Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1966 by Jean Plaidy, copyright renewed 1994 by Mark Hamilton

Excerpt from Courting Her Highness copyright © 1966 by Jean Plaidy, copyright renewed 1994 by Mark Hamilton

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Broadway Paperbacks, an imprint of the

Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

www.crownpublishing.com

Broadway Paperbacks and its logo, a letter B bisected on the diagonal, are trademarks of

Random House, Inc.

Originally published in hardcover in slightly different form as The Haunted Sisters in Great Britain by Robert Hale Limited, London, in 1966, and in hardcover in the United States by G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York, in 1977.

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming Broadway Paperbacks reprint of Courting Her Highness by Jean Plaidy, which was originally published as The Queen’s Favourites by Robert Hale Limited, London, in 1966. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Plaidy, Jean, 1906–1993.

[Haunted sisters]

Royal sisters : a novel of the Stuarts / Jean Plaidy.

p. cm.

1. Mary II, Queen of England, 1662–1694—Fiction. 2. Anne, Queen of Great

Britain, 1665–1714—Fiction. 3. Queens—Great Britain—Fiction. I. Title.

PR6015.I3H3 2011

823′.914—dc22

2011000643

eISBN: 978-0-307-72084-9

Cover design by Laura Duffy

Cover photography by Richard Jenkins

v3.1

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

A Husband for Anne

Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman

The King is Dead

Long Live the King

The Princess Bereaved

The Warming-Pan Scandal

The Flight of the Princess

The Uneasy Coronation

A Dish of Green Peas

At the Playhouse

The Arrival of Mrs. Pack and Departure of William

Beachy Head and the Boyne

Marlborough’s Defeat

The Flowerpot Plot

His Highness’s Soldiers and Stays

The End of a Life

To Be Delivered After Death

The Twickenham Interlude

Garter and Governor for Gloucester

The Great Tragedy

The Little Gentleman in Black Velvet

Bibliography

Excerpt from Courting Her Highness

A HUSBAND FOR ANNE

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.

MRS. MORLEY AND MRS. FREEMAN

ow that Anne was a married woman she must have her separate household. The Duke of York did not wish her to be too far from him, and Charles, delighted with the success of the marriage and to see Anne growing happier every day, for he disliked tears and remembered those of Anne’s sister Mary—as indeed who would ever forget them?—had said the happy pair should have the Cockpit.

The Cockpit was close to Whitehall and had been built by Henry VIII as a lodge, set apart from the Palace, where he had indulged his love of cockfighting. It was a pleasant residence and Anne was enchanted with it. Close by was St. James’s Palace, where her father was often in residence; and he too was pleased to have his beloved daughter such a near neighbor; for as he said, he had but to walk across the park to visit her.

Sarah was a little disturbed, for she remained in the service of the Duchess of York and although this meant that she could see Anne frequently, now that the Princess was married, she was already on the point of relying more on her husband than on her friend.

Sarah’s was a true dilemma. Much good had come to her and John through the Duke of York; and one must not forget that he was the heir presumptive to the throne. The King had been ailing over the last year and although he was still a vigorous man, he was one who took his main pleasure no less zealously now than he had ten years before. James might soon be King of England and how much better it was to be in the service of the Queen of England than in that of a Princess who was not even next in succession.

The Duchess had been kind to Sarah over her marriage; but Anne was ready—or had been before her marriage—to take Sarah’s advice in all things.

What to do? Consult with John. John was going to be a brilliant soldier, but Sarah trusted her own diplomacy more than his. She knew that he would say: Stay as you are. We are doing well.

Relinquish Anne? It was unthinkable and yet perhaps in a few years James Duke of York would be king and Mary Beatrice of Modena queen.

When she was disturbed Sarah liked to walk alone, so she slipped on a cloak and left the Palace.

As she crossed the Park she remembered how a short while ago people used to gather there to see His Majesty play pell mell. They had said nobody could drive a ball as he did and the people would applaud when he sent his halfway down the avenue, as though, they said, it were shot from a culverin. He could no longer do that. Perhaps the game bored him; more likely he was too old.

There in the park it occurred to Sarah that momentous events were close. Greatness in people depended on their being a step or two ahead of others, in the right direction, just before it was apparent to everyone else that it was the right direction.

She had reached the streets. Very old people who remembered what it was like before the Restoration marveled at the streets of London as they were at this time. There was gaiety everywhere—if one could call painted women gay; they walked with their gallants, arms about each other, blatantly amorous. There was music from the river, drinking and dancing. How many bawdy houses were there along that short stretch of river? This was Restoration London. And how different it must have been under Cromwell and the Puritans! No theaters; no painted women; sombrely clad men; no fondling in the streets, for singing, dancing, and making love were crimes.

Change! thought Sarah. And all because the King had replaced the Protector.

She passed close to a group of people. A man was waving his arms and shouting: “No popery. Do you know what it means, my friends? You’ll smell the fires of Smithfield if we have the papists back.”

Sarah paused and listened, watching those grim determined faces.

“No popery!” It was a cry that one heard every day in the streets. The King was ailing. That was why the people so constantly shouted: “No popery!” They meant “No James!” No Catholic Duke of York should be their King.

If only one could peer into the future. It was not possible; one could only guess. But one could guess cleverly and shrewdly.

Already the Duke and his Duchess had been exiled. She thought of her beautiful dark-eyed royal mistress, Mary Beatrice of Modena with her foreign accent. She was clearly an Italian and Italians were papists.

As Sarah turned to the Palace she had made up her mind.

“Sarah,” said Anne, “you are not happy. Do not tell me you are for I know you too well.”

“I see it is no use hiding my fears from you, Madam.”

“John has been unfaithful.”

“No,” said Sarah. “Never.”

“He would not dare,” suggested Anne mischievously.

“He is too clever not to know what folly that would be.”

“Yes, he is very clever, your John; but you are not unhappy about that.”

“Oh, it is a matter which will not have occurred to you. But I have seen less of you lately.”

Anne’s face puckered into dismay. “My dearest Sarah, there has been so much to do. Being Princess of Denmark has meant so many more receptions, so many tiresome people to be received.”

“I understand that, and I know it is no fault of yours. But you noticed that I was unhappy and wanted the reason so I give it to you. I have my duties too. I must wait on the Duchess for I am after all attached to her household. How different it would be if I were attached to yours! Then … how happy I should be!”

“Sarah. But …”

Sarah took Anne’s hand and kissed it. “If I were serving you instead of the Duchess, I should always be in attendance … never far away. And now that you are reforming your household …”

“You must leave the Duchess, Sarah. You must come to me. I will confess that I had thought of it but I did not dare suggest it. For a place with the Duchess, I thought, would mean more to you than one with me.”

Sarah was almost angry in her reproaches. “You could think that, Madam! I confess I am surprised. I should have thought you would have known that there is no one I would want to serve save yourself.”

“Oh, Sarah, then it must be. I will speak to my father and stepmother. They know of the love between us two; I have no doubt that they will grant me what I ask.”

Sarah was certain now that she had acted with her usual wisdom. Every time Anne appeared in the streets the people cheered her. The Protestant marriage had endeared her to them. They were silent for the Duchess of York. Italian papist! Sarah was on the right side.

A few hours later Sarah received a letter from Anne.

“The Duke of York came in just as you were gone, and made no difficulties, but has promised me that I shall have you, which I assure you is a great joy to me. I should say a great deal for your kindness in offering it, but I am not good at compliments. I will only say that I do take it extremely kindly and shall be ready at any time to do you all the service that is in my power …”

Sarah folded the letter and put it away. She liked the terms in which it was written; they showed a proper modesty and appreciation.

Sarah swept through the apartments at the Cockpit like a cold wind. All those about the Princess Anne understood that if they wished to prosper they must placate Sarah Churchill because it was clear that, as had been the case for some time, she had more influence with the Princess than any other person. As for the Prince, he was easy enough, being completely contented with his marriage. Here he was, with an affectionate undemanding wife; all he had to do was sleep with her, a pleasant enough occupation, for he was a sensual man, but too lazy to want to hunt for his own quarry; he could eat and drink his fill, chat a little, play cards with his wife; oh, it was a pleasant life. It was true that the King dumbfounded him a little with his witty conversation, but most of this was unintelligible to Prince George and he made no attempt to understand it.

Charles said of him: “God’s fish, what have we here? I have tried him drunk and I’ve tried him sober but can make nothing of him, but the Princess Anne seems satisfied, so it may be she has been more fortunate than I.”

And when shortly after the marriage it was announced that the Princess was pregnant, Charles remarked that although his nephew by marriage seemed lacking in wit and political knowledge he had given proof of his abilities as a husband—which was all they need be concerned with.

As for Anne, she was pleased with the marriage; she grew more and more fond of George every day. He never argued with her and never made any demands on her intelligence; he was as excited by food as she was—and there were very few others who were quite so enthusiastic about it. He was teaching her how to improve the dishes by drinking the right wine; and when they went to bed, slightly intoxicated, she found marriage most enjoyable.

She assured herself that she was more sorry than ever for her poor dear Mary, and she wrote very frequently to her sister telling her of affairs in England and how she longed to visit The Hague or that Mary should come to England. Poor Mary, she had had two miscarriages and it did not seem now as though she would be pregnant again. Anne heard distressing reports from various sources in Holland. Caliban was impotent, some said; and yet from other sources came the news that he spent his nights with Elizabeth Villiers. Even so there was no news of Elizabeth’s giving birth to a royal bastard, so perhaps he was impotent after all.

Such a matter was not one to be discussed with anyone but Sarah; and as it happened it was a topic Sarah loved.

“I am indiscreet with you, Madam,” said Sarah, “though never with anyone else. And I tell you this: Caliban is incapable of begetting children. They say his asthma is terrible. I do not think he will live long. Then we hear these stories of your sister’s ague. An ailing sister, an asthmatical Orange—and let me tell you, Madam, that if your sister were to die, he would have to take a few steps back. And your father a papist! Madam, I believe that one day I shall have the honor of serving the Queen of England.”

“Oh, let be,” said Anne, “I am happy enough as I am.”

“Those who love you have ambitions for you, Madam.”

“I have always said, Sarah, that you are too ambitious.”

Sarah was alert suddenly. Was that a warning? Anne did not care to hear criticism of her father, nor did she like references to her sister’s death. Anne needed to be molded, thought Sarah.

She smiled, looking down at capable hands—an outward sign of a mind which could dominate a weaker one and was well able to do the molding.

“Not for myself, Madam,” she said more quietly than usual, “only for the one I serve with heart and soul.”

Sarah would have liked to choose Anne’s attendants. That was not possible. She did not really fear people like Lady Fitzharding and Mrs. Danvers. Mrs. Danvers occupied a minor position and was of no great importance. Lady Fitzharding had been Barbara Villiers and was a sister to Elizabeth who, rumor had it, was now the mistress of the Prince of Orange. Sarah thought she might be useful; for, it would be necessary, for the time being, to feign friendship with the Princess of Orange. There was one other, though, who was far too important in the household and this was Anne’s aunt, the Countess of Clarendon.

The Countess’s husband, Henry Hyde, Earl of Clarendon was the brother of Anne’s mother and, because of this relationship Flower, Countess of Clarendon, held a high position in the Princess’s household, being the first Lady of the Bedchamber—a post which in Sarah’s opinion clearly should belong to her; but because of Lady Clarendon’s age and the fact that she had long been close to Anne, she wielded great influence. Something of a scholar she deplored Anne’s lack of scholarship and had in fact tried to turn her niece’s interest to something other than cards, gossip, and food; this did not endear her to Anne and made Sarah’s task of turning the Princess against Lady Clarendon simpler than it might have been.

Just at this time, however, Anne’s thoughts were occupied with her pregnancy and Sarah realized that little else interested her except a good game of cards and her food. She grew larger and larger and Sarah was in constant attendance.

She did attempt one or two thrusts at Lady Clarendon.

She was silent one day as she sat with the Princess and, although absorbed as she was with her own concerns, Anne remarked on this—for it was unlike Sarah not to talk incessantly.

“Oh, Madam,” said Sarah distantly, “my lot in your service is not always a comfortable one.”

Anne was alarmed. “My dearest Sarah, what do you mean?”

“Oh … it is the Clarendon creature. What airs she gives herself. I know she is your aunt—but your mother’s family were remarkably fortunate to be linked with royalty. She gives herself airs. And all because she is a Countess and I am plain Mrs. Churchill.”

