Fenwick had been a Jacobite and a plotter, a man who was determined to make trouble; and he had made it. Marlborough’s name had been mentioned in connection with Fenwick, and William wondered how deeply the Earl had been involved. One could never be sure with Marlborough; there was a man whom he would never trust, but whom he dared not banish.

What an uneasy reign his had been! Far better, he sometimes thought, if he had remained in Holland. He remembered happier days there, when he had subdued Mary and taken his troubles to Elizabeth Villiers, and planned the building of his beautiful Dutch Palaces. The people of Holland had loved their Stadtholder; they had cheered him when he rode through their towns and compared him with his great ancestor William the Silent who had delivered them from the cruelty of the Spaniard.

“Why, Sorrel, was I not content with my own country?” he murmured. He often talked to Sorrel, imagining the horse sympathized with him. He would never have done so within the hearing of any living person; but he fancied there was a sympathy between Sorrel and himself. “Why did I have to come to this land and rule it? It was a desire in me, Sorrel, which I could not suppress. It was because the midwife saw those three crowns at my birth. Suppose she had not seen them, would I have schemed and plotted, would I have taken the crown from James? Mary had no wish to do so. How reluctantly she came! How she used to attempt to defend her father in those early days; and how angry she made me! If I had not believed that I was destined to possess three crowns should I be in Holland now; should I be happier than I have been?”

He was not sure. What was happiness? He had never believed it to be the right of human beings to possess it. Such a belief would be in opposition to his puritanical outlook.

“No, Sorrel,” he said. “It was predestined. It had to be. But is that the more comforting doctrine? What has to be, is. Then no blame attaches to the individual.”

Happiness, he thought. When have I ever been happy? With Elizabeth? But then there was always the guilt. With those dear friends Bentinck and Keppel? With Mary?

“No, I was never meant to be happy, Sorrel. I think that perhaps I am more contented on my lonely rides with you than at any other time.”

He turned towards the Palace. He could see it now—the magnificent walls to which he had given a flavour of Holland. Hampton grew more and more Dutch each day.

“Come, Sorrel,” he said.

Sorrel broke into a gallop; and William remembered nothing more until some time after. Then he learned that Sorrel had trodden on a molehill.

He was in great pain, and when his physician was brought to him it was discovered that his right collar bone was broken.

The King was dying. The King was recovering. He was at Hampton. He was at Kensington.

The Jacobites were rejoicing and drinking to the mole who had made the hill which had thrown William’s horse—a toast to the Gentleman in Black Velvet.

“He was riding Sorrel,” it was whispered. “Sir John Fenwick’s horse.” And they remembered the day when Sir John had been beheaded on Tower Hill.

William had sentenced Sir John to death and Sir John’s favourite horse had not forgotten. It seemed significant.

Many people were calling on the Princess Anne. Some, who had recently neglected her, now came to pay their respects. Sarah Churchill was with her; she could not bear to tear herself from her dear friend’s side. This meant that Abigail Hill was almost completely banished, for naturally Sarah did not seek to share her mistress with a chambermaid.

But William was recovering. He declared it was nothing more than a broken collar bone and he would not remain at Hampton, but set out for Kensington, it being imperative, he said, that he should attend the meeting of his council.

The Bill for the attainder of James Stuart, the so-called Prince of Wales, which had been decided on when James had refused to allow him to come to England as William’s adopted son, had not been signed; and this was something which he declared he must put into effect, for if he did not, on his death, that boy would be proclaimed King; in fact the King of France, who had already acknowledged him as Prince of Wales, would most certainly bestow on him the title of James III.

But when William arrived at Kensington he was very ill, for the bones which had been set at Hampton needed re-setting. Nor was that all. The shock of the fall, in addition to his habitual ailments, was too much for his frail constitution.

Yet he was determined to sign the attainder and had it brought to him. It was unfortunate that at the very moment when the document was laid before him he was attacked by a spasm which made it quite impossible for him to put his pen to the paper. The Jacobites declared this was a sign that God refused to let him sign the document against the true Prince of Wales.

But there were many who had no wish to call the boy their King; they had decided that Anne should be their Queen. There was no doubt that she was the daughter of James II and she was a staunch Protestant.

William was dying. This time there could be no doubt. Few would mourn him; everyone was looking towards St. James’s Palace where the Princess Anne, with her friend Sarah Churchill beside her, was waiting for the news that she was Queen of England.

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.