Courting Her Highness

QUEEN ANNE

The sun shone brilliantly on the March morning. All through the day ministers of the realm were making their way to the presence chamber in the Palace of St. James, jostling each other to be first to kiss the hand and swear allegiance to the new Queen.

Anne had assumed a new dignity; she had, after all, been born near the throne and had known for many years that there was a possibility that this day would come. Sarah never left her side; her excitement, though suppressed, showed itself in her shining eyes and her very gestures. She wanted those who entered the presence chamber to be aware of in what relationship Sarah Churchill stood to the Queen.

What power she had! Anne seemed bewitched by her. Abigail, dismissed by Sarah to her proper place in the shadows, looked on wondering how Anne could have forgotten those cruel words she had overheard. Had she forgotten? It seemed so, for her manner was as affectionate as it had ever been towards her dear Mrs. Freeman.

But was it? Abigail had come to know her mistress very well; and the affair of the gloves had been very revealing. Not by a look had she shown how hurt she was, how shocked; those who did not know the new Queen very well thought of her as fat, lazy, kind and a little stupid, in fact a woman who could be easily duped. They were mistaken. Anne avoided quarrels simply because she did not want to waste her limited energy in such a way; and Sarah Churchill who was so much aware of her own powerful personality underestimated everyone else. She believed that she could be rude to the Queen one day and have her in leading strings the next. But could she? Abigail was not sure. Yet seeing them together now made her wonder.

It made her excited too. She believed that she understood the Queen far more than Sarah Churchill ever could—far more than anyone else. That was why she, who had comforted Anne at the time of Gloucester’s death, who had witnessed the unkindness of Sarah Churchill, now meekly stood aside and made no attempt to call attention to herself. She had a suspicion that Anne was aware of her, demurely in the shadows, aware of her and glad she was there, that there was even a kind of conspiracy between them; as though she and the Queen, together, would fight the overpowering influence of Sarah Churchill from which Anne found it difficult to escape.

Sarah’s loud voice filled the apartment.

“Ah! So Clarendon is asking for audience. He is waiting his turn in the ante-room. And will Your Majesty see him?”

“He is my uncle …”

“Who had taken the oath of allegiance to your father and that means to your so-called brother. Tell him that when he qualifies himself to enter your presence you will be pleased to see him.” Sarah looked about her. “Oh, there is Abigail Hill. Summon one of the pages.”

As Anne’s shortsighted eyes momentarily fixed themselves on Abigail she smiled faintly, but Sarah did not notice; so Abigail hurried away to do her bidding.

When the page arrived Sarah said: “My lord Clarendon is without. It is Her Majesty’s wish that you tell him that if he choses to take the oath of allegiance to his legitimate Sovereign, he will be admitted to her presence—and not before.”

As the page went out the Earl of Mulgrave was ushered into the apartment, a handsome man and a poet of some standing who when he was young had courted Anne. She had wanted to marry him, but Sarah had broken up that romance—although neither of the lovers had known who had been responsible—by telling Anne’s uncle, Charles II, what was going on; as a result Anne had lost her lover who had been sent on a mission to Tangiers. When he returned Anne had already been married to Prince George of Denmark; and she was not the woman to indulge in extra-marital affairs. She was too lazy, too fond of George, too busy being pregnant with remarkable regularity; and in any case she preferred the society of women to that of men.

All the same she cherished an affection for this man who had been her first lover; particularly as he had been more faithful to her father than most; he had never been a friend of William’s; and becoming leader of the Tory Party had stood in opposition to the Court for some years.

Anne remembered this as he stood before her and her eyes clouded with momentary sentiment. She would always remember him as her lover, although she was happily married and he had already been married twice.

How strange that now he stood before her, she could think of nothing to say to him. And he was waiting for her to speak, for it was the prerogative of the Sovereign to speak first.

The sun was streaming through the windows; it seemed a good omen that the cold March winds should have dropped and the first signs of spring show themselves on her first day as Queen.

“It is a very fine day,” said Anne.

“Your Majesty must allow me to declare that it is the finest day I ever saw in my life,” was the earnest answer.

