I could have shouted for joy on hearing the news, but restrained myself, and suggested to Frances that she go at once to her father’s house and that I go to Whitehall to be there before its awakening.

If I learned that the king had been absent during the night, I should know with reasonable certainty that he had been privy to the outrage perpetrated on Frances.  If he has been at the palace all night, he might be innocent of the crime.

“In neither case will I return to Whitehall,” declared Frances, indignantly, when I spoke of the possibility of the king’s innocence.

“But you must,” I replied insistently.  “We must say nothing of your terrible experience.  Publicity of this sort ruins a woman’s fair name, but the result in this case would be far more disastrous.  Fear will drive the king to further acts of villainy to protect himself if he learns that we suspect him, and your life and mine, as well as George’s, may be in peril.  I shall go to my bedroom in the Wardrobe, and no one shall know that I have not been there all night.”

Frances seemed stubborn, but knowing her danger, I continued:  “Let us have a conference with your father and your sister.  I deem it best that we let it be known abroad that you were at your father’s house all night.  Since the king did not see you at Merlin House, he may come to suspect that his agents kidnapped the wrong person.  Later on you may leave court with honor; now you would leave in disgrace.  Right or wrong, the king can do no wrong, and even were it known that he had kidnapped you, every one would laugh at you as the victim of a royal prank.  Many would say that you were willing to be kidnapped, and the court hussies would rejoice at your downfall.”

Frances and George saw the force of my argument, and we agreed to act accordingly, George, of course, having little to do in the premises save to remain hidden.

In a few minutes Pickering brought us a coach, and Frances and I drove to Temple Bar, where I dismissed the coach and walked with my cousin to her father’s house.

I went in with Frances, and we aroused Sir Richard to tell him of his daughter’s experience, and of the plan of action agreed upon, though we did not mention the king’s name, leading Sir Richard to believe that we did not know the guilty persons.

Sir Richard and Sarah readily agreed that secrecy was our only means of saving Frances from ruinous publicity.  Sarah especially grasped the point and cleared the situation of all cloud by suggesting:—­

“My sister has been here ever since yesterday noon, as my father, John Churchill, and I will testify.”

That was a very long speech for Sarah, but it was a helpful one.  I, too, might add my testimony and thus furnish enough evidence to convince any reasonable person that Frances had not been kidnapped, but had remained safe and well in her father’s house through all this terrible night.