“It seems wrong that that should be,” said Anne thoughtfully.

Sarah gave her a sharp look. Would she draw herself from her lethargy sufficiently long to remember?

Anne’s father came to visit her at the Cockpit. James had once been handsome, but the events of the last years had been a strain on him and he looked drawn and sallow. He was tall, but not as tall as his brother and although more handsome than Charles, although possessed of a certain dignity of manner, he was singularly lacking in charm.

But as his eyes fell on his daughter his face was lighted by a great affection and he seemed almost young.

“My dearest,” he said, “how are you?”

“Very well, dear father,” Anne told him. “All goes well, they tell me, and I may expect a fine boy.”

“Do not set your hopes on that, my love. Be content with a daughter if a daughter it should be. You have so quickly conceived that I am sure you will have a large family.”

“It is what George and I want more than anything.”

He kissed her gently on the forehead. “It pleases me to see you so happy. Would I could feel as contented for Mary.” His face hardened. “I never wanted that marriage. I feel we have brought a viper into our close family circle.”

“Sarah calls him Caliban. I am sure he is a monster. I cannot understand how dear Mary tolerates him. I am sure I never would.”

“I fear he is subduing her, making her his creature … perhaps trying to turn her against us all. He’ll never do that. I know my Mary.” He smiled sentimentally at Anne. “I thank God for giving me my dearest daughters. So many children I have had and lost; but I always remind myself that I was allowed to keep two. My dearest Mary; my blessed Anne. We shall always love and cherish each other as long as we shall live.”

“Yes, dear father,” said Anne, wondering what there would be for dinner.

“And although I am parted from Mary, I know that she continues to love me dearly. It is a secret, daughter, but I do not wish to have secrets from you. Do not mention this to anyone. But if it were in my power to break that Dutch marriage I would do so. And I believe it might be in my power. There is just cause. Mary is childless and he … the Dutchman … spends his night with another woman.”

“Fitzharding’s sister, Elizabeth Villiers. It is a well-known scandal.”

“A well-known scandal—and my daughter the wife of such a monster! Unfortunately, my dear, your uncle will not have the marriage disturbed. But …”

Anne nodded sleepily. Her father very frequently spent his nights in the beds of his mistresses. Uncle Charles was not looking so well of late; but each night he took one of his mistresses to bed; and it was said that he would not accept his flagging vigor and resorted to artificial means to revive it. Fair enough, whispered his courtiers. Who would not do the like? But what effect was this having on the royal body; and how long could it be expected to stand the strain?

“Well,” said James, “that is not for us to discuss now. And my dear daughter is well and everything is progressing as it should. I can scarcely wait for the good news. I shall be near you, dearest, all the time; and if there is anything you want, all you need do is ask for it. You know your father is never happier than when he is pleasing you.”

All she need do was ask? It was true. He was the most indulgent of parents.

“Father,” she said, “there is one thing I would ask.”

His face lit up with pleasure, “My darling daughter, I promise if it is in my power …”

“It is not for me, Father, but I have a great friend who has not been as well treated as she should be. I believe you are very pleased with the services Colonel Churchill has rendered you?”

“He is a good man, and I believe a faithful friend to me.”

“You need good men and faithful friends, father. Do you think that sometimes we take the goodness of those close to us for granted?”

“It may be so.”

“My best friend and the kindest of my women is plain Mrs. while others who are less kind flaunt great titles. It is our duty, is it not, Father, to reward those who serve us?”

He nodded.

“Why, my blessed one, you are asking that the Churchills be honored in some way?”

“A title for the Colonel, so that Sarah may be Lady Churchill to these women of mine and not plain Mrs.”

James patted her hand. “That does not seem to me to be an insurmountable difficulty,” he said fondly.

Sarah embraced her John. Then she held him at arms’ length.

“Well, Baron Churchill?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Have you a clever wife?”

“The cleverest in the world.”

“John, I only had to ask.”

“She thinks the world of you, as indeed she should.”

Sarah’s eyes were dreamy as she looked into the future. “I can see that she will do anything … just anything … I ask of her. She is in my power … absolutely.”

“Careful, my love.”

She was almost haughty for a moment. “You need not advise me, John Churchill.”

He retreated at once. “I know it well.”

She softened and put her arms about his neck. He was so handsome, so charming, and he had forsaken his rake’s life for her. She saw greatness in him and she was going to build that greatness. He was beginning to understand that now.

They stood looking at each other. This was a partnership. They needed rank, and they had taken the first step toward that, although a barony was not going to be good enough for the Churchills; they wanted wealth (at the moment they were poor, but Sarah would know how to remedy that) and what was more precious than anything to Sarah: Power.

Sarah was as near to loving him as she could love anyone; she saw in him a reflection of herself. He was hers to make and to mold; and she believed she had chosen the finest man in the world on whom to bestow her greatness. She was impatient with a fate which had made her a woman. Had she been a man, she was certain there was no heights to which she would not have arisen; as it was, she would work with John. Together they would stand.

Lord and Lady Churchill—this was the first step.

No wonder they were delighted with each other.

In the Cockpit Lady Churchill was more arrogant than ever; she was, she said, of the frankest nature on earth; but woebetide anyone who tried to be equally frank with her.

With the Princess she was gentle and affectionate—but only to her.

As for Anne, she loved Lady Churchill even more than she had Mrs. Churchill, for it was very comforting to have given so much pleasure to a dear friend.

Anne was sitting alone with her dear friend as she so loved to do.

“Sarah,” she said, “you are pleased with your new title.”

“You can well imagine what pleasure it gives me to stand on equal terms with some of these vipers you have around you, Madam.”

“I trust my aunt has not been unpleasant to you.”

“She is by nature unpleasant. She looks like a mad woman, that one, for all that she tries to talk like a scholar.”

Anne burst into laughter. “Oh, I do see what you mean, Sarah.”

“It is pleasant to amuse you, Madam.”

“When you call me Madam, Sarah, I feel we are too far apart. You are Lady Churchill now but that is a long way beneath the rank of Princess.”

“The rank of Princess,” said Sarah coolly, “is one which can only come through inheritance or marriage. It is not to be earned.”

“When I am with you, dear Sarah, I feel that you are so much more worthy to hold rank than I.”

“Why, Madam, we must all accept the injustices of fate.”

“I could never bring you up to royal level, Sarah, no matter what I did. So, I have been thinking how pleasant it would be if we could be together as … equals.”

Sarah was immediately excited. “How so, Madam?”

“When I was a child I loved giving myself names. So did Mary. It was a kind of game with us. Do you remember Frances Apsley?”

Sarah frowned. Indeed she remembered Frances Apsley, that young woman with whom Mary had formed a passionate friendship; and Anne, who always followed Mary in everything had soon been declaring her devotion to Frances.

“An insipid creature,” said Sarah.

“Compared with you, of course; but Mary and I thought her wonderful. I believe Mary still does. But they have been long separated and Mary is married to William, and Frances to Benjamin Bathurst now. Frances has a brood of children and poor Mary has none … but what was I saying? We all took names for ourselves alone. It was such fun being incognito. Mary was Clorine and Frances was Aurelia—just for themselves—and I was Ziphares and Frances—to me—was Semandra. I should like us to have our own names, Sarah. Simple names, so that we could pretend to be two old gossips.”

Sarah nodded slowly “But, Madam, I think that is an excellent idea.”

“Sarah, I am so pleased. Shall I tell you what names I have chosen—Morley and Freeman. Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman. Then we are of one rank … in fact we are without rank. I think it would give me great pleasure.”

“I think so too,” said Sarah. “Then I shall feel free to talk to you as I so often wish to. The very fact of your being the Princess does I fear come between us.”

“Then Morley and Freeman it shall be. Now we have to decide which is which. You are clever, Sarah, so I am going to make you decide. Who are you going to be, Mrs. Morley or Mrs. Freeman?”

Sarah considered. “Well,” she said, “I am of a very frank and free nature so I think Freeman would best suit me.”

“You have chosen, Mrs. Freeman. Now sit down and tell me the latest news of Mr. Freeman. Mr. Morley is in great spirits and with me is looking forward to the appearance of Baby Morley which I must confess, dear Mrs. Freeman, still seems to me a long way off.”

“You are too impatient, Mrs. Morley. You are like every other mother with a first child. I remember how I was with my Henrietta.”

Anne laughed. “Oh, Mrs. Freeman, I think this was an excellent idea of mine. Already I feel you are different toward me.”

“I believe it is going to make greater freedom between us, Mrs. Morley.”

The Princess Anne was brought to bed of a daughter but almost immediately it became apparent that the child could not survive, and there was scarcely time to baptize the little girl before she died.

Anne was temporarily distressed, but it was easy to comfort her. She was surrounded by loving attention. First there was her husband, plump and genial, to sit by her bed and hold her hand.

“Don’t you fret,” he said in his quaint English. “As soon as you are well enough, dear wife, we will have others.”

There was her father, so anxious on her behalf that it was said he cared for nothing as much as his daughter.

“My poor, dear child,” he mourned. “I understand well your disappointment. But you have shown that you are fertile. Why, scarcely were you married than you were pregnant; as soon as you are up and well there’ll be another. We all share your disappointment; but, my dearest, I can bear anything as long as my beloved child grows better every day.”

“You are the best father a daughter ever had,” she told him.

“Who would not be to the best of daughters?” he answered fondly.

Her stepmother came, with the Queen, both of whom had frequently suffered similar disappointments. They condoled with her, but there was one theme of their conversation: there would soon be a baby in the cradle for Anne.

If it were so, she would be perfectly happy, Anne declared. She had experienced motherhood, briefly and tragically, but it had made her realize that she wanted children. This one had been a girl, but there would be boys; and secretly she reminded herself that one of these boys could be King of England.

Anne had never felt so ambitious as she did lying there in her bed surrounded by all the luxuries her father could think of—ambitious for the son she would have.

The King came to visit her—kind, as ever, but looking older. His smile was merry, but there was a tinge of red in the whites of his eyes.

“Don’t you fret, niece,” he said. “If ever I saw a good stud, it’s our friend George. Don’t waste too much time being the invalid and, by God’s fish, I’ll warrant you’ll soon begin to swell again!”

It was all very gay and she felt secure and happy, sparing a thought now and then for dear Mary who had suffered miscarriages and must have sadly missed her father, stepmother, uncle, aunt, and most of all the kindness of a husband. Dear, dear George, how different he was from that hateful William, who, so reports from Holland had said, blamed Mary for the loss of her children.

What a good family she had, and how comforting it was to feel oneself cherished!

She was so contented that for some days she forgot the existence of Mrs. Freeman, who, to her disgust, was not allowed the liberty which had been hers before. Lady Clarendon had taken charge of the household and naturally the Duke of York paid more attention to his sister by marriage than to his daughter’s favorite woman.

It shall not always be so, thought Sarah, and during Anne’s confinement she grew to hate the Duke and Duchess of York.

Papists! she thought. They were nothing more than papists. Madame of Modena had swept through the apartments like a Queen bestowing little attention on Lady Churchill.

Well, Madam, thought Sarah, you will be sorry for that. Lots of people were going to be sorry one day.

But Anne was soon asking for Mrs. Freeman who complained to her bitterly that she had been kept from her Mrs. Morley at the time she was most needed.

“I missed you,” Anne told her.

“It was a pity Mrs. Morley did not demand that Mrs. Freeman be brought to her.”

Anne yawned faintly and Sarah noticed this. She must curb her frankness with the Princess, who was of course utterly spoiled by those around her and in particular her father.

“Well, we are together now and I shall see personally that my dear Mrs. Morley does not over-tax her strength, for I do believe that it was due to this that we have had this unfortunate tragedy.”

“Please, do not let us talk of it. Get the cards, Mrs. Freeman, and call Barbara Fitzharding—and whom shall we have for a fourth?”

Not that old aunt of yours, thought Sarah, hurrying away to summon Mrs. Danvers. And how dared she suggest cards when clearly Sarah wanted to talk.

But John was right, of course. She must go carefully.

So when she returned with the cards and the players she insisted on placing cushions about the Princess and setting a box of sweetmeats beside her.

Anne smiled at her contentedly and the game began.

And very shortly afterward Anne was pregnant.

