by Jean Plaidy
Godolphin was melancholy, considering what a deep effect the quarrels of women could have on a country’s affairs.
He was in this mood when he attended the Cabinet meeting at which the Queen would be present. He was fully aware of the antagonism of his enemies. They were as vultures hovering about his head … waiting for his fall.
Shrewsbury, one of the most powerful of them, opened the attack by making sarcastic comments which Godolphin could not allow to pass. He should, of course, have answered in the same vein, but he was tired and worried and he found himself attacking Shrewsbury in the querulous tones of the tired old man he was.
“My lord,” protested Anne, “I beg of you to curb your anger. It is of no use to this Council.”
Godolphin turned to the Queen. “Your Majesty, my task is becoming more difficult as the days pass. I am surrounded by those who seek to undermine me. What good can come when those in high places turn their backs on the legitimate ministers of the country and give ear to secret counsels.”
This was a direct attack upon the Queen, and Anne, mortified, remained silent. But all present knew that this must be the end of Godolphin.
Anne sat in the oak-panelled closet at Kensington.
She was sad. In the past she had been truly fond of Godolphin—Mr. Montgomery as she had affectionately called him. She had felt so secure with such a minister as her friend; and there was his family connection with the Duke who had always been so thoughtful and charming. But Sarah had poisoned those relationships as she had poisoned everything she came near.
Wherever she looked she was brought back to Sarah. It was time she finished with everything connected with her. She took up her pen and wrote:
“The uneasiness that you have shown for some time has given me much trouble, though I have borne it, and had your behaviour continued the same as it was for a few years after my coming to the Crown, I could have no dispute with myself what to do. But the many unkind returns I have received since, especially what you have said to me personally before the Lords (in council) makes it impossible for me to continue you any longer in my service, but I will give you a pension of four thousand pounds a year, and I desire that instead of bringing the Staff to me you will break it, which I believe will be easier for us both.”
Sunderland gone! Godolphin gone! The Whig administration was over. Now it remained to be seen what happened at the polls, though there could be little doubt of the result.
A Tory majority was returned to Parliament. Robert Harley was Chancellor of the Exchequer and virtually the Leader of the Government with his friend and protégé Henry St. John a Privy Councillor and Secretary of State.
This was defeat for the Churchills; and they waited in trepidation for what would happen next.
THE GOLDEN KEYS
here was no need now to show Harley up to the green closet in secret. As the Queen’s chief minister he came openly. Did she imagine it, wondered Abigail, or was he in truth slightly less affectionate towards her? Sometimes when he passed her by she would smell the wine on his breath more strong than usual. He angered her by the change in his manner; and she asked herself again and again whether had she never acquired the Queen’s favour he would have acknowledged their cousinly relationship.
He has used me, thought Abigail.
How far she had come! It was not really so many years ago when she had been almost grateful for one of the Churchill girls’ cast-off gowns. Now Samuel was a colonel. She would have a title for Samuel before long. She was carrying a child and if this child should be a boy she owed it to him to make him Lord Masham.
How ambitious one became when one moved in ambitious circles!
Robert Harley was with the Queen. She knew what he was saying. The Duchess of Marlborough had been dismissed from the Queen’s friendship, but she still retained the keys of office. Until she gave them up they could not be bestowed elsewhere. And Anne was still afraid of the Duchess, for she put off commanding their return. It was as though she could not bear to think of Sarah and wanted to pretend the woman had never existed.
But Harley was in there explaining that the Duchess must be ordered to give up her keys. And when those keys were in Anne’s possession, to whom would they be passed?
Abigail had little doubt.
The door to the Queen’s chamber was opening and Harley came out. He was smiling. Mr. Harley was very pleased with himself these days.
When Abigail approached him, he looked at her with that slightly glazed expression in his eyes. Too much drink … or mere indifference? Surely he had not been to the Queen in a state of semi-intoxication? That was absurd. Harley would never be semi-intoxicated. He was too accustomed to drink.
“It was a successful meeting?” she asked.
“Very successful.”
“And …?”
He smiled at her in that manner which was almost mocking. He was not going to confide in her.
“I shall call on Her Majesty tomorrow,” said Harley, and bowing passed on.
She looked after him, resentment rising within her. He had his place and no longer needed her help. Had she not always known? Of course. Then why should she be so angry, so hurt?
Marlborough did not know which way to turn. He felt sick with worry and frustration. He had to speak to Sarah; he had to make her understand the position in which they were placed. Sarah would not accept the truth. It had always been so. She saw herself twice the size of others, twice as powerful, twice as brilliant; and even in the face of defeat she refused to admit it.
He, the most ambitious of men, had dreamed of ruling England. That had once seemed a not impossible dream for there had been military dictators before. On the Continent he had shown his genius and his enemies trembled at his name, yet here in his own country he was faced with disaster and defeat. And the reason …? It was no use blinking the truth. Sarah.
