It was in one of the latter that Miss Hamilton’s long-felt fears were realised. Turning, twisting, jumping, swinging, Mrs. Wetenhall’s cushion broke from its fastening and even as she cried out in fear and confusion the bundle fell upon the floor with a small thud heard only by those directly in its path, who leaped aside.
While most of the company stood still in amazement and the musicians checked their playing, the Duke of Buckingham acted. Dashing forward he snatched the cushion from the floor, pulled off his sash to swaddle it, cradled it in his arms and proceeded to move about the ballroom, making mewing sounds like a new-born babe and calling ‘Nurse! Nurse!’ at intervals in a loud voice.
The whole room exploded in laughter. Even the King grinned widely before putting an end to the farce by rising to retire. As for poor Mrs. Wetenhall, her vexation and her deep humiliation nearly brought on a total collapse before she was hurried away by her friends, weeping and moaning and begging that no one would tell her husband what had happened.
In the general confusion John found himself left alone until he saw the two Jennings sisters, speaking in furious undertones near the door through which the Hamilton party had just disappeared.
At once he stepped forward to offer his services.
‘My sister must find her governess, the Lady Francis Villiers,’ Frances said eagerly. ‘You come to our rescue, sir, as before. I myself am expected to join Miss Hamilton.’
She hesitated, looking at Sarah, who said gaily, ‘Go sister. Captain Churchill will help me find my way.’
But before she could take the arm he bent towards her a sharp voice checked them.
‘Miss Jennings! I have been searching high and low for you!’
‘And have now found her,’ John said, retreating to make his bow. ‘I therefore take my leave, my lady. Your servant, Miss Sarah.’
She curtseyed low, her lips smiled, her eyes were warm.
John went home to bed without trying to find Godolphin. Tomorrow would be time enough to tell his friend he too had discovered his future.
Chapter Twelve
Though The Prince of Orange had paid his visit to England and gone home again with no obvious agreement either of a military or a matrimonial kind, some progress had been made secretly. Neither the experienced King nor his cautious nephew had been willing to commit themselves beyond this veiled understanding. Charles could not give up altogether his usual source of income, France. Prince William could not lay aside his long-standing distrust of his uncles.
Meanwhile the two Princesses, Mary and Anne, continued to live at Richmond in comfortable, if dull, seclusion. Charles knew that in his endless fight with his parliament they were his most valuable, perhaps his only truly valuable asset. He had ordered that they should be brought up in the Anglican faith, and shown to exercise it in public worship. And that their youth and inexperience should be safe from any kind of exploitation. While their mother was still alive they had appeared rarely at Whitehall and then only upon the formal appearances of the Royal family. It was now very necessary to safeguard them from the influence of a Catholic stepmother.
The Duke of York’s new Duchess was herself a very young woman who in spite of her piety was no bigot. She did not hold it against the two children that their religion, ordered for them by a cynical king to support his shaky throne, made them innocent servants of Satan. She pitied them for it. Besides, they were proof to her that not all her husband’s progeny failed to survive their infancy. She took heart from this knowledge even as her own poor babes continued to sicken and die.
So while the little princesses flourished in the shelter of their pleasant home at Richmond, and Charles continued to make secret bargains with his cousin Louis in France, at the same time quietly but steadfastly opposing Lord Shaftesbury in public, John Churchill made his first careful moves in the siege of Sarah Jenning’s heart.
Perhaps at first he had no thought of marriage. He was in love again, more fully, more ardently, than ever before. He made no attempt to disguise his feelings. Even in his early letters to her he declared his love. Though she gave him no encouragement, he continued to declare it, in warmer terms with each week and month that passed. His only hope, as time went on, lay in the fact that she continued to answer, accepting his devotion, sometimes scolding, but never forbidding him to continue.
Lady Francis Villiers had suspected Captain Churchill’s interest from the night of the ball. She found an occasion to warn Miss Jennings.
‘You have received an almost indecent number of letters and all by the same messenger of the Duchess herself,’ she said. ‘I believe they do not come from her Highness.’
