Courting Her Highness

THE GOLDEN KEYS

There was no need now to show Harley up to the green closet in secret. As the Queen’s chief minister he came openly. Did she imagine it, wondered Abigail, or was he in truth slightly less affectionate towards her? Sometimes when he passed her by she would smell the wine on his breath more strong than usual. He angered her by the change in his manner; and she asked herself again and again whether had she never acquired the Queen’s favour he would have acknowledged their cousinly relationship.

He has used me, thought Abigail.

How far she had come! It was not really so many years ago when she had been almost grateful for one of the Churchill girls’ cast-off gowns. Now Samuel was a colonel. She would have a title for Samuel before long. She was carrying a child and if this child should be a boy she owed it to him to make him Lord Masham.

How ambitious one became when one moved in ambitious circles!

Robert Harley was with the Queen. She knew what he was saying. The Duchess of Marlborough had been dismissed from the Queen’s friendship, but she still retained the keys of office. Until she gave them up they could not be bestowed elsewhere. And Anne was still afraid of the Duchess, for she put off commanding their return. It was as though she could not bear to think of Sarah and wanted to pretend the woman had never existed.

But Harley was in there explaining that the Duchess must be ordered to give up her keys. And when those keys were in Anne’s possession, to whom would they be passed?

Abigail had little doubt.

The door to the Queen’s chamber was opening and Harley came out. He was smiling. Mr. Harley was very pleased with himself these days.

When Abigail approached him, he looked at her with that slightly glazed expression in his eyes. Too much drink … or mere indifference? Surely he had not been to the Queen in a state of semi-intoxication? That was absurd. Harley would never be semi-intoxicated. He was too accustomed to drink.

“It was a successful meeting?” she asked.

“Very successful.”

“And …?”

He smiled at her in that manner which was almost mocking. He was not going to confide in her.

“I shall call on Her Majesty tomorrow,” said Harley, and bowing passed on.

She looked after him, resentment rising within her. He had his place and no longer needed her help. Had she not always known? Of course. Then why should she be so angry, so hurt?

Marlborough did not know which way to turn. He felt sick with worry and frustration. He had to speak to Sarah; he had to make her understand the position in which they were placed. Sarah would not accept the truth. It had always been so. She saw herself twice the size of others, twice as powerful, twice as brilliant; and even in the face of defeat she refused to admit it.

He, the most ambitious of men, had dreamed of ruling England. That had once seemed a not impossible dream for there had been military dictators before. On the Continent he had shown his genius and his enemies trembled at his name, yet here in his own country he was faced with disaster and defeat. And the reason …? It was no use blinking the truth. Sarah.

Sarah had brought him to this. Her overbearing manner, her bluntness, her arrogance, her belief that she could behave as pleased herself to anyone on earth including the Queen. Blind Sarah, who had brought herself and all those connected with her to disaster!

Sarah had lost the Queen’s favour forever. She refused to believe it, but it was true. She was no longer wanted at Court, yet the country needed the great soldier. Even Harley, the chief of his enemies, realized that. It was for that reason that he had sent St. John to advise him.

They wanted Marlborough … but not Marlborough’s wife.

St. John had been blunt. “The only way in which Your Grace can hold your position in this country is by ridding yourself of your wife.”

Repudiate Sarah! Cut himself off from her! Let it be known that he was out of sympathy with her overbearing conduct.

He loved Sarah. He thought of passionate reunions after long absences, the days when they were alone together at St. Albans or Windsor Park. The family … the daughters who meant so much to him; his grandchildren.

Give up Sarah! Choose between his wife and ambition!

There should be no problem. Did he not love Sarah? Was she not his dearest soul? Yet he was a commander of genius who had dreamed of ruling England. So he was being asked to choose between the two things he loved best.

Sarah came into the room—brisk, bustling, bellicose.

“Why, my dear Marl, what has happened? You look ill.”

“I’m getting old, Sarah.”

“What nonsense!”

