Plaidy, Jean - Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II
What if the King had singled him out for some honor! His luck was in. Why should it not continue?
In good spirits he presented himself to the King; but he was a little uneasy when he saw that the Duke of York was also present.
“Ah, my Lord Mulgrave,” said the King genially.
Mulgrave bowed, first to the King, then to the Duke.
Tears came into the Duke’s eyes. A handsome young fellow; his dear Anne was going to be badly hurt. James would never forget Mary’s sorrow. He had never seen a girl cry so much as she had on that dreadful day when he had had to tell her she was to marry Orange. He loved his daughters dearly and could not bear that they should suffer. He himself had married their mother for love. Poor Mary! Poor Anne!
“My lord,” said Charles, “we have sent for you to tell you how much we appreciate your good services.”
Mulgrave found it difficult to hide his relief.
Charles went on: “So much so that we are sending you on a mission to Tangier which we know you will perform with your usual talent.”
“Your Majesty …” gasped Mulgrave.
“Do not waste time in thanks,” said Charles, waving a hand. “You will sail in the morning.”
Mulgrave did not remember how he left the apartment; all he remembered was that he was standing outside, muttering: “Someone has betrayed us.”
Anne was bewildered. There was no one to whom she could turn for comfort but Sarah. It was Sarah who had brought her the news. She had said: “Dearest Madam, I do not want you to hear of this through anyone else. You must be brave. The King has, through some means, discovered your love for Mulgrave, who is now far away … bound for Tangier, I have heard.”
“Sarah!”
The round mouth sagged piteously; the pink of the cheeks had turned to scarlet; and the vague shortsighted eyes were filled with tears.
Sarah gathered her mistress into her arms.
“I am here to comfort you. I will never leave you.”
“Oh, my dearest Sarah, my beloved friend, what should I do without you?”
Sarah rocked the Princess in her arms. Tenderness did not come readily to her so it seemed doubly precious to Anne.
She wept bitterly; she would not be parted from Sarah day or night; they talked constantly of Mulgrave—of his beauty and virtues; and the Princess demanded again and again: “Who could have been so cruel as to have betrayed us?”
“It may be something Your Highness will never discover,” murmured Sarah.
Sarah was with Anne when she went along to look at the portrait of Charles King of Sweden. On horseback, the King was quite magnificent. Anne went close to peer at it.
“He is a very handsome man,” she said.
Sarah admitted it; and was uneasy. There was an air of authority about the figure. And Sweden! Who wanted to go to Sweden. Not John or Sarah Churchill.
Anne liked the portrait though. Sarah threw an impatient look at her, and said sharply: “It would seem, Madam, that you have already forgotten my Lord Mulgrave.”
“No, no, Sarah. I never, never shall.”
“But you like the look of this fellow?”
Anne began to laugh. How like Sarah to refer to the King of Sweden as “this fellow.”
“Sarah,” she said, “you’ll be the death of me!”
“If I can make my Princess smile I am happy.”
“Sarah, Sarah, what should I do without you? When you are there I feel I can endure anything.”
Sarah looked imperiously at the portrait. “Arrogant!” she summed up. “I think we could well do without this fellow in our lives!”
She had made Anne laugh again.
Already she had forgotten Mulgrave. But it would not be so easy to prevent the match with Sweden.
Luck was with Sarah. There was one other who was determined to prevent a marriage between Anne and Charles of Sweden; this was William of Orange, who saw no good to Holland coming from a union between Sweden and England. He expressed his disapproval to his uncle King Charles of England; and as, at that time, Charles wanted William’s friendship, he considered his objections.
But, as Charles pointed out to his brother James, there was need of haste. King Christiern of Denmark had a brother George who was marriageable and it seemed to him that this Prince George might be a desirable bridegroom.
“We have been friendly with Denmark for years,” he pointed out to James. “After all we have Danish blood through our grandmother. What more natural than that Anne should marry this kinsman?”
“We could have a look at him,” agreed James.
“Certainly there can be no harm in looking.”
“I do not want to see her unhappy … as Mary was.”
