by Jean Plaidy
“It is never too late, they say, Madam.”
“You are right, Hill. I shall start preparing myself now. I shall study history because that is a subject above all others that a ruler should be conversant with. Tomorrow, Hill, you will bring me history books and I shall commence my studies.”
Abigail did as she was told and when Sarah came in and saw what was happening, she snorted her disgust. There was no need for Mrs. Morley to disturb herself. Marlborough would provide her with all the knowledge and advice she needed.
But Anne plodded on; she studied for a week or so, but confessed to Abigail that she found it all very dull and it really did give her headaches.
Abigail’s soothing fingers, massaging the brow, charmed away the headaches; and it was so much pleasanter to talk than to read.
“Sometimes I think,” said Anne, “that it is unwise to live in the past. Modern problems need modern solutions. Do you think that is right, Hill?”
“I am sure you are right, Madam.”
“Then take away these books, and bring out the cards. Call some of the others. I have a mind for a game.”
William was thoughtful as he rode in Bushey Park on his favourite mount, Sorrel. He was scarcely ever in London at this time, although occasionally he left Hampton for Kensington Palace to attend a meeting of the Council; but he was always glad to return. Sometimes he felt that it was only the need to prosecute the war in Europe which kept him going. He felt death very near at times. But there was comfort in the saddle, as there had been all his life; it was only when he was in the country that he could breathe with ease; but even riding was becoming exhausting.
Riding Sorrel, he wondered whether the horse was aware of the change of masters. Did he ever remember the man who had once ridden him? Sorrel had belonged to Sir John Fenwick, whose goods William had confiscated when Fenwick had been executed for treason. The most precious item had been this Sorrel, who had become William’s favourite companion. Horses grew to know their masters; what did Sorrel think of the change? Whimsical thoughts rarely came to William; he was a man of sound common sense; yet on this day he was thoughtful.
Fenwick had been a Jacobite and a plotter, a man who was determined to make trouble; and he had made it. Marlborough’s name had been mentioned in connection with Fenwick, and William wondered how deeply the Earl had been involved. One could never be sure with Marlborough; there was a man whom he would never trust, but whom he dared not banish.
What an uneasy reign his had been! Far better, he sometimes thought, if he had remained in Holland. He remembered happier days there, when he had subdued Mary and taken his troubles to Elizabeth Villiers, and planned the building of his beautiful Dutch Palaces. The people of Holland had loved their Stadtholder; they had cheered him when he rode through their towns and compared him with his great ancestor William the Silent who had delivered them from the cruelty of the Spaniard.
“Why, Sorrel, was I not content with my own country?” he murmured. He often talked to Sorrel, imagining the horse sympathized with him. He would never have done so within the hearing of any living person; but he fancied there was a sympathy between Sorrel and himself. “Why did I have to come to this land and rule it? It was a desire in me, Sorrel, which I could not suppress. It was because the midwife saw those three crowns at my birth. Suppose she had not seen them, would I have schemed and plotted, would I have taken the crown from James? Mary had no wish to do so. How reluctantly she came! How she used to attempt to defend her father in those early days; and how angry she made me! If I had not believed that I was destined to possess three crowns should I be in Holland now; should I be happier than I have been?”
He was not sure. What was happiness? He had never believed it to be the right of human beings to possess it. Such a belief would be in opposition to his puritanical outlook.
“No, Sorrel,” he said. “It was predestined. It had to be. But is that the more comforting doctrine? What has to be, is. Then no blame attaches to the individual.”
Happiness, he thought. When have I ever been happy? With Elizabeth? But then there was always the guilt. With those dear friends Bentinck and Keppel? With Mary?
“No, I was never meant to be happy, Sorrel. I think that perhaps I am more contented on my lonely rides with you than at any other time.”
He turned towards the Palace. He could see it now—the magnificent walls to which he had given a flavour of Holland. Hampton grew more and more Dutch each day.
“Come, Sorrel,” he said.
Sorrel broke into a gallop; and William remembered nothing more until some time after. Then he learned that Sorrel had trodden on a molehill.
He was in great pain, and when his physician was brought to him it was discovered that his right collar bone was broken.
The King was dying. The King was recovering. He was at Hampton. He was at Kensington.
The Jacobites were rejoicing and drinking to the mole who had made the hill which had thrown William’s horse—a toast to the Gentleman in Black Velvet.
“He was riding Sorrel,” it was whispered. “Sir John Fenwick’s horse.” And they remembered the day when Sir John had been beheaded on Tower Hill.
William had sentenced Sir John to death and Sir John’s favourite horse had not forgotten. It seemed significant.
Many people were calling on the Princess Anne. Some, who had recently neglected her, now came to pay their respects. Sarah Churchill was with her; she could not bear to tear herself from her dear friend’s side. This meant that Abigail Hill was almost completely banished, for naturally Sarah did not seek to share her mistress with a chambermaid.
But William was recovering. He declared it was nothing more than a broken collar bone and he would not remain at Hampton, but set out for Kensington, it being imperative, he said, that he should attend the meeting of his council.
