Courting Her Highness

MARLBOROUGH’S REQUEST

The Duke was in England and Sarah had gone to St. Albans to be with him. As usual there was great joy in being together, but they were both apprehensive for the future.

Marlborough was the great hero, but a war hero, and the people were tired of war. While Marlborough was abroad his enemies were undermining his position at home. He knew; but Sarah refused to accept it.

But the biggest disaster of all was the fact that Sarah had lost her place in the Queen’s affections.

In spite of the evidence she could not believe that she had been put aside in favour of her insignificant poor relation.

“Abigail Hill!” she would murmur even in her sleep. The woman was becoming an obsession.

“To think that I took her from a broom!” she would say apropos of nothing. There was no rest from the subject.

Marlborough, more philosophical than his wife, tried to soothe her and at the same time warn her. He might have said that it was her overbearing behaviour which had brought about the rift, which would have been true, but he refrained. He knew his Sarah and he loved her for what she was; and in any case had always known it was useless to try and change her.

Therein lay the success of their relationship, although some said that Marlborough was so devoted to his Sarah because he was forced to spend so much time away from her.

“Do not distress yourself so,” he begged her. “Give up struggling against the wind and the tide.”

“Give up everything to that chambermaid.”

“You are only distressing yourself and not making the Queen more fond of you. You’ll never get her friendship back by railing against Masham.”

“I’ll force her to be friends again!”

Dear Sarah. Such energy, and so little knowledge of human nature!

He was tired, feeling his age. There had been moments of grandeur in his life but to what were they leading? Blenheim, Ramillies, Oudenarde … and others—and what was the result? Loss of favour at home; his enemies working to oust him from politics if not from the Army; the peace he had hoped to make had not been achieved. He had wanted to take the war right to the gates of Paris and then he would have been able to make demands which Louis would have had to accept. But the Dutch were uneasy allies. As soon as he had made their frontiers safe for them, they wanted to have done with war.

And he himself? One could not be young for ever. Strangely enough he cared more for Sarah’s disappointments than for his own; but she would take no advice. She had listened to him more than to most, but she believed that she alone was capable of decision.

“It is no use hiding ourselves here,” she said, “while Abigail Hill and her friend Harley plot against us. Tomorrow I shall go to the Queen.”

In vain did Marlborough beg her not to act rashly. Sarah believed that eventually she would wear down the Queen’s resistance.

How peaceful it was without Sarah at Court! thought Anne. It had been an exhausting time, giving constant audiences to her ministers. It seemed that they now realized that George was not so insignificant as they had once believed him to be. He had always been so good natured and never a troublemaker, so that they had been apt to overlook his strength.

The Queen had always liked to listen to his advice on state matters, even if she had not taken it; and his presence at the interviews gave her confidence. Moreover, he had a way of cutting short an interview which had gone on too long by showing his impatience for his dinner; which might seem a frivolous excuse for cutting short a conference, but was effective.

“Dearest George! What shall I do without him?” sighed the Queen.

There was Masham, always ready to help, always eager to comfort.

“At least you are left to me, dear Masham,” she said.

Abigail replied with fervour that she hoped to serve the Queen as long as she lived; she would ask nothing more of life.

“It is at such grievous times as this that we know our friends,” said the Queen.

“The Prince was the kindest of masters,” murmured Abigail. “Poor Masham is desolate.”

“Poor faithful Masham!” agreed the Queen. “The Prince always relied on him. He is a good man and I am glad you chose him for your husband.”

“I do not know how to comfort him, Madam. He is without one whom he revered and he has nothing with which to occupy his mind. I tell him the sooner he finds something to do the better. The Prince would not have wished him to grieve.”

“No,” she said. “Poor Masham! He has lost not only the kindest master in the world but his position.”

“I think he would like to join the Army, or to go into politics, Madam.”

“Well, he is following a noble example.”

“You mean the Duke’s.”

“Mr. Harley tells me that he wishes to govern the country as well as the army.”

“Mr. Harley is Your Majesty’s most brilliant statesman and he is very likely right. But poor Masham is no Marlborough, Madam. He would, I suppose, be grateful for a humble post … something to take his mind off this dreadful loss.”

“I understand, Masham. It is what the Prince would wish.”

“Your Majesty and the Prince were always in harmony. I declare it was a lesson for all married people merely to see you together.”

The Queen put her hand to her eyes and Abigail brought the handkerchief with which to wipe away the tears.

Marlborough returned to the Continent to open a new campaign, and Sarah came to Court. But she could not now walk into the Queen’s apartments and scatter all those who were in attendance. She must ask for an audience and await the Queen’s pleasure.