“Very well. We will invite George over here, have a look at him, and throw the young couple together—”
“As we brought Orange over here? Mary did not stop crying from the moment she knew he was to be her bridegroom to the time she left. If George of Denmark should prove to be another Orange …”
“Nonsense, brother, there could only be one Orange in the world.”
“Then let us invite him to come, and I trust Anne likes him. I would to God daughters never had to reach a marriageable age.”
“Then it’s more than they do. The Mulgrave affair should have shown you that, James. Daughters grow up. And remember this: Anne is not like Mary. She seems already to have forgotten Mulgrave.”
James admitted this was true. But he loved his daughters dearly and longed to see them happy.
Prince George of Denmark arrived in England on a bright summer’s day; he was looking forward with mild pleasure to meeting his bride; but all his emotions were mild, except perhaps his love of food and drink which was excessive; but these indulgences, to whatever excess he carried them, never ruffled his good temper; consequently he was liked, by all who came into contact with him. He was under thirty, already far too plump, but his smile, without which he was rarely seen, was disarming.
Christiern had advised him to do all in his power to bring off the marriage, because it would be excellent for Denmark if ties between the two countries could be strengthened; and George must remember that a Danish princess had married the great grandfather of his prospective bride, so there was even a family connection. Most important of all—there was little for George in Sweden, so it was up to him to seek his fortune overseas.
George knew a great deal about England, through an excellent English friend who would be ready to help him with the language and explain the customs. He had visited England in the company of this friend some years before and had liked what he had seen.
When King Christiern had gone to England to join the celebrations for the Restoration, he had noticed a bright boy of thirteen at the Court and had offered to take him into his service as page. This boy’s name was George Churchill, brother of John and Arabella. Like most of his family, George Churchill was ambitious and he had seen more likelihood, of advancement in Sweden than in England; so to Sweden he went, and Christiern had offered the page to his brother George when he had paid his first visit to England.
“George Churchill will act as your interpreter,” he said. “More than that he will be at your elbow to explain the English customs.”
So useful had George Churchill become that Prince George was eager to keep him in his service.
Thus the two became friends, and when Prince George came to England as suitor to the Princess Anne, it was natural that he should bring George Churchill with him.
Charles smiled at his brother James. “Well, what do you think of our bridegroom? An improvement on the Orange, eh?”
“He is more genial certainly.”
“Who could be less genial than our nephew William? This George looks a man of good temper; and think what he will have in common with our Anne. They will be able to discuss the virtues of marzipan versus chocolate which should prove, to them, an absorbing subject.”
“I do not want to have to break the news to Anne as I did to Mary.”
“Anne is two years older than her sister was when we married her to Orange.”
“All the same I should like to warn her that she should look on Prince George as a possible husband.”
“Is there need to warn her? The whole Court knows the purpose of his visit, so why shouldn’t Anne?”
“I shall tell her,” said James firmly.
The King nodded. “And do not look so sad, brother. Why, according to news from Holland, Mary is now devoted to the husband whom she wept so bitterly to accept.”
“I shall never believe she truly loves him. He is a monster, that Dutchman. He keeps her almost a prisoner, my friends tell me, and she is afraid to voice an opinion. She dare do nothing but agree with everything he says and pretend to the world that she adores him.”
“Our nephew is a man of many parts, brother. We always underrated him. He knows how to rule a wife as well as a country.”
“And he keeps a mistress.”
“Well, James, it would seem to me that neither you nor I are in a position to complain of such a natural failing. How that man creeps into our conversation! I confess I am a little weary of the Prince of Orange. I find the Prince of Denmark a happier subject. Go and speak to your daughter now, James. Tell her to consider the young man from Denmark. Tell her I favor him—and I have no doubt that she will soon do the same.”
The Churchills were a devoted family and as soon as he arrived at the Court, George sought out his brother John, and there was much animated conversation concerning George’s adventures in Denmark and John’s at home.
With pride John introduced his brother to his wife and George soon realized what an unusual woman he had for a sister-in-law.
“Tell us what sort of man the Prince is,” suggested Sarah; “and is he eager for this marriage?”
