Courting Her Highness (31 page)

Bed! she grumbled. Bed! That’s all he thinks of!

But she went to him and said: “You are my husband and I shall accompany you to Harwich to bid you farewell.”

He was pathetically eager to accept her on any grounds, but she refused to rid herself of her suspicions. She wrote an angry letter which she gave him on parting, but as she stood watching the ship disappear she was overcome by a longing for him; and with a return of that feeling which she had experienced she knew that the charge against him was false, that he loved her as wholeheartedly as she loved him; and that a madness had come to her, perhaps because she loved him so deeply, so possessively, that the very thought that he could prefer someone else drove her to fury.

There was only one thing to do and that was sit down and write the truth to him.

She had been foolish. She loved him. What madness was it that made them believe they could ever be parted or their interests be divided. She would come out to him, that she might be beside him, for the children were settled now—with the exception of Mary who was well looked after in her Court post—and she need not consider their welfare but her own inclination.

When John read the letter he was overcome with joy.

The nightmare was past. They were together in spirit again. Life was good again, intensely worth living.

He thanked her for her dear letter; he would read it again and again. She had preserved his quiet and made him believe in his life once more. There must never again be trouble between them, for there was no happiness for him without her and he dared hope that there was none for her without him.

Sarah now settled down to await his return.

hose were trying months. Tension was rising and
even the people in the streets knew that what was happening on the Continent at this time could be decisive. Louis XIV was anxious to settle the European conflict and was planning a march on Vienna; his armies had already passed through the Black Forest and were with the Elector of Bavaria on the Danube. The Dutch were apprehensive at the thought of a conflict so far from home; so were the English. Sarah knew that John was not going to make the attack on the Moselle which he had allowed the Dutch and Parliament to believe. He was going to take the battle right into Germany; and when the news that Marlborough had taken his Dutch and English armies up the Rhine to Mainz there was consternation at home and in Holland.

The Tories—who had never wanted the war—were furious, and Marlborough was attacked both in the Commons and the Lords. He was exceeding orders; he was making decisions which should be left to the Government; he was conducting a war of his own.

“Impeach him!” was the cry.

Sarah was furious with those who dared suggest this—none did in her presence.

“Let him fail,” was the comment, “and we’ll have his head.”

“I’ll see them all in hell first!” was Sarah’s retort.

Anne was faithful to her. She was aware of the sly looks which came Mrs. Freeman’s way. Sarah stormed about the royal apartments as bombastic as ever—no, even more so. She was going to make them eat their words.

There was bad news from Scotland. Godolphin came in trembling to the Queen. He was always a timid creature, was Sarah’s comment. But Godolphin advised Anne to placate Scotland, for if she did not, a civil war might be the result and that would not be a very healthy position for England considering the flower of the Army was with Marlborough.

Anne then agreed to a passage in the Act of Security which allowed Scotland to choose its own King irrespective of what England did.

A backward step, was the comment; and one which could bring back the old days of war between the North and South.

It was a hot summer and George could not breathe in London so Anne and he went to Windsor.

George shook his head over the state of affairs. He was clearly thinking how different it would have been had he been allowed to be Commander-in-Chief.

“I believe in Mr. Freeman,” said Anne; and no matter what criticism was levelled at Marlborough she repeated the phrase.

Abigail had returned to her old place, for Sarah was often at St. Albans. She had found the court unendurable during those hot days and believed that if she had to endure more of Anne’s exasperating ways she would scream the truth at her which was that she was a foolish old woman and Sarah hated to be near her.

Sarah wanted none of these passionate relationships with her own sex. Sarah wanted John with her—a John returned successful from his campaigns.

She had to face the fact that the position looked grim, and that made her all the more eager for his return. But he must come triumphant or they would put him in the Tower. She remembered the agonies of those days when he had been a prisoner there.

She raged against his enemies: Rochester, Nottingham in the House of Lords; Sir Edward Seymour in the Commons. How dared they—just because he was bold and adventurous. Did they not know that that was the only way to success?

Let them beware. Marlborough would succeed and then he would be the most powerful man in England.

Anne lay back
in her chair. She was so tired.

“Hill,” she called. “Hill! Oh, there you are. Never far away.”

“Your Majesty would like me to make you tea.”

“I think that would be very pleasant.”

