Courting Her Highness

THE SUNDERLAND CONTROVERSY

Sarah returned to St. James’s and installed herself in her apartments there. From these there was a secret staircase which led down to the Queen’s apartment and which in the old days had delighted them both.

Anne was pleased to see her; whenever Sarah put in an appearance she always forgot the alarming thoughts which had beset her previously, for such was the power of Sarah’s personality that when she was there Anne still believed that she was the one person in the whole world for whose society she longed more than any other.

“So, Mrs. Morley,” she was saying, “I shall get my Mary married at last.”

“She is so young yet, dear Mrs. Freeman.”

“She is old enough for marriage, that one. I can tell you she has led me a pretty dance. Who would have daughters?” Sarah did not notice how her companion winced, nor did she give a thought to the many miscarriages which had become a pattern of the royal existence. So many disappointments that Anne was losing all hope; but that did not mean she wanted continual references to those who were more fortunate than herself. Didn’t her sad mode of signing letters as “your poor unfortunate Morley” explain her feelings? But Sarah was heedless of the thoughts of others. She was without tact, a failing which she called honesty; but that which she saw as honesty in herself she would call rudeness in others. Sarah cared for no opinion but her own—not even the Queen’s. In Sarah’s opinion Sarah was always right and that applied even when people like Godolphin or even Marlborough himself contradicted her.

Sarah swept on: “The sooner the marriage takes place the better. It’s an excellent match. Both her father and I will be pleased to welcome Lord Monthermer as a son-in-law. He’ll be the Earl of Montague in due course and the marriage is as good as those of her sisters.”

“She is only a child.”

“You deceive yourself, Mrs. Morley. Mary’s no child. She has already found a bridegroom for herself … a most unsuitable one, I can tell you. Of course I soon put an end to that bit of nonsense.”

“Poor Mary! I suppose she was in love.”

“In love! My dear Mrs. Morley! In love with a man who had nothing but a poor estate! A fine thing for Marlborough’s daughter.”

Anne continued to look sad. Sentimental fool! thought Sarah. Why do I have to waste my time with her! What does she ever think of but the cards … and food! Of course she must give Mary a dowry like the others. Marl will be horrified if he has to provide the lot.

“This is most satisfactory and I shall be glad to see the girl settled. I hope your Majesty approves of the match.”

“If Mr. and Mrs. Freeman approve so do I. You must allow me to give her a dowry.”

“You are the most generous friend in the world, Mrs. Morley.”

“My dearest Mrs. Freeman, you are the best friend in the world to allow your poor unfortunate Morley to take a share in your children’s marriages, since she can have no hope of such personal happiness.”

“You are so good to Mrs. Freeman.”

How much? wondered Sarah. Five thousand like the rest?

Sarah also had another reason for being at Court. Her first grandchild was to be christened and she hoped the Queen would be his godmother.

Anne wept with joy at the prospect.

“The next best thing my dear Mrs. Freeman to being a grandmother is to be a godmother.”

“I had hoped you would think so. Godolphin and Sunderland will be the child’s godfathers.”

The Queen nodded. She had never liked Sunderland who had voted against dear George’s allowance being increased, and that was something for which she would never forgive him; and since she had become so friendly with dear Mr. Harley she was beginning to find Lord Godolphin rather tiresome.

“We’re going to call him William,” said Sarah. “His mother has already given him the name of Willigo.”

“Willigo for William. He’s named after my boy. It’s so charming,” said Anne. “I long to see the dear little creature.”

So cosy! she thought. It was like the old days when they had talked about their children, when her dear boy had been alive and Sarah’s son too. Poor Mrs. Freeman, she had lost a beloved son, the same as the Queen had; it made such a bond between them; but Sarah was the more fortunate. She had her daughters and now her darling grandchild. Little Willigo!

The door opened suddenly and Abigail came in; she was smiling and turning, Sarah stared at her in astonishment.

What an unusual way for a chambermaid to enter the Queen’s presence! No scratching at the door, no humble approach!

How odd! thought Sarah. How very odd.

Abigail stopped short, seeing who was with the Queen.

“You … Your Majesty rang?” she asked.

Anne looked at the bellrope as though with surprise. “No, Hill,” she said with a pleasant smile, “I didn’t ring.”

“I ask pardon of Your Majesty and Your Grace.”

Anne nodded pleasantly and Sarah haughtily inclined her head, while Abigail closed the door.

Sarah forgot the incident immediately. The manners of the chambermaid were scarcely worthy of her consideration at such a time when she had the marriage of her daughter and the christening of her grandson to occupy her mind.

Abigail stood outside the door and for once she allowed her features to fall into an expression of hatred. That woman had only to appear and she was immediately delegated to the position of humble chambermaid and poor relation.

Would it ever be possible to oust the proud Churchill woman from her place—even with the help of Robert Harley?

During the weeks that followed Abigail began to believe that her fears were justified. Sarah had only to appear and Anne it seemed was ready to forget all past neglect and become her slave.

Never, it seemed, had Sarah been so powerful. In the past they had differed in their views, Anne being at heart a staunch Tory and Sarah inclining strongly towards the Whigs; but now the Whigs had been successful at the polls and even the Queen was favouring them; and because they knew how much they owed to Sarah they were ready to give her the adulation she expected. Tories such as Robert Harley and Henry St. John sought her favour—outwardly—and it did not occur to her that they had anything but the utmost respect for her, while like so many others, they hoped for her friendship.

Sarah was more powerful than she had ever been before.

Harley was watching eagerly. The more powerful she became the more careless she grew. Not once during those days when her ascendancy seemed complete did he despair of sending her hurtling down to failure. He hoped that she would continue in her arrogant blindness for he realized that his greatest ally was Sarah herself.

The woman was dazzling, brilliant—and a fool.

Someday, someone was going to carry those slighting remarks about the Queen right back to the Queen. At the moment no one dared … but the time would come.

In the meantime his friends, the wits and wags of the coffee houses, were playing the part he expected of them, and laughing at the situation; Viceroy Sarah was Queen Sarah now, and sometime their lampoons might reach the Queen.

“And Anne shall wear the crown but Sarah reign,” they wrote.

“Churchill shall rise on easy Stuart’s fall

And Blenheim’s tower shall triumph o’er Whitehall.”

And then came a chance to discountenance Sarah.

It was only to be expected that Sarah should believe that the Member of Parliament for St. Albans should be chosen by her, and she selected as Whig candidate Henry Killigrew whom she was certain, with a little persuasion to the electorate from her, would be elected.

The Tory candidate was a Mr. Gape and Sarah set out to attack him, but in spite of her efforts he was elected, and Henry Killigrew, believing that he could not fail if he had the support of the Duchess of Marlborough, was certain that Gape could only have won through bribery, and promptly accused him of it.

Gape took the matter to court where his counsel turned the tables by making a public announcement that the Duchess of Marlborough in her support of Killigrew had been guilty of ill practices. This the Duchess poohpoohed with her usual scorn, but when witnesses were brought forward Sarah’s enemies began to chortle with glee.

Robert Harley called on Abigail and they took a little walk in the gardens of the Palace to discuss this interesting affair.

“I’ve seen Gape’s counsel,” Harley told Abigail. “This is most illuminating. The Duchess of Marlborough has been ordering members of the electorate to Holywell House to give them little homilies as to how they should vote. You can guess what they were like. More warnings than homilies, ‘If you don’t vote as I tell you it will be the worse for you!’ I’ll swear.”

