The Queen's Favourites aka Courting Her Highness (v5) (63 page)

So they, who had been so close once, were widely separated to live lives of their own.

She was content with hers.

It was two years after the death of Marlborough when news reached her of Robert Harley’s death. He was at his house in Albemarle Street when he had been taken ill.

Memories came flooding back as they did when such events occurred. John, her brother, who had been a constant visitor to them since they had lived at Langley Marsh, kept talking of the past.

“It brings it all back,” he said. “It’s odd how you forget … until something like this happens.”

But John forgot more easily; he went off riding with young Samuel who was a favourite with him and was doubtless telling him stories of the old days when he had a command in the Army, and how he had lost it when the Germans came. Abigail remembered how she had fought for John against Marlborough—and lost. It was natural that when Anne was dead and Marlborough high in favour that John should lose his command.

But he was reconciled. He was not rich but he had a comfortable income and that would go to young Samuel in due course.

But as Abigail went about her duties she was thinking of the house in Albemarle Street and how she had gone there in secret to warn, to advise … and to hope.

She thought of Harley often during the months that followed, asking herself whether she would ever be completely rid of this nostalgia for the past which was like a physical pain. But when in October of that year her youngest daughter Elizabeth, who was only fifteen, was taken ill, she nursed her night and day and all past longings were obliterated in fear for the present.

Elizabeth died; and Abigail’s grief overwhelmed her; but it taught her one thing: her life, her emotions, her loyalties were there in Langley Marsh.

Sarah had not
realized, until she lost him, how deeply she had loved her husband. He had been the one to show affection; she had accepted it as her right; she had stood fiercely by him, she had schemed for his sake; but only now did she know how much she needed him.

There was no one in the world who could take his place. The Earl of Coningsby tried. He was a man she and John had known for many years and six months after the funeral he wrote to Sarah offering her marriage.

Sarah read his letters through with astonishment. That anyone could think to take the place of Marl—and so soon! But she wrote to him gently, declining.

It was shortly afterwards that she received another proposal. This amused her because it came from the Duke of Somerset, whose wife had been that lady who had shared the Queen’s favour with Abigail Hill. Moreover, the Duke was a man obsessed by his nobility; he was known as the Proud Duke and some of the court wits had said that his pride in his birth amounted almost to mental derangement. Of course he was one of the premier dukes, sharing that honour with Norfolk; but it was rumoured that even his own children had to stand in his presence and one of them who thought he was asleep, daring to sit, was immediately “fined” £20,000 which was cut out of her inheritance.

Sarah, therefore, reading his dignified offer, was flattered; he must have a very high opinion of her, for one thing she had to admit she lacked was noble birth. Of course as Duchess of Marlborough she stood as high as any, and she would have everyone know it; but such a man as Somerset would certainly consider the Jennings’s and Churchills very humble folk.

Sarah took some pleasure in her reply. “If I were young and handsome as I was, instead of old and faded as I am, and you could lay the empire of the world at my feet, you should never have the heart and hand that once belonged to John, Duke of Marlborough.”

Having despatched this reply she went to John’s study; her thoughts were back to the past and the terrible sense of loss was as strong with her as it had ever been.

She decided that she could no longer delay sorting out his belongings and as she went through the treasures he kept in his cabinet she came upon a package; and when she opened this her own golden hair fell out.

She stared in astonishment. Her hair! Then she remembered that occasion when in a fury she had cut it off and thrown it on his desk. So he had gathered it up and preserved it.

She discovered that she was crying—not the tempestuous sobbing which was characteristic of her—but quietly, heartbrokenly.

She put the hair back into the packet and went to her room. There she lay on her bed, quietly weeping.

“Marl,” she murmured, “why was it so? You should never have left me. We should have gone together. For of what use is life to me without you.”

She continued to
battle her way through life—but much of the old zest was gone. Life had little meaning without Marl. But she was the same Sarah—bellicose, furious, quarrelsome, impulsively going to battle. She had a new name now. “Old Marlborough.” And she was old; she had been sixty-two when the Duke died.

She might have found some contentment in those last years. She was an extremely rich woman—and she had always loved money. She had only two daughters it was true but many grandchildren. But she could never live in harmony with them. She could never resist meddling—neither in the affairs of the country nor those of the family.

She would not be excluded from the country’s affairs and since she had always sought for her opponents in the highest quarters chose the Prime Minister Robert Walpole as her number one enemy and Queen Caroline, wife of George II—who had now succeeded his father—as the second. Nor did she neglect her own family. Mary, who was perhaps more like herself than any of the others, could never forget how her mother had prevented her marrying the man she believed she had loved. It was true she had been little more than a child at the time, but the memory of that romance remained with her and all through her unsatisfactory marriage she thought of what might have been and blamed her mother.

