Courting Her Highness

A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

While the Queen was sleeping Sarah left the bedchamber in charge of Abigail Hill and went to seek her husband. She found him in their apartment waiting for her and she flew triumphantly into his arms.

“So, at last it has come!” she cried.

“ ’Tis so. But this, my love, is the beginning.”

“Never fear. I shall tell her what she must do.”

“That you will, but we must not forget that she has a Parliament. We have to go carefully. Rochester is after the office of Lord Treasurer. He must not get it, Sarah. If he does that is the end of our hopes.”

“Rochester! He shall not have office! I shall forbid Morley to consider it for a moment.”

“Two things you have forgotten, dearest. He is her uncle and she is the Queen.”

“I forget nothing. Uncle or no, he shall not have the post. And Queen or not, she shall obey me.”

“For God’s sake, my love, do not let our success go to your head.”

“Marl, I could find it in my heart to be angry with you.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Nay,” he said, “never. You and I are as one, Sarah, and you know it. I am too cautious and you are too quick. Listen, love, let us stand together and with your speed and my caution we cannot fail.”

“Well,” she said with a grudging smile, “let us hear what you plan.”

“To keep Rochester out. He will vote against war and that will be the ruin of our country. We have to stop the French from commanding Europe. And I am going to do it.”

“Well, you are the commander of the Army.”

“Of what use if the chief minister were against me? Even if I succeeded in prosecuting the war I should be denied the necessary supplies. No. I want a Lord Treasurer who is completely with me and there is one man for the job: Godolphin.”

“Godolphin it shall be. Was it not for this purpose that we allowed Henrietta to marry his boy?”

“I have spoken to him, Sarah, and he tells me he has no love for the job.”

“No love for the job. Then Master Godolphin will have to change his views.”

“I have tried to persuade him.”

“You leave Godolphin to me. I will make him see his duty.”

John smiled. She was fierce; she was forthright; and he fancied Godolphin was a little afraid of her.

“There would be no harm, my dear,” he said, “in adding your voice to mine. You could remind Anne that Godolphin has always supported her—which is more than Rochester has. Remind her how he tried to stop William and Mary when they wanted to reduce her income and how he remained her friend when she was at the height of disfavour. She is not one to forget past friends.”

“She shall be reminded, I promise you. Have no fear, Marl; the Treasury shall go to Godolphin. And there is one other matter I wish to take up with you. It’s our own young John. I believe you have been encouraging him.”

“Oh, come, Sarah, it’s natural enough the boy should want to follow his father’s profession.”

“In due course. At the moment he stays at Cambridge.”

“Well, that is agreed. But there is surely no need for you to continue to show the boy your displeasure. He has obeyed you. Is that not enough?”

“I do not expect my children to attempt to disobey me.”

“He is but a boy.”

“But he was ready to defy me!”

John laughed affectionately. She was overbearing and arrogant, but the magic of her presence never failed to enchant him. With her flashing blue eyes and the indignant colour in her cheeks, he thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even his daughters—beauties all—could not compete with their mother.

She should have her way, of course—even though he must lay a gentle restraining hand on her.

“Sarah, my love, do not let our son feel the force of your displeasure too long.”

“He will have to learn that I know what is best for him. But … there are important matters which need attention. I shall see Godolphin without delay and point out where his duty lies.”

Sarah came into the Queen’s bedchamber where Abigail was kneeling at Anne’s feet, bathing her swollen ankles.

“Hill has such gentle hands,” murmured Anne.

“Yes, yes,” said Sarah, signing to Abigail to get up, take her basin and be gone.

Abigail raised her eyes to the Queen who nodded her head slightly, at which Abigail dried and powdered the royal feet, while Sarah looked on impatiently. With lowered eyes, Abigail was asking herself: How can the Queen allow this? But she seems to enjoy her servitude to this woman.

Sarah waved a hand and Abigail, clasping the bowl in her hand, left the apartment.

As she went on, Abigail heard Anne murmur: “Such a good creature.”

“I have matters which must be discussed between us two. Hill can come back later and do what you wish.”

“Pray be seated, dear Mrs. Freeman.”

“Well,” said Sarah, “you will have noticed how those who have hitherto treated you with contempt have now miraculously become your friends. We must be very watchful of such; but you can trust me to be on the alert for them.”

“You are thinking of …”

“Your uncle, Rochester. Oh, he is now preening himself, I can tell you. Uncle to Her Majesty the Queen of England! Never mind if before he treated her with contempt. Never mind if he sided with that arch scoundrel, that Dutch Abortion! Never mind if he voted to reduce your income! Never mind if he never came near you when your sister and her miserable spouse picked their quarrels with you! Oh, never mind! Now he comes creeping back and would be My Lord Treasurer … if you please.”

“It is true that he was not always my friend, but I have heard that he is an able man, and as my uncle …”

“I know that Mrs. Morley would never forget her true friends. When I think of what a good friend Sidney Godolphin has been to you, when I think of the brilliance of that man! I said to Mr. Freeman: I know Her Majesty, my dearest Mrs. Morley, I know that she is not one to be led astray by the whining of curs who a short time ago were yapping at her heels.”

“It’s true of course, Mrs. Freeman.”

“Mrs. Morley agrees with me that Mr. Freeman is a genius … an absolute genius. She can safely leave the conduct of her armies to him. In the past he has had to suffer the envy of others less gifted. But that is over now. There is only one man with whom he could work and it is an essential fact that the Queen’s commander of the Armies and her Chief Minister must work together.”

“I do agree.”