“And everything I have hoped for has gone sour … has turned to nothing.”

“Nonsense again. Nothing can eliminate the glory of Blenheim.”

“They’ll make peace with France. They will decide that it is impossible to turn Louis’s grandson from the throne of Spain. They will say that the war was hopeless and need never have been fought. That is the way to make nothing of great victories, Sarah.”

“You are in a mood! Something has happened to upset you. That worm St. John has been here, I believe.”

“Yes, Sarah, he has been here.”

“And what did he want?”

“He wants you to return the keys of office.”

“I shall do no such thing.”

“Sarah, for God’s sake be reasonable. You cannot cling to an office when the Queen has decided to dismiss you.”

“Do you think I’ll be dismissed like some frightened chambermaid caught stealing the tea!”

Caught stealing! What unfortunate phrases she used! When he looked at Sarah, her face distorted by rage, when he listened to her shrill voice denouncing everyone, refusing to see any point of view but her own, he wondered.… He despised himself for this, but he even wavered.

So many pictures could come unbidden to the mind. He thought of himself—without Sarah—being taken into the new ministry. He had been a Tory at heart—until Sarah had given her allegiance to the Whigs and determined he should do the same. He saw himself continuing the war, finding fresh triumphs … without Sarah.

But there she stood before him—his Sarah, for whom he had braved his parents’ wrath in the first place in order to marry her, Sarah who had had no fortune any more than he had, when of course an ambitious man should have made a rich marriage.

How could he live without Sarah? Yet it was said that his love could never have endured if he had been forced to live with her night and day. It was the long separations which had saved their marriage. It might be so, but he knew he could never be without her.

She was bold and rash; she was crashing them all to disaster, but she was still his beloved Sarah.

“You are smiling. I see nothing to smile about.”

“I was thinking of all the years we have been together.”

“A fine time to think of that!”

“No, a good time, Sarah.” He took her hands and looked into her face. “You are still beautiful,” he said. “Our girls are lovely, but they can’t compare with you.”

“What is it, Marl?” she asked tenderly.

“If we are forced to live in obscurity … even in exile … I was thinking that at least we should be together.”

Her lips quivered and she threw herself into his arms.

“Dear Marl,” she said. “Dearest Marl!”

He had known all along that there was no problem. They were together for the rest of their lives.

He put her from him and said: “You will have to give up the keys.”

The tender mood had passed. “You are too easily defeated, Marl. Leave this to me. I haven’t finished with my fat friend yet … so I shan’t allow her to finish with me.”

“Sarah, I tell you this is the end. She will not have you back.”

“I shall write to her,” said Sarah stubbornly.

“She’ll read no letters from you.”

“She will if you take it to her.”

“Sarah, don’t you know when you’re beaten?”

“No, my brave general, I do not agree that I am beaten.”

“Sarah …”

But she put her arms about him and laughed. She would have her way as she always had, and there was one thing he knew, which was that it was better to suffer defeat with Sarah than to bask in success without her.

Sarah shut herself into her room and wrote to the Queen. I wouldn’t do this, she thought, but for Marl. This is breaking him. He’ll be ill if we go on like this.

Her pen had always been as violent as her tongue, but now she tried to use it to advantage. She remembered the cosy chats when Prince George had been alive and she and Anne had sat together like two goodies discussing their men. Mr. Morley and Mr. Freeman. What intimacy there had been in those days! And Anne had been fond of Mr. Freeman. He had charmed her as he charmed everyone. Marl was a charming man.

Now she must soften the Queen; she must remind her of those days. Anne had always been sentimental and if she could touch that sentiment now who knows she might yet retain the keys of office. And she must retain them, for to lose them would mean to be cut off from Court, cut off from all hope of regaining power.

She wrote to the Queen in an unusually humble style and the theme of her letter was her concern for the Duke. She believed she wrote, that if he must continue in this state of anxiety, he would not live six months. If Anne would allow her to remain her servant she would, she promised, never do or say anything disagreeable to her.

