by Jean Plaidy
Mrs. Abrahal curtsied to the Queen who cried: “What news?”
“A little girl, Your Majesty.”
“And Mrs. Masham is well?”
“As well as can be expected, Madam. It was a long and hard labour.”
“Poor Masham! And is Dr. Arbuthnot with her now?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Help me up. I will go to her.”
Anne stood smiling at Abigail who looked so wan and yet triumphant. Lucky Abigail who held a child in her arms.
Anne quietly prayed that dearest Masham would have better luck than she had had. May this child live and be a comfort to her, she said to herself.
“You are well content,” she said tenderly.
“Yes, and shall be more so if Your Majesty will consent to this child’s being named after you.”
“It would give me the greatest pleasure,” said the Queen, with tears in her eyes.
Anne delighted in the baby.
“My dear Masham,” she said, “it brings back the old days to me so clearly. I think of my own little ones.…”
And the baby had a fondness for the Queen. “She’s like her Mamma,” sneered Abigail’s enemies. “She knows how to please.”
It was such a pleasure to sit together and talk of Abigail’s long labour and the antics of the child. It helped Anne to forget all the unfortunate tensions about her throne which had been caused by that alarming demand of the Duke of Marlborough. Mr. Harley was determined to prevent the Duke’s causing trouble; and as for Godolphin, she was getting tired of him; Sunderland she had never liked, although she had been forced into allowing him to take office. How pleasant then to talk of babies with Abigail. There had never been such cosy confidences with Sarah, although Sarah had had a large family. Sarah was unnatural. She had never been interested in the charming details of family life.
“Mrs. Abrahal was a comfort,” said Abigail. “I should like to reward her. And she is so fond of little Anne.”
“We must let her know how much we appreciate her goodness,” replied the Queen. “I will raise her allowance. That will please her.”
“Shall I send her to Your Majesty later?”
“Please do. I do declare the enchanting creature is smiling at me.”
“She knows her Queen already. I’ll swear she will be as good a servant to Your Majesty as her mother has always tried to be.”
Such pleasant hours! So far removed from the demands and schemes of ambitious men.
Mrs. Abrahal curtsied to the Queen.
“Ah, Abrahal, Mrs. Masham has been telling me how good you were to her during her trying confinement.”
“Your Majesty, it was my duty and I would say that Mrs. Masham bore herself with courage for it was not an easy labour.”
“No. I understand that. And I know full well how trying such times can be.” The Queen looked sad but brightened as she remembered the Masham child who seemed so healthy—far more so than any of hers had been. “Mr. Masham must be delighted,” she added. Then she noticed that Mrs. Abrahal was looking very pale.
“You do not look well yourself, Abrahal,” she said.
“Your Majesty is gracious to notice, Madam. But I am growing old.”
“You have been long in my service I know.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, it is twenty years since I started washing your Brussels lace-heads.”
“Is it possible?” sighed the Queen and was sad again, being reminded of George, who had used that phrase so often. “Well, Abrahal, Mrs. Masham has told me how kind you were to her and as a result I am going to have your allowance raised.”
“Your Majesty is so good,” said Mrs. Abrahal, tears in her eyes.
“I like to see good service rewarded,” said Anne kindly. “But what I do not like is to see you looking so pale. You should drink a little wine each day. I remember the dear Prince’s saying that a little wine, taken regularly, was very good for the health.”
“Your Majesty …”
Anne held up a hand. “I shall order a bottle of wine to be sent to you every day. I want you to go on washing my lace-heads for many years to come.”
Mrs. Abrahal, murmuring her thanks, was ushered out of the apartment by Mrs. Masham. When she had recovered from her surprise and pleasure a little, she remarked to Mrs. Danvers that there was no doubt whom one had to please now if one hoped to advance one’s fortunes at Court. The Duchess of Marlborough was on the way out; Abigail Masham was undoubtedly in.
Although the Queen had no wish to see Sarah, Sarah clung tenaciously to her duties. Always at the back of her mind was the thought that she could not fail eventually to win her way back to her old position at Court.
Looking through the accounts one day she saw that a bottle of wine was going to one of the laundresses. “A bottle of wine a day!” cried Sarah. “I did not order this. And what would a laundress want with a bottle of wine a day?”
She summoned Mrs. Abrahal, the recipient of the wine, and demanded to know what was meant by it.
“It was ordered by Her Majesty,” said Mrs. Abrahal.
“Ordered by Her Majesty … and no reference made to me! But did you not know, Abrahal, that such expenditure has to be sanctioned by me!”
“No, Your Grace, not when it was an order of Her Majesty.”
“Then you had better learn quickly to the contrary.”
“Your Grace, after I attended Mrs. Masham’s confinement …”
“Don’t speak to me of that chambermaid who has nothing to do with this case.”
“Excuse me, Your Grace, but it was because I had nursed Mrs. Masham that the Queen raised my allowance and ordered me to take a bottle of wine each day.”
Sarah turned pale with rage.
This was too much. Not only was Masham usurping her place in the Queen’s affection, but taking her duties from her while they still belonged to her.
This was too much to be borne. Marl treated as though he were a common adventurer! Herself treated as though she were of no account!