“I see,” smiled Anne, “that you have not forgotten how to pay a compliment.”

“Your Majesty will never lose the gift of inspiring them.”

Sarah hastily ushered in the next visitor. She would have to watch Mulgrave if Anne were going to be foolishly sentimental over the fellow.

Abigail was aware of the slightly stubborn set of the Queen’s lips, and she was certain that Sarah should take more care what she did. But Sarah was blind, blinded by her own egotism. Should she be warned? Inwardly Abigail laughed at the idea. She pictured Sarah’s reaction if Abigail told her to take care, for the proud Lady Marlborough would not relish being told what she should do by a chambermaid. But did the chambermaid want to warn her?

The page had returned and was talking to Sarah.

“My lord Clarendon replies that he has come to talk to his niece and that he will take no other oaths than he has taken.”

“Then pray tell my lord Clarendon that the Queen does not wish to see him until he recognizes her as his Sovereign.”

When the page had left Sarah turned triumphantly to Anne. “The stupid old man! Does he think he is going to rule this country! We will show him that he will have to take care in future how he treats Your Majesty. I remember how he behaved at the time William and Mary came over. He talked to you as though you were an erring infant in his control. I tell you, Master Clarendon will have to alter his ideas!”

There was no doubt that Sarah believed herself already to be in command of the Queen and the country.

The procession of ministers and courtiers came and went until it was time for the new Queen to attend service. This she did in St. James’s chapel and then retired to the apartments which had belonged to her dead son, while her own were hung with mourning.

“It is sad,” said Anne, “that on this day I should have to be reminded of my sorrow.”

“Tush!” retorted Sarah impatiently. “Mrs. Morley will have many children. She should think rather of those than the lost ones.”

Anne’s eyes filled with tears. “I fear there could never be another like my boy.”

It was Abigail who was ready with a handkerchief to wipe away the tears and a quick almost furtive smile passed between them, which Sarah did not see.

“I think Your Majesty should wear purple for mourning,” announced Sarah. “It will be different from that which you have been wearing for your father.”

“So many deaths … all at one time!” mused Anne.

“But such as we need not bother our heads with!” said Sarah harshly.

Abigail thought: She is too confident.

And a great excitement seized her.

Lady Marlborough was in constant attendance. Even those menial tasks which she had left to Abigail were now performed by her. Some of the wits jokingly called her Queen Sarah.

Anne seemed content to have her favourite with her; they addressed each other in the old affectionate terms, but with Anne’s new rank Sarah too seemed to have assumed new dignity; it was quite clear that she saw herself as the power behind the throne.

Abigail had become merely the chambermaid and there were occasions when she believed that her original notion that the Queen had not really forgotten Sarah’s outburst were quite wrong. Judging by their conversation there appeared to be no doubt that Anne was as devoted as she had ever been.

“My dear Mrs. Freeman, I want you to have the Rangership of Windsor Park for life.”

“If Your Majesty insists,” said Sarah, modest for once.

“Of course I insist.”

“I had hoped to be Groom of the Stole and Mistress of the Robes so that I might be in constant attendance.”

“My dearest Mrs. Freeman, the posts are yours.”

“And the Privy Purse … Frankly, Mrs. Morley, I should hesitate to trust any with that.… I would take it on if Your Majesty insisted.…”

“You must take it on, Mrs. Freeman.”

Abigail’s heart sank. Anne must be completely besotted. What was this strange power of Sarah’s?

“Your Majesty has been so good to me,” said Sarah, “and that gives me great pleasure; but Your Majesty who so loves dear Mr. Morley will understand that I would give up everything that has come my way for one small honour for Mr. Freeman.”

“I remember how you once badly wanted the Garter for him,” said Anne.

“I am sure there is no one—just no one—at Court who deserves it more,” was the fierce rejoinder.

“You are right and it is only just that it should be his.”

“My dear Mrs. Morley!”

“My dearest Mrs. Freeman, so Morley has made you happy?”

It was incredible! thought Abigail. She had miscalculated; she would be an insignificant bedchamber woman for the rest of her days.

Sarah’s new posts brought in seven thousand five hundred a year, but Anne said that she needed more.

