Courting Her Highness

WINE FOR A LAUNDRESS

Abigail lay in her bed awaiting the birth of her child. She felt aloof from all that intrigue which for so long had formed part of her life. It had been so for the last weeks as the time for her confinement grew nearer and nearer. A child of her own—hers and Samuel’s.

The pains had started and she had heard the women whispering in the chamber. They feared it would be a long labour, for she was small, thin, not built for child-bearing, so they said.

But she felt strong and capable of anything; and she was astonished by the softness of her feelings.

The Queen had been gracious; she knew that Anne was anxiously waiting for news. They had been pleasant, those last cosy weeks, seated at the Queen’s feet, leaning against her, talking of the Queen’s “boy,” laughing and crying together. Never had they been so close—friends, not sovereign and subject.

“You must let me share in your joy, my dearest Abigail,” said Anne.

The pains were more acute. It was Mrs. Abrahal who was bending over her.

“Take is easy,” she was soothing her. “It won’t be long now.”

Mrs. Danvers was there, with Mrs. Abrahal and the others, and the Queen had sent for her own physician, for nothing was too good for Mrs. Masham. Mrs. Danvers would report to the Duchess of Marlborough that it had been royal attendance, if you please. But would she? Mrs. Danvers had begun to wonder whether it was necessary to report everything to the Duchess, for what need was there now to seek her favour? Better perhaps to watch over Mrs. Masham’s comforts with the same assiduous care as one had once bestowed on the Duchess of Marlborough.

Mrs. Abrahal seemed to have come to that conclusion too.

Mrs. Abrahal curtsied to the Queen who cried: “What news?”

“A little girl, Your Majesty.”

“And Mrs. Masham is well?”

“As well as can be expected, Madam. It was a long and hard labour.”

“Poor Masham! And is Dr. Arbuthnot with her now?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Help me up. I will go to her.”

Anne stood smiling at Abigail who looked so wan and yet triumphant. Lucky Abigail who held a child in her arms.

Anne quietly prayed that dearest Masham would have better luck than she had had. May this child live and be a comfort to her, she said to herself.

“You are well content,” she said tenderly.

“Yes, and shall be more so if Your Majesty will consent to this child’s being named after you.”

“It would give me the greatest pleasure,” said the Queen, with tears in her eyes.

Anne delighted in the baby.

“My dear Masham,” she said, “it brings back the old days to me so clearly. I think of my own little ones.…”

And the baby had a fondness for the Queen. “She’s like her Mamma,” sneered Abigail’s enemies. “She knows how to please.”

It was such a pleasure to sit together and talk of Abigail’s long labour and the antics of the child. It helped Anne to forget all the unfortunate tensions about her throne which had been caused by that alarming demand of the Duke of Marlborough. Mr. Harley was determined to prevent the Duke’s causing trouble; and as for Godolphin, she was getting tired of him; Sunderland she had never liked, although she had been forced into allowing him to take office. How pleasant then to talk of babies with Abigail. There had never been such cosy confidences with Sarah, although Sarah had had a large family. Sarah was unnatural. She had never been interested in the charming details of family life.

“Mrs. Abrahal was a comfort,” said Abigail. “I should like to reward her. And she is so fond of little Anne.”

“We must let her know how much we appreciate her goodness,” replied the Queen. “I will raise her allowance. That will please her.”

“Shall I send her to Your Majesty later?”

“Please do. I do declare the enchanting creature is smiling at me.”

“She knows her Queen already. I’ll swear she will be as good a servant to Your Majesty as her mother has always tried to be.”

Such pleasant hours! So far removed from the demands and schemes of ambitious men.

Mrs. Abrahal curtsied to the Queen.

“Ah, Abrahal, Mrs. Masham has been telling me how good you were to her during her trying confinement.”

“Your Majesty, it was my duty and I would say that Mrs. Masham bore herself with courage for it was not an easy labour.”