“Then it can only be the Treasury for Godolphin and Master Rochester must understand that his Queen is not a fool to be duped by his pretty speeches. Godolphin at home; Marlborough abroad. Why, Mrs. Morley, you will indeed make England great … with their help.”

“I have always liked Sidney Godolphin.…”

“Then that little matter is settled. He shall be informed. Now I am going to tell you about the trouble I am having with my son. The boy has dared challenge my plans for his future. What do you think of that.”

“That is a little wicked of the young man, Mrs. Freeman.”

“He would join the Army without delay, if you please. He would leave Cambridge forthwith when I have decided he shall stay there.”

“He is eager to be a soldier … just like my boy. I can see him now, dear Mrs. Freeman, drilling his soldiers in the park. What a boy he was.…”

Let her rant on a little, thought Sarah. It would be a reward for giving the Treasury to Godolphin.

With Godolphin Lord Treasurer, and himself Commander of the Armed Forces, Marlborough saw that the future looked bright. He meant to wage war on the Continent; he was going to make his country the major power; but he needed absolute support at home. A great deal depended on the Queen—but Sarah could be relied upon to guide her. Even so there would be powerful enemies, for there were many ministers who were opposed to war. Both Whigs and Tories were oddly assorted within their own ranks. The Tory party was the Church party and the landowning classes; the Whigs were the moneyed section of the community, the commercial interest. Both parties had their encumbrances. The Tories the bigoted High Church dignitaries and the Jacobites; the Whigs, the Noncomformists and the Calvinists. But it was the Whigs who would support the war because war meant an expansion of commerce; while the Tories had no such means of enriching themselves and were impoverished by taxes. Yet in spite of his desire for war Marlborough was a Tory and there was dissension even in his close family circle, for Sarah herself was inclining more and more to Whiggery.

But when Marlborough persuaded his Allies to make the Pretender’s claim to the throne one of their reasons for continuing the conflict, the war assumed a greater popularity; and as the whole country was firmly behind the new Queen and determined that the Catholic Pretender should not come back, it was ready to go wholeheartedly into battle, and on a May morning Garter King of Arms appeared in the London streets and to the sound of trumpets declared to the people that England was at war.

This was triumph for Marlborough, and he immediately began making his preparations to leave for the Continent.

But he was not easy in his mind as to the situation at home. They had too many enemies, he had said to Sarah.

It was for this reason that he had sought to win Robert Harley to his side.

He had discussed this matter with Godolphin and they had both agreed that Harley was the third pillar needed to support the edifice they intended to set up.

“Your Francis is over-young,” said Marlborough, kindly, for he had quickly realized that Sarah’s complete lack of tact meant that he must use his own liberal supply to the full. “And he is therefore not in a position to be of much use … at the moment.” Francis, husband of Henrietta, was a good enough pawn. Member for Helston, he was a budding politician; but the situation demanded strong men. Marlborough’s mind rested fleetingly on his second son-in-law who had become the Earl of Sunderland on his father’s recent death. He was clever but rash and of an uncertain temper.

Godolphin was already thinking of Harley.

The three men met in Marlborough’s club and as soon as he had been invited Harley knew why. The situation interested him.

Marlborough came straight to the point. He believed, he said, that at all costs the French must be prevented from dominating Europe. It was his duty to see this; but there was a strong pacifist element in the country.

“It would be only a temporary peace,” said Marlborough, “and could before long bring our country to her knees.”

Harley nodded. “I am entirely of your opinion.”

“I shall be out of the country fighting her battles. My Lord Treasurer is of my mind, but we have our enemies and we need the support of strong men.”

“A triumvirate of strong men,” put in Godolphin.

Harley smiled. He understood. He was being invited to share in their success. Being shrewd, he knew how important it was to win the Queen’s approval; in fact it was not possible to advance far without it, and the Queen was ruled by one woman: Sarah Churchill. So one might say that the Marlboroughs were the real rulers of the country. Marlborough was a wise man; he knew very well that he was surrounded by enemies; but Sarah could persuade the Queen to anything, and as the Queen’s ministers knew this it did not endear them to Marlborough who would have to watch every step he took; but what men among them would be able to stand up to a strong triumvirate such as would be made by himself, Godolphin and Harley.

“And you consider me worthy to be included?” asked Harley.

“You are a good Tory,” said Godolphin.

“That is a recommendation?” asked Harley. “A Tory today is a Whig tomorrow. One grows dizzy contemplating the turnabout. Why in your own family, my lord Marlborough, you have yourself—staunch Tory. And I have heard that your good lady is inclined to the Whigs; your brother Admiral Churchill is eager to have us all know what a good Tory he is and your son-in-law Sunderland equally anxious to show us he’s a regular Whig of a man. While Lady Marlborough’s own sister, so I’ve heard, is all for the Jacks, and Lady Marlborough herself surely the most intimate friend of Her Majesty ever had.”

Marlborough smiled coolly at Harley. He was known as Robin the Trickster, and one could never be sure what he was at; but he knew well enough that they needed him.

“Good men now and then find it necessary to turn their coats,” said Marlborough.

“I am in absolute agreement with my lord as usual,” replied Harley with a bow.

“Then,” replied Marlborough, “it would give me pleasure if you would visit us at St. Albans. My wife is anxious to make your closer acquaintance.”

Returning to London from St. Albans Robert Harley was congratulating himself. A triumvirate, he was thinking: Marlborough, Godolphin, Harley. It was well to be allied with the Marlboroughs, and when one met Sarah Churchill one understood why. The Queen was completely hers to command, he had heard; and although he had thought previously that statement a little exaggerated now that he had met the lady he no longer did. What fire and fury! Marlborough was, if not afraid of her, in bondage to her. A handsome woman, and an absolute virago.

