by Ron Pearse
Masham sighed herself before responding:
"It pains me to tell you ma'am that I am obliged to inform lady Churchill as keeper of the Privy Purse."
Anne protested: "Mrs Freeman and I agreed years ago Masham that you are allowed to mandate small amounts."
Masham was positive: "Your word is my command, ma'am, whatever the amount, but you do know how her ladyship creates should she find out."
Anne nodded gloomily shaking her head in despair musing, almost to herself:
"It doth put me in mind of ye cockfight yesterday when ye victim suffered a gash in ye neck. It started bleeding and ye other cock pecked and pecked ye wound until I begged ye owner to stop ye fight."
Masham grinned: "But that was a cockfight, ma'am. Can you imagine what would happen were they hens!"
Anne said triumphntly: "Aye, I can for that is how Mrs Freeman pecks at me. Look at this!" She hands Masham an envelope indicating she should remove the letter therein and having done so, the queen invited her to read it. As Masham looked at her and hesitated, Anne insisted: "Read it aloud, Masham, go on it's not a state paper. It is a peck from Mrs Freeman."
Masham does so and starts to read: "Narrative to Mrs Morley dated this 29th of October, 1709."
"Carry on!" urged the queen and Masham obeyed:
"I find by your last letter that there is an expedient." The queen sighed with exasperation: "Try ye next paragraph."
"It has lately come to my knowledge," Masham reads, "that the royal seamstress, Mistress Anne Rainsford is near unto death and as her place be in the disposal of my office as much as a footman be in the Duke of Somerset's."
Anne interrupted to say petulantly: "Except ye duke would not concern himself with such trifles, but madam..." She stopped conscious of a slight incivility on her lips and addressing Masham directly said:
"Enough, it doth behove me Masham to endeavour to do something for poor mistress Rainsford. Perhaps we can avert ye teasing and tormenting from our mutual friend. Pray Masham, visit ye sick lady on my account and dispense some physick."
Masham aware of the benefit to Mistress Rainsford from the disagreements between her cousin and the queen shrugged mentally though did not show any sign of feeling, simply saying:
"Whatever can be done will be done, ma'am."
Anne looked at her servant. There were tears in her eyes. She said: "I was thinking of my poor George and the physick you gave him to ease his suffering." Masham smiled back remembering this patient and his words. She said: "Do you recall his last words to you, ma'am. You are vun of ze rulers of ze world, sweetheart."
It hit a vital spot and the queen choked, but then looked up at Masham, joy in her eyes for her servant had captured the exact style and delivery of her late husband, the broken English adding to the pathos. The queen gushed: "You were near him too, Masham, were you not? As I recall you slept on a palette in ye ante-room so you could hear his slightest cry in ye night. I must to ye closet. Pray make some tea, enough for ye both of us."
Servant and queen depart from the queen's drawing room just as the sun breaks through clouds and illumines a cornice enriched with crowned monograms entwined with foliage after a design from Inigo Jones, long deceased, whose influence permeated country houses and palaces a century after his death.
Anne is the first to return sitting down at her writing table and as Masham re-enters, Anne calls out to her: "What a lovely aroma in ye privy Masham. I fancy I knew all your fragrances from herbs and wild flowers but this one had me foxed."
"Me too, ma'am, when first I caught its aroma in far off Hereford where Samuel and I, if you remember, spent the first days of our honeymoon. Essence of pine with a tincture of hibiscus courtesy of someone whose name I dare not mention, have not dared mention till now."
Masham stopped, excusing herself, as she could hear her kettle blowing off steam and quickly departed. A few minutes later she was back to the impatient sound of her mistress' voice:
"Afore you entered my service Masham, it were a trial to visit ye privy, but no more. You have chased ye bad odours away."
Masham said nothing, busy with the crockery and preparation for tea pouring. She placed the queen's best chinaware cup and saucer down. The steam lifted from the cup and rose in the air, and the queen watched it, then turned to Masham taking her place and said, cryptically:
"I have been thinking long on that gentleman whose name you have not mentioned. You chased ye bad odours away and I wonder whether our nameless gentleman might help chase mine enemies away. When next you see him, remember me to him."
