by Jean Plaidy
“Poor old man,” said the Queen. “I hear he is turned sixty.”
“Louis himself is almost seventy.”
“It is a pity that old men, so near the end, should be concerned with killing others. But that is war, Mr. Montgomery.”
Godolphin was pleased that the Queen should have slipped back to the familiar name with which she had endowed him. Since she knew that he supported Sarah in her demands for Sunderland she had dropped the pet name and referred to him formally as my Lord Godolphin. Ramillies, he realized, had made her see what she owed to the Churchill family; and as a member of it, by marriage, he shared in the glory.
“Well,” went on the Queen, “let us hope that the end of war is in sight … a victorious end. For I would rather see money spent on improving the lot of my people than in killing them.”
“There is no doubt, Madam, that the Duke’s victories in France are improving the lot of your subjects.”
“You are right, Mr. Montgomery, and we must have a thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s to remind them of all they owe to God for this great victory.”
“And to the great Duke,” Godolphin reminded her.
“And to the Duke,” echoed Anne.
There was consternation throughout the Court. Sarah was ill.
Her servants had gone to her room and found her lying on the floor in a fit.
As the news spread there was more excitement than there had been over the news of the victory at Ramillies. Sarah dead! What would happen at Court then? Who would take her place?
Never had Abigail found it so difficult to cloak her feelings. The feared and hated rival gone. To what glory might she not come? The battle would be over; Abigail had no fears as to who would step into Sarah’s place. She wondered what he was thinking and could guess. This would make a difference to everything.
But when she saw how distressed the Queen was she felt uneasy.
“Hill, Hill. Have you heard the news? Oh, my poor dearest Mrs. Freeman. What should I do if I lost her? I have suffered many tragedies in my life, Hill, and among them the greatest a mother can endure! The loss of my boy. But if Mrs. Freeman should die … if she should leave me …”
“Madam, you must not distress yourself,” said Abigail, interrupting for once. But Anne did not notice this; she allowed Hill to put an arm round her and hold her against her breast.
“Oh, Hill, Hill she has been so close to me … for so many years.”
Abigail looked down at the red, flabby face, wet with tears, and understood the repulsion Sarah did not trouble to disguise.
How could Anne be so besottedly fond of that woman who would never have bothered to speak to her if she had not been Queen. One thing was clear: Anne could not escape from the spell of Sarah Churchill. Abigail thought of these last months when Anne had been perpetually bullied over this matter of Sunderland and she could not understand the Queen’s sincere grief.
“My doctors must be sent to her at once, Hill.”
“Yes, Madam. I will pass on your orders.”
“Thank you, Hill. I don’t know what I should do without you. And even you … I owe to her.”
Yes, thought Abigail, that was the irony of the situation. The more devoted Anne became to Abigail, the more grateful she must be to Sarah.
Before the thanksgiving service Sarah had recovered. She came to the Court, only a little paler than usual and certainly not in the least subdued.
The Queen embraced her warmly. “My dearest, dearest Mrs. Freeman, what anxieties I have suffered on your behalf.”
“I am recovered now. You did not think I would stay away from the thanksgiving to Marlborough, did you?”
Anne did not remind her that it was a thanksgiving to God; Sarah could not see it that way; and in any case she was really quite irreligious.
“I am so happy to see you here,” said Anne sincerely.
“I must of course decide what jewels you will wear.”
“Hill has already put them ready. We thought to save you trouble, Mrs. Freeman.”
“A chambermaid putting out your jewels! What do you expect her to choose? No, Mrs. Morley, that will not do. Those rubies. Ridiculous! They shall all be taken away and I shall make up my mind what will best become the occasion.”
“I thought Hill made a good choice.”
Sarah blew her lips, dismissing Hill and her choice. She was smiling. “I have written to Mr. Freeman. Poor man, they had told him of my illness. I would not have had him disturbed. He threatens to leave everything and come back to me.”
“Such a devoted husband! How fortunate we are … both of us. Not many women have husbands like ours.”
Sarah’s lips curled in disdain. This comparing of fat stupid George with Marl was more than she could stomach.
She went on: “I told him I should soon be well. It was the anxiety of the battle and then of course this affair at Ramillies when I might so easily have lost him. There are so many anxieties at home. I am not sure that Vanbrugh is the man for Blenheim. I don’t get on with him at all. Then of course those from whom I would expect friendship will not listen to my advice.”
Anne’s lips set sternly. In a moment, Sarah thought, she will be telling me that she can’t endure his temper and won’t have a good relationship with him. In which case I shall scream to her to stop or she’ll send me into another fit.
Sunderland shall most certainly have the post but this is perhaps not the time.
So Sarah busied herself with choosing the Queen’s jewels while Anne told her how worried she was about George’s asthma which was undoubtedly getting worse.
“He is so bad during the night, Mrs. Freeman, it breaks my heart to watch him. He worries about me. He says it is too much for me to help him, but I remind him that he is my very dear husband and that it is my privilege.”
“You should have one of his pages sleep on a pallet in the room while you have a chamber to yourself and get your rest.”