Sarah had brought him to this. Her overbearing manner, her bluntness, her arrogance, her belief that she could behave as pleased herself to anyone on earth including the Queen. Blind Sarah, who had brought herself and all those connected with her to disaster!
Sarah had lost the Queen’s favour forever. She refused to believe it, but it was true. She was no longer wanted at Court, yet the country needed the great soldier. Even Harley, the chief of his enemies, realized that. It was for that reason that he had sent St. John to advise him.
They wanted Marlborough … but not Marlborough’s wife.
St. John had been blunt. “The only way in which Your Grace can hold your position in this country is by ridding yourself of your wife.”
Repudiate Sarah! Cut himself off from her! Let it be known that he was out of sympathy with her overbearing conduct.
He loved Sarah. He thought of passionate reunions after long absences, the days when they were alone together at St. Albans or Windsor Park. The family … the daughters who meant so much to him; his grandchildren.
Give up Sarah! Choose between his wife and ambition!
There should be no problem. Did he not love Sarah? Was she not his dearest soul? Yet he was a commander of genius who had dreamed of ruling England. So he was being asked to choose between the two things he loved best.
Sarah came into the room—brisk, bustling, bellicose.
“Why, my dear Marl, what has happened? You look ill.”
“I’m getting old, Sarah.”
“What nonsense!”
“And everything I have hoped for has gone sour … has turned to nothing.”
“Nonsense again. Nothing can eliminate the glory of Blenheim.”
“They’ll make peace with France. They will decide that it is impossible to turn Louis’s grandson from the throne of Spain. They will say that the war was hopeless and need never have been fought. That is the way to make nothing of great victories, Sarah.”
“You are in a mood! Something has happened to upset you. That worm St. John has been here, I believe.”
“Yes, Sarah, he has been here.”
“And what did he want?”
“He wants you to return the keys of office.”
“I shall do no such thing.”
“Sarah, for God’s sake be reasonable. You cannot cling to an office when the Queen has decided to dismiss you.”
“Do you think I’ll be dismissed like some frightened chambermaid caught stealing the tea!”
Caught stealing! What unfortunate phrases she used! When he looked at Sarah, her face distorted by rage, when he listened to her shrill voice denouncing everyone, refusing to see any point of view but her own, he wondered.… He despised himself for this, but he even wavered.
So many pictures could come unbidden to the mind. He thought of himself—without Sarah—being taken into the new ministry. He had been a Tory at heart—until Sarah had given her allegiance to the Whigs and determined he should do the same. He saw himself continuing the war, finding fresh triumphs … without Sarah.
But there she stood before him—his Sarah, for whom he had braved his parents’ wrath in the first place in order to marry her, Sarah who had had no fortune any more than he had, when of course an ambitious man should have made a rich marriage.
How could he live without Sarah? Yet it was said that his love could never have endured if he had been forced to live with her night and day. It was the long separations which had saved their marriage. It might be so, but he knew he could never be without her.
She was bold and rash; she was crashing them all to disaster, but she was still his beloved Sarah.
“You are smiling. I see nothing to smile about.”
“I was thinking of all the years we have been together.”
“A fine time to think of that!”
“No, a good time, Sarah.” He took her hands and looked into her face. “You are still beautiful,” he said. “Our girls are lovely, but they can’t compare with you.”
“What is it, Marl?” she asked tenderly.
“If we are forced to live in obscurity … even in exile … I was thinking that at least we should be together.”
Her lips quivered and she threw herself into his arms.
“Dear Marl,” she said. “Dearest Marl!”
He had known all along that there was no problem. They were together for the rest of their lives.
He put her from him and said: “You will have to give up the keys.”
The tender mood had passed. “You are too easily defeated, Marl. Leave this to me. I haven’t finished with my fat friend yet … so I shan’t allow her to finish with me.”
“Sarah, I tell you this is the end. She will not have you back.”
“I shall write to her,” said Sarah stubbornly.
“She’ll read no letters from you.”
“She will if you take it to her.”
“Sarah, don’t you know when you’re beaten?”
“No, my brave general, I do not agree that I am beaten.”
“Sarah …”
But she put her arms about him and laughed. She would have her way as she always had, and there was one thing he knew, which was that it was better to suffer defeat with Sarah than to bask in success without her.
Sarah shut herself into her room and wrote to the Queen. I wouldn’t do this, she thought, but for Marl. This is breaking him. He’ll be ill if we go on like this.
Her pen had always been as violent as her tongue, but now she tried to use it to advantage. She remembered the cosy chats when Prince George had been alive and she and Anne had sat together like two goodies discussing their men. Mr. Morley and Mr. Freeman. What intimacy there had been in those days! And Anne had been fond of Mr. Freeman. He had charmed her as he charmed everyone. Marl was a charming man.
Now she must soften the Queen; she must remind her of those days. Anne had always been sentimental and if she could touch that sentiment now who knows she might yet retain the keys of office. And she must retain them, for to lose them would mean to be cut off from Court, cut off from all hope of regaining power.