The Bill for the attainder of James Stuart, the so-called Prince of Wales, which had been decided on when James had refused to allow him to come to England as William’s adopted son, had not been signed; and this was something which he declared he must put into effect, for if he did not, on his death, that boy would be proclaimed King; in fact the King of France, who had already acknowledged him as Prince of Wales, would most certainly bestow on him the title of James III.
But when William arrived at Kensington he was very ill, for the bones which had been set at Hampton needed re-setting. Nor was that all. The shock of the fall, in addition to his habitual ailments, was too much for his frail constitution.
Yet he was determined to sign the attainder and had it brought to him. It was unfortunate that at the very moment when the document was laid before him he was attacked by a spasm which made it quite impossible for him to put his pen to the paper. The Jacobites declared this was a sign that God refused to let him sign the document against the true Prince of Wales.
But there were many who had no wish to call the boy their King; they had decided that Anne should be their Queen. There was no doubt that she was the daughter of James II and she was a staunch Protestant.
William was dying. This time there could be no doubt. Few would mourn him; everyone was looking towards St. James’s Palace where the Princess Anne, with her friend Sarah Churchill beside her, was waiting for the news that she was Queen of England.
QUEEN ANNE
he sun shone brilliantly on the March morning. All through the day ministers of the realm were making their way to the presence chamber in the Palace of St. James, jostling each other to be first to kiss the hand and swear allegiance to the new Queen.
Anne had assumed a new dignity; she had, after all, been born near the throne and had known for many years that there was a possibility that this day would come. Sarah never left her side; her excitement, though suppressed, showed itself in her shining eyes and her very gestures. She wanted those who entered the presence chamber to be aware of in what relationship Sarah Churchill stood to the Queen.
What power she had! Anne seemed bewitched b
y her. Abigail, dismissed by Sarah to her proper place in the shadows, looked on wondering how Anne could have forgotten those cruel words she had overheard. Had she forgotten? It seemed so, for her manner was as affectionate as it had ever been towards her dear Mrs. Freeman.
But was it? Abigail had come to know her mistress very well; and the affair of the gloves had been very revealing. Not by a look had she shown how hurt she was, how shocked; those who did not know the new Queen very well thought of her as fat, lazy, kind and a little stupid, in fact a woman who could be easily duped. They were mistaken. Anne avoided quarrels simply because she did not want to waste her limited energy in such a way; and Sarah Churchill who was so much aware of her own powerful personality underestimated everyone else. She believed that she could be rude to the Queen one day and have her in leading strings the next. But could she? Abigail was not sure. Yet seeing them together now made her wonder.
It made her excited too. She believed that she understood the Queen far more than Sarah Churchill ever could—far more than anyone else. That was why she, who had comforted Anne at the time of Gloucester’s death, who had witnessed the unkindness of Sarah Churchill, now meekly stood aside and made no attempt to call attention to herself. She had a suspicion that Anne was aware of her, demurely in the shadows, aware of her and glad she was there, that there was even a kind of conspiracy between them; as though she and the Queen, together, would fight the overpowering influence of Sarah Churchill from which Anne found it difficult to escape.
Sarah’s loud voice filled the apartment.
“Ah! So Clarendon is asking for audience. He is waiting his turn in the ante-room. And will Your Majesty see him?”
“He is my uncle …”
“Who had taken the oath of allegiance to your father and that means to your so-called brother. Tell him that when he qualifies himself to enter your presence you will be pleased to see him.” Sarah looked about her. “Oh, there is Abigail Hill. Summon one of the pages.”
As Anne’s shortsighted eyes momentarily fixed themselves on Abigail she smiled faintly, but Sarah did not notice; so Abigail hurried away to do her bidding.
When the page arrived Sarah said: “My lord Clarendon is without. It is Her Majesty’s wish that you tell him that if he choses to take the oath of allegiance to his legitimate Sovereign, he will be admitted to her presence—and not before.”
As the page went out the Earl of Mulgrave was ushered into the apartment, a handsome man and a poet of some standing who when he was young had courted Anne. She had wanted to marry him, but Sarah had broken up that romance—although neither of the lovers had known who had been responsible—by telling Anne’s uncle, Charles II, what was going on; as a result Anne had lost her lover who had been sent on a mission to Tangiers. When he returned Anne had already been married to Prince George of Denmark; and she was not the woman to indulge in extra-marital affairs. She was too lazy, too fond of George, too busy being pregnant with remarkable regularity; and in any case she preferred the society of women to that of men.
All the same she cherished an affection for this man who had been her first lover; particularly as he had been more faithful to her father than most; he had never been a friend of William’s; and becoming leader of the Tory Party had stood in opposition to the Court for some years.
Anne remembered this as he stood before her and her eyes clouded with momentary sentiment. She would always remember him as her lover, although she was happily married and he had already been married twice.
How strange that now he stood before her, she could think of nothing to say to him. And he was waiting for her to speak, for it was the prerogative of the Sovereign to speak first.
The sun was streaming through the windows; it seemed a good omen that the cold March winds should have dropped and the first signs of spring show themselves on her first day as Queen.
“It is a very fine day,” said Anne.
