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always be people to remember it.”
    â€œOh yes,” said Anne Villiers. “Whenever Sir John’s name is mentioned, people will remember.”
    â€œDo tell us what happened,” begged Henrietta.
    And then I heard the story of Sir John Denham.
    It had started in the year 1666, just after the Great Fire. Sir John Denham had gone mad suddenly and thought he was the Holy Ghost. He even went to the King to tell him so.
    Henrietta and Maria Villiers giggled at the thought and my sister joined in.
    Elizabeth reproved them rather primly.
    â€œIt is not a joke,” she said. “It was very serious and you should not laugh at the misfortunes of others.”
    â€œIt was due to his wife, was it not?” said Anne Villiers. “He had married her when she was eighteen and he was a very old man. You can guess what happened. She had a lover.”
    Elizabeth was giving me a covert glance, so I guessed what was coming.
    â€œSir John was so upset,” she went on, “that he went mad. And then she died. It was said she was poisoned. The people blamed Sir John at first. They gathered outside his house and called on him to come out that they might show him what they did to murderers. The people are fickle. When he gave his wife a fine funeral and wine was served liberally to all the people who had come to see her buried, instead of attacking him, they said he was a good fellow and it must have been someone else who murdered his wife.”
    â€œWho?” asked Henrietta.
    â€œI really do not think we should talk of this,” put in Elizabeth. “It is not really a very pleasant subject.”
    â€œBut I want to know,” said Henrietta.
    â€œYou are not to . . .” Elizabeth made a great show of embarrassment, as though forcing herself to be silent.
    Sarah looked at her cynically. Sarah was more shrewd than the rest of us. That was why she and Elizabeth were so wary of each other. I wondered whether she would discuss the case of Sir John Denham with my sister when they were alone together. Anne might be too indolent to ask, but she seemed to be listening with interest; I supposed it would depend on whether Sarah wanted Anne to know.
    I did bring the matter up with Anne Trelawny. I trusted her completely and it was always a joy to talk over things with her, because she never tried to impose her will on mine.
    â€œDo you remember all that talk about Sir John Denham who thought he was the Holy Ghost?”
    â€œOh yes,” said Anne reluctantly. “It happened a long time ago.”
    â€œRound about the time of the Great Fire.”
    â€œI thought they said she died the year after the Fire.”
    â€œShe had a lover.”
    â€œThey said so.”
    â€œWho was it?”
    â€œOh, people will talk!”
    â€œWas it my father?”
    Anne blushed and I went on: “I guessed it was by the way Elizabeth Villiers talked.”
    â€œShe’s a sly creature, that one. I had even rather have Sarah Jennings, though I must say
she
can be a trial, and I could well do without her.”
    â€œWhat happened? Was there a big scandal?”
    â€œI suppose you could call it that.”
    â€œAnd my father?”
    She shrugged her shoulders.
    I said: “I now know about Arabella Churchill. She is still with him, is she not?”
    â€œBoth the King and the Duke can remain faithful to those who really mean something to them. The King had been very friendly with Lady Castlemaine for some years and there is this play actress, Nell Gwynne.”
    â€œPray do not change the subject, Anne. I said I want to know. One of the Villiers girls said that when Sir John provided the wine, someone else was accused of the murder.”
    â€œThey had to blame someone.”
    â€œMy father?”
    â€œNo . . . not your father.”
    â€œThen whom did they blame?”
    â€œWell . . . they said . . . your mother . . .”
    â€œMy mother! She would never have done such a