There was submission. She was sure of success.

Having written the letter she went to the Duke who was lying on his couch and coming on him unawares she felt a twinge of anxiety. Perhaps she had not exaggerated in her letter to the Queen.

“Dearest Marl,” she said, “you are not well.”

He rose and immediately looked more like his old self. “I’ll be well enough when this unpleasantness has passed away.”

“I have the letter here. Take it to the Queen and insist that she read it.”

“I am in no position to command the Queen.”

“Oh come, you know what I mean. Beg prettily as you so well know how to do, and she will do as you ask.”

“Sarah, she is firmly determined …”

“I know her better than you. She will read that letter and be touched. Once I get back to her, I’ll see that I stay there.”

“I would rather not.…”

“Now, my brave commander. We shall win yet.”

She was irresistible. He had to obey her. Godolphin had felt the same, even Sunderland.

“We have to do this,” she said earnestly. “It would have been different if the Elector had listened to our plans.”

The Duke shook his head. “He believes that he will get the crown handed to him in a few years’ time so he sees no reason to fight for it now.”

“He should not be so sure. There are Jacobites and to spare in this country. They’ll have the Pretender back … and then Master Hanover will wish that he had paid a little attention to his friends.”

“He is not prepared to risk war for the English crown, Sarah. I can’t say that I blame him.”

“It seems I am beset by lily-livered cowards,” cried Sarah fiercely. “Well, there’s nothing to do but try to get back with Anne. She’ll read that letter, Marl; and when she does she’ll remember our friendship. She won’t have the heart to dismiss me then.”

Marlborough was uncertain of that, but nevertheless he obeyed Sarah and presented himself at the palace to ask for an audience.

This was granted, but when he produced Sarah’s letter the Queen said that she did not wish to read any communication from the Duchess.

“I beg of Your Majesty to read this letter,” said the Duke, kneeling and looking entreatingly up at her. Anne shook her head sadly. He was so handsome, and he at least had always been so modest, and in the old days she had thought Mr. Freeman to be one of the most charming men she had ever met. Mr. Morley had a high opinion of him too. What happy days they had been! But even then of course Mrs. Freeman had been overbearing; she had dictated the way they should go. Sometimes when she felt weakened by the gout and dropsy Anne would wake in the night from dreams about her father; she would imagine he upbraided her for her part in his downfall and in such dreams Sarah was always beside her, urging her on.

No, she did not want to think of the past; she would not read Sarah’s letter.

“Madam,” said the Duke, “if you will retain the Duchess until such a time as you will have no need of my services, this will save her much pain. I hope that the war will be over within the next year and then we could both retire together.”

“I cannot change my resolution,” said Anne firmly.

“The Duchess deeply regrets any uneasiness she caused Your Majesty and longs for a chance to revive that love you once had for her. She has sworn that if you will give her another chance she will serve you in all humility and endeavour to make up for any pain she may have caused you.”

Anne was silent.

“I beg you read the letter,” he implored.

She did so, but when she had finished it, she was silent.

“Your Majesty is moved to some tenderness I see. I know that you will wish to put an end to the anguish which the Duchess now suffers.”

“I cannot change my resolution,” repeated Anne.

The Duke sighed, exerting all his charm in his endeavours to move her, but she only said: “The keys must be returned to me within three days.”

“Within three days, Your Majesty. I pray you give the Duchess ten days that the affair may be settled more discreetly.”

“No,” said the Queen, “there has been too much delay. The keys must be returned to me within two days.”

“Two days … but Your Majesty said three.”

“Two days,” repeated Anne firmly. “I cannot alter my resolution.”

There was nothing to be done but return to Sarah to tell her of his failure.

Marlborough faced his wife.

“Well?” she demanded, although his expression betrayed how the interview had gone and there was no need to ask.

“No use,” he said.

“She read my letter?”

“Yes, and remained adamant.”

“You should have talked to her.”

“I did.”

