4 Under Siege (20 page)

‘Thank you, Sir John,’ said Janssen.

‘Who knows? Another commission may arise out of it.’

‘Father is not short of commissions,’ Amalia pointed out. ‘He has a whole host of customers waiting to buy his work.’

‘I’m sure he does, Miss Janssen. Genius of that kind is always in demand. As for customers, I bring a message from one of the most illustrious. Her Grace, the Duchess of Marlborough is sad that she’s been able to see so little of you so far and invites you to dine with her when you return from the Cotswolds.’

‘That’s very obliging of her,’ said Janssen, pleased.

‘Yes,’ agreed Amalia, ‘it is. We’ll look forward to it.’

‘I’ll tell her that you accept,’ said Sir John, affably. ‘You’ll have to endure my company again, alas, because the meal will be served at Rievers Hall. Our humble abode can never rival Blenheim Palace but, unlike that incomparable edifice, we do have a dining room.’

‘There’s a magnificent dining room at Blenheim Palace,’ joked Janssen, ‘but, unfortunately, it hasn’t been built yet. The architect was kind enough to show me the plan.’

‘I knew that that you and Vanbrugh would get along.’

‘I admire his work enormously, Sir John – and that of Mr Hawksmoor, who’s worked for him on Blenheim. Of course, the English architect I revere most is Sir Christopher Wren.’

‘I had a feeling you’d say that.’

‘We intend to see St Paul’s Cathedral when we go to London,’ said Amalia. ‘We’ve heard so much about his masterpiece.’

‘You’ll not be disappointed, Miss Janssen. As it happens,’ said Sir John, ‘I’ll be in London myself tomorrow. I’ll see if I can find any glowing reports about Captain Rawson for you.’

‘Oh, he isn’t often mentioned in despatches.’

‘If what you tell me is true, he ought to be.’ He replaced his hat. ‘When you come back to Woodstock, I hope to have glad tidings for you. I know how much you miss the good captain.’

‘I do, Sir John,’ confessed Amalia.

‘That’s as it should be.’

He gazed at her with such undisguised fondness that she could feel a blush coming. Seeing his daughter’s uneasiness, Janssen tried to turn attention away from her.

‘How is Lady Rievers, may I ask?’

‘She’s bearing up as usual,’ said Sir John. ‘Unhappily, my dear wife views Her Grace’s visit with some misgiving. Much as she adores Sarah, she does find her company rather exhausting. Oh,’ he added, slapping his boot with a riding crop, ‘that’s the other thing I meant to tell you. I found out why you had such a poor reception when you first arrived at Blenheim.’

‘You explained it to us,’ recalled Amalia. ‘You told us that Her Grace doesn’t see eye to eye with the builders or with the architect.’

‘It’s true with regard to Mr Vanbrugh,’ said Janssen, meekly. ‘He admitted as much to me. There have been some fierce exchanges between them.’

‘Not only on matters of design,’ confided Sir John. ‘Her Grace has been kind enough to lend Vanbrugh some money to pay off the debts he incurred when running his theatre. That’s led to friction. But something else has been upsetting her.’

‘May we know what it is?’

‘You may indeed, Mr Janssen. It concerns the thanksgiving service for the victory at Oudenarde. It’s to be held in the place that you just mentioned – St Paul’s Cathedral. Her Grace, the Duchess of Marlborough, simply must be present.’

‘It’s only natural – her husband was responsible for the victory.’

‘There’s another reason,’ said Sir John. ‘She holds some high offices at Court and will therefore travel to the service in the carriage belonging to Her Majesty, the Queen.’

‘What a signal honour!’

Sir John pursed his lips. ‘In this instance, it may be more of an ordeal. That’s why it’s been preying on Her Grace’s mind and making her seem aloof and offhand. Ten years ago, she and Her Majesty were the very best of friends. Sisters could not have been closer. They were always in each other’s company both in private and in public. For some reason,’ he went on, lowering his voice to a discreet whisper, ‘the frost seems to have affected that close friendship. As a result, the service at St Paul’s may turn out to be something of a trial for both of them.’

Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, had many fine qualities but tact was not one of them. When she felt affronted, she tended to strike back without first considering the effect of her barbs. Relations between her and Queen Anne had been deteriorating steadily ever since Sarah had been replaced as her favourite by Abigail Masham. What rankled with Sarah was the fact that she’d actually secured for Abigail the post of Woman of the Bedchamber, not realising that she was helping the very woman by whom she’d be supplanted. Never one to forgive an injury, Sarah wanted revenge and she listened to the advice of a new friend, Arthur Maynwaring. A Whig barrister with a malicious streak, Maynwaring wrote a scurrilous ballad about the relationship between the Queen and Abigail, implying that the two were lesbian lovers. The unsigned ballad was sold throughout the city and sung to the tune of
Fair Rosamund.

Other women might have felt that the sheer existence of the ballad was revenge enough, but Sarah insisted on showing it to the queen by way of an indictment. Anne, a sick, overweight woman, was deeply shocked by the grotesque charge and outraged by the wicked verses:

Most explicit and hurtful was a reference to the ‘Dark Deeds at Night’. Being shown the defamatory ballad by Sarah hardly endeared her to the queen. It made the rift between them widen irreparably. There was nobody Anne would less like to invite to the service than her former friend, but protocol had to be followed. As Groom of the Stole and Mistress of the Robes, Sarah had to be there to perform her state duties. One of them was to lay out the queen’s clothing and her jewels. She would never yield this prerogative to anyone else. On the day itself, Sarah discharged her duty with care and attention. She was therefore mortified when Anne stepped into her carriage wearing no jewellery at all. The ride to St Paul’s was marked by dissension. Sarah was pulsing with fury.

‘I vow, Your Majesty,’ she said, ‘it will seem strange to any onlooker that you celebrate so great a victory in so mean a manner.’

‘I will celebrate it as I wish,’ declared Anne, maintaining a smile for the crowds who cheered her as they passed. ‘If I do not choose to wear any jewellery, that’s my affair.’

‘This is no simple whim of yours. It’s a deliberate insult.’

‘Against whom, I pray?’

‘Against
me
, Your Majesty,’ said Sarah, spitting out the words. ‘Because I was responsible for laying out the jewels, you refused to wear them. And we both know why,’ she added. ‘It was at the behest of that venomous creature, Abigail, the chambermaid.’

‘I deny that.’

‘Deny it all you will. The truth is self-evident. Oh, the black ingratitude of that beastly woman whom I took out of a garret and saved from starvation!’

‘Please moderate your language,’ said Anne, sharply. ‘These cheers will drown out most of what you say, but stray words may still be heard from an open carriage.’

‘Deeds speak louder than words, Your Majesty,’ said Sarah, bitterly. ‘As we enter St Paul’s, everyone will be aware of your foul deed. In dispensing with your jewels, you offend both me and my beloved husband. Have you so soon forgotten that he delivered at Oudenarde a victory in the largest battle so far waged in the war? Is that not something to celebrate with full pomp?’

‘Yes, it is,’ conceded Anne, wearily, ‘though I do long for a time when all this bloodshed will cease.’ She made an effort to smooth ruffled feathers. ‘No insult was intended to you or to your husband. Let that be clear. Nor was my decision influenced by anyone else, least of all the person to whom you referred in so cruel a manner.’

‘All of London has taken her true measure,’ said Sarah, nastily.

‘I simply did not wish to wear any jewels today. With this robe and the regalia, I have enough weight to bear as it is. As you well know, Sarah, I’m not in rude health and find these occasions trying. If I can lighten my load even a little, then it’s a blessed relief.’

Sarah pounced. ‘The best way to lighten the load would be to dismiss that she-devil who has suborned you.’

‘That’s a monstrous suggestion!’

‘It’s one that’s made throughout the city.’

‘Really?’ rejoined Anne, indicating the enthusiastic crowds on both sides of the road. ‘There’s no hint of malice in what I can hear. That sounds like acclamation to me.’

Sarah was provoked into even wilder comments. Certain that the jewels had been disregarded in order to humiliate her, she kept upbraiding the queen all the way to their destination. As they stepped down from the carriage, Anne tried to answer the criticism but it was the strident voice of the Duchess of Marlborough that was heard by those standing nearby.

‘Be quiet!’ snapped Sarah.

Rachel Rees had spent over a week cooped up in a small house and surviving on a mean diet. It had made her tetchy and impatient. When she was offered even smaller accommodation, she was incensed.

