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

A man, thought William, who in some reigns would have been in the Tower. All the same he was the cleverest of doctors and when one was ill one did not think so much of politics.

In any case, thought William, I am surrounded by Jacobites; and such was the spirit of the age, fostered by the spate of writing so often in the form of lampoons and songs, that they must be endured.

Radcliffe came; he examined the King.

What a wreck of a man! he thought. He’s breaking up all over. Spitting blood for years; cough that racks his body; this alone would have killed most men years ago. And his legs? Just a further sign of decay.

There was a touch of contempt in the manner in which he prodded William’s body. A Whig Sovereign who had usurped the throne from the true King and a wreck of a man into the bargain! But a King—with a belief in his own destiny that was an inner vitality which kept him afloat.

“The climate’s no good to you,” said Radcliffe with a touch of mischief. He meant Get back to Holland and leave England for those to whom it belonged. William sensed the insolence. That word “climate” was often used ambiguously in his hearing. How often had he been told that the climate was not good for him.

“Perforce I must endure it,” replied William coldly.

“At Your Majesty’s peril,” continued the doctor.

The man was getting offensive; he need not think that his reputation as a doctor gave him the right to insult the throne.

“And my legs?” asked William tersely.

“I wouldn’t have Your Majesty’s two legs for your three kingdoms,” retorted the doctor.

William was now incensed; if his cane had been handy he might have been tempted to slash it across that insolent face.

“You may retire,” he said coldly.

Radcliffe bowed.

“I do not mean from my presence merely. You are dismissed from the Court.”

Radcliffe bowed again, smiling as though the King had bestowed some honor.

He left the apartment; some minutes later William heard the sound of whistling beneath his window as someone passed by. He looked out. It was Radcliffe on his way, whistling as he went, “Willie the Whig.”

Sarah was jubilant.

“This is our chance at last,” she told her husband. “Anne is delighted. And I can tell you this: Caliban won’t last long. He dismissed Radcliffe for telling him the truth so it must have been mighty unpleasant. Now, John, we can begin to plan.”

Marlborough shared his wife’s enthusiasm. He was in at last; a pleasant state of affairs after years of neglect.

Their son John was a companion of Gloucester’s and it had not taken Sarah long to persuade Anne to appoint him Master of the Horse to the young Duke.

She was in a whirl of excitement, plans flooding into her brain. She asked Anne if she might retire to St. Albans to have a few days with her family, to which Anne replied fondly that she could deny her dear Mrs. Freeman nothing—even leave to absent herself from her.

Those were thrilling days.

“Just think, my dear,” cried Sarah, “Anne will soon be Queen and she will obey me in all things. You are the Governor of Gloucester who will immediately become Prince of Wales. We shall rule the land.”

“A moment, my love. There will be the Parliament to be considered. You have overlooked that. Do you imagine that they are going to stand aside?”

She laughed in his face. “There is something you have overlooked, John Churchill. We have two daughters who will soon be marriageable.”

He stared at her and she went on: “Henrietta is seventeen. Anne is sixteen. Henrietta is ready now for marriage. I intend to see that my girls marry in the right quarter.”

Marlborough marveled at the power of his wife to astonish him; he raised his eyebrows and murmured: “Doubtless you have already decided on matches for our daughters?”

“I am casting my thoughts,” she answered. “Sunderland has a son—so has Godolphin.”

“You are … amazing!”

“Someone has to work for this family. You are the best soldier in the world, John, but sometimes I think you are a little dilatory in other matters.”

“I thought you hated Sunderland.”

“I do not hate his son; and I might find my hatred turning to affection if he belonged to my family.”

“You think Sunderland would …”

“My dear John, in a very short time any family in England is going to think itself fortunate to mate with the Marlboroughs. Mind you, Godolphin will be easier. I shall invite young Francis to visit us and that will give him an opportunity to become better acquainted with the girls.”

She was invincible, he was sure of it. What she wanted she would have by the sheer force of her character.

When they returned to Court a minor irritation awaited them. William had appointed Dr. Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, to be in charge of Gloucester’s education.

Burnet had been with William and Mary in Holland and had done a great deal toward bringing them to England and deposing James. He would possibly not look with favor on a suspected Jacobite like Marlborough and there might be trouble there.

Sarah was angry. Burnet, to whom William owed some loyalty, could easily poison his mind against a man who had come near to losing his life through Jacobite activities. She was for going into battle with Burnet.

Here it was that Marlborough showed himself her superior in tactics.

He listened courteously to Burnet’s plans for the Duke’s education and immediately assured the Bishop that he was ready to accept the rule of a man whom he knew was far more learned than himself. In a very short time Marlborough’s tact and diplomacy had averted a situation which Sarah’s blunt vitality might have made a disaster.

All was going well. Marlborough and Burnet in accord; Henrietta falling in love with Francis Godolphin; his father clearly delighted with the possibility of a union between the Marlboroughs and Godolphins. Charles, Lord Spencer, Sunderland’s son might have to be angled for more insistently, and Marlborough himself was not as eager for the match as Sarah was, which meant that she would have to persuade him of the importance of alliance with the Spencers. Sunderland was an opportunist, she knew, and she had loathed him at one time, but he was one of the richest men in England and his son Charles would be rich one day. Not that money was everything. Power was the goal. And with the Spencers and the Godolphins allied to the Marlboroughs by family ties they would be supreme.

Sarah would bring her husband around to her way of thinking eventually, she had no doubt. And in the meantime she could rejoice in the way the Godolphins were being drawn into her net. And for her son John there should be the greatest triumphs of all … but he was young yet.

All was well then—William’s health was declining rapidly, and although Anne was not well, anyone who would miscarry so frequently and continue to live must be strong. She had had three miscarriages in the last three years.

Never had Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman been so close. Anne liked to sit, her beautiful hands lying in her lap, while she talked of her boy, and Mrs. Freeman betrayed her hopes for her dear daughters.

Such a comfort to talk together of these family affairs! sighed Anne.

When Henrietta Churchill was engaged to Francis Godolphin, Anne said Mrs. Freeman must allow her to give them a useful little wedding gift. This turned out to be five thousand pounds—a useful sum indeed.

“Like her mother she will always be grateful to dear Mrs. Morley,” murmured Mrs. Freeman.

Those were glorious days. To Sarah it seemed that she only had to plan, exert her powerful energy, and what she desired was hers.