Robin the Trickster was amused and intrigued. He was looking forward to travelling along with the Marlboroughs … for a while.

She was arrogant and quite vain. He was a man who knew how to pay a compliment and he had made her believe that he admired her every bit as much as he had intended that she should.

The Marlboroughs were delighted. They had angled for him and they believed they had him in the net. They needed him; they recognized him as a power in the House. And so he was. He had been elected Speaker because he had a greater knowledge of parliamentary procedure than any one living person, and it was understandable that they should want his support. With Marlborough conducting the war and Godolphin and Harley in charge at home, no one could stand against them.

At St. Albans he had been promised a grand appointment. Secretary of State in place of Nottingham whom they had decided must go. Nottingham should certainly go; Harley should decidedly take his place. But in this alliance Harley would be expected to remain contentedly in third place. They did not know Harley, who was already asking himself: What is Marlborough? A soldier with a forceful wife who in some unnatural way has managed to subdue the Queen! What is Godolphin? A timid man, easily disheartened, and obviously in awe of Marlborough’s wife. It seemed as though Madam Sarah ruled the roost. But she should not rule Robert Harley.

He left his house and strolled out into the London streets, passing unnoticed, for his appearance was insignificant, and he was by no means a handsome man; perhaps that was why he yearned to be noticed. His powers of oratory were marred by a stammer which he had overcome to some extent but which made him appear hesitant; his voice was harsh and cold, his manners formal. Yet he could produce the telling phrase and could confound his opponents in debate. He had developed these qualities because of his disabilities; in the same way his vanity had grown as though to give the lie to his lack of good looks. There was one characteristic which dominated him: That was envy. He could not endure to see others succeed. At the moment he was prepared to use the friendship of Marlborough and Godolphin; but he could not quietly stand aside and see the power and the glory pass him by to fall into their hands.

That, he realized, would come later. In the meantime it would be a wise policy to ingratiate himself with the Marlboroughs, and he did not anticipate much difficulty in arranging this. He had summed up Sarah and she, of course, was the important one. He would flatter her; he would appear to bow to her will. As her greatest desire was to rule everyone, that should please her. He did not think he would have any difficulty in walking in step with Madam Sarah … for a while.

She interested him. How he would enjoy going into battle against her! What an interesting situation! But of course one would work skilfully in the dark … right until the moment when it was appropriate to deliver the fatal blow.

Harley was delighted. Life was becoming interesting.

He turned into a coffee house and as he sat down was almost immediately joined by a young man.

“Ha, Harry,” said Harley. “Pray be seated.”

“Master,” replied the young man with a somewhat affected bow, “you have had good news.”

“Do I then betray myself?” asked Harley with a smile.

Henry St. John was an exceptionally handsome man of about twenty-four. Harley had selected him as the most brilliant of the younger politicians and St. John was a willing disciple, immediately recognizing what the patronage of a man in Harley’s position could mean to an ambitious young man; and determined to make the most of it, he never missed an opportunity of sitting at the feet of the master.

“Only to those who know you well, Master.”

“Well, Harry, you are right. I can see the way ahead more clearly than I ever did before. I have recently returned from Holywell near St. Albans.”

“I heard that you were visiting the Marlboroughs.”

“So that is all over the town?”

“Our most brilliant politician—and the Marlboroughs. Who could fail to prick up ears?”

“So there are speculations, eh? Well, we shall see.”

“You are thoughtful. And, I see, in no mood to impart your thoughts.”

“There are thoughts which should be guarded as closely as state secrets.”

“Those sort of thoughts? Then we should indeed expect great events. But you are here in a coffee house where one does not expect to find the greatest statesmen of the day.”

“You are wondering why I am not caressing the bottle, Henry? I am a faithful man, but I was never more faithful to any than I am to Bacchus. Is that what you’re thinking? Oh, my boy, don’t imagine I have swerved. But tonight I have a fancy to look at a certain section of our London scene which I believe merits more attention than it usually receives.”

St. John leaned his elbows on the table and looked intently into his friend’s face.

“Develop the powers of observation, Henry, my boy. Have you ever considered the power of words? Ah, I see you have. A man of your er … intelligence … I almost said genius, Harry; but perhaps that is a word which should not be rashly employed. No word should be rashly employed perhaps. Remember, my dear boy, that this is a discussion on the importance of words. Words! Words! They are more powerful than cannon. Have you ever heard it said that Lillibullero won the victory for Dutch William more certainly than his army? In the last few years words have formed a part of our lives. Lampoons … sly verses … street songs … These Harry are the weapons which have made thrones tremble. Just think if Catholic James could have found a scribbler to give the right words to him the Queen might not be on the throne today. Ah, Harry, you smile. I see you think this is one of my discourses. I talk as so many do, for the sake of talking. I am not sure whether I do or not. But tonight when I am in my cups … I shall be sure, for drinking—in my case—clears the head, Harry. You see I am not as other men for which I might say Thank God had not the Pharisee said it before me and been held up as an example of hypocrisy. I am a hypocrite perhaps. Who shall say? And who is wise to say anything of a man until his time has run out. You only judge a man’s life at his death, Harry. Now look at that fellow over there. I am going to invite him to our table.”

St. John was alert. He knew that it was for the purpose of inviting this fellow to the table that Harley had come to the coffee house.

A man of medium height with a sallow complexion and dark hair—he wore no wig—came over to the table.

“Sir,” he said with a bow, “your servant.”

“Be seated,” said Harley. “But first meet a friend, Henry St. John, who is eager to make your acquaintance.”

St. John looked startled, but Harley smiled.