“But this is certainly an ill practice.”

“No doubt of it. We’ll have Madame Sarah taken up for bribery and corruption yet.”

“She must be quite furious.”

Harley laid his hand on Abigail’s arm and she lifted her face to his. Sometimes she thought he was fully aware of the effect he had on her. She was fascinated and yet in a way repelled, but the fascination was the strong emotion.

“You allow her to intimidate you, cousin.”

“She is an intimidating person.”

“Don’t forget each day you grow farther and farther from her reach.”

“I believe she would still have the power to dismiss me … if she should decide to do so.”

“Then we must make sure she is robbed of that power as soon as possible. This affair might well help to divest her of some. She has been telling the people of St. Albans that Mr. Gape and his kind would unhinge the Government; she has paid one man twenty guineas; unfortunately there was no mention in writing that the gift was in exchange for his help in the election.”

“She is the most indiscreet woman in the world, but it seems everyone is afraid of her.”

“It will not always be so, little cousin. This pleases me. Let us hope that she has been even more indiscreet than usual and put something in writing which can be used against her.”

In spite of Sarah’s indiscretions on that occasion nothing was proved against her; but her enemies—and in particular the Tories—were loud in their condemnation of her.

And she was as bold as ever. She assured herself that she had done much to procure the Whig support which Marlborough needed to prolong the war. She wrote to the Duke that she wanted more news of what he was doing and assuring him that he could rely on her to look after their interests at home.

She was truly at the peak of her success; she had tried to turn the Queen towards the Whigs and had succeeded, perhaps because the Tories themselves had helped to arouse Anne’s animosity. They had not taken into account the fact that the Queen who must now seriously begin to think of her successor was more inclined to favour the House of Stuart than that of Hanover. Anne, a sentimentalist at heart, had never ceased to be troubled by the manner in which she had treated her father; her stepbrother was now at St. Germains and what could salve her conscience better than making him her heir; if he would swear to support the Church of England that was all that would be asked of him. She was a Jacobite for reasons of conscience. But the Tories declaring that the Church of England would be in jeopardy if the Stuart was brought back wanted to make advances to Princess Sophia of Hanover and even suggested that she should be invited to pay a visit to England.

The idea of receiving her in England was repulsive to Anne; and when Nottingham suggested in the House of Lords that this must be done for fear the Queen should live till she did not know what she did, and be like a child in the hands of others, Anne was moved to an anger rare with her. To suggest that she might become a victim of senile decay and to do so in one of her Houses of Parliament was too much to be borne.

Had not Mrs. Freeman warned her of Nottingham and the Tories? Although she was angry with Nottingham it was such a pleasure to be in agreement with Sarah over politics.

She wrote to her, for she was very happy to be back on the old terms of friendship when letters frequently passed between them:

“I believe, dear Mrs. Freeman and I shall not disagree as we have formerly done; for I am sensible of the services these people have done me that you have a good opinion of, and will countenance them, and am thoroughly convinced of the malice and insolence of them that you have always been speaking against.”

So Sarah was back in high favour; and it seemed clear that although she might stay away from Court, and speak contemptuously of the Queen, all she had to do was graciously return and Anne was delighted to have her.

Sarah revelled in her position. She would cut short the Queen when she rambled on. “Yes, yes, yes, Madam. It must be so!” and would openly yawn.

“How that woman bores me!” she cried to Lord Godolphin, and did not care that servants heard her. “I’d as lief be shut up in a dungeon as spend my time listening to her bumbling on.”

Godolphin would have liked to warn her but of course he dared not. He was very much in awe of her and carried out her instructions without attempting to disagree with her.

Abigail from the shadows watched in amazement. How could the Queen so forget the dignity due to her rank to accept such conduct! Sarah now performed those tasks which Abigail had been doing for the Queen, although the more menial services of the bedchamber were still left for her to do. To see Sarah hand the Queen her gloves was a revelation. Her dislike for the Queen seemed to be apparent to everyone but Anne. Anne suffered a great deal from gout and dropsy, and Sarah, who was full of health, seemed to find the Queen’s illnesses very distasteful. When the Queen talked of her symptoms—which she loved to do—Sarah would turn away disgusted, and sometimes when she handed her something for which she had asked she would turn her head away as the Queen’s hand touched hers as though, said those who were watching, the Queen had offensive smells.

The relationship between the Queen and the Duchess was discussed at length in the women’s quarters. Mrs. Abrahal said she was surprised Her Majesty did not send some people packing, that she did. To which Mrs. Danvers replied that: Nobody would dare send the Duchess of Marlborough packing … not even God nor the devil.

Seeing Abigail enter Mrs. Abrahal said: “This puts Hill’s nose out of joint, I’d swear.”

Mrs. Danvers tittered because, Abigail knew, the nose referred to was too large for the small face it adorned—though adorned was scarcely the right description—and was now, as so often, pink at the tip. Though, she believed they had said of her when they had noticed her rising favour with the Queen and been jealous of it, having it poking where it had no right.

“In what way?” asked Abigail lightly.

“Well, no little têtes-à-têtes over the bohea, dear! No little cosy chats with Her Majesty … not now Her Grace is back! They haven’t the time for you now, Mrs. Hill.”

“It is natural that when Her Grace of Marlborough is at Court she performs the duties which I took over during her absence. My nose suffers not at all from this perfectly natural procedure.”

Abigail picked up the little dog for which she had been searching and walked calmly out of the room. Mrs. Danvers who considered herself the Duchess’s woman grimaced at Mrs. Abrahal.

“All the same,” she insisted, “it’s a change she doesn’t like.”

She was thoughtful. “There was a time,” she went on, “when I thought I ought to mention to Her Grace what a friend Her Majesty was making of that woman. Sometimes I used to think that Abigail Hill rather fancied herself as the Queen’s special favourite. Well, it shows, doesn’t it? Her Grace only has to put her handsome nose in the place and back scuttles Hill to her corner. I needn’t have worried.”

They both agreed that she need not have worried.

With Sarah back at Court the pleasant intimacies of the past were lost. Now dressing was a fomality. Every time Anne changed her dress she must be surrounded by women who did the tasks which had been allotted to them in order of precedence. Each garment was passed from hand to hand until it reached that of the Duchess who then handed it to the Queen or put it on for her. It was in these occasions that Sarah was more and more openly showing her disgust, turning away, nose in the air, as the garment passed from her hands to the Queen’s. Every time Anne washed her hands, the page of the backstairs must bring the basin and ewer; then one of the bedchamber women must place it beside the Queen and kneel at the side of the table, and another bedchamber woman must pour the water over the Queen’s hands.

When the Duchess was away the ceremony was relaxed, and Abigail Hill was happy to do all the services the Queen desired—no matter how menial; she would put on the Queen’s gloves with tenderness, for often Anne’s hands were too gouty to do this for herself; she would put on the Queen’s shoes in the same gentle manner, and when it was necessary to poultice those poor swollen feet she never allowed a poultice to be too hot on application, and was always ready to suggest it might be getting cold that minute or so before the Queen realized it.

It was Abigail who had brought the Queen’s chocolate to her before she lay down to rest; and what comfort it was to sip the warm sweet drink which she so much enjoyed and chat to Abigail of all the irritations or the pleasures of the day.

Of course it was so stimulating to have dear Mrs. Freeman at Court. Something was always happening to Mrs. Freeman, and it was almost always something to arouse her indignation. With Mrs. Freeman there was never a dull moment; and it was pleasant to find that they were not so politically divergent as they once were.

