“And so have we been since Anne came to the throne, for does not Anne rule us, and is not Anne ruled by Sarah?”
“Ruled by women. Is it a healthy state of affairs, Harry? For I would take the sad story further and say that Marlborough is ruled by his wife—so we might all call ourselves Sarah’s subjects.”
“Has the Queen no will of her own?”
“She has a stubbornness. She comes to a point when she makes up her mind and will not be turned from her opinion—even, I believe, by Sarah. One realizes this by the summing up of opinion which is repeated and repeated in face of all arguments. I often wonder whether even Sarah can break that down. And therein lies my hope.”
“Your hope, Master?”
“Well, do you wish to remain one of Sarah’s subjects?”
“I loathe the woman, but while the Queen is besotted by her how can we help it?”
“There are always ways, my dear fellow. The Marlboroughs are supreme now … at their peak, shall we say. Never can they climb higher than they are at this moment. Now is the time to assess their power, to find their weaknesses.”
“But …”
“I know. I know. We are Marlborough’s men. We are his protégés. To him we owe our advancement. He trusts us. Now we come to his weakness. It is never wise—in politics to trust anyone.”
“I have trusted you.”
“My dear fellow, we are travelling companions—we go together. Your support is useful to me; my influence is useful to you. We are not rivals. We move in unison. It is the Marlboroughs who are our rivals. If we are not careful we shall find that we must agree with Marlborough in all things—and that, like as not, means obeying Sarah—and if we do not, we shall be out.”
St. John shrugged his shoulders.
“You would accept this state of affairs? A great mistake, Harry. Never accept anything unless it is agreeable. Pray accept some more brandy for that at least you know to be agreeable without doubt.”
“So … you intend to work against Marlborough?”
“You express yourself crudely. Let us say this, Harry, if we would advance we do not stand still. We go forward. We explore the territory and assess its advantages. Well, that is what I intend to do.”
“But how?”
Harley laughed. “Can you not guess? I shall tell you then, because we are in this together, St. John. You know that as I march forward I take you with me. That’s agreed, is it not?”
“We have worked together; you have helped me, encouraged me.”
“And when I receive my Government appointment you have yours. We’re in harness, Harry. Don’t forget. Now in what territory would you reconnoitre if you were surveying the coming battle? You are at a loss, Harry. That’s rare with you. In the Queen’s bedchamber, my dear fellow! That is the place. And the time is now. You will see I am ready to go into action.”
Glorious days! thought Sarah. Letters from Marl telling of his plans and his love for her. “I would give up ambition, my hopes for future glory, for the sake of my dearest soul.” They were bound together again and there must be no more follies. She was certain that if by any chance there had been a little truth in the rumour Sunderland had reported to her, Marl had learned his lesson. He would never risk looking at another woman.
She had been down to look at the site for the new Palace. Woodstock was both delightful and romantic. There Henry II had dallied with the Fair Rosamond Clifford, and to avoid the jealousy of Queen Eleanor had had a bower built for her within a maze to which few had the clue. Eleanor determined to destroy her rival, arranged that a skein of silk be put in Rosamond’s pocket that it should be unravelled as she walked through the maze, and thus Eleanor, following the silken clue, was led to the bower where she offered Rosamond a choice between a dagger or a bowl of poison.
Rumour! thought Sarah mockingly, knowing how rumour could arise. But the fact remained that Rosamond died soon after her liaison with the King was made known and there seemed little doubt that Eleanor had had a hand in it.
Sarah could well sympathize with the Queen. I’d be ready with the dagger and the poisoned bowl for any woman Marl preferred to me! she thought. But how foolish! He preferred only her. Did she not carry a letter in her pocket in which he told her so with the utmost emphasis.
The romantic past of Woodstock made even her imaginative. Here the Black Prince had been born; here Elizabeth had been imprisoned; Charles I had sheltered here after the Battle of Edgehill; but now in place of Woodstock there would be Blenheim, and when people passed this way they would not think of Elizabeth or Charles or the Fair Rosamond—they would say: There is Blenheim which commemorates one of the greatest victories in English history made possible by England’s greatest soldier.
It was a beautiful spot; two thousand acres of parkland watered by the River Glyme. Sarah was impatient, and when she had viewed the site engaged Sir Christopher Wren to draw up plans.
Wren of course was getting old and perhaps it was wise to engage another architect to submit his ideas. She had heard that the Controller of Works was doing a very fine job for the Earl of Carlisle, rebuilding his mansion—Castle Howard. He was the rising architect; Wren was the waning one.
“Your Grace should certainly give John Vanbrugh a trial. He’s an amusing fellow besides being an excellent architect. He’s the man who writes those witty plays.”
“He can show me what he can do,” Sarah had said; and as a result the plans submitted by John Vanbrugh had been chosen in preference to those of Wren.
So far so good. But there were troubles in the family circle and again it was Mary. She was only sixteen and very beautiful—perhaps the most beautiful of an extremely handsome family.
She was young, but Sarah had seen since that unfortunate affair at St. Albans that Mary was the sort who needed to be married young.
She had not talked to Marl about their daughter. He was far too indulgent where his daughters were concerned. In fact had he not been so devoted to her they might have joined forces against her. But Marl would never do that. Throughout her stormy relationships with her family John had always done everything in his power to bring her children back to her. “You must listen to your mother. Really she knows best.” And those bold girls of hers—Henrietta and Mary particularly—would fling their arms about his neck and say: “But Papa, you understand. We know you do!” There could have been conflict in the family but for Marl’s complete loyalty to her.
And now there was Mary. She remained sullen and on bad terms with her mother. Really the girl should be whipped. And, Sarah told herself and Mary, if I had more time I might be tempted to do so.
Mary’s lips curled in contemptuous disregard and it was all Sarah could do to prevent herself striking the girl.
In any case she knew that she must get her married quickly.
There were suitors in plenty. In the first place who would not want to mate with the Marlboroughs? And in the second, in spite of her present sullenness, Mary was a very attractive girl.
Lord Tullibardine had tentatively approached Sarah and she was by no means averse to such a match. The Earl of Peterborough’s heir was clearly attracted by the girl; and Lord Huntingdon had hinted that he was interested. Besides these there were others whom Sarah could not consider, but it was obvious that it would be the simplest matter to get Mary married.
But every time Sarah approached the girl she was sullen.
“I have no wish to marry any man you may choose for me.”
“So you intend to die unmarried?” demanded Sarah.
“I did not say that.”
“You will marry whom I choose for you or not at all.”
“Then there is no alternative but to die unmarried,” retorted the insolent creature.