‘A coffin!’ she cried. ‘You wish to put me in a coffin?’

‘It’s only for a short time,’ said Daniel.

‘One minute would be too long. I may have to inhabit a coffin one day but I hope that it will be later rather than sooner. I was better off in the gaol,’ she argued. ‘At least I could walk around in that cell. Being locked in a coffin is like being buried alive.’ She gurgled and shivered simultaneously. ‘I refuse to do it.’

‘Then you must stay in Lille indefinitely.’

‘What about you and Henry?’

‘We’ll bid you farewell.’

‘You can’t go without me,’ she yelled.

‘We can’t go
with
you unless you’re disguised in some way,’ said Daniel. ‘You were arrested at the gate once before. Do you wish that to happen again?’

‘No, I do not.’

‘Then you must abide by our device.’

‘It’s unthinkable.’

‘In that case, you stay in hiding and inhale the stink of leather.’

Daniel nodded in the direction of the tannery. Rachel bit her lip as she meditated. Anxious to escape from Lille, she’d been horrified to hear that she might have to do so by posing as a dead body. The more she thought about it, the more disturbing it became. In her febrile state, she could already hear the nails being hammered in.

‘Henry made it especially for you,’ said Daniel.

‘A coffin is a coffin,’ she retorted, ‘whoever makes it. When you told me that he’d been apprenticed to a carpenter, I thought he might be making us a ladder so that we could climb over the walls. Yet all the time he was seeking to bury me.’

‘The coffin will stay above ground, Rachel.’

‘Not if we’re caught, it won’t. They’ll either bury me there and then or set fire to me. I’ll be helpless. And that’s another thing,’ she went on, wagging her head. ‘How can I breathe inside it? By the time you let me out, I’ll have suffocated.’

‘Henry allowed for that,’ said Daniel. ‘He’s made a series of holes in the timber to allow the free passage of air. You’ll be able to breathe properly and – because we’ll line it with cushions – you’ll be quite snug in there.’

‘Snug!’ she howled. ‘That’s very reassuring. I may expire in there but at least I’ll die in comfort – is that what you’re saying?’

Daniel sighed. ‘You know quite well that it isn’t.’

It took him another hour to persuade her. Word was sent to the tavern and the coffin arrived on the back of a cart driven by Welbeck. Pleased to see the sergeant again, Rachel was aghast when she clapped eyes on his handiwork.

‘I’ll never get in there!’ she protested.

‘It’s bigger than it looks,’ said Welbeck.

‘Even if I did manage to squeeze in, how on earth would you get me out again? I could be stuck in there for life.’

Welbeck had to bite back his approval of that eventuality.

‘Let’s get it inside the house,’ said Daniel.

He and Welbeck carried the coffin into the living room and set it down on the floor. When the lid was removed, Rachel was upset to realise that she’d have company in there. Two daggers and a pistol would also share the cushions.

‘What are they for?’ she asked, testily. ‘Am I supposed to commit suicide if things go awry?’

‘We’ll be searched at the gate,’ said Welbeck. ‘We can’t let them find weapons on us – especially the dagger you gave to Dan. The one place they won’t look is inside the coffin.’

‘Try it for size,’ urged Daniel. ‘After all, you’re a unique corpse. Every other one has to die before they’re put into a wooden box.’

‘I’ve come close enough to death,’ she grumbled. ‘Why I agreed to come to Lille, I shall never know. Since we arrived, I’ve been molested in my bed by a naked man, arrested, thrown into prison and assaulted by that disgusting turnkey. On top of all that, I had my worldly goods confiscated. If we get out of here alive, I’ll be a pauper.’

Daniel hugged her. ‘No, you won’t,’ he promised, soothingly. ‘I had to buy the horse and cart to get us out of here. When we get back to camp, you can have them by way of compensation for your loss.’

‘Yes,’ said Welbeck, ‘and you can keep the coffin as well. I paid for the timber out of my own purse.’

‘What use is it to me?’ she demanded.

‘A sutler like you is sure to find one.’

Rachel laughed. She then took Welbeck’s arm so that he could help her into the coffin. Lowering herself gingerly, she sat upright and ran her palms along the edges.