“No. I understand that. And I know full well how trying such times can be.” The Queen looked sad but brightened as she remembered the Masham child who seemed so healthy—far more so than any of hers had been. “Mr. Masham must be delighted,” she added. Then she noticed that Mrs. Abrahal was looking very pale.

“You do not look well yourself, Abrahal,” she said.

“Your Majesty is gracious to notice, Madam. But I am growing old.”

“You have been long in my service I know.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, it is twenty years since I started washing your Brussels lace-heads.”

“Is it possible?” sighed the Queen and was sad again, being reminded of George, who had used that phrase so often. “Well, Abrahal, Mrs. Masham has told me how kind you were to her and as a result I am going to have your allowance raised.”

“Your Majesty is so good,” said Mrs. Abrahal, tears in her eyes.

“I like to see good service rewarded,” said Anne kindly. “But what I do not like is to see you looking so pale. You should drink a little wine each day. I remember the dear Prince’s saying that a little wine, taken regularly, was very good for the health.”

“Your Majesty …”

Anne held up a hand. “I shall order a bottle of wine to be sent to you every day. I want you to go on washing my lace-heads for many years to come.”

Mrs. Abrahal, murmuring her thanks, was ushered out of the apartment by Mrs. Masham. When she had recovered from her surprise and pleasure a little, she remarked to Mrs. Danvers that there was no doubt whom one had to please now if one hoped to advance one’s fortunes at Court. The Duchess of Marlborough was on the way out; Abigail Masham was undoubtedly in.

Although the Queen had no wish to see Sarah, Sarah clung tenaciously to her duties. Always at the back of her mind was the thought that she could not fail eventually to win her way back to her old position at Court.

Looking through the accounts one day she saw that a bottle of wine was going to one of the laundresses. “A bottle of wine a day!” cried Sarah. “I did not order this. And what would a laundress want with a bottle of wine a day?”

She summoned Mrs. Abrahal, the recipient of the wine, and demanded to know what was meant by it.

“It was ordered by Her Majesty,” said Mrs. Abrahal.

“Ordered by Her Majesty … and no reference made to me! But did you not know, Abrahal, that such expenditure has to be sanctioned by me!”

“No, Your Grace, not when it was an order of Her Majesty.”

“Then you had better learn quickly to the contrary.”

“Your Grace, after I attended Mrs. Masham’s confinement …”

“Don’t speak to me of that chambermaid who has nothing to do with this case.”

“Excuse me, Your Grace, but it was because I had nursed Mrs. Masham that the Queen raised my allowance and ordered me to take a bottle of wine each day.”

Sarah turned pale with rage.

This was too much. Not only was Masham usurping her place in the Queen’s affection, but taking her duties from her while they still belonged to her.

This was too much to be borne. Marl treated as though he were a common adventurer! Herself treated as though she were of no account!

She simply would not hear of it.

She stormed her way to the green closet.

“Her Majesty does not wish to be disturbed,” she was told.

“Get out of my way,” cried the Duchess. “Whether she wishes it or not she is going to be disturbed.”

Abigail was seated at the Queen’s feet and they were smiling together. Sarah threw a look of hatred at Abigail and then turned her gaze on the Queen.

“I did not hear you announced,” said Anne coldly.

“I was not announced,” retorted Sarah. “I would speak with you alone.”

Abigail rose and looked to the Queen for orders. Anne bowed her head slightly, signing for Abigail to go. Abigail obeyed and went into the ante-room, out of sight but not out of earshot—and, as she thought later, it would not have been easy to do that for the back stairs pages must have heard Sarah’s tirade.

“What have you to say?” asked Anne coldly.

“This, I have to say. I hold the Privy Purse under Your Majesty and I expect at least to be consulted on expenditure.”

The Queen sighed and looked at her fan.

Sarah went on: “It now comes to my ears that a laundress has been given a rise in her allowance and, if you please, a bottle of wine every day!”

“It does please me,” said Anne.