“Harry, this is Daniel Defoe—a literary man. I hope you are acquainted with his work?”

The man turned his eager eyes on St. John who, taking his cue from Harley, said modestly: “It is an omission which I intend to rectify without delay.”

The grey eyes were idealist, the hooked nose and sharp chin betrayed a strength.

What is Harley up to? wondered St. John. But he began to guess.

He was going to use Defoe as he used everyone. Harley was a brilliant schemer; he was not called Robin the Trickster for nothing.

He was going to stand with Marlborough and Godolphin as one of the almighty three, but Harley was not the man to be one of three. He would want to stand alone, supreme.

This band of men, of whom Defoe was one, would be the secret army. They held a more deadly weapon than the generals, but the generals were too foolish to realize this. It was men such as Mr. Harley who were a step ahead of their contemporaries who became the leaders.

Harley had decided to use the hidden weapon against his foes. The Marlboroughs thought they were going to rule the country because of Sarah’s ascendancy over the Queen, but Harley had decided otherwise: he was going to stand supreme. And the fact that he had allowed Henry St. John to share this little confidence showed clearly that if St. John cared to attach himself to Harley he could go along with him; St. John cared. He cared very deeply.

So he was excited as he sat in the coffee house listening to talk between one of the country’s leading statesmen and the poor scribbler.

Parting was almost unendurable for John and Sarah. It was at such times that briefly they forgot ambition. Sarah was unable to control her tears—tears of sorrow were unusual with her, though she occasionally shed tears of rage. To let him go, her beloved John, into danger! So many hazards he would face; and he had so many enemies! What if she were never to see him again? Nothing then would be worthwhile. As for John, he had wanted to go to war for only at war could he prove his genius. He was a soldier first and foremost; he believed that this war was necessary to England. And yet what would he not have given at that moment of parting to leave everything and go back with Sarah to St. Albans.

He was worried about young John who was at cross purposes with his mother. Henrietta, now that she had escaped from the family circle by marriage, was as her mother said “saucy.” The only member of the family with whom Sarah really lived on amicable terms was Anne—and this was solely because Anne had a sweet disposition and it was impossible to quarrel with her.

He wanted to be in the circle of his family; he wished momentarily that he and Sarah could have abandoned ambition, the quest for wealth and fame … everything … to go and spend their days quietly at St. Albans … together … all through the days and nights.

Oddly enough he knew as they faced each other that Sarah felt the same—his wild tempestuous Sarah who could be tender only to him, and then rarely so. Yet, he told himself, for him her frequent anger made her occasional sweetness all the more precious.

She clung to him now. “Oh, John,” she whispered, “there’ll be dangers over there.”

“And here there’ll be dangers too. You will have to be careful of your behaviour, my love, for although I go to war with a ruthless enemy you stay behind in a country of tigers and wolves.”

Sarah’s eyes glinted momentarily. “I’d like to see them attack me. Just let them try.”

“They’ll try, Sarah. They’ll never cease to try.”

“I shall be ready for them. Now that I have got young Abigail Hill to take over some of the more unpleasant duties I have more time for important affairs. I’m thankful for that girl, John. She does her task well. And she is respectful and grateful.”

“As she should be.”

“As she should be. She dare not be otherwise. But it is rarely that I have to remind her what I have done for her. She should serve me well. But I’ll reward her.”

He touched her cheek lightly with his finger. “It is always well to reward a good servant.”

She took his hand and kissed it. “You will think of me when you are away?”

“Constantly.”

“Let not thoughts of me turn you from those of war. I want this finished quickly. I want you back in England.”

“You can be sure that I shall lose no time in hurrying to you.”

“Oh, my love, these are great days.”

“Yes,” he replied, “this will be warfare with a difference. I want to beat the French in the field and then march on to Paris to take their capital. That is the only way to beat the French.”

“And you’ll have opposition to those plans, I’ll warrant.”

“There is always opposition. To turn to Spain would be suicidal … and if we succeeded there no decision would have been reached.”

“Well, John Churchill, I do not think you are the man to let others fight your wars for you.”

“As usual my love is right.”

When the hour for parting had come and he must set sail, leaving her behind, Sarah declared her intention of seeing him go aboard, for she was determined to be with him until the very last moment.

“How I wish that I were coming with you!” she cried vehemently.

“Ah, my love, then I should indeed be happy. But there are affairs at home which need your attention.”

She nodded. “Have no fear. Sidney Godolphin will do as I wish and Harley seems amenable. I believe he is delighted that you selected him to join you. He as much as told me so.”

“He’s a clever fellow whom we can’t afford to have as an enemy.”

“I shall be watching them. I wish I didn’t have to listen to Morley’s gossip. Sometimes I could scream at the old fool to be silent.”

“You must never do that, Sarah.”

“I believe that woman would take anything … just anything from me.”

“I beg you do not put it to the test.”

“Oh, come, Marl, you can trust me.”

“With all my heart, but you can be a little impetuous, my love.”

“She dotes on me. Her stupid old face looks almost human when she sees me.”

“She is not a fool, Sarah. She is a woman who successfully hides her true feelings as well as any. I’ve heard that said and I know it to be true.”

“I know what her true feelings are for her beloved Mrs. Freeman, I do assure you.”

“God bless you, Sarah. Take care of yourself and the family.”

One last embrace. Then she must let him go. He stood on deck watching her; and she stood waving to him, praying earnestly, and what was so unusual, humbly. “Let him come safely back to me.”

Marlborough held up his glass that he might see her for as long as possible; and when he could no longer see her he could only endure the parting by writing to her without delay.

