Courting Her Highness (65 page)

The next day
Guiscard was arrested on suspicion of spying for France and was taken to The Cockpit where the Council was assembled.

Harley at its head rose, when the man was brought before them, and approached Guiscard, who lifted his right hand and struck; Harley reeled backwards, blood on his coat, as he fell fainting to the floor.

The whole nation
was talking about the attempted assassination. Guiscard, the French adventurer, suspected of being a spy, had been arrested to
answer charges before the Council; Robert Harley had long suspected him and had been taking steps to reduce the pension which was being paid to him. Thus the villain decided to take his revenge.

Fortunately Harley had not been alone; his friends in the Council—Henry St. John at the head of them—had immediately drawn their swords and falling upon the assailant, attacked him so severely that by the time he reached Newgate Prison he was dying.

But that was not the end of this dramatic incident. Robert Harley had been very slightly hurt for his assailant’s weapon had merely been a penknife which had done little more than scratch his skin. But Harley was too wily to treat the matter lightly. He took to his bed while the crowds gathered outside his house, loud in their lamentations, declaring that England was threatened with the loss of her saviour. Harley revelled in the fuss. When at length he rose and went to the House of Commons his carriage was stopped in the streets while the crowds cheered him; women knelt in the streets and thanked God for his recovery; they wept to see him. The House of Commons was full to overflowing; he was embraced even by his enemies; flowery speeches were made. Harley had reason to be grateful to Guiscard’s penknife.

When he went to the Queen she received him tearfully.

“Dear Mr. Harley,
what
a great pleasure! I feel Providence has saved you for me and the country.”

“I trust Providence never regrets the action, Madam.”

Anne smiled. “You were always a wit, dear Mr. Harley. I have been talking to your friends and we feel that this occasion should be marked with a celebration. We want the whole country to know how grateful we are.”

Harley was alert. This was the very pinnacle of success. It was amusing to realize that Guiscard’s penknife had given him the final push necessary to stand up there, savouring the rarified air.

“I am going to ask you to be my Lord Treasurer.”

That was good. He was virtually the head of the Government now, but in future he would be so in very fact.

“And it is ridiculous that you should continue plain
Mr
. Harley. I suggest the peerage. Earl of Oxford and Earl Mortimer.”

Harley kissed the Queen’s hands, tears of triumph in his eyes.

“Your Majesty is good to me.”

Abigail was in the ante-room as he went out. He smiled at her vaguely, scarcely seeing her.

The Earl of Oxford, Lord Treasurer, the most popular man in the country, no longer needed the services of Abigail Masham.

Robert Harley, Earl
of Oxford, was closeted with the Queen. They were alone for he did not care to say what he had to in the presence of any other.

Abigail, delivered of a son after a long and arduous labour, was not in attendance, for Anne, delighted with the child, had been concerned for Abigail and had commanded that she rest from her duties until she had recovered.

Oxford was secretly excited although he wore an expression of consternation. There was one thing he wanted more than any other and that was to destroy Marlborough. The Duchess was dismissed but the Duke could not be thrust aside so easily. He was the leader of the armies still—the victorious armies; he was a power in Europe, and England still needed him. On the other hand, Marlborough was Oxford’s enemy in chief for it was through the services of Abigail Masham, whom Sarah regarded as her evil genius, that he had been helped to power. There was not room in English politics for Marlborough and Oxford and the latter was awaiting the opportunity to rid himself of his enemy. While there was war in Europe, England needed Marlborough; it was for this reason that Oxford was secretly delighted as he came to the Queen.

“Grave news, Your Majesty. The death of the Emperor Joseph is going to colour the entire situation which is of such importance to us.”

“Poor man! It is so terrible and unexpected. The smallpox is a scourge, my dear Lord Oxford. A positive scourge. I remember how it struck my poor sister.”

“Your Majesty is right; and now that Charles of Austria has become the new Emperor we have lost our candidate for the Spanish throne, for the union of the Empire and Spain is impossible. Your Majesty will realize
the trouble such a state of affairs would create, for it would completely upset the balance of power.”

“You are right, of course. And the main reason for continuing this dreadful war was to prevent Louis’ grandson from keeping the throne of Spain and to set our candidate upon it.”

“Exactly.”

“What a menace Emperor Charles would be,” sighed Anne, “if in addition to Austria, Italy and the Netherlands he ruled Spain as well.”

