Courting Her Highness (61 page)

“The Duchess invited dismissal. She is a virago who plays into the hands of her enemy. I have heard the Duke called one of the most charming men in England and the Queen is still fond of him in spite of his wife.”

“You are a pessimist, Jonathan. There are ways and means. There are two things Marlborough loves in this life besides his military glory—Sarah and money. He’ll stand by Sarah; he’ll refuse to see she brought this on herself. That will go against him. And money? He is a very rich man. How did he become so? Well, his wife was very clever in selling places, I’ll swear.
And in squeezing gifts from her loving mistress. Sarah is a rich woman in her own right. But Marlborough always knew how to feather his nest. I have my friends in every place and they have told me many interesting things. Do you know that during his office the Duke of Marlborough has put away some fifty thousand pounds. How Jonathan? How? As for my lady, she is some way behind her husband with all the royal favour she once enjoyed. Her pickings were a mere twenty-two thousand.”

“Is it possible then that they have filched this from public funds?”

“Where else?” laughed Harley.

“It’s a scandal!”

“It is certainly so. Now, it is our task to see that it is not the secret scandal it has been until now. We will make it a public scandal.”

“I see,” said Swift, “the reason for your visit here tonight.”

Marlborough, white lipped
, came into the bedroom he shared with Sarah, and handed her the copy of
The Examiner
.

“That fellow Swift,” he said. “By God, he dips his pen in poison.”

Sarah read Swift’s article and, clenching the paper in her hand, gave vent to such a spate of fury that Marlborough was afraid for her.

“Calm yourself, my love,” he begged.

“Calm myself. When this sort of thing is being written about us.
You
can be calm!”

The Duke might be outwardly calm but he did not like what he read at all. He thought of the comfortable fortune he and Sarah had set aside; and it was disconcerting to see in cold print such accusations.

“We are surrounded by enemies, Sarah. We are among wolves and tigers.”

“That may be so,” retaliated Sarah, “but these wolves and tigers will find they have to deal with a lion and his lioness.”

“Caution, Sarah. Caution.”

“You have been preaching caution for years.”

“And if you had listened to my sermons, my dearest, we might not have come to this pass.”

“I have had to contend with that tiresome woman until she drove me to show what I really felt for her.”

“If you had but remembered that she was the Queen.”

“Queen! That bundle of blubber! Nay, John, if you will accept these insults, I will not.”

“Sarah, where are you going?”

“I am going to
do
something, John Churchill. I am going to show our enemies—be they royal Queens or paid scribblers—that it is a mistake to cross swords with Sarah Churchill and attempt to taunt the victor of Blenheim.”

“Sarah … Sarah … I beg of you.”

But she flounced away from him. Sarah was listening to no one … not even John.

Sarah unlocked the
drawer and took out the letters. There was a large packet of them and she selected one at random and read it through.

Oh damning letters! Letters betraying a deep and strange affection—careless letters, the kind of letters a lover would write; and the Queen had written these to Sarah Churchill in the days of the foolish fondness Mrs. Morley had felt for Mrs. Freeman.

She took another. It had been written in the days when the Princess Anne so turned against her own father that she plotted against him with her sister Mary and Mary’s husband William. Not the sort of letters which a Queen would wish her subjects to read. And here was another—showing clearly her hatred for her own sister, then Queen Mary, and that “Dutch Abortion” her husband.

Stupid Anne, fat and foolish Queen, who was so unwise as to alienate a woman who could reveal so much.

Sarah was not going to consult with John … dearest but oh so cautious John! Sarah had done with caution.

How many times, she asked herself, have I demeaned myself … waiting in ante-rooms like a Scotchwoman trying to present a petition! How many times have I been told that Her Majesty cannot see me … and she shut away with that whey-faced Abigail Masham, tittering together, laughing because they are insulting the Duchess of Marlborough!

Sarah knew what she was going to do, and she needed no advice from anybody.

She asked Sir David Hamilton, one of the Queen’s physicians, to come to her, and when he came she greeted him graciously and bade him sit down for she wished to talk to him.

He was astonished to be thus summoned, and more so as he began to understand the reason for the invitation.

“I am at the end of my patience,” said Sarah imperiously. “I have asked for audiences with the Queen and always I am refused. I know my enemies have succeeded in working against me, but I am not a woman to accept defeat. You are in attendance upon the Queen?”

“Yes. Her Majesty is in constant need of attention.”

“So you will have no difficulty in taking a message for me.”

“I do not think Her Majesty wishes to receive …”

“She will certainly not wish to hear this message. But nevertheless I am sure she will want to know what I intend doing … before I do it.”

“I am afraid I do not understand Your Grace’s meaning.”

“It is simple. Her Majesty turns her back on me. If she continues in this attitude I shall publish all the letters she has written to me since the earliest days of our friendship. Tell her this. I think she will be prepared to go to great length to prevent this happening.”

“Your Grace cannot be serious.”

“I was never more so.”

“You are threatening the Queen.”

“No. Only threatening to publish her letters.”

Sir David Hamilton bade farewell to the Duchess and went at once to the Queen.

Anne was alarmed
. She thought back over the years of foolish fondness, of absolute trust. How had she betrayed herself? Her intimate life would be exposed to her people. They would read of her wicked conduct towards her own family; and although she now recognized this as wickedness and knew that Sarah Churchill had largely been responsible for making her act as she did, that was no excuse.

How could she ever have been deceived by that woman! But what could she do now?

She sent for Sir David Hamilton and the Duke of Shrewsbury.

“At all costs,” she said firmly, “the Duchess of Marlborough must be prevented from publishing the letters. You must find some way of stopping her.”

Sarah was now growing alarmed on her own account, for Swift’s article was being discussed throughout the Court and in every tavern and coffee house. It would not have surprised her if charges were brought against her for bribery and peculation; and she could not see how, if this were so, she could defend herself. She remembered an occasion when John had been a prisoner in the Tower and how he had come near to losing his life during the reign of William.

When Shrewsbury and Hamilton came to talk to her about the Queen’s letters this fear was uppermost in her mind.

In her blunt fashion she betrayed this to her visitors who immediately saw in her fear a means of gaining their desire.

“Grave charges have been made against Your Grace,” Shrewsbury pointed out.

“You have come to tell me this?” asked Sarah fearfully.

“There is no need, Your Grace, to tell you what you know already,” pointed out Hamilton.

“If such a charge were brought against me I should have no alternative but to publish the Queen’s letters,” bartered Sarah.

She had made her conditions. No charges; no publication of letters.

Since there had been no intention of making a charge at this stage the two men were well pleased with their visit. They were able to return to the Queen and tell her that the Duchess of Marlborough would not publish the letters if no charge was brought against her for helping herself to public funds.

The people in
the streets hated the imperious Duchess. On the other hand they loved the Queen. The stories of the Marlboroughs’ riches were discussed and magnified. Marlborough was the war-monger and what good did war bring the poor? And did they know that since the Queen no longer favoured the Duchess the latter had threatened to publish her letters?

Crowds clustered outside Marlborough House. Sarah listened to their shouts. What was it they were saying?

She shuddered as she listened.

If the Duchess of Marlborough published anything to harm the Queen they would storm Marlborough House; they would drag her into the streets and there they would proceed to tear her to pieces.

Who would have believed, Sarah asked herself, that during the reign of Queen Anne she, who had done so much to put the Queen on the throne and keep her there, should find herself in such a position?

They were saying in the streets that this was the end of the Marlboroughs’ glory. Some might think so. Not Sarah.