Виктория Холт - Royal Sisters - The Story of the Daughters of James II

“If Your Highness would wish me to keep an eye on the boy …”

“It is what I do wish. I can trust you as I can few people. Will you do this?”

“With all my heart.”

She sat smiling to herself after he had gone. It was pleasant to sit dreamily contemplating what might have been. She could do this without heartbreak. She had her dear husband, her beloved boy, her hopes of inheriting the throne; but romance was sweet.

Sarah came in and found her thus.

“Mulgrave was here, so I learn.”

“Why yes.”

“And what did he want?”

“He came to tell me how my boy conducted himself at the ceremony. Why, Mrs. Freeman, he said that the child behaved like a mature man. I do not think there is another boy in the world to compare with him and that is the truth.”

“My young John must come to be his companion. I am sure they would be good for each other.”

“It shall be so. John Sheffield is a charming man, I think.”

Sarah grunted. “Not much guts I’d say. Remember how he fled at the first sign of trouble?”

“He did not fly. He was sent away to Tangier by my uncle.”

“Some men would have refused to go.”

“Refused to go? Refused the King’s command?”

“Some would have found a way.”

Sarah did not notice the slightly sullen expression about Anne’s mouth, nor the hint of firmness in her voice as she said: “He is going to superintend the Duke’s education.”

“What?” cried Sarah.

Anne had turned away, murmuring: “Oh, not in an official capacity, of course, but I confess I shall be glad to have such an excellent man at hand.”

What of Marlborough? thought Sarah, with difficulty suppressing her anger. If the Duke was to have a Governor naturally it should be Lord Marlborough. But at least Sheffield had not been offered the post officially.

Marlborough should have it, decided Sarah. And I shall see that he gets it.

The Princess Anne was preparing to leave for Windsor Castle. William had been unusually gracious. Not being content with seeing her installed in St. James’s Palace, he offered her Windsor Castle in which to spend the summer with her husband and their son.

Having seen Anne’s interest in John Sheffield, Sarah had decided that if she could do nothing for her husband it was time she brought her son forward, and before they left for Windsor she suggested to Anne that the little Duke should have some boys, near his own age and rank, to play with.

“My John is a little older than he is, but I am sure your boy would find him a good companion.”

Anne who was sorry that Sarah had been put out over the favor she had shown to Sheffield, readily agreed; and it was decided that John Churchill together with three other boys, who were all studying at Eton, should be the companion of the Duke at Windsor.

It was inevitable that Anne should remember her dear Frances Bathurst’s boys; there were two of them of suitable age and they with another named Peter Boscawen were invited to Windsor.

Gloucester was delighted at the prospect of going to Windsor, a castle he had never before visited, and expressed the hope that there would be many towers and bastions to be defended. And what were the fortifications like? he wanted to know.

As they drew nearer to the castle he was clearly pleased with the impressive towers and immediately began planning a battle which should be fought between the new companions he was to have, since his army had not accompanied him to Windsor.

He explored the castle looking for suitable spots to defend, and was delighted when his four companions arrived. John Churchill was a charming boy who had been well prepared by his mother to make himself agreeable to the young Duke; Peter Boscawen was a little older than the others and more serious, but the Bathursts were mischievous and ready for some good sport.

Gloucester immediately called a meeting and explained the plans for the campaign. He had, he said, chosen St. George’s Hall for the action; then the music gallery and the stairs which led to it would represent a castle which had to be defended on one side and taken on the other.

This would be a new kind of game for he would not have all his soldiers to command; but he sent at once back to Campden Hill for his weapons which consisted of swords, muskets, and pikes.

He was eagerly explaining the plans of battle to his parents as he walked with them in Windsor Park. Anne and George exchanged glances; they were both wondering whether the boys understood that they must not be too rough with the young Duke.

Gloucester went on ahead of them as Anne said, “I must speak to Lewis. He must explain to them when our boy is not present. I wish that he did not so love these rough games.”

“You would not have him girlish, my dear,” George soothed.

“No, I would not. But how I wish that he were as strong and healthy looking as those others. I almost wish I had not asked them here. John Churchill is so big and strong.”

“He is several years older than our boy.”

Anne took her husband’s hand and pressed it. “You are a comfort to me,” she said; and she was suddenly angry because of the cruel lampoons which were written about this good man. The latest one which came to her mind explained that he was not quite dead but had to breathe hard to prevent being buried because no one saw any other sign of life in him. He was not stupid, as they implied, thought Anne angrily. He was just good and kind, a lover of peace.

She caught her breath in dismay, for she saw her precious son rolling over and over on the grass; he had come from the top of a steepish slope and there was earth on his face and the stains of grass on his clothes.

“My dearest …” she cried.

George had gone to the child as quickly as his overplump body would allow him; but before he could reach him Gloucester was on his feet.

He stood, legs apart smiling benignly on his parents.

“I must be able to descend hills quickly if I am to defend castles,” he told them with dignity.

Lewis took Peter Boscawen aside and said to him: “Now look here, my boy, you must be the enemy, and you must see that no harm comes to His Highness.”

Peter Boscawen nodded.

“Lose the game, rather. His mother’s orders are that he is not to be hurt on any account. Who will you have on your side?”

“I’ll take young Peter Bathurst.”

Lewis nodded. “I shall be near to give a hand, but be careful. He’s full of fire, but he’s not strong.”

“His head is too big, I think,” commented Peter Boscawen.

“He’s a game one. Won’t say when he has any sort of pain. Think generals have to forget all that. But as I say, have a care.”

Peter Boscawen was a cautious defender of the gallery and stairs, all the time giving way when in combat with Gloucester. But Peter Bathurst could not restrain himself; he became over excited and determined to hold the gallery at all costs. He had slipped the sheath from his sword and as Gloucester began to mount the steps dealt him a blow on his neck which started the blood to flow.

Lewis, horrified, saw what had happened and called: “Truce! Truce for the wounded!”

Gloucester looked at him in astonishment. “What wounded?”

“You, General, are wounded in the neck.”

“I shall not give up for a scratch, man,” cried Gloucester and charged up the stairs sending young Bathurst sprawling.

By the time the fortress was taken, Lewis was at hand with a doctor. The wound was slightly more than Gloucester would admit until the battle was over.

When his mother saw the bandage about his neck she was worried.

There was no way of protecting him, she told George, for he was the bravest boy in the world.