She wrote to the Queen in an unusually humble style and the theme of her letter was her concern for the Duke. She believed she wrote, that if he must continue in this state of anxiety, he would not live six months. If Anne would allow her to remain her servant she would, she promised, never do or say anything disagreeable to her.
There was submission. She was sure of success.
Having written the letter she went to the Duke who was lying on his couch and coming on him unawares she felt a twinge of anxiety. Perhaps she had not exaggerated in her letter to the Queen.
“Dearest Marl,” she said, “you are not well.”
He rose and immediately looked more like his old self. “I’ll be well enough when this unpleasantness has passed away.”
“I have the letter here. Take it to the Queen and insist that she read it.”
“I am in no position to command the Queen.”
“Oh come, you know what I mean. Beg prettily as you so well know how to do, and she will do as you ask.”
“Sarah, she is firmly determined …”
“I know her better than you. She will read that letter and be touched. Once I get back to her, I’ll see that I stay there.”
“I would rather not.…”
“Now, my brave commander. We shall win yet.”
She was irresistible. He had to obey her. Godolphin had felt the same, even Sunderland.
“We have to do this,” she said earnestly. “It would have been different if the Elector had listened to our plans.”
The Duke shook his head. “He believes that he will get the crown handed to him in a few years’ time so he sees no reason to fight for it now.”
“He should not be so sure. There are Jacobites and to spare in this country. They’ll have the Pretender back … and then Master Hanover will wish that he had paid a little attention to his friends.”
“He is not prepared to risk war for the English crown, Sarah. I can’t say that I blame him.”
“It seems I am beset by lily-livered cowards,” cried Sarah fiercely. “Well, there’s nothing to do but try to get back with Anne. She’ll read that letter, Marl; and when she does she’ll remember our friendship. She won’t have the heart to dismiss me then.”
Marlborough was uncertain of that, but nevertheless he obeyed Sarah and presented himself at the palace to ask for an audience.
This was granted, but when he produced Sarah’s letter the Queen said that she did not wish to read any communication from the Duchess.
“I beg of Your Majesty to read this letter,” said the Duke, kneeling and looking entreatingly up at her. Anne shook her head sadly. He was so handsome, and he at least had always been so modest, and in the old days she had thought Mr. Freeman to be one of the most charming men she had ever met. Mr. Morley had a high opinion of him too. What happy days they had been! But even then of course Mrs. Freeman had been overbearing; she had dictated the way they should go. Sometimes when she felt weakened by the gout and dropsy Anne would wake in the night from dreams about her father; she would imagine he upbraided her for her part in his downfall and in such dreams Sarah was always beside her, urging her on.
No, she did not want to think of the past; she would not read Sarah’s letter.
“Madam,” said the Duke, “if you will retain the Duchess until such a time as you will have no need of my services, this will save her much pain. I hope that the war will be over within the next year and then we could both retire together.”
“I cannot change my resolution,” said Anne firmly.
“The Duchess deeply regrets any uneasiness she caused Your Majesty and longs for a chance to revive that love you once had for her. She has sworn that if you will give her another chance she will serve you in all humility and endeavour to make up for any pain she may have caused you.”
Anne was silent.
“I beg you read the letter,” he implored.
She did so, but when she had finished it, she was silent.
“Your Ma
jesty is moved to some tenderness I see. I know that you will wish to put an end to the anguish which the Duchess now suffers.”
“I cannot change my resolution,” repeated Anne.
The Duke sighed, exerting all his charm in his endeavours to move her, but she only said: “The keys must be returned to me within three days.”
“Within three days, Your Majesty. I pray you give the Duchess ten days that the affair may be settled more discreetly.”
“No,” said the Queen, “there has been too much delay. The keys must be returned to me within two days.”
“Two days … but Your Majesty said three.”
“Two days,” repeated Anne firmly. “I cannot alter my resolution.”
There was nothing to be done but return to Sarah to tell her of his failure.
Marlborough faced his wife.
“Well?” she demanded, although his expression betrayed how the interview had gone and there was no need to ask.
“No use,” he said.
“She read my letter?”
“Yes, and remained adamant.”
“You should have talked to her.”
“I did.”
“Crawling at her feet, I doubt not.”
“Behaving in a manner best calculated to soften her, and at least I induced her to read the letter which she refused to do at first.”
“You allow her to treat you like a servant!”
“We are her servants.”
“Bah! That fat fool! If I could get back I would show her that I will not take such treatment from her.”
“That is precisely what you have done and why we are in this position now.”
“So I am to blame?”
“Can you suggest who else?”
“Yes, that disagreeable woman … with her filthy little dogs, her doting chambermaid, cards, her chocolates and her drivelling conversation. I cannot tell you what I endured from her. I was nearly driven mad by her inanities. And now … look at the way I am treated!”
“Sarah, for God’s sake be calm. You have to give up the keys.”