THE KING IS DEAD

reat events were about to break over England, but none was aware of them on that February day. It was dusk and enormous fires were blazing in the royal apartments. Anne, now obviously pregnant, sat with her husband and some members of their suites playing basset. The stakes were high and Anne was smiling delightedly. Sarah, in attendance on her mistress, looking on at the game, was shocked because the bank contained at least two thousand pounds in gold. A wanton waste! she grumbled inwardly thinking of what the money would mean to the Churchills. Anne, knowing that she was far from rich, had given her several gifts of money; and these she had gratefully taken. This should continue, she decided; and she must find means of diverting more and more money into the Churchill purse. She would do so with a better conscience after having seen it wasted at the gaming table.

The King was sitting with three of his favorite women—the Duchesses of Portsmouth, Cleveland, and Mazarine. He looked ill and had eaten scarcely anything all day, but he was smiling and chatting with his usual affability; and now and then would caress one of the ladies.

Queen Catherine was not present—she was often absent from these occasions. Doubtless, it was supposed, because she did not care to see her husband with his mistresses; and, although he was kind to her in all other ways, this was one concession he would not grant her. It was the same with his brother the Duke of York; he was married to a beautiful wife, many years younger than himself and although she had hated him when she had first come to England she was now passionately in love with him and deeply resentful of his mistresses—yet he, though ready to do everything else she might ask, was not able to forgo this dalliance with women.

The Duchess of Portsmouth was leaning toward the King telling him that he was tired and she suggested a little supper in her apartments.

Cleveland and Mazarine were scowling at Portsmouth and Charles said that while he ever found supping in her apartments delightful, he had lost his appetite for the day.

Cleveland and Mazarine were smiling triumphantly, but Portsmouth replied: “I have had a special soup made for Your Majesty—very light but nourishing.”

Charles smiled and declared that he would taste it. He was anxious to leave the hall for he found the light trying and the noise from the basset table and the singer in the gallery gave him a headache.

In the company of the ladies and a few of his courtiers he left the hall; and no one knew then that it would never be quite the same again.

Charles spent a restless night and then in the morning when he left his bed for his closet his attendants noticed that he walked unsteadily. Later when he talked to them he seemed to forget what he was talking about and his speech was slurred.

It took a long time to dress and as he moved away from his bed he swayed and would have fallen had not his attendants steadied him.

Dr. King, one of his physicians, was in the palace and he came at once to the King’s bedside, but Charles was now clearly very ill indeed, for his face was purple and distorted and his power of speech had left him.

There was tension throughout the palace. The King was ill—more ill than he had ever been before.

They were sending for the Duke of York. What now?

The King was still alive, but there was anxiety throughout the kingdom. He had lived for his own pleasure; he had set the tone of immorality not only in the Court but throughout the country; unknown to his ministers he had made treaties with France; and he was said to be a secret Catholic; yet rarely had the English so sincerely mourned the passing of a King.

In the streets they were weeping openly. Many of them remembered his coming back to them twenty-five years ago—the flowers strewn over the cobbles; the music in the streets; the bonfires; wine and dancing and merriment. And if it had not turned out as wonderful as they had believed it was going to, at least it had been gay and lighthearted and different from the gloom of old Noll Cromwell’s day.

They loved him; they called him the merry Monarch; they remembered some of his sayings which had often been repeated because they were wise and witty. And now he was dying, and leaving them—James!

Under the sorrow there was low rumbling of “No popery!”

In his bedchamber the King lived on. It seemed he could not die. They had tried all the remedies they knew; they had opened his veins with a penknife; they had put a hot iron on his head; they had purged him; they had placed newly killed pigeons at his feet.

Under all these ministrations he rallied for a time and when the news was spread through the streets, the people shouted in their joy; they made bonfires and all the bells of London were ringing at once. He had been ill before and he was well again. All those who had seen him riding through his capital, sauntering through his parks in the company of his ladies with his spaniels at his heels, all those who had seen him throwing at pell mell were certain that he had the strength of ten men.

But the rejoicings were soon over. He could not live and although as he said—and apologized for it—he was a long time a-dying, he was dying all the same.

James was kneeling at his bedside, weeping, begging him to take the sacrament before he died.

Poor James! he was a sentimental man and they were brothers. Later he would think of what his brother’s passing meant to him, but at this time he could remember only the long years of intimacy, of struggle and endeavor, of exile and strife and, at last, the homecoming.

Charles tried to frame the words: “James, best of friends and best of brothers.…”

The tears ran down James’s cheeks, and Charles begged forgiveness for those exiles which had been a necessity, but he was sorry for them.

The Queen came to the bedside; she was a heartbroken woman; there were others too, women, who followed her into the bedchamber, to remind him that though she was his wife they were the ones who had shared his company.

The Queen was sobbing; she begged him to forgive her if she had ever offended him. “Alas, poor lady,” cried Charles, “she begs my pardon! I beg hers, with all my heart.”

He could not breathe; there were so many people crowding the apartment and all day and all night they remained.

James came to the bed, his eyes alight with fanaticism; he bent his head and whispered to his brother that since he was at heart a Catholic he should receive the rites of the Catholic church.

“No,” said Charles, “you endanger your life, brother.”

But when had James thought of danger? He had the chamber cleared and Father Huddleston, who had once saved the King’s life at the battle of Worcester, was brought disguised into the death chamber.

“Brother,” said James, “I bring you a man who once saved your life; now he comes to save your soul.”

The sacrament according to the rites of the church of Rome was given with extreme unction.

Then the doors were thrown open and those who had been shut out were allowed to return.

The next morning Charles II was dead.

LONG LIVE THE KING

here was a quiet throughout the country. There was a new King on the throne—King James II—and everyone was waiting to see what would happen. The cries of “No popery” were no longer heard, but eyes were alert and there was an air of waiting, an implication that the present era was uneasy and perhaps temporary.

There was one who was in the minds of all, though few mentioned his name: James Duke of Monmouth, at present at The Hague, the guest of the Prince and Princess of Orange. What would he do now? His greatest enemy had been the Duke of York who was now King James II. Monmouth had ostentatiously called himself the Protestant Duke. And what was the Protestant Duke doing now?

Anne, heavily pregnant, was thinking constantly of the child she was to have. She indulged herself more than usual.

“I am determined this time,” she told Sarah, “that my child shall live.”

“He will be a step nearer to the throne when he is born than when he was conceived,” commented Sarah.

Anne wept then for Uncle Charles. “He was always so kind to me. I cannot believe that I shall never see him again. Of course, dear Mrs. Freeman, there were times when I had no notion of what he meant. He was so witty always, but kind with it, and you know that is a rare gift. Is that why he was so loved, do you think? Oh, how I miss him.”

Fat, pink fool! thought Sarah. You could be Queen of England before long and all you think of is crying for Uncle Charles!

Sarah had long talks with John. They were growing closer together; they were more than lovers; they were partners and their ambition burned more brightly than any passion; Sarah was once more pregnant and this time they hoped for a son.

“John, John,” she cried, “what does this mean? What can this mean?”

“We can only wait and see.”

Sarah stamped impatiently. “We must not wait too long.”

“But, my dearest, for a while we must wait. I am wondering what is happening now on the Continent.”

“Monmouth?”

“And William. Do not forget William, my love.”

“Depend upon it Caliban is hatching some plot.”

“And forcing his wife to help him, I’ll swear.”

“She has about as much sense as my dear Mrs. Morley. They are told ‘Do this’ ‘Do that.’ And like idiots they do it.”

John touched her cheek lightly. “Which is very good for my dear Mrs. Freeman.”

“I’m thinking of the other one—Mary. Don’t forget she comes first.”

“We must not plan too far ahead, my dear. Remember James is still the King.”

“But is he going to remain King?”

“He has stepped into his brother’s place naturally and easily. I confess I expected trouble. There has been none. It seems he understands his danger for he has been behaving with more good sense than he usually shows.”

Sarah clenched her hands. “And Monmouth? What of Monmouth?”

“They’ll never accept the bastard.”

“The Protestant Duke!” said Sarah with a sneer. “And William? Those two are said to be friends. Rivals, as Charles once said, for the same mistress. And that mistress is the crown which James now wears.”

“We’ll keep our eyes on The Hague. That’s where the next move will come from.”

“William and Mary! Do you think they’ll make an attempt?”

John shook his head. “Not yet. William’s too clever. James will have to commit himself more deeply before it would be wise for anyone to try to oust him from the throne. The English don’t want a papist King but you know what they are for fair play. They wouldn’t like Mary to take over before her time … unless it was for a very good reason.”

“Mary! They say she does not enjoy good health and William would have no chance without her. And then it would be Queen Morley’s turn. John, do you understand that the day my plump Morley mounts the throne I can rule this country?”

John smiled at her. “I believe you capable of anything, my love. But we must be patient. We must wait … alert. We must first see which way the wind is blowing. It would not do for us to get caught in the coming storm.”

He was wise, she knew. Sarah had no doubt that when the time came they would be on the winning side.

The preparations for the new King’s coronation went smoothly. Anne’s great regret was that she would not be able to attend for she was expecting her child to be born any day.

James had found time to visit her at the Cockpit in spite of all his new duties. He embraced her with great tenderness and told her that she should rejoice to have a King for a father.

“Rest assured,” he said, “that I shall see benefits flow to my beloved daughter.”

That was comforting.

“Dear Father, but look at the size of your daughter! Delighted as I am by my state I am irked that I shall not be able to see you crowned.”

James smiled secretly and later Anne learned that he had ordered that a special closed box be erected in the Abbey from which she should watch the ceremony in the company of her husband.

“You do not imagine,” he said, “that I could allow my dear daughter to be absent on this great day!”

So Anne was in the box with George while the ceremony took place and afterward Mary Beatrice, the new Queen, made a point of visiting her stepdaughter there.

“What do you think of my dress?” asked Mary Beatrice, her lovely dark eyes shining; she was always happy on such occasions because she liked to see honor bestowed on her husband.

“Worthy of a Queen,” declared Anne. “Tell me, how do you feel … now that you are a queen?”

Mary Beatrice looked a little sad. “I should feel happier if I were in your condition.”

“You will be … ere long,” said Anne.

Ten days later Anne’s daughter was born. She seemed healthy and although Anne and her husband had longed for a boy they now declared themselves to be completely delighted.

“Soon she shall have a brother,” George promised Anne; and she was sure he would be proved right.

“I shall call her Mary after my dearest sister,” said Anne. “Poor Mary. I feel so guilty to be happy here in England while she must remain in Holland with Caliban.”

John had returned from a mission to France whither he had gone ostensibly to tell Louis of James’s accession, but actually to attempt to obtain further loans from Louis. This he failed to do, but when he returned there was an opportunity of spending a few weeks with Sarah in the house he had built on the site of that old one near St. Albans where Sarah had spent part of her childhood.

Then came the news that Monmouth had landed in England. And John knew he must return to Court without delay.

“So,” said Sarah, “you will fight for the Catholic against the Protestant?”

John smiled. “This is the King against the bastard,” he said. “Until James changes the religion of this country he is still the King as far as I am concerned.”

Sarah agreed that this must be so.

“We should never bow to Monmouth,” she said. “You will defeat him, John.”

“Feversham will be in command,” John replied sardonically, “and I see that the trouble will be mine but the honor will be his.”

“It shall not always be so,” declared Sarah firmly.

The defeat of Monmouth was due to Churchill, for when the battle of Sedgemoor began Feversham was in bed, having, with many of his cronies, drunk rather heavily, and the command was left to John Churchill who started a strong offensive and secured victory for the King’s men.

Monmouth was discovered in a ditch and brought as prisoner to London. There followed his trial, death on Tower Hill, and the great scandal of Judge Jeffrey’s Bloody Assizes.

That affair was ended and James II was firmly on the throne.

Everyone in England seemed aware of the King’s unpopularity except himself. Like a true Stuart James had an inherent belief in the Divine Right of Kings and it was inconceivable to him that his throne could be threatened by the people. He had had two enemies in his nephew Monmouth and his son-in-law William; now Monmouth was dead and only William remained. He had always disliked William and had never ceased to deplore the fact that his beloved daughter Mary had married him. He himself had been against that marriage, but Charles had insisted on it, pointing out that because William was a Protestant it was more necessary to James than to anyone else, for if James did not allow his daughter to marry a Protestant, Charles believed that the people would insist on excluding him from the succession.

So there had been this Dutch marriage—but he never trusted his son-in-law and what was so heartbreaking was that he believed William was trying to influence his daughter against him.