“You must allow me to give you a further two thousand, Mrs. Freeman.”

Sarah’s eyes sparkled, but of course she dared not accept. There would be trouble as there had been previously. She did not want it to be said that the Marlboroughs took too large a share of the Queen’s income. Their enemies would find some means of cutting down Anne’s allowance if that were spread about.

With great self-restraint Sarah declined her dear friend’s generous offer. But it was very satisfactory, as she explained to dear Marl. A Garter for him; fresh posts for herself; an added income; and most of all—power!

It was Sarah’s prerogative to bestow posts and that was one of the most profitable businesses in the country.

“Her Majesty will allow no places to be bestowed without my approval,” was her very proud boast.

She was indeed Queen Sarah.

When Anne made her first visit to Parliament as Queen it was Lady Marlborough who rode beside her; and when she entered the House, Prince George was on one side, Sarah on the other, and Marlborough himself carried the Sword of State before her.

A further honour had been bestowed on the family, for John Churchill had been made Captain General of the British Armies abroad.

Anne looking regal and wearing the star on her breast and her robes of velvet and ermine, was very different from the indolent careless Princess, and she seemed very conscious of her dignity. One of her greatest assets was her beautiful voice, and she spoke earnestly and eagerly of her intention to rule well; she wanted no strife through the three kingdoms.

“And as I know my heart to be entirely English, I can very well assure you that there is not anything you can expect or desire from me which I shall not be ready to do for the happiness and prosperity of England, and you shall always find me a strict and religious observer of my word.”

“God save the Queen!” was the loyal answer.

The new reign had begun, but there were many who, watching the Queen and her courtiers, asked themselves: “Whose reign? That of Queen Anne or Queen Sarah?”

The day selected for Queen Anne’s coronation was April 23rd.

She confided to Abigail: “Hill, I dread the ceremony, for I do not see how I am going to walk to the Abbey.”

“Your Majesty will have to be carried.”

“A Queen carried to her coronation! Have you ever heard the like? Oh dear, I fear it is going to be a most tiring occasion. I wish that I could dispense with it.”

“Your Majesty will come through it, charming all who behold you.”

“But a Queen carried to her coronation, Hill!”

“The people will love you the more for your misfortune.”

“I believe you are a wise young woman. ’Tis true enough they love when they pity. And they will remember the loss of my boy.”

Anne had formed a habit of talking of her boy to Abigail; she would go over the anecdotes again and again, but Abigail always listened as though she was hearing them for the first time.

“You’re a comfort to me, Hill,” Anne said on more than one occasion, for another habit of hers was to make a phrase and repeat it again and again. This irritated Sarah, who would sometimes make an impatient gesture when these repetitious phrases were used; Abigail never gave a sign that she had heard them before. And there were occasions when Abigail suspected that Anne enjoyed those sessions with her more than she did the brisk encounters with Sarah.

So on the morning of the coronation Abigail listened once more to the stories of the dead Duke’s perfections until Sarah bustled in to stop the reminiscences.

“I was telling Hill how I wish my boy were here to see this day.”

“I doubt not it would have pleased him mightily,” said Sarah. “Now I have come to see that everything is in order. Nothing must go wrong today!”

“I am sure it could not with you, dear Mrs. Freeman, to attend to all that should be done.”

Abigail faded into the background, forgotten.

“Ah, yes,” mused Anne, “if only my boy were here.…”

“I can tell you, Mrs. Morley, I am not so pleased with my boy.”

“My dear Mrs. Freeman, what do you mean?”

“He has a desire, mark you, to join the Army, and serve under his father.”

“A very natural desire when you consider he is Mr. Freeman’s son. And my dear Mrs. Freeman is a fighter too. I am sure if she had been born a man she would have been commanding an army.”

“Lord Blandford is sixteen years old. That is no age to become a soldier. I said that he should go from Eton to Cambridge and that is where he has gone. But he is displeased with me because of it and I can tell you I am displeased with him.”

“It is a pity when families quarrel.”

“Quarrel, Mrs. Morley! Do you think that I shall allow my own son to go against my wishes?”

