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The Countess’s husband, Henry Hyde, Earl of Clarendon was the brother of Anne’s mother and, because of this relationship Flower, Countess of Clarendon, held a high position in the Princess’s household, being the first Lady of the Bedchamber—a post which in Sarah’s opinion clearly should belong to her; but because of Lady Clarendon’s age and the fact that she had long been close to Anne, she wielded great influence. Something of a scholar she deplored Anne’s lack of scholarship and had in fact tried to turn her niece’s interest to something other than cards, gossip, and food; this did not endear her to Anne and made Sarah’s task of turning the Princess against Lady Clarendon simpler than it might have been.
Just at this time, however, Anne’s thoughts were occupied with her pregnancy and Sarah realized that little else interested her except a good game of cards and her food. She grew larger and larger and Sarah was in constant attendance.
She did attempt one or two thrusts at Lady Clarendon.
She was silent one day as she sat with the Princess and, although absorbed as she was with her own concerns, Anne remarked on this—for it was unlike Sarah not to talk incessantly.
“Oh, Madam,” said Sarah distantly, “my lot in your service is not always a comfortable one.”
Anne was alarmed. “My dearest Sarah, what do you mean?”
“Oh … it is the Clarendon creature. What airs she gives herself. I know she is your aunt—but your mother’s family were remarkably fortunate to be linked with royalty. She gives herself airs. And all because she is a Countess and I am plain Mrs. Churchill.”
“It seems wrong that that should be,” said Anne thoughtfully.
Sarah gave her a sharp look. Would she draw herself from her lethargy sufficiently long to remember?
Anne’s father came to visit her at the Cockpit. James had once been handsome, but the events of the last years had been a strain on him and he looked drawn and sallow. He was tall, but not as tall as his brother and although more handsome than Charles, although possessed of a certain dignity of manner, he was singularly lacking in charm.
But as his eyes fell on his daughter his face was lighted by a great affection and he seemed almost young.
“My dearest,” he said, “how are you?”
“Very well, dear father,” Anne told him. “All goes well, they tell me, and I may expect a fine boy.”
“Do not set your hopes on that, my love. Be content with a daughter if a daughter it should be. You have so quickly conceived that I am sure you will have a large family.”
“It is what George and I want more than anything.”
He kissed her gently on the forehead. “It pleases me to see you so happy. Would I could feel as contented for Mary.” His face hardened. “I never wanted that marriage. I feel we have brought a viper into our close family circle.”
“Sarah calls him Caliban. I am sure he is a monster. I cannot understand how dear Mary tolerates him. I am sure I never would.”
“I fear he is subduing her, making her his creature … perhaps trying to turn her against us all. He’ll never do that. I know my Mary.” He smiled sentimentally at Anne. “I thank God for giving me my dearest daughters. So many children I have had and lost; but I always remind myself that I was allowed to keep two. My dearest Mary; my blessed Anne. We shall always love and cherish each other as long as we shall live.”
“Yes, dear father,” said Anne, wondering what there would be for dinner.
“And although I am parted from Mary, I know that she continues to love me dearly. It is a secret, daughter, but I do not wish to have secrets from you. Do not mention this to anyone. But if it were in my power to break that Dutch marriage I would do so. And I believe it might be in my power. There is just cause. Mary is childless and he … the Dutchman … spends his night with another woman.”
“Fitzharding’s sister, Elizabeth Villiers. It is a well-known scandal.”
“A well-known scandal—and my daughter the wife of such a monster! Unfortunately, my dear, your uncle will not have the marriage disturbed. But …”
Anne nodded sleepily. Her father very frequently spent his nights in the beds of his mistresses. Uncle Charles was not looking so well of late; but each night he took one of his mistresses to bed; and it was said that he would not accept his flagging vigor and resorted to artificial means to revive it. Fair enough, whispered his courtiers. Who would not do the like? But what effect was this having on the royal body; and how long could it be expected to stand the strain?
“Well,” said James, “that is not for us to discuss now. And my dear daughter is well and everything is progressing as it should. I can scarcely wait for the good news. I shall be near you, dearest, all the time; and if there is anything you want, all you need do is ask for it. You know your father is never happier than when he is pleasing you.”