She was constantly seeking openings to see the Queen, to bully her into returning to the old relationship. She found an opportunity to see her when she wanted her apartments to be extended and sent in a request that a few small rooms adjoining this apartment might be assigned to her. The reply came back that the Queen had already promised these rooms to one of her women.

Sarah was furiously frustrated. How dare Anne send her messages in this aloof fashion, as though she were some unknown person soliciting a favour!

She summoned Danvers whom she could still terrify.

“Is this true?” she demanded.

“Yes, Your Grace. The rooms are promised.”

“Which woman has them?” Sarah wanted to know, believing that if she made her wishes known the rooms would be relinquished.

“Alice Hill, Your Grace.”

“Alice Hill!” screamed Sarah. “Sister of the … chambermaid.”

“She is Mrs. Masham’s sister, Your Grace.”

“That’s who I mean,” cried Sarah.

“She has been given these rooms, Your Grace. Mrs. Masham thought those she had before were unsuitable.”

“But I wanted them! I shall see the Queen. I refuse to be treated in this way. Do you know, Danvers, that I took that woman from a broom.”

“Your Grace has mentioned it.”

“And now she seeks to direct me.”

“That, Your Grace, would be quite impossible.”

“It is impossible!” cried Sarah.

At length she forced herself into the Queen’s presence. Anne was clearly fretful, playing with her fan, her eyes on the door, wondering, thought Sarah grimly, whether she can ask me to summon Masham. Dear Masham! Kind Masham! Who coos in her ear and gets favours for her good-for-nothing brother and ninny of a husband and … Sarah could have screamed in her rage … for that sly toad, that monster, that traitor Robert Harley.

“It would seem that Mrs. Morley sets out to frustrate me,” she cried. The Queen closed her eyes and looked tired.

“Even a simple matter of rooms …”

“If Mrs. Freeman has anything to say to me she may write it,” said the Queen.

“I have much to say to Your Majesty and I have been writing to you all through the years. It seems to me that Mrs. Morley has allowed herself to be deceived by those whose greatest pleasure is in doing harm to Mrs. Freeman.”

“If you have anything to say to me you may write it,” said the Queen.

She had her parrot cry and Sarah could see that she would not be tempted from it.

A pleasant state of affairs! What could she do with a woman like that? Her coolness was apparent and there were times when Anne could remind any subject—even Sarah—that she was the Queen.

So there was nothing Sarah could do but retire.

But she would not let the matter rest there. She had been told that if she had anything to say she could write it. If she had anything to say indeed! She had much to say to that ungrateful friend.

She therefore returned to her lodgings and set to work to write a long account of her twenty-six years’ service to the Queen. She quoted passages from Jeremy Taylor on the subject of friendship. She accused the Queen of infidelity and ingratitude. She surpassed even herself in her invective.

The Queen’s response to this missive was to express her grief. It was impossible for her to recover her former friendship towards Mrs. Freeman and her chief complaint against her was her inveteracy towards Mrs. Masham. She would however always treat Sarah with the respect due to the wife of the Duke of Marlborough. She would in time, read what Sarah had sent her, and give Sarah her reply.

That was all the answer Sarah could get. She waited for an answer to her accusations. None came.

And when she saw the Queen in church Anne smiled at her vaguely as she would towards any lady with whom she had a slight acquaintance.

That was an uneasy summer. It was being said that the war was being prolonged unnecessarily by a faction with Marlborough at its head; and that the sole reason was that the Duke might continue to indulge his love of war.

His brilliant victories had reduced the French to a great desire to put an end to the carnage; Louis would consider terms, but those put forward were not acceptable. He had agreed to banish the Pretender—and his protection of James Stuart was one of the main reasons for the war—to acknowledge the Protestant succession in England, to demolish Dunkirk as a fortress and grant a protective frontier to the Dutch. There was one demand he could not accept and that was to gather an army and send it to drive his grandson from the Spanish throne.

“If it is necessary to make war,” said Louis, “I would prefer to fight my enemies than my children.”

This was a sentiment which all could understand and the war-weary English were more in sympathy with the old enemy than their own victorious Duke.

Then came the news of the victory of Malplaquet.

Marlborough had done it again. “He is invincible!” cried Sarah when she heard the news. “Now Mrs. Morley will see that she cannot ignore the wife of the greatest commander on Earth.”

But when the Queen saw the results of the battle and the tremendous slaughter of her countrymen, for the allies’ losses were 25,000 and although the French had lost the battle they had not lost nearly as many men.