Anne sighed. “And what does Mr. Freeman think?”

“Oh, he thinks that there is only one worthwhile profession in the world and would willingly take young John with him into service. I can tell you I put a stop to that nonsense.”

“I believe even Mr. Freeman is afraid of you.”

“Then I am the only one in the world he is afraid of. Of course later on it may well be that young John will join his father, but not yet.”

“How fortunate you are, Mrs. Freeman, to have children. I often think that if my boy had lived and I had been able to give him brothers and sisters I should have been a very happy woman. I would willingly give my crown in exchange for a family of boys and girls. Sometimes when I see my poorest subjects …”

“Well, well, we have to accept our lot. And now, Madam, if you are to be in time for your coronation …”

Abigail listening, marvelled at the temerity of a woman who could cut short the Queen. Yet here was Sarah taking the important posts while she, Abigail, who let the Queen talk, who always agreed with her and soothed, had to dissolve into the background as soon as Sarah appeared, and emerge again only when she could make herself useful.

It was eleven o’clock when Anne was carried in her sedan chair from St. James’s Palace to Westminster Hall.

She was deeply conscious of her state, for since she had become Queen she had thought more and more seriously of her position. She wanted to be a good Queen; she wanted her people to love her; as she had told dear George: If she looked upon the people as her children she could find some compensation for the loss of her dear boy.

In the Hall she remained seated while the company was assembled for the procession to the Abbey. As her husband followed the Archbishop of Canterbury into the Hall he looked for her, and when he saw her his expression was one of such tenderness that she thanked God for giving her such a good man.

I am happily married, she thought, and the only sorrow in our union is the loss of all our babies and the greatest sorrow of all, that of our boy.

George was a dear man, although he was rather dull; he did eat too much and drink too much, but he was never bad-tempered. He became more and more affable as he grew more and more sleepy; and when he murmured “Est-il possible?” which was his favourite phrase he meant to encourage those who were talking to him. It was true that she found the company of Sarah more amusing and that of Abigail Hill more soothing—but George was a good man, and the best possible husband for her.

He was concerned now for her feet which were so tortured by gout and dropsy, but she flashed him a smile to assure him that she was managing well enough.

She was helped into the open chair in which she would be carried and the procession set out through New Palace Yard towards the west door of the Abbey. The sight of the Queen in her chair, the circle of gold set with diamonds on her abundant curled hair, the kindliest of smiles on her placid face, set the people cheering and shouting “God Save the Queen.” Tears were in her eyes; she wanted to tell them that she loved them all, that she regarded them as her children; that she wanted to care for them and bring good to them.

It was a moving ceremony. She thought of all those who had passed through it before her and naturally she must remember her father. She reminded herself that he had forgiven her before he died; and at least he was not alive now, so she was not taking the throne from him. How different it had been with poor Mary who had been crowned while he lived, and had received a letter from him on the very morning of the coronation in which he had cursed her.

It was a thrilling moment when the Archbishop presented her to the people.

“I here present unto you Queen Anne, undoubted Queen of this realm. Whereas all you that are come here this day to do your homages and service, are you willing to do the same?”

The cry echoed through the Abbey. “God save Queen Anne.”

The trumpets burst forth and the choir rose to sing: “The Queen shall rejoice in Thy strength, O Lord; exceeding glad shall she be of Thy salvation! Thou shalt present her with the blessings of goodness, and shall set a crown of pure gold on her head.”

Anne deeply moved vowed to herself: I will be all that they desire of me. Before my days are done they shall call me Good Queen Anne.

Her progress to the altar was painful, but she scarcely felt the ache in her feet; she believed that God gave her special strength on that day. When she heard the words “Thou shalt not appear before the Lord thy God empty!” she put the gold which she had brought with her into the proffered basin and thought once more of her sister and William who at this moment of their coronation—owing to the consternation they had felt earlier on receiving the letter from the deposed James—had forgotten to provide themselves with the necessary gold.

Her beautiful clear voice with its perfect enunciation could be heard repeating the declaration after the Archbishop; this was an important part of the coronation, for it assured the people that she did not believe in the theory of transubstantiation, that she considered the worship of the Virgin Mary and any saints idolatrous; in fact that she was a member of the Protestant Church.