She simply would not hear of it.
She stormed her way to the green closet.
“Her Majesty does not wish to be disturbed,” she was told.
“Get out of my way,” cried the Duchess. “Whether she wishes it or not she is going to be disturbed.”
Abigail was seated at the Queen’s feet and they were smiling together. Sarah threw a look of hatred at Abigail and then turned her gaze on the Queen.
“I did not hear you announced,” said Anne coldly.
“I was not announced,” retorted Sarah. “I would speak with you alone.”
Abigail rose and looked to the Queen for orders. Anne bowed her head slightly, signing for Abigail to go. Abigail obeyed and went into the ante-room, out of sight but not out of earshot—and, as she thought later, it would not have been easy to do that for the back stairs pages must have heard Sarah’s tirade.
“What have you to say?” asked Anne coldly.
“This, I have to say. I hold the Privy Purse under Your Majesty and I expect at least to be consulted on expenditure.”
The Queen sighed and looked at her fan.
Sarah went on: “It now comes to my ears that a laundress has been given a rise in her allowance and, if you please, a bottle of wine every day!”
“It does please me,” said Anne.
“A bottle of wine … for a laundress! And without consulting me.”
“She shall have her wine,” said Anne.
“And I say this is a matter on which my opinion should be asked. Who ever heard of laundresses being given bottles of wine every day? We shall soon have them making merry in the laundries.”
“She shall have the wine,” said Anne, putting the fan to her lips.
“Madam, I shall not allow this to pass. I shall go to Lord Godolphin. He is your Lord Treasurer. We shall see what he will have to say.”
Dear me! thought Anne. How right Mr. Harley was. These Churchills would rule us if they could. What a dan
gerous family! But Mr. Harley and Mr. St. John need have no fear. I shall certainly do my best to see that no more power falls into their hands.
The Queen rose and made for the door. Sarah, her eyes blazing, did an unprecedented thing; she placed herself between the Queen and the door. It was difficult, Anne thought afterwards, to know how to act when confronted by a situation which had never occurred before and which one would never have thought possible. Here was she being harangued by a subject, being held captive in a room by a subject. How extraordinary—except when one reminded oneself that it was the coarse, overbearing, vulgar Duchess of Marlborough.
“Stand aside,” said Anne regally. “I wish to leave.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “You shall hear me out,” she cried. “That’s the least favour you can do me for my having set the crown on your head and kept it there.”
Anne was too astonished for speech.
“You are willing to forget all that I have done for you … merely because a sly chambermaid has come between us. Do not think that I care on that account. I do not want your cloying affection. But I will not be insulted by a chambermaid whom I took from a broom and kept as a servant in my own house.… No, I will not be insulted by such a slut … nor will I allow the great Duke—who has won great glory for you abroad—to be so insulted. I do not care if I never see you again … but I’ll have my rights.”
“I agree with you,” said Anne calmly, “the seldomer we meet the better.”
“Do not think,” cried Sarah, “that you have heard the last of this.”
Anne touched Sarah with her fan and in that moment she was a Stuart Queen, and the daughter of Kings. Sarah was momentarily overawed and stood aside, while Anne, as well as her swollen feet would allow, walked out of the room.
“Masham!” she called. “Send Masham to me.”
Lord Godolphin did not like his mission; but the truth was he was afraid of Sarah Churchill. He admired her in a way; he was convinced that had she behaved differently all the hopes of the junta to which he belonged would have been realized. Secretly he believed that such a powerful personality must one day win her way back. So when she said that he must go to the Queen and tell her she could not allow Mrs. Abrahal a bottle of wine every day, he weakly agreed to go. It was all very well to give way to Sarah, but when he thought of the triviality of his mission he felt ridiculous.
Anne received him in the green closet, with Mrs. Masham in attendance. The spy, the snake in the grass, whom everyone knew now brought in Harley for secret conference with the Queen. That was how the rot had set in; and now it seemed that with Sarah leading them—they were all rushing downhill to complete and utter failure.
He kissed the Queen’s hand. Her manner was cool to him. She could never receive him nowadays without being reminded of the Duke’s arrogant demand and Sarah’s rages.
He talked of political matters for a while, but she felt that he was coming to some point which was the reason for his visit.
At last it came. “I have delayed sanctioning the rise in Mrs. Abrahal’s allowance, and the bottle of wine she has asked to be delivered to her lodging each day.”
“For what reason?” asked Anne.
Godolphin looked uncomfortable. “It is a little irregular, Your Majesty.”
“Irregular? In what way, pray? I have ordered it. Are you, my lord, telling me that the Queen may not raise a servant’s allowance nor order her a bottle of wine without the consent of the Parliament?”
“Oh, no, Your Majesty.”
“Then,” said Anne, “not without the consent of the Duchess of Marlborough?”
“N … no, Your Majesty, but …”
“There are no buts,” said Anne firmly. “Pray sign the order without delay and let me hear no more of this ridiculous matter.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Godolphin felt so foolish he could scarcely wait for the interview to be over; but after that he had the wrath of Sarah to face.
