by Jean Plaidy
He released himself from the Queen’s embraces. “Very well,” he said. “But I had thought that since you expressed your disapproval of the manner in which I was conducting affairs, you might wish to govern alone.”
“Oh, William, you are thinking of that stupid stupid remark of mine. I was so distressed. It was the letter from my father coming at such a time. I must implore you to forgive me. I must assure you that I could not endure to live here while you were in Holland. You know that I only live for you.”
It was enough.
He said coolly: “Very well, I shall remain. But pray remember in future that I do not care to be treated with disrespect at any time, more especially in the presence of my subjects.”
“I will remember, and I crave your forgiveness, William, on my knees.…”
“Have done. I shall remain.”
He left her and she wept quietly wondering whether he had gone to Elizabeth Villiers or to Bentinck.
The Princess Anne was growing discontented. Looking around her it seemed to her that everyone was benefiting from the new reign except herself.
Sarah and John Churchill had their new title and the revenues that went with it. Mary was Queen of England and William was King, for as long as he should live, which meant that Anne had been set back a place.
This she would have accepted if the new King and Queen had treated her more kindly. All during the years of separation she and Mary had corresponded and deplored their separation; but now that they were together again they found that over the years they had changed. They were not the inseparable companions they had been in childhood. Mary had become the complete slave of that Dutch Monster whom nobody could like because he was so bad tempered and uncouth; Mary was simply not herself. She wanted to talk incessantly and play cards and dance—which was all very well, but at the same time she had to do exactly what Dutch William wanted her to. Mary was, it seemed to Anne, like a shadow of Caliban in spite of her easy manners and love of pleasure. Everything he said was right in her opinion, whereas everything Anne said and did was wrong.
Anne loved cards more than anything; she loved to gossip too, but she found she had little to say to Mary, who did not seem to like Sarah.
Anne was pregnant and she was becoming uneasy because she had had so many disappointments. This time she desired to have a son even more fervently than usual so that she could score over her sister who quite clearly could not get one.
George was pleasant but dull; he provided no excitement. To everything one said, however exciting a piece of gossip, he would murmur: “Est-il possible?” and then nod drowsily. He was getting fatter and slept a great deal of the time, and although Anne was sure he was the best husband she could have, she did not find his company stimulating.
That left Sarah. What would she do without Sarah—dear, violent, amusing Sarah, who could always make her feel alive on her most sluggish days!
Sarah was always fomenting trouble; and now that she had her Marlborough title, she was showing quite clearly her dislike of the Queen.
She came into Anne’s apartments to find her mistress drowsing, but as soon as Anne saw her she felt alert. Something had happened to make Sarah indignant.
“My dear Mrs. Morley,” she cried. “What now do you think? I have had this straight from Dillon, who heard it from Keppel.”
Dillon was a page in the Marlborough household and Keppel one in attendance on the King.
“Pray sit down, dear Mrs. Freeman, and tell me what is agitating you.”
“As you can guess it concerns my dear Mrs. Morley, for it is when I see injustice done to her that I lose my temper.”
“Oh, dear,” sighed Anne. “What injustice?”
“Caliban has summoned Godolphin. He is a mean fellow, this King of ours. He cannot bear that money should be spent on anything but building and gardens and wars to set him more firmly on the throne. He asked Godolphin how it was possible for you to spend thirty thousand pounds a year.”
“How possible!” screamed Anne.
“Oh, yes, to mean William that seems a great deal of money.”
Anne’s face puckered. “But how can I manage on it?”
How could she indeed, Sarah wondered, when she gave such magnificent gifts to her friends and lost so much at cards. Wasting it on cards was folly, but it was well for Anne to have some outlet for spending money or there might be an inquiry as to where it all went. Gifts to the Churchills took care of quite a large portion of it; but the money was not wasted, Sarah assured herself; the Churchills were not people to fritter away their money. John was the most cautious of men—some might call him mean—and Sarah was no spendthrift. They wished to grow richer each year and Heaven knew they had begun poor enough.
No, Anne’s income must certainly not be cut for that would mean less gifts for the Churchills.
“One thing I will not endure,” said Sarah, “and that is to see my dear Mrs. Morley treated in this way. Where would they be if it were not for you? Who was it who kept them supplied with information? Who was it who made the way easy for them?”
“You, dear Mrs. Freeman.”
“Oh, no, no! It was my dear good kind Mrs. Morley. And how do they repay her? Have they forgotten that she stood aside to give him the sovereignty he was greedily demanding? Yes, they have forgotten. Depend upon it, Mrs. Morley, unless you stand firm, William will cut your income and that is something which I shall not allow you to accept.”
“Indeed not. My father was so good to me, was he not? Do you remember how when I was in debt he never failed to help me.”
“I remember.”