Anne stroked the dog in her lap. Life had become very difficult lately, after having been so pleasant. Her people had loved her for bringing back the old custom of touching for the King’s Evil and then of course there was her Bounty. But wars made Kings and Queens unpopular and Mr. Freeman’s boldness was not appreciated at home. She had had news from France which she found very worrying.

There was Hill with the tea. It was so soothing.

“Your Majesty is disturbed, I fear,” said Hill.

“I am, Hill. I don’t know what is going to happen to our Armies.”

“They are safe with the Duke, Madam, do you not think?” Abigail tried to keep the note of excitement out of her voice. She had talked quite often lately with Samuel Masham about the growing unpopularity of the Marlboroughs.

“I hope so, Hill. I hope and pray so.”

“But Your Majesty has the utmost confidence in the Duke?”

“Oh yes, Hill. But the Government seems quite angry with him. They are talking of impeachment.”

“It would never come to that, Madam, surely.”

“No, because the Duke will succeed. Of course he will succeed. But the French seem very confident. I have a despatch here, Hill.”

Abigail was trembling slightly. A despatch. So it had come to this. The Queen was going to show her a despatch!

“The King of France gave a great fête and banquet, Hill, at Marly on
the Seine, and the banquet was for my step-brother and his mother. He is calling them the King and Queen of England.”

“It cannot be so, Madam.”

“Yes, I fear so. Read this. Read it aloud to me.”

“It was a sumptuous repast,” read Abigail, “with new services of porcelain and glass on tables of white marble. At nightfall, drums, trumpets, cymbals and hautbois announced that the fireworks were about to begin and after supper the King and Queen of England returned to St. Germains.”

“The King and Queen of England!” repeated the Queen. “You see that is an insult, Hill … to me.”

“But it is only the King of France, Madam.”

“And Marlborough has the Army in Germany. Oh dear, I do hope he succeeds in what he is trying to do, for the Government is very angry with him. Really, Hill, I don’t know what should be done.”

“We can pray, Madam.”

Pray! Dear, good, pious creature. It was comforting to be with her.

Anne was at
Windsor and Sarah in London during that hot August. The tension was too great, Sarah told herself, for her to be able to endure Anne’s inanities at this time. It was better therefore that they should be apart and she could trust Abigail Hill to do what was necessary.

She longed for news of John. She was even a little remorseful that, the last time they had been together, she had been so cruel to him. Now that his enemies were preparing to tear him apart she wanted the whole world to know—but most of all John—that she was beside him and would defend him with her life.

What was happening on the Continent? The rumours grew daily. Godolphin was no comfort. Spineless fool! thought Sarah. It was being said that John had disobeyed instructions. Whose? Those who did not know what warfare meant? Those who stayed behind in London and told the greatest general in the world how the war should be run? And they were waiting for disaster. Almost hoping for disaster, not caring if they saw the downfall of England as long as it brought with it the downfall of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough.

Occasionally letters reached her, but she knew that for every one she received there were two or perhaps more that went astray. John was marching through Germany; he had told her that the weather was alternately uncomfortably hot or, almost worse still, very wet. She knew from the scrappiness of his letters that he was often apprehensive and she wished that she could be with him to encourage him.

It was the twenty-first of August and there had been no news for some time; tension was growing; she was afraid every time a servant knocked at her door that ill news was being brought to her. She, who never found it easy to remain calm, was now overwrought. She bullied her servants and any members of her family who came near her; it was her only way of releasing her feelings.

And on that day the news came. It began with a scratching on her door.

“Yes, what is it?” cried Sarah, her voice almost shrill.

“A gentleman to see Your Grace. He says he is Colonel Parke.”

Colonel Parke! John’s aide-de-camp. Sarah cried: “Bring him to me. No … I’ll go to him.”

She was running down the stairs and there he was—travel-stained and weary, holding out a letter to her.

“From the Duke,” she cried and snatched it.

Sarah read the note through and read it through again. No loving message. No word of tenderness. Then she realized that the battle had just been over when he had written that note—it was scrawled on a bill of
tavern expenses—and that he had bidden Colonel Parke ride with all speed to
her
. It had taken a week for the Colonel to reach her.

“The Duke has been victorious,” she cried.

“Yes, Madam, and he wrote first to you. He spread the only paper he could lay hands on on his saddle and wrote. Then he said: ‘Carry that to the Duchess with all speed.’ ”

“To me first …” she said. “Tell me the name of this battle.”

“It was the battle of Blenheim, Your Grace, and it is one of the greatest victories of all time.”