is fresh and good. But I was a little uneasy.”

Smallpox! The dreaded scourge. Sarah could not bear to think of it having come near her only son.

“Perhaps he should come home,” she said.

“Sidney says he’s very well. I thought you might write to him and tell him that you are no longer displeased with him.”

“But I
am
still displeased with him.”

“He wrote to me asking me to plead with you on his behalf.”

“Then he should have written to me himself.”

“Sarah!” Marlborough laid his hand on her arm and gave her that sweet smile which never failed to charm. “I know you love him dearly—as you do the whole family, but could you not show it a little now and then?”

“Are you telling me how to treat my son, John Churchill!”

“Our son,” he reminded her.

She laughed. “We’ll have him home. I do not care that he should be near a pox-laden atmosphere.”

“Write to him and tell him he is forgiven.”

“No. He must write to me first. And what of this matter of our income …”

He laid his hands on her shoulders and drew her towards him.

“That is a matter which will, I doubt not, in time work out to our advantage … my Duchess.”

Anne was determined
that her dear Mrs. Freeman should happily accept the new honour and Sarah had no intention of standing in her way. It was certainly gratifying to be Her Grace, and she derived great pleasure from referring to Marl as The Duke.

With the coming of spring he would set out once more on his campaigns and the separations would begin again. “How I wish that you had chosen to become a statesman instead of a soldier!” she would exclaim angrily.

Christmas was just over and young John had written to his father to tell him that he was leaving the Godolphins to return to Cambridge.

“I trust,” said Sarah grimly, “that there he will learn some sense.”

It was in January when she had news from Cambridge.

When she read the letter which was from her son’s tutor she was silent, and those watching her saw the colour drain from her face.

Then she cried: “I am going to Cambridge. At once.”

She stared at her maid who, accustomed to her mistress’s sudden outbursts, was aware that there was something of great importance behind this one.

“My son,” she said slowly, “has the smallpox. My only son,” she repeated.

Abigail was with
Anne when she heard the news.

“My poor, poor Mrs. Freeman. So she has gone with all speed to Cambridge. We must pray for her, Hill. If she should lose this beloved child, how she will suffer! I know, Hill. I know full well. I could not bear to think of what poor Mrs. Freeman will have to suffer if the blow which struck her unfortunate Morley should strike her.”

“Your Majesty is so good to concern yourself.”

“You have never borne a child, Hill. This makes such understanding between us. But we must not
think
of his dying. While there is hope … But the smallpox. My poor sister died of it. And we were not good friends.… I often think of it, Hill. Oh, the tragedy! But I am forgetting my poor Mrs. Freeman. I want you to do this, Hill. Call my doctors … all of them. I want to send them to Cambridge so that they can give their services to poor little Blandford. We must do everything … simply everything, for I could not bear that what happened to me should happen to my poor Mrs. Freeman.”

Sarah sat by
her son’s bedside and wept. He opened his eyes and saw her.

“Papa,” he said. “Papa.”

“He will come to you, my love. He is on his way.”

She thought he understood because he smiled so sweetly and he reminded her poignantly of his father. He would have been another such, she thought; and then angrily: He
will
be another such.

She would not let him die. But even Sarah could not hold back death.

“He is my son,” she cried. “My only son.”

“Your Grace,” said the doctors. “You should send for the Duke.”

When Marlborough came to Cambridge with all speed, Sarah flung herself at him and burst into loud weeping. “It cannot be. It cannot be.
They are saying there is little hope. But only such a short while ago he was strong and well.…”

“Sarah, my beloved, I suffer with you. We must pray for courage. If this terrible tragedy should come to pass we must meet it with resignation.”

“Resignation. This is my son … my only son!”

He did not remind her that the boy was his son too. He was wonderfully gentle and she clung to him in her despair which, even at such a time, was tempered by rage. What right had death to threaten her son—her only son who would one day have been the Duke of Marlborough?

She was suddenly overcome by fear. “John,
you
must take care. You must not go near him. There could be an even greater blow than this.”

She looked into his face and he saw the fear there and he marvelled that she of whom it had been said she cared for neither God nor man could care so much for him.

He turned away; his emotions were betraying him.

John Churchill, sixteen-year-old Lord
Blandford, died at Cambridge and was buried in King’s College Chapel.

Sarah was bewildered by her grief and astonished all by her quietness. She and the Duke went to their home in St. Albans and remained quietly there. John was the only one who could make any attempt to comfort Sarah and he must soon make preparations to join his army which had been delayed by the death of his son.

Sarah wandered from room to room. She could not believe that young John was dead. It was so short a time since he was pleading to become a soldier.

She who had never attempted to control her rage and arrogance, now could not control her grief. She would throw herself on to her bed and sob so wildly that it was feared she would injure her health. If only there had been someone on whom she could have vented her wrath she would have felt better. But how could she shake her fist and insult Providence; how could she warn Death that she would have her revenge on him for flouting Sarah Churchill’s wishes.