by Jean Plaidy
A further honour had been bestowed on the family, for John Churchill had been made Captain General of the British Armies abroad.
Anne looking regal and wearing the star on her breast and her robes of velvet and ermine, was very different from the indolent careless Princess, and she seemed very conscious of her dignity. One of her greatest assets was her beautiful voice, and she spoke earnestly and eagerly of her intention to rule well; she wanted no strife through the three kingdoms.
“And as I know my heart to be entirely English, I can very well assure you that there is not anything you can expect or desire from me which I shall not be ready to do for the happiness and prosperity of England, and you shall always find me a strict and religious observer of my word.”
“God save the Queen!” was the loyal answer.
The new reign had begun, but there were many who, watching the Queen and her courtiers, asked themselves: “Whose reign? That of Queen Anne or Queen Sarah?”
The day selected for Queen Anne’s coronation was April 23rd.
She confided to Abigail: “Hill, I dread the ceremony, for I do not see how I am going to walk to the Abbey.”
“Your Majesty will have to be carried.”
“A Queen carried to her coronation! Have you ever heard the like? Oh dear, I fear it is going to be a most tiring occasion. I wish that I could dispense with it.”
“Your Majesty will come through it, charming all who behold you.”
“But a Queen carried to her coronation, Hill!”
“The people will love you the more for your misfortune.”
“I believe you are a wise young woman. ’Tis true enough they love when they pity. And they will remember the loss of my boy.”
Anne had formed a habit of talking of her boy to Abigail; she would go over the anecdotes again and again, but Abigail always listened as though she was hearing them for the first time.
“You’re a comfort to me, Hill,” Anne said on more than one occasion, for another habit of hers was to make a phrase and repeat it again and again. This irritated Sarah, who would sometimes make an impatient gesture when these repetitious phrases were used; Abigail never gave a sign that she had heard them before. And there were occasions when Abigail suspected that Anne enjoyed those sessions with her more than she did the brisk encounters with Sarah.
So on the morning of the coronation Abigail listened once more to the stories of the dead Duke’s perfections until Sarah bustled in to stop the reminiscences.
“I was telling Hill how I wish my boy were here to see this day.”
“I doubt not it would have pleased him mightily,” said Sarah. “Now I have come to see that everything is in order. Nothing must go wrong today!”
“I am sure it could not with you, dear Mrs. Freeman, to attend to all that should be done.”
Abigail faded into the background, forgotten.
“Ah, yes,” mused Anne, “if only my boy were here.…”
“I can tell you, Mrs. Morley, I am not so pleased with my boy.”
“My dear Mrs. Freeman, what do you mean?”
“He has a desire, mark you, to join the Army, and serve under his father.”
“A very natural desire when you consider he is Mr. Freeman’s son. And my dear Mrs. Freeman is a fighter too. I am sure if she had been born a man she would have been commanding an army.”
“Lord Blandford is sixteen years old. That is no age to become a soldier. I said that he should go from Eton to Cambridge and that is where he has gone. But he is displeased with me because of it and I can tell you I am displeased with him.”
“It is a pity when families quarrel.”
“Quarrel, Mrs. Morley! Do you think that I shall allow my own son to go against my wishes?”
Anne sighed. “And what does Mr. Freeman think?”
“Oh, he thinks that there is only one worthwhile profession in the world and would willingly take young John with him into service. I can tell you I put a stop to that nonsense.”
“I believe even Mr. Freeman is afraid of you.”
“Then I am the only one in the world he is afraid of. Of course later on it may well be that young John will join his father, but not yet.”
“How fortunate you are, Mrs. Freeman, to have children. I often think that if my boy had lived and I had been able to give him brothers and sisters I should have been a very happy woman. I would willingly give my crown in exchange for a family of boys and girls. Sometimes when I see my poorest subjects …”
“Well, well, we have to accept our lot. And now, Madam, if you are to be in time for your coronation …”
Abigail listening, marvelled at the temerity of a woman who could cut short the Queen. Yet here was Sarah taking the important posts while she, Abigail, who let the Queen talk, who always agreed with her and soothed, had to dissolve into the background as soon as Sarah appeared, and emerge again only when she could make herself useful.
It was eleven o’clock when Anne was carried in her sedan chair from St. James’s Palace to Westminster Hall.
She was deeply conscious of her state, for since she had become Queen she had thought more and more seriously of her position. She wanted to be a good Queen; she wanted her people to love her; as she had told dear George: If she looked upon the people as her children she could find some compensation for the loss of her dear boy.
In the Hall she remained seated while the company was assembled for the procession to the Abbey. As her husband followed the Archbishop of Canterbury into the Hall he looked for her, and when he saw her his expression was one of such tenderness that she thanked God for giving her such a good man.
I am happily married, she thought, and the only sorrow in our union is the loss of all our babies and the greatest sorrow of all, that of our boy.
