A physicians’ conference is called to decide the matter. They line up at Anne’s bedside – Dr Radcliffe, Sir Richard Lower, Sir Charles Scarborough – dark-coated and heavily bewigged – peer at her, have her give an account of herself, and pronounce their judgements:
Dr Radcliffe thinks her in no immediate danger; more than that, he thinks her as healthy a young woman as he has ever treated, in need of no more than good diet, air and exercise, and to stop imagining herself an invalid – but if she has a fancy for the Bath waters, he cannot see that it would do her any harm to go.
Sir Richard Lower – whom, if truth be told, Anne has always liked more – disagrees, and is urgent that she must go to Bath.
Sir Charles Scarborough – the most senior, the Queen’s physician, and there at the King’s suggestion – agrees that the Bath waters would do Her Highness good, but she must take a course of physic to prepare herself first. A lengthy one.
Sir Richard is vexed to be overruled, and saves face by prescribing Anne a steel diet. Not only is she still no nearer Bath, but she now has twice a day to take a condensed, powdered spoonful of the sort of stuff that makes the Tunbridge waters so unpleasant. It is no good: she calls another conference, without Sir Charles, and they are this time unanimous in their opinion that Anne must go, and take a six-week course. On 24th May, finally, she is able to leave, and anyone who thinks it odd of her to go away for such a long time without first seeing the Queen safely delivered, must content themselves with the explanation that her health requires it. The King has.
Bath is as far from London and as difficult to reach as Anne could wish. The journey takes five days by coach, and there is no way in or out of Bath that is not slow, steep and difficult. The smell of the place precedes the sight of it by some distance, and the view when it finally comes is scarcely more pleasant: it is a mean-looking town, congested and dirty. Tunbridge would certainly have been more convenient in every respect – except that it is an easy drive from London.
At least the streets are easily avoided. The Denmarks lodge with Dr Pierce at Abbey House, and from here they can walk straight out onto the galleries around the baths, where the Sergeant of the Baths pays his compliment to them, and will summon guides to assist them to bathe. The lodgings are comfortable, and the doctor has a confidence in the waters which is most infectious. He procures a pint for Anne almost as soon as she arrives, and she finds them more than foul enough to do her good. A six-week course of drinking and bathing, he says, should ensure that her next child will be carried to perfection.
Dr Pierce chooses the Cross Bath for Anne’s treatment. He says it will not heat her blood too much, and reminds her how well it worked in the Queen’s case. Anne would rather not be reminded of the Queen, so it is unfortunate that she must look every time upon the Cross in the centre of the bath, which has been decorated in the Queen’s honour, painted all over with saints and cupids, and the Este eagles. If it were not for the sight of the Cross, the whispering and staring from the Gallery, and the strong smell of eggs, the bathing would be pleasant enough. Three or four times a week, she is first dressed in a vast shift of fine yellow canvas, with enormous sleeves, that fills up in the water so that it takes the shape of an upended pudding bowl, and gives her at least a modicum of privacy. Two of the women guides help her into the water, which would be strong enough to tumble her down if they did not, and then two men guides clear a way for her as they lead her to her stone seat under an arch set into the wall, where she sits up to her neck and can enjoy an easy, pleasant talk with her favourite guide – another Anne – whose own growing belly she takes as a sign of the waters’ good effects.
Over the next few weeks, while she bathes and the Prince plies Dr Pierce with questions about the particular properties of the waters, and does his best to discover what sort of wines are to be had in Bath, the news coming from London makes Anne gladder every day to be where she is. The Archbishop of Canterbury, along with seven other bishops, has refused to have the Declaration of Indulgence read. They have presented the King with a petition, asking to be excused and giving their reasons why; for this, he has summoned them before the Privy Council, which has accused them of seditious libel and had them sent to the Tower, where they are now awaiting trial. Their petition was printed and broadcast all over London, and crowds came down to the river to shout their support for them on their way to their captivity.
Anne reads this in letters from her friends, who urge her in the same letters to return to London – she should not be away at such a time: she is reluctant at first, but they make a compelling case, and she is already preparing to leave, when Colonel Oglethorp arrives from Court with a message from the King: the Queen has given birth to a son – and not in July at Windsor, as had been expected and planned, but a month early, in St James’s. In that same bedchamber with the ruelle, where Anne once hid, and surprised a necessary woman as she came in from the backstairs. Anne remembers it well: the girl was carrying a chamber pot on that occasion, but there are other objects that can be carried up and down the backstairs – warming-pans, for example, such as have hot bricks or coals in – though one might hide something else in one, if one was so inclined. And then convey that something to Mrs Wilkes, waiting at the foot of the bed – cunning Mrs Wilkes, with her large and clever hands.
Colonel Oglethorp says he has seen the baby, in the flesh, with his own eyes. Well, it is certain enough that a baby has been produced – but where from?