“I watched with my perspective glass for a long time in hopes that I might have another sight of you. At this moment I would give my life to come back to you.”

“Hill,” said the Queen, “pray bathe my feet. They are most painful today.”

Abigail inclined her head and in a few minutes was kneeling at the Queen’s feet with the silver bowl half full of water that was neither too hot nor too cold.

Anne smiled placidly and lay back, her eyes closed.

“That feels good,” she said. “Danvers is either too rough or afraid to touch me. You have magic in your hands, Hill.”

“Your Majesty is so gracious to me.”

“You’re a good creature.”

“And the happiest in the world to give pleasure to Your Majesty.”

“You’re quiet and there are times when I feel the need for quietness.”

Abigail patted the feet dry, anointed them, powdered them and put them into the large and comfortable slippers.

“Your Majesty feels better now?”

“Greatly refreshed Hill. Did I hear Danvers scolding you this afternoon, my dear?”

“She said I was in too constant attendance on Your Majesty.”

“What nonsense!”

Abigail folded her arms and struck a pose that was so like one of Mrs. Danvers’ that the Queen opened her eyes wide and laughed. “I do declare, Hill, you look exactly like her.”

“ ‘Hill,’ ” mimicked Abigail, “ ‘you push yourself too much. Lady Marlborough has put you here to do those tasks which are not to her liking, but I have not asked you to take my place.’ ”

“It’s Danvers to the life!” cried Anne.

Abigail looked up meekly at an imaginary Danvers and murmured her excuses. Then greatly daring she pretended that Sarah had arrived and mimicked a scene between her and Danvers.

She was almost afraid to look at the Queen. Had she gone too far? What would Anne’s reactions be to a little poking of fun at Sarah.

“Clever little Hill!” murmured the Queen, smiling. It was a further step forward in their relationship.

“Your Majesty,” said Abigail, “Mr. Masham left a message that the Prince was hoping to visit you this day.”

“Then I am pleased, Hill. I trust this means that his breathing is a little better.”

“Mr. Masham tells me that his breathing was much easier this morning and that he enjoyed his dinner.”

“He is a good man, young Masham. I believe he is fond of the Prince.”

“I am sure of it, Madam.”

“He confides in you, does he?”

“A little, Madam.”

“Clever little thing. Now help make me ready to receive the Prince and then Hill you shall play some of your pieces on the harpsichord. Why, Hill, I am always discovering fresh talents in you. I am very fond of the harpsichord and I was telling the Prince what a pleasant touch you have.”

Abigail was delighted with her progress in the bedchamber. If only Sarah would stay away for months. Then she would make a real advance.

George, Prince of Denmark, came to his wife’s apartments accompanied by his page, Samuel Masham. There were signs in the Prince’s face of past good looks, but he had become so fat through an excessive fondness for good food and wine that he was now almost a ridiculous figure as he trundled painfully along, leaning on a jewelled-topped stick. He wheezed painfully, for he suffered greatly from asthma, but his expression was one of kindliness and a placidity which matched that of his wife.

“My angel,” he said, his Danish accent obvious, for he had never tried to eradicate it. He was far too lazy. “I trust I find you better today.”

“Yes, my dearest. My good Hill has just made me comfortable. And you are wheezing less, I fancy. Come sit down here beside me so that I may see you clearly.”

George sat down heavily in the chair which Abigail had set close to the Queen’s couch. He took the Queen’s hand, kissed it and retained it, stroking the beautifully white plump fingers admiringly. Even as he did so he nodded drowsily. He had drunk heavily and always found it hard to keep his eyes open in the afternoon—or at any time for that matter.

“Dear George!” murmured Anne.

He nodded happily. Then they were silent.

He was such a good husband, Anne was thinking, but there was never anything to say to him, except: “My angel!” Or: “My dearest George.” Of course when their boy was alive they had had him to talk of and that had been the most engrossing subject in the world; but if they talked of their darling now it could only end in sadness. In actual fact it was so much more enlivening and amusing to talk to—or rather listen to—dearest Mrs. Freeman; it was much more pleasant to talk to that quiet little Hill who was turning out to be so clever.

Anne yawned.

In the ante room Abigail was smiling at Samuel Masham.

“If you will forgive me the liberty,” he was saying, “I should like to say how well you are looking.”

“I am well. And you?”

He nodded and his eyes were brighter than usual. “It is pleasant without Madam Virago at Court.”

Abigail opened her pale green eyes very wide and looked astonished.

“I am sure you suffer at her hands more than most,” went on Samuel. “The Court seems quiet and peaceful. She will soon be back though. As soon as the Earl sails she will return.”

Abigail lowered her eyes. She agreed with Samuel but she was not certain whether it was wise to speak of Lady Marlborough disparagingly here in the royal apartments. And she was determined to be discreet. It was true that Sarah Churchill was the most indiscreet woman in the country and she had not appeared to suffer for it, but Abigail was well aware that she could never follow in Sarah’s footsteps; she would have to go an entirely different way.

“I am sure,” she said discreetly, “that Lady Marlborough will lose no time in returning to her duties.”

Samuel too was discreet; and he would take his cue from Abigail, so he changed the subject. “I heard Her Majesty speak of you to the Prince the other day. She said that she was beginning to wonder what she would do without you.”

Abigail was excited. If Anne spoke of her when she was not present then she must have made a deep impression on the royal mind.

Samuel brought his head close to hers. “Of course,” he said, “more and more will depend on the good graces of The Lady. They are saying that the Triumvirate with the Queen behind it, will be all powerful. The Queen behind it! It is The Lady who is behind it. Marlborough, her husband! Godolphin, her daughter’s father-in-law! Harley their man! And the Queen completely in the hands of The Lady. Those of us who fail to please Madam will not long retain our posts.”