Masham said: "I could bring him up the back stairs ma'am. Nobody need know. We could devise a cant name for him."
"What be that plant placed in ye linen, Masham?"
She heard and took the queen's change of topic in her stride and answered: "Lavender, ma'am. Excepting clothes and then it be pastilles of camphor to keep away the moths."
Anne mused: "Indeed he could keep away ye warmongers." Then louder to Masham asked: "I wonder how my sister fared. Did she have such things?"
"Her family had to do much darning, ma'am. That I do know."
"That would explain ye holes in her stockings. In case you be taken from me Masham, tell me some remedies. When I recover from ye Grippe what be ye physick against a cough?"
"Syrup of coltsfoot, ma'am. It will soothe a sore throat."
Anne mused: "He might soothe my sore ministers." Louder to her servant: "And mayhaps after dinner I have an upset stomach."
"Camomile tea ma'am settles it betimes. Or perhaps extract of white willow. Mayhaps I should show you ma'am where I keep them."
"He might show me what to do." Anne mused, but aloud to Masham:
"Are all grown in ye neighbourhood?"
"Yes, indeed, ma'am. According to Culpeper, a noted apothecary, people suffer, even die, for want of a herb in their own garden."
Anne mused to herself sipping the cooler tea, "I am suffering for want of him." Then aloud to Masham: "Oh! What if Lady Charlotte fails to appear?"
"Essence of Pasque, ma'am. You had it once remember!"
"But longing; what is ye physick for longing?"
Masham was suddenly bold. She said firmly: "Nothing, ma'am, except..."
"Except what, Masham?"
"Except to substitute one longing with another."
Anne was intrigued: "With another?"
"What do you long for most, ma'am?"
"I long for peace, Masham. That was my George's wish too. But what use longing when I can do nothing." She looked at her servant. Her servant saw a sad woman, not a queen at that moment, who muttered ruefully:
"I must be guided by my ministers."
"When I was last in Oxford, ma'am, a certain gentleman showed me a plant in his garden. He called it his peace plant. He would be pleased to show it to you too, ma'am."
"Would he advise me how to plant it? How to train it to grow straight. How to deal with ye weeds which want to strangle it."
"He could do all these things, ma'am, and more..."
"I cannot visit Oxford. Would he advise me here? Write and tell him your aunt would like a peace plant very much and entreat him to visit as soon as possible. Will you do it today, Masham?"
"Of course, ma'am."
"Oh, Masham, Masham, I am sick to heart. In a few days, in ye Parliament I must read a speech in thanksgiving for ye victory of Malplaquet. But I tell you if this be victory, I pray God we never suffer a defeat."
"My brother wrote me ma'am that it was held a victory because the English suffered far fewer killed than our Dutch allies."
"Is he safe?"
"Yes ma'am, safe to fight another day."
"That other day Masham, we must endeavour to postpone. For- ever if we can. God willing - and your gardener to help me"
"Mayhaps, ma'am, this day in a twelvemonth, the peace-plant will be growing in our garden."
"Not only growing Masham but thriving, and ye weeds sent packing." Anne looked at her ser
vant with a serious, nay severe expression. She said:
"But one thing to remember Masham."
Abigail was alert wandering what her mistress would tax her with and tremulously said: "What is that, ma'am?"
"Make sure your gardener does what all the servants do, humm!" Masham looked pale until the queen broke into a smile and said:
"He must use ye backstairs. Now pour me another cup of ye excellent Indian tea."
Chapter 18
The year is 1709 and it is April Fools Day and just as well for the tom-foolery about to take place in the Kit-Cat Club, a meeting place for Whig supporters who gather there to gossip about politics, the War, the going rate for prostitutes, perhaps, as there are only men drinking the favourite tipple of the age, coffee. The women's petition against coffee is just a memory remonstrating as they did against the 'grand inconveniences accruing to their SEX from the excessive use of that enfeebling liquor.' The only woman present is she serving behind the counter although from pictures of the coffee house of the day, the typical female looks of a bulk and constitution well able to cope with testosterone-fuelled ribaldries flying around. Most places seem, even a hundred years following its introduction into London, to be houses adapted for the purpose possessing for the most part long tables, side-by-side, and wooden benches though the rooms were well-lit by the tall Tudor windows newly fitted with glass supplied from manufactories set up by Huguenot craftsmen after their expulsion from France in 1685.