Rake and libertine that he could not prevent himself being, James had a great desire for a happy family life to which he could retire for a short rest from his mistresses. He had convinced himself that he had enjoyed this for a time with Anne Hyde, the mother of his daughters, and the two girls themselves. He remembered several occasions when they had sat on the floor and played childish games together. He looked back—sentimentalist that he was—with great yearning to that period.

He sincerely loved his daughters. In her childhood Mary had been the favorite, but she was far away and William’s wife, whereas Anne was at hand and he could see her frequently. Moreover he had written to Mary in an endeavor to convert her to Catholicism, and her replies had been cool; she implied that she was firmly Protestant.

William’s wife, he thought sadly, scarcely James’s daughter now.

So he turned to Anne. He increased her allowance, for the dear creature had no money sense at all and in spite of her enormous revenue she was constantly in debt. He enjoyed those occasions when she sought his help; it was a pleasure to see her woebegone face break into a smile when he told her that she could rely on her father to help her in any difficulty.

“You are the daughter of a King now,” he was constantly telling her. “The beloved daughter.”

Anne thought what a pleasure it was to be a sovereign. So much homage; so much adulation. Sarah had grown even closer because that year they had both given birth to daughters: Anne’s Mary and Sarah’s Elizabeth.

Sarah would whisper to her: “And think, dear Mrs. Morley, one day you may be the Queen of England.”

“I do not like to think of that, Mrs. Freeman, because my father would have to die first.”

“H’m!” retorted Sarah. “He is a papist, you know, and that is not good.”

“Alas no.” Anne was a staunch Protestant, as she had been brought up to be, for her uncle Charles had taken her education and that of Mary out of their father’s hands. “But he is firmly convinced that he is right.”

“Mrs. Morley must never allow herself to be converted. That would be dangerous. They would never allow you to be Queen if you became a papist. These papists are a menace.”

“I know, I have heard from my sister.… She is not very pleased with my father.”

“Nor is it to be wondered at. He is under the thumb of his wife. She is the real culprit.”

Anne looked puzzled as she thought of her lovely stepmother with whom she had always been on good terms.

“I have never trusted Italians,” went on Sarah. She thought of the Queen sweeping through the Cockpit and showing no respect for Lady Churchill. Her influence with the Princess must not be allowed to grow; it was too great already.

“She always seems to be kindly.”

“Oh, but so proud, Mrs. Morley. She pretends that she is gracious to all, but have you noticed the change in her since she became Queen?”

“Hush, Mrs. Freeman, your voice carries so. If anyone heard you speak thus of the Queen.…”

“We should give her a name, so that no one would know of whom we were speaking.”

Anne was very fond of giving people nicknames; she had always done so throughout her life; so she fell in with the suggestion at once.

“It ought to be something like Morley and Freeman,” she said. “An ordinary sort of name. I have it. Mansell. My father shall be Mr. Mansell and the Queen, Mansell’s wife. How’s that?”

“Mrs. Morley, you are a genius! I cannot think of a name that would suit them better.”

“Mansell!” said Anne savoring it; then she burst out laughing. “It is absolutely right.”

And from then on the King and Queen became Mansell and Mansell’s wife; and it was extraordinary how the change robbed them of dignity. Mrs. Freeman could talk more contemptuously of the Mansells; and Anne found that she could listen, and as usual, she began to share Sarah’s opinions.

Anne was soon pregnant again and as little Mary was surviving happily, she let herself dream of the large family she would have.

This time, she told George, it should be a son.

They were happy days and Anne was able to indulge herself in all her favorite pastimes, to which one had been added: gossip—more than gossip, intrigue.

Wherever Sarah was, there was drama; and Anne found that her friend’s racy conversation and pungent criticisms of almost everyone about them were so diverting. The only people who were good and reasonable were Mr. and Mrs. Morley and Mr. and Mrs. Freeman. Others were perhaps misguided. Anne did not care to hear criticisms of her sister. But there was Caliban to be slandered. As for the King and Queen, Anne was already beginning to dislike her stepmother and see her through Sarah’s eyes as arrogant and dangerous on account of her religion. With regard to her father, Sarah had to tread warily, but Anne was forming a different picture of him. He was immoral; she had always known that; and all men should be like Mr. Morley and Mr. Freeman—moral. Perhaps before their marriages they had had their amours; but all the more credit to them that, being married to good wives, they should forsake their follies.

Anne was changing; she was as placid as ever, but she could be spiteful. The fact was she so enjoyed the scandalous conversations and Sarah was so amusing that sometimes Anne was quite helpless with laughter.

It was so comfortable, to be stretched out on a divan, a dish of sweets beside one, while the talk was all of intrigue and the day when Anne would be Queen. To adventure without stirring from the couch suited Anne.

What would she do without her dear Mrs. Freeman to divert her? She had no notion of the immense and driving purpose behind Mrs. Freeman’s discourse.

THE PRINCESS BEREAVED

t was May and the sun streamed into Windsor Castle.

Anne lay in her bed, her new baby in her arms. The child had just been christened Anne Sophia and it had been such an impressive ceremony with Lady Roscommon and Lady Churchill as godmothers.

It was a healthy baby, but Anne was disturbed because little Mary was not progressing as she wished. The child was pale and listless and she was worried, for so many royal babies did not reach maturity. It was as though there was some blight on them from the day they were born. One could comfort oneself with hopes of a large family, but when a child had been lost and another seemed ailing, fear crept into the heart; and there were memories of Queens and Princesses in the past who had prayed for children—whose whole future depended on the ability to bear children—and who had failed.

Anne’s future did not depend on her children; but she had discovered that she was by nature a mother. She yearned for children as she did for nothing else. She wanted to see a whole brood of them, laughing and healthy about her fireside, with good, dear, dependable George loving them in his genial way as she did in hers.

Sarah bustled into the apartment and took the child from its mother’s arms; she rocked it with a gentleness rare in her, while Anne looked on smiling benignly.

“The next,” prophesied Sarah, “must be a boy.”

“I pray so,” answered Anne.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “A boy,” she said, “who will one day be our Sovereign Lord the King.”

Sarah noticed with pleasure that Anne’s eyes were shining with a determination she had never seen there before.

Anne was worried. She had noticed that George had not seemed well during the passing weeks. He had lost his interest in food which could only mean that he was ill.

“My dearest,” she cried, taking his hand, “you have a fever.”

He did not deny it and she called his attendants to help him to his bed while she sent for the physicians.

George had a restless night and in the morning his condition appeared to have worsened.

The doctors shook their heads. “He is a little heavy, Madam,” they told Anne, “and he breathes with difficulty.”

Anne had not been so distressed since she had heard that Mary was leaving England; and an additional anxiety was her eldest daughter who was coughing and spitting blood. The sight of that blood terrified her. If her little girl was going to die and her kind George would not be well enough to comfort her, what would she do! She could only turn to her dear Mrs. Freeman, but in the meantime she must do all she could to save them.

She insisted on nursing her husband, and astonished everyone, for never had she exerted herself to such an extent before. He was very weak, but he lay quietly smiling at her and she knew that her presence comforted him.

Sarah was annoyed, but managed not to show it.

“Madam,” she said, for others were present, “I like not to see you wearing yourself out in this way. Any of your women could do what you are doing.”

“You are wrong, Lady Churchill,” was Anne’s answer. “He is comforted by my presence and there is no one but myself who could give him that comfort.”

Sarah withdrew angrily, but she managed to give Anne the impression that her anger was a sign of fear for her mistress’s health.

Anne could be stubborn on occasions, Sarah was discovering. Perhaps it was a warning that she should not take too much for granted. But Sarah was usually in too much of a hurry to heed warnings, too sure of herself to believe she could ever be wrong.

Meanwhile Anne sat by her husband’s bed while he held her hand and although he could not speak, his eyes told her how happy he was to have her there.

Anne was melancholy, for she, like everyone else, believed that he was going to die. She thought of the day they had met, of their immediate liking which had made both of them accept the marriage calmly. Rarely could strangers have contemplated marriage with such serenity. But they were serene people—both of them—perhaps that was why theirs was such a happy marriage.

From George’s bed, she went to that of her elder daughter. The child lay, panting for her breath, racked now and then by fits of coughing.

Anne wept, then hastily dried her eyes that she might go to her husband’s bedside with a smile.

Hourly she was expecting the death of husband and daughter and never in her life had she been so unhappy. She had her baby; she would hold the child in her arms and wonder how long it would be before little Anne Sophia would be the only member of her family left to her.

She was sitting by her husband’s bed one day when Sarah came into the room. There was a closer bond between them because Sarah had a boy now whom she had christened John after her husband and as a mother Sarah could understand and sympathize with the anguish Anne was now enduring. Sarah had three healthy children. Lucky Sarah! Her successful motherhood endeared her to Anne. It seemed yet a further proof that Sarah would always be successful.

Now Sarah was subdued which was startling because it was so unlike her.

“Mary …?” whispered Anne.

Sarah drew her outside and put an arm about her.

“It is the little one,” she said.

The child was lying in its cradle; her face was scarlet, its limbs distorted.

“No!” cried Anne. “This is too much.”

She looked wildly about her, calling for the doctors; but there was nothing they could do.

Anne stood at the window watching the snowflakes falling. She was not weeping; but her limbs felt heavy. She had lost her baby—little Mary was desperately ill and her dear George was sick with a fever.

It was Sarah who came to stand beside her, miraculousy silent for once, but conveying so much by that silence.

“How can I tell him, Sarah?” she asked.

Sarah took her hand and pressed it firmly and it seemed to Anne that Sarah’s strength and vitality flowed into her body.

“No matter what happens … there will always be you. You’ll never change.” She added: “Mrs. Freeman.”

“Mrs. Freeman will always be at hand to comfort her dear friend Mrs. Morley.”

One of the women approached them.

Anne took one look at her and flew to the bedside of her daughter Mary.

It was incredible; fate could not be so cruel. But it was so. Anne had lost both her children.

Strangely enough from that day George began to improve.

They said that he saw he was needed to comfort his heartbroken wife. She would sit by his bed and hold his hand; and they often wept quietly together.

He told her that he had known all the time that she had been in the sickroom, and it was that knowledge and that alone, which had pulled him through.

“I cannot bear to see you unhappy,” he said.

“And it grieves me to see you sad.”

“Then, my dear wife, we must smile for the sake of each other.”

He was growing better every day. This was clear for when Anne brought delicacies to his bedside his eyes lit up at the sight of them.

“Try this, my love,” she would say.

And he would take a tidbit and put it into her mouth instead.

They would sample the food, discuss it; and talk of what they would eat tomorrow.

It was a return to the old life.

“Do not fret,” he said. “We have lost three but we shall have others.”

And as soon as the Prince was about again sure enough Anne became pregnant; and she was sure that if she could only hold a healthy child in her arms she would be ready to forget the anguish of her previous loss.

Anne miscarried, but almost immediately she was again with child.

Sarah was supreme in the Princess’s household. She was getting her own way in almost everything, but there were minor irritations. She was shaping Anne’s mind and was determined that Mansell and Mansell’s wife should go. She was aware that secret intrigues were afoot; that spies were both at Whitehall and The Hague and that William of Orange—and Mary—were waiting for the opportunity to come over to England and take the crown from James. This was what Sarah hoped for. She did not believe that Mary would live long; William, too, was a weakling and there were no children of that marriage. It need only be a few years before the Princess Anne became Queen Anne.

Mrs. Morley, the Queen and her dear friend Mrs. Freeman to guide her in all things! What a happy state of affairs! And she and John were becoming rich. It was so easy, for everyone knew of Sarah’s influence and she was approached by many who sought to find favor with the King through his beloved daughter. There were financial considerations but these were willingly paid for a word of the right sort of advice dropped into the Princess’s ear by her loving friend.

“Very good, but it could be better,” was Sarah’s verdict to John. “If only I could rid myself of old woman Clarendon, I should be the first Lady of the Bedchamber. Of course I have more influence with Morley than anyone else, but always that old woman bars my way, reminding me of who she is. Clarendon! Who were the Clarendons? The upstart Hydes, that’s all—the family which gave itself airs because one of the daughters was made pregnant by the heir to the throne and was clever enough to make him marry her. That’s the Clarendons for you!”

John replied it was all true of course, but she must be careful of the Clarendons. The Princess’s two uncles held much influence with the King, and his dear Sarah must not forget that.