“We have shared the same bed for so many years, and he admits that he would not rest without me beside him. And nor should I without him. But do not concern yourself, dearest Mrs. Freeman. Your unfortunate Morley is well served. I have Hill sleep on a pallet in the antechamber so that I can call her at a moment’s notice. She is such a good creature. I never have to call her twice. There she is … so ready … so willing. Neither the Prince nor I know what we should do without her. And I always remember I have to thank you for her.”
“I took her from a broom, as you know, and she is eager to show me her gratitude. I have told her that she can best please me by pleasing you.”
“Dearest Mrs. Freeman, how can I ever repay you?”
Sunderland? thought Sarah. No perhaps not yet. After the ceremony. That would be the time.
Anne, dressed in a splendid gown over a petticoat of cloth of gold, adorned by the jewels of Sarah’s choice looked very different from the poor creature who a few days before had sat slumped in her chair, her feet in wrappings that concealed the poultices.
She looked at George in his embroidered suit which was trimmed with silver. So splendid he looked and yet the sight of him broke her heart. He had had a trying night and his wheezing had frightened her. She had been obliged to call Hill three times. How comforting Hill was in the middle of the night; and how quickly she came to the call! She almost seemed to sense that she was needed.
“George,” she said, “I’m afraid it is going to be a long day.”
“I vill be viv you, my love,” George told her.
“I shall watch you, and I shall insist on your return to the Palace if you feel ill. I have told Masham to be watchful.”
George nodded and smiled at her. Poor dearest George! He was becoming fatter and more feeble every day.
Sarah looked splendid. She never overdressed on such occasions, relying on personal charms. In any case she was the wife of the hero of the occasion.
“My dear Mrs. Freeman must ride in my coach,” said Anne.
“I am
sure the people would expect it,” Sarah replied.
“I am worried about George,” Anne told her.
“I agree with you that he is not well enough to accompany us. It is such a strain on him and we should not wish him to have an attack during the service.”
“I should be so anxious.”
“Then he should remain behind. Let Masham and Hill look after him. You can trust them.”
“I can certainly trust Hill and she seems to be able to manage Masham too.”
“She is very eager to please me,” said Sarah.
And she was delighted to ride in the royal coach with the Queen, with the horse and foot guards to escort them—all splendid in new uniforms for the occasion; the streets were lined with people who had come out to cheer the Queen and the wife of the hero; and the sound of music from the bands filled the air.
The Lord Mayor and Sheriffs met the Queen and Duchess at Temple Bar and led them to St. Paul’s where the Dean of Canterbury preached the thanksgiving service.
There were fireworks that night and a salute of guns was fired from the Tower.
The coffee houses were crowded; but as the day wore on it was to the taverns that the people made their way to drink to the health of England, the Queen and the Duke.
There was singing and dancing and some grew quarrelsome. In his club Harley sat with St. John and some of his literary friends—Defoe, who would always owe him a debt of gratitude, Dean Swift who liked to air his views, Joseph Addison and Richard Steele.
The wit and the wine flowed freely and it was Harley who pointed out what Marlborough’s victory cost the country in taxes and the blood of its menfolk. He pointed out too that a country’s affairs were not guided so much by the sword as the pen—a theory which, since his listeners were wielders of the pen and not the sword, they were ready to endorse.
It was a theory, Harley pointed out, that he would like to put to the test. He did not see why it should not prove very effective.
The talk went on and it was profitable talk, so Harley told St. John afterwards. They would see whether his army of writers could not achieve as resounding a victory as Marlborough’s with his soldiers.
And over the Prince’s sleeping body Abigail Hill promised to become the wife of Samuel Masham.
“My dearest Soul,” wrote Marlborough to Sarah. “My heart is full of joy for this good success that should I write more I should say a great many follies.”
Sarah kept his letters and read and re-read them. She had chided him after the affair of Ramillies, telling him what terrible anxiety he caused her by his recklessness.
“As I would deserve and keep the kindness of this Army [he replied], I must let them see that when I expose them I would not exempt myself. But I love you so well and am so desirous of ending my days quietly with you that I shall not venture myself but when it is absolutely necessary. I am so persuaded that this campaign will bring us a good peace that I beg of you do all you can that the house at Woodstock may be carried up as much as possible that I may have a prospect of living in it.”
She would do it. She would go down to Blenheim and harry them; she would give John Vanbrugh a talking to. But most important of all the war must be carried to a successful conclusion. The Whigs had made it clear that unless Sunderland—that Whig of Whigs—were made Secretary of State they would not give their support to the war; and even Godolphin admitted that the appointment was necessary if the means of carrying on the war were to be provided.
Sarah sent for him and he came humbly. He had been against the appointment in the first place and she had had to persuade him to it, but now he agreed with her.
“You see,” she said triumphantly. “Sunderland must have the appointment. The Whigs insist.”
Godolphin, who could always be browbeaten by Sarah, shook his head mournfully.
“The Queen continues stubborn.”
“She must be brought to heel.”