Sarah came into the royal apartments one day, her face purposeful. She received the Queen’s embrace coolly and sat down beside her, her lips set in lines of determination.

“I have been thinking,” said Sarah, “that it is time there was a change of office in the Secretaryship of State.”

Anne gasped. “But I am very fond of Sir Charles Hedges. He is a very good man.”

Sarah clicked her teeth impatiently. “Lord, Madam,” she said, “a man must be a little more than good to hold a high office in the Government.”

“But Sir Charles has always given the utmost satisfaction.”

Sarah looked distastefully at the large figure in the chair. She was going to be in one of her stubborn moods and Sarah had counted on getting this matter settled as quickly as possible. What on earth did the fat fool think she was wasting her time here for if it was not to arrange affairs to her liking. Marl had warned her, but she knew her dear cautious old Marl. Godolphin was even more cautious—cowardice she called that. A fine state of affairs with Marlborough abroad and Godolphin afraid and an obstinate old Queen on whom so much time had to be wasted.

“Mrs. Morley knows that I always make her affairs my constant concern,” said Sarah sternly. “I do assure her that the time has come for Hedges to go.”

“On what grounds?” asked the Queen.

“He is a bumbling old fool.”

“He has never shown me that he is anything but fitted for his duties.”

“Mrs. Morley is apt to form attachments and in her kindness be blinded to truths.”

Here was another suggestion that she was edging towards senility. Anne set her painful feet firmly on their stool and a cool note crept into her voice.

“And whom have you in mind to fill the position?”

“Who could do it but Sunderland.”

Sunderland! Sarah’s son-in-law, a man whom Anne had never liked, a man who had opposed the proposal for dear George’s annuity! No, said Anne to herself and wished that she dared say it openly to Sarah. No, no, no!

“A brilliant young man,” went on Sarah almost angrily. “Oh, I know he has had his strange ideas. But what young man worth his salt has not? He is a brilliant fellow. Adventurous!”

“I do not think I should care for him,” said Anne. “His temper is not one which appeals to me. I do not think we should be friends.”

“Nonsense, Mrs. Morley would soon begin to understand him.”

“I understand all I want to now, Mrs. Freeman.”

“You don’t know the fellow. I’ll tell you this: Mr. Freeman has not always been fond of him, but now he agrees with me that he has a touch of genius.”

No, thought Sarah, Marl had not always been fond of him. Not very long ago—before Blenheim—he had felt like murdering the fellow. It was Sunderland who had dropped that hint to her of Marl’s infidelity and caused them both such anguish. Why should she speak for him now. Because the need for complete power was beyond minor personal irritation. Because Sunderland was a Whig and Hedges a Tory, because he was her son-in-law and it was her desire to make a strong family war-head to fight off all their enemies. Marlborough, Commander in chief. Godolphin, head of the Government. Sunderland, Secretary of State. And Sarah the Queen. Who could stand against that combination? If she could bring that about the whole of the country and of Europe would know who ruled England.

“I do not like his temper,” persisted Anne, “and should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

“I will send him along to talk to you.”

“Pray do not, Mrs. Freeman. I have no wish to talk to him.”

“I do assure you you are making a mistake.”

“I do not like his temper, and should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

Here we go! thought Sarah angrily. The parrot has taken charge of my fat friend.

“If the Duke of Marlborough wrote to you and told you that he believed Sunderland would make an excellent Secretary of State would you believe me then?”

“It grieves me not to be in agreement with my dear Mrs. Freeman, but I can say that I know as much as I wish to know of my Lord Sunderland.”

“Personal likes cannot come into such a matter,” cried Sarah.

“I have always found it so useful to be on friendly terms with my ministers.”

“If Mrs. Morley would only listen to me.”

“But Mrs. Freeman knows nothing gives me greater pleasure than to listen to her.”

“You have set yourself against me on this occasion.”

“It is because I do not like the man’s temper and should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

The Queen, who had been playing with her fan, lifted it up to her lips and kept it there. It was a gesture which Sarah knew well and which never failed to exasperate her. It meant that Anne had made up her mind on a certain point and in her obstinate way was not going to be moved from it.

“I can see, Madam,” said Sarah coldly, “that it is useless to talk to you further … on this day.”

Anne did not answer, but kept the fan to her mouth.

“It is time,” said Sarah, “that I went down to Woodstock to see how the work is progressing. I must say that I am not very pleased at the dilatoriness. Your Majesty knows how long it is since Mr. Freeman won the greatest battle in history for you. And they have done scarcely anything yet.”

Anne continued to press her fan to her lips. Sarah thought: She’s saying her parrot phrase over and over again in her mind, I’ll swear. But she’ll come round. I’ll see that she does. In the meantime it was a relief to escape from Court and the need to listen to such sentimental or senile bleatings.

Anne was relieved when Sarah went. Sunderland! she thought. That man. Never.

She pulled the bell rope.

“Hill,” she said. “Send Hill.”

Abigail came, green eyes anxious.

“Your Majesty is unwell?”

“So tired, Hill. So very tired.”

“Is it a headache, Madam? Shall I bathe your forehead? There is that new lotion I found the other day.”

“Yes, Hill. Please.”

How quietly Hill moved about the apartment.

“Hill, my feet are so painful.”

“Perhaps a warm poultice, Madam.”

“It might be good. But bathe them first.”

“After I have soothed your head, Madam?”

“Yes, Hill, after.”

Such a comfort to feel those gentle hands; such a comfort to watch the dear creature. She was so different … so soothing.

I believe, thought the Queen, that I am glad Mrs. Freeman has gone.

That was impossible of course. She loved Mrs. Freeman beyond anyone … even dear George, her own husband. Mrs. Freeman was so vital, so beautiful. It was a joy to watch her eyes flash and the sun on that magnificent hair of hers. But that man! After having dared vote against George’s allowance! He was a crank in any case. At one time he had talked about giving up his title and remaining plain Charles Spencer. No sign of that when his father had died. He was the Earl of Sunderland now.

“I do not like the man’s temper and should never have a friendly relationship with him,” she said aloud.

“You spoke, Madam?”

“I was thinking aloud, Hill.”

“Something has happened to disturb Your Majesty?”

“The Duchess suggests I make Sunderland Secretary of State. Sunderland! I never did like the man.”

“No, Your Majesty, and that is understandable.”

“He has never been a friend to the Prince and as you know, Hill, no one who was not a friend of the Prince could be a friend of mine.”

“Your Majesty and the Prince are an example to all married couples in this realm.”

“I have been fortunate, Hill, in marrying one of the kindest men alive.”

“It is only necessary to see the Prince’s care for Your Majesty to realize that.”

“Such a good man, Hill! And Sunderland voted against his allowance and now would like to be my Secretary of State in place of dear Sir Charles Hedges—such a charming man whom I have always liked.”

“How fortunate that it is for Your Majesty to choose her ministers.”

“Of course, Hill.”

Anne felt better already. Dear Hill, always so soothing!

“I hate to disappoint the Duchess, Hill.”

“But, Madam, the Duchess must hate to disappoint you.”

The Queen was silent as a memory of Sarah’s flushed and angry face floated before her.

“The Duchess left in a hurry,” said Hill, speaking more boldly than she usually did, for it was rarely that she offered an opinion or an observation. “She seemed angry. She must be so … with herself … for having offended Your Majesty.”