“I’ll give the old hag influence!” muttered Sarah.

She did not have to scheme against Lady Clarendon because at this time Lord Clarendon became Lord Lieutenant of Ireland—there was general gossip about this in the Cockpit.

“What I want to know,” said Sarah, “is whether he’s taking her with him—or is he going to think of some excuse to leave her behind.”

Lady Clarendon herself answered the question a few hours later.

“I shall have to say good-bye to you all for I am accompanying my husband to Ireland.”

Sarah gave a great sigh of relief. This was a heaven-sent opportunity.

It was inevitable that the whisperings which went on in the Cockpit did not entirely escape attention. The King had no idea that his daughter was disloyal to him and his wife; no one told him, simply because he would not have believed it if they had and, moreover, he would have been seriously displeased with the informer. All through James’s life he had failed to see what was significant and important to his own well-being. He wanted a loving, loyal daughter and he would convince himself he had one no matter what evidence was produced to the contrary.

There was more than the spiteful gossip at the Cockpit. Deep plans were being laid at The Hague. Even those men such as Lord Sunderland, James’s Prime Minister, whom James trusted completely, had eyes on The Hague. While James acted with caution, he was safe; but one false step could send him hurtling from his seat; these men knew it, and they wanted to be on the right side when that moment came. Back and forth between Whitehall and The Hague went the Protestant spies and the Catholic spies. Anne was writing frequently to her sister in Holland. Anne was a staunch Protestant and when she rode through the streets the people cheered her with more fervor than the Catholics thought desirable, so they decided that a watch should be kept on the Princess Anne and spies should be placed in her household without her knowledge.

As a result of this, two men met along the riverbank not far from Whitehall.

The elder drew the younger into the shadow of a tree and said: “You know what is expected of you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your task should not be difficult. The Princess and her familiar are not discreet. Memorize what you hear and we will meet frequently … though not always in the same place … and you can make your reports to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you spoken to Gwin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He has been some time in the employ of the Princess so may have to be handled with a little care. But he is a good Catholic and therefore we may rely on him.”

“There is one thing, sir. These places are going to be costly. Lady Churchill has the disposing of them and she is a greedy woman.”

“We have considered that. You need have no fear. We will pay her prices for you and Gwin to get these pages’ places. Then … to work.”

Sarah was smug. John had been delighted when he had heard; she was his clever wife, but never yet had she made a bargain like this one.

“It is but a beginning,” she told him airily. “I sold the two places for one thousand two hundred pounds. It shows what can be obtained for the favors I shall have to dispose of.”

“And what manner of men are they to be able to pay such prices?”

“Pages merely, whose tasks will be to stand at the doors of the rooms awaiting orders. They must have rich friends.”

“Doubtless, which is our good fortune as well as theirs.”

But Sarah’s pleasure did not last.

Anne sent for her a few weeks after the two pages had been installed and Anne was clearly shaken.

“News from Holland which is most disturbing,” cried Anne. “Those new pages are Roman Catholics. My sister’s friends over here have informed her of this and she says they must be dismissed at once.”

“Dismissed!” fumed Sarah. “And since when has the Princess of Orange commanded this household?”

“She says that it would be dangerous to keep them, that they would spy on us and could prove to be very harmful.”

“They are innocent enough.”

“But did you know when you found them for the posts that they were Catholics?”

“They did not tell me so.”

“They will have to go,” said Anne more firmly than she usually spoke.

“Go!” blustered Sarah, thinking of the twelve hundred pounds which had been paid to her. “But, Mrs. Morley, they have already been accepted.”

“My sister is very determined that they shall go.”

Sarah’s eyes blazed suddenly, but she saw that Anne’s mouth was determined. Anne was growing more and more involved in conspiracy every day. She knew that the Prince and Princess of Orange deplored her father’s religious leanings; her sister’s letters brought a great excitement into her life. Mary and William were coming to England as soon as an opportunity offered itself. Mary would be Queen, for the people would not endure a Catholic on the throne and after Mary … Queen Anne! She put her hands on her swollen body. Who knew, she might be carrying the future King of England! She must be careful—for the sake of the child, for her own sake. She must show no favor to Catholics; nor would she have them in positions in her household where they could spy on her.

She guessed what happened. Sarah was always in need of money and had sold the places for a high future. That was legitimate enough, for it was a custom at Court. But she reckoned Sarah had bargained more advantageously than most were able to.

It was a pity to spoil Sarah’s bargain, but she could not help it. She would not agree with Sarah over this.

“The Catholic pages must go,” she said.

Sarah was furious, but what could she do?

The pages were dismissed and although Sarah refused to pay back the whole of the twelve hundred pounds declaring that they had spent a few weeks in their posts and must perforce pay for that privilege, she was so much the poorer.

Laurence Hyde, Earl of Rochester, called to see his niece the Princess Anne. Rochester was disturbed. He was well aware of the trouble for which his brother-in-law, the King, was heading, and Rochester had tried to be an honest man. He was the Lord Treasurer and he believed that if James would but desert Catholicism his reign could continue in peace and prosperity. James was a King who took his duties more seriously than his brother Charles had done; but he was incapable of understanding human nature and he completely lacked Charles’ ability to twist and turn himself out of trouble; James, in Rochester’s opinion, was a foolish man, and in this dangerous age a fool had very little hope of survival; and the Queen was an evil influence, because she was Catholic; he had hoped that James’s mistress Catherine Sedley would be able to detach the King from the Catholics, but this plan had failed and James had been reluctantly obliged to send Catherine to Ireland after bestowing on her the title of Lady Dorchester. Catherine would not remain there, and when she returned doubtless James would be as infatuated as ever; but meanwhile the situation was worsening.

The Cockpit was the center of scandalous gossip; he knew that letters were going back and forth between Anne and Mary, and what Anne wrote to her sister could only be imagined. Yet James could not see that his daughters were at the very heart of the conspiracy against him.

But Rochester was not calling at the Cockpit to remonstrate with his niece on these matters; it was a much more personal affair. Anne had no conception of how to use money. Her gambling debts were enormous; and Rochester was certain that her favorites were proving a great drain on her.

Anne, like her sister Mary in her youth, was greatly attracted by her own sex. The relationship with Sarah Churchill might have been considered an unhealthy one but for the fact that both the ladies were devoted to their husbands; all the same, one began to ask oneself whether the Princess’s devotion to the Churchill woman did not exceed what she gave to Prince George.

He was ushered into her presence by Lady Churchill who hovered near her mistress.

“Good day to you, uncle. It is a pleasure to see you.” Anne waved a hand for him to sit.

He thought that she was getting far too fat; of course she was pregnant as usual, but in view of her miscarriages and the children who had not lived Rochester wondered whether she was healthy enough to bear strong children.

The youthful pink of her cheeks was deepening; she was far too fleshy. And who could wonder at it? Even now there was a plate of sweets at her elbow and her beautiful plump ringed hands were reaching for one automatically. The Hydes had always been either drinkers or eaters; there was no doubt from which side of the family she had inherited that tendency. He himself was a drinker. With the Stuarts it was women; with the Hydes food and drink. Rochester had always thought the Hyde indulgence the less dangerous, but he was suddenly not so sure.

He glanced at Sarah Churchill, who met his gaze defiantly and seated herself on a tabouret close to her mistress.

“What I have to say to you is for your ears alone,” he told Anne.

“Lady Churchill has my complete confidence.”

Sarah was smiling at him smugly. But he was not going to discuss these matters before a third party. He said with dignity: “I see I must call again when Your Highness is free to see me alone.”

Anne looked alarmed. “Is it so important then?”

“All the more reason …” began Sarah.

Rochester put in: “I will call again,” and he rose.

But Anne’s curiosity was great.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Lady Churchill will not mind in the least.”

Lady Churchill flushed slightly, but Anne went on firmly: “Leave me with my uncle, dear Lady Churchill, and come back later.”

Incidents like this made Sarah so furious that she could scarcely control her rage; Rochester saw this, and thought: The sooner my niece is free of that virago, the better. If she dared she would insist that they change places and she be the mistress.

However, there was nothing Sarah could do, so she walked to the door, head erect, disapproval in every line of her comely figure.

Rochester wondered at which door she would be listening.

“Now, uncle,” Anne prompted placidly.

“A very unpleasant subject, I fear. You are deeply in debt again.”

“Oh, that!” said Anne.

“This time to the tune of seven thousand pounds. A fortune, you will see.”

“But I cannot understand it.”

“You have been losing heavily at cards lately, perhaps. And you are doubtless too generous to … your friends.” He glanced at the door by which Sarah had just left.

“But seven thousand pounds!”

“Which, I fear, has been outstanding for some time; your debts will have to be settled soon or there will be a scandal.”

“But where can I find seven thousand pounds?”

“That is a problem to which you will have to give your thoughts until you find the solution.”

Anne’s jowls were quivering; she was seriously put out. Debts it seemed there must be. But so much—this was incredible.

“Money,” she said plaintively, “is so tiresome. There is never enough of it.”

“Yet there is no one in the kingdom who would not agree that Your Highness, due to your father’s generosity, is more lavishly supplied with this tiresome article than most of us.”

She disliked him; he was not being helpful; he was criticizing her and she hated to be criticized.

“Very well,” she said haughtily. “I suppose I must thank you for bringing this matter to my notice. The debts shall be paid.”

When he left her, dismay replaced her arrogance.

Where was she going to find seven thousand pounds?

Then she knew, for all her life there had been one who had never failed her.

Anne was sitting idly with Sarah and Barbara Fitzharding when there was commotion outside her apartment. A page looked in.

“The King is here,” he said.

“The King!” cried Anne. “Oh, yes. I told him I was in trouble. You had better leave me.”

Sarah who was determined to hear what took place between the King and his daughter, signed to Barbara and, pushing her into a cupboard, shut the door on them.

“But why …” began Barbara.

“Hush!” commanded Sarah, and at that moment James entered his daughter’s apartment.

“My dearest Anne,” said the King, taking his daughter into his arms. “Dear Father, it is good of you to come.”

“And you are well, and taking good care of yourself? You must now, you know.”

“Oh, yes, but I am so upset.”

“You must tell me all about it.”

“Uncle Rochester has been telling me I owe seven thousand pounds.”

“Seven thousand pounds!” cried James. “It is not possible!”

“That’s what I tell him.”

“But if he says so, it must be. My dear daughter, it is not the first time you have been heavily in debt. But seven thousand pounds!”

Anne began to weep quietly.

“There now,” went on the King, “you must not distress yourself. It is not good in your state. I will pay the seven thousand pounds.”

“You are a good father to me!”

“You are my dearest daughter. Now that Mary seems so far away, and how can I know …” The tears were in his eyes. “I fear her husband has come between us and we are not good friends as we used to be. But it is different with you. You are my dear daughter and nothing shall come between us. George is a good husband and if you are happy with him that is all I shall ever ask of him. Now you are no longer worried about this money?”

“No, Father.”

“But I must speak to you on this matter very seriously, my dear. You must consider your expenditure in the future. Do not bet so recklessly with the cards; and I know that you are far too generous with those about you. Your heart is too soft, my dear. Those who serve you should be content enough to do so. They have well-paid posts and many advantages, which I fancy they are not slow to take. There is no need for you to shower gifts on them. It is no wonder that my dearest daughter cannot pay her debts when she gives so much away.”

She embraced him and thanked him.

Now, he told her, she must put all unpleasant matters from her mind; she must forget this wretched seven thousand pounds which he would take care of. But in the future, to please him, and for her own sake, she must promise to be more careful.

“I promise, dear Father,” she answered.

He would have liked to linger, to talk of her health and the old days when she and her sister Mary had played together with him and their mother. Anne had heard too much of those days and now that he had promised to take care of the debt, she was anxious to be rid of him; but she was touched by his goodness and she was sincere when she told him he was a good father to her.

As soon as he had gone Sarah and Barbara Fitzharding burst out of the cupboard.

“So,” cried Sarah, “Mansell has come to the rescue, and so he should. He has plenty.”

“He is a good father,” said Anne placidly.

“Over ready to tell you what you should do!” commented Sarah. “There are some who say he should look to his own conduct. The Sedley woman who now calls herself Countess of Dorchester will soon be back to make more scandal, I’ll swear. Then Mr. Mansell might more profitably give himself some good advice.”

