Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II (2 page)

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.