Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [61]
Then she cried: “I am going to Cambridge. At once.”
She stared at her maid who, accustomed to her mistress’s sudden outbursts, was aware that there was something of great importance behind this one.
“My son,” she said slowly, “has the smallpox. My only son,” she repeated.
Abigail was with Anne when she heard the news.
“My poor, poor Mrs. Freeman. So she has gone with all speed to Cambridge. We must pray for her, Hill. If she should lose this beloved child, how she will suffer! I know, Hill. I know full well. I could not bear to think of what poor Mrs. Freeman will have to suffer if the blow which struck her unfortunate Morley should strike her.”
“Your Majesty is so good to concern yourself.”
“You have never borne a child, Hill. This makes such understanding between us. But we must not think of his dying. While there is hope … But the smallpox. My poor sister died of it. And we were not good friends.… I often think of it, Hill. Oh, the tragedy! But I am forgetting my poor Mrs. Freeman. I want you to do this, Hill. Call my doctors … all of them. I want to send them to Cambridge so that they can give their services to poor little Blandford. We must do everything … simply everything, for I could not bear that what happened to me should happen to my poor Mrs. Freeman.”
Sarah sat by her son’s bedside and wept. He opened his eyes and saw her.
“Papa,” he said. “Papa.”
“He will come to you, my love. He is on his way.”
She thought he understood because he smiled so sweetly and he reminded her poignantly of his father. He would have been another such, she thought; and then angrily: He will be another such.
She would not let him die. But even Sarah could not hold back death.
“He is my son,” she cried. “My only son.”
“Your Grace,” said the doctors. “You should send for the Duke.”
When Marlborough came to Cambridge with all speed, Sarah flung herself at him and burst into loud weeping. “It cannot be. It cannot be. They are saying there is little hope. But only such a short while ago he was strong and well.…”
“Sarah, my beloved, I suffer with you. We must pray for courage. If this terrible tragedy should come to pass we must meet it with resignation.”
“Resignation. This is my son … my only son!”
He did not remind her that the boy was his son too. He was wonderfully gentle and she clung to him in her despair which, even at such a time, was tempered by rage. What right had death to threaten her son—her only son who would one day have been the Duke of Marlborough?
She was suddenly overcome by fear. “John, you must take care. You must not go near him. There could be an even greater blow than this.”
She looked into his face and he saw the fear there and he marvelled that she of whom it had been said she cared for neither God nor man could care so much for him.
He turned away; his emotions were betraying him.
John Churchill, sixteen-year-old Lord Blandford, died at Cambridge and was buried in King’s College Chapel.
Sarah was bewildered by her grief and astonished all by her quietness. She and the Duke went to their home in St. Albans and remained quietly there. John was the only one who could make any attempt to comfort Sarah and he must soon make preparations to join his army which had been delayed by the death of his son.
Sarah wandered from room to room. She could not believe that young John was dead. It was so short a time since he was pleading to become a soldier.
She who had never attempted to control her rage and arrogance, now could not control her grief. She would throw herself on to her bed and sob so wildly that it was feared she would injure her health. If only there had been someone on whom she could have vented her wrath she would have felt better. But how could she shake her fist and insult Providence; how could she warn Death that she would have her revenge on him for flouting Sarah Churchill’s wishes.
“My dearest,” soothed the Duke, “we will have another son.”
“He is dead … he is dead … he is dead.… And soon you will go from me.”
“I shall