Sarah was angry with the King. The gifts Anne bestowed on her were very welcome and she and John were becoming rich. Surely people like herself and John should be rewarded for all they did.

“The real villain,” she went on, “is your uncle, that old rascal Rochester.”

She would never forgive him for more or less ordering her from the apartment.

Rochester had resigned from the Treasury. He could not serve under James because he could see that gradually the King was introducing Catholics into the most important posts. Robert Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, took his place.

It was characteristic of James that he should have allowed his good friend and brother-in-law to be ousted by a man like Sunderland.

Rochester deplored the King’s Catholicism, but at the same time he believed that James was the rightful heir and would have done everything in his power to keep him on the throne. It was true that Rochester had tried to use Catherine Sedley to break the Queen’s influence with James, but he had been convinced that by favoring Catholics the King was bringing himself closer to disaster.

Sunderland had let James believe that he had become converted to Catholicism, but he was a schemer by nature and in fact was in close touch with William and Mary by means of his wife, who corresponded with the Princess of Orange frequently, letting her know all that she could discover of what was happening at the English Court.

Sunderland’s great plan was to alienate James from the Hydes—Lord Clarendon who had been sent to Ireland and Lord Rochester who had been the Lord Treasurer—and this he did through the Queen. The result was that not only was Rochester impelled to resign his office but Clarendon was recalled from Ireland.

Thus James continued to lose his friends and surround himself with fickle friends, many of whom were waiting for the moment to destroy him.

Now that Sunderland was Lord Treasurer and as such concerned himself with the Princess’s expenditure, which still exceeded that of her income, Sarah turned her venom against him.

It was only right, she said, that the Princess of Orange should know what a snake he was, and who could keep her sister informed of what was going on in London as clearly as Anne.

So carefully had Sunderland cloaked his true motives that the Cockpit was unaware that he was really working for the same cause as they were: the deposing of James and the setting up of Mary in his place.

Anne had hoped to visit The Hague during the following spring but James, being unsure of his son-in-law and a little anxious on account of his daughter’s health, for he was convinced her miscarriages must have enfeebled her, told her that she must postpone all thoughts of the visit for a while.

Anne pretended to be more angry than she was, for secretly she was not anxious to undergo the discomforts of the journey; but, nevertheless, with Sarah’s help she wrote a venomous letter to her sister.

I am denied the satisfaction of seeing you, my dearest sister, this spring though the King gave me leave when I first asked it. I impute this to Lord Sunderland, for the King trusts him with everything, and, he, going on so fiercely in the interests of the papists, is afraid you should be told a true character of him.…

Sarah sat beside her and nodded her approval.

“You should elaborate a little on that, Mrs. Morley, for I am of the opinion that the Princess of Orange should be warned of this man.”

Anne took up her pen and continued:

You may remember I have once before ventured to tell you that I thought my Lord Sunderland a very ill man, and I am more confirmed every day in that opinion. Everyone knows how often this man turned backward and forward in the late King’s time, and now to complete all his virtues he is working with all his might to bring in popery. He is perpetually with the priests, and stirs up the King to do things faster than I believe he would himself.

“That,” said Sarah, with a chuckle, “should warn them. Caliban will be in no mood to tolerate the fellow when he hears of that. But you should tell them of how he hears mass, for instance.”

This worthy lord [went on Anne], does not go publicly to Mass but hears it privately in a priest’s chamber. His lady is as extraordinary in her kind, for she is a flattering, dissembling, false woman; but she has so fawning and endearing a way that she will deceive anybody at first and it is not possible to find out all her ways in a little time.…

The friends smiled at each other.

“That,” said Sarah, “will give them a good idea of Rogers and Rogers’ wife.” Rogers was the name they had given the Sunderlands.

Anne and Sarah had no idea that certain members of their household were sending information about the happenings in the Cockpit to The Hague; and that the Princess of Orange was learning how very much her sister was under the influence of Lady Churchill.

The venomous attacks on various personalities of the Court could not, Mary guessed, have been written by Anne alone. Mary wrote a personal letter to her sister warning her that the reports she received of Lady Churchill did not altogether please her and she begged her sister to be a little more discreet with her woman.

Sarah was with Anne when this letter arrived and as she read it, her face was flooded with angry color.

“There are people who wish you ill, Mrs. Morley,” she declared. “That is the reason why they wish to separate us. They know how I carry your welfare in my heart; they know that I would serve you with my life. Oh, it is clear to me that ill-wishers have done this.”

“It is folly, Sarah. But I will put this right. I will tell my sister immediately how good you are.”

Sarah angrily took the pen from Anne’s hand and wrote:

Sorry people have taken such pains to give so ill a character of Lady Churchill. I believe there is nobody in the world has better notions of religion than she has. It is true she is not so strict as some are, nor does she keep such a bustle with religion; which I confess I think is never the worse, for one sees so many saints mere devils, that if one be a good Christian, the less show one makes the better in my opinion. Then, as for moral principles, it is impossible to have better, and without all that, lifting up of the hands and eyes, and often going to church will prove but a lame devotion. One thing more I must say for her which is that she has a true sense of the doctrine of our Church, and abhors all the principles of the church of Rome. As to this particular, I assure you she will never change. The same thing I will venture, now I am on this subject, to say for her lord, for though he is a very faithful servant to King James, and the King is very kind to him, and I believe he will always obey the King in all things that are consistent with religion, yet rather than change

that

, I daresay he will lose all his places and everything he has.…

Sarah looked up. She had written some of the fury out of herself.

“This is the sort of letter,” she said, “I suggest you write to the Princess of Orange. It is monstrous that one who has done nothing but good should be so slandered. But I know that my dear Mrs. Morley will not allow this injustice to pass. I know she will write this letter to her sister.”

“You may trust me, my dear Mrs. Freeman,” Anne promised her.

Sarah left Anne to write her letters and went to her own apartments to cool off her temper.

The Princess of Orange had never liked her. A pretty state of affairs if she should return and take the throne. Who knew what influence she would try to exert over Anne—she, and her Caliban of a husband.

Anne could be a sentimental fool. Like her father she was often brooding on the old days of childhood. It was “Dear Mary this” and “Dear Mary that.”

Well, thought Sarah, not even the Queen of England shall insult Sarah Churchill.

Sarah came running into her mistress’s apartments. She was flushed and breathless and before she spoke Anne saw that something had happened to upset her.

“You have not yet heard the rumors,” said Sarah. “I can see that.”

“Tell me, Sarah, what is it?”

“The Queen believes that she may be pregnant.”

Anne started at Sarah; not until this moment had the Princess realized how deep were her desires, how ambitious she had become.

The Queen pregnant! What if she should be brought to bed of a son. That would be the end of all Anne’s dreams. If she had a half brother, neither she nor Mary could come to the throne.

THE WARMING-PAN SCANDAL

s soon as the news was made public the Court and country was alive with speculation. “This is the end of hope,” said some. Others retorted: “On the contrary, this is the beginning. This is the chance.”

There were some who said that if James had a son who was Prince of Wales and rightful heir to the throne, the people would have no one but him to be King.

A boy brought up to be a Catholic? And did they think his father and mother would allow him to be brought up otherwise? Then there would be no doubt whatever of the old religion coming back. And were the people going to endure that?

James and his Queen were overjoyed. Neither of them seemed conscious of the trouble all about them. James went on bringing in unpopular measures which favored Catholics; and in the streets the people cried: “No popery.”

Anne spent her days in discussion with Sarah. It must not happen, they said; and because it would be the end of all their hopes they believed it never would.

No one was sure who started the rumor that the Queen was not really pregnant but was pretending to be. The theme of these rumors was that the King was so desirous of bringing back the Catholic faith to England that he would foist a spurious baby on the country if necessary. The child would be brought up as a Catholic; he would have only Catholics about him; and how easy it would be when all the important positions were in the hands of papists, and the King was a papist, to turn the whole country back to Rome!

Anne liked this rumor; it appealed to her love of intrigue as well as to her ambition; with Sarah’s help she sought to keep it alive.

She wrote to Mary:

Mansell’s wife looks better than she ever did which is not usual. I believe that her great belly is a false one. She is positive that the child will be a son, and the principle of that religion being such that they will stick at nothing, be it never so wicked if it will promote their interest, indicates that some foul play is intended.

In Holland Mary read her sister’s letters and showed them to her husband, whom she obeyed in all things. It was very comforting to them that the rumors were being spread in England.

James, having heard nothing of the rumors, continued delighted, while he deluded himself that his dear daughters were as pleased at the prospect of a birth in the family as he was.

Mary Beatrice, the Queen, was better informed, although she knew that it was quite impossible to make James face the fact that Anne was not the devoted daughter he believed her to be. She herself was bewildered because she had always been on good terms with both her stepdaughters and at first believed that others were poisoning Anne’s mind against her.

But Anne’s behavior at the Queen’s toilet—at which it was the Princess’s duty to attend—began to worry Mary Beatrice. Anne was continually spying on her, attempting to feel her body, to catch glimpses of her naked, and Mary Beatrice, who had a great sense of her own dignity, became very resentful.

The more obvious this became, the more Anne turned against her stepmother; she was now doing everything possible to convince her sister Mary that the Queen was posing as a pregnant woman when she was not so at all.

On one occasion Anne, leaning forward to help her stepmother with her chemise, attempted to touch her body. Mary Beatrice was suddenly so angry that she lifted a glove which lay on a table and struck Anne across the face with it.

Anne drew back in astonishment.

“Your Majesty …” she stammered.

But the Queen threw the glove back on to the table and stared straight in front of her.

Anne returned to her own apartments and it was not long before Sarah came hurrying to her, for the story of the slap in the face had been quickly spread.

“The insolence!” cried Sarah.

“She would reply to that, that she is the Queen.”

“For the moment,” said Sarah darkly. “Oh, it’s clear to me that she is a guilty woman. Why, if she were not, should she fly into such a passion? I think you should write to your sister. This is a terrible thing which is about to burst on our country.”

So under Sarah’s guidance Anne wrote once more to Mary.

She should, to convince the world, make either me or some of my friends feel her belly. But whenever one talks with her being with child she looks as if she is afraid one should touch her. I believe when she is brought to bed nobody will be convinced it is her child, except it prove a daughter.

This letter brought an unexpected and alarming response. Mary wrote to Anne telling her that in view of all these doubts as to whether or not the Queen was pregnant, she and the Prince had decided that it was desirable that they should come to England to see for themselves whether in fact the Queen was about to bear a child.

Anne was shaking with dismay when she read that letter. She remembered all that she had said of her father to her sister; and she feared that if Mary and James met, too much would be revealed and he would be able to tell Mary that he had been maligned.

If Mary came to England now, if she talked with their father, if she pointed out to him the folly of his ways … which she might well do, for Anne did not believe that—although she would support William in everything—Mary wished to see her father deposed … there might be a reconciliation between them.

Anne was too stupid to be a subtle intriguer; Sarah was too hasty.

Here was an awkward situation. How were they going to extricate themselves?

Together they found the answer.

“If either of you should come,” wrote Anne, “I should be very glad to see you, but really if you or the Prince should come I should be frightened out of my wits for fear any harm should happen to either of you.”

Mary’s reply to that was that Anne must be present at the birth. She must make sure that the baby was in fact the son of her father and the Queen.

Anne, who had been rather alarmed by the turn of events and desperately disappointed at the possibility of being deprived of her ambition, and at the same time weakened in health by yet another miscarriage, developed a fever and was confined to her bed.

The King came to visit her.

He sat by the bed and held her hand, and when she opened her eyes she recognized him and smiled, for she had forgotten all the trouble of the last months and thought she was a child again.

“Dear Father,” she murmured; and James’s eyes filled with tears.

“My beloved,” he said, “you must get well. You know what you mean to me. I could never be truly happy without you.”

She was aware of George on the other side of the bed; and the presence of these two comforted her.

Sarah, who found that her authority was weakened when Anne was not there to help her enforce it, was terrified that Anne was going to die. It was clearly brought home to her that Anne was necessary to her future—hers and John’s. If Anne were to die now, what would become of them? They would rise in the world, she was sure of that; but it would take them years to recover what they would lose with the removal of Anne.

Anne was of vital importance to them; Anne must live; and when she was recovered they must be closer than ever.

As soon as Sarah could get into the sickroom, she nursed Anne. She amazed everyone with her efficiency, for no one had thought she would make a good nurse; she was gentle with the patient, although fiercely authoritative with everyone else. As for Anne, she drew strength from Sarah and when Sarah said: “You will get well!” Anne believed her.

