"Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jean Plaidy,)

he Princess Anne, walking slowly through the tapestry room in St. James’s Palace—for it was a lifetime’s habit never to hurry—smiled dreamily at the silken pictures representing the love of Venus and Mars which had been recently made for her uncle, the King. Tucked inside the bodice of her gown was a note; she had read it several times; and now she was taking it to her private apartments to read it again.

Venus and Mars! she thought, Goddess and God, and great lovers. But she was certain that there had never been lovers like Anne of York and John Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave, Princess and Poet.

Her lips moved as she repeated the words he had written.

Of all mankind I loved the best

A nymph so far above the rest

That we outshine the Blest above

In beauty she, as I in love.

No one could have written more beautifully of Venus than John Sheffield had written of her.

What had happened to Venus and Mars? she wondered idly. She had never paid attention to her lessons; it had been so easy to complain that her eyes hurt or she had a headache when she was expected to study. Mary—dear Mary!—had warned her that she would be sorry she was so lazy, but she had not been sorry yet, always preferring ignorance to effort; everyone had indulged her, far more than they had poor Mary who had been forced to marry that hateful Prince of Orange. Anne felt miserable remembering Mary’s face swollen from so many tears. Dear sister Mary, who had always learned her lessons and been the good girl; and what had been her reward? Banishment from her own country, sent away from her family, and married to that horrid little man, the Orange, as they called him—or more often Caliban, the Dutch Monster.

The exquisitely sculptured Tudor arch over the fireplace commemorated two more lovers whose entwined initials were H and A. Henry the VIII and Anne Boleyn had not remained constant lovers. That was indeed a gloomy thought and the Princess Anne made a habit of shrugging aside what was not pleasant.

She turned from the tapestry room and went to her own apartments. Delighted to find none of her women there, she sat in the window seat and took out the paper.

Soon, the whole Court would be reading the poem, but they would not know that those words were written for her. They would say: “Mulgrave writes a pretty verse.” And only she would know.

But it was not always going to be so. Why should they hide their passion?

Her father had always been indulgent, and she preferred to believe he would continue so. Her uncle too, but state policy could come into this—as it had with Mary.

Anne was suddenly frightened, remembering that terrifying day when Mary had come to her, bewildered, like a sleepwalker. “Anne, they are forcing me to marry our cousin Orange.”

Matters of state! A Princess’s duty! Those words which meant that the free and easy life was over. An indulgent father and a kind uncle were yet Duke of York and King of England; and matters of state must take precedence over family feeling.

Anne refused to consider failure. It was a trait in her character which had often exasperated Mary. Anne believed what she wanted to believe, so now she believed she would be allowed to marry Mulgrave.

Reaching her apartment she went at once to the window and, as she had expected, she saw him in the courtyard below, where he had been walking backward and forward hoping for a glimpse of her.

They smiled at each other. He was not only the most handsome man in her uncle’s Court, thought Anne, but in the world.

“Wait!” Her lips formed the words; he could not hear, of course, but with the extra sense of a lover, he understood.

She turned from the window, picked up a cloak, wrapped it round her and pulled the hood over her head. It would help to conceal her identity. Unhurriedly she went down to the courtyard.

He ran to her and took both her hands.

“We must not stay here,” she said.

“But we must talk.”

She nodded and drew him to an alcove in the stone wall; here they could remain hidden from anyone crossing the courtyard.

“My poem …” he began.

“It was beautiful.”

“Did you understand what the lines meant?”

“I think I understand,” she said.

He quoted:

“And therefore They who could not bear

To be outdone by mortals here,

Among themselves have placed her now.

And left me wretched here below.”

“It sounds as though she’s dead,” said Anne.

“It is symbolic. I daren’t tell the truth. You are so far above me … a Princess. What hope have I …”

“You should always hope.”

“You cannot mean …”

“I think they want me to be happy.”

“And you would be happy?”

Anne never troubled to hide her feelings; she was always frankly herself.

“I want to marry you,” she said.

Mulgrave caught his breath with joy, and surprise.

Marriage with the Princess Anne! That thought had entered his head, of course, but he scarcely dared hope. Why, if Charles had no legitimate child—and it seemed unlikely that he would—and James had no son, which also seemed a possibility, and Mary remained childless, well then it would be the Princess Anne’s turn. The prospect was dazzling. Married to the Queen of England! She was not an arrogant woman; one only had to look into that fresh-colored face, those eyes which, owing to some opthalmic trouble which had been with her since childhood, gave her a helpless look, at that body which was already showing signs of indulgence at the table, to realize that her air of placidity was an absolute expression of her true nature. She would be easy going, lazy—a comfortable wife even though she were a Queen.

No wonder he was in love with Anne.

He shook his head. “They would never allow it.”

She smiled at him fondly. “If I begged and pleaded …”

“You would do that?”

“For you,” she told him.

He drew her toward him and kissed her almost wonderingly. She was delightful—gentle, yielding, frankly adoring, and a Princess! He, of course, was a very ambitious man, but this seemed too much good fortune. He must not let her delude him into the belief that it would be easy to marry her.

It was a pleasant state of affairs when ambition and pleasure were so admirably linked. Ever since he had become Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Anne’s father he had observed the royal family at close quarters and consequently knew a great deal about their weaknesses. No one in the country could help being aware of James’s position at this time for already his brother the King had thought it wise to send him into exile on more than one occasion and the Bill, the object of which was to exclude James from the succession, was being discussed not only in Parliament but in every town and village.