“Crawling at her feet, I doubt not.”

“Behaving in a manner best calculated to soften her, and at least I induced her to read the letter which she refused to do at first.”

“You allow her to treat you like a servant!”

“We are her servants.”

“Bah! That fat fool! If I could get back I would show her that I will not take such treatment from her.”

“That is precisely what you have done and why we are in this position now.”

“So I am to blame?”

“Can you suggest who else?”

“Yes, that disagreeable woman … with her filthy little dogs, her doting chambermaid, cards, her chocolates and her drivelling conversation. I cannot tell you what I endured from her. I was nearly driven mad by her inanities. And now … look at the way I am treated!”

“Sarah, for God’s sake be calm. You have to give up the keys.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you had talked to her.…”

“She could not be talked to. Her mind was made up. She kept repeating that she could not change her resolution.”

“The old parrot!”

“Sarah. Accept this. You have to give up the keys. She refuses to discuss any further business with me until those keys are in her hands. Unless you give them back I will have no position either.”

Sarah tore the keys from her waist, where she always wore them. Two golden keys, symbols of those coveted posts: Groom of the Stole and Mistress of the Privy Purse. She had held those offices for a long time and now they were lost.

She could have burst into tears.

To relieve her feelings she threw the keys at her husband and they struck his head before falling to the floor.

He picked them up quickly before Sarah could change her mind; and he lost no time in delivering them to the Queen.

Anne looked at the two golden keys—the symbol of release. Never would she allow herself to become the slave of another as she had with Sarah Churchill. Not even dearest Masham, although she knew full well that Abigail would never presume to rule her.

She was devoted to Masham more than to any other living person, but she was also fond of the Duchess of Somerset. There was a similarity between them; they both had the same colour hair. Some might call it carroty, but Anne found it delightful. She had also been fond of Lady Somerset ever since she had lent her Syon House when she had had nowhere to go during one of her quarrels with her brother-in-law William of Orange; she recalled even now how William had tried to prevent Lady Somerset’s lending her the house and how both the Duke and his wife had insisted that she have it. They had been true friends then—and she would never forget it.

But Abigail was more necessary to her than anyone on earth. She juggled the keys, smiling to herself at the pleasure she was going to bestow.

“Mrs. Masham.”

Abigail started from her chair and stared at the man who had come into the room. He rocked a little uncertainly on his heels and his eyes were glazed.

“Mr. Harley.”

She thought: He is getting careless. His coat was spotted; perhaps he had just come from carousing with the literary men who were glad to work for him in exchange for the chance to call themselves his friends.

He was breathing fumes of wine at her.

“Mr. Harley,” she went on coolly, “have you just come from the tavern?”

“Nay, Madam, from Her Majesty.”

He was smiling at her almost insolently, as though he were reminding her that although she might give herself airs with others she must not do so with him.

Resentment flared up in her. She found him attractive—this adventurer in the political jungle. Now she knew that when she had served the Marlboroughs in the house at St. Albans she had envied Sarah, not so much her position but the adoration she had aroused in a man like Marlborough. That was what she had wanted. Samuel was no Marlborough; but Harley might have been. Harley was a brilliant politician … but a drinker. Together they could have been supreme—as the Marlboroughs had planned to be—for she would never have lost her place as Sarah had. She would have known how to lead her man along to greatness. But instead she had Samuel—pleasant, mild, unexciting Samuel; while Harley—the first minister—was merely amused that she—an insignificant nobody—had been of use to him. Now he no longer needed her, for he had reached his goal.

The thought occurred to her then that he would have to fight as hard to keep his place as he had to attain it, and therefore should curb his insolence.

“Mr. Harley,” she said, “you have been drinking.”

“Mrs. Masham,” he replied, “I have also been breathing.”

“The latter is necessary, the former scarcely so.”

“What! Do you understand me so little? The last is as necessary as the first.”

“It is even more necessary to hide the fact.”

“My guardian angel!” He laughed. “And here I have a present for a good girl.” He held up a golden key.