The King and Prince George had to be grateful to Sarah Churchill, although they could not like her, and under Sarah’s ministrations Anne recovered more speedily than was hoped.

As the time for the Queen’s confinement drew nearer the excitement increased.

Mary Beatrice had said that she would lie in at Windsor.

Anne and Sarah smiled significantly when they heard this.

“Naturally,” said Sarah. “Why at Windsor it will not be so easy to summon those people who should be at her bedside. Can you not imagine it, Mrs. Morley? It will be: ‘My pains are beginning. Come quickly.’ And by the time all those who should witness the birth have arrived, there will be a bonny baby in the bed!”

“Oh, the wickedness!” cried Anne.

It may have been that some of the Queen’s friends were aware of this rumor, for shortly afterward she changed her mind and said that she would lie in at St. James’s.

“St. James’s!” said Anne. “Such a bustle there was about lying in at Windsor and now it is to be St. James’s. St. James’s is a better place to cheat in.”

It was surprising how she and Sarah made each other believe these spiteful observations. Both knew that St. James’s was the palace in which the Queens usually gave birth to their children, Whitehall being unsuitable since it was more or less a public place in which people could enter night and day. It was noisy; matters of state were dealt with there; and the apartments of the Queen looked straight on to the river along which there was constant traffic. St. James’s on the other hand was an intimate Palace; it had been the home of Mary Beatrice when she had first come to England and she felt sentimental toward it. Therefore naturally she was determined that this most important child should be born in this Palace.

Certain repairs were in progess on her apartments at St. James’s at this time and she gave instructions that they should be hastily finished and her bedroom made ready.

Every small action, every word she spoke, was seized on by her enemies, and made to seem full of significance. Still neither she nor James—least of all James—were aware of the dangers which were overshadowing them, and it never occurred to them that the danger was heightened by the Queen’s condition, for those who had been waiting for an opportunity to depose James saw that they could use the birth of a son for doing so. The cry was: “If there is a son, that son will be brought up as a Catholic. A Catholic King; a Catholic Queen; a Catholic Prince of Wales! There can be no doubt then what the fate of England would be. It must never be allowed to happen.”

There was a whisper in some circles that if a son was born to the King and Queen, William of Orange would come to England and make a bid to take the crown from him on behalf of his wife.

This was a time of tension and great danger—realized by all except the King.

James, with his penchant for falling into trouble just at the time when it could bring him most harm, sent the Archbishop of Canterbury and six bishops to the Tower for asking to be excused from ordering the reading of the Declaration of Indulgence in the churches. The country was filled with horror, and feeling against the King increased.

Anne was growing alarmed at the speed with which tension was rising. Her sister had said that she must be present at the birth and see for herself that the child was genuinely the Queen’s.

This was disturbing because secretly she knew that the Queen was pregnant, and if she were present at the birth how could she continue with this pleasant fantasy? She, who had never had any great desire for action, was becoming too deeply involved. What she liked was to lie on her couch, with Sarah sitting beside her, while she made the most fantastic accusations against anyone they cared to slander. That was quite different from taking an active part.

“I feel very unwell,” she told her father. “I think I shall go to Bath at once.”

He was immediately concerned. “You should be here for the birth,” he said, “but I do not wish you to run any risk of a return of your fever.”

“I fear I should if I remained.”

“Then, my dear, you must go. The Queen will be sorry, but I am sure she will understand.”

The Queen was not in the least sorry. When Anne told her of her decision to leave, Mary Beatrice looked at her coldly. They both remembered the incident of the glove.

“So I shall not be here when Your Majesty lies in,” said Anne demurely.

“It may be that you will have returned by then. I think my confinement will be after July.”

“Oh, Madam, I think you will be brought to bed before I return,” replied Anne.

The Queen did not answer and shortly afterward Anne left.

Repeating the conversation to Sarah, Anne explained: “You will see, the child will be born while I am away.”

“One less witness,” said Sarah. “You can depend upon it.”

This idea pleased them both and they refrained from reminding each other that there was no need for Anne to leave London and it was entirely her own wish that she should go to Bath.

Shortly after, Anne, with a few of her women including Sarah, left London.

The repairs to the apartment in St. James’s Palace were not completed by June and the Queen was growing anxious.

“I am determined to lie in at St. James’s,” she said.

“Your Majesty, there is some work to be completed yet,” she was told.

“Please ask them to hurry,” she replied.

As the days passed she became more and more concerned, seeming to be very fearful of not being able to get to St. James’s in time. Her aversion to Whitehall was unnatural, said her enemies.

All during Saturday, the 9th of June, she was very restless, and she sent to St. James’s to ask how the work was progessing.

“It will be finished, Your Majesty, by the end of the day,” she was told.

“It must be,” she said, “for I believe my time is near and I am determined to lie at St. James’s tonight if I have to lie on the boards.”

Her remarks were noted and her enemies were ready to see deep meaning behind them. Before the Queen settled down to cards once more she sent to St. James’s and the reply came back that the work would be finished before night; her bed was being set up and word would be sent as soon as her apartment was ready.

The play was a little wild that night; the Queen’s eyes were on the door and the eyes of almost everyone else were on the Queen.

It was about ten o’clock when the message arrived breathlessly from St. James’s, to announce that the Queen’s apartments were ready now.

Mary Beatrice half rose in her chair; then she remembered that etiquette demanded the party should not be broken up until the game was completed. She sat impatiently while the play went on as though in fear that the child would be born before she had time to make the short journey from palace to palace.

Her relief was apparent when at eleven the game was completed and she declared her intention of leaving at once. Her sedan chair was brought and because of the solemnity of the occasion, when she was carried from Whitehall through the park to St. James’s, her Chamberlain, Sidney Godolphin, walked beside her chair. James joined the party and contentedly Mary Beatrice took possession of her apartments, there to await the birth which, before it was taking place, was causing more speculation throughout the country than any other had before.

On Trinity Sunday, the 10th of June, the Queen awoke and remembered with relief that she was in her apartments in St. James’s Palace. She found that she was trembling; the child would be born today she was sure. It was not that she was afraid of the pains of birth; heaven knew she longed for the child to be born; but there were too many enemies about her, and those who should have been her friends were turning against her. Anne, her stepdaughter, had, in the last months, grown sly and secretive. What did Anne say of her when she was not there to defend herself? And there was Mary, she whom she had affectionately called her “dear Lemon” because she was married to William of Orange. Had she really detected a coldness in Mary’s letters? She called to one of her women.

“Send for the King,” she said, “and have everyone summoned who should be present when my child is born.”

She left her bed then and sat down on a tabouret to wait.

Margaret Dawson, one of her most trusted women, who had been in the service of the first Duchess of York and had attended the births of Anne and Mary, came hurrying in.

“Your Majesty,” she cried, “has your time come then?”

“It is close, Margaret,” said the Queen.

Margaret saw that the Queen was trembling, and asked if she were cold.

“Strange, is it not?” answered Mary Beatrice. “Cold on a morning in June. Margaret, I am so … uneasy.”

“Your Majesty, it is often thus at this stage.”

“So much depends on this, Margaret. Is the pallet ready?”

“It is not yet aired, Your Majesty.”

“Then have it aired immediately and when this is done I will go to it.”

The pallet was in the next room and as Margaret went to do the Queen’s bidding, the King arrived.

“My dear,” he said, taking the Queen’s hand and kissing it, “has the time come then? Then all those who are at church must be sent for without delay.”

She nodded; for those at church were their enemies, the Protestants, and it was imperative that they should be present at the birth.

“Let me take you to your pallet,” said the King.

“They are airing it now.”

“Then I will make sure that all those who should be here are summoned.”

A warming-pan was being carried into the Queen’s lying-in chamber. Margaret Dawson threw back the quilt, the pan was placed in the bed, and the covers drawn over it.

“The bed must be thoroughly aired,” said Margaret, “before her Majesty gets into it.”

Shortly afterward Lady Sunderland arrived.

“How is it?” she said to Margaret Dawson.

“All well so far. The Queen is in her own bedchamber and will occupy the pallet as soon as it is thoroughly aired. I fancy her time is near.”

Lady Sunderland nodded. “I was in the chapel preparing to take the sacrament,” she said, “but I was told I must come to the Queen at once.”

“It is well that you came,” answered Margaret. “She was sitting on her tabouret shivering when I went in so I want the bed thoroughly warmed.”

“It is a warm morning.”

“But in that state a woman can feel anything. She is so wrought up that I fear the shock will be too much for her—be it boy or girl.”

“Much depends on this child,” agreed Lady Sunderland. “She has asked that just at first none should say whether it is a boy or girl for she feels that the pleasure or the disappointment would be unbearable. This should be made known.”

Margaret nodded.

The King came into the apartment accompanied by Dr. Walgrave and the midwife.

James was clearly anxious. He was talking earnestly to the doctor, making anxious inquiries as to the state of the Queen’s health. The doctor thought that all should go well, but he was a little perturbed by the Queen’s anxiety.

Seeing Lady Sunderland James came to her and expressed his pleasure to see her there.

“We are all anxious about Her Majesty,” said Lady Sunderland. “She is more excited than she has been at previous confinements.”

“She longs so much for a boy,” replied James.

“I have asked the midwife to pull at my dress, Your Majesty, if the child should be a boy, so that no word shall be spoken to excite Her Majesty.”

“You must give me a sign,” said James. “I shall be watching you eagerly. Touch your forehead like this … if it is a boy. If there is no sign I shall know it is a girl. Then I trust the Queen will be able to rest and recover a little before she hears what is the sex of her child.”

It was agreed that that should be the sign and the group broke up as the Queen, accompanied by some of her ladies, came into the apartment.

She got into the bed and it was clear that her pains had started.

Now the room began to fill. The doctors, nurses, midwife, the Queen’s ladies and officers of the household with eighteen members of the privy council came into the room.

Mary Beatrice lay back on her pillows groaning.

By half past nine the atmosphere was stifling because of the crowd assembled there. At the foot of the bed the Privy councillors stood watching.

“Margaret,” called Mary Beatrice.

Margaret came to her mistress and took her hand.

“I cannot endure this,” cried the Queen. “These men staring. Draw the bed curtains.”

Margaret firmly did so.

“Pray stand back,” she said to the men. “It is unseemly that you should crowd about the bed at such a time.”

Shortly afterward the child was born. James was watching Lady Sunderland.

The midwife was bending over the bed. She turned and quickly pulled Lady Sunderland’s dress, and when Lady Sunderland touched her forehead the King gave a cry of joy. But he could not restrain himself, and must have the joyous information confirmed.

“What is it?” he demanded in a loud voice.

The nurse had taken the baby from the midwife. She said in a clear voice which could be heard throughout the apartment: “What Your Majesty desires.”

James seized the arm of the nurse who held the child and said to the privy councillors: “You have witnessed that my son is born.” Then he turned to the nurse and cried: “Make way. Make way for the Prince of Wales.”

Mary Beatrice was exhausted but triumphant; the King could not withhold his joy and knighted Dr. Walgrave in the lying-in chamber. The guns of the Tower were firing salutes, and all over London the bells were ringing. There should be a feast for the poor, and wine with which they could drink the health of the Prince of Wales.

But while the people feasted and drank, they asked themselves what this birth would mean. Were they asked to accept a slice of roasted ox, a flagon of wine—for popery?

This would be the end of Protestant England. Was it what the people wanted? Those might who had forgotten the Smithfield fires, the threat of Spain; but there were many who remembered. They said the Court was full of those who were flirting with Rome, not seriously, but only for the sake of commandeering the high posts because the best way of advancement at Court was through the Catholic Faith. But many were false Catholics; and when the time came they would turn.

It was unfortunate that there should be a son at this stage. But was there truly a son?

On a June morning the Queen’s bed had been warmed by a warming-pan which had been taken into her bed just before she entered it. A warming-pan! A simple homely implement! But it could be significant, for why should not a child be concealed in a warming-pan and put into the bed before the Queen entered it?

A wild idea? But all knew how wily these Catholics were. They would stop at nothing to do what they wanted.

The rumor grew. The boy whom they called the Prince of Wales was not the Queen’s child at all. She had not been pregnant. It had all been a pretence. There were stories which had come from the Cockpit and surely the Princess Anne who lived close to the Queen must know; the Queen would let no one see her without her shift, she would let no one feel her body. Why not? Because she was not pregnant. It was a plot, a wicked plot to bring Catholicism back to England.