All she need do was ask? It was true. He was the most indulgent of parents.
“Father,” she said, “there is one thing I would ask.”
His face lit up with pleasure, “My darling daughter, I promise if it is in my power …”
“It is not for me, Father, but I have a great friend who has not been as well treated as she should be. I believe you are very pleased with the services Colonel Churchill has rendered you?”
“He is a good man, and I believe a faithful friend to me.”
“You need good men and faithful friends, father. Do you think that sometimes we take the goodness of those close to us for granted?”
“It may be so.”
“My best friend and the kindest of my women is plain Mrs. while others who are less kind flaunt great titles. It is our duty, is it not, Father, to reward those who serve us?”
He nodded.
“Why, my blessed one, you are asking that the Churchills be honored in some way?”
“A title for the Colonel, so that Sarah may be Lady Churchill to these women of mine and not plain Mrs.”
James patted her hand. “That does not seem to me to be an insurmountable difficulty,” he said fondly.
Sarah embraced her John. Then she held him at arms’ length.
“Well, Baron Churchill?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Have you a clever wife?”
“The cleverest in the world.”
“John, I only had to ask.”
“She thinks the world of you, as indeed she should.”
Sarah’s eyes were dreamy as she looked into the future. “I can see that she will do anything … just anything … I ask of her. She is in my power … absolutely.”
“Careful, my love.”
She was almost haughty for a moment. “You need not advise me, John Churchill.”
He retreated at once. “I know it well.”
She softened and put her arms about his neck. He was so handsome, so charming, and he had forsaken his rake’s life for her. She saw greatness in him and she was going to build that greatness. He was beginning to understand that now.
They stood looking at each other. This was a partnership. They needed rank, and they had taken the first step toward that, although a barony was not going to be good enough for the Churchills; they wanted wealth (at the moment they were poor, but Sarah would know how to remedy that) and what was more precious than anything to Sarah: Power.
Sarah was as near to loving him as she could love anyone; she saw in him a reflection of herself. He was hers to make and to mold; and she believed she had chosen the finest man in the world on whom to bestow her greatness. She was impatient with a fate which had made her a woman. Had she been a man, she was certain there was no heights to which she would not have arisen; as it was, she would work with John. Together they would stand.
Lord and Lady Churchill—this was the first step.
No wonder they were delighted with each other.
In the Cockpit Lady Churchill was more arrogant than ever; she was, she said, of the frankest nature on earth; but woebetide anyone who tried to be equally frank with her.
With the Princess she was gentle and affectionate—but only to her.
As for Anne, she loved Lady Churchill even more than she had Mrs. Churchill, for it was very comforting to have given so much pleasure to a dear friend.
Anne was sitting alone with her dear friend as she so loved to do.
“Sarah,” she said, “you are pleased with your new title.”
“You can well imagine what pleasure it gives me to stand on equal terms with some of these vipers you have around you, Madam.”
“I trust my aunt has not been unpleasant to you.”
“She is by nature unpleasant. She looks like a mad woman, that one, for all that she tries to talk like a scholar.”
Anne burst into laughter. “Oh, I do see what you mean, Sarah.”
“It is pleasant to amuse you, Madam.”
“When you call me Madam, Sarah, I feel we are too far apart. You are Lady Churchill now but that is a long way beneath the rank of Princess.”
“The rank of Princess,” said Sarah coolly, “is one which can only come through inheritance or marriage. It is not to be earned.”
“When I am with you, dear Sarah, I feel that you are so much more worthy to hold rank than I.”
“Why, Madam, we must all accept the injustices of fate.”
“I could never bring you up to royal level, Sarah, no matter what I did. So, I have been thinking how pleasant it would be if we could be together as … equals.”
Sarah was immediately excited. “How so, Madam?”
“When I was a child I loved giving myself names. So did Mary. It was a kind of game with us. Do you remember Frances Apsley?”
Sarah frowned. Indeed she remembered Frances Apsley, that young woman with whom Mary had formed a passionate friendship; and Anne, who always followed Mary in everything had soon been declaring her devotion to Frances.
“An insipid creature,” said Sarah.
