The Queen's Favourites aka Courting Her Highness (v5) (35 page)

Anne, dressed in
a splendid gown over a petticoat of cloth of gold, adorned by the jewels of Sarah’s choice looked very different from the poor creature who a few days before had sat slumped in her chair, her feet in wrappings that concealed the poultices.

She looked at George in his embroidered suit which was trimmed with silver. So splendid he looked and yet the sight of him broke her heart. He had had a trying night and his wheezing had frightened her. She had been obliged to call Hill three times. How comforting Hill was in the middle of the night; and how quickly she came to the call! She almost seemed to
sense
that she was needed.

“George,” she said, “I’m afraid it is going to be a long day.”

“I vill be viv you, my love,” George told her.

“I shall watch you, and I shall insist on your return to the Palace if you feel ill. I have told Masham to be watchful.”

George nodded and smiled at her. Poor dearest George! He was becoming fatter and more feeble every day.

Sarah looked splendid. She never overdressed on such occasions, relying on personal charms. In any case she was the wife of the hero of the occasion.

“My dear Mrs. Freeman must ride in my coach,” said Anne.

“I am sure the people would expect it,” Sarah replied.

“I am worried about George,” Anne told her.

“I agree with you that he is not well enough to accompany us. It is such a strain on him and we should not wish him to have an attack during the service.”

“I should be so anxious.”

“Then he should remain behind. Let Masham and Hill look after him. You can trust them.”

“I can certainly trust Hill and she seems to be able to manage Masham too.”

“She is very eager to please me,” said Sarah.

And she was delighted to ride in the royal coach with the Queen, with the horse and foot guards to escort them—all splendid in new uniforms for the occasion; the streets were lined with people who had come out to cheer the Queen and the wife of the hero; and the sound of music from the bands filled the air.

The Lord Mayor and Sheriffs met the Queen and Duchess at Temple Bar and led them to St. Paul’s where the Dean of Canterbury preached the thanksgiving service.

There were fireworks that night and a salute of guns was fired from the Tower.

The coffee houses were crowded; but as the day wore on it was to the taverns that the people made their way to drink to the health of England, the Queen and the Duke.

There was singing and dancing and some grew quarrelsome. In his club Harley sat with St. John and some of his literary friends—Defoe, who would always owe him a debt of gratitude, Dean Swift who liked to air his views, Joseph Addison and Richard Steele.

The wit and the wine flowed freely and it was Harley who pointed out what Marlborough’s victory cost the country in taxes and the blood of its menfolk. He pointed out too that a country’s affairs were not guided so much by the sword as the pen—a theory which, since his listeners were wielders of the pen and not the sword, they were ready to endorse.

It was a theory, Harley pointed out, that he would like to put to the test. He did not see why it should not prove very effective.

The talk went on and it was profitable talk, so Harley told St. John afterwards. They would see whether his army of writers could not achieve as resounding a victory as Marlborough’s with his soldiers.

And over the Prince’s sleeping body Abigail Hill promised to become the wife of Samuel Masham.

“My dearest Soul,”
wrote Marlborough to Sarah. “My heart is full of joy for this good success that should I write more I should say a great many follies.”

Sarah kept his letters and read and re-read them. She had chided him after the affair of Ramillies, telling him what terrible anxiety he caused her by his recklessness.

“As I would deserve and keep the kindness of this Army [he replied], I must let them see that when I expose them I would not exempt myself. But I love you so well and am so desirous of ending my days quietly with you that I shall not venture myself but when it is absolutely necessary. I am so persuaded that this campaign will bring us a good peace that I beg of you do all you can that the house at Woodstock may be carried up as much as possible that I may have a prospect of living in it.”

She would do it. She would go down to Blenheim and harry them; she would give John Vanbrugh a talking to. But most important of all the war must be carried to a successful conclusion. The Whigs had made it clear that unless Sunderland—that Whig of Whigs—were made Secretary of State they would not give their support to the war; and even Godolphin admitted that the appointment was necessary if the means of carrying on the war were to be provided.

Sarah sent for him and he came humbly. He had been against the appointment in the first place and she had had to persuade him to it, but now he agreed with her.

“You see,” she said triumphantly. “Sunderland must have the appointment. The Whigs insist.”

Godolphin, who could always be browbeaten by Sarah, shook his head mournfully.

“The Queen continues stubborn.”

“She must be brought to heel.”

He could not resist a smile at the simile. Sarah talking as though the Queen of England was a dog! But Sarah saw nothing amusing in her remark. She was weary of the matter which she told herself should have been concluded long ago.

“I would write to Marl,” she said, “and get his support. The Queen would never be able to refuse him now. But he is so busy with his campaign and I feel it is a matter which we should be able to settle here.”

