Courting Her Highness

by Jean Plaidy

  Anne was disturbed. There was alarming news. The King of France having been so often defeated by Marlborough in Europe was seeking to attack the Queen of England in a way most calculated to alarm her.

  Her ministers had informed her that her half brother, whom the French King openly called James III, King of England, was being given the aid he would need to land in Scotland where they were ready to rise in his favour and come against her.

  Marlborough came in all haste to St. James’s.

  How fortunate that he was in England! There was a strength about the man. A genius which she could not fail to recognize. What should I do without dear Mr. Freeman! she asked George who, poor dear angel, was too ill to give much thought to the matter.

  The best of the Army was in Europe but this would be a matter for the fleet, said Marlborough. Sir George Byng was setting sail immediately to prevent the hostile force landing.

  But they must be watchful, for Scotland and the Northern counties were ready to revolt.

  When Marlborough left, Anne immediately summoned Abigail to bring her brandy.

  “It is so alarming,” she said as she sipped gratefully. “The Prince so ill … and all this trouble!”

  Abigail wiped the poor eyes which watered frequently.

  “Thank you, my dear. How I wish there need not be this strife. He is my brother for all that he comes against me.”

  “Your Majesty is sure of that?”

  “Oh, there were rumours. Some thought at the time that he was brought into the bed by means of a warming pan … but I have heard that he is very like my dear father. So good my father was to me, Masham. And to my sister Mary. He doted on us. He was a good father … but so distressingly fond of women … like my uncle Charles. But the people were fond of him. By the way, I hear that they are not pleased because the Duchess has taken his old house near the Mall. She has had the oak cut down which he planted.”

  “The people loved that oak, Madam. To them it was a symbol of royalty. The oak saved King Charles’s life and they loved it for that reason.”

  “They still wear the oak apple in memory of the occasion, Masham. Yes, my uncle was much loved, but my father … alas, he had his enemies. I often think of those days and I wish … I wish with all my heart, Masham.…”

  “Your Majesty must not upset yourself.”

  “But there is this conflict … and now my own brother comes against me. He is but a boy. Is it not sad, Masham? I often think of all the babies I have lost and I wondered whether it was a curse on me. And now my dearest husband … There will be no hope of more children.”

  Abigail did not know how to comfort the Queen; she could not speak of the possibility of a more fruitful marriage while the Prince still clung to life.

  “No, I shall have no heirs of my body,” went on Anne. “And we must think of the succession. I do not like the Germans, Masham. And this boy is my father’s own son. I am sure of it.”

  “But, Madam, you cannot wish that this venture of his will be victorious!”

  Anne smiled at her dear friend’s horror, and took Abigail’s freckled hand in hers.

  “No, my dear. He will not be successful. The Duke would never allow that. I can only hope that he will not be harmed. That is what I fear. I should like him to go quietly back to France and wait … and when I am gone …”

  “Your Majesty would make him your heir?”

  “I think that would please my father and that then everything would be right.”

  “He would have to become a member of the Church of England, Madam.”

  “Oh, yes. He would have to be that. And if he were … then I think it would be the happiest solution. Meanwhile, poor boy, he will try to take by force that which, if he would but wait in patience, I should be very happy to hand over to him.”

  Abigail laid her head against the Queen’s hand.

  “What is it, Masham? Your cheeks are wet.”

  “I cannot bear to hear Your Majesty speak of the days when you will not be here.”

  “Dear Masham! You make my life so much more bearable than it would otherwise be. But I have lost my boy. It is over now, some say, but to me it is as fresh as though it happened yesterday. Always I hoped that there would be others … but now … I am losing my dearest husband. Oh, Masham. I hope you enjoy with Samuel what I have with George.”

  “It is Your Majesty’s goodness which makes everything good about you.”

  “You are a dear creature. But all is not good. And now my own brother comes against me.”

  “He will not succeed, Your Majesty.”

  “I know it. But he comes to try to take that which I hold and which he thinks I usurped from him. It is not so, Masham. The people would never have a papist on the throne.”

  “Your Majesty has always faithfully upheld the Church of England.”

  “Therein I find my strength, Masham. In the Church, which assures me I did right.”

  Abigail kissed the Queen’s hand and while she wept with her she told herself that she must let Harley know that the Queen was against the Hanoverian succession and was for the Stuart James.

  News filtered through to the Court of what was happening to the invading forces.

  As Marlborough had predicted, they had no chance against Sir George Byng, and the remnants of the invading forces were soon fleeing back to France.

  There were rumours that Prince James had been captured and was a prisoner on board an English ship.

  The Queen told Abigail that she was deeply disturbed because if the young man was brought to her, she would have to remember that he was her own brother and she could never find it in her heart to punish him.

  The Chevalier de St. George, as James was known in France, was after all a young man in his twentieth year; it was said that he was bold and handsome. The position would be very difficult if he were brought to London for trial.

  But she could trust Admiral Byng to do better than that; Anne was very pleased when the report reached her that her brother, of whom she now spoke as The Pretender, had been treated with the respect due to his rank and landed on the French coast.