Mulgrave had served with the fleet against the Dutch and been appointed captain of a troop of horse. The Duke of York was inclined to favor him; but what would his reactions be when he knew he aspired to marry his daughter?

Looking into the eager face of seventeen-year-old Anne he believed she was too simple—or too determined to have her way—to see the enormous difficulties which lay before them.

He caught her hands. “We must be careful,” he said.

“Oh, yes. We must be careful.”

“This must be our secret … for a while.”

She understood that.

“It would not do for His Majesty to know what is in our minds.”

“He has always been so kind to me,” she told him.

Kind, yes. Kindness was second nature to the King. He would smile at Anne, pat her hand, tell her he was delighted she had a lover; and immediately begin to arrange a marriage of state for her. In one respect Anne was a little like her uncle. There was a laziness in both natures which made them long for a peaceful existence and capable of doing almost anything to achieve it.

Charles was not very pleased with the Earl of Mulgrave at this time because he knew that Mulgrave had helped to increase the strife which existed between James and Charles’s illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth. It had become difficult for Charles to banish his brother and not send Monmouth away also; so Monmouth had been exiled too. Charles had seen the necessity, but he remembered that Mulgrave had helped to exacerbate relations between the two Dukes and when he knew of this greatest ambition of all, he might decide he had been too lenient.

Mulgrave wondered how to impress on Anne the need to be very cautious while not letting her believe that marriage between them was quite out of the question. Gentle and yielding as she was to him, so would she be to others; and if it were pointed out to her that she must take a foreign Prince as a husband, would she placidly smile and accept her fate?

“But you understand, my Princess, that we must be very, very careful …”

He stopped and gave a little gasp, for someone had stepped into the alcove.

A rather shrill voice said: “Ah, Madam, I have searched and searched for you.”

Mulgrave was horrified. Here he was, caught with the Princess Anne in his arms; but Anne merely laughed.

“It’s only Sarah,” she said. “My dearest Sarah how you frightened me!”

“Apologies, Madam. But I thought I should warn you. You are being somewhat indiscreet.”

“We thought no one would see us here.”

“I saw you.”

“Oh, but Sarah, you are the one who sees all.” Anne was smiling at her lover. “John,” she went on, gently, “all is well. It is only my dearest friend who would never bring me anything but good. Sarah, you, who are happily married yourself, will understand.”

“I understand, Madam, but at the same time I tremble.”

“Tremble! You, Sarah! When did you ever tremble?”

“For myself, never. For you, Madam … often.”

“You see, John, what a good friend she is to me? I am fortunate indeed to have two such … friends. John has been telling me, Sarah, that we have to be very careful not to betray ourselves. What say you?”

“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.

As soon as Sarah was alone she asked herself how best she could put an end to this unfortunate romance. In the first place she did not care to see Anne more enamored of another person than she was of Sarah herself; and there was no doubt that she was positively besotted about Mulgrave.

The marriage is most unsuitable! Sarah said to herself. Anyone but my foolish Anne would know it. As for Mulgrave, he, poor fool, is prepared to make a bid for power. So with one blinded by ambition and another by love, they might be prepared to put up a fight for what they call their love.

“Love!” said Sarah aloud. “Fiddle-faddle!” And when had Anne ever put up a fight for anything? No, Anne would be guided by her strongest adviser—and Sarah had no doubt who that was.

She looked back over her career with great satisfaction—and, she reminded herself, it was only beginning.

When she and her sister Frances were young it had seemed that they had had little hope of ever reaching Court. And now here she was, firmly established, a close friend of the Princess Anne who might one day (and Sarah was determined that this should be) become Queen of England.

But if the foolish fat creature began romancing with the first handsome man who came along, who could say in what trouble that might not land her? And if Anne made the wrong marriage what effect was this going to have on Sarah Churchill?

It was not often that the daughter of a humble squire obtained service in the royal apartments. But both she and Frances had. They were born lucky, their mother was apt to tell them; but Sarah would always respond sharply that what others called luck was really the result of hard work and clever planning by the brilliant ones who achieved it.

Looking back, Sarah decided she was predestined to greatness. She had been born at the time of Charles II’s return to England. She often smiled to think of all the gaiety in the streets, all the garlands strewn on the cobbles; the bells ringing, the bonfires blazing, the processions; the joy because the long Puritan reign was over and England was going to be merry again. All that in the streets, and in a little house at Holywell, not far from St. Albans, Sarah Jennings was being born.

Sarah liked to think that all the bells were ringing for her; all the rejoicing was because Sarah had come into the world. Foolish thoughts—but the people had been greeting a ruler and it was not always those who wore crowns that ruled.

It seemed incredible that she and Frances should have come to Court. Their father was dead and their mother had disgraced herself by telling fortunes and setting herself up as a seer, but the Jennings’ had been wealthy during the Civil War and had lost their fortune in fighting for the royalist cause; therefore some recompense was due to them and a simple way of repaying the service was to find two places at Court for the girls of the family.

Frances came to Court with her mother as her chaperon, and there the Duke of York immediately fell in love with the girl who had always been the beauty of the family, but Frances had no intention of succumbing, and had created a scandal by allowing some of the Duke’s love letters to fall at the feet of his jealous Duchess. After that the Duke left her in peace.