Anne looked tearfully at her friend. Life had really been more comfortable when her father had been on the throne. Mary and William were not nearly so affectionate. When Anne thought of the letter her father had sent to Mary which she had received on Coronation day and in which he had talked of curses, she wanted to weep, not so much with remorse but with terror, for she felt herself to be included in those curses. A father’s curse was a frightening thing to have hanging over one—particularly when one was expecting a child.
She began to wish that she had been a more dutiful daughter, that she had not allowed her fondness for gossip to embroil her in this affair which, from its beginnings as an exciting topic of conversation, had grown into a revolution.
Sarah following Anne’s thoughts put a stop to them immediately.
“All will be well as long as you stand up for your rights. They must not browbeat you, which is what they will do if they can.”
“Mary has changed so. She talks so much and I have nothing … simply nothing … to say to her.”
“I have thought of something you can say to her. This place is unfit for an heiress to the crown—and whatever they say you are that.”
“Unless they should have a child.”
Sarah gave a coarse laugh. “My dear Mrs. Morley expects the impossible. William would if he could but he can’t. That is why he pretends to spend so much time with his mistress. I tell you this, Bentinck is more to his taste than even Squint-eyed Betty, and between her and Bentinck he has no strength left for the Queen.”
Anne laughed. Sarah could always amuse.
“But Mrs. Morley, let us get back to important affairs. Is it right that the heiress to the throne should be housed in … squalor!”
Anne looked surprised. The Cockpit was a delightful place and she had always loved it; but for Sarah she would have gone on living contentedly there, never wanting to change.
“No, there are some wonderful apartments in Whitehall; those which your Uncle Charles had rebuilt for the Duchess of Portsmouth. They are the most magnificent in the palace, and if Charles thought only them good enough for Portsmouth, then I say that only they are good enough for the heiress to the Crown.”
“I know the apartments you mean, Mrs. Freeman. They are beautiful.”
“Then you must ask your sister for them without delay. This will show them that you are aware of your positio
n, of all you have sacrificed for them, and that it is time they began to treat you with due respect. This will make them see that they cannot begin fiddle-faddling with the accounts.”
“I believe you are right, Sarah dear.”
“I know I am.”
The Queen looked coldly at her sister. How enormous she was! It must be a large child. Mary hoped it would be a boy for she longed to see a child who would one day carry on the line.
Anne ate too many sweets. Mary admitted that she herself was inclined to corpulence; it was a trait they had both inherited from their mother. Mary dearly loved a cup of chocolate and although she knew she was putting on weight every day, she could not resist that and other delicacies. But Anne was even fatter and even more devoted to her food.
Anne was a disappointment. That absurd infatuation with Sarah Churchill meant that Sarah Churchill was making important decisions which she should never have had the power to do. If they were not careful, these Churchills would be running the country. William had said that it was a matter they must watch and William was naturally right.
Even a foolish creature like Anne could have a great effect on the country’s affairs; it was a sobering thought.
We have grown far away from each other, thought Mary; although I always thought her foolish and greedy. She imitated me in everything; I wish she would now devote more of her time to George—though I have to admit he is a fool and not in the least like William—instead of giving way all the time to that Churchill woman.
“I wish to leave the Cockpit,” said Anne.
“Leave the Cockpit! But I thought you were so comfortable there.”
“Perhaps not leave it entirely but I believe that in view of my position I should have apartments in Whitehall.”
“If you wish … but being so close …”
“I think that the heiress to the throne is entitled to very fine apartments in Whitehall and I have made my choice.”
Sometimes, thought Mary, when Anne asserted herself it was as though Sarah Churchill were speaking.
“Oh, and which are these.”
“Those which were once the Duchess of Portsmouth’s.”
“It is strange that you should ask for these,” said Mary, “for the Earl of Devonshire had asked me for them and I have promised that he shall have them.”
“So then I must stand aside for Devonshire?”
“You know that is not so. But having promised him I must speak to him on this matter.”
Anne bowed her head. “I pray Your Majesty to give me leave to retire.”
Back to Sarah went Anne.
“So you must wait on Devonshire?”
“She had promised him.”
“And when the heiress to the throne asks for apartments she is denied them because Master Devonshire has put in a prior claim? I never heard the like!”
“Doubtless he will give them up when he knows I want them.”
“And so the heiress to the throne is to wait on his leavings? You must write at once to your sister and tell her this. It is the only way in which you can uphold your dignity.”
Mary was so disturbed by Anne’s letter that she went to William. He listened coldly to the problem.
“You see, William,” went on Mary, “I had promised them to Devonshire, and I find it difficult to withdraw that promise now.”
William narrowed his eyes. “Her income is enormous,” he said. “I have been looking into these matters. Why does she need so much money? Why should she keep a separate table? The royal family should eat together. We need money for more serious matters than cards and favorites. Anne will have to reform her way of life; and that very soon. But in the meantime let her have the apartments she covets and retain the Cockpit. Then I shall go into the subject of her income.”