She stared at it.

“The Privy Purse for you. The Stole goes to Carrots Somerset.”

“The Privy Purse!” echoed Abigail.

“By far the most important post. ‘Please tell Mrs. Masham that I wish her to have it.’ So spake Her Majesty.”

She held out her hand to take it, but he still retained it, mocking her with his eyes. Then he slipped it inside her bodice so that it rested between her breasts.

Yes, he was certainly slightly intoxicated.

She watched him turn and walk away. He was not as respectful as he had once been. Surely he was not the brilliant student of human nature she had believed him to be. Did he not realize that if he wished to hold his place he should be very careful to show the utmost respect to Abigail Masham—now Keeper of Her Majesty’s Privy Purse.

Sarah was furious. Dismissed from offices which were now in the hands of her greatest enemies! Ordered to remove herself from her rooms at the Palace which would now belong to someone else!

Very well, she would remove herself.

She went to St. James’s Palace and took with her several of her servants.

“Dismantle those rooms,” she ordered. “Take everything … the mirrors from the walls and the locks from the doors.”

Her servants were bewildered by these orders but they knew better than to disobey.

They took the locks from the doors and Sarah declared that she would have the chimney-pieces in time.

Back to Marlborough House went Sarah, laughing exultantly as she thought of those rooms, the doors that would not even shut, the walls denuded of their mirrors.

“Wait … wait until I get the chimney-pieces,” she promised herself.

Marlborough seeing what she had done was aghast.

“This is folly, Sarah,” he warned.

“Folly! You think I should meekly stand aside and allow them to insult me. I am told to go … so I will go … and I will take what belongs to me with me. Do not think this is all. I shall send back and have the very chimney-pieces brought to me.”

“No, Sarah, no.”

“I tell you, I will.”

“Sarah, are you mad?”

“Mad I may be, but at least I am not a coward.”

“This was a foolish thing to do.”

“Foolish! To show the world how ill I have been used! I would have everyone know that the Duchess of Marlborough does not lightly take insults even if her husband does. I’ll have those chimney-pieces.”

“You will not.”

Sarah stopped her tirade to stare at him.

“What?” she cried.

“I said you will take nothing more from the Palace.”

“I have sworn to have those chimney-pieces.”

“I have sworn that you will not.”

She was silent and he went on: “Sarah, for your own sake … for both our sakes … be calm … be dignified. We are on the edge of disaster. For God’s sake don’t send us hurtling down to utter destruction.”

She looked at him and saw the pain in his eyes, the weariness of anxiety.

Then she threw herself at him and burst into tempestuous weeping. He led her to a couch and they sat there together until he had calmed and comforted her.

Abigail came to the Queen to tell her that Lady Marlborough had removed herself and her belongings from the palace.

“For ever,” declared Anne. “She shall never come back.”

“Your Majesty is now rid of a nuisance.”

“Oh, Masham, how relieved I am! I cannot tell you what a threat that woman has been to me.”

“A fury, Madam, as they call her in the lampoons. She leaves much damage behind her.”

Abigail told the Queen of the dismantled apartments. “The very locks have gone! She bade her servants remove them.”

“Oh, what a wild woman she is!” cried Anne.

“But she has gone, Your Majesty. You need never see her again.”

“Nor shall I. But to defame the palace! And when I think of all the money we are spending to build a palace for her and her husband. The cost of Blenheim is terrifying, Masham … quite terrifying.”

“It seems incongruous, Madam. You are supplying money to build her a palace while she is destroying yours.”

“It is quite incongruous. I have made up my mind. There shall be no more money for Blenheim. I shall build no house for the Duchess of Marlborough while she is pulling mine down.”

These were indeed dark days for the Marlboroughs. Sarah deprived of her offices; Marlborough uncertain of what support he would receive from the Government; and Blenheim Palace which was to have been presented to them by the Queen and a grateful nation unfinished and the work on it stopped by royal command.