Courting Her Highness

by Jean Plaidy

  Her eyes narrowed. “If you had talked to her.…”

  “She could not be talked to. Her mind was made up. She kept repeating that she could not change her resolution.”

  “The old parrot!”

  “Sarah. Accept this. You have to give up the keys. She refuses to discuss any further business with me until those keys are in her hands. Unless you give them back I will have no position either.”

  Sarah tore the keys from her waist, where she always wore them. Two golden keys, symbols of those coveted posts: Groom of the Stole and Mistress of the Privy Purse. She had held those offices for a long time and now they were lost.

  She could have burst into tears.

  To relieve her feelings she threw the keys at her husband and they struck his head before falling to the floor.

  He picked them up quickly before Sarah could change her mind; and he lost no time in delivering them to the Queen.

  Anne looked at the two golden keys—the symbol of release. Never would she allow herself to become the slave of another as she had with Sarah Churchill. Not even dearest Masham, although she knew full well that Abigail would never presume to rule her.

  She was devoted to Masham more than to any other living person, but she was also fond of the Duchess of Somerset. There was a similarity between them; they both had the same colour hair. Some might call it carroty, but Anne found it delightful. She had also been fond of Lady Somerset ever since she had lent her Syon House when she had had nowhere to go during one of her quarrels with her brother-in-law William of Orange; she recalled even now how William had tried to prevent Lady Somerset’s lending her the house and how both the Duke and his wife had insisted that she have it. They had been true friends then—and she would never forget it.

  But Abigail was more necessary to her than anyone on earth. She juggled the keys, smiling to herself at the pleasure she was going to bestow.

  “Mrs. Masham.”

  Abigail started from her chair and stared at the man who had come into the room. He rocked a little uncertainly on his heels and his eyes were glazed.

  “Mr. Harley.”

  She thought: He is getting careless. His coat was spotted; perhaps he had just come from carousing with the literary men who were glad to work for him in exchange for the chance to call themselves his friends.

  He was breathing fumes of wine at her.

  “Mr. Harley,” she went on coolly, “have you just come from the tavern?”

  “Nay, Madam, from Her Majesty.”

  He was smiling at her almost insolently, as though he were reminding her that although she might give herself airs with others she must not do so with him.

  Resentment flared up in her. She found him attractive—this adventurer in the political jungle. Now she knew that when she had served the Marlboroughs in the house at St. Albans she had envied Sarah, not so much her position but the adoration she had aroused in a man like Marlborough. That was what she had wanted. Samuel was no Marlborough; but Harley might have been. Harley was a brilliant politician … but a drinker. Together they could have been supreme—as the Marlboroughs had planned to be—for she would never have lost her place as Sarah had. She would have known how to lead her man along to greatness. But instead she had Samuel—pleasant, mild, unexciting Samuel; while Harley—the first minister—was merely amused that she—an insignificant nobody—had been of use to him. Now he no longer needed her, for he had reached his goal.

  The thought occurred to her then that he would have to fight as hard to keep his place as he had to attain it, and therefore should curb his insolence.

  “Mr. Harley,” she said, “you have been drinking.”

  “Mrs. Masham,” he replied, “I have also been breathing.”

  “The latter is necessary, the former scarcely so.”

  “What! Do you understand me so little? The last is as necessary as the first.”

  “It is even more necessary to hide the fact.”

  “My guardian angel!” He laughed. “And here I have a present for a good girl.” He held up a golden key.

  She stared at it.

  “The Privy Purse for you. The Stole goes to Carrots Somerset.”

  “The Privy Purse!” echoed Abigail.

  “By far the most important post. ‘Please tell Mrs. Masham that I wish her to have it.’ So spake Her Majesty.”

  She held out her hand to take it, but he still retained it, mocking her with his eyes. Then he slipped it inside her bodice so that it rested between her breasts.

  Yes, he was certainly slightly intoxicated.

  She watched him turn and walk away. He was not as respectful as he had once been. Surely he was not the brilliant student of human nature she had believed him to be. Did he not realize that if he wished to hold his place he should be very careful to show the utmost respect to Abigail Masham—now Keeper of Her Majesty’s Privy Purse.

  Sarah was furious. Dismissed from offices which were now in the hands of her greatest enemies! Ordered to remove herself from her rooms at the Palace which would now belong to someone else!

  Very well, she would remove herself.

  She went to St. James’s Palace and took with her several of her servants.

  “Dismantle those rooms,” she ordered. “Take everything … the mirrors from the walls and the locks from the doors.”

  Her servants were bewildered by these orders but they knew better than to disobey.

  They took the locks from the doors and Sarah declared that she would have the chimney-pieces in time.

  Back to Marlborough House went Sarah, laughing exultantly as she thought of those rooms, the doors that would not even shut, the walls denuded of their mirrors.

