Courting Her Highness

by Jean Plaidy

“Your Majesty will agree with me,” went on Harley, “that we must not allow this to come to pass.”

  “I am so pleased, Mr. Harley, that you are in such agreement with me.”

  “Your Majesty is so gracious that you forget you are the ruler of this realm.”

  “I could not rule it without the help of my ministers and it is necessary that I enjoy a friendly relationship with them.”

  “Of the utmost necessity,” agreed Harley.

  “And with that man …”

  “Your Majesty never could.”

  “It is so very, very true.”

  “I fear, Madam, that there is a conspiracy afoot.”

  “A conspiracy!”

  “To form a strong alliance of a certain family …”

  Abigail was holding her breath. This was very dangerous ground. Anyone who had seen the Queen and Sarah together must know how strong were Anne’s feelings for her friend. This was coming out into the open most dangerously.

  “Madam,” went on Harley hurriedly, for he was well aware of the danger, “I owe much to the great Duke. I was his protégé. He helped me to my place. But I serve my Queen with all my heart, and if to show my gratitude to those who had been my benefactors in the past means betraying my Sovereign—then, Madam, I must needs be ungrateful.”

  “Dear Mr. Harley, I understand you. I understand perfectly.”

  “Your Majesty’s powers of perception have always encouraged me. It is for this reason that I dare speak to you thus now.”

  “Pray, Mr. Harley, be completely frank with me.”

  “Then, Madam, I will say this. It is not good for the welfare of this country that one family should be so strongly represented that it is in fact the ruling family. There is one ruler of this country and one only. I will serve my Queen with all my heart and soul but I will serve no family which by clever contrivance has ousted her from her birthright.”

  “Contrivance!” gasped the Queen. “Ousted!”

  “I speak too strongly. I crave Your Majesty’s pardon.”

  “No, Mr. Harley. You speak sincerely and that is what I would wish.”

  “Then have I Your Majesty’s leave to continue?”

  “You have, Mr. Harley. Indeed you have.”

  “Then, Madam, I say this, that if Marlborough’s son-in-law is Secretary of State, while Marlborough is Commander in chief and Godolphin, father-in-law to Marlborough’s daughter, is your Lord Treasurer, and the Duchess continues to select your ministers … then it would seem you are no longer Queen in truth. You will be a cipher to the Churchill family, Madam. And that is something it would grieve me to see; and while I serve my Queen with all my heart and soul I should not serve these … usurpers.”

  There was silence in the green closet. The Queen was shaken. Harley stared down at his hands. Had he gone too far? It was all very well to attack Sunderland and Godolphin; even Marlborough. But Sarah—the Queen’s beloved friend!

  He was reassured when he heard Anne’s voice, a little trembling, but with the obstinacy as strong as ever.

  “I could never endure Lord Sunderland’s temper and there would never be a good relationship between us.”

  Sarah was down at Woodstock harrying John Vanbrugh, who wanted to retain part of the old Manor of Woodstock on account, he said, of its archaeological interest. Sarah, who had no feeling for archaeological interest declared that the house was to be a monument to the Duke of Marlborough’s genius and nothing else need be considered. She was unsure of the plans, too. The place was going to be vast, and although she approved of all the very best workmanship and materials going into the building, at the same time she wanted the Palace to be a residence as well as a monument.

  This occupied her attention, but she had only shelved the matter of Sunderland and intended to come back to the attack later on. The Queen at the moment was intensely stubborn, but if she was denied the company of her beloved Mrs. Freeman for a while, Sarah believed that she would be ready to have it back … at any price.

  Meanwhile the Queen was worried about the Prince’s asthma, and consulted Abigail.

  “I’m afraid the air here is not as good for him, Hill. His wheeze was terrible last night. I could not sleep for it … and nor could my poor angel.”

  Abigail suggested that a visit to Kensington might be beneficial. It was nearer London than Hampton and she was sure that the air was very good indeed there. Did the Queen remember how well the Prince had been there during their last sojourn?