George was a dear man, although he was rather dull; he did eat too much and drink too much, but he was never bad-tempered. He became more and more affable as he grew more and more sleepy; and when he murmured “Est-il possible?” which was his favourite phrase he meant to encourage those who were talking to him. It was true that she found the company of Sarah more amusing and that of Abigail Hill more soothing—but George was a good man, and the best possible husband for her.
He was concerned now for her feet which were so tortured by gout and dropsy, but she flashed him a smile to assure him that she was managing well enough.
She was helped into the open chair in which she would be carried and the procession set out through New Palace Yard towards the west door of the Abbey. The sight of the Queen in her chair, the circle of gold set with diamonds on her abundant curled hair, the kindliest of smiles on her placid face, set the people cheering and shouting “God Save the Queen.” Tears were in her eyes; she wanted to tell them that she loved them all, that she regarded them as her children; that she wanted to care for them and bring good to them.
It was a moving ceremony. She thought of all those who had passed through it before her and naturally she must remember her father. She reminded herself that he had forgiven her before he died; and at least he was not alive now, so she was not taking the throne from him. How different it had been with poor Mary who had been crowned while he lived, and had received a letter from him on the very morning of the coronation in which he had cursed her.
It was a thrilling moment when the Archbishop presented her to the people.
“I here present unto you Queen Anne, undoubted Queen of this realm. Whereas all you that are come here this day to do your homages and service, are you willing to do the same?”
The cry echoed through the Abbey. “God save Queen Anne.”
The trumpets burst forth and the choir rose to sing: “The Queen shall rejoice in Thy strength, O Lord; exceeding glad shall she be of Thy salvation! Thou shalt present her with the blessings of goodness, and shall set a crown of pure gold on her head.”
Anne deeply moved vowed to herself: I will be all that they desire of me. Before my days are done they shall call me G
ood Queen Anne.
Her progress to the altar was painful, but she scarcely felt the ache in her feet; she believed that God gave her special strength on that day. When she heard the words “Thou shalt not appear before the Lord thy God empty!” she put the gold which she had brought with her into the proffered basin and thought once more of her sister and William who at this moment of their coronation—owing to the consternation they had felt earlier on receiving the letter from the deposed James—had forgotten to provide themselves with the necessary gold.
Her beautiful clear voice with its perfect enunciation could be heard repeating the declaration after the Archbishop; this was an important part of the coronation, for it assured the people that she did not believe in the theory of transubstantiation, that she considered the worship of the Virgin Mary and any saints idolatrous; in fact that she was a member of the Protestant Church.
And when she answered the questions put to her and came to that one: “Will you, to the utmost of your power, maintain the laws of God, the true profession of the gospel, and the Protestant reformed religion established by law?” she answered with great fervour: “All this I promise to do.”
Supported by the Chamberlain she regained the altar and there, laying her right hand on the Bible, made a solemn oath to carry out all her promises.
The coronation ring was on her finger; the crown was placed upon her head and the repeated shouts rang out once more.
“God save the Queen. God save the Queen.”
The guns from the Abbey turrets fired a salute which was answered by the guns of the Tower of London. The trumpets sounded.
Seated on her chair of state Anne received the homage of the peers. George was the first to come forward and kiss her cheek, and there was more than homage in his eyes: there was pride and pleasure. Dear, dear George! she thought. He could not be happier if they were crowning him. But was that not like her dear boy’s father? How different he was from her sister’s husband, William. Poor Mary! I am fortunate when I think of her.
One by one they came to her … these important men who would play their part in shaping her reign for good or for evil. The thought sobered her, but the feeling of exultation remained, and for the first time since the death of her beloved son did her grief recede almost to insignificance. It would return, of course; but at this moment she felt her duty so strongly that there was a new purpose in her life, and during this solemn ceremony she believed that if she could win the love and respect of her subjects she could be happy again.
They were singing the anthem now. The triumphant ceremony was over.
But this was not the end; there was the banquet to follow. How willingly she would have dispensed with that; there was nothing she wanted so much now as to lie on her bed and rest her poor aching feet. She would like quiet Abigail Hill to unbind her hair and massage her forehead while she talked to her of the coronation and how she intended to be a good Queen. Abigail Hill would understand; and she would believe that this could be. What pleasure then to be alone in her bedchamber with Abigail Hill!
That could not be. Knowing how wearying she would find this coronation since, although she was carried to the Abbey in her chair, it would be necessary to walk up to the altar and stand for a while, she had vaguely hinted that the banquet might be dispensed with. How horrified Sarah had been at the thought!
“What!” she had cried. “They would say you were afraid. Have you forgotten what happened at William and Mary’s banquet? Then, when Dymoke made his challenge a glove was thrown … and what a scandal that made! The Jacobites would say you were afraid the same thing would happen at your coronation. No, banquet there must be, and attend you must.”
She had to agree that Sarah was right; but Sarah’s voice seemed to have become louder since the accession and more authoritative.
A banquet always had a certain charm for her; however tired she was she could always show appreciation for good food. At her left hand at the table sat George, benign and uxorious; his little eyes, embedded in fat, glistening at the sight of all the good things on the table.