“We shall have to be watchful to please,” murmured Abigail.

“Hill!” called the Queen.

Abigail came into the apartment where George had slumped forward in his chair and was breathing heavily. He had clearly fallen into a doze.

“Hill, I wish for some music on the harpsichord.”

“Certainly, Madam.”

Abigail sat down and played. Anne beat time with her fingers.

“Hill, one of the dogs wants to come up. Which one, I cannot see.”

Abigail lifted the dog and set it on the Queen’s lap. Anne stroked it lovingly. “There, there! Listen to Hill’s playing. Is it not pleasant? Such a clever little thing! Go back to the harpsichord and play something lively.”

Abigail obeyed and the Queen sat smiling at the straight little figure with the limp ginger hair dressed high in the fashion, at the straight back in the neat grey gown.

Such a pleasant creature, she thought. Also so eager to please … as though it gives her pleasure to serve. Never strident. Always quiet. Oh dear, how I do miss my dearest Mrs. Freeman!

George began to snore and she leaned forward and tapped him with the fan which lay on her lap.

“Eh? Vat?” cried George.

“You had fallen asleep, dearest. Listen to Hill’s playing. Such a good, clever creature.”

“Very nice … Very nice,” murmured George sleepily.

“A little music is very pleasant now and then. I cannot be grateful enough to my dear Mrs. Freeman for bringing me this good kind creature.”

George scowled. He was not very pleased with the Freemans. He had had dreams of commanding the Navy or the Army and the Earl of Marlborough had been one of those who had put a stop to that ambition.

“It is gut she’s away,” he grumbled. “She make too much noise.”

Anne laughed. “Oh, that is Mrs. Freeman’s way.”

“Don’t much like,” murmured George. “Nice, peaceful …” He waved a fat hand.

“Well, George, there is something to be said for peace in one’s apartment, I do agree.”

Abigail’s fingers faltered because her mind was so alert. But neither the Queen nor the Prince noticed it. She was thinking: The Prince resents the Marlboroughs. It’s a mild resentment because he is too lazy to feel deeply, but it is there and he’ll not forget it easily. The Marlboroughs were getting stronger and stronger and yet there was a place in the royal bedchamber for a quiet and soothing personality.

“George, you are going to sleep again,” Anne was saying. “A little game of cards will keep you awake. Hill. Get the cards. Call in Masham. He plays a good hand. Then join us.”

Abigail rose from the harpsichord, eager to obey.

Anne smiled at her. The dear good creature!

It was an uneasy summer. Marlborough was out of England fighting the French and Sarah watched constantly for news of him; without him to lay the restraining hand on her—he was the only one who dared do this—she was more blatantly outspoken than ever. She thought nothing of interrupting the Queen, hectoring her and even showing her irritation. She was nicknamed Queen or Viceroy Sarah. Anne meekly accepted her behaviour, and to Abigail’s secret chagrin it seemed to have no undermining effect on their relationship. How could she, wondered Abigail, after overhearing that most unkind and unwarranted attack over the gloves, ever feel the same towards Mrs. Freeman again. But apparently she did. What was the magnetic attraction of the woman that could have made a Queen all but grovel to her, and an ambitious libertine, as Marlborough had certainly been before he met her, become her devoted slave? Slave was a word one thought of when one considered people’s relationship with Sarah. She would wish to see us all her slaves! thought Abigail. She is invincible.

But often an insistent voice within her said: Not quite. And when she listened to that voice, life became wonderfully exciting to Abigail.

She took every opportunity of talking to Samuel Masham. They discussed affairs; it was surprising what that young man discovered; and he was always eager to impart what he knew to Abigail. There was no doubt, he told Abigail, that John Churchill was a brilliant soldier. He was a born leader; so calm, so serene, so courteous to all, yet he was always firmly in control and his men were ready to follow him to the death. Even those who envied his command grudgingly admitted that when he was engaged in war he showed a quality which might well be genius. Small wonder that Marlborough wanted to conduct a war against England’s enemies. Thus he would show the world his own greatness, and at the same time add to England’s stature.

“Marlborough abroad, his lady at home …” mused Samuel. “They are invincible.”

During that summer Marlborough drove the French from the Maas and the Lower Rhine. It was an achievement which put new hope into the hearts of the Allies and apprehension in those of the enemy.

Sarah, as news of her husband’s triumphs was brought to her, grew more and more aggressive. Sometimes, though, when she received his letters, she would take them to her private apartments and shed a few tears over them. His love for her was always the theme of those letters. He did not consider he had had any real success in the battlefield as yet, he told her, but he knew it would come. He was aware of the power within him, but everything he would give up—all hope of advancement and honour—for the sake of being with his dearest Sarah.

Sarah allowed herself moments of tenderness when she kissed his letters and put them away to be re-read later. Then she set about making everyone aware that as the wife of the greatest genius living she received the respect due to her, and ranting through the apartments, quarrelling with everyone, she was a great trial to all.

Even Anne would sigh sometimes and, when Sarah had left, send for Hill to soothe her with gentle massage and that wonderful gift of being able to listen. Hill would ask questions that had been asked before; would ask to hear what the Queen’s dear boy had done on such and such occasion although she had heard it many times before. Dear, kind Hill! Anne found herself thinking often. What a contrast to dear Mrs. Freeman. So odd that they should be related!

“Your Majesty is very tired,” Hill would murmur.

“So tired, Hill. So very tired.”

“Lady Marlborough is so amusing. But I think her brilliant conversation has tired your Majesty.”