And then the confinement. A baby in a warming-pan!

It was a tale that appealed to the people who wanted to believe that the baby who was called the Prince of Wales was not the son of the King and Queen, but a spurious child whom they hoped to foist on the nation for the sake of the Catholic Faith.

When Anne returned to London the air was full of rumors which delighted her.

She was particularly entranced by that of the warming-pan.

She referred to her half brother as the warming-pan baby, and did her best to keep that story alive.

Anne wrote to Mary:

My dear sister can’t imagine the concern and vexation I have been in, that I should be so unfortunate as to be out of town when the Queen was brought to bed, for I shall never more be satisfied whether the child be true or false. It may be that he is our brother, but God knows.…

Each day she waited for news from Holland; she knew that something would have to be done now, for she did not believe William would allow the scandals concerning the Prince of Wales to die down. If the people accepted him as Prince of Wales, what hope would there be of Mary’s coming to the throne, what hope for Anne?

While she waited for news from Holland, she must keep the rumors alive. The Mansell boy must never be accepted as her brother.

Her father was still unpopular in spite of free feasting and drinking. The bishops were still in the Tower. The foolish man, thought Anne, did he not see that by releasing them he would have won more favor than by roasting a few oxen for the poor?

His enemies made certain that the warming-pan story was the great topic of conversation at all the feasting; and one of the foremost of his enemies was his daughter Anne.

There was a great activity at St. James’s as the nursery ceremonies took place. The Prince of Wales must have a governess and the Marchioness of Powis was appointed to this post. His two nurses, Mrs. Royere and Madame Labadie, were already installed; he must have an assistant governess to help the Marchioness and Lady Strickland was chosen for this office. In addition he must have his own laundress and seamstress, four rockers and two pages.

All those who visited him in his cradle declared him to be a bonny child, although in the first hours following his birth there had been a fear that he might succumb to convulsions as other royal children had before him.

There was such anxiety to keep him alive that too many physicians were appointed to look after him and this almost resulted in a fatal accident, for it was decided to give a drug which was believed to be good for babies and this was done; but the physician who had given it did not inform all the other physicians and one of them, not knowing that the child had already had one dose, gave him another.

Mary Beatrice awoke with a start to find no one in her bedchamber. Lady Sunderland, who was lady of the bed for that night, should have been present.

“What has happened?” cried the Queen, while a terrible foreboding came to her.

There was no answer; and as she was about to get out of bed, Lady Sunderland came hurrying in. Mary Beatrice knew at once that something had happened to her son; and when Lady Sunderland told her, she fell fainting back on her pillows.

The news went rapidly round the Court: The Prince is dying.

The King remained on his knees for hours praying for his son; and Mary Beatrice lay without speaking in her bed. Meanwhile the doctors were bleeding the baby and giving him more physic.

For several days the little boy’s life was in danger and Anne wrote gleefully to The Hague:

The Prince of Wales has been ill these three or four days; and if he has been so bad as people say, I believe it will not be long before he is an angel in Heaven.

It would be the best thing, thought Anne. Then it would be as it was in the days before they had heard Mary Beatrice was pregnant.

In a few days time however the little Prince was well again, and this gave rise to a new rumor. The Prince was now a bonny blooming boy; it was strange, was it not, that a few days ago he had been nigh to death? What if the boy who had been brought in to the Queen’s bed by means of a warming-pan was dead—and this healthy boy had been substituted for him?

The twists and turns of the story were becoming farcical, but those who were determined to be rid of James were delighted to accept the rumors as truth.

Now there was a further rumor more important than any that had gone before.

In Holland William of Orange was planning an invasion of England, his object being to depose James and set his wife Mary—James’s eldest daughter—on the throne.

The King could not believe it; he shut his eyes to it. It was impossible, he said. He had always detested William of Orange, but he could not believe that his daughter Mary would ever stand against him.

He did not take the threat seriously. He did not—or would not—face the fact that there were many Englishmen, even those close to him who, even though professing an inclination toward Catholicism, were determined never to have a Catholic monarch on the throne.

While James and his Queen had been rejoicing in the birth of the Prince of Wales, these men had seen in the event the sign for action.

Seven of the most influential men had gone so far as to invite William to come to England. These were Danby and Devonshire, Shrewsbury, Russell, Lumley, the Bishop of London, and Henry Sidney.

The bells which James had caused to ring with joy for the birth of his Prince were in truth tolling for his own defeat.

In the Cockpit Sarah and Anne talked in breathless whispers. It was more than a subject for spiteful gossip now. Revolution was in the air. Caliban was coming.

Anne wondered vaguely whether Caliban would be as kind to her as her father had been; but she looked to Sarah who was slyly pleased. Mary, who suffers from the ague, Sarah was thinking. And William, who will be of no account without her, and then … Anne.

THE FLIGHT OF THE PRINCESS

ord Clarendon called at the Cockpit to see his niece. She kept him waiting a while before receiving him—this was on Sarah’s advice—and when he was brought in, Sarah was sure that she was in position to hear everything.

“My lord,” said Anne, “to what do I owe the honor of this visit. It is rare that you call on me.”

“Your Highness has been out of town lately. I shall be ready to call on you at any time should you have commands for me.”

“You have been with my father?” she asked.

“Yes, Your Highness, and it is of him I would speak. Your Highness knows that preparations are being made in Holland.”

“Everyone is talking of it.”

“The King does not take it seriously enough.”

“Is that so? I had thought him much agitated by the reports.”

“But he does nothing?”

“What should he do?”

“He should gather about him those friends whom he can trust.”

“Ah, uncle, whom can one trust?”

“Those who have never proved themselves false,” retorted Clarendon hotly.

“My father is melancholy. He has heard that the Prince of Orange is soon to embark and that Shrewsbury, Wiltshire, and Sidney are with him. It is disturbing news.”

“The King your father needs advice and he would listen to you.”

“I never speak to the King on state matters,” replied Anne.

“If you showed concern for your father now it would give him great pleasure to know that you were anxious on his account.”

“But I have told you it is not my place to discuss business.”

“Does your Highness realize the danger the King is in?”

“It is not for me to say.”

Clarendon flushed. “As the King’s daughter does Your Highness not consider it is your place to help him?”

“I have never discussed such things with the King,” Anne reiterated coolly. She lifted the watch—which was as large as a clock and which hung at her side. “Why I do declare,” she went on, “it is time to prepare for worship and I must not be late for that.”

Lord Clarendon saw that he was dismissed. He could see, too, that Anne would not help her father; in fact he was not at all sure that she was not secretly pleased that the King’s difficulties were becoming more acute.

Then, thought Clarendon, the rumors I have heard about the treachery in the Cockpit are true.

Clarendon discussed that interview with his brother Laurence.

“The terrible part of it all was that she did not seem to care!” he complained.

“But, brother, have you not heard that many of the evil rumors about the Prince’s birth actually started at the Cockpit?”

“I cannot believe it.”

“Our niece may not possess a brilliant mind but she has a flaming ambition.”

“You think that she wants him … deposed. Oh, I can’t believe that any daughter would be so ungrateful; and he has been good to her.”

“He wears a crown, brother. She covets a crown.”

“But it will not come to her.”

“After Mary it will.”

“I won’t believe it. I won’t. I shall call on her again. I shall try to make her see that she must help her father, because he seems incapable of helping himself.”

“It is what King Charles always feared.”

“But who would have believed it would ever have come to this! He should be rallying the country. He should reform his ways.”

“He has released the bishops.”

“It is not enough. He must let the people know that he will not attempt to foist Catholicism on them. He must gather his faithful friends and prepare for battle. Anne could persuade him I am sure. He would listen to her. You know how he dotes on her since Mary has been under the thumb of Orange. I shall go to her.”

He did; and found her with Sarah, Lady Fitzharding, and others of her ladies.

She received him somewhat insolently and would not dismiss her women, who were dressing her. She smiled at him rather maliciously in the mirror and he thought that she took courage from these women about her. “I know what you have come to speak of, my lord,” she said. “This baby whose entrance into the world … or should I say the Queen’s bed … is causing such a stir.”

“They are saying warming-pans are very commodious these days.” That was Sarah Churchill. An odious woman and an evil influence on the Princess, thought Clarendon.

“Yet it does not need a great deal of space to carry hot coals,” added Lady Fitzharding.

Spy! thought Clarendon. Sister of the woman whom everyone knew was the mistress of Orange. What a strange pair these sisters were! There was Mary, heiress to the throne of England, meekly adoring a husband who treated her harshly; and, Anne her sister, surrounding herself with women for whom she seemed to have more regard than for her own father!

“I do not think, my lord,” retorted Anne, “that you are aware of what the people are saying. It was most unhelpful that those who should have been present at the birth were not there.”

“All those who wished to attend were invited to do so, Your Highness.”

“I was saying that it was unfortunate it should happen when those who should have been present were prevented from being there … and I know that before the birth at Her Majesty’s toilet she would go into her private closet and put on her chemise … so that those whose duty it was to look on her belly were unable to do so.”

The women were tittering; Sarah Churchill laughed out loud.

It was a scene from which Lord Clarendon felt he must escape at once.

He took his leave and went to the King. He could not tell him exactly what had happened for James would not believe him and would be furious, not with Anne, but with him; so he said that he believed that people were endeavoring to poison the Princess Anne’s mind and attempting to make her accept this absurd story of the baby in the warming-pan.

James sent the entire Privy Council to his daughter with an account of what happened at the birth of the Prince.

“This is not necessary,” said Anne, “for I have so much duty to the King that his word is more to me than these depositions.”

Clarendon heard this and was glad of the reply for the King’s sake.

But he was very uneasy and he did not trust his niece.

James was truly alarmed now. He sought to modify his policies but it was too late, for the whole of Protestant England was looking to Holland. Then James made another of his mistakes when he attempted to strengthen his army by bringing in Catholics from Ireland.

The English soldiers sullenly discussed those Irish who had been brought in to fight beside them—the Irish who some forty years before in Cromwell’s day had cried Lilliburlero while they slaughtered the Protestants.

To Purcell’s music words were written and the army began to sing a new song to the old tune and the words inflamed not only the soldiers but the people.

Throughout England that tense autumn it seemed that everyone was singing Lilliburlero, singing it with fervor and indignation.

William set out from Holland, his fleet was scattered by bad weather and he had to return to his own country; but this was only a temporary respite. The next time William made the attempt he reached Torbay in safety; and when the people saw the Orange flags with the motto “Protestant Religion and Liberty,” they welcomed William and drank to his success.

It was the 5th of November. A significant day because this was the anniversary of the Catholic plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament.

James now realized the need for action and marched west with his army. John Churchill was one of his leading generals, but Churchill had his own ideas as to what would be the outcome of the battle. As he saw it, there could be victory for either side; but Churchill was a Protestant; he was also an extremely ambitious man; Sarah and he were pledged to Anne and if James were the victor, then the Prince of Wales would follow him.

So here was Churchill, the King’s general, secretly hoping the King’s enemy would be victorious; and if the King was defeated those who had served him could not expect favors from the new King and Queen. Exile would more likely be their lot.

Churchill was a brilliant soldier; but there was one cause for which he would always fight—the cause of the Churchills.

Churchill left the King at Salisbury and joined William at Axminster. Prince George followed him.

When James heard the news, he knew that he was defeated.

John’s great concern was for Sarah who, at the Cockpit, would be in danger. As soon as he reached Axminster he sent a message telling her she must make her escape from London for he was certain orders would be given for her arrest.

When Sarah heard this news she sprang into action.

“We are in danger,” she told Anne. “William is going to be victorious, for Mr. Freeman and Mr. Morley are now with him, and we are both in danger of arrest.”

“What can we do?” cried Anne.

“There is no need for you to be afraid, dear Mrs. Morley. I will arrange everything. You must tell no one, though. This must be our secret. But we must escape from the Cockpit before our enemies can make us their prisoners.”

Anne nodded, but she was a little disturbed. It had been so much more fun to gossip about plots and intrigues than to be caught up in them; but Sarah was at her best on occasions like this.

“Not a word to Danvers, or your old nurse Buss,” warned Sarah. “Fitzharding will come with us. We can trust her because she is an Orange woman since her sister is Caliban’s mistress.”