“A bottle of wine … for a laundress! And without consulting me.”

“She shall have her wine,” said Anne.

“And I say this is a matter on which my opinion should be asked. Who ever heard of laundresses being given bottles of wine every day? We shall soon have them making merry in the laundries.”

“She shall have the wine,” said Anne, putting the fan to her lips.

“Madam, I shall not allow this to pass. I shall go to Lord Godolphin. He is your Lord Treasurer. We shall see what he will have to say.”

Dear me! thought Anne. How right Mr. Harley was. These Churchills would rule us if they could. What a dangerous family! But Mr. Harley and Mr. St. John need have no fear. I shall certainly do my best to see that no more power falls into their hands.

The Queen rose and made for the door. Sarah, her eyes blazing, did an unprecedented thing; she placed herself between the Queen and the door. It was difficult, Anne thought afterwards, to know how to act when confronted by a situation which had never occurred before and which one would never have thought possible. Here was she being harangued by a subject, being held captive in a room by a subject. How extraordinary—except when one reminded oneself that it was the coarse, overbearing, vulgar Duchess of Marlborough.

“Stand aside,” said Anne regally. “I wish to leave.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “You shall hear me out,” she cried. “That’s the least favour you can do me for my having set the crown on your head and kept it there.”

Anne was too astonished for speech.

“You are willing to forget all that I have done for you … merely because a sly chambermaid has come between us. Do not think that I care on that account. I do not want your cloying affection. But I will not be insulted by a chambermaid whom I took from a broom and kept as a servant in my own house.… No, I will not be insulted by such a slut … nor will I allow the great Duke—who has won great glory for you abroad—to be so insulted. I do not care if I never see you again … but I’ll have my rights.”

“I agree with you,” said Anne calmly, “the seldomer we meet the better.”

“Do not think,” cried Sarah, “that you have heard the last of this.”

Anne touched Sarah with her fan and in that moment she was a Stuart Queen, and the daughter of Kings. Sarah was momentarily overawed and stood aside, while Anne, as well as her swollen feet would allow, walked out of the room.

“Masham!” she called. “Send Masham to me.”

Lord Godolphin did not like his mission; but the truth was he was afraid of Sarah Churchill. He admired her in a way; he was convinced that had she behaved differently all the hopes of the junta to which he belonged would have been realized. Secretly he believed that such a powerful personality must one day win her way back. So when she said that he must go to the Queen and tell her she could not allow Mrs. Abrahal a bottle of wine every day, he weakly agreed to go. It was all very well to give way to Sarah, but when he thought of the triviality of his mission he felt ridiculous.

Anne received him in the green closet, with Mrs. Masham in attendance. The spy, the snake in the grass, whom everyone knew now brought in Harley for secret conference with the Queen. That was how the rot had set in; and now it seemed that with Sarah leading them—they were all rushing downhill to complete and utter failure.

He kissed the Queen’s hand. Her manner was cool to him. She could never receive him nowadays without being reminded of the Duke’s arrogant demand and Sarah’s rages.

He talked of political matters for a while, but she felt that he was coming to some point which was the reason for his visit.

At last it came. “I have delayed sanctioning the rise in Mrs. Abrahal’s allowance, and the bottle of wine she has asked to be delivered to her lodging each day.”

“For what reason?” asked Anne.

Godolphin looked uncomfortable. “It is a little irregular, Your Majesty.”

“Irregular? In what way, pray? I have ordered it. Are you, my lord, telling me that the Queen may not raise a servant’s allowance nor order her a bottle of wine without the consent of the Parliament?”

“Oh, no, Your Majesty.”

“Then,” said Anne, “not without the consent of the Duchess of Marlborough?”

“N … no, Your Majesty, but …”

“There are no buts,” said Anne firmly. “Pray sign the order without delay and let me hear no more of this ridiculous matter.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Godolphin felt so foolish he could scarcely wait for the interview to be over; but after that he had the wrath of Sarah to face.