Sarah was in a panic. Just as she had brought her son to Court and was hoping to have her husband proclaimed Governor of the Duke of Gloucester, there was this fresh scare.

So far William had given no honors to Marlborough and although he was allowed to come to Court he was almost as much in the shadows as ever. This could be a further check to her hopes—and as she knew that her husband had been corresponding with the King over the Water, she was terrified of further revelations.

William, however, was well aware of Marlborough’s Jacobite tendencies. But he knew that Marlborough would work for the winning side, and at the moment William was on that. He was turning over in his mind whether Marlborough should be given a post, for he was certain that hope of advancement was the best way of making sure of his loyalty.

William ignored Fenwick’s accusations; the man was found guilty and beheaded on Tower Hill. His goods were confiscated and William took possession of them. One of these, it was remembered later, was a particularly spirited horse named Sorrel, which became one of William’s favorite mounts.

The King returned to Flanders and because of his successes there the Treaty of Ryswick was signed and this, to a war-weary people, caused great rejoicing.

But the event which was somewhat startling to so many was a rumor that William was considering bringing home a bride.

William returned to England, minus a bride. It was only necessary to take a glance at him to realize that there could scarcely be truth in a rumor of that sort. He looked old and wizened; his asthma was noticeably worse; his cough was troublesome and his intimate servants knew that he frequently spat blood; he suffered torments from hemorrhoids and during the last months had begun to feel pains in his legs which had begun to swell alarmingly. He was more irascible than ever, and more liberal with his use of the cane; many of those close to him whispered hopefully together that he could not last much longer.

There was a revival of the old Jacobite songs and often William heard them whistled, although none of them dared sing the words in his hearing. The favorite at the moment was one which had come from Scotland, where most of them originated and called Willie the Whig.

He whiggit us out of our right

And he whiggit us out of laws

And he whiggit us out of our King

Oh, that grieves us worst of all

Popular favor was turning more and more to Anne, and this was largely due to young Gloucester. Crowds gathered to see him drilling his soldiers in the parks; they applauded and called “God bless the Prince.” They were looking forward to the day when he would be their King; they were weary of Dutch William; he would like to have told them that he was weary of them.

Elizabeth Villiers was now the Countess of Orkney and seemed satisfied with her marriage. He met her at Loo, but it was not the old relationship which he had enjoyed for so many years. He was tired and very sick; yet still some belief in his own destiny drove him on and he knew he would never give up his three kingdoms until death overtook him.

It was written that they should be his; and his they had become and should remain until death took him.

He called on Anne. It was necessary to show the people that they were on excellent terms. He had given her St. James’s for a residence; he had allowed her to spend her summers at Windsor. He himself was content with Kensington Palace and most of all Hampton Court. He could not breathe the damp air of Whitehall for long.

He inspected Gloucester’s troops and never did the people cheer him so loyally as when he was in the company of his nephew.

The boy seemed well; perhaps he would grow out of his delicateness, and the water in his head disperse; if this could be, he would make a fine King, one to whom William could happily leave his inheritance.

He talked pleasantly with Anne, curbing the irritability which she always aroused in him.

“My boy is no longer a child,” she was saying. “He should have a governor and I know of none who would fill the post as skillfully as my Lord Marlborough.”

“Marlborough,” repeated William thoughtfully; and he thought of the Fenwick affair and how mischief could always be found for idle hands. Better to have Marlborough occupied at Court, well satisfied than in half-banishment plotting. Marlborough was too clever a fellow to fail every time. “I think it a good choice,” he said.

Anne’s plump cheeks quivered with pleasure.

“I am glad to have Your Majesty’s gracious consent to the appointment,” she replied.

She could scarcely wait for him to leave; she was longing to call her dear Mrs. Freeman to tell her that at last their desire was achieved.

To annoy her, William stayed longer than he had intended, and when he rose he could scarcely walk. He would have to do something about this new complaint in his legs.

Keppel was beside him. Dear Keppel! Beautiful, fresh faced, attentive—for what he could get most likely, but when one was old and weary one was grateful even for bought attentions.

Oh, for the good days, the days when he had felt like a god among men; when the affection of Bentinck and the adoration of Mary had supported him in the role he had chosen for himself.

On horseback he was more comfortable—apart from the accursed hemorrhoids. He had always felt better mounted; he touched his horse’s flanks lightly and they were off. The creature responded to a touch. All his horses knew their master and because he showed more affection for them than he did for many people within their limits they gave him what he wanted—respect and devotion.

In the Palace he said he would rest for a while and told Keppel to send for Dr. Radcliffe who was known to be one of the best doctors in the country. A blunt man, an unashamed Jacobite who had declared openly that he had little time for the Whig Sovereigns. He had been physician to the King of England and if that King was across the water that didn’t mean that others who called themselves Kings were worthy of the name.

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.”

THE GREAT TRAGEDY

arah 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.

Anne, with what Sarah called to Marlborough her constant slobbering over her boy, often drove her to distraction. “I find the need to get away some times.”

“Be careful,” warned Marlborough. “You can be too frank at times.”

“John Churchill, it is my frankness which has endeared me to the fool.”

“Perhaps, but never forget that there are others just waiting for the opportunity to leap into your place.”

“And you think it is as easy as that! They just jump and are there?”

“No, but be careful.”

“Well, I don’t intend to waste all my time playing cards and listening to her gossip! I am going to put someone in to do some of my duties so that I can get away now and then more easily than I have done.”

“Who, in God’s name?”

“I’m thinking of my uncle Hill’s girl. That family will have to be helped in some way, I may as well make use of them.”

“She is doing good work looking after the children at St. Albans.”

“The children are growing up. She shall come into Anne’s bedchamber. She will be so grateful and she is such a mouse no one will notice her. Then I shall be at liberty to get away when I want to, knowing that there will be no smart madam to try too much friendship with old Morley.”

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