“How long must this wicked slaughter go on!” cried the Queen; and although she took up her pen to write the usual congratulatory letter to the Duke she could not do so. How could she feel that this was a matter of congratulation when thousands of her subjects—her children—had died on the battlefield? For what? Had not Louis offered to banish the Pretender? Was he not suffering great stress in his own country through this war? Why could there not be peace, for it seemed that only with peace could there be the prosperity she wanted for her people!

Abigail brought Mr. Harley to the green closet. Dear Abigail! She was pregnant and it made such a bond between them. It reminded Anne of those years of hopes … hopes which had come to nothing except in the case of her dearest boy who had lived a while to make the tragedy the greater. And Abigail’s husband and her dear brother were soldiers too.

Such occasions for condolences; and Abigail agreed with her that the Duke was perhaps the only man who wholeheartedly wanted war.

Mr. Harley kissed her hand. He sat beside her and Abigail brought them tea, which though perhaps not to Mr. Harley’s taste he always took.

“Malplaquet!” he said. “A victory, they tell us, Madam. But a bloodstained victory. The Duke never loses a battle—but what he does lose is countless English lives. Madam, forgive me. I am carried away by this terrible carnage.”

“You voice my own thoughts, Mr. Harley. I feel I can scarce attend a thanksgiving service for such slaughter. How long must this dreadful war continue?”

“For as long as it pleases His Grace of Marlborough, it would seem, Madam.”

“I shall not allow it.”

“Then, Your Majesty, the war will end.”

“The Government, Mr. Harley, seem so firmly behind the Duke.”

“Godolphin, Sunderland—family connections! A Marlborough junta Madam. That sort of thing can be very powerful.”

“I never liked the Whigs.”

“Nor did the Duke, Madam, until he needed their support for his war. I have been consulting with my friends.…”

“Yes, Mr. Harley.”

“If we could overthrow the present Government I believe I could present Your Majesty with a Tory Ministry which would be very much to your liking.”

A Tory Ministry! thought Anne. Peace abroad! The Church and State safe! And dear, amusing, clever Mr. Harley at its head. That was a very desirable prospect.

Marlborough had returned from the campaign which had culminated at Malplaquet. He was very anxious; he had heard from Sarah that the reception of the victory had been less enthusiastic than that of Oudenarde and that the joy which followed the news of Blenheim was entirely lacking.

The Queen, Sarah pointed out, continued devoted to her dirty chambermaid, and snake Harley with Slug St. John was continually in her presence.

As for Sarah, she had written to the Queen reminding her of all she had done for her and how she had given her friendship over the years, and had had no reply.

Marlborough himself asked for an audience with Anne.

She received him with affection. He was such a charming man and had none of his wife’s overbearing manners. Anne would always have a fondness for Mr. Freeman however much his wife provoked her. He never forgot that she was the Queen and although he was the hero of so many great battles and his brilliant generalship had astonished Europe, he was far more modest than Sarah ever was.

“Dear Mr. Freeman,” said Anne, “I am pleased to see you home safe and well and I trust you will remain here with us for a long time.”

He knelt and kissed her hand.

Marlborough replied that there was nothing which would delight him more but that he had the Queen’s interests to protect and he feared they would soon take him from home.

Anne sighed, remembering the casualty lists from Malplaquet.

“I wish,” said Marlborough, “to make sure that Your Majesty and the country are safe for ever. And there is only one way in which I can be sure of bringing this about.”

“And that way, Mr. Freeman?”

“If Your Majesty would make me Captain-General of your armies …”

“But you are that already.”

“I have my enemies, Madam. They could replace me at a moment’s notice if they banded together and were sufficiently strong against me. If Your Majesty would make me Captain-General of your armies for life …”

He paused, aware of the magnitude of the demand he was making. Sarah had represented Anne to be a fool, a cipher in her hands; and although he knew that Sarah had exaggerated in her contempt for the Queen, he had accepted the fact that Anne was a simple woman.

This was not entirely true. She might love her cards and her chocolates, her gossip and her comforts, but she had a great sense of her responsibilities to her country; and she would not make a rash promise before she had first pondered the matter or consulted with those whose opinion she valued.

She understood what this would mean. The title of Captain-General for life would make Marlborough a military dictator whom none could shift.

She thought of Sarah grown more arrogant than ever, forcing her way into the royal apartments. Oh no! That would never do.

She lowered her eyes and studied her hands.

“I should need time to consider that, Mr. Freeman,” she answered.

Disappointed, but not unhopeful, Marlborough talked of other matters and after a while took his leave.

Anne was thoughtful after the Duke had left. How right Mr. Harley and Abigail had been! It was true that the Churchills were trying to reduce her to a mere cypher; and they had begun it by joining themselves through marriage with the most influential families so that the junta was formed; and now there they were—Marlborough, Godolphin and the hateful Sunderland—ready to rule the nation. All they needed was for Marlborough to become Captain-General of the Army for life—which would mean that no one would have the power to dislodge him—and there would be the military dictatorship for which they would all be working.