It would have been a pleasant ending to the ceremonies if she were not so tired.
Dymoke made his appearance and no one accepted his challenge, and the faint embarrassment which memories of the previous coronation had provoked was ended.
It had been an inspiring and invigorating day but she was glad it was over. Anne was divested of her coronation robes at the Court of Wards and helped into the chair in which she would be carried back to St. James’s Palace. Back she thought to Abigail’s soothing ministrations. Oh, to be lying on her bed with that good woman within call!
There were bonfires in the streets; the sounds of music drifted along the river; and as she entered the Palace Anne heard sounds of revelry in the state apartments. Her attendants were preparing to give her a royal welcome.
She heard the shouts: “God save Queen Anne.”
There were toasts to be drunk and George’s eyes gleamed at the prospect, for much as he loved food he loved wine better.
Anne’s heart sank, for she had believed it would be possible to go straight to her bed. Lord Lindsay, the Chamberlain, noticed how tired she was and leaning towards Prince George said: “Perhaps Your Highness would propose going to bed.”
George looked like a child who was in danger of losing a toy he has hoped for. Then he said: “I cannot propose. I am Her Majesty’s subject. I can do nought but what she proposes.”
Anne overhearing this laughed and: “Well then, George, as I am so very tired I command you to come to bed.”
She held out her hand. George took it; and they retired to the royal bedchamber.
A DEATH IN THE FAMILY
hile the Queen was sleeping Sarah left the bedchamber in charge of Abigail Hill and went to seek her husband. She found him in their apartment waiting for her and she flew triumphantly into his arms.
“So, at last it has come!” she cried.
“ ’Tis so. But this, my love, is the beginning.”
“Never fear. I shall tell her what she must do.”
“That you will, but we must not forget that she has a Parliament. We have to go carefully. Rochester is after the office of Lord Treasurer. He must not get it, Sarah. If he does that is the end of our hopes.”
“Rochester! He shall not have office! I shall forbid Morley to consider it for a moment.”
“Two things you have forgotten, dearest. He is her uncle and she is the Queen.”
“I forget nothing. Uncle or no, he shall not have the post. And Queen or not, she shall obey me.”
“For God’s sake, my love, do not let our success go to your head.”
“Marl, I could find it in my heart to be angry with you.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “Nay,” he said, “never. You and I are as one, Sarah, and you know it. I am too cautious and you are too quick. Listen, love, let us stand together and with your speed and my caution we cannot fail.”
“Well,” she said with a grudging smile, “let us hear what you plan.”
“To keep Rochester out. He will vote against war and that will be the ruin of our country. We have to stop the French from commanding Europe. And I am going to do it.”
“Well, you are the commander of the Army.”
“Of what use if the chief minister were against me? Even if I succeeded in prosecuting the war I should be denied the necessary supplies. No. I want a Lord Treasurer who is completely with me and there is one man for the job: Godolphin.”
“Godolphin it shall be. Was it not for this purpose that we allowed Henrietta to marry his boy?”
“I have spoken to him, Sarah, and he tells me he has no love for the job.”
“No love for the job. Then Master Godolphin will have to change his views.”
“I have tried to persuade him.”
“You leave Godolphin to me. I will make him see his duty.”
John smiled. She was fierce; she was forthright; and he fancied God
olphin was a little afraid of her.
“There would be no harm, my dear,” he said, “in adding your voice to mine. You could remind Anne that Godolphin has always supported her—which is more than Rochester has. Remind her how he tried to stop William and Mary when they wanted to reduce her income and how he remained her friend when she was at the height of disfavour. She is not one to forget past friends.”
“She shall be reminded, I promise you. Have no fear, Marl; the Treasury shall go to Godolphin. And there is one other matter I wish to take up with you. It’s our own young John. I believe you have been encouraging him.”
“Oh, come, Sarah, it’s natural enough the boy should want to follow his father’s profession.”
“In due course. At the moment he stays at Cambridge.”
“Well, that is agreed. But there is surely no need for you to continue to show the boy your displeasure. He has obeyed you. Is that not enough?”
“I do not expect my children to attempt to disobey me.”
“He is but a boy.”
“But he was ready to defy me!”
John laughed affectionately. She was overbearing and arrogant, but the magic of her presence never failed to enchant him. With her flashing blue eyes and the indignant colour in her cheeks, he thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even his daughters—beauties all—could not compete with their mother.
She should have her way, of course—even though he must lay a gentle restraining hand on her.
“Sarah, my love, do not let our son feel the force of your displeasure too long.”
“He will have to learn that I know what is best for him. But … there are important matters which need attention. I shall see Godolphin without delay and point out where his duty lies.”
Sarah came into the Queen’s bedchamber where Abigail was kneeling at Anne’s feet, bathing her swollen ankles.
“Hill has such gentle hands,” murmured Anne.
“Yes, yes,” said Sarah, signing to Abigail to get up, take her basin and be gone.