Anne pressed the small freckled hand of her attendant. Dear Hill! So tactful! So different.

“I do not like the man’s temper, Hill,” she said firmly, “and I should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

Abigail Hill put on a cloak which concealed her from top to toe and coming out of the Palace sped across the park.

She paused before a mansion in Albermarle Street, knocked, and when she was admitted asked that Mr. Harley be told Mrs. Abigail Hill wished to speak to him without delay.

She did not have to wait long. She was taken into a drawing room and there was joined after a few minutes by Harley himself.

As ever she was excited by his presence. He was like a different person in his own home—less formal—and she could not help picturing herself as the mistress of such a home.

His eyes were a trifle glassy and as he came into the room even before he approached her she could smell the wine on his breath. But he was by no means intoxicated. She realized that the smell of wine or spirits was always with him; yet never did he appear influenced by it in the slightest way.

“My dear cousin,” he said; coming to her and taking her hands; as he did so the hood fell back from her head and he smiled into her eyes; and in that moment he conveyed nothing but his pleasure to see her, completely hiding the urgent desire to know why she had taken this unusual step.

She did not keep him in suspense.

“The Queen is agitated and even angry I suspect with the Duchess who has suggested that Sunderland replace Hedges.”

He was alert at once.

“Sunderland!” he said. “What a position! We must not let that happen, cousin.”

“So I thought.”

“And the Queen … she is at least angry.”

Abigail nodded. “She keeps repeating that she doesn’t like him and would never be friends with him. Sarah has left in a huff.”

“What a fool she is. Thank God! She has left Court?”

“I think so.”

“Make sure of that. She must not have any idea that we enjoy those friendly little sessions in the green closet. If she does that will be an end to them, for she is not such a fool as to allow them to go on.”

“She has no suspicion.”

“We must keep her in ignorance, but I should see the Queen without delay. Dear clever little cousin, find some means of conveying a message to me when you are sure Sarah is well away, and try to get the Queen alone in the closet.”

Abigail nodded. “The Prince …”

“Does not count, dear coz, providing he sleeps—and he is almost certain to do that. Hot chocolate is very soothing. Suggest it and get him well asleep. He is inclined to favour the Marlboroughs and might have a favourable word to say for them.”

“He fancies himself as a great soldier and therefore admires the Duke.”

“Now is the time, cousin, to work swiftly and in secret. Sunderland must not have the post. We must prevent it.”

“I will let you know as soon as I am sure Sarah has left Court. Then … the green closet meeting.”

“My sweet cousin. It is good, is it not that we can work together thus?”

“It gives me great pleasure to do as you wish,” answered Abigail.

He smiled at her and lifting her hood pulled it up over her head.

“Go now,” he said. “It would not be good for it to be known you had come here.”

She nodded, excited as always by the conspiracy between them, by the secret allure of this man.

He conducted her down the beautiful curved staircase. She saw an open door and in the room beyond a woman was seated at a table.

She knew who that woman was. His wife!

She hurried down the stairs and out into the air.

How ridiculous it was to dream! And of what did she dream?

She should be content with what was hers, for she had a great deal. She, who had lived in poverty in this City which she now saw straggling out before her, who had been a maid in the house of Lady Rivers, was now a friend of the Queen of England—yes, she was a friend; no one was going to say she was not. Anne was fond of her. Perhaps more fond than she realized. Only at present she was bemused by Sarah Churchill—perhaps in much the same way in which Abigail Hill was bemused by Robert Harley. Such enchantments gave no satisfaction. There was pleasure in reality. Anne found more ease and comfort with plain quiet Abigail Hill than she ever would with brilliant Sarah Churchill; and Abigail Hill would never find lasting happiness if she looked to Robert Harley for it.

Abigail made a decision as she walked briskly across the Park.

The next time Samuel Masham asked her to marry him she would accept.

The Queen was seated in her chair sipping hot chocolate. So pleasant and Hill made it deliciously. The Prince in spite of his heavy dinner at three o’clock when he had partaken a little too much of the sucking pig, was ready for his chocolate, and as Hill had suggested it, she had had some too.

Hill was at the harpsichord and it was a long time since the Queen had been so contented.

A scratching at the door! How lightly and quickly Hill sped across a room!

Now she was back at the Queen’s chair.

“Mr. Harley, Your Majesty. He humbly begs to be admitted.”

“Dear Mr. Harley. Such a pleasure to see him!”

Harley came in; he bowed; he took the white hand—a little swollen at the moment, but still beautiful—and kissed it.

“Your Majesty is so gracious to receive me thus.”

“My dear Mr. Harley I was just thinking what pleasant times we have had here.”

“Your Majesty’s goodness overwhelms me.”

“Perhaps Mr. Harley would care to take some chocolate, Hill.”

Mr. Harley assured the Queen that he had come straight from dinner and would take no chocolate.

Harley complimented the Queen on her looks. He was certain that she looked more healthful than when they had last met.

“My dear good Hill takes care of me,” said the Queen.

“And the Prince seems better too.”

“His asthma troubles him greatly. He had difficulty in breathing last night. It is worse after dinner and supper. I have told him that if his appetite were less good his asthma might be better. But Hill makes a good brew which he inhales and that has brought him some relief. Hill, you must tell Mr. Harley about this brew of yours.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I shall be most interested to hear of it.”

“The Prince’s health is a matter of great concern to me,” went on the Queen.

“Your Majesty is such a devoted wife. He is the most fortunate Prince alive.”

“And I am most fortunate to have him.”

The Prince muttered in his sleep.

“It is all right, George,” said the Queen. “Mr. Harley is saying charming things about you.”

The Prince grunted while Harley watched him cautiously. It was when he assured himself that George was fast asleep that he said: “I’ve heard a disturbing rumour, Madam.”

“Oh!” The pleasure slipped from Anne’s face.

“It need not disturb Your Majesty,” said Harley hastily. “In fact, I am sure it will not because, Madam, you will never allow ambitious people to choose your ministers for you.”

“Is it that man?”

“Sunderland, yes.”

“I do not like the man’s temper and I should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

“It is not to be wondered at. Like Your Majesty I do not like his temper and I know I could never have a friendly relationship with him.”

Delight spread across the Queen’s face. It was always pleasing when someone took up her phrases and used them as their own.

“Your Majesty will agree with me,” went on Harley, “that we must not allow this to come to pass.”

“I am so pleased, Mr. Harley, that you are in such agreement with me.”

“Your Majesty is so gracious that you forget you are the ruler of this realm.”

“I could not rule it without the help of my ministers and it is necessary that I enjoy a friendly relationship with them.”

“Of the utmost necessity,” agreed Harley.

“And with that man …”

“Your Majesty never could.”

“It is so very, very true.”

“I fear, Madam, that there is a conspiracy afoot.”

“A conspiracy!”

“To form a strong alliance of a certain family …”

Abigail was holding her breath. This was very dangerous ground. Anyone who had seen the Queen and Sarah together must know how strong were Anne’s feelings for her friend. This was coming out into the open most dangerously.

“Madam,” went on Harley hurriedly, for he was well aware of the danger, “I owe much to the great Duke. I was his protégé. He helped me to my place. But I serve my Queen with all my heart, and if to show my gratitude to those who had been my benefactors in the past means betraying my Sovereign—then, Madam, I must needs be ungrateful.”

“Dear Mr. Harley, I understand you. I understand perfectly.”