‘You believe truly, my lady,’ Sarah answered.
Her voice was not raised, it was lady-like but firm. Too firm, thought Lady Villiers indignantly, for a chit of her age, speaking to one more than twice her age and an earl’s daughter, too.
‘Then may I know with whom you are in such constant communication?’
‘Why certainly, my lady. It is Captain Churchill, of the King’s Guards, a friend of my sister, Frances. I think you have met Captain Churchill, my lady.’
Lady Villiers had a sharp answer on her tongue, but held it back, for the Princess Anne had run up to them saying, ‘Sarah, Sarah, you must come with me into the garden. There is something I must show you. Come! Come at once!’
‘Your Highness!’ Sarah answered, taking the hand the child held out to her. ‘I may go, my lady?’ she called out laughing, as Anne dragged her away.
Lady Villiers could not refuse. She had nothing to complain of, in fact nothing to refuse. She knew that Miss Jennings had played with the Duke’s younger daughter since the latter was only eight years old. Now the Princess Anne was twelve, a happy child, fond-of her sister Mary, fond of her young step-mother, the new Duchess, fondest of all of this playmate, Jennings, who was, who must be, no longer a rather older child, but a young woman, inspiring the love of a grown man, or at any rate receiving his frequent tributes.
If she had demanded to know what was in the latest letter, would Sarah have let her read it? Very likely. The girl had no modesty. But what next? Lady Villiers had great misgivings.
These were fulfilled, for Captain Churchill arrived at the house in Richmond less than a week later. He brought a written message from the Duke himself to the Princess Mary, with another, at greater length, for the governess of the maids. Since the young man was under the patronage of the Duke there could be no hint of intrigue in his being employed upon this errand.
All the same was it really part of his employment, having delivered the letters, to ask permission to speak with Miss Sarah Jennings? Was she herself correct, bending to the authority in his voice and presence, to yield to this request?
Lady Villiers was astonished at her own behaviour as she sent for the girl and more than ever doubtful of her own wisdom as she stood outside upon the terrace watching the pair walk away across the wide lawn to disappear behind the trimmed yew hedge of the rose garden. With the utmost propriety in his bearing and speech, she acknowledged. And in hers too, the minx.
‘You have made a remarkable conquest there, sir,’ Sarah told her would-be lover. ‘We tremble in her presence as a rule and take all her chidings in silence.’
‘You have never trembled in anyone’s presence,’ John told her. ‘It is we who tremble in yours, for fear of offending you.’
They both laughed, understanding one another’s minds and rejoicing in it. They talked about the affairs of Royalty, the doubtful prospects of the Dutch marriage for the Princess Mary; they talked about the Duke’s growing unpopularity on account of his religion and the open public hatred of the French and of all Papists.
‘So you would have it your future employment and mine are in immediate hazard?’ Sarah asked, with a defiant note in her voice.
‘I greatly fear it. Though I am not actually employed by the Duke. He is graciously pleased to use my services from time to time in memory of my old position in h
is Household. But my true master is the King with his Grace of Monmouth in overall command of the whole standing army. I do but serve in one of the Guards regiments.’
‘But the King’s own. Am I not right?’
She spoke proudly, looking up at him with such admiring bright eyes he had difficulty in not putting his arms round her to take an added reward from her lips.
But he did restrain himself, though they were alone among the roses, out of sight of the house and Lady Villiers, warmed by the sun, fanned by a gentle breeze from the river in the valley below. He longed to tell her all those words of love he continually wrote to her, but she was not ready for such close impact. He feared instant anger, sharp ridicule worse than anger. So he said nothing and they moved on aimlessly, until, beginning to despair of any further advance upon this occasion, he heard Sarah say, ‘My sister Frances is to marry Sir George Hamilton. I believe she hath loved him along while but allowed him to think her mind was set upon others in order to bring him forward.’