  “Now that you remind me, Hill, I do. We will go to Kensington.”

  George was delighted. Kensington had always been one of his favourite palaces. Anne smiled to herself, remembering how as soon as William was dead George had said: “Now we haf Kensington.” And he had taken possession of the palace without much delay. It was good to see him in a place he so loved. She herself found it delightful and there was the additional interest of seeing how the gardens were progressing. She kept a hundred gardeners at work on it and the result of their labours was beginning to be obvious. The banqueting hall which she had had built was magnificent with its Corinthian pillars and niches in which were branches chandeliers. How pleasant it would be to give concerts and balls there; the public so enjoyed being admitted to the gardens.

  “Yes,” she murmured, “we will go to Kensington.”

  So they went to Kensington, and when Hill explained that if Her Majesty did not object she would take possession of the apartments which led by a stairway into the Queen’s own, Anne agreed that she should. Previously these apartments had been occupied by Sarah and they were consequently more magnificent than Abigail had ever used before. She was delighted therefore with Anne’s consent and installed herself there.

  Mrs. Danvers expressed surprise that she occupied them.

  “The Queen wishes me to be close in case I am needed,” said Abigail.

  “But those are Her Grace’s apartments.”

  “I can see no objection to using them while Her Grace is not at Court … providing Her Majesty has none.”

  Mrs. Danvers went away to grumble to Mrs. Abrahal that Hill was giving herself airs and she’d like to know what she would be getting up to next.

  The Queen was happy to have Abigail in constant attention. The unfortunate affair of Sunderland seemed to have been forgotten and Anne did not seem to be greatly disturbed because the Duchess of Marlborough stayed away from Court.

  She gave entertainments and the people were delighted to be admitted to the royal gardens. It was the fashion to attend gloriously clad; and to the sound of music Anne’s subjects wandered about, as one of the court writers said, in brocaded robes, hoops, fly-caps and fans.

  D’Urfey, the court lyrist, wrote special verses and songs for the occasions and from all over London Anne’s subjects flocked to see their Queen.

  “Such pleasant days and evenings!” sighed Anne, when she retired to her apartments for the ministrations of Hill.

  Sarah meanwhile was consulting with Godolphin as to the next step she should take with regard to Sunderland’s appointment; she was also writing at great length to her son-in-law. She wrote to Marlborough, too, and told him that he simply must join his voice to hers, for as the victor of Blenheim the Queen could simply not deny him anything.

  She visited Kensington to talk to the Queen once more and coming unexpectedly to her apartments there found them in use.

  She stood in the centre of the room staring at the bed on which lay a robe. She picked it up and frowned at it, and while she stood there, on her face that expression of one enduring an unpleasant smell, Abigail came into the room, as she told herself later—much later—gaily, brazenly, with a smile on her lips.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I … I … thought as these rooms were not being used.”

  “You thought what?”

  “That as the Queen needs me constantly …”

  “You thought that you might use my apartments … without my permission
you thought you might use them?

  “I beg Your Grace’s pardon …” It was on the edge of Abigail’s tongue to say that the Queen had approved her use of these apartments, but no. Sarah would reproach Anne, and Abigail wanted no trouble through her. Far better to take all the blame. So lowering her head she said no more.

  “You will move yourself and your possessions without delay,” commanded Sarah.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Abigail gathered her robe and everything she could lay her hands on; and with downcast eyes scuttled away; as she went she heard Sarah say: “What can one expect? No breeding. No manners. After all I took her from a broom!”

  Sarah had more important things than the insolence of underlings with which to occupy herself; she had spoken to the Queen once more about Sunderland only to evoke what Sarah called the old parrot cry. There was no doubt that Anne was very set against Sunderland’s appointment. But Sarah was all the more determined to secure it. She would write to Marl at once and tell him that he simply must add his voice to hers.

  In her fury she busied herself with the Queen’s wardrobe.

  “Mrs. Danvers,” she cried angrily. “It seems to me that some of the Queen’s mantuas are missing. I should like to know where they are.”