The Prince of Denmark was genial, George told them; he was easygoing, loving a life of peace, and always affable to those who served him.
“His character is not unlike that of the Princess,” commented Sarah. “They should be a good match.”
“He would live happily with most people,” said George Churchill.
“Easily led,” put in Sarah speculatively.
“But I hear he is a man of valor,” her husband said.
“That is so,” George told them. “If intrepid action is necessary he is capable of it, and when his brother Christiern was taken prisoner by the Swedes he rescued him.”
“I have heard of that occasion,” said John. “It was during the war between Denmark and Sweden.” He turned to Sarah. “Prince George, hearing that his brother was in the hands of the enemy, put himself at the head of some cavalry and broke right through the Swedish lines. They were taken so much by surprise that they allowed him through; he had found his brother and was galloping off with him before they made any attempt to stop him—then it was too late. I call that a brilliant action as well as a brave one.”
“Doubtless it happened before he grew quite so plump,” commented Sarah.
“Ah, you have noticed that the Prince is getting a little corpulent. The pleasures of the table … the pleasures of the vine.”
“One would not expect the man to be a saint,” said John, smiling at Sarah.
“If he were my husband, I should not expect him to be a fool either,” she retorted, “and any man who indulges an appetite is that.”
It was a point to remember, thought John. No more pleasant little adventures with the ladies, Sarah was telling him. He wanted to retort: As if I should want to, now that I have my incomparable Sarah.
“It is important that he is accepted here,” went on George confidentially. “He has very little in Denmark—only about five thousand crowns and a few barren islands.”
“And yet he aspires to the hand of the Princess Anne!” said John.
“Who could,” Sarah interrupted, “in certain circumstances become Queen of England.”
“Do not forget that he is a royal Prince. They would, however, wish him to live in England which I believe would very likely endear him to the Princess, for what young girl wants to leave her home, particularly one where, if what I hear is correct, she has been greatly indulged by her family.”
“So they would live in England,” mused Sarah, her eyes alight with pleasure. She looked at her John—so handsome, and possessed of something more than personal charm. If ever I saw latent genius, I see it there, she thought; and she was triumphant in the realization that some women could choose their husbands, while Princesses must have them chosen for them. Prince George of Denmark was the absolute antithesis of John Churchill, and Sarah knew who was going to make the brighter mark in the world.
She turned to George suddenly. “You seem to know a great deal about this Prince. He is friendly toward you?”
“Completely so. He discusses most things with me and so I know his mind on most matters.”
Sarah nodded. Then she said slowly: “Thus it is with myself and the Princess. I am her greatest friend. When she marries I shall ask to leave the Duchess of York’s household and be taken into that of the Princess Anne. A Churchill with the Princess, and a Churchill with the Prince … friends, confidantes. That does not seem such a bad idea.”
They understood each other so well. Sarah smiled from her brother-in-law to her husband. She had made up her mind; Anne’s marriage to the Prince of Denmark could be a very good thing for the Churchills and therefore a very good thing.
“The Prince is charming!” declared Sarah. “I do believe that if I were not so devoted to my John I could fall in love with him myself.”
“Sarah, you really mean it?”
“But do you not agree? Madam, what do you ask of a man? Did you hear how he rescued his brother? What bravery! My John was telling me about it. He said he had rarely heard of such a feat of bravery. And I understand, too, that the Prince is gracious. His servants love him.”
“I found him … affable,” said Anne.
“Madam, dear, you are halfway to being in love with him.”
“Sometimes I think of dear Mulgrave!”
“Pah! An adventurer if ever there was one!”
“Oh, no, Sarah, he loved me truly. Those beautiful verses …”
“I never thought much of poets. Words mean more to them than deeds. No, I rejoice that in the Prince of Denmark you will have a husband worthy of you. And the more eager you are for the marriage, the more you please your father.”
“He was very sad about Mary.”
“And who can wonder? When I compare the Prince of Denmark with that … monster!”
“Poor, poor Mary! Yet when we were in Holland, Sarah, she seemed happy.”