“Compared with you, of course; but Mary and I thought her wonderful. I believe Mary still does. But they have been long separated and Mary is married to William, and Frances to Benjamin Bathurst now. Frances has a brood of children and poor Mary has none … but what was I saying? We all took names for ourselves alone. It was such fun being incognito. Mary was Clorine and Frances was Aurelia—just for themselves—and I was Ziphares and Frances—to me—was Semandra. I should like us to have our own names, Sarah. Simple names, so that we could pretend to be two old gossips.”
Sarah nodded slowly “But, Madam, I think that is an excellent idea.”
“Sarah, I am so pleased. Shall I tell you what names I have chosen—Morley and Freeman. Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman. Then we are of one rank … in fact we are without rank. I think it would give me great pleasure.”
“I think so too,” said Sarah. “Then I shall feel free to talk to you as I so often wish to. The very fact of your being the Princess does I fear come between us.”
“Then Morley and Freeman it shall be. Now we have to decide which is which. You are clever, Sarah, so I am going to make you decide. Who are you going to be, Mrs. Morley or Mrs. Freeman?”
Sarah considered. “Well,” she said, “I am of a very frank and free nature so I think Freeman would best suit me.”
“You have chosen, Mrs. Freeman. Now sit down and tell me the latest news of Mr. Freeman. Mr. Morley is in great spirits and with me is looking forward to the appearance of Baby Morley which I must confess, dear Mrs. Freeman, still seems to me a long way off.”
“You are too impatient, Mrs. Morley. You are like every other mother with a first child. I remember how I was with my Henrietta.”
Anne laughed. “Oh, Mrs. Freeman, I think this was an excellent idea of mine. Already I feel you are different toward me.”
“I believe it is going to make greater freedom between us, Mrs. Morley.”
The Princess Anne was brought to bed of a daughter but almost immediately it became apparent that the child could not survive, and there was scarcely time to baptize the little girl before she died.
Anne was temporarily distressed, but it was easy to comfort her. She was surrounded by loving attention. First there was her husband, plump and genial, to sit by her bed and hold her hand.
“Don’t you fret,” he said in his quaint English. “As soon as you are well enough, dear wife, we will have others.”
There was her father, so anxious on her behalf that it was said he cared for nothing as much as his daughter.
“My poor, dear child,” he mourned. “I understand well your disappointment. But you have shown that you are fertile. Why, scarcely were you married than you were pregnant; as soon as you are up and well there’ll be another. We all share your disappointment; but, my dearest, I can bear anything as long as my beloved child grows better every day.”
“You are the best father a daughter ever had,” she told him.
“Who would not be to the best of daughters?” he answered fondly.
Her stepmother came, with the Queen, both of whom had frequently suffered similar disappointments. They condoled with her, but there was one theme of their conversation: there would soon be a baby in the cradle for Anne.
If it were so, she would be perfectly happy, Anne declared. She had experienced motherhood, briefly and tragically, but it had made her realize that she wanted children. This one had been a girl, but there would be boys; and secretly she reminded herself that one of these boys could be King of England.
Anne had never felt so ambitious as she did lying there in her bed surrounded by all the luxuries her father could think of—ambitious for the son she would have.
The King came to visit her—kind, as ever, but looking older. His smile was merry, but there was a tinge of red in the whites of his eyes.
“Don’t you fret, niece,” he said. “If ever I saw a good stud, it’s our friend George. Don’t waste too much time being the invalid and, by God’s fish, I’ll warrant you’ll soon begin to swell again!”
It was all very gay and she felt secure and happy, sparing a thought now and then for dear Mary who had suffered miscarriages and must have sadly missed her father, stepmother, uncle, aunt, and most of all the kindness of a husband. Dear, dear George, how different he was from that hateful William, who, so reports from Holland had said, blamed Mary for the loss of her children.
What a good family she had, and how comforting it was to feel oneself cherished!
She was so contented that for some days she forgot the existence of Mrs. Freeman, who, to her disgust, was not allowed the liberty which had been hers before. Lady Clarendon had taken charge of the household and naturally the Duke of York paid more attention to his sister by marriage than to his daughter’s favorite woman.
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