John’s heart leaped at these words. That meant Sarah’s mind was upon marriage too. Surely this was a direct hint to him that she would follow her sister’s example in the conduct of her own affair? He replied at once, very seriously, ‘Miss Jennings is a great beauty. She must have inspired many pursuits, many offers.’
‘She has indeed. But by no means all honourable. Even his Highness in early days’
She broke off, abashed for once by the instant hardening of that mouth she so adored in her heart, remembering too late his sister’s notoriety.
‘Miss Frances will marry Sir George then? Will she go with him to live in France? He calls himself Count, doth he not? Friend of de Grammont, the gossip?’
‘It is possible, I suppose.’
She still felt confused by her mistake, though her glimpse of the fiercer side of his nature only excited her greater admiration and further pleasure in his company.
But alas, he was bringing this delightful visit to a close. Already he had guided their steps, politely but firmly, into a path of return to the terrace. Perhaps he would not come again. Perhaps those cherished letters would stop, unless she broke her promise to herself never to encourage his suit until he spoke of marriage as well as love. But that she would never do. For both their sakes, she pleaded with herself. For both.
Lady Villiers was not on the terrace when they reached it. John refused an invitation to re-enter the house for refreshment. His horse must be rested and watered by now, he said. And as for himself, what further refreshment could he need after this precious hour in her company?
The gallantry rang false. It brought bitter tears to Sarah’s heart if not to her eyes. His own were blank and cold as he looked down into her face on leaving. He brought her hand up to his mouth and though his lips trembled a little, the touch was slight and quite impersonal. Lady Villiers, who appeared on the terrace at exactly the right moment to receive his thanks for her welcome, noticed Sarah’s unusual silence and subdued behaviour. This continued for three days after the visit, until the letters began to appear again and the girl’s spirits regained their former excessive exuberance.
John Churchill found he could not live without some hope of succeeding in his pursuit of Miss Jennings. He said as much to Sidney Godolphin, but only got back some useless though sympathetic advice.
‘Do as I have done, John,’ his friend told him. ‘My torments are nearly over. Margaret loves me at last and our families begin to look kindly upon our union.’
‘Union?’ John was astonished.
‘Quietly! You must not take it ill that I have not given you the news before. I dared not. I must wait for final approval from the King and his Majesty is beset with so many cares—’
John put an affectionate arm about his friend’s shoulders. He had always half expected Sidney’s prolonged love affair to come to grief, not suddenly or tragically, but just by fading into a slow, dignified death from a famine of passion on both sides. The lady was not old. but she was no girl, being over twenty years of age. Sidney was near thirty. Moreover Miss Blagge’s friendship with the scholar, writer and thinker, John Evelyn, had never slackened.
‘It is none of his Majesty’s business,’ he said, briskly, ‘And you must see to it that it does not become any of Mr. Evelyn’s business, either.’
Sidney was outraged. He pulled away from his friend.
‘You dare to suggest—’
‘I do not. Indeed I suggest nothing that would hurt or insult such gentle souls—’
All three, he nearly said, but caught back the words. Gentle pious souls! Gentle pious fools! He thought of Sarah. No gentle pious object there, but a strong fortress, a steely defence, a challenge to all his military skill of planned stratagem, ardent attack, unbreakable courage.
‘You will succeed by your patience, which I see is limitless,’ he told his friend. ‘Moreover I do understand from your example that my own purpose must be no less than marriage. I think Sarah hath known this from the start. She as much as told me so in speaking of her sister.’
Godolphin nodded. All the world, by which he meant the Court, had seen how matters lay with Captain Churchill. They were amused by Sarah Jennings’s behaviour, but they laid their odds on her rather than the warrior.
John went to his father. His circumstances were hardly favourable for marriage plans, which he knew well already. But Sir Winston forestalled his son’s confession with one of his own.
‘I have been meaning to disclose my unhappy position to you before, my son.’ Sir Winston said. ‘The fact is I am in debt and can see no way to discharge it. I can no longer afford to live in this house, in this extravagant manner.’
‘But your office?’