He could not resist a smile at the simile. Sarah talking as though the Queen of England was a dog! But Sarah saw nothing amusing in her remark. She was weary of the matter which she told herself should have been concluded long ago.
“I would write to Marl,” she said, “and get his support. The Queen would never be able to refuse him now. But he is so busy with his campaign and I feel it is a matter which we should be able to settle here.”
“If the Queen will relent for anyone it would be for you.”
That was true. “Leave it to me,” said Sarah. “I have been trying to persuade her. Now I shall have to force her.”
Godolphin said that he would write to the Queen and tell her that the prosecution of the war depended on the appointment. If that did not suffice, they must find some other means of persuading her.
The result was a letter from Anne in which she set out her objections to accepting Sunderland. When she was dealing with her Lord Treasurer she had a more valid reason to offer than the fact that she did not like Sunderland’s temper and did not feel she could have a good relationship with him.
Sunderland was a party man and in making a party man Secretary of State she was throwing herself into the hands of a party.
“That [she wrote], is something which I have been desirous to avoid, and what I have heard both the Duke of Marlborough and you say I should never do. All I desire is my liberty in encouraging and employing all those that concur faithfully in my service whether they are called Whigs or Tories—and not to be tied to one or the other; for if I shall be so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of either, I shall look upon myself, though I have the name of Queen, to be in reality but their slave.”
This was reasonable, Godolphin had to admit; but it was necessary, if there was to be Whig support for the war, to secure Sunderland’s appointment.
Sarah was never inclined to listen to anyone else’s point of view. Godolphin was too mild, she said, so she would take over. She began by writing long letters to the Queen in which, because they were written by Mrs. Freeman to Mrs. Morley, she seemed completely to forget the respect she owed her sovereign. Sarah was angry and impatient and she believed that Anne was quite devoted to her and was in such need of her friendship, that she would accept any insult.
“Your security and the nation’s is my chief wish [she wrote], and I beg of God Almighty as sincerely as I shall do for his pardon at my last hour, that Mr. and Mrs. Morley may see their errors as to this notion before it is too late; but considering how little impression anything makes that comes from your faithful Freeman, I have troubled you too much and I beg your pardon for it.”
Anne was with Abigail when this letter arrived and, reading it through, paused when she came to the word notion. Sarah had written in great haste and her scrawl was not always easy to read; and Anne read the word notion as nation.
A dull resentment seized her. Was Mrs. Freeman suggesting that she and dear George had wronged the nation? Oh, but this was too much to take—even from Mrs. Freeman.
“Hill,” she called. “Hill, come here.”
Hill came and stood demurely before her, but there was alarm in the good creature’s eyes. “Your Majesty is unwell?”
Anne shook her head. “I am … disturbed. I think my eyes deceive me. Yours are younger. Read this to me. Begin there.”
Abigail read in a clear distinct voice: “… Mr. and Mrs. Morley may see their errors as to this nation …”
There! She had read it. It was true. Abigail was staring at the Queen with round horrified eyes.
“But, Madam …”
“It is most uncalled for!” cried the Queen, almost in tears, “the welfare of the nation has been my chief concern since I came to the throne.”
“Madam,” said Abigail. “I am overcome with shame that a connection of mine could be capable of such … such falsehood.”
“There, Hill. You must not be upset. She has whipped herself to a fury, I suppose. I shall try to forget it.”
“And Your Majesty wishes to answer this … insult.”<
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“No, Hill, I think I shall ignore it.”
It was Lord Godolphin who heard the reason for the Queen’s silence. She showed him the letter.
“It would seem,” said Anne coolly, “that the Duchess of Marlborough forgets that I am the Queen.”
He read the letter and stuttered over it.
“But, Madam,” he said, “the word is not nation. It is notion.”
“Notion,” repeated Anne. “… may see their errors as to this notion … That is different, of course. But you will agree with me, my lord Treasurer, that the tone of the letter is scarcely that of a subject to her Sovereign.”
Godolphin smiled apologetically. “The relationship between Your Majesty and the Duchess has not always been that of Sovereign and subject. I will tell the Duchess of this unfortunate mistake and I doubt not that she will wish to write you an apology.”
Anne was pleased, for although this matter of Sunderland was very tiresome indeed she could not bear to be on bad terms with Sarah.
In due course Sarah’s “apology” reached the Queen.
“Your Majesty’s great indifference and contempt in taking no notice of my last letter, did not so much surprise me as to hear my Lord Treasurer say you had complained much of it, which makes me presume to give you this trouble to repeat what I can be very positive was the aim of the letter and I believe very near the words.…”
She then set out more or less what she had written in the previous letter in the same high-handed manner and gave it into Godolphin’s hands to deliver.
Anne however still kept her resentment against Sarah and confided to Abigail that she was heartily sick of this matter of Sunderland and the Secretaryship; and Godolphin was obliged to report to Sarah that she was no nearer her goal than she had been when the unfortunate letter writing had begun.
But Sarah was more determined than ever to have her way and she wrote to the Duke and told him that he must write to her and tell her that if the Queen did not make Sunderland Secretary of State he would resign from the Queen’s armies.