“Your Majesty’s powers of perception have always encouraged me. It is for this reason that I dare speak to you thus now.”

“Pray, Mr. Harley, be completely frank with me.”

“Then, Madam, I will say this. It is not good for the welfare of this country that one family should be so strongly represented that it is in fact the ruling family. There is one ruler of this country and one only. I will serve my Queen with all my heart and soul but I will serve no family which by clever contrivance has ousted her from her birthright.”

“Contrivance!” gasped the Queen. “Ousted!”

“I speak too strongly. I crave Your Majesty’s pardon.”

“No, Mr. Harley. You speak sincerely and that is what I would wish.”

“Then have I Your Majesty’s leave to continue?”

“You have, Mr. Harley. Indeed you have.”

“Then, Madam, I say this, that if Marlborough’s son-in-law is Secretary of State, while Marlborough is Commander in chief and Godolphin, father-in-law to Marlborough’s daughter, is your Lord Treasurer, and the Duchess continues to select your ministers … then it would seem you are no longer Queen in truth. You will be a cipher to the Churchill family, Madam. And that is something it would grieve me to see; and while I serve my Queen with all my heart and soul I should not serve these … usurpers.”

There was silence in the green closet. The Queen was shaken. Harley stared down at his hands. Had he gone too far? It was all very well to attack Sunderland and Godolphin; even Marlborough. But Sarah—the Queen’s beloved friend!

He was reassured when he heard Anne’s voice, a little trembling, but with the obstinacy as strong as ever.

“I could never endure Lord Sunderland’s temper and there would never be a good relationship between us.”

Sarah was down at Woodstock harrying John Vanbrugh, who wanted to retain part of the old Manor of Woodstock on account, he said, of its archaeological interest. Sarah, who had no feeling for archaeological interest declared that the house was to be a monument to the Duke of Marlborough’s genius and nothing else need be considered. She was unsure of the plans, too. The place was going to be vast, and although she approved of all the very best workmanship and materials going into the building, at the same time she wanted the Palace to be a residence as well as a monument.

This occupied her attention, but she had only shelved the matter of Sunderland and intended to come back to the attack later on. The Queen at the moment was intensely stubborn, but if she was denied the company of her beloved Mrs. Freeman for a while, Sarah believed that she would be ready to have it back … at any price.

Meanwhile the Queen was worried about the Prince’s asthma, and consulted Abigail.

“I’m afraid the air here is not as good for him, Hill. His wheeze was terrible last night. I could not sleep for it … and nor could my poor angel.”

Abigail suggested that a visit to Kensington might be beneficial. It was nearer London than Hampton and she was sure that the air was very good indeed there. Did the Queen remember how well the Prince had been there during their last sojourn?

“Now that you remind me, Hill, I do. We will go to Kensington.”

George was delighted. Kensington had always been one of his favourite palaces. Anne smiled to herself, remembering how as soon as William was dead George had said: “Now we haf Kensington.” And he had taken possession of the palace without much delay. It was good to see him in a place he so loved. She herself found it delightful and there was the additional interest of seeing how the gardens were progressing. She kept a hundred gardeners at work on it and the result of their labours was beginning to be obvious. The banqueting hall which she had had built was magnificent with its Corinthian pillars and niches in which were branches chandeliers. How pleasant it would be to give concerts and balls there; the public so enjoyed being admitted to the gardens.

“Yes,” she murmured, “we will go to Kensington.”

So they went to Kensington, and when Hill explained that if Her Majesty did not object she would take possession of the apartments which led by a stairway into the Queen’s own, Anne agreed that she should. Previously these apartments had been occupied by Sarah and they were consequently more magnificent than Abigail had ever used before. She was delighted therefore with Anne’s consent and installed herself there.

Mrs. Danvers expressed surprise that she occupied them.

“The Queen wishes me to be close in case I am needed,” said Abigail.

“But those are Her Grace’s apartments.”

“I can see no objection to using them while Her Grace is not at Court … providing Her Majesty has none.”

Mrs. Danvers went away to grumble to Mrs. Abrahal that Hill was giving herself airs and she’d like to know what she would be getting up to next.

The Queen was happy to have Abigail in constant attention. The unfortunate affair of Sunderland seemed to have been forgotten and Anne did not seem to be greatly disturbed because the Duchess of Marlborough stayed away from Court.

She gave entertainments and the people were delighted to be admitted to the royal gardens. It was the fashion to attend gloriously clad; and to the sound of music Anne’s subjects wandered about, as one of the court writers said, in brocaded robes, hoops, fly-caps and fans.

D’Urfey, the court lyrist, wrote special verses and songs for the occasions and from all over London Anne’s subjects flocked to see their Queen.

“Such pleasant days and evenings!” sighed Anne, when she retired to her apartments for the ministrations of Hill.

Sarah meanwhile was consulting with Godolphin as to the next step she should take with regard to Sunderland’s appointment; she was also writing at great length to her son-in-law. She wrote to Marlborough, too, and told him that he simply must join his voice to hers, for as the victor of Blenheim the Queen could simply not deny him anything.

She visited Kensington to talk to the Queen once more and coming unexpectedly to her apartments there found them in use.

She stood in the centre of the room staring at the bed on which lay a robe. She picked it up and frowned at it, and while she stood there, on her face that expression of one enduring an unpleasant smell, Abigail came into the room, as she told herself later—much later—gaily, brazenly, with a smile on her lips.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I … I … thought as these rooms were not being used.”

“You thought what?”

“That as the Queen needs me constantly …”

“You thought that you might use my apartments … without my permission you thought you might use them?

“I beg Your Grace’s pardon …” It was on the edge of Abigail’s tongue to say that the Queen had approved her use of these apartments, but no. Sarah would reproach Anne, and Abigail wanted no trouble through her. Far better to take all the blame. So lowering her head she said no more.

“You will move yourself and your possessions without delay,” commanded Sarah.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Abigail gathered her robe and everything she could lay her hands on; and with downcast eyes scuttled away; as she went she heard Sarah say: “What can one expect? No breeding. No manners. After all I took her from a broom!”

Sarah had more important things than the insolence of underlings with which to occupy herself; she had spoken to the Queen once more about Sunderland only to evoke what Sarah called the old parrot cry. There was no doubt that Anne was very set against Sunderland’s appointment. But Sarah was all the more determined to secure it. She would write to Marl at once and tell him that he simply must add his voice to hers.

In her fury she busied herself with the Queen’s wardrobe.

“Mrs. Danvers,” she cried angrily. “It seems to me that some of the Queen’s mantuas are missing. I should like to know where they are.”

Mrs. Danvers flushed with apprehension, replied that the mantuas were worn and it was the bedchamber woman’s prerogative to have her share of the Queen’s cast-off wardrobe.

“Not without my permission,” stormed the Duchess. “I am the Mistress of the Robes. Have you forgotten it?”

“Of a certainty I have not, Your Grace, but I believed I had a right to take these mantuas.”

“I wish to see them.”

“But Your Grace …”

“Unless I do I shall lay this matter before Her Majesty.”

“Your Grace I have been with Her Majesty since she was a child.”

“It is no reason why you should remain there if you do not give me satisfaction.”

“I have always given Her Majesty satisfaction, Your Grace.”

“I am the Queen’s Mistress of the Robes and I wish to see those mantuas.”

“I will show them to Your Grace.”

“Pray do—at the earliest possible moment. And I would wish to see the jupes and kirtles and the fans.”