While Frances and her mother were enjoying Court life, Sarah was left to the care of servants in the house at St. Albans. It was not considered necessary to give her a good education; and in any case Sarah had decided she did not need one. Books did not interest her; and she believed that she was capable of learning all she needed without help. She was determined to rule that household, which she did when her mother, who was of a similar temperament, was not there to be in conflict with her.

Frances made the most of her opportunities, married and became Lady Hamilton; in time it was Sarah’s turn and she came to Court to be a maid of honor in the household of Mary Beatrice of Modena who, on the death of the first Duchess of York, had become the second.

It was not long before Sarah and her mother were quarreling. Sarah said that if her mother remained at Court, she would leave it and as a result Mrs. Jennings was asked to leave; but her retort had been that if she went she would take Sarah with her. Sarah, quickly realizing that there was a danger of the troublesome Jennings’ being sent from Court, quickly became reconciled to her mother and both remained there.

She was fortunate to be in the service of Mary Beatrice of Modena who had recently become the second wife of the Duke of York.

The first Duchess had been a woman whom Sarah must admire, for she had, in spite of great odds, married the Duke of York who was heir presumptive to the crown. And she a commoner! But she had been too fond of food and priests, and had consequently become too fat and too religious; and when that religion was Catholicism this was clearly not helpful in a Protestant land. Her luck had changed, for she had a malignant growth in her breast and after giving the Duke of York his two daughters, Mary and Anne—and sundry other children who did not live—she died. The Princesses were brought up at Richmond with Lady Frances Villiers who watched over them, her own brood of daughters, and a few other young girls who had been selected to share their childhood. Sarah became one of these.

What great good fortune! Sarah had chosen Anne as her friend understanding immediately that she would never have made the same success with Mary, who was quite different from lazy, easygoing Anne. Mary was a sentimental little girl, dreaming idly through the days, so that the biggest shock of her life had been when at fifteen she was told she was to marry the Prince of Orange.

Sarah had very soon become an important member of the royal nurseries, although Elizabeth Villiers—the eldest Villiers girl—was very sly and the only one, Sarah saw, who had to be watched. And how right she had been, for if rumors were correct, Elizabeth Villiers had already found her way into Caliban’s bed, and when one considered the Dutch Monster was cold and might be near-impotent, as many said he was, Elizabeth’s achievement was considerable.

Then John Churchill had fallen in love with Sarah. Sarah was handsome enough, her features were well defined and her glorious golden hair had a touch of red in it—but her domineering ways had frightened off most young men. All to the good, Sarah thought grimly. She wanted no partnership with a man who was easily frightened, nor with one who might attempt to underrate her. John, however, had been attracted by her character.

John, like Sarah, was an adventurer; they were both aware of this and the knowledge strengthened the attraction between them. He was the son of a Sir Winston Churchill, a country gentleman who, like so many, had lost his fortune fighting the royalist cause. There had seemed little hope of retrieving that fortune until Sir Winston’s daughter Arabella, who was no beauty, fell from her horse when in the company of the Duke of York and his suite. Arabella’s limbs were beautifully white and well formed and the Duke of York happened to catch a glimpse of them as she lay on the ground. With Arabella’s fall the Churchills’ fortunes began to rise, for she needed little persuasion to become the Duke’s mistress; and because she was more astute than the ladies James usually chose, she soon began to reap great benefits not only for herself but for other members of her family. Among these was a commission for John in the army. This was a beginning. John soon became the Master of the Robes in the Duke’s household.

John, who was something of a rake, attracted the attention of the King’s mistress, Barbara Villiers, Countess of Castlemaine, and there was a story in circulation which was often repeated. The King, it was said, had surprised Churchill with his mistress and Churchill had had to leap naked from her bed to make a hasty exit through the window into the courtyard; Charles, reaching the window in time to see who he was, shouted after him that he need have no fear; he was forgiven for he did what he did for his bread. It was true that John did accept five thousand pounds from Barbara. He was a man who, having been short of money, was very careful with it, and bought himself an annuity of five hundred pounds a year which he was able to do with four thousand five hundred.

He was ten years older than Sarah, but as soon as they met he fell deeply in love with her. His emotion was clearly genuine, for Sarah was poor. As for Sarah, she had imagined herself making a grand marriage; but the immediate attraction could not be overcome and they knew at once that they would never be happy without each other. Sarah was aware of John’s reputation, but she had no doubt of her ability to make him forsake his lechery and become a virtuous husband, because Sarah had never doubted her ability to do anything. Therefore she dismissed all the stories of the scandalous life he led. There would be no amatory adventures after the marriage, she was determined. But although she was seriously considering marrying John she showed no sign of eagerness, and when she heard that Sir Winston was set against his son’s marriage to this penniless Jennings girl, she declared that she certainly did not count it such an honor to marry into the Churchill family, who although they had come far, she was ready to admit, had done so solely because of John’s sister Arabella’s illicit relationship with the Duke of York. Her own sister, Frances, whom she preferred to call the Countess of Hamilton, was in Paris with her husband, and in order to escape John’s courtship and relieve the Churchills, who appeared to have such a mighty opinion of themselves, she had decided to ask leave of the Duchess of York to join Frances.

John, frantic at the thought of losing her, told her he was ready to defy his family and begged her to marry him—in secret. This Sarah considered and, deciding that once the marriage was an accomplished fact the Churchills would have to accept it, agreed.