“If the Queen will relent for anyone it would be for you.”

That was true. “Leave it to me,” said Sarah. “I have been trying to persuade her. Now I shall have to force her.”

Godolphin said that he would write to the Queen and tell her that the prosecution of the war depended on the appointment. If that did not suffice, they must find some other means of persuading her.

The result was a letter from Anne in which she set out her objections to accepting Sunderland. When she was dealing with her Lord Treasurer she had a more valid reason to offer than the fact that she did not like Sunderland’s temper and did not feel she could have a good relationship with him.

Sunderland was a party man and in making a party man Secretary of State she was throwing herself into the hands of a party.

“That [she wrote], is something which I have been desirous to avoid, and what I have heard both the Duke of Marlborough and you say I should never do. All I desire is my liberty in encouraging and employing all those that concur faithfully in my service whether they are called Whigs or Tories—and not to be tied to one or the other; for if I shall be so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of either, I shall look upon myself, though I have the name of Queen, to be in reality but their slave.”

This was reasonable, Godolphin had to admit; but it was necessary, if there was to be Whig support for the war, to secure Sunderland’s appointment.

Sarah was never inclined to listen to anyone else’s point of view. Godolphin was too mild, she said, so she would take over. She began by writing long letters to the Queen in which, because they were written by Mrs. Freeman to Mrs. Morley, she seemed completely to forget the respect she owed her sovereign. Sarah was angry and impatient and she believed that Anne was quite devoted to her and was in such need of her friendship, that she would accept any insult.

“Your security and the nation’s is my chief wish [she wrote], and I beg of God Almighty as sincerely as I shall do for his pardon at my last hour, that Mr. and Mrs. Morley may see their errors as to this notion before it is too late; but considering how little impression anything makes that comes from your faithful Freeman, I have troubled you too much and I beg your pardon for it.”

Anne was with Abigail when this letter arrived and, reading it through, paused when she came to the word notion. Sarah had written in great haste and her scrawl was not always easy to read; and Anne read the word notion as nation.

A dull resentment seized her. Was Mrs. Freeman suggesting that she and dear George had wronged the nation? Oh, but this was too much to take—even from Mrs. Freeman.

“Hill,” she called. “Hill, come here.”

Hill came and stood demurely before her, but there was alarm in the good creature’s eyes. “Your Majesty is unwell?”

Anne shook her head. “I am … disturbed. I think my eyes deceive me. Yours are younger. Read this to me. Begin there.”

Abigail read in a clear distinct voice: “… Mr. and Mrs. Morley may see their errors as to this nation …”

There! She had read it. It was true. Abigail was staring at the Queen with round horrified eyes.

“But, Madam …”

“It is most uncalled for!” cried the Queen, almost in tears, “the welfare of the nation has been my chief concern since I came to the throne.”

“Madam,” said Abigail. “I am overcome with shame that a connection of mine could be capable of such … such falsehood.”

“There, Hill. You must not be upset. She has whipped herself to a fury, I suppose. I shall try to forget it.”

“And Your Majesty wishes to answer this … insult.”

“No, Hill, I think I shall ignore it.”

It was Lord
Godolphin who heard the reason for the Queen’s silence. She showed him the letter.

“It would seem,” said Anne coolly, “that the Duchess of Marlborough forgets that I am the Queen.”

He read the letter and stuttered over it.

“But, Madam,” he said, “the word is not nation. It is notion.”

“Notion,” repeated Anne. “… may see their errors as to this notion … That is different, of course. But you will agree with me, my lord Treasurer, that the tone of the letter is scarcely that of a subject to her Sovereign.”

Godolphin smiled apologetically. “The relationship between Your Majesty and the Duchess has not always been that of Sovereign and subject. I will tell the Duchess of this unfortunate mistake and I doubt not that she will wish to write you an apology.”

Anne was pleased, for although this matter of Sunderland was very tiresome indeed she could not bear to be on bad terms with Sarah.

In due course Sarah’s “apology” reached the Queen.

“Your Majesty’s great indifference and contempt in taking no notice of my last letter, did not so much surprise me as to hear my Lord Treasurer say you had complained much of it, which makes me presume to give you this trouble to repeat what I can be very positive was the aim of the letter and I believe very near the words.…”

She then set out more or less what she had written in the previous letter in the same high-handed manner and gave it into Godolphin’s hands to deliver.

Anne however still kept her resentment against Sarah and confided to Abigail that she was heartily sick of this matter of Sunderland and the Secretaryship; and Godolphin was obliged to report to Sarah that she was no nearer her goal than she had been when the unfortunate letter writing had begun.