‘My office does bring me a certain pattance, but it is all eaten up by the position I am forced to maintain, by my goings to and from my office in Whitehall, by the state your mother feels is due to her, which she never hankered after all the time we suffered at Ashe.’
‘It is very natural,’ John answered. He had enjoyed the sight of his mother at Court, enjoying herself, finding his sisters suitable husbands among the gentry attending there. ‘Would you go back into the country?’ he asked, puzzled by his father’s bitterness.
‘Leaving my debts unpaid?’
‘Wootton is in fine shape, as I saw recently, when I visited there.’
‘I know. Trubb sent me word of it. But, my son, Wootton is entailed upon yourself. I cannot touch it.’
This was a problem indeed, with no immediate solution in view. At any rate, John decided, he would not add to his father’s burden by disclosing his own wish to marry Sarah Jennings. If she had been a great fortune with guardians to be persuaded, or a young widow of means, able to dispose of herself as she wished, then his father’s consent could be taken for granted and thankfully. As it was he laid aside his own ambition out of a strong family loyalty.
‘My dear father,’ he said feelingly, ‘do you think I am so ungrateful for your constant care and goodness to me that I am not ready to repay what I can when it is needed. Let me renounce all my right in Wootton Glanville. Let you rid yourself of your present burden and perhaps find another, smaller estate, still in our native county, where you and my mother can live in comfort without anxiety.’
Sir Winston wept for relief and gratitude. Lady Churchill wept, more in sorrow for the end of magnificance than for anything else. King Charles, who had kept himself informed of all the Churchill family’s activities, was graciously pleased to accept Sir Winston’s offer to resign his post for reasons of health and increasing age. But he persuaded the old man to keep it even if he did not live in London, but only attend at his office from time to time. Sir Winston was no longer a member of Parliament. His seat for Weymouth had been taken by a younger man in the second election of Charles’s reign.
With John’s help the Churchills found a small property at Mintern in Somerset to which they moved in the following year.
So Captain Churchill continued to
write ardent letters to his love and she continued to answer them infrequently, coldly, but still so persistently that his occasional anger, when he vowed to burn her image from his mind forever, was forever drenched by her patient, mildly protesting replies.
In May of that year Godolphin confessed to his friend that he was at last, but secretly, married to Margaret Blagge. He was still acting as a groom of the bedchamber to the King and hoped to be promoted to Master of the Robes, when he might proclaim his marriage. Meanwhile Margaret would stay with their mutual friends, Lord and Lady Berkeley, who were going to live for a while in Paris.
This singularly unromantic tale had no effect upon John whatever, certainly no effect upon the friendship of the two, since they could continue to meet as and when they chose. If John thought Sidney had gained very little from marrying in this fashion, he certainly did not envy him. When, and he no longer said ‘if’ to himself, he married Sarah, it would not be in secret, though there might be little display over the ceremony. And they would be together always, except of course when he was soldiering. He groaned in his frustration as he thought of that confusion of wars in Europe in which he could find no way to take part.
During the whole of the following year Charles and his Court continued in their usual reckless ways. A new fashion began of river games, rowing and swimming in the reaches about Richmond, Isleworth and Teddington, where the water was less fouled than lower down at Hampton and Westminster. Sometimes musicians played and sang from boats on the water to parties on barges. Sometimes a display of fireworks attracted mobs to the banks to watch.
These light-hearted pranks fed the sharp criticism of many writers, but Charles, who understood it, could only wait. He knew what the writers wanted, what Shaftesbury, his enemy in Parliament, wanted. He knew that the popular feeling against the Catholics was near to explosion, but still he waited.
Then in the following year, 1677, events moved at last. Louis of France struck again. Prince William of Orange suffered some reverses. In his distress he found his naturel allies in the United Provinces less enthusiastic than he had hoped. So once again he turned to his uncle in England. A fresh alliance there might strengthen his hand. Holland would never submit to France; they could always flood their land as they had done before when directly attacked. But that long-lasting ruin must be avoided by all possible means.
A Question of Loyalties Page 13
