Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II

her beloved Sarah; and Sarah told Anne of the virtues of John, which were in turn passed on to the Duke and the Duchess.

It was all very satisfactory, but since the Duke of York was growing so unpopular and had, on occasions, been sent out of England on what could only be called exiles, Sarah was uncertain as to whether she had attached herself to the right faction. The Duke’s interest in Catholicism was going to ruin him if he were not careful. Anne was the Princess to whom she must adhere. The Duke’s folly was an example of how a once popular Prince could become unpopular. Sarah must be on the winning side.

Sarah’s interests had been slightly diverted from Court for a while when her daughter Henrietta had been born; and recently there had been another daughter whom Sarah had had the foresight to christen Anne. She left the children in the care of nurses, for with a husband and children to plan for, quite clearly she must act with care, and that meant remaining at Court. She had always known that the Princess was as capable of folly as her father and this affair with Mulgrave was proving that. If it were discovered that she, Sarah, had helped in that intrigue, she would be decidedly out of favor with such important people as the Duke and Duchess of York—worse still, with the King.

It was matters like this which could ruin years of careful planning; she must think very carefully of how she must act.

The King of England was the most approachable of monarchs. He encouraged his subjects to talk to him and never doubted his ability to be able to please them; and in fact was always ready to grant the requests they made; if it was difficult to fulfill them he could always blame the failure to do so on his ministers.

When Rochester had made his famous quip pointing out that he never said a foolish thing and never did a wise one, Charles had retorted with customary wit that his words were his own, his actions his ministers. He was grateful to Rake Rochester for pointing this out; he reckoned that once this was generally understood he had the perfect excuse.

It was typical of him that he should find a way for himself out of any difficulty that arose. He often wished that his brother James were a little more like himself, because he saw trouble accumulating for James when his turn came to wear the crown.

He was sitting watching the card play, two of his favorite mistresses, Louise de Keroualle—Duchess of Portsmouth—and Nell Gwyn, beside him. These two never failed to divert him, and together they were more amusing than apart. Louise played the great lady never so arrogantly as when in Nelly’s company and Nelly played the gutter-brat never so bawdily as when with Louise.

With great affection he regarded them; they had pleased him for many years and he hoped would continue to do so for many more; though lately he had begun to feel his vigor passing. A sad state, he thought, for a man to find his senses flagging when his greatest pleasure has been the gratification of those senses.

A pity. He had never been a great eater, drinker, or gambler. No, for him there was no pleasure like being in love.

It pleased him now to glance from Louise to Nelly and to contemplate with which he should spend the night; he knew that they too were wondering; if it were Nelly she would be boasting throughout the Court tomorrow. She was a mad, wild creature; and Louise could not understand how he tolerated her.

Louise now bent toward him and said: “A young woman was asking for an audience with Your Majesty this day.”

The King raised his eyebrows. It was unlike Louise to bring young women to his notice.

“I’ll warrant she comes to ask a favor for herself,” he murmured.

“Or for Mademoiselle Carwell,” added Nelly quietly.

Louise flashed her a look of hatred; nothing could anger her more than to hear the people’s version of her name. Keroualle—Carwell. The King’s lips turned up at the corners.

“Come, Nelly,” he said, “you ladies know that if you desire aught you have no need to send others to plead for you.”

“The best beggars often train others to beg for them, Your Majesty,” retorted Nelly. “It’s a good trade … begging for beggars.”

“You should be well aware of such trades,” said Louise. “I am afraid I lack your knowledge.”

“I’ll teach you one fine day,” Nelly told her. “Catholic whores should learn to keep up with the Protestants.”

Louise shuddered, and the King said: “More of the fair young beggar.”

“It was one of the Princess Anne’s women, Your Majesty. She would tell me nothing, and said she could tell it to none but Your Majesty. It was Churchill’s wife.”

The King laughed at the mention of Churchill. He thought of an occasion when he had called on Barbara and caught her with that young man.

“Churchill,” he said. “They tell me the fellow has reformed since his marriage.”

“I have heard it too, Your Majesty.”

“God’s fish, he was in need of reformation.”

“If all those who were in need of reformation reformed, the Court would be a sadder place,” suggested Nelly, looking slyly at the King.

“Now who of us would not be better off if we foresook our evil ways, Nelly?”

“Two ladies—if I may call them by the name—not so far from Your Majesty. For if the biggest rake of them all decided to reform, where should we be? I’d perforce return to the boards and Madame here to crying stinking fish in Brittany.”

“I refuse to remain in the company of this creature,” said Louise.