  Mrs. Danvers flushed with apprehension, replied that the mantuas were worn and it was the bedchamber woman’s prerogative to have her share of the Queen’s cast-off wardrobe.

  “Not without my permission,” stormed the Duchess. “I am the Mistress of the Robes. Have you forgotten it?”

  “Of a certainty I have not, Your Grace, but I believed I had a right to take these mantuas.”

  “I wish to see them.”

  “But Your Grace …”

  “Unless I do I shall lay this matter before Her Majesty.”

  “Your Grace I have been with Her Majesty since she was a child.”

  “It is no reason why you should remain there if you do not give me satisfaction.”

  “I have always given Her Majesty satisfaction, Your Grace.”

  “I am the Queen’s Mistress of the Robes and I wish to see those mantuas.”

  “I will show them to Your Grace.”

  “Pray do—at the earliest possible moment. And I would wish to see the jupes and kirtles and the fans.”

  Mrs. Danvers, hoping to divert the Duchess’s fury said: “Your Grace, I would like to speak to you about Mrs. Hill.”

  “What about Mrs. Hill?”

  “It would seem, Your Grace, that she is too often with Her Majesty.”

  The Duchess’s eyes narrowed, and Mrs. Danvers went on: “And in the green closet too, Your Grace …”

  “Do you know, Mrs. Danvers, that Mrs. Hill has her place through me?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Then, Mrs. Danvers, you can safely leave me to decide what Abigail Hill’s duties shall or shall not be. Now to those jupes …”

  Danvers shall go, decided Sarah. She is talking against Abigail Hill whom she suspects is spying for me. We shall see, Madam Danvers, who will go … my woman or you.

  When she had dismissed Mrs. Danvers, after imparting that she had somewhat grave doubts as to the manner in which the Queen’s wardrobe was being looked after, she went to the Queen.

  Anne was sipping the chocolate Abigail had just brought to her.

  “Do try a little, dear Mrs. Freeman. Hill makes it most deliciously.”

  “No thank you,” said Sarah. “Mrs. Morley is I believe pleased with Hill, whom I brought to wait on her.”

  “Such a good creature, dear Mrs. Freeman. Your unfortunate Morley can never thank you enough.”

  “I am glad she gives satisfaction, for some in your bedchamber do not.”

  “Oh dear …” Anne looked alarmed.

  “I refer to Danvers.”

  “Danvers! Oh, she is getting old, you know. She is like a dear old nurse to me.”

  “That is no reason why she should be insolent to me.”

  “Oh dear me. How terrible! My poor dear Mrs. Freeman.”

  “The woman is a spy.”

  “A spy, Mrs. Freeman. For whom is she spying?”

  “That we shall endeavour to find out. But she has been helping herself from the wardrobe. She has had four mantuas, she confessed to me. She thought they were her right and you had no further use for them.”

  “But Danvers has often had these things you know. In her position it is accepted that she should have these things now and then.”

  “But my dear Mrs. Morley, as Mistress of the Robes I should have charge of the wardrobe.”

  Oh dear, thought Anne, how my head aches! I shall have to ask Hill to put that soothing lotion of hers on it.

  “Danvers must not pilfer from the wardrobe,” went on Sarah.

  “I will tell her that she must take nothing without your consent.”

  “And she should be dismissed.”

  “I will speak to her.”

  Sarah was smiling sweetly and bending towards the Queen. “And there is that other little matter which Mrs. Morley has been turning over in her mind.”

  “What matter is that, dear Mrs. Freeman?”

  “Sunderland …”

  Anne’s fan came up to her mouth and rested there.

  “I have not changed my mind on that,” she said. “I could never enjoy a good relationship with him for I could not endure his temper.”

  At least, thought Sarah viciously, the refrain has changed a little.

  She left the Queen who immediately sent for Abigail.

  “Such a headache, Hill.”

  No need to ask. Hill was ready with the treatment.

  Such soothing fingers! What a comfort to be alone with Hill who did not shout.

  And poor Danvers! How could one dismiss a servant who had been with one all one’s life?