  The attempted invasion had come to nothing; and the Queen need have no fear on that score, but there was a little uneasiness when she heard that Lord Griffin, an ardent Jacobite who had been with her brother in France and had come with him to Scotland, had been captured and was being brought to the Tower where he would be sentenced as a traitor.

  Troubled, Anne turned to Abigail. “You see, Masham, I know Griffin well. I have known him all my life. How can I sign his death warrant? I know he fought with my brother and his plan was to set him up in my place, but he is an old friend. I cannot sentence old friends to death, and be at peace with my conscience.”

  Abigail had talked with Harley. He was a Jacobite; so was she. They did not wish to see Anne deposed during her lifetime naturally, but when she died—for she would almost certainly die without heirs of her body—they would wish to see James Stuart on the throne and not Sophia of Hanover.

  “They will bring Lord Griffin to the tower, Your Majesty, but they will not be able to execute him if you do not sign the death warrant.”

  “But it will be expected of me.”

  “Your Majesty answers to no one. I believe that some people who have mistakenly thought they could put you in leading strings are beginning to discover that.”

  Abigail had folded her arms and pursed her lips. Extraordinarily, it seemed to Anne, her face was transformed and it might have been Sarah standing there.

  Anne began to laugh.

  “I feel so relieved that my poor brother is safe in France. And you’re right, Masham, they won’t be able to execute him until the death warrant is signed, and if I don’t sign it … then Griffin will live on.”

  They laughed together.

  Now that Masham behaved less like a servant they were growing closer than ever.

  George was clearly worse, and as he loved Kensington perhaps more than any other plac
e, Anne decided to take him there and, with Abigail, nurse him as quietly as she could.

  It was Abigail who suggested that the Prince should have apartments on the ground floor of the palace.

  The Prince’s difficulty in breathing, increased by his corpulence—and now that he was unable to take exercise he was becoming visibly fatter every day—made it difficult for him to mount staircases; and Abigail’s idea was hailed as an excellent one.

  “He loves his plants,” said the Queen indulgently, “and it will be so easy for him to slip out into the gardens to be among them, with the least possible strain.”

  So to Kensington went the royal party, and as the Queen could not be parted from Abigail and it was essential that her apartments should be immediately adjoining those of the Queen and Prince, Abigail and Samuel found themselves magnificently lodged at Kensington.

  Sarah was flitting from St. Albans to Blenheim and back to see how Marlborough House was progressing and had little time to spare for the Queen. Moreover, she believed that if she remained aloof Anne would be unable to endure the separation and would humbly ask her to come to her.

  She waited in vain for the summons, but her daughter Henrietta, who had been visiting at the palace, came to her to tell her what magnificent apartments Abigail was occupying there, and when Sarah asked her to describe them her eyes narrowed with anger.

  “Why,” she cried, “I know those apartments although I have never occupied them. William had them made for Keppel. You remember Keppel was at one time a very great favourite with William and he could scarce bear the young man out of his sight. When William died and George took over the Palace—which he did with scarcely respectable speed—Anne said that those apartments should be mine. And that gooseberry-eyed slut is occupying them! I shall soon put a stop to that.”

  Although she had pleaded lack of time to go to Court before this, Sarah went straight there and demanded that the housekeeper show her the rooms which were being occupied by the Mashams.

  As soon as she saw them she gave vent to her rage.

  “These rooms were given to me by the Queen when she first came to the throne!” she declared, and went off to see the Queen, thrusting aside those who would restrain her.

  “I can assure you that Her Majesty will put nothing in the way of seeing me!” she declared.

  It may have been that Abigail had seen her approach or it might have been one of those rare occasions when she was not in attendance, but Sarah found one of the other bedchamber women with the Queen.

  “It is not often that we have the pleasure of Mrs. Freeman’s company,” began the Queen.

  But Sarah burst out, “I have heard disturbing news. Mrs. Masham has taken my lodgings.”

  Anne looked dismayed and Sarah rushed on. “It is not the first time that she has sought to take that which belongs to me. I’ll not have her in my apartments.”

  “Masham has none of your rooms,” said the Queen.

  “The housekeeper has shown me that she has. Your Majesty gave me those rooms and I will not have Masham using them.”

  “But Masham has none of your rooms,” repeated the Queen, “and to say to the contrary is false and a lie.”

  “If Your Majesty will send for the housekeeper, who knows very well which apartments here are being used by whom, he will tell you that Masham is using that apartment which William gave to Keppel and which you gave me. I will summon him.”

  “Pray do not,” said the Queen coldly. “I do not wish to see him because I know Masham has none of your rooms.”

  Sarah asked leave to depart and the Queen did not detain her. She was so certain that Abigail was using her rooms and could not let pass an occasion for proving herself in the right. It did not occur to her that the Queen was telling her politely that she could no longer consider the apartment hers, and that it had been given to Abigail.

  Sarah must prove herself right.

  She went once more to the housekeeper. She looked at the apartments again and stalked back to the Queen.