As they become more and more frequented by gentlemen of status, some landlords provided tables in corners, often lit with candles or, at request, cubicles where a few friends could enjoy a coffee in an atmosphere of confidence and conviviality. In one such cubicle a single candle illumines a table and its flickering flame lights up a gentleman's face as he addresses one his companion. Charles Spencer, earl of Sunderland, declaims:
"I am sure Louis will sign the peace terms uncle judging by the tenor of his letters intercepted by our friend." He was talking to Lord Sidney Godolphin who asked: "Have you any idea of the identity of our friend?" receiving the reply: "Apart from the fact that he holds a position at the court of Versailles, I am not privy to his name, rank or even nationality. These are all deemed so secret that few people know. I wonder indeed whether the duke knows. Such is the secrecy surrounding room 99."
After that little speech, Spencer sat back in his chair sipping the black liquid which was cool enough now to sip without blowing. Over the rim of his bowl he looked at Godolphin and felt a great compassion as he realised how aged and wan he appeared. His eyes were closed and he opened them to stare fixedly at his nephew and said matter-of-factly:
"When the rooms were numbered, the digits, 99, were left out deliberately on account of some superstition. How can this be?" He leaned across saying huskily: "If the room does not exist, perhaps your mysterious friend does not either."
"Oh, he exists all right," said Spencer with assurance though he was taken aback by the vehemence of his uncle's next question:
"To whom was Louis writing?"
Spencer knew the answer but hesitated to reply unsure whether diplomatic rules permitted him, and Godolphin, a diplomat since Spencer was in knee-high breeches, noticed, but did not change his expression as his nephew finally answered:
"The letter is addressed to his Excellency, the marquis de Torcy at the Hague. He is Louis' plenipotentiary ambassador to the States-General."
"Did the Sun-King convey any other thoughts of moment?" said Godolphin stifling a yawn and Spencer tried to make the information he held as vital as possible. He told his companion:
"The king complained of the cost of the war in strange terms. He mentioned unfamiliar weights of bullion that have had to be turned into coin to pay for supplies. His message to Torcy was that if the war does not end soon, the Palace of Versailles will look as bare as an English manor house."
Suddenly feeling dry Spencer stopped and lifted his bowl to sip at the cool black liquid and hearing nothing from his uncle gently placed the bowl on the table before him and continued with a suddenly thought-of question:
"How do we bring the war to a conclusion, uncle? Do we want to?"
Godolphin said flatly: "Louis is feeling the pinch, it would seem, but to answer your question, Charles, both France and Spain must agree to meet our demands. Reasonable demands which took us to war in the first place."
"Being out of the way for some little time, uncle, would you refresh my memory concerning these demands?"
Godolphin gave a half-smile as without effort he put his thoughts into words:
"Louis must renounce any claim to the throne of Spain for himself or his offspring. It is so simple."
"Ah, yes, I remember. Even simpler to say: No Peace without Spain."
Godolphin hurumphed, then said reprovingly: "Her majesty does not like that expression, nephew. I would appreciate your not using it in her presence. Not that you would, or have."
Spencer made a mental note as he asked: "Who, do the Allies wish, should be the king of Spain, uncle?"
"Charles of Austria would be the nominal king of Spain." answered Godolphin musing a while before continuing, "I might have said Spain and the Spanish empire, but as you know, its empire is somewhat reduced."
Spencer chuckled: "You mean that England's empire has become markedly greater as a result. But what of Flanders?"
Godolphin shifted in his seat. He said: "Austria would get Flanders as a reward for their support, much good may it do them."
"Gibraltar will be very useful to us, uncle, would you not say? Especially, in time of war." Spencer thought he had made a profound remark but his uncle said nothing so he added: "The Mediterranean, uncle. Just think! It will become an extension of the English Channel. No ship to enter or leave without our say-so."