But Sarah was more determined than ever to have her way and she wrote to the Duke and told him that he must write to her and tell her that if the Queen did not make Sunderland Secretary of State he would resign from the Queen’s armies.

When Marlborough realized that the Whigs would withdraw their support unless Sunderland received the appointment he was obliged to give his consent; and this letter Sarah sent to the Queen.

It was the ultimatum. Anne needed Marlborough, and she could not endure the thought of Sarah’s leaving Court.

She gave way, because there was nothing else to do. But she was resentful.

She sat silently while Abigail poulticed her feet, and when Sarah’s name was mentioned her lips hardened, her fan went to her lips and stayed there.

THE MASHAM MARRIAGE

arley, watching events closely, was not sure
how great a victory this was for the Churchills; indeed he was hoping that it might be turned to a defeat. Anne had been shown that she had not a free hand to choose her ministers. It was a blow for her. With the appointment of Sunderland the Tories were now out of the Privy Council; the Whigs were in power and the only Tories who remained in office were Robert Harley and Henry St. John, two men on whom Marlborough and Godolphin had believed they could rely.

Sarah was triumphant. She was more arrogant than ever.

But Abigail was aware of a great confidence which had come to Robert Harley; and she shared in it.

She had told the Queen that Samuel Masham had asked her to marry him and Anne was delighted. She would give the marriage her blessing, which meant a handsome dowry as well; and she did not suggest that Sarah should be told.

That was significant. The relationship between Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman had not been strengthened by Mrs. Freeman’s victory.

There seemed no
reason why Abigail’s marriage should be delayed any longer. Samuel was eager for it and Abigail was willing.

Dr. Arbuthnot, the Queen’s Scottish doctor, who had learned to admire and respect Abigail during their encounters in the sick room, was interested in the couple.

“I would not care,” he had said, “to see Your Majesty bereft of Mrs. Hill. This is a marriage after my own heart, for the bride’s home will still be in Your Majesty’s bedchamber.”

“I am pleased too,” agreed Anne, “for I could not do without Hill. And it is a great pleasure to me to see her happy. I have had the best husband in the world and my marriage would have been completely happy if it had been … fruitful.”

“Well we’ll hope that Mrs. Hill enjoys both the felicity and the fruit, Madam.”

“I shall pray that she does.”

“And when is the ceremony to take place, Madam?”

“You must consult Hill about that, Dr. Arbuthnot,” said the Queen benignly.

So the doctor did. It was difficult, Abigail explained. She could scarcely expect to be married in the royal apartments, and she was anxious for the marriage to remain something of a secret for a time. She and Samuel wanted no hindrances.

Dr. Arbuthnot nodded. Like Abigail he was thinking of the Duchess of Marlborough. She had no right to interfere with Abigail’s marriage, but she was not one to look for a right before interfering.

This matter of Sunderland had in Arbuthnot’s opinion not helped the Queen’s health. He had said to his wife: “The more we keep that woman from the Court the better for Her Majesty.”

“Mrs. Arbuthnot would take it an honour if you were wedded in our apartment,” he said.

Abigail’s plain face was alight with pleasure.

“Oh, doctor, that is kind of you and Mrs. Arbuthnot!”

“Get away with ye,” said the doctor. “We’ll be glad to do a turn for you.”

When Abigail went back to the Queen, Anne noticed that she was looking pleased and Abigail told her of Dr. Arbuthnot’s suggestion.

“He is a good man,” said Anne. “I am pleased. Sit down, Hill. Oh dear, I shall have to learn to call you Masham. I shall come to the wedding to give you my blessing, my dear.”

Abigail took the swollen hand and kissed it.

“How can I ever thank Your Majesty.”

“Hill, I have much for which to thank you. You are a comfort to me … a very great comfort.”

There was silence for a few moments then Abigail said: “Madam, Masham and I thought that it might be better to keep our marriage a secret for a while. There might be some who, in the first place, might try to prevent it and, in the second, might grow angry because permission had not been asked. Have I your Majesty’s permission to avoid this … this inconvenience?”

Anne’s lips tightened for a moment. Abigail without looking at her was aware of this and knew that she was thinking of the Duchess of Marlborough who had so recently scored the victory of Sunderland—at least she thought it was a victory.

“I think it is good, Hill, always to avoid inconvenience when possible.”

The matter was settled.

Abigail Hill was to be married to Samuel Masham in the apartments of Dr. Arbuthnot. The Queen would be present—but the Duchess of Marlborough should be kept in ignorance of the event.

Mrs. Danvers had
been feeling unwell for a long time, and one morning she awoke and said to herself: “I believe I am dying.”

She rose from her bed and tottered to her mirror. Her face looked yellow. Of course she was getting old. She had come to the Queen when Anne was a young girl and had been with her all through the reigns of Charles II, James II, William and Mary, and now Anne’s own. Not that they were long reigns, but still they represented a number of years.

