Courting Her Highness (71 page)

Shrewsbury, seated at
the Council table, held up the letter.

“My friends,” he said, addressing his fellow members, “I think we can guess what this contains, but if we do not open it, we cannot be sure.”

“It may contain her last wish.”

Shrewsbury smiled at the speaker. “We are in no position for civil war and the people would never accept a papist. If we do not know what her last wish was, we cannot go against it.” He turned to the fire which was burning in the grate and going towards it held the letter up so that all the members of the Council could see it. “Gentlemen,” he went on, “are you of my opinion for the sake of England it is better that this letter remains unread?”

There was a brief pause, then a voice said: “I am of your opinion.”

“And I. And I.”

Shrewsbury smiled. “Unanimous,” he said.

They watched the paper writhing in the flames.

Sarah saw the
messenger approaching. News from England was always eagerly awaited and she had heard already that the state of the Queen’s health was deteriorating.

This, she thought, as she hastened to greet the messenger, could be what we are waiting for.

She knew by the man’s face that it was.

“The Queen …” she began.

“Is dead, Your Grace.”

She snatched the letters from him.

“Marl!” she cried. “Where are you, Marl? The Queen is dead! This is the end of exile.”

The end of
exile! How right she was! There was no longer need to remain abroad. Soon they would be back where the fields were greener, where everything she loved and cherished would be waiting for her.

Marlborough took the news more calmly. So much, he pointed out, depended on who was the next Sovereign of England. If it was the Pretender, their chances of returning to Court were small; but if the new King came from Hanover then he would have no reason to feel anything but gratitude towards Marlborough and his Duchess.

The next days were the most anxious Sarah had ever lived through.

“I should die,” she told John, “if we could not go back now.”

They travelled to Calais to be ready to embark as soon as they knew who was to be the new King.

It was over
, thought Abigail. Shrewsbury and his Council had caused the Queen’s letter to be destroyed. They could guess its contents, and were not going to allow a papist monarch to mount the throne of England merely to salve a Queen’s conscience.

Bolingbroke was not in a position to act. She had seen him and he told her there was nothing they could do. The people, he believed, would soon tire of the German King who in any case showed no eagerness to accept the throne, and then they would be only too glad to turn to James.

But a papist! thought Abigail. Never! If he would but change his religion …

No, there was nothing which could save her now. Oxford had fallen—and she would not be long after him. The Queen’s love alone had kept her in her place and now that was over.

George I had been proclaimed King of England; the people of London were behind him. Marlborough was coming home.

Abigail sent her maid to tell Lord Masham that she wished to see him.

Samuel came at once and she went to him and put her arm through his.

“This is the end, Samuel,” she said. “There will be nothing more for us here.”

“I know,” he answered.

“So we will take the children and go away from Court.”

“It will be a different life for you, Abigail.”

“I know it is the end.”

“Or,” he said, “the beginning.”

She laughed and she was surprised by the warmth in that laughter. “It would depend on the way one looked at it.”

“Do you remember when we first met?” he asked her.

She nodded. “We were watching the Duke of Gloucester drill his boy soldiers in the Park.”

“Neither of us was very important then, Abigail.”

“We were not. And now it’s Lord and Lady Masham, with a family to keep.”

“We’ll go to the country. We’ll buy a manor there.”

“The thought of being a country squire is not distasteful to my lord?”

“I can imagine in some circumstances it would be very pleasant.”

“Yes, Samuel,” she said. “So could I!”

She wondered then whether she meant it. She thought of the joys of Court life, the intrigues and triumphs.

She would never forget the days when it had been necessary to be on good terms with Abigail Hill in order to get a hearing with the Queen. She would always remember the first time Robert Harley had leaned towards her, endearingly, affectionately and said: “We are cousins.”

She would never forget him; she would until she died ask herself with a touch of pain whether in other circumstances it might have been so different.

Revenged she had been, but there was little satisfaction in revenge. She had her sons; her daughter. They would have more children. Perhaps in them she could find the fulfilment she had failed to find in her own life.

It was over. There remained the country. There was no other choice.

The Marlboroughs landed
at Dover to a salute of guns.

“Long live the great Duke of Marlborough!” went up the cry.

Sarah sniffed the air. Oh, how good it was to be back!

And there was Marl. The great Duke once more! The friend of the new King! The people were strewing flowers in their path; they were to ride through London in their glass coach.

“This is how it was after Blenheim!” cried Sarah.

And as the Marlboroughs rode into London, in search of fresh glories, Lord and Lady Masham, with their children, rode out seeking obscurity.

he Marlboroughs might be back in favour but it
was not as it had once been, and Sarah continued to sigh for the old days, when those who craved royal favour knew they must first seek her help.

The new King was quite unlike the last Sovereign. George had little love for England; he made no concessions to his new people and he lacked the Stuart charm—so strong in Charles II and present even in his brother James and in his nieces Mary and Anne. George was a stolid German, who could not speak English, who had imprisoned his wife on suspected adultery and brought his German ministers and mistresses with him. That one mistress should be excessively fat and the other extremely thin was characteristic of him. He was indifferent to ridicule; he was crude and a boor. But the country was behind him for the simple reason that the alternative was a Catholic.

In his Court there was no place for Sarah. The King’s German mistresses were quite unimpressed by this blustering quarrelsome woman. Marlborough was useful, of course, but Sarah could not shut her eyes to the fact that the war had had a disastrous effect upon his health.

But when he rode through the City he was cheered; in fact it was noticed that he received a more enthusiastic welcome than the King; but that was a temporary triumph, and nothing was the same, mourned Sarah.

The new King delighted her by offering Marlborough his old post as Captain-General of the Army; and when John said that he thought it would be wise to refuse she was overcome with rage.

“Why! Why in God’s name! Are you mad, Marl?” she demanded.

“My dearest Sarah, I am not the man I was,” he explained. “I am too old for this most exacting role.”

“Too old! I never heard such nonsense. You’ll take it. Have we come back to tell the world we are too old! What have we been waiting for all this time?”

He embraced her and tried to stroke her lovely hair, which always delighted him, but she tore herself away.

“Marl, what nonsense is this that has got into you?”

“To be a success, a Captain-General must be strong … alert … capable.…”

“Oh, be silent. There are times when I could take a stick to you.”

“I am the best judge of my capabilities.…”

“So you want to rot in the country?” Her eyes were flashing; her hair had fallen loose about her shoulders. He thought how young she looked, and that her hair had lost scarcely any of the bright gold it had had in her youth.

She followed his thoughts and shook her head angrily so that the golden strands waved about her head.

“You don’t age, Sarah,” he said. “Your hair is the same as when we were first married.”

“Sentimental nonsense!” she cried. “You are offered the post of Captain-General and you talk about
hair
. Now, Marl, of course you will take it.”

“Listen, Sarah, I am no longer young. I am ten years older than you. I am not fit for the post.”

“You will take it,” she said.

“I will not.”

When he spoke like that he meant it. There had been occasions during their married life when she had had to bow to his wishes.

“So you have decided this?”

“I cannot take a post which I know I am not fit for. Sarah, for God’s sake, accept the truth. We are no longer young. We must adjust ourselves to this new phase of our lives. We have each other.…”

Again the golden strands were shaken. Then she turned and left him.