Mrs. Danvers, hoping to divert the Duchess’s fury said: “Your Grace, I would like to speak to you about Mrs. Hill.”

“What about Mrs. Hill?”

“It would seem, Your Grace, that she is too often with Her Majesty.”

The Duchess’s eyes narrowed, and Mrs. Danvers went on: “And in the green closet too, Your Grace …”

“Do you know, Mrs. Danvers, that Mrs. Hill has her place through me?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then, Mrs. Danvers, you can safely leave me to decide what Abigail Hill’s duties shall or shall not be. Now to those jupes …”

Danvers shall go, decided Sarah. She is talking against Abigail Hill whom she suspects is spying for me. We shall see, Madam Danvers, who will go … my woman or you.

When she had dismissed Mrs. Danvers, after imparting that she had somewhat grave doubts as to the manner in which the Queen’s wardrobe was being looked after, she went to the Queen.

Anne was sipping the chocolate Abigail had just brought to her.

“Do try a little, dear Mrs. Freeman. Hill makes it most deliciously.”

“No thank you,” said Sarah. “Mrs. Morley is I believe pleased with Hill, whom I brought to wait on her.”

“Such a good creature, dear Mrs. Freeman. Your unfortunate Morley can never thank you enough.”

“I am glad she gives satisfaction, for some in your bedchamber do not.”

“Oh dear …” Anne looked alarmed.

“I refer to Danvers.”

“Danvers! Oh, she is getting old, you know. She is like a dear old nurse to me.”

“That is no reason why she should be insolent to me.”

“Oh dear me. How terrible! My poor dear Mrs. Freeman.”

“The woman is a spy.”

“A spy, Mrs. Freeman. For whom is she spying?”

“That we shall endeavour to find out. But she has been helping herself from the wardrobe. She has had four mantuas, she confessed to me. She thought they were her right and you had no further use for them.”

“But Danvers has often had these things you know. In her position it is accepted that she should have these things now and then.”

“But my dear Mrs. Morley, as Mistress of the Robes I should have charge of the wardrobe.”

Oh dear, thought Anne, how my head aches! I shall have to ask Hill to put that soothing lotion of hers on it.

“Danvers must not pilfer from the wardrobe,” went on Sarah.

“I will tell her that she must take nothing without your consent.”

“And she should be dismissed.”

“I will speak to her.”

Sarah was smiling sweetly and bending towards the Queen. “And there is that other little matter which Mrs. Morley has been turning over in her mind.”

“What matter is that, dear Mrs. Freeman?”

“Sunderland …”

Anne’s fan came up to her mouth and rested there.

“I have not changed my mind on that,” she said. “I could never enjoy a good relationship with him for I could not endure his temper.”

At least, thought Sarah viciously, the refrain has changed a little.

She left the Queen who immediately sent for Abigail.

“Such a headache, Hill.”

No need to ask. Hill was ready with the treatment.

Such soothing fingers! What a comfort to be alone with Hill who did not shout.

And poor Danvers! How could one dismiss a servant who had been with one all one’s life?

I shall not dismiss Danvers. I will give a little annuity and special gifts and tell her she must allow the Duchess to have the disposal of the wardrobe.

Anxiety—mainly about this appointment of Sunderland’s—seemed to increase the gout. Anne, her feet bound up with poultices, her face red and spotty, her gown unbuttoned, would lie back in her chair and find comfort in little but the presence of Abigail. She was scarcely recognizable as the dazzlingly clad Queen of her public appearances. She was becoming one of the most important sovereigns in Europe and was well aware that she owed this in a large measure to the Duke of Marlborough.

This was enhanced when Colonel Richards, the Duke’s aide, brought her news of the great victory of Ramillies.

Marlborough wrote that he wished the Queen to know the truth of his heart and that the greatest pleasure he had in this success was that it might be a great service in her affairs, for he was sincerely sensible of all her goodness to him and his.

Anne read this with tears in her eyes. Dear Mr. Freeman! Had she allowed herself to become irritated by all the importunings for that man whose temper she did not like? Such a pity of course that Anne Churchill had married him.

Sarah came to see her, beaming with delight.

“Why, Mrs. Morley, do you realize what this means. It is the greatest victory since that of Blenheim which Mr. Freeman won for you. This is going to make a difference to the whole course of the war. I have heard that Louis is desolate … quite desolate. I can assure you that the enemy trembles … yes, trembles at the very mention of Marlborough’s name.”

“It is indeed a great victory, Mrs. Freeman, and I shall never, never forget the genius of Mr. Freeman.”

“It would give him great pleasure to see Sunderland’s appointment.”

Even on such an occasion Anne retained her stubbornness.

She turned her head away. “Dear Mr. Freeman will have much to occupy him on the Continent. There must be a thanksgiving service for this victory. I will speak to my Lord Godolphin of my wishes in this matter.”

Sarah did not pursue the subject of Sunderland which was a great relief to the Queen. In fact Sarah was a little subdued which, in the circumstances was surprising, but when she told Anne the reason, Anne was full of sympathy and understanding.

“It might easily have been the end of Mr. Freeman,” Sarah burst out. “I can scarcely bear to think of it, for when I do I must remind myself that every hour he spends over there he is in danger. It was so nearly the end at Ramillies.”

“My poor, poor Mrs. Freeman!”

“He was leaping across a ditch when his horse was shot from under him; he fell. If his aide, Captain Molesworth, had not been there to give him his horse, the Duke might have fallen to the enemy. I shudder to think of it.”

In a moment of rare introspection Sarah saw life without Marlborough. She could not have endured it. She almost wanted to throw away ambition, to have him safe with her at Holywell House, home and safe.

“That’s not all,” she said grimly. “While his equerry, Colonel Bringfield was helping him to mount, a cannon ball struck the Colonel and took his head right off. It might so easily have been …”

“It was Providence, dearest Mrs. Freeman,” soothed Anne.

“I have been to see the Colonel’s widow,” went on Sarah. “Poor creature. She is nigh on demented. I comforted her and told her what a great service her husband had done to his country and that you would not wish to let it go unrewarded. I promised her a pension, knowing my dear Mrs. Morley’s generosity, I was sure it was what she would have wished.”

“Certainly she must have a pension. Oh, this terrible war! I shall give such heartfelt thanks, Mrs. Freeman, not only for this glorious victory, but for the preservation of dear Mr. Freeman’s life.”

Godolphin sat beside the Queen and told her what this would mean.

“The King of France lost one of his finest armies at the Battle of Blenheim, Madam, besides all the country between the Danube and the Rhine. But with his defeat at Ramillies he has lost all Flanders.”

“The Duke is a genius,” replied Anne.

“It will be said of him that he helped to make England great, Madam.”

“News has reached me that the French are desolate … quite desolate.”

“In a panic, I should say Madam. Marshall Villeroy was afraid to acquaint his master with the disaster and remained shut in his tent for five days.”

“Poor old man,” said the Queen. “I hear he is turned sixty.”

“Louis himself is almost seventy.”

“It is a pity that old men, so near the end, should be concerned with killing others. But that is war, Mr. Montgomery.”

Godolphin was pleased that the Queen should have slipped back to the familiar name with which she had endowed him. Since she knew that he supported Sarah in her demands for Sunderland she had dropped the pet name and referred to him formally as my Lord Godolphin. Ramillies, he realized, had made her see what she owed to the Churchill family; and as a member of it, by marriage, he shared in the glory.

