‘It was, Amalia. I’ve been forced to see some hideous things in battle over the years and accepted them as the fortunes of war. This was very different — kind, innocent, defenceless people, left dead in the smoking ruins of their home. It’s preyed on my mind ever since.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ she said, touching his arm in sympathy.
‘However,’ he went on, brightening, ‘I didn’t come here to dwell on the miseries of warfare. You’ve seen enough of those for yourself at first hand. I came because I missed you so much.’
‘How long will you be in Amsterdam?’
‘Only for a couple of days, I fear.’
Her face clouded. ‘Is that all?’
‘I have to sail for England.’
‘Can’t you stay here for a week at least?’
‘My passage is already booked,’ he explained, ‘and His Grace is expecting me.’
‘Tell him you had to spend more time with Father, advising him about his tapestry of the battle of Ramillies. After all, it was commissioned by the Duke himself and he ordered you to help.’
‘I’ve spoken to your father at great length about the battle and he must already be well advanced on the tapestry.’
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Her Grace, the Duchess of Marlborough, wrote to say that there was no immediate hurry. It may be years before it can be hung in Blenheim Palace. Building work is very slow, apparently. Father is engaged on other commissions at the moment. You’d have to jog his memory about Ramillies.’
Daniel sighed. ‘I’ll have to jog my own memory,’ he confessed. ‘It seems such a long time ago now. When we routed the French that glorious day, I thought it would be a turning point in the war and that King Louis would agree to peace on our terms.’
‘Father says that he’ll never concede defeat.’
‘Failing that, I hoped that we could build on the success of Ramillies in last year’s campaigns and strike into France itself but, somehow, it just didn’t happen. We had endless disappointments.’
She smiled sadly. ‘I know all about disappointments.’
‘Cheer up, Amalia,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Make the most of me while I am here. I only have one other call to make and then I’m entirely at your disposal.’
‘I think I can guess what that other call is.’
‘I have to pay my respects to another very special woman.’
‘You want to visit your mother’s grave.’
‘She was born and brought up in the city. Though she enjoyed living in England with my father, she felt that it was only right that she should be buried here.’
‘An English father and a Dutch mother,’ she observed.
‘It’s a case of divided loyalties.’
‘Which has the stronger pull on you?’
‘Each of them.’
‘That doesn’t make sense, Daniel.’
‘It does to me,’ he said. ‘When I’m fighting in a British regiment, I feel English blood coursing through my veins and a sense of true patriotism. When I’m here in Amsterdam, however,’ he continued, pulling her close and looking deep into her eyes, ‘I feel as Dutch as a field of tulips and want to stay here for ever.’
‘Why have you never remarried?’ asked the Duke of Marlborough.
‘Oh, I’m much too senile for such things, John.’
‘Nonsense, man — you’re only five years older than me.’
‘I’ll not see sixty again,’ admitted Godolphin with a shrug. ‘Besides, there’s an insuperable barrier to my ever entering into holy matrimony again.’
‘You can’t mourn Margaret for ever.’
‘It isn’t just out of respect to my late wife. Margaret was a godsend and I could never find anyone else like her. No, there’s a much simpler reason, John — I’ve never been wholly at ease in the company of women. The truth of it is that I feel far more comfortable with racehorses.’
Marlborough laughed. ‘Does that mean you’d prefer to propose to a bay mare?’
‘It means that I’m a contented widower and relieved that I won’t ever have to go through the frightening process of selecting a wife.’
‘Choosing Margaret was not frightening, was it?’
‘That was different — she was an angel.’
The two men were enjoying a glass of brandy after an excellent dinner at Holywell House, the favourite home of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. He and Sidney, Earl of Godolphin, were more than friends and political allies. After a marriage of barely a year, Margaret Godolphin had died in childbirth. Francis, the baby son who’d lived, had grown up to marry Marlborough’s daughter, Henrietta, thus uniting the two families. Long commitments abroad meant that Marlborough didn’t see as much as he would have liked of the man who, as Lord Treasurer, provided the substantial funds needed for the continuance of the war. In order to do that, Godolphin had to become an adroit manipulator of Parliament.
‘What news of Blenheim?’ asked Godolphin, stroking the dark periwig that reached down to his chest.
‘Are you referring to the battle or the palace?’
‘The one led to the other.’
‘Indeed,’ said Marlborough, ‘and we are eternally grateful to Her Majesty for her kindness in bestowing the palace on us. Unhappily, it’s proceeding at a snail’s pace. There’s been definite progress in the grounds but the building itself has yet to take on any real shape. Sarah is there at the moment, cracking the whip over them.’
Godolphin smiled fondly. ‘I can imagine her doing that.’
‘My dear wife likes to have things her way.’
‘How is she getting on with the architect?’
‘Not too well,’ conceded Marlborough. ‘It was never going to be a marriage of true minds, alas. Vanbrugh came up with some splendid drawings and was very enthusiastic at the start of the project. Then Sarah decided that she wanted some changes.’
‘Oh, dear — have there been arguments?’
‘Let’s call them extremely warm discussions.’
‘Well, I, for one, can’t wait for Blenheim Palace to be finished,’ said Godolphin, firmly. ‘It’s not just a fitting home for you. It will be a visible reminder to everyone — including Her Majesty — of just how much you did for us as captain general of the Allied armies. Blenheim was a remarkable triumph.’
‘So it seemed at the time,’ said Marlborough. ‘Unfortunately, this damnable War of the Spanish Succession obliges me to produce a Blenheim year after year and that’s just not possible.’
He reached for the decanter and poured more brandy into both the glasses. There was a tap on the door and a liveried servant came into the dining room. He spoke with profound respect.
‘Captain Rawson presents his compliments, Your Grace, and asks if this is a convenient moment to see you.’
‘By all means,’ said Marlborough. ‘Bring the fellow in.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
The man bowed and withdrew silently.
‘Captain Rawson,’ said Godolphin. ‘That’s a name I know.’
‘You met him once in this very house, Sidney. Daniel Rawson was the boy with the sword.’
‘I remember now. It was after the battle of Sedgemoor. He was only ten but, when one of your soldiers tried to molest his mother, the lad killed the man with his own sword.’
‘In recognition of his courage, I presented the weapon to him even though his father had fought against us in the rebel army. Daniel has put that sword to good use over the years. He’s a fine soldier.’
‘Coming from you, that’s a real compliment.’
‘I promoted him to my personal staff.’
‘That’s a signal honour.’
‘It was well deserved.’