Exodus 14:13
London has a certain skittishness about it, in the way that fairs do just before the brawling starts. On one side are the Papists of the King’s Court, all puffed up by the supposed birth or a supposed heir, and growing every day more insolent; on the other side, and far more numerous, are all the people who cannot or will not believe, muttering, publishing, preaching, versifying, swapping tales of changelings and warming-pans, passing about maps of St James’s Palace to show how easily the trick was done, sharing pictures of the Queen pinning a cushion to her shift or doing unspeakable things with priests – because the King and Queen between them, as everyone must know by now, are fit only to produce a race of ninnies. There are far more bonfires lit for the bishops’ acquittal than there were for the birth of the Prince.
Anne does her best to steer a course through all this, dissembling where she must, but letting her opinions be known where she can. On 8th July she joins a large congregation at the Chapel Royal to hear a sermon preached on Exodus 14:13:
And Moses said to the people, Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will shew to you to day: for the Egyptians whom ye have seen to day, ye shall see them again no more for ever.
It is very plain to everybody who are the people, and who the Egyptians. Did God not harden Pharaoh’s heart, in order to destroy him? Anne fears not: she stands still, and sees salvation coming: the people are all of a mind, which is heartening; the King has accepted her physicians’ latest recommendation, that she leave for Tunbridge Wells; Lord Churchill has told her that a letter of invitation has been sent to the Prince of Orange, that the army is packed already with his supporters, and that when the time and the weather are right, he will come. Salvation is coming.
And when it comes, Anne will be ready. Before she leaves, she gives instructions for extensive refurbishments to the Chapel Royal and orders a back staircase to be built at the Cockpit – for how can anyone plot without backstairs? She also has a little work to do for Mary, so she summons Mrs Dawson.
From the Princess of Denmark to the Princess of Orange
The Cockpit, July 24 1688
I received yesterday yours of the 19th, by which I find you are not satisfied with the account I have given you in my last letter; but I hope you will forgive my being no more particular, when you consider, that not being upon the place, all I could know must be from others; and having been but a few days in town, I had not time to inquire so narrowly into
things, as I have since; but before I say any more, I can’t help telling you I am very sorry you should think I would be negligent in letting you know things of any consequence. For though I am generally lazy, and it is true indeed, when I writ by the post, for the most part, I make those letters very short, not daring to tell you any news by it, and being very ill at invention, yet I hope you will forgive my being lazy when I write such letters, since I have never missed any opportunity of giving you all the intelligence I am able; and pray be not so unjust to believe I can think the doing anything you desire, any trouble; for certainly I would do a great deal more for you, if it lay in my power, than the answering your questions, which I shall do now as exactly you desire.
1. I never heard anybody say they felt the child stir; but I am told Lady Sunderland and Madam Mazarin say they felt it at the beginning. Mrs Dawson tells me she has seen it stir, but never felt it.
2. I never saw any milk; but Mrs Dawson says she has seen it upon her smock, and that it began to run at the same time it used to do of her other children.
3. For what they call restringing draughts, I saw her drink two of them; and I don’t doubt but she drank them frequently and publicly before her going to the Bath. Dr Waldgrave was very earnest with Sir Charles Scarbrough, to be for her going thither; but he was so fierce against it, that there was another consultation of doctors called, Sir Charles Scarbrough, Dr Waldgrave, Wetherby, Brady, and Brown. After that there was only Sir Charles Scarbrough and Dr Waldgrave (and for this first I believe he knew but little), excepting once when she was to be let blood, and when she was to have gone to Windsor. Then some of the others were called in to give their opinions.
4. All I can say in this article is, that once in discourse, Mrs Bromley told Mrs Robarts, one day Roger’s daughter came into the room, when Mrs Mansell was putting off her clouts, and she was very angry at it, because she did not care to be seen when she was shifting.
5. She fell in labour about eight o’clock.
6. She sent for the King at that time, who had been up a quarter of an hour, having lain with her that night, and was then dressing.
7. As soon as the King came he sent for the Queen Dowager and all the council. After that, it was known all over St James’s.
8. Most of the other men, I suppose, that were there, was at the King’s rising.
9. They came into the room presently after the Queen Dowager came, which is about half an hour before she was brought to bed.
10. There was no screen. She was brought to bed in the bed she lay in all night, and in the great bedchamber, as she was of her last child.
11. The feet curtains of the bed were drawn, and the two sides were open. When she was in great pain, the King called in haste for my Lord Chancellor, who came up to the bedside to show he was there; upon which the rest of the privy councillors did the same thing. Then the Queen desired the King to hide her face with his head and periwig, which he did, for she said she could not be brought to bed and have so many men look on her; for all the council stood close to the bed’s feet, and Lord Chancellor upon the step.
12. As soon as the child was born, the midwife cut the navel-string, because the after-burthen did not follow quickly; and then she gave it to Mrs Labaudie, who, as she was going by the bedside, across the step, to carry it into the little bedchamber, the King stopped her, and said to the privy councillors, that they were witnesses there was a child born, and bid them follow it into the next room and see what it was, which they all did; for till after they came out again, it was not declared what it was; but the midwife had only given a sign that it was a son, which is what had been done before.