So she became Mrs. John Churchill when she was eighteen and John twenty-eight. She had gone at once to the Italian Duchess of York and confessed to her what she had done, finding there, as she had expected, nothing but sympathy. Thus the marriage remained a secret for some months, but then the Duchess spoke to the Churchills who, since such an important lady was supporting her lady-in-waiting, could no longer keep up their objections. They received Sarah, accepting the marriage, thankful that, because of it, their son had been brought to the further notice of the Duke and Duchess of York, who, taking a personal interest in the young couple, were inclined to favor them.

The young Duchess of York, who was on very good terms with her stepchildren, listened to Anne’s eulogies on her beloved Sarah; and Sarah told Anne of the virtues of John, which were in turn passed on to the Duke and the Duchess.

It was all very satisfactory, but since the Duke of York was growing so unpopular and had, on occasions, been sent out of England on what could only be called exiles, Sarah was uncertain as to whether she had attached herself to the right faction. The Duke’s interest in Catholicism was going to ruin him if he were not careful. Anne was the Princess to whom she must adhere. The Duke’s folly was an example of how a once popular Prince could become unpopular. Sarah must be on the winning side.

Sarah’s interests had been slightly diverted from Court for a while when her daughter Henrietta had been born; and recently there had been another daughter whom Sarah had had the foresight to christen Anne. She left the children in the care of nurses, for with a husband and children to plan for, quite clearly she must act with care, and that meant remaining at Court. She had always known that the Princess was as capable of folly as her father and this affair with Mulgrave was proving that. If it were discovered that she, Sarah, had helped in that intrigue, she would be decidedly out of favor with such important people as the Duke and Duchess of York—worse still, with the King.

It was matters like this which could ruin years of careful planning; she must think very carefully of how she must act.

The King of England was the most approachable of monarchs. He encouraged his subjects to talk to him and never doubted his ability to be able to please them; and in fact was always ready to grant the requests they made; if it was difficult to fulfill them he could always blame the failure to do so on his ministers.

When Rochester had made his famous quip pointing out that he never said a foolish thing and never did a wise one, Charles had retorted with customary wit that his words were his own, his actions his ministers. He was grateful to Rake Rochester for pointing this out; he reckoned that once this was generally understood he had the perfect excuse.

It was typical of him that he should find a way for himself out of any difficulty that arose. He often wished that his brother James were a little more like himself, because he saw trouble accumulating for James when his turn came to wear the crown.

He was sitting watching the card play, two of his favorite mistresses, Louise de Kéroualle—Duchess of Portsmouth—and Nell Gwyn, beside him. These two never failed to divert him, and together they were more amusing than apart. Louise played the great lady never so arrogantly as when in Nelly’s company and Nelly played the gutter-brat never so bawdily as when with Louise.

With great affection he regarded them; they had pleased him for many years and he hoped would continue to do so for many more; though lately he had begun to feel his vigor passing. A sad state, he thought, for a man to find his senses flagging when his greatest pleasure has been the gratification of those senses.

A pity. He had never been a great eater, drinker, or gambler. No, for him there was no pleasure like being in love.

It pleased him now to glance from Louise to Nelly and to contemplate with which he should spend the night; he knew that they too were wondering; if it were Nelly she would be boasting throughout the Court tomorrow. She was a mad, wild creature; and Louise could not understand how he tolerated her.

Louise now bent toward him and said: “A young woman was asking for an audience with Your Majesty this day.”

The King raised his eyebrows. It was unlike Louise to bring young women to his notice.

“I’ll warrant she comes to ask a favor for herself,” he murmured.

“Or for Mademoiselle Carwell,” added Nelly quietly.

Louise flashed her a look of hatred; nothing could anger her more than to hear the people’s version of her name. Kéroualle—Carwell. The King’s lips turned up at the corners.

“Come, Nelly,” he said, “you ladies know that if you desire aught you have no need to send others to plead for you.”

“The best beggars often train others to beg for them, Your Majesty,” retorted Nelly. “It’s a good trade … begging for beggars.”

“You should be well aware of such trades,” said Louise. “I am afraid I lack your knowledge.”

“I’ll teach you one fine day,” Nelly told her. “Catholic whores should learn to keep up with the Protestants.”

Louise shuddered, and the King said: “More of the fair young beggar.”

“It was one of the Princess Anne’s women, Your Majesty. She would tell me nothing, and said she could tell it to none but Your Majesty. It was Churchill’s wife.”

The King laughed at the mention of Churchill. He thought of an occasion when he had called on Barbara and caught her with that young man.

“Churchill,” he said. “They tell me the fellow has reformed since his marriage.”

“I have heard it too, Your Majesty.”

“God’s fish, he was in need of reformation.”

“If all those who were in need of reformation reformed, the Court would be a sadder place,” suggested Nelly, looking slyly at the King.

“Now who of us would not be better off if we foresook our evil ways, Nelly?”

“Two ladies—if I may call them by the name—not so far from Your Majesty. For if the biggest rake of them all decided to reform, where should we be? I’d perforce return to the boards and Madame here to crying stinking fish in Brittany.”

“I refuse to remain in the company of this creature,” said Louise.

“Hurrah!” cried Nelly.

Louise had risen and walked haughtily away glancing at the King almost angrily as though commanding him to dismiss Nelly and follow her.

Charles affected not to see her, reflecting: Well, they have decided between them. It shall be Nelly tonight.

