Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II

by Jean Plaidy

  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. Bu
rnet, 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.”

  “You think of everything,” said Marlborough fondly.

  Shortly afterward Abigail Hill joined Anne’s household; and it was as Sarah had prophesied; so quiet was she, so humble, so retiring, it was hardly noticed that she was there.

  A new century, thought Sarah. The century of the Churchills. She commanded the household of the Princess Anne. She was looked upon as the future power behind the throne for with every passing week William looked more and more frail.

  Yet he clung to life with the obstinacy of a shriveled leaf in spite of autumn gales.

  In the spring Anne was brought to bed once more and again miscarried. She was sad for a while to think of another child lost. But there was her boy to comfort her and she believed that as he grew older he was growing stronger.

  She herself was feeling the strain of the last miscarriage; Dr. Radcliffe had told her that she must show more restraint at the table and she did try; but it was difficult; and when she had to pass by her favorite dishes she grew melancholy.

  She often felt sick and faint and one evening on rising from the table she felt so ill that she sent for Dr. Radcliffe. Since William had banished him, Dr. Radcliffe had not lived at Court and had often been summoned to the Princess’s bedside and obliged to make a journey through the night from his house. Being certain that Anne was merely suffering from indigestion caused through overeating he declined to go.

  He sent a message back: “Her Highness is not ill. I know her case well. Put her to bed at once and she will be better in the morning.”

  He proved to be right; she was better the next day; but a week later she felt ill again at that same hour which Dr. Radcliffe found inconvenient.

  This time Dr. Radcliffe was more blunt. “Go back to the Princess and tell her that there is nothing wrong with her but the vapors. Let her go to bed and rest and she’ll be better in the morning.”

  Anne was angry and the next time she saw him she told him that on account of his unforgivable conduct his name was no longer on her list of physicians.

  “Was I not right?” he demanded. “Did you not feel better in the morning? There was nothing wrong with you but the vapors.”

  “Nothing would induce me to put you back on my list,” said Anne.

  “Nothing would induce me to come,” retorted the doctor. “I have never hidden my feelings and like as not, on account of them, I’d be accused of poisoning you Whig Sovereigns. So ’tis better as it is.”

  He left in his insolent way, as though having the reputation of being the best doctor in England meant that he could flout royalty without fear of retaliation.

  He was now no longer a Court physician and glad of it.

  Anne forgot her anger over Radcliffe, because her boy’s birthday was approaching. He was eleven years old; he still drilled his soldiers, and under Burnet was becoming very wise. It was fortunate for him that he had a natural aptitude for learning which grew out of his lively curiosity, for Burnet was determined to make him a scholar.

  How delightful he looked on his birthday. He was wearing a special suit which had been made for the occasion. The coat was blue velvet—a color which suited him and made his eyes more vivid than ever; the buttons were diamonds and the Garter ribbon matched the coat; he wore a white periwig which made his head look bigger than ever; but he was a charming figure.

  Anne could not take her eyes from him; she thought: He is the whole meaning of life to me.

  There was flatttery among courtiers, of course, for the heir to the throne, but surely all who saw must admire him as much as they implied.

  He had asked permission to fire his cannon in honor of his parents and when this was given and done he approached them and bowing to them he said in his high clear voice: “Papa and Mama, I wish you both unity, peace, and concord, not for a time but forever.”

  They were both overcome with emotion; George pressed Anne’s hand to show he shared his wife’s pride and emotion in their son.

  “It is a fine compliment,” George told the boy.

  “No, Papa, it is not a compliment; it is sincere.”

  There never was such a boy. Anne had been so often disappointed through the children she had hoped for; there were so many failures that she had to
think hard to remember the number and then she was not sure; but, while she had this son, she was the proudest, happiest mother in the world.

  Young Gloucester sat at the head of the banqueting table and welcomed his guests. All his soldiers were present and taking advantage of the good things to eat, for they needed refreshment after their exertions.

  Dancing followed. Gloucester danced tolerably well although he told his mother he could not abide Old Dog—his name for Mr. Gorey who had been dancing master to Anne and her sister Mary when they were Gloucester’s age—and he felt that dancing was not for soldiers.

  He was very tired when the banquet was over and not sorry to retire to his apartments where he told John Churchill that birthdays were better to be planned for, than to have, and he would rather one big battle any day.

  In their apartments Anne and George sat together reminding each other of how he had danced, how he had reviewed his soldiers, what he had said.

  “I can never thank you enough for giving me such a son,” said Anne.

  “Nay my dear, it is I who should thank you.”

  And they went on to talk of him. They laughed and rejoiced in him.

  “We cannot say we have been unfortunate while we have our boy,” said Anne.

  The next morning when Gloucester’s attendants went to awaken him they found him feeling sick. He said he had a sore throat and did not want to get up.

  This news brought his mother to his bedside immediately, and when she saw his flushed face she was terrified.

  “Send for the physicians!” she cried. They came; but they did not know what ailed the boy. They bled him, but his condition did not improve. Before the day was out he was in a high fever and delirious.

  “Dr. Radcliffe must come,” said Anne. “Go and bring him.”

  “Your Highness, you have dismissed him.”

  “Go and bring him. Tell him I order him to come.”

  Dr. Radcliffe arrived at Windsor in due course but he clearly came reluctantly.