“You are an ill wife, a cruel daughter and a bad mother,” Sarah screamed at her daughter. “I married you to the chief match in England and if it hadn’t been for me you might have married a country gentleman with nothing more than two thousand a year.”

Mary turned on her mother and cried: “You are an interfering old harridan. You interfered in our lives when we were unable to stop you. You shall not do so now.”

Mary stalked out of her mother’s house and declared she would never enter again.

And Sarah went about the house complaining to everyone who listened—and none dared do otherwise—that she had the most ungrateful daughter in the world. “And as to Montague her husband, he’s a fine specimen of man, I declare!” she shouted. “He behaves as though he’s fifteen although he’s all of fifty-two. He thinks it fun to invite people to his house and into his garden where he squirts them with water. And in his country house he puts vermin in his guests’ beds to make them itch. There’s the Duke of Montague—my daughter Mary’s husband!”

No one pointed out to her that shortly before she had been boasting of marrying Mary to the chief match in England; no one had ever dared point out anything to Sarah, except her daughters, and she quarrelled with them, or her husband, and he was dead.

Nor were her relations any better with Henrietta, who had become the Duchess of Marlborough on the death of her father, for it had been agreed that since the Duke had no sons the title should go to his daughter.

Henrietta was causing quite a scandal. She had always been fond of play-acting and play-actors and had long ago formed a very close friendship with William Congreve, the playwright. She took him into her house, for her husband, Lord Godolphin, gave way to her in all things and when Henrietta went to Bath, Congreve went with her. Henrietta was brought to bed of a girl and it was rumoured that she was Congreve’s daughter.

“A pleasant scandal,” commented Sarah, “for one who bears the proud title of Duchess of Marlborough.”

But there was little she could do about that, for when she called on her daughter she was informed that she was not at home, although Sarah was certain that she was.

She had tried to make Henrietta’s son William, now Lord Blandford, her favourite; and for a time succeeded in doing so. He was affectionately known as Willigo and Sarah fancied she saw a resemblance in him to his grandfather. But only in features. Willigo quickly became known as Lord Worthless, for he loved gay company and was too fond of the bottle. His mother disliked him, although she doted on her youngest daughter—Congreve’s! said Sarah—and consequently Sarah sought to win the affection which he might have given to his mother. But there was little comfort from Willigo. He met a burgomaster’s daughter when he was on the Continent and married her before Sarah could forbid the match.

Still eager not to lose him, Sarah met the girl and even found her charming.

But a year after the marriage Sarah was overcome with grief when Willigo died in a drunken fit. As usual her emotions were manifested in rage.

“I hope the Devil is picking the bones of the man who taught him to drink!” she cried.

She was growing more and more aware of loneliness.

To be old
and lonely—it was a sad fate. There was only one member of the large family who had any real regard for her; and was it due to pity on Lady Dye’s part? Sarah never stopped to consider. She was always right, she believed; and any who disagreed with her was wrong. She told Dye she would call her Cordelia for that was a name most fitting, because she saw herself as a Lear who was driven near to madness by the ingratitude and cruelty of those about her. She could not forbear to meddle, and occupied herself with matchmaking for her grandchildren; and with some difficulty married off Harriet Godolphin to the Duke of Newcastle. She produced Dukes for six of her granddaughters, though for her darling Lady Dye she had looked higher and had selected none less than the Prince of Wales. This was an amazing feat and she almost succeeded in bringing the affair to a successful climax. There were so many points in her favour. Frederick was unpopular and hated his parents, and Sarah and he had this hatred in common for she was at this time deep in her quarrel with Walpole who was supported by the Queen. It was a daring plan. Lady Dye to become a Princess and the royal family to be discountenanced all in one stroke. Frederick had many debts and Sarah was reputed to be the richest woman in England, so there was much to recommend such a marriage.

Such a victory, Sarah believed, would have equalled that of Blenheim. What would Marl think if he could look down from Heaven and see his granddaughter Princess of Wales?

Alas for Sarah! Robert Walpole, the enemy, heard of Sarah’s plans and put an end to them. And Sarah had to be content with the Duke of Bedford for Dye.

And when Dye was married she could not stop herself interfering, telling her granddaughter what was wrong with her town house, what improvements should be made, and quarrelling fiercely with her husband.