He liked having such decisions made for him.

The next day he remembered the scene when he found Sarah Churchill standing before him.

A connoisseur of women he automatically summed her up. Virago, he thought, and wondered whether if he had been a younger man she might have attracted him. Although he was ready to promise almost anything for the sake of peace, he could not help being attracted by viragos. Barbara had been one to outdo all others; Louise was not far off—only she fought with tears. This Sarah Churchill, like Barbara, would never do that. He saw the stamp of ambition on her face and wondered momentarily if she would attempt to become his mistress for the sake of advancing her husband’s fortunes. He was so lazy, if she did, he probably would give way.

Her first words showed him how wrong he had been.

“Your Majesty, I feel it my duty to bring a certain matter to your notice. I have given much thought to this and know it now to be my duty. It concerns the Princess Anne. Have I your permission to continue?”

“Pray do,” said Charles, thinking: No, I never would. She is too hard, this one. And I am old and more selective than in the days of my youth. Young she is and handsome, but she’d make too many bargains before getting into bed.

“The Earl of Mulgrave seeks to marry the Princess Anne, Your Majesty.”

He regarded her sleepily.

“I have proof of his intentions,” she went on. “This I have brought to lay before Your Majesty.”

He took the paper and read the words written there. She was right. A love letter written by his niece to Mulgrave. It would seem that this affair had gone farther than it should have been allowed to.

“I trust, Your Majesty, I have acted wisely.”

“I am certain that Mrs. Churchill will always act wisely,” said the King graciously.

“Then Your Majesty is not displeased with me?”

“You did not fear that I should be displeased with you,” he said with a smile she did not understand. “It is my niece’s displeasure you expect.”

“Your Majesty, I beg that this may be kept secret from the Princess Anne.”

“Who,” put in Charles, “has no notion that you have stolen her little billet doux?”

“Only because I considered it my duty to … the Princess.”

“Readily understood, Mrs. Churchill. Have no fear. And … I thank you.”

“I thank Your Gracious Majesty.”

She curtseyed and retired while he stood looking at the paper in his hand.

Poor little Anne! So she had found there was something as sweet in the world as chocolate. There had been times when he had thought she never would.

He folded the paper carefully and put it into his pocket; then he summoned one of his pages and told him that he wished the Duke of York to be sent to him without delay.

When James arrived Charles held out the note which Sarah had brought him.

James took it gingerly and when he read it he looked up, bewildered, into his brother’s face.

“You see,” said Charles, “that our little Anne is ripe for marriage.”

“But Mulgrave!” cried James.

“I echo your sentiments,” Charles told him. “I have fancied that of late my lord had become too hopeful.”

“You think Anne is in love with the fellow?”

“Anne loves him as she loves sweetmeats, brother, and the love for a sweetmeat is a passing fancy. There it is … ah, delectable, adorable. What flavor! The taste lingers for a while—a very little while. And then it is gone. When we have removed Mulgrave from her greedy little eyes she will be looking round for the next fancy. We must find something very sweet and succulent for her, brother.”

“My poor child. I cannot forget Mary.”

“Anne is not Mary; and we will try to find her a more attractive bridegroom than the Orange.”

“I was never in favor of that marriage.”

“Your misfortune James is that you have rarely been in favor of what was to your advantage.”

Charles gave his brother a melancholy smile. What will become of him when I am gone? he asked himself. There would be trouble. With Monmouth casting sheep’s eyes at the crown and William who couldn’t cast sheep’s eyes if it were a matter of saving his life to do so—still, if the poor fellow could not lech for a woman he could for a throne. William could be as chock-full of passion as Monmouth when it came to the crown of England; and there was James—ineffectual, with a genius for doing the wrong thing at the worst possible moment. Oh, God, thought Charles, never was a man more thankful than I that he’ll be out of the way when his inheritance is for sale.

“James,” he said, “why cannot you show some sense? Why not let it be known that you’ve given up this flirtation with popery?”

“Given it up! Flirtation! I like not your levity, brother.”

“If you could season your seriousness with my levity, James, and I could mix a little of your seriousness with my levity—what a pair we would make! Nay, but if I were a betting man, which I’m not, I would wager my levity would carry me farther from trouble than your seriousness. If you would ostentatiously attend the Protestant Church, if you would practice popery in secret.…”

“You are asking me to deny my faith.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

“More’s the pity; but I’d not be proud to join the miserable band.”

“Do you call our illustrious grandfather one of a miserable band?”

“Our grandfather! I am tired of hearing how he said Paris was worth a mass.”

“If you could learn a lesson from his wisdom, James, you would be a wiser man. Do you want to go a-wandering again? God’s fish, man, you have just come back from Scotland. Do not tell me that you enjoyed your exile.”

“Enjoyed it! Enjoyed being driven from my own country, forbidden to return to my native land … the land which one day—though I trust not for years and years—I could be called upon to rule!”

“There’s the trouble, James. They are not going to be eager to call upon you to perform that duty.”

“It is my right.”

“These people consider that we govern only at their invitation. Take care, James, that that invitation is not withdrawn. I tell you this: I did enough wandering in my youth, and I am of no mind to start again.”

“Your Majesty fears the people might send you away.”

“Nay, James, never. They would not rid themselves of me to get you!” Charles began to laugh. “No matter what I did they’d still take Charles in place of James. Now, brother, I’m warning you—and I’m forgetting why I sent for you. We must find a bridegroom for Anne … without delay. Our little plum is ripe for the picking. She needs a husband. Bless her heart, she shall have one.”