“She is indeed brilliant, Hill. And how handsome she is! I declare it is a joy to look at her. I have so much to be thankful to her for, Hill.”

“And she to Your Majesty.”

“We have been friends since we were children, Hill. I was taken with her from the beginning and so happy when she wanted to become my friend. And one of the nicest things she ever did, was to bring you to me, Hill. There! Just soothe my brow. I have a headache and there is quite a magic in those fingers of yours.”

Triumph … in a strange way, thought Abigail.

Sarah had brought her daughter Elizabeth with her to Court. Elizabeth was just past fifteen and a charming girl. Sarah was fond of her because not only was she very beautiful and accomplished but she did not argue as Henrietta did, nor was she petulant like Mary. Elizabeth was a perfect daughter because she bore such a striking resemblance to her father. Anne was serene also, but her marriage to Sunderland had naturally made her withdrawn from her mother and Sarah was not completely satisfied with her daughter Anne; therefore, at this time, Elizabeth was her favourite. Young John, the Marquis of Blandford, now at Cambridge, was definitely in her bad books. It was not so much the fact that he wanted to go against her wishes but that he had dared consult his father and tried to form an alliance against her. That was something she would not tolerate.

Elizabeth however had always been amenable and she was surprised therefore when the girl came to her and told her that she had fallen in love.

“What!” screamed Sarah.

“Mamma, I know I am young but I am certain of my feelings and I shall never have another moment’s happiness unless you give your consent.”

“Have you gone out of your mind?”

Elizabeth’s lips trembled and Sarah noticed with satisfaction how very much in awe of her she was. But in love! With a man of her own choosing! Could anyone be so ignorant of her duty as a Churchill!

“You had better tell me all about this folly, girl,” said Sarah grimly.

“Scroop says that he does not wish to wait.”

“Scroop?” cried Sarah.

“Scroop Egerton.”

Sarah was silent. Scroop Egerton, fourth Earl of Bridgewater, Master of Horse to Prince George! This was different. She would have no objection to accepting him as her son-in-law. He would be another supporter for dearest Marl.

Her voice softened. “So, my dearest Elizabeth, you have seen fit to affiance yourself to this young man without my consent?”

“Mamma, Scroop wishes to speak to you. He says that he is sure he can persuade you.…”

“And you little more than fifteen!”

“My sisters were not much older.”

“I cannot think what your dearest father will say.”

“He will be pleased if you are, Mamma.”

She smiled complacently. It was true—although she had had to persuade him to accept Sunderland. It was not that Sunderland was not an excellent match, but dear Marl had wondered whether his beloved daughter would be happy with the man. Dear Marl! Just a little sentimental. And what was he going to say about Elizabeth’s marrying at fifteen!

But Scroop Egerton, Earl of Bridgewater! That did warrant some consideration.

“I must have time to think about this, my dear child. You have somewhat thrust it upon me.”

Elizabeth threw herself into her mother’s arms. “Oh, dearest Mamma, please give your consent. I could not bear to be separated from Scroop—and equally I could not bear to displease you!”

Sarah patted the girl’s head. Sweet creature. Next to Marl, she thought, I believe I love her best in the world.

Sarah shooed everyone out of the apartment and sat down by the Queen’s couch.

“Who would have children, Mrs. Morley! I do declare it is just one thing after another.”

Anne looked tearful. Who would have children? She would if she could. She would have given her crown to have her boy back again. Did not Mrs. Freeman understand that?

“As you know, my dear Mrs. Morley, I have been most put out with young Blandford. He will go for a soldier. He will talk to his father. He will try to have these matters arranged without my knowledge. Did you ever hear the like?”

“My boy would have understood his desires to …”

“Without consulting me, Mrs. Freeman! Behind my back! Oh, he knows very well he is in disgrace. And if that is not enough what do you think? My Elizabeth has come to me with a tale of being in love.”

“She is but a child.”

“Children nowadays, Mrs. Morley, seem to think they may flout their parents. In our day it was different. We had to do as we were told.…”

Anne looked faintly surprised. She was trying to remember when Sarah had waited to be told what to do.

“Now it is, ‘I am going to do this …’ ‘I am going to do that.’ But I should never be one to allow my children to flout me. It is not good for them. They must learn discipline. But I am telling you. My Elizabeth wishes to marry.”

“Oh but not yet surely.…”

“She is in love, if you please, with Bridgewater. The Earl you know. The Prince’s Master of Horse.”

“I know him well, of course. And I like him. He is a charming young man.”

“I have no objection to Bridgewater. But the girl is only fifteen.”

“Fifteen and in love …” murmured Anne, peering back into a past when the Earl of Mulgrave—still a most delightful man—had written his poems to her and hoped he might be allowed to marry her. “It is very touching.”

“So it is,” agreed Sarah. “And since they are so much in love, I cannot find it in my heart to deny them what they ask.”

“I understand you well, dear Mrs. Freeman. I often used to think about the time when my dear boy would fall in love.…”

“Of course poor Marl will have to find the dowry. Who would have daughters, Mrs. Morley?”

“You must allow me to make a little gift to the couple. Please, Mrs. Freeman, do not deny me this happiness.”

“Your Majesty is always generous. I do not forget your goodness to my Henrietta and Anne.”

“It gives me pleasure to see the young people happy. Whenever I see young people happy I think of my boy. He had a great capacity for happiness, Mrs. Freeman; and the time would have come when he would have married … had he lived.”

“But he didn’t,” said Sarah impatiently.

Anne’s lips quivered.

“My dear Mrs. Morley, you do yourself no good by dwelling on your loss. I think it very likely that ’ere long you will be giving us a Prince.”