And when she answered the questions put to her and came to that one: “Will you, to the utmost of your power, maintain the laws of God, the true profession of the gospel, and the Protestant reformed religion established by law?” she answered with great fervour: “All this I promise to do.”

Supported by the Chamberlain she regained the altar and there, laying her right hand on the Bible, made a solemn oath to carry out all her promises.

The coronation ring was on her finger; the crown was placed upon her head and the repeated shouts rang out once more.

“God save the Queen. God save the Queen.”

The guns from the Abbey turrets fired a salute which was answered by the guns of the Tower of London. The trumpets sounded.

Seated on her chair of state Anne received the homage of the peers. George was the first to come forward and kiss her cheek, and there was more than homage in his eyes: there was pride and pleasure. Dear, dear George! she thought. He could not be happier if they were crowning him. But was that not like her dear boy’s father? How different he was from her sister’s husband, William. Poor Mary! I am fortunate when I think of her.

One by one they came to her … these important men who would play their part in shaping her reign for good or for evil. The thought sobered her, but the feeling of exultation remained, and for the first time since the death of her beloved son did her grief recede almost to insignificance. It would return, of course; but at this moment she felt her duty so strongly that there was a new purpose in her life, and during this solemn ceremony she believed that if she could win the love and respect of her subjects she could be happy again.

They were singing the anthem now. The triumphant ceremony was over.

But this was not the end; there was the banquet to follow. How willingly she would have dispensed with that; there was nothing she wanted so much now as to lie on her bed and rest her poor aching feet. She would like quiet Abigail Hill to unbind her hair and massage her forehead while she talked to her of the coronation and how she intended to be a good Queen. Abigail Hill would understand; and she would believe that this could be. What pleasure then to be alone in her bedchamber with Abigail Hill!

That could not be. Knowing how wearying she would find this coronation since, although she was carried to the Abbey in her chair, it would be necessary to walk up to the altar and stand for a while, she had vaguely hinted that the banquet might be dispensed with. How horrified Sarah had been at the thought!

“What!” she had cried. “They would say you were afraid. Have you forgotten what happened at William and Mary’s banquet? Then, when Dymoke made his challenge a glove was thrown … and what a scandal that made! The Jacobites would say you were afraid the same thing would happen at your coronation. No, banquet there must be, and attend you must.”

She had to agree that Sarah was right; but Sarah’s voice seemed to have become louder since the accession and more authoritative.

A banquet always had a certain charm for her; however tired she was she could always show appreciation for good food. At her left hand at the table sat George, benign and uxorious; his little eyes, embedded in fat, glistening at the sight of all the good things on the table.

It would have been a pleasant ending to the ceremonies if she were not so tired.

Dymoke made his appearance and no one accepted his challenge, and the faint embarrassment which memories of the previous coronation had provoked was ended.

It had been an inspiring and invigorating day but she was glad it was over. Anne was divested of her coronation robes at the Court of Wards and helped into the chair in which she would be carried back to St. James’s Palace. Back she thought to Abigail’s soothing ministrations. Oh, to be lying on her bed with that good woman within call!

There were bonfires in the streets; the sounds of music drifted along the river; and as she entered the Palace Anne heard sounds of revelry in the state apartments. Her attendants were preparing to give her a royal welcome.

She heard the shouts: “God save Queen Anne.”

There were toasts to be drunk and George’s eyes gleamed at the prospect, for much as he loved food he loved wine better.

Anne’s heart sank, for she had believed it would be possible to go straight to her bed. Lord Lindsay, the Chamberlain, noticed how tired she was and leaning towards Prince George said: “Perhaps Your Highness would propose going to bed.”

George looked like a child who was in danger of losing a toy he has hoped for. Then he said: “I cannot propose. I am Her Majesty’s subject. I can do nought but what she proposes.”

Anne overhearing this laughed and: “Well then, George, as I am so very tired I command you to come to bed.”

She held out her hand. George took it; and they retired to the royal bedchamber.