“But not the one of her choice,” said James sadly. “Whom have you in mind?”

“It is a question I have been pondering ever since I received this note.”

“I hear that Louis’s wife is ill.”

“A French marriage! A Catholic marriage! Are you indeed out of your mind, James?”

“My little girl the Queen of France.”

“It would not do. But first there is something which I am sure you will agree must be done without delay. I think we should be together when we receive our ambitious young lover. I will summon him without delay.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Do not look alarmed, James. You know I never take revenge. Nor do I wish my subjects to be in awe of me. I have no wish to be like some of our ancestors. ‘Off with his head. He has offended me!’ ” Charles grimaced at the arch over the fireplace which was decorated with Tudor roses and the initials H. and A. “I do not wish my subjects to go in fear and trembling. I would have them know that I do not take revenge; when I am harsh there is no personal animosity. It is a case of: ‘The situation demands this—therefore the King is forced to do it.’ ”

Mulgrave, who was in his apartments writing a poem in praise of the Princess Anne was startled when summoned to the King’s presence. He could not believe that they were discovered; how could this be? They had been so careful; and Anne would never have told because she had sworn not to do so.

What if the King had singled him out for some honor! His luck was in. Why should it not continue?

In good spirits he presented himself to the King; but he was a little uneasy when he saw that the Duke of York was also present.

“Ah, my Lord Mulgrave,” said the King genially.

Mulgrave bowed, first to the King, then to the Duke.

Tears came into the Duke’s eyes. A handsome young fellow; his dear Anne was going to be badly hurt. James would never forget Mary’s sorrow. He had never seen a girl cry so much as she had on that dreadful day when he had had to tell her she was to marry Orange. He loved his daughters dearly and could not bear that they should suffer. He himself had married their mother for love. Poor Mary! Poor Anne!

“My lord,” said Charles, “we have sent for you to tell you how much we appreciate your good services.”

Mulgrave found it difficult to hide his relief.

Charles went on: “So much so that we are sending you on a mission to Tangier which we know you will perform with your usual talent.”

“Your Majesty …” gasped Mulgrave.

“Do not waste time in thanks,” said Charles, waving a hand. “You will sail in the morning.”

Mulgrave did not remember how he left the apartment; all he remembered was that he was standing outside, muttering: “Someone has betrayed us.”

Anne was bewildered. There was no one to whom she could turn for comfort but Sarah. It was Sarah who had brought her the news. She had said: “Dearest Madam, I do not want you to hear of this through anyone else. You must be brave. The King has, through some means, discovered your love for Mulgrave, who is now far away … bound for Tangier, I have heard.”

“Sarah!”

The round mouth sagged piteously; the pink of the cheeks had turned to scarlet; and the vague shortsighted eyes were filled with tears.

Sarah gathered her mistress into her arms.

“I am here to comfort you. I will never leave you.”

“Oh, my dearest Sarah, my beloved friend, what should I do without you?”

Sarah rocked the Princess in her arms. Tenderness did not come readily to her so it seemed doubly precious to Anne.

She wept bitterly; she would not be parted from Sarah day or night; they talked constantly of Mulgrave—of his beauty and virtues; and the Princess demanded again and again: “Who could have been so cruel as to have betrayed us?”

“It may be something Your Highness will never discover,” murmured Sarah.

Sarah was with Anne when she went along to look at the portrait of Charles King of Sweden. On horseback, the King was quite magnificent. Anne went close to peer at it.

“He is a very handsome man,” she said.

Sarah admitted it; and was uneasy. There was an air of authority about the figure. And Sweden! Who wanted to go to Sweden. Not John or Sarah Churchill.

Anne liked the portrait though. Sarah threw an impatient look at her, and said sharply: “It would seem, Madam, that you have already forgotten my Lord Mulgrave.”

“No, no, Sarah. I never, never shall.”

“But you like the look of this fellow?”

Anne began to laugh. How like Sarah to refer to the King of Sweden as “this fellow.”

“Sarah,” she said, “you’ll be the death of me!”

“If I can make my Princess smile I am happy.”

“Sarah, Sarah, what should I do without you? When you are there I feel I can endure anything.”

Sarah looked imperiously at the portrait. “Arrogant!” she summed up. “I think we could well do without this fellow in our lives!”

She had made Anne laugh again.

Already she had forgotten Mulgrave. But it would not be so easy to prevent the match with Sweden.

Luck was with Sarah. There was one other who was determined to prevent a marriage between Anne and Charles of Sweden; this was William of Orange, who saw no good to Holland coming from a union between Sweden and England. He expressed his disapproval to his uncle King Charles of England; and as, at that time, Charles wanted William’s friendship, he considered his objections.

But, as Charles pointed out to his brother James, there was need of haste. King Christiern of Denmark had a brother George who was marriageable and it seemed to him that this Prince George might be a desirable bridegroom.

“We have been friendly with Denmark for years,” he pointed out to James. “After all we have Danish blood through our grandmother. What more natural than that Anne should marry this kinsman?”

“We could have a look at him,” agreed James.

“Certainly there can be no harm in looking.”

“I do not want to see her unhappy … as Mary was.”