DR. SACHEVEREL
he light of a hundred bonfires made a glow in the November sky and the smell of their smoke penetrated St. James’s Palace. It was the usual fifth of November celebrations; and this date had become a very important one in the calendar.
On it the popish plot to blow up the King and his Parliament had been discovered, and, years later, on the same date, William of Orange had landed in England to rid the English of a popish King. So naturally the day must be celebrated.
“Remember, remember the Fifth of November
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,”
chanted the people in the streets.
“I see no reason
The Gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.”
In St. Paul’s Cathedral a sermon was preached before the Lord Mayor of London by a Dr. Sacheverel. He was an eloquent speaker and his sermon attracted a great deal of attention, for he spoke frankly of the coming of William of Orange to England and of the men who had helped him to his crown. From them he passed on to certain of those men who ruled them at the time and one especially he criticized, giving him the name of Volpone but speaking of him in such a manner that no one had any doubt that he referred to Lord Godolphin.
St. Paul’s was crowded, and although Dr. Sacheverel spoke for three hours no one wanted to leave; and so impressed by the sermon was everyone who heard it, that the suggestion was made that it should be printed and circulated.
Unfortunately for Dr. Sacheverel—and others—this was done, and it was not long before it was brought to the notice of Lord Godolphin who, reading it and recognizing Volpone as himself, fell into a violent rage and swore that he would be revenged on the rash prelate.
Godolphin stood before the Queen. Anne had not seen him so vital for a very long time. It was a pity, she reflected, that it took anger to make him so.
Had her Majesty read the pamphlet? he wanted to know.
She had read it. In fact she had found it very interesting and she was sure that Dr. Sacheverel was a good and right-thinking man. But she did not say this to Lord Godolphin, for she had once been fond of him in the days when she had thought of him as Mr. Montgomery. It was a pity that he had allowed the Marlboroughs to use him, for that, according to Mr. Harley and Masham, was what he had done; and she was sure they were right, for was it not so obvious?
“This man is contemptuous of the revolution and that can only mean that he is contemptuous of Your Majesty,” pointed out Godolphin.
“He speaks kindly of me and with respect and affection.”
“Madam, if he condemns the revolution and the accession of King William and Queen Mary he is condemning you, for it would seem that he is agitating for a return of the Pretender.”
Anne’s eyes clouded. She often thought of her half brother; and sometimes when the gout was very painful and she thought of dear George now lost to her, it occurred to her that she had not many more years to live. Then if her half brother came back it would be like righting the wrong she had done her father.
“Your Majesty,” went on Godolphin. “In the circumstances I believe that Dr. Sacheverel should be put under restraint until he can be brought to trial that it may be decided whether he be guilty of treason.”
“This seems harsh treatment for preaching a sermon.”
“Such a sermon! They are talking of it in the taverns and the coffee houses. As Your Majesty’s chief minister I must ask you to leave this in my hands. If he is judged guiltless then he will be a free man. But this sermon has created a great deal of unrest and I believe that for the safety of the nation we must have Sacheverel in prison.”
Anne said she would like to consider the matter and that was all the satisfaction Godolphin could get; he went away very uneasily and would have been more so had he known that almost immediately after he had left, Abigail was bringing Robert Harley to the Queen.
Robert Harley was excited. He saw in the Sacheverel affair a possibility of overthrowing the Ministry of which Godolphin was the head.
He had his ear to the ground. With St. John he frequented the coffee houses and the taverns; at Albemarle House he entertained Swift, Addison, Steele and Defoe regularly; he liked to talk with them and the conversation was sparkling. It was illuminating too. These men had already given him some idea of how the people in the streets were reacting to this affair. They were with Sacheverel; they were devoted to the Queen but each day they were turning from Marlborough because they were heartily sick of the war which they were already calling Marlborough’s war.
The country was ripe for change. This could be the occasion.
Robert Harley advised the Queen to agree to Dr. Sacheverel’s arrest. No harm would come to the man, he assured her; and she would see when he was brought to trial how firmly the people stood for her and the High Church.
“For you and the Church, Madam, should be our first concern,” he told her. “Godolphin obeys Marlborough and Marlborough wants war, because, Your Majesty, Marlborough is brilliant at war. It is a sad state when one can only buy one’s glory with the blood of others. Let the people see how this servant of the Church is treated. It could mean the overthrow of those who work against the Church.”
Anne trusted Mr. Harley. So did Abigail. When he had gone they drank tea together—Anne’s laced with brandy—and talked about the brilliance of Mr. Harley and how they were sure that given the opportunity he would rid the Queen—and the Church—of those whose self-interest made them the enemies of both.
Mr. Harley was right. Mobs were parading the streets demanding the fall of the Government. Sacheverel was the hero of the day and the majority were behind his criticisms of Godolphin. Many a widow and orphan of the great war hated the very sound of Marlborough’s name and did not hesitate to say so. He was the warmonger, who, because he liked playing soldiers, used men and deadly weapons to amuse himself. Not only that, he wanted to be the dictator. A fine state of affairs. There would be battles every day with such a man in power. This war had been costly enough in men and wealth. “Have done with Marlborough!” cried the people. “Have done with war! And down with the Government.”