“Well,” went on the Queen, “let us hope that the end of war is in sight … a victorious end. For I would rather see money spent on improving the lot of my people than in killing them.”

“There is no doubt, Madam, that the Duke’s victories in France are improving the lot of your subjects.”

“You are right, Mr. Montgomery, and we must have a thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s to remind them of all they owe to God for this great victory.”

“And to the great Duke,” Godolphin reminded her.

“And to the Duke,” echoed Anne.

There was consternation throughout the Court. Sarah was ill.

Her servants had gone to her room and found her lying on the floor in a fit.

As the news spread there was more excitement than there had been over the news of the victory at Ramillies. Sarah dead! What would happen at Court then? Who would take her place?

Never had Abigail found it so difficult to cloak her feelings. The feared and hated rival gone. To what glory might she not come? The battle would be over; Abigail had no fears as to who would step into Sarah’s place. She wondered what he was thinking and could guess. This would make a difference to everything.

But when she saw how distressed the Queen was she felt uneasy.

“Hill, Hill. Have you heard the news? Oh, my poor dearest Mrs. Freeman. What should I do if I lost her? I have suffered many tragedies in my life, Hill, and among them the greatest a mother can endure! The loss of my boy. But if Mrs. Freeman should die … if she should leave me …”

“Madam, you must not distress yourself,” said Abigail, interrupting for once. But Anne did not notice this; she allowed Hill to put an arm round her and hold her against her breast.

“Oh, Hill, Hill she has been so close to me … for so many years.”

Abigail looked down at the red, flabby face, wet with tears, and understood the repulsion Sarah did not trouble to disguise.

How could Anne be so besottedly fond of that woman who would never have bothered to speak to her if she had not been Queen. One thing was clear: Anne could not escape from the spell of Sarah Churchill. Abigail thought of these last months when Anne had been perpetually bullied over this matter of Sunderland and she could not understand the Queen’s sincere grief.

“My doctors must be sent to her at once, Hill.”

“Yes, Madam. I will pass on your orders.”

“Thank you, Hill. I don’t know what I should do without you. And even you … I owe to her.”

Yes, thought Abigail, that was the irony of the situation. The more devoted Anne became to Abigail, the more grateful she must be to Sarah.

Before the thanksgiving service Sarah had recovered. She came to the Court, only a little paler than usual and certainly not in the least subdued.

The Queen embraced her warmly. “My dearest, dearest Mrs. Freeman, what anxieties I have suffered on your behalf.”

“I am recovered now. You did not think I would stay away from the thanksgiving to Marlborough, did you?”

Anne did not remind her that it was a thanksgiving to God; Sarah could not see it that way; and in any case she was really quite irreligious.

“I am so happy to see you here,” said Anne sincerely.

“I must of course decide what jewels you will wear.”

“Hill has already put them ready. We thought to save you trouble, Mrs. Freeman.”

“A chambermaid putting out your jewels! What do you expect her to choose? No, Mrs. Morley, that will not do. Those rubies. Ridiculous! They shall all be taken away and I shall make up my mind what will best become the occasion.”

“I thought Hill made a good choice.”

Sarah blew her lips, dismissing Hill and her choice. She was smiling. “I have written to Mr. Freeman. Poor man, they had told him of my illness. I would not have had him disturbed. He threatens to leave everything and come back to me.”

“Such a devoted husband! How fortunate we are … both of us. Not many women have husbands like ours.”

Sarah’s lips curled in disdain. This comparing of fat stupid George with Marl was more than she could stomach.

She went on: “I told him I should soon be well. It was the anxiety of the battle and then of course this affair at Ramillies when I might so easily have lost him. There are so many anxieties at home. I am not sure that Vanbrugh is the man for Blenheim. I don’t get on with him at all. Then of course those from whom I would expect friendship will not listen to my advice.”

Anne’s lips set sternly. In a moment, Sarah thought, she will be telling me that she can’t endure his temper and won’t have a good relationship with him. In which case I shall scream to her to stop or she’ll send me into another fit.

Sunderland shall most certainly have the post but this is perhaps not the time.

So Sarah busied herself with choosing the Queen’s jewels while Anne told her how worried she was about George’s asthma which was undoubtedly getting worse.

“He is so bad during the night, Mrs. Freeman, it breaks my heart to watch him. He worries about me. He says it is too much for me to help him, but I remind him that he is my very dear husband and that it is my privilege.”

“You should have one of his pages sleep on a pallet in the room while you have a chamber to yourself and get your rest.”

“We have shared the same bed for so many years, and he admits that he would not rest without me beside him. And nor should I without him. But do not concern yourself, dearest Mrs. Freeman. Your unfortunate Morley is well served. I have Hill sleep on a pallet in the antechamber so that I can call her at a moment’s notice. She is such a good creature. I never have to call her twice. There she is … so ready … so willing. Neither the Prince nor I know what we should do without her. And I always remember I have to thank you for her.”

“I took her from a broom, as you know, and she is eager to show me her gratitude. I have told her that she can best please me by pleasing you.”

“Dearest Mrs. Freeman, how can I ever repay you?”

Sunderland? thought Sarah. No perhaps not yet. After the ceremony. That would be the time.

Anne, dressed in a splendid gown over a petticoat of cloth of gold, adorned by the jewels of Sarah’s choice looked very different from the poor creature who a few days before had sat slumped in her chair, her feet in wrappings that concealed the poultices.

She looked at George in his embroidered suit which was trimmed with silver. So splendid he looked and yet the sight of him broke her heart. He had had a trying night and his wheezing had frightened her. She had been obliged to call Hill three times. How comforting Hill was in the middle of the night; and how quickly she came to the call! She almost seemed to sense that she was needed.

“George,” she said, “I’m afraid it is going to be a long day.”

“I vill be viv you, my love,” George told her.

“I shall watch you, and I shall insist on your return to the Palace if you feel ill. I have told Masham to be watchful.”

George nodded and smiled at her. Poor dearest George! He was becoming fatter and more feeble every day.

Sarah looked splendid. She never overdressed on such occasions, relying on personal charms. In any case she was the wife of the hero of the occasion.

“My dear Mrs. Freeman must ride in my coach,” said Anne.

“I am sure the people would expect it,” Sarah replied.

“I am worried about George,” Anne told her.

“I agree with you that he is not well enough to accompany us. It is such a strain on him and we should not wish him to have an attack during the service.”

“I should be so anxious.”

“Then he should remain behind. Let Masham and Hill look after him. You can trust them.”

“I can certainly trust Hill and she seems to be able to manage Masham too.”

“She is very eager to please me,” said Sarah.

And she was delighted to ride in the royal coach with the Queen, with the horse and foot guards to escort them—all splendid in new uniforms for the occasion; the streets were lined with people who had come out to cheer the Queen and the wife of the hero; and the sound of music from the bands filled the air.

The Lord Mayor and Sheriffs met the Queen and Duchess at Temple Bar and led them to St. Paul’s where the Dean of Canterbury preached the thanksgiving service.

There were fireworks that night and a salute of guns was fired from the Tower.

The coffee houses were crowded; but as the day wore on it was to the taverns that the people made their way to drink to the health of England, the Queen and the Duke.

There was singing and dancing and some grew quarrelsome. In his club Harley sat with St. John and some of his literary friends—Defoe, who would always owe him a debt of gratitude, Dean Swift who liked to air his views, Joseph Addison and Richard Steele.