  “Wait … wait until I get the chimney-pieces,” she promised herself.

  Marlborough seeing what she had done was aghast.

  “This is folly, Sarah,” he warned.

  “Folly! You think I should meekly stand aside and allow them to insult me. I am told to go … so I will go … and I will take what belongs to me with me. Do not think this is all. I shall send back and have the very chimney-pieces brought to me.”

  “No, Sarah, no.”

  “I tell you, I will.”

  “Sarah, are you mad?”

  “Mad I may be, but at least I am not a coward.”

  “This was a foolish thing to do.”

  “Foolish! To show the world how ill I have been used! I would have everyone know that the Duchess of Marlborough does not lightly take insults even if her husband does. I’ll have those chimney-pieces.”

  “You will not.”

  Sarah stopped her tirade to stare at him.

  “What?” she cried.

  “I said you will take nothing more from the Palace.”

  “I have sworn to have those chimney-pieces.”

  “I have sworn that you will not.”

  She was silent and he went on: “Sarah, for your own sake … for both our sakes … be calm … be dignified. We are on the edge of disaster. For God’s sake don’t send us hurtling down to utter destruction.”

  She looked at him and saw the pain in his eyes, the weariness of anxiety.

  Then she threw herself at him and burst into tempestuous weeping. He led her to a couch and they sat there together until he had calmed and comforted her.

  Abigail came to the Queen to tell her that Lady Marlborough had removed herself and her belongings from the palace.

  “For ever,” declared Anne. “She shall never come back.”

  “Your Majesty is now rid of a nuisance.”

  “Oh, Masham, how relieved I am! I cannot tell you what a threat that woman has been to me.”

  “A fury, Madam, as they call her in the lampoons. She leaves much damage behind her.”

  Abigail told the Queen of the dismantled apartments. “The very locks have gone! She bade her servants remove them.”

  “Oh, what a wild woman she is!” cried Anne.

  “But she has gone, Your Majesty. Y
ou need never see her again.”

  “Nor shall I. But to defame the palace! And when I think of all the money we are spending to build a palace for her and her husband. The cost of Blenheim is terrifying, Masham … quite terrifying.”

  “It seems incongruous, Madam. You are supplying money to build her a palace while she is destroying yours.”

  “It is quite incongruous. I have made up my mind. There shall be no more money for Blenheim. I shall build no house for the Duchess of Marlborough while she is pulling mine down.”

  These were indeed dark days for the Marlboroughs. Sarah deprived of her offices; Marlborough uncertain of what support he would receive from the Government; and Blenheim Palace which was to have been presented to them by the Queen and a grateful nation unfinished and the work on it stopped by royal command.

  DISGRACE AND DEPARTURE

  he Queen was dozing in her chair when Abigail told her that the Abbé Guiscard was waiting to see her.

  “I will see him, Masham,” said Anne, smiling. “He is such a brave man, and we must show how pleased we are to receive those who desert Catholicism for our Faith.”

  Abigail brought the Abbé to the Queen and retired into an ante-room where she could hear all that took place between the Queen and her visitor—a long-standing habit of Abigail’s.

  Anne, peering myopically at her visitor, did not notice how wild his eyes were and how his lips twitched. She saw a brave Frenchman forced to leave his native country on account of his religion. He had impressed certain people and as a result had been given the command of one of the regiments abroad and had committed himself with valour—so rumour said—at Almanza.

  Declaring that such men should receive encouragement in England Anne had arranged that he should receive a pension of four hundred pounds a year. Guiscard, in London, had been taken up by society and gave hair-raising accounts of military adventures in which he was always the central figure. Many of these had been recounted to Anne and it was for this reason that she had been willing to grant the interview.

  As soon as he was alone with the Queen, Guiscard became disrespectful.

  “I am offered a pension of four hundred pounds a year,” he said in a loud voice. “How do you think a man such as I can live on such a pittance?”

  Having expected a display of gratitude for her beneficence Anne was astounded, but before she could answer, Guiscard continued that he had thought it would be worth his while to come to England where he had expected to receive better treatment than he had. He might have stayed in France and been paid better for his services.

  “The interview is over,” Anne told him coolly. “You may retire.”

  “But I have not finished,” cried Guiscard. “I tell you this: I’ll not accept your miserable four hundred a year. I shall give my services to those who are prepared to pay what they are worth.” He rose and stood towering over the Queen who, her feet swathed in bandages, was unable to move.

  “Pray call Mrs. Masham,” said Anne imperiously.

  “You shall hear me,” shouted Guiscard.

  It was at this point that Abigail called the guards.

  When they entered Guiscard was shouting and flinging his arms about as though at any moment he would attack the Queen. The guards seized him and hustled him away.

  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.