Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughter Page 0,14
this meant that she could see Anne frequently, now that the Princess was married, she was already on the point of relying more on her husband than on her friend.
Sarah’s was a true dilemma. Much good had come to her and John through the Duke of York; and one must not forget that he was the heir presumptive to the throne. The King had been ailing over the last year and although he was still a vigorous man, he was one who took his main pleasure no less zealously now than he had ten years before. James might soon be King of England and how much better it was to be in the service of the Queen of England than in that of a Princess who was not even next in succession.
The Duchess had been kind to Sarah over her marriage; but Anne was ready—or had been before her marriage—to take Sarah’s advice in all things.
What to do? Consult with John. John was going to be a brilliant soldier, but Sarah trusted her own diplomacy more than his. She knew that he would say: Stay as you are. We are doing well.
Relinquish Anne? It was unthinkable and yet perhaps in a few years James Duke of York would be king and Mary Beatrice of Modena queen.
When she was disturbed Sarah liked to walk alone, so she slipped on a cloak and left the Palace.
As she crossed the Park she remembered how a short while ago people used to gather there to see His Majesty play pell mell. They had said nobody could drive a ball as he did and the people would applaud when he sent his halfway down the avenue, as though, they said, it were shot from a culverin. He could no longer do that. Perhaps the game bored him; more likely he was too old.
There in the park it occurred to Sarah that momentous events were close. Greatness in people depended on their being a step or two ahead of others, in the right direction, just before it was apparent to everyone else that it was the right direction.
She had reached the streets. Very old people who remembered what it was like before the Restoration marveled at the streets of London as they were at this time. There was gaiety everywhere—if one could call painted women gay; they walked with their gallants, arms about each other, blatantly amorous. There was music from the river, drinking and dancing. How many bawdy houses were there along that short stretch of river? This was Restoration London. And how different it must have been under Cromwell and the Puritans! No theaters; no painted women; sombrely clad men; no fondling in the streets, for singing, dancing, and making love were crimes.
Change! thought Sarah. And all because the King had replaced the Protector.
She passed close to a group of people. A man was waving his arms and shouting: “No popery. Do you know what it means, my friends? You’ll smell the fires of Smithfield if we have the papists back.”
Sarah paused and listened, watching those grim determined faces.
“No popery!” It was a cry that one heard every day in the streets. The King was ailing. That was why the people so constantly shouted: “No popery!” They meant “No James!” No Catholic Duke of York should be their King.
If only one could peer into the future. It was not possible; one could only guess. But one could guess cleverly and shrewdly.
Already the Duke and his Duchess had been exiled. She thought of her beautiful dark-eyed royal mistress, Mary Beatrice of Modena with her foreign accent. She was clearly an Italian and Italians were papists.
As Sarah turned to the Palace she had made up her mind.
“Sarah,” said Anne, “you are not happy. Do not tell me you are for I know you too well.”
“I see it is no use hiding my fears from you, Madam.”
“John has been unfaithful.”
“No,” said Sarah. “Never.”
“He would not dare,” suggested Anne mischievously.
“He is too clever not to know what folly that would be.”
“Yes, he is very clever, your John; but you are not unhappy about that.”
“Oh, it is a matter which will not have occurred to you. But I have seen less of you lately.”
Anne’s face puckered into dismay. “My dearest Sarah, there has been so much to do. Being Princess of Denmark has meant so many more receptions, so many tiresome people to be received.”
“I understand that, and I know it is no fault of yours. But you noticed