The wit and the wine flowed freely and it was Harley who pointed out what Marlborough’s victory cost the country in taxes and the blood of its menfolk. He pointed out too that a country’s affairs were not guided so much by the sword as the pen—a theory which, since his listeners were wielders of the pen and not the sword, they were ready to endorse.

It was a theory, Harley pointed out, that he would like to put to the test. He did not see why it should not prove very effective.

The talk went on and it was profitable talk, so Harley told St. John afterwards. They would see whether his army of writers could not achieve as resounding a victory as Marlborough’s with his soldiers.

And over the Prince’s sleeping body Abigail Hill promised to become the wife of Samuel Masham.

“My dearest Soul,” wrote Marlborough to Sarah. “My heart is full of joy for this good success that should I write more I should say a great many follies.”

Sarah kept his letters and read and re-read them. She had chided him after the affair of Ramillies, telling him what terrible anxiety he caused her by his recklessness.

“As I would deserve and keep the kindness of this Army [he replied], I must let them see that when I expose them I would not exempt myself. But I love you so well and am so desirous of ending my days quietly with you that I shall not venture myself but when it is absolutely necessary. I am so persuaded that this campaign will bring us a good peace that I beg of you do all you can that the house at Woodstock may be carried up as much as possible that I may have a prospect of living in it.”

She would do it. She would go down to Blenheim and harry them; she would give John Vanbrugh a talking to. But most important of all the war must be carried to a successful conclusion. The Whigs had made it clear that unless Sunderland—that Whig of Whigs—were made Secretary of State they would not give their support to the war; and even Godolphin admitted that the appointment was necessary if the means of carrying on the war were to be provided.

Sarah sent for him and he came humbly. He had been against the appointment in the first place and she had had to persuade him to it, but now he agreed with her.

“You see,” she said triumphantly. “Sunderland must have the appointment. The Whigs insist.”

Godolphin, who could always be browbeaten by Sarah, shook his head mournfully.

“The Queen continues stubborn.”

“She must be brought to heel.”

He could not resist a smile at the simile. Sarah talking as though the Queen of England was a dog! But Sarah saw nothing amusing in her remark. She was weary of the matter which she told herself should have been concluded long ago.

“I would write to Marl,” she said, “and get his support. The Queen would never be able to refuse him now. But he is so busy with his campaign and I feel it is a matter which we should be able to settle here.”

“If the Queen will relent for anyone it would be for you.”

That was true. “Leave it to me,” said Sarah. “I have been trying to persuade her. Now I shall have to force her.”

Godolphin said that he would write to the Queen and tell her that the prosecution of the war depended on the appointment. If that did not suffice, they must find some other means of persuading her.

The result was a letter from Anne in which she set out her objections to accepting Sunderland. When she was dealing with her Lord Treasurer she had a more valid reason to offer than the fact that she did not like Sunderland’s temper and did not feel she could have a good relationship with him.

Sunderland was a party man and in making a party man Secretary of State she was throwing herself into the hands of a party.

“That [she wrote], is something which I have been desirous to avoid, and what I have heard both the Duke of Marlborough and you say I should never do. All I desire is my liberty in encouraging and employing all those that concur faithfully in my service whether they are called Whigs or Tories—and not to be tied to one or the other; for if I shall be so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of either, I shall look upon myself, though I have the name of Queen, to be in reality but their slave.”

This was reasonable, Godolphin had to admit; but it was necessary, if there was to be Whig support for the war, to secure Sunderland’s appointment.

Sarah was never inclined to listen to anyone else’s point of view. Godolphin was too mild, she said, so she would take over. She began by writing long letters to the Queen in which, because they were written by Mrs. Freeman to Mrs. Morley, she seemed completely to forget the respect she owed her sovereign. Sarah was angry and impatient and she believed that Anne was quite devoted to her and was in such need of her friendship, that she would accept any insult.

“Your security and the nation’s is my chief wish [she wrote], and I beg of God Almighty as sincerely as I shall do for his pardon at my last hour, that Mr. and Mrs. Morley may see their errors as to this notion before it is too late; but considering how little impression anything makes that comes from your faithful Freeman, I have troubled you too much and I beg your pardon for it.”

Anne was with Abigail when this letter arrived and, reading it through, paused when she came to the word notion. Sarah had written in great haste and her scrawl was not always easy to read; and Anne read the word notion as nation.

A dull resentment seized her. Was Mrs. Freeman suggesting that she and dear George had wronged the nation? Oh, but this was too much to take—even from Mrs. Freeman.

“Hill,” she called. “Hill, come here.”

Hill came and stood demurely before her, but there was alarm in the good creature’s eyes. “Your Majesty is unwell?”

Anne shook her head. “I am … disturbed. I think my eyes deceive me. Yours are younger. Read this to me. Begin there.”

Abigail read in a clear distinct voice: “… Mr. and Mrs. Morley may see their errors as to this nation …”

There! She had read it. It was true. Abigail was staring at the Queen with round horrified eyes.

“But, Madam …”

“It is most uncalled for!” cried the Queen, almost in tears, “the welfare of the nation has been my chief concern since I came to the throne.”

“Madam,” said Abigail. “I am overcome with shame that a connection of mine could be capable of such … such falsehood.”

“There, Hill. You must not be upset. She has whipped herself to a fury, I suppose. I shall try to forget it.”

“And Your Majesty wishes to answer this … insult.”

“No, Hill, I think I shall ignore it.”

It was Lord Godolphin who heard the reason for the Queen’s silence. She showed him the letter.

“It would seem,” said Anne coolly, “that the Duchess of Marlborough forgets that I am the Queen.”

He read the letter and stuttered over it.

“But, Madam,” he said, “the word is not nation. It is notion.”

“Notion,” repeated Anne. “… may see their errors as to this notion … That is different, of course. But you will agree with me, my lord Treasurer, that the tone of the letter is scarcely that of a subject to her Sovereign.”

Godolphin smiled apologetically. “The relationship between Your Majesty and the Duchess has not always been that of Sovereign and subject. I will tell the Duchess of this unfortunate mistake and I doubt not that she will wish to write you an apology.”

Anne was pleased, for although this matter of Sunderland was very tiresome indeed she could not bear to be on bad terms with Sarah.

In due course Sarah’s “apology” reached the Queen.

“Your Majesty’s great indifference and contempt in taking no notice of my last letter, did not so much surprise me as to hear my Lord Treasurer say you had complained much of it, which makes me presume to give you this trouble to repeat what I can be very positive was the aim of the letter and I believe very near the words.…”

She then set out more or less what she had written in the previous letter in the same high-handed manner and gave it into Godolphin’s hands to deliver.

Anne however still kept her resentment against Sarah and confided to Abigail that she was heartily sick of this matter of Sunderland and the Secretaryship; and Godolphin was obliged to report to Sarah that she was no nearer her goal than she had been when the unfortunate letter writing had begun.

But Sarah was more determined than ever to have her way and she wrote to the Duke and told him that he must write to her and tell her that if the Queen did not make Sunderland Secretary of State he would resign from the Queen’s armies.

When Marlborough realized that the Whigs would withdraw their support unless Sunderland received the appointment he was obliged to give his consent; and this letter Sarah sent to the Queen.

It was the ultimatum. Anne needed Marlborough, and she could not endure the thought of Sarah’s leaving Court.

She gave way, because there was nothing else to do. But she was resentful.

She sat silently while Abigail poulticed her feet, and when Sarah’s name was mentioned her lips hardened, her fan went to her lips and stayed there.