“Your Majesty must allow me to declare that it is the finest day I ever saw in my life,” was the earnest answer.
“I see,” smiled Anne, “that you have not forgotten how to pay a compliment.”
“Your Majesty will never lose the gift of inspiring them.”
Sarah hastily ushered in the next visitor. She would have to watch Mulgrave if Anne were going to be foolishly sentimental over the fellow.
Abigail was aware of the slightly stubborn set of the Queen’s lips, and she was certain that Sarah should take more care what she did. But Sarah was blind, blinded by her own egotism. Should she be warned? Inwardly Abigail laughed at the idea. She pictured Sarah’s reaction if Abigail told her to take care, for the proud Lady Marlborough would not relish being told what she should do by a chambermaid. But did the chambermaid want to warn her?
The page had returned and was talking to Sarah.
“My lord Clarendon replies that he has come to talk to his niece and that he will take no other oaths than he has taken.”
“Then pray tell my lord Clarendon that the Queen does not wish to see him until he recognizes her as his Sovereign.”
When the page had left Sarah turned triumphantly to Anne. “The stupid old man! Does he think he is going to rule this country! We will show him that he will have to take care in future how he treats Your Majesty. I remember how he behaved at the time William and Mary came over. He talked to you as though you were an erring infant in his control. I tell you, Master Clarendon will have to alter his ideas!”
There was no doubt that Sarah believed herself already to be in command of the Queen and the country.
The procession of ministers and courtiers came and went until it was time for the new Queen to attend service. This she did in St. James’s chapel and then retired to the apartments which had belonged to her dead son, while her own were hung with mourning.
“It is sad,” said Anne, “that on this day I should have to be reminded of my sorrow.”
“Tush!” retorted Sarah impatiently. “Mrs. Morley will have many children. She should think rather of those than the lost ones.”
Anne’s eyes filled with tears. “I fear there could never be another like my boy.”
It was Abigail who was ready with a handkerchief to wipe away the tears and a quick almost furtive smile passed between them, which Sarah did not see.
“I think Your Majesty should wear purple for mourning,” announced Sarah. “It will be different from that which you have been wearing for your father.”
“So many deaths … all at one time!” mused Anne.
“But such as we need not bother our heads with!” said Sarah harshly.
Abigail thought: She is too confident.
And a great excitement seized her.
Lady Marlborough was in constant attendance. Even those menial tasks which she had left to Abigail were now performed by her. Some of the wits jokingly called her Queen Sarah.
Anne seemed content to have her favourite with her; they addressed each other in the old affectionate terms, but with Anne’s new rank Sarah too seemed to have assumed new dignity; it was quite clear that she saw herself as the power behind the throne.
Abigail had become merely the chambermaid and there were occasions when she believed that her original notion that the Queen had not really forgotten Sarah’s outburst were quite wrong. Judging by their conversation there appeared to be no doubt that Anne was as devoted as she had ever been.
“My dear Mrs. Freeman, I want you to have the Rangership of Windsor Park for life.”
“If Your Majesty insists,” said Sarah, modest for once.
“Of course I insist.”
“I had hoped to be Groom of the Stole and Mistress of the Robes so that I might be in constant attendance.”
“My dearest Mrs. Freeman, the posts are yours.”
“And the Privy Purse … Frankly, Mrs. Morley, I should hesitate to trust any with that.… I would take it on if Your Majesty insisted.…”
“You must take it on, Mrs. Freeman.”
Abig
ail’s heart sank. Anne must be completely besotted. What was this strange power of Sarah’s?
“Your Majesty has been so good to me,” said Sarah, “and that gives me great pleasure; but Your Majesty who so loves dear Mr. Morley will understand that I would give up everything that has come my way for one small honour for Mr. Freeman.”
“I remember how you once badly wanted the Garter for him,” said Anne.
“I am sure there is no one—just no one—at Court who deserves it more,” was the fierce rejoinder.
“You are right and it is only just that it should be his.”
“My dear Mrs. Morley!”
“My dearest Mrs. Freeman, so Morley has made you happy?”
It was incredible! thought Abigail. She had miscalculated; she would be an insignificant bedchamber woman for the rest of her days.
Sarah’s new posts brought in seven thousand five hundred a year, but Anne said that she needed more.
“You must allow me to give you a further two thousand, Mrs. Freeman.”
Sarah’s eyes sparkled, but of course she dared not accept. There would be trouble as there had been previously. She did not want it to be said that the Marlboroughs took too large a share of the Queen’s income. Their enemies would find some means of cutting down Anne’s allowance if that were spread about.
With great self-restraint Sarah declined her dear friend’s generous offer. But it was very satisfactory, as she explained to dear Marl. A Garter for him; fresh posts for herself; an added income; and most of all—power!
It was Sarah’s prerogative to bestow posts and that was one of the most profitable businesses in the country.
“Her Majesty will allow no places to be bestowed without my approval,” was her very proud boast.
She was indeed Queen Sarah.
When Anne made her first visit to Parliament as Queen it was Lady Marlborough who rode beside her; and when she entered the House, Prince George was on one side, Sarah on the other, and Marlborough himself carried the Sword of State before her.