Godolphin put on a bleak expression saying in reproach:
"That sort of talk Charles was the buzz of the court of Louis prior to this war, and see where it has landed him. Who knows what power will arise and challenge England - with more war."
His words silenced Spencer, but only for a moment. Changing the subject he said: "I heard the Thames had frozen over, uncle. That must have been jolly."
Godolphin said wearily: "That was months ago Charles. It was a bleak time for the ferrymen."
Spencer had signalled for more coffee and examining his fob-clock said: "I have asked someone to drop by uncle. Here he is." He rose from the chair and gestured towards the door and a middle-aged man returned his wave approaching their table and reaching it a little out of breath. He greeted Spencer: "My lord, Charles. It is good to see you," then noticing his companion and not waiting for an introduction, added:
"And you, my lord. How do you do!"
Godolphin nodded his head stiffly, simply saying: "Maynwaring!"
The gentleman did not appear to be put out. He was accustomed to such civilities as between members of the Commons and the Lords. Yet it was Godolphin who appeared to feel awkward, perhaps out of guilt in that both of them were acquainted with the Duchess of Marlborough, Maynwaring being her personal private secretary. Spencer had come to appreciate this man's skills in things parliamentarian and sensing his uncle's coolness towards the MP, told his uncle:
"Mr Maynwaring has composed a ballad, uncle. It tells of dark deeds at the palace. It's the talk of London."
Godolphin without looking at Maynwaring said: "As comptroller of imprests, Maynwaring, I would have thought you had more serious work. What are these dark deeds at the palace?"
It was a suspicious remark and Maynwaring said to Spencer, making eye movements towards Godolphin: "I did not realise, my lord; his lordship being so near her majesty."
Spencer however wanted his fun, saying: "Nonsense Arthur!" Then addressing Godolphin, added: "You'll love it uncle, especially the rendition of it by Mrs Danvers. You are in for a treat. Or should I say a tweet."
Both Maynwaring and Spencer guffawed at this whereas Godolphin ever suspicious remained aloof,
remarking obliquely: "Poor woman! She lost out to that Abigail creature."
Maynwaring said to Godolphin: "Precisely, my lord. Now she can get her own back." After this he rose and excusing himself strode towards the counter. In the meantime a second woman had joined the serving-maid. It was to her Maynwaring headed. As he spoke, Godolphin murmured:
"This is my last visit to the Kit-Cat. I came here to escape the tittle-tattle of females."
Spencer tried to cheer him up with the words: "She is a performer, uncle, not a client. Rest easy!" His eye catches Maynwaring signalling and both men hear him calling the assembly:
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen, I pray you. Give me a hearing."
There is some small diminution of noise so Spencer walks towards him to stand by his side. He cups his hands and his rather more penetrating voice calls: "Come now gentlemen; come now lads. Pray silence."
A lull gradually comes over the assembly and quickly Maynwaring declaims: "Mistress Danvers has kindly consented to recite the Ballad of St James as seen in the Examiner. Pray give the dame an audience.” She begins to recite from memory:
"When as Queen Anne of gwate we-noun." Titters from the audience. "Gwate Bwitain's sceptuh swayed." More titters. "Waised to a pwoud degwee, she did bwing," A loud guffaw among the open laughter. "a wuddy chambuh-maid. Oh Abigail! Faw that was she, who wubbed and scwubbed wight well."
Now there were tumultuous guffaws, but Danvers bravely carried on:
"She so impwessed the woyal heart, but thereby hangs a tale. However faw sweet service done and causes of gwate weight. Her woyal mistwess made her, oh! A minister of State."
She could scarcely be heard for there was bedlam. Nobody noticed a man leaving the room. Or another taking up station by the counter. The first man reappeared and nods to the other who removes his hand from inside his long army-style jacket. Belle Danvers continues bravely to recite:
"Huh secretewy she was not because she could not wite, but she had.." Her voice was drowned out by an explosion which reverberated in the confined space. Smoke billowed around as a voice barked: "Stay where you are! Nobody move." There was a crash and Spencer having retaken his seat noticed Danvers having fallen to the ground, in a faint. Mainwaring moved to her bravely ignoring the man with the pistol, who shouted: "Leave her be!"