Relations with Sarah were very strained; they would soon be so with her husband, for Anne was certain that she was putting no such power into the hands of Marlborough.

But how to act in a manner so tactful that she could refuse Marlborough’s demands without alienating him, for if he were to resign from his present position at this moment she could not imagine what evil might befall her armies abroad.

She considered her ministers and thought of Earl Cowper who was not of the Churchill faction, and was a man whom she trusted and who would not wish to see Marlborough supreme. She sent for him.

“My lord,” she said, “if I were to ask you to draw up a commission to make the Duke of Marlborough Captain-General of the Army for life, how would you do it?”

Cowper was momentarily speechless at such a prospect.

“Your Majesty …” he stammered at length. “Madam … I … I could not advise such an undertaking in any circumstances.”

“My Lord Marlborough has asked that his position should be made permanent,” she told him.

“Madam, it is an office which has never been bestowed, other than for the time of the Sovereign’s pleasure.”

“I know it, my lord; but now His Grace would have it otherwise.”

“But, Madam …”

“You will know what to say to His Grace, I am sure, my lord,” said the Queen with her placid smile.

Cowper did know. He first went to his friends and told them what had taken place between him and the Queen. They were immediately apprehensive and angry. Marlborough was clearly aiming at military dictatorship. How disastrous if the Queen had agreed to his request which, they believed, she might have done if the Duchess had been on the old terms with her.

In the circumstances, Cowper was able to go to the Duke, with the support of his friends, to tell him that the great seal of England would never be put to such commission.

There was consternation throughout the Ministry. Marlborough’s preposterous suggestion was seen as a dangerous one.

Harley and St. John talked of it to their political and literary friends.

Sarah had failed to keep her hold on the Queen, it was said; so Marlborough was going to rule instead of the Queen. Military men with big ambitions should be watched.

John went down to St. Albans with Sarah. Restlessly and angrily they talked.

“Nothing goes as we could wish!” cried John; and he looked sadly at his wife, for none believed more than he did that if Sarah had retained her friendship with the Queen everything they desired would have come to them. But he never criticized her; all he would do was warn her gently. Sarah was far from gentle. She railed against Abigail Hill, for she was certain that all their troubles came from her.

“They have no gratitude,” she cried. “The nation, the Queen … nor Abigail Hill. You have won resounding victories for England; I have spent hours with the stupid woman when I would have preferred to be shut in a dungeon; I brought that whey-faced slut from a broom to a palace … and where is the gratitude, I ask you. Those who have most reason to love us turn against us.”

It was soothing to go down to Woodstock and look at the progress of Blenheim; but even that was slow and not to Sarah’s taste and she and John Vanbrugh had by now conceived a great dislike of each other.

Disgruntled and angry they returned to London. The Duke realized he had made a mistake in underestimating the Queen, and believing she would grant his request without consulting her ministers. Who would have thought that she would have called in Cowper before the commission was a fait accompli?

He was getting old; he was tired; and in spite of his brilliant victories he had not achieved what he set out to do.

The Duke of Argyle called on the Queen.

“Madam,” he said, “the Duke of Marlborough is a danger to the peace of England. It is believed by some that he might attempt to seize that which has been denied him.”

“I do not believe that the Duke of Marlborough would ever turn traitor to his own country,” protested Anne.

“It is as well to be prepared, Your Majesty.”

“That is true,” agreed Anne.

“Your Majesty need have no fear. You have but to give me the alarm and I would seize Marlborough—even at the head of his troops, and bring him to you dead or alive.”

Oh dear! sighed Anne. How alarming. War was bad enough abroad, but civil war was something she could not bear to contemplate.

She thanked the Duke of Argyle and told him she would remember his promise although she trusted it would never be necessary for her to make use of the services he so kindly offered her.

Abigail found her deeply disturbed and she confided in her as she had come to in all things.

Abigail was sure that Mr. Harley would have a better plan than the Duke of Argyle who, she suggested, could be as ambitious as the Duke of Marlborough; and where would the virtue be in replacing one ambitious man for another?

Mr. Harley was brought to the green closet. He had a plan, he would bring together a secret council of men who would protect the Queen and in due course hope to be her Government, for it was possible that the Whigs would be defeated at the next election.

He agreed that at all costs the Duke of Marlborough must be watched and given no more power than he already had—which was far too much.

If the Queen would trust him he would in turn devote his life to serving her beloved Church and the Tory party.

How fortunate, Anne agreed with Abigail, that Mr. Harley was at hand.