“Very well. We will invite George over here, have a look at him, and throw the young couple together—”

“As we brought Orange over here? Mary did not stop crying from the moment she knew he was to be her bridegroom to the time she left. If George of Denmark should prove to be another Orange …”

“Nonsense, brother, there could only be one Orange in the world.”

“Then let us invite him to come, and I trust Anne likes him. I would to God daughters never had to reach a marriageable age.”

“Then it’s more than they do. The Mulgrave affair should have shown you that, James. Daughters grow up. And remember this: Anne is not like Mary. She seems already to have forgotten Mulgrave.”

James admitted this was true. But he loved his daughters dearly and longed to see them happy.

Prince George of Denmark arrived in England on a bright summer’s day; he was looking forward with mild pleasure to meeting his bride; but all his emotions were mild, except perhaps his love of food and drink which was excessive; but these indulgences, to whatever excess he carried them, never ruffled his good temper; consequently he was liked, by all who came into contact with him. He was under thirty, already far too plump, but his smile, without which he was rarely seen, was disarming.

Christiern had advised him to do all in his power to bring off the marriage, because it would be excellent for Denmark if ties between the two countries could be strengthened; and George must remember that a Danish princess had married the great grandfather of his prospective bride, so there was even a family connection. Most important of all—there was little for George in Sweden, so it was up to him to seek his fortune overseas.

George knew a great deal about England, through an excellent English friend who would be ready to help him with the language and explain the customs. He had visited England in the company of this friend some years before and had liked what he had seen.

When King Christiern had gone to England to join the celebrations for the Restoration, he had noticed a bright boy of thirteen at the Court and had offered to take him into his service as page. This boy’s name was George Churchill, brother of John and Arabella. Like most of his family, George Churchill was ambitious and he had seen more likelihood, of advancement in Sweden than in England; so to Sweden he went, and Christiern had offered the page to his brother George when he had paid his first visit to England.

“George Churchill will act as your interpreter,” he said. “More than that he will be at your elbow to explain the English customs.”

So useful had George Churchill become that Prince George was eager to keep him in his service.

Thus the two became friends, and when Prince George came to England as suitor to the Princess Anne, it was natural that he should bring George Churchill with him.

Charles smiled at his brother James. “Well, what do you think of our bridegroom? An improvement on the Orange, eh?”

“He is more genial certainly.”

“Who could be less genial than our nephew William? This George looks a man of good temper; and think what he will have in common with our Anne. They will be able to discuss the virtues of marzipan versus chocolate which should prove, to them, an absorbing subject.”

“I do not want to have to break the news to Anne as I did to Mary.”

“Anne is two years older than her sister was when we married her to Orange.”

“All the same I should like to warn her that she should look on Prince George as a possible husband.”

“Is there need to warn her? The whole Court knows the purpose of his visit, so why shouldn’t Anne?”

“I shall tell her,” said James firmly.

The King nodded. “And do not look so sad, brother. Why, according to news from Holland, Mary is now devoted to the husband whom she wept so bitterly to accept.”

“I shall never believe she truly loves him. He is a monster, that Dutchman. He keeps her almost a prisoner, my friends tell me, and she is afraid to voice an opinion. She dare do nothing but agree with everything he says and pretend to the world that she adores him.”

“Our nephew is a man of many parts, brother. We always underrated him. He knows how to rule a wife as well as a country.”

“And he keeps a mistress.”

“Well, James, it would seem to me that neither you nor I are in a position to complain of such a natural failing. How that man creeps into our conversation! I confess I am a little weary of the Prince of Orange. I find the Prince of Denmark a happier subject. Go and speak to your daughter now, James. Tell her to consider the young man from Denmark. Tell her I favor him—and I have no doubt that she will soon do the same.”

The Churchills were a devoted family and as soon as he arrived at the Court, George sought out his brother John, and there was much animated conversation concerning George’s adventures in Denmark and John’s at home.

With pride John introduced his brother to his wife and George soon realized what an unusual woman he had for a sister-in-law.

“Tell us what sort of man the Prince is,” suggested Sarah; “and is he eager for this marriage?”

The Prince of Denmark was genial, George told them; he was easygoing, loving a life of peace, and always affable to those who served him.

“His character is not unlike that of the Princess,” commented Sarah. “They should be a good match.”

“He would live happily with most people,” said George Churchill.

“Easily led,” put in Sarah speculatively.

“But I hear he is a man of valor,” her husband said.

“That is so,” George told them. “If intrepid action is necessary he is capable of it, and when his brother Christiern was taken prisoner by the Swedes he rescued him.”

“I have heard of that occasion,” said John. “It was during the war between Denmark and Sweden.” He turned to Sarah. “Prince George, hearing that his brother was in the hands of the enemy, put himself at the head of some cavalry and broke right through the Swedish lines. They were taken so much by surprise that they allowed him through; he had found his brother and was galloping off with him before they made any attempt to stop him—then it was too late. I call that a brilliant action as well as a brave one.”

“Doubtless it happened before he grew quite so plump,” commented Sarah.

“Ah, you have noticed that the Prince is getting a little corpulent. The pleasures of the table … the pleasures of the vine.”

“One would not expect the man to be a saint,” said John, smiling at Sarah.

“If he were my husband, I should not expect him to be a fool either,” she retorted, “and any man who indulges an appetite is that.”

It was a point to remember, thought John. No more pleasant little adventures with the ladies, Sarah was telling him. He wanted to retort: As if I should want to, now that I have my incomparable Sarah.