“Ah, if that could only be so I believe I should suffer less from my terrible loss. I shall give this dear child of yours ten thousand pounds. Please allow me to, Mrs. Freeman.”

Ten thousand pounds! Sarah’s eyes glittered. Marl would be so pleased. And he was going to be anxious on account of his daughter’s youth and he’d be equally so when he thought of the dowry he would have to give her. Ten thousand pounds would be a good dowry for any girl. But there would be the outcry. She knew. It would be the old story of those about the Queen bleeding her and then there might be all sorts of difficulties—even laws made in Parliament. Marl had said that she must be careful not to take gifts which were too large. It was better to take little frequently.

“Your Majesty is too generous. I could not take it.”

“It would give me great pleasure, dear Mrs. Freeman.”

Sarah smiled complacently. The fat old creature really doted on her; she could do what she wanted to with her. She could be rude and arrogant and still she came pleading for friendship.

“I remember your generosity to the others. You gave them five thousand a piece. Give the same to Elizabeth. That will please me mightily, Mrs. Morley.”

“I will speak to my Lord Treasurer about it as soon as I see him.” My Lord Treasurer! Lord Godolphin, her daughter’s father-in-law! He would put no obstacle in the way. What an excellent state of affairs when the rulers were all in the family!

Sarah was excited because John was coming home for the winter. He would return as a hero, for although he himself believed that the campaign was only in its very earliest stages, everyone else seemed to think that he had scored great victories.

Anne was delighted for Sarah’s sake in his success and it seemed to Abigail that she wished to atone for the momentary feelings of antagonism she must have felt at times towards her great friend. There were times when Anne’s main preoccupation seemed to be how best to please Sarah.

Now she had hit on a great plan. A Dukedom for Marlborough. It was not difficult to get official sanction for this because it was agreed in the Commons that Marlborough had retrieved the honour of the English nation.

Anne called for Abigail to bring her writing materials that she might be the first to acquaint her dear friend with the good news.

“Your Majesty is happy today,” murmured Abigail.

“Very happy, Hill. I am going to give pleasure to one I love very dearly. But I shall not tell even you in what way because she must be the one to hear it first.”

She sat down at her table and wrote.

“Dear Mr. Freeman deserves all that a rich crown would give, but since there is nothing else at this time, I hope you will give me leave as soon as he comes to make him a Duke. I know my dear Mrs. Freeman does not care for things of that kind but …”

Anne paused to think of her dear friend. Duchess Sarah! She was worthy of such a title.

She went on writing, for she always enjoyed writing to Sarah; and when she had finished sent for Abigail to seal the letter; and then gave her instructions.

“See that it is delivered into none but her hands,” she said.

“Lady Marlborough’s, Your Majesty?”

Anne nodded. Lady Marlborough soon to be the Duchess.

Sarah read the letter with elation. Duchess of Marlborough—Marl a Duke. It was wonderful. But … there was no talk of the estates and money they would need to uphold their elevated position. Did not old Morley understand that? There should have been an offer of at least five thousand a year to go with the Dukedom.

She went thoughtfully to the Queen. When she entered Anne looked up hopefully, expecting floods of gratitude. Instead she faced a very subdued Sarah.

“Mrs. Freeman cannot have received my letter.”

“Oh yes. I have received it.”

“You seem … displeased.”

“When I read Mrs. Morley’s letter,” said Sarah slowly, “I let it drop from my hand and for a time I felt as though I had received the news of a death of a dear friend.”

“Mrs. Freeman, I do not understand.”

“My dearest Morley I know wishes to please me. And believe me when honour is paid to Mr. Freeman nothing could please me more. But we have not the wealth to sustain a Dukedom. There. I am a simple woman and I give a simple answer. I do not couch my thoughts in flowery sentiments. So I give you the plain truth. A Dukedom is not for us, Mrs. Morley, because we simply have not wealth for such a title. And I will say this—it is but a matter of precedence—and that bothers me little. I do not care so much that I pass through one door and others of lesser rank through another, I know my good Mrs. Morley thought to please me. But it is difficult for one such as Your Majesty to understand the financial difficulties of others.”

Anne looked as though she would burst into tears.

But Sarah having made her point, asked leave to retire.

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.

“My dearest,” soothed the Duke, “we will have another son.”

“He is dead … he is dead … he is dead.… And soon you will go from me.”

“I shall be back with you soon.” She clung to him, weeping bitterly.

Her beautiful complexion was blotched with tears; her blue eyes once so bold and flashing were red and swollen with so much crying.

The servants said: “She will lose her reason if she goes on giving way to grief in this way.”

The Queen who had heard the news immediately wrote to express the sympathy of Mrs. Freeman’s poor unfortunate faithful Morley. “Christ Jesus comfort and support you under this terrible affliction, and it is His Mercy alone that can do it.”

When Sarah read the letter she threw it from her.

“Poor unfortunate Morley!” she cried. “Now I suppose we must sit together mingling our maudlin memories. Does she compare that big-headed boy of hers with my Blandford.”

The Duke suppressed the impulse to restrain her. Let her rant against the Queen. At least it had turned her thoughts from her son’s death.

She hated her relationship with the Queen; she hated the cloying affection, the protestations of fidelity and devotion. Yet, it was due to the Queen’s love for Sarah that they had come so far.

When Sarah was calmer he must warn her of her attitude towards the Queen. He could understand how she found Anne a bore, how she disliked making a show of affection she could not feel, but the Queen’s approval was necessary to any ambitious man or woman.

But at the moment let her rage against the Queen. It was an outlet for her grief.

And from that moment it seemed that Sarah grew a little more resigned.