  I shall not dismiss Danvers. I will give a little annuity and special gifts and tell her she must allow the Duchess to have the disposal of the wardrobe.

  Anxiety—mainly about this appointment of Sunderland’s—seemed to increase the gout. Anne, her feet bound up with poultices, her face red and spotty, her gown unbuttoned, would lie back in her chair and find comfort in little but the presence of Abigail. She was scarcely recognizable as the dazzlingly clad Queen of her public appearances. She was becoming one of the most important sovereigns in Europe and was well aware that she owed this in a large measure to the Duke of Marlborough.

  This was enhanced when Colonel Richards, the Duke’s aide, brought her news of the great victory of Ramillies.

  Marlborough wrote that he wished the Queen to know the truth of his heart and that the greatest pleasure he had in this success was that it might be a great service in her affairs, for he was sincerely sensible of all her goodness to him and his.

  Anne read this with tears in her eyes. Dear Mr. Freeman! Had she allowed herself to become irritated by all the importunings for that man whose temper she did not like? Such a pity of course that Anne Churchill had married him.

  Sarah came to see her, beaming with delight.

  “Why, Mrs. Morley, do you realize what this means. It is the greatest victory since that of Blenheim which Mr. Freeman won for you. This is going to make a difference to the whole course of the war. I have heard that Louis is desolate … quite desolate. I can assure you that the enemy trembles … yes, trembles at the very mention of Marlborough’s name.”

  “It is indeed a great victory, Mrs. Freeman, and I shall never, never forget the genius of Mr. Freeman.”

  “It would give him great pleasure to see Sunderland’s appointment.”

  Even on such an occasion Anne retained her stubbornness.

  She turned her head away. “Dear Mr. Freeman will have much to occupy him on the Continent. There must be a thanksgiving service for this victory. I will speak to my Lord Godolphin of my wishes in this matter.”

  Sarah did not pursue the subject of Sunderland which was a great relief to the Queen. In fact Sarah was a
little subdued which, in the circumstances was surprising, but when she told Anne the reason, Anne was full of sympathy and understanding.

  “It might easily have been the end of Mr. Freeman,” Sarah burst out. “I can scarcely bear to think of it, for when I do I must remind myself that every hour he spends over there he is in danger. It was so nearly the end at Ramillies.”

  “My poor, poor Mrs. Freeman!”

  “He was leaping across a ditch when his horse was shot from under him; he fell. If his aide, Captain Molesworth, had not been there to give him his horse, the Duke might have fallen to the enemy. I shudder to think of it.”

  In a moment of rare introspection Sarah saw life without Marlborough. She could not have endured it. She almost wanted to throw away ambition, to have him safe with her at Holywell House, home and safe.

  “That’s not all,” she said grimly. “While his equerry, Colonel Bringfield was helping him to mount, a cannon ball struck the Colonel and took his head right off. It might so easily have been …”

  “It was Providence, dearest Mrs. Freeman,” soothed Anne.

  “I have been to see the Colonel’s widow,” went on Sarah. “Poor creature. She is nigh on demented. I comforted her and told her what a great service her husband had done to his country and that you would not wish to let it go unrewarded. I promised her a pension, knowing my dear Mrs. Morley’s generosity, I was sure it was what she would have wished.”

  “Certainly she must have a pension. Oh, this terrible war! I shall give such heartfelt thanks, Mrs. Freeman, not only for this glorious victory, but for the preservation of dear Mr. Freeman’s life.”

  Godolphin sat beside the Queen and told her what this would mean.

  “The King of France lost one of his finest armies at the Battle of Blenheim, Madam, besides all the country between the Danube and the Rhine. But with his defeat at Ramillies he has lost all Flanders.”

  “The Duke is a genius,” replied Anne.

  “It will be said of him that he helped to make England great, Madam.”

  “News has reached me that the French are desolate … quite desolate.”

  “In a panic, I should say Madam. Marshall Villeroy was afraid to acquaint his master with the disaster and remained shut in his tent for five days.”