Life had been interesting, living close to great events; perquisites had been rewarding—at least they had until Her Grace of Marlborough had become so watchful of the wardrobe.

And today Her Grace might be coming to visit her, on the invitation of Mrs. Danvers herself. On the other hand she might not come, for the Duchess of Marlborough could ignore what was almost a summons from one in Mrs. Danvers’ position.

“Lord,” thought Mrs. Danvers, “I’d never dared have asked her but for the child.”

The child was her daughter—not such a child either, for she was old enough to have a place in the Queen’s bedchamber. Of course she could have asked the Queen herself and been sure of a sympathetic hearing; but over the last years it had become a habit only to ask favours of the Queen through the Duchess. For if the Queen granted a favour and the Duchess thought it should not have been granted, she would find some means to prevent the benefit being bestowed.

All those about the Queen had long ago realized that it was the Duchess who ruled.

Nothing could change that, Mrs. Danvers told herself, nothing at all. That was why, in spite of the Duchess’s overbearing manner one continued to placate her, and realized that it was necessary to serve her.

Lately there had been a change in the immediate royal circle. The Queen was clearly growing more and more incapacitated; but she did not seem to fret for the Duchess’s company as she once did. It was always: “Hill! Hill! Where is Hill?”

One would have thought that Hill had been the servant who had been with her since she was a child, by the confidence she put into that young woman!

Danvers did not like Hill. Hill was calm, never lost her temper, never answered back; but Mrs. Danvers was convinced that Hill was “deep.” When the Duchess was angry the whole Court knew it; she was frank and open, as she was fond of saying. With Hill it was another matter.

One had to beware of Hill. Everyone should beware of Hill. Perhaps even the Duchess.

Mrs. Danvers had been turning over in her mind for some time how to approach this matter, how to explain why she, the humble Danvers, had dared ask the mighty Duchess to visit her. She could not say: “I want you to look after my daughter when I am gone.” But she could say: “I think I should warn Your Grace that something strange is going on between the Queen and Abigail Hill.”

She dressed slowly and rested, for the Queen had given her leave of absence from her duties and as she lay on her bed she rehearsed what she would say if and when the Duchess arrived.

Sarah came to
the Castle from the Lodge. She intended to see the Queen over the matter of a certain Mrs. Vain for whom she wanted a place in the bedchamber.

The Queen had been piqued since the affair of Sunderland, but Sarah had made up her mind that she would not allow such nonsense to persist. There was no need for Anne to sulk because Sarah and her ministers had made her see that her duty to the country came before personal prejudice.

It was for this reason doubtless that she had refused the appointment to Mrs. Vain. Godolphin had asked for it and Marl was in favour of it. The woman would be a friend to them and Godolphin and Marlborough believed they needed more friends in the bedchamber.

“I have installed Hill there,” she had told them. “Hill will never forget what I have done for her.”

“Hill is too dull and too servile. She scarcely sees anything,” was Godolphin’s answer.

“No, but she is often with the Queen and I fancy no one would dare speak against me in Hill’s hearing knowing her to be my woman and that I should certainly be told.”

“All the same it would be good to have Mrs. Vain there.”

“I will speak to her this very day,” Sarah promised.

She scarcely waited to greet the Queen before she brought up the matter of Mrs. Vain.

“Such an excellent woman, Mrs. Morley. I can vouch for her. I know that she would give you good service.”

“I am sure anyone recommended by Mrs. Freeman would be excellent.”

“Then I shall send her to you without delay.”

“But,” said Anne, “I do not want a bedchamber woman.”

“Mrs. Vain is a most agreeable creature.”

“I am sure she is all that Mrs. Freeman says she is.”

“Danvers has not been looking well lately.”

“Poor Danvers, I fear she is getting old.”

“She should be sent away for a holiday. With Mrs. Vain in attendance she would not be missed.”

“We could manage very well without Danvers for a while.”

“There would be no need to
manage
. With Mrs. Vain …”

“But I do not want a bedchamber woman,” said Anne. “And when I have one, she will not be a married woman.”

“My dear Mrs. Morley must take greater care of her health.”

“I am very well served and Mrs. Freeman need have no fears on that account.”

“But with Danvers’ health failing …”

“Hill and the others manage very well.”

“I will send Mrs. Vain to you and then Your Majesty will see for yourself.”

Anne’s fan came up to her lips and stayed there.

“I do not want a bedchamber woman,” she said. “And when I do I shall choose an unmarried woman.”

Really, thought Sarah, this was becoming too tiresome when there had to be a battle over the installation of a new bedchamber woman! But it was no use talking to Anne when she was in that mood.