“It is important that he is accepted here,” went on George confidentially. “He has very little in Denmark—only about five thousand crowns and a few barren islands.”

“And yet he aspires to the hand of the Princess Anne!” said John.

“Who could,” Sarah interrupted, “in certain circumstances become Queen of England.”

“Do not forget that he is a royal Prince. They would, however, wish him to live in England which I believe would very likely endear him to the Princess, for what young girl wants to leave her home, particularly one where, if what I hear is correct, she has been greatly indulged by her family.”

“So they would live in England,” mused Sarah, her eyes alight with pleasure. She looked at her John—so handsome, and possessed of something more than personal charm. If ever I saw latent genius, I see it there, she thought; and she was triumphant in the realization that some women could choose their husbands, while Princesses must have them chosen for them. Prince George of Denmark was the absolute antithesis of John Churchill, and Sarah knew who was going to make the brighter mark in the world.

She turned to George suddenly. “You seem to know a great deal about this Prince. He is friendly toward you?”

“Completely so. He discusses most things with me and so I know his mind on most matters.”

Sarah nodded. Then she said slowly: “Thus it is with myself and the Princess. I am her greatest friend. When she marries I shall ask to leave the Duchess of York’s household and be taken into that of the Princess Anne. A Churchill with the Princess, and a Churchill with the Prince … friends, confidantes. That does not seem such a bad idea.”

They understood each other so well. Sarah smiled from her brother-in-law to her husband. She had made up her mind; Anne’s marriage to the Prince of Denmark could be a very good thing for the Churchills and therefore a very good thing.

“The Prince is charming!” declared Sarah. “I do believe that if I were not so devoted to my John I could fall in love with him myself.”

“Sarah, you really mean it?”

“But do you not agree? Madam, what do you ask of a man? Did you hear how he rescued his brother? What bravery! My John was telling me about it. He said he had rarely heard of such a feat of bravery. And I understand, too, that the Prince is gracious. His servants love him.”

“I found him … affable,” said Anne.

“Madam, dear, you are halfway to being in love with him.”

“Sometimes I think of dear Mulgrave!”

“Pah! An adventurer if ever there was one!”

“Oh, no, Sarah, he loved me truly. Those beautiful verses …”

“I never thought much of poets. Words mean more to them than deeds. No, I rejoice that in the Prince of Denmark you will have a husband worthy of you. And the more eager you are for the marriage, the more you please your father.”

“He was very sad about Mary.”

“And who can wonder? When I compare the Prince of Denmark with that … monster!”

“Poor, poor Mary! Yet when we were in Holland, Sarah, she seemed happy.”

“To see you, to escape from Caliban for a while.”

“How sorry I am for her.”

“It is no use repining, Madam. Think rather of your joy. You are to have a husband with whom you are already in love …”

“But am I, Sarah? I am not sure …”

“You cannot deceive Sarah who knows you so well, Madam. If you are not already in love you are halfway there. And who can be surprised at that! This handsome hero has come across the seas to claim you. I am so happy for you, Madam.”

“It is going to be a happy marriage, is it not, Sarah?”

“The happiest at Court, Madam. You know I am always right.”

That was one thing Anne had learned. Obediently she began to fall in love with her bridegroom, and soon found it difficult to remember what Mulgrave looked like. This was so much more comfortable. George was pleasant, so eager to please; and he was kind, she could see that. Everyone was delighted at the prospect of the marriage. Her uncle wanted it; and so did her father, and when her father took her aside and asked her if she were truly happy and she told him she was, he took her into his embrace and wept over her.

“I thank God, my dearest daughter,” he told her, “for I could not have borne to see you unhappy as your sister was.”

After that she felt she owed it to them all to be happy. It was not difficult when she considered George.

There was no reason why the marriage should be delayed. The day chosen was appropriate, being St. Anne’s Day, and at ten o’clock at night in St. James’s chapel the ceremony took place. The bride was given away by her uncle the King; and afterward there was a brilliant banquet. There was rejoicing in the streets, and the sounds of music and the light from the bonfires penetrated the palace.

Another Protestant marriage! said the people, who had welcomed the Orange marriage for the same reason. James’s addiction to Catholicism was always a sore point with those who declared they would have no popery in England. Mary and Anne could well be sovereigns of England and the people had no intention of standing mildly aside while they were made into little Catholics. But there was no danger of that. Wise King Charles—always with an eye on the main chance—had decided. Not only had he taken the education of the Princesses out of their father’s hands, but he had found Protestant bridegrooms for them.

The fact that Marie Thérèse, the Queen of France, had just died, made the marriage doubly welcome. Louis, a widower in need of a wife, made a dangerous situation, for all knew that James would have been delighted to see his daughter the wife of the Catholic King of France.

But all was well; she was safely married to Protestant George; so they danced with glee around their bonfires and declared the bride to be beautiful and the bridegroom gallant while Anne and her husband sat side by side, eating heartily.

They had no qualms about each other. They were so much alike; peaceable, comfortable people, who liked to indulge the pleasures of the flesh—eating, drinking, and those yet to be discovered.

What a different bride was Anne from her shuddering sister! When the curtains were drawn about the bed by the royal hand of King Charles of England, when he made his ribald comments on the duties which lay ahead of them, Anne and George turned to each other and embraced.

Everything was natural, simple, pleasantly enjoyable without arousing ecstasy. This was symbolic of the life they would share together.