“But Devonshire, William.…”
William looked surprised. “Naturally you will tell him to stand aside.”
Mary bowed her head. She would, as usual, do exactly as William ordered.
“You see,” said Sarah, “it is only necessary to stand firm. They have browbeaten you because they believe you will allow it. But let me tell you this, if my dear Mrs. Morley will let others take advantage of her goodness, Mrs. Freeman will not.”
“You are right, of course, Sarah.”
“And it seems to me that apartments in Whitehall, however fine, and a place like the Cockpit, are not enough for the future Queen of England. I shall never forget Richmond, shall you?”
“Never. We were so happy there and it was in Richmond Palace that I first grew to know my dear Mrs. Freeman.”
“It has always been a royal palace and I cannot for the life of me see why it should not be yours.”
“Richmond! Oh, how I should love to be there again. The air always agreed with me so well.”
“Then you should ask for it, because it is by right yours.”
“I believe the Villiers have a lease on it.”
“The Villiers! Squint-eyed Betty and her family! It is not enough that Caliban spends the night with Squint-Eye instead of the Queen, but other members of that odious family may snatch your rightful home from you, as their sister does the King from the Queen.”
“I think I should have Richmond.”
“Then ask for it.”
The Villiers were in higher favor than Devonshire, and William was not going to force Elizabeth’s family to give up what they wanted to keep. Lady Frances Villiers, the deceased governess of Mary and Anne, had had a lease on the Palace and this was passed to one of her daughters, Madame Puissars, who had no intention of giving it up because Sarah Churchill wanted the Princess Anne to have it.
“You know what this means,” Sarah pointed out to Anne. “It is Caliban’s decree and of course your sister obeys him slavishly even when it is for the sake of his mistress. I dislike the entire Villiers breed, and I cannot say that I think very highly of the Queen for allowing them to hold such an influence over her husband.”
“Mary is quite besotted with the King. And it is not as though he is even kind to her. I thank God I did not have to marry him. Sarah, do you know, I think I was happier when my father was on the throne.”
Anne looked plaintive. They must reconcile themselves to being without Richmond, but Anne did not greatly care and it was more Sarah’s defeat than hers. Moreover, Anne’s confinement was drawing near and her thoughts were occupied with the coming birth.
Sarah was thoughtful. Ever since the Coronation she had been uneasy. The revolution had occurred so easily and she had imagined that once James was deposed that would be an end of him; but it seemed this was not so. James had friends—among them the King of France who was one of the most powerful monarchs in Europe. James was in possession of almost the whole of Ireland and parts of Scotland; he had struck terror into the minds of his daughters by his timely letter; and it was not improbable that he might return.
William was not popular and never would be because he lacked charm, and, although he had his virtues, he was no saint. His manners were bad; he was uncouth; although he was calm and controlled there were occasions when he seemed deliberately to let loose his temper, as he had when he had struck a gentleman with his horsewhip for riding before him on the race ground. This was considered bad manners by the English; it was simply not done, and the story was repeated and enlarged on and those who loved to record such incidents with wise sayings declared that it was the only blow he had struck for supremacy in his kingdoms. It was the age of lampoons and the royal family was spied on and every failing noted to become the inspiration for some gibe.
William was so often ill that only his great spirit enabled him to continue; he could not conceal his terrible cough, and it was the common belief that he would not live long. And after he was gone, pondered Sarah, would Mary be able to hold the country together? In spite of her devotion to William she was gay, and quite clearly if she could escape from his stern eye there would have been dancing every night at one of the Palaces. As it was ther
e was card playing. Card playing, William had said, was a safe occupation for his Queen because it prevented her talking. Mary was affable; she was beautiful, in spite of her growing bulky she was stately; and she had inherited some of her uncle’s charm. But her apparent lack of concern for her father’s fate had not pleased the people and continual comparisons were drawn to the tragedy of Lear and in some quarters she was known as Goneril.
It did not seem inconceivable to Sarah therefore that one day James might return. If he did Anne must be forgiven by him. Mary he would find it difficult to forgive for she had committed the great sin of allowing herself to be crowned. Not so Anne. It might be possible to convince James that Anne had been led astray by her wicked sister and brother-in-law. Anne was uneasy now; she could not rid herself of the sense of guilt which that Coronation letter had aroused in her. Mary felt the same but dared not admit it.
This was a situation which needed delicate handling and Sarah was not noted for her delicacy. She had always bludgeoned her way to victory and could use no other method. But subtlety was needed here. It was a fact that already certain people were beginning to drink to “The King over the Water”; there was a seemingly innocent trick of what was known as “Squeezing the Orange” but which had its significance.
The people were fickle. They had cried “No popery”; but if James would come back and promise there should be no popery would they welcome him? At least he was the rightful King; at least he was not a semi-hunchback with a Dutch accent, who, when standing, only came up to his wife’s shoulder, and had a perpetual sneer on his pale face.