“Louis XIV himself would not be more formidable and it is impossible to remove his grandson from the throne. Louis is an old man now. He has offered to meet all our demands except that of fighting against his own grandson. I have to remind Your Majesty that he has not been unreasonable.”

“My dear Lord Oxford, you do not have to remind me. Nothing would please me more than to end this dreadful war. I have wept bitterly when I have seen the list of casualties. Too many of my subjects are losing their lives in this struggle.”

“How fortunate we are to have a sovereign so humane … so reasonable.”

“My dear Lord Oxford.
I
am the fortunate one, to have such ministers.”

Oxford kissed her hand. He could see that he was going to get his way with the utmost ease.

“I think we might sound the French as to peace terms, Your Majesty. But in the beginning we should not allow too many to share this secret. My Lord Marlborough for one.… His great desire is to continue the war and win more glory. He is a brilliant soldier, Your Majesty. But we cannot allow him to buy his glory at the cost of so much English blood.”

“How I agree with you, my dear Lord,” sighed Anne fervently.

“Then we will work in secret for a while; and I think I can promise Your Majesty peace in a very short time.”

“Nothing could give me greater happiness than to see an end to this spilling of blood.”

Oxford bowed his head in assent. An end to the spilling of blood, he thought; and an end to Marlborough.

Abigail was back
at Court after her brief convalescence. And the Queen was delighted to have her.

“Dear Masham, so you have a boy and a girl now. How fortunate you are.”

Abigail sat at the Queen’s feet while they talked of children. Anne went sadly over the childhood of her boy, how precocious he had been, how precious. Abigail had heard all before and while she listened she was wondering when the Queen would reward her for her services and give her the title she needed that it might be passed on to her son.

If only Samuel were a little adventurous. He was a good soldier. Brigadier-General now, and Member for Ilchester. But he lacked all the qualities of a leader. As for my lord Oxford; he was growing farther and farther from her; but as he grew farther away, Henry St. John came nearer.

St. John was different from Oxford—less complicated. Something of a rake still, he had been notorious in his youth for his extravagance and dissipation. He had been a disciple of Oxford’s, but was he just a little piqued now by Oxford’s great and undeserved popularity over the Guiscard affair? Did he feel that Oxford was neglecting his old friends now he was secure in his position?

Abigail intended to discover—very discreetly. It might be that she and Henry St. John could work in unison as once she had worked with Robert Harley.

It was St. John who told her that Marlborough was sounding Hanover. The Queen was middle-aged; she was constantly ill. Each year she became slightly more incapacitated. If she were to die and there was a Hanoverian succession which the Marlboroughs had helped to bring about, it would go ill with the Marlboroughs’ enemies.

St. John smiled roguishly at Abigail. “And we all know whom the Marlboroughs consider their first enemy: You, my dear lady.”

Abigail was uneasy. To contemplate the death of the Queen was a nightmare. All blessings flowed from the royal invalid; and so far, she had nothing which she could pass on to her family.

“It is no use our looking to Hanover,” said St. John.

“In that case we must look in the opposite direction,” replied Abigail.

“St. Germains,” whispered St. John.

The Queen was
in tears. News had been brought to her that her uncle Lord Rochester was dead. She sent for Masham to comfort her.

“We were not on good terms, Masham, and that makes it so much more tragic. How I regret the quarrels and discord in my family!”

“Your Majesty has always acted with the greatest goodness,” Abigail replied.

“Oh but the troubles, Masham … the troubles! When I think of my poor father and what we did to him sometimes I think I shall die of shame.”

“Your Majesty did what you believed to be right. He was a Catholic and the people of England would not tolerate a Catholic on the throne.”

“It haunts me, Masham. It still does, and I know that it haunted my poor sister Mary. Why when she died we were not on good terms.”

“I believe Lady Marlborough made great trouble between you.”

“She did. And my dear sister implored me to rid myself of her. If I had but listened! But I was blind then, Masham … quite blind.”

“Your Majesty is free of her now.”

“Yes, and I thank God. But I think of the past, Masham. Now that I am getting old and am so often ill and infirm I think the more.”

“I understand, Your Majesty. That young man at St. Germains is after all your half brother.”

“I often think of him, Masham, and wish that I could put everything in order.”