13. When the Queen Dowager first came into the room she went up to the bedside, but after that stood all the while by the clock. There was in the room Lord Chancellor, Lord President, Lord Privy Seal, the two Lord Chamberlains, Lord Middleton, Lord Craven, Lord Huntingdon, Lord Powis, Lord Dover, Lord Peterborough, Lord Melfort, Lord Dartmouth, Sir John Ernley, Lord Preston, Sir Nicholas Butler, Duke of Beaufort, Lord Berkeley, Lord Moray, Lord Castlemaine; these were of the council; and for others, there was Lord Feversham, Lord Arran, Sir Stephen Fox, and Mr Griffin, besides pages of the backstairs and priests. The women that were there were Lady Peterborough, Lady Belasys, Lady Arran, Lady Tyrconnel, Lady Roscommon, Lady Sophia Buckley, Lady Fingall, Madam Mazarin, Madam Bouillon, Lady Powis, Lady Strickland, Lady Ceary, Mrs Crane, two of the Queen Dowager’s Portugueses, Mrs Bromley, Mrs Dawson, Mrs Waldgrave, Lady Wentworth, and Mrs Turine. All these stood as near as they could. Lady Belasys gave the midwife the receiver, and Mrs Dawson stood behind a Dutch chair that the midwife sat upon to do her work. All the time the child was parted, I do not hear of anybody that held the Queen except the King, and he was upon the bed by her all the while.
14. I don’t hear that any ladies were sent for but the Queen’s own, and they were called presently after the Queen Dowager. She came a quarter after nine. Where she stood, and at what time she was sent for, I have already told you.
15. Her labour never used to be so long.
16. I never heard what you say of the child’s limbs. As for seeing it dressed or undressed, they avoid it as much as they can. By all I have seen and heard, sometimes they refuse almost everybody to see it; that is, when they say it is not well; and methinks there is always a mystery in it, for one does not know whether it be really sick, and they fear one should know it, or whether it is well, and they would have one think it is sick, as the other children used to be. In short, it is not very clear anything they do; and for the servants, from the highest to the lowest, they are all Papists.
17. The Queen forbid Lady Powis to bring the child to her before any company; but that, they say, she used to do to her other children. I dined there the other day, when it was said it had been very ill of a looseness, and it really looked so; yet when she came from prayers she went to dinner without seeing it, and after that played at comet, and did not go to it till she was put out of the pool.
18. I believe none of the bedchamber women have any credit with the Queen but Mrs Turine; but they say Mrs Bromley has an interest with the King.
I am going to Tunbridge; but if I was to stay here I could not watch the child, for it is to be at Richmond. Lady Churchill does not go with me at first, and as long as she stays here I am sure she will do all in her power to give you and I an account if anything happens that is worth knowing.
I have done my endeavour to inform myself of everything, for I have spoke with Mrs Dawson, and asked her all the questions I could think of: for not being in the room when the Queen was brought to bed, one must inquire of somebody that was there; and I thought she could tell me as much as anybody, and would be less likely to speak of it; and I took all the care I could, when I spoke to her, to do it in such a manner that I might know everything; and in case she should betray me, that the King and Queen might not be angry with me.
It was she that told me what I have said in the 5, 6, 7, 9, 12, 13, 14 and 15th articles. She told me, besides, that when she came to the Queen, she found Mrs Turine and the midwife with her. All that she says seems very clear; but one does not know what to think; for methinks it is wonderful if it is no cheat, that they never took no pains to convince me of it.
I hope I have answered your letter as fully as you desire; if there be anything else you would know, pray tell me by the first safe hand, and you shall always find me very diligent in obeying you, and showing by my actions how real and sincere my kindness is.
One thing I had forgot, which is, that the last time she was brought to bed, the reason of her being delivered in the great bed was because she was catched; and this time, Mrs Dawson says, though the pallet was up, the Queen would not go into it because the quilts were not aired.
Anne
The Parable of the Ten Virgins
The Prince of Wales is ill. Anne sends Colonel Sands, her most trustworthy equerry, from Tunbri
dge Wells to Richmond to enquire after the child’s health, and bring her back a full report. He returns with the strangest story: when he reached Richmond, he says, he came into a room, where he saw a child dead or dying in its cradle, with the nurse, Mrs Labadie, weeping beside it. He peeped into the cradle to see for himself if the child breathed, and found it quite still. When he had his audience, he noticed that the Queen’s eyes were red with weeping. The King asked him if he had seen the child, whereupon it occurred to the Colonel that it might well be dangerous to say anything that showed he knew the child was dead, so said he had not. Then a table was laid, and some Irish army officers tried to get him to drink too much, which, he says, he politely refused to do, after which he was taken to see the Prince – only the child he saw this time was a plump, lusty infant, and seemingly several months old.
Could it be that a child so sick he might be taken for dead could be revived so quickly? Or did Colonel Sands see two different infants? It seems reasonable to Anne to suppose that, if they can bring in one false Prince, then they could just as easily find another. Bishop Compton himself has said it is his belief that several babies have been acquired and kept, just in case they were needed, and that he has heard that a busy intriguing Papist woman had tried to buy some bricklayer’s child, to be held in reserve in this way.
A Want of Kindness Page 20