  “Masham is in my apartment,” she said.

  “Masham has not made use of your apartment,” retorted the Queen coldly.

  “I can bring those to Mrs. Morley who will assure her that Masham is in my apartment.”

  “How could she help using an apartment which is near my own?” demanded the Queen. “She must be at hand, for the Prince and I need her.”

  Sarah was exasperated. How could one talk to a woman who one moment was so emphatic, and then calmly admitted what one had been trying to prove.

  Anne made no attempt to placate her; so Sarah took her leave and as she did so she heard her say: “Where is Masham? I have such a headache. Send her to me.”

  This was too much to be borne and Sarah was furious. So the Queen no longer cared whether she visited her or not. She would care though if she lost her Commander-in-Chief. And by God, thought Sarah, if I have to endure much more insolence I shall insist on Marl giving up his command. If he were here now she would tell him so, but he was at this moment in Holland, fighting the Queen’s battles while his wife at home was being insulted.

  In the heat of her fury she did what she always found soothing to her rage. She sat down and wrote to the object of her anger—in this case the Queen rather than Abigail.

  “Madam, upon Lord Marlborough’s going into Holland I believe Your Majesty will neither be surprised nor displeased to hear that I am going into the country, since by your very hard and uncommon usage of me, you have convinced all sorts of people as well as myself that nothing would be so uneasy to you as my near attendance. Upon this account I thought it might not be improper at my going into the country to acquaint Your Majesty that even while Lord Marlborough continues in your service, as well as when he finds himself obliged to leave it, if Your Majesty thinks fit to dispose of my employments, according to the solemn assurances you have been pleased to give me, you shall meet with all the submissions and acknowledgments imaginable.…”

  There, she felt better. That would show Anne that if she did not wish to see Sarah, Sarah had no wish to be with her.

  Anne read the letter and sighed. She was too preoccupied with poor dear George to give any attention to Sarah’s tantrums. In fact when she read the letter she felt somewhat relieved because lately she had simply not cared that Sarah should be angry and was secretly pleased when she stayed away from Court.

  For the first time since she had met Sarah she did not care what Sarah thought of her.

  It was escape from a long bondage.

  The Prince’s health did not improve during that hot May and Anne discussed with Abigail the desirability of moving farther into the country. Windsor would be delightful but the castle was high and sudden winds, even in summer, could render it draughty. There was the little house in the forest close to the castle which Anne had acquired when her quarrel with her sister had made it impossible for her to reside in the castle.

  It would be so much easier, said Abigail, to nurse the Prince in this small establishment; and there they would be free from formality.

  Anne remembered an occasion when she had lived the simple country life with her boy in Twickenham and how happy they had all been.

  She was sure Abigail was right and they set off, and taking few servants with them installed the dying Prince in the little house in the forest.

  Here Anne was with him constantly, for he was uneasy if she was not in sight or within call.

  “It breaks my heart to see him, Masham,” she said, and Abigail assured her that it was the most touching sight in the world to see them together.

  Mr. Harley was a frequent caller and he enlivened those days made sad by the Prince’s illness, which they all knew was progressing towards the inevitable end.

  Sarah, having received no reply to her letter, was very angry; she declared that the Queen had cruelly taken the dying Prince to this little hut which was as hot as an oven, because the chambermaid wished to invite her paramour, Harley, there.


  Such malicious gossip did not reach the Queen’s ears; her days were filled by looking after her husband and talking to Mr. Harley, listening to Abigail’s music and conversation.

  Dr. Arbuthnot and his wife were with them and she often told them what a comfort she found in the presence of the Mashams.

  It was a simple life—strange and unreal to those who lived it because it was so remote from the Court.

  Abigail, however, never ceased to think ahead; and one day when she was walking through the woods with Samuel she said to him: “I doubt the Prince will see the end of the year.”

  Samuel was silent; like most people who served the Prince, he was fond of him.

  “Has it occurred to you to wonder what will become of you when the Prince dies?”

  She looked at him with a slightly contemptuous tenderness. She would always have to think for him.

  “No?” she answered for him. “Well, there will be no place for you then. We will have to think, Samuel, my dear. Politics? The Army? Perhaps both. I will speak to the Queen. But not yet. I would not have her think that my mind ran on such practical matters. But when the Prince is dead, and that cannot be long, I will speak to her. But in the time that is left to us, Samuel, we should think. We should think very carefully indeed.”

  “Do you think I would make a politician, Abigail?”

  “Your tongue is scarcely ready enough.”

  She thought of Harley, whose tongue was ever-ready. In time Harley would become the Queen’s chief Minister. She was sure of it. There ought to be room in his government for a place for Abigail Masham’s husband.

  Then she thought of the great Duke and the power of commanding the Army. With Marlborough abroad and Sarah at home the Churchills could have ruled the country. But Sarah had been a fool as Abigail never would be. But on the other hand Marlborough was a military genius and Samuel would never be any sort of genius.

  Abigail sighed and slipped her arm through that of her husband.