Sarah had more important things than the insolence of underlings with which to occupy herself; she had spoken to the Queen once more about Sunderland only to evoke what Sarah called the old parrot cry. There was no doubt that Anne was very set against Sunderland’s appointment. But Sarah was all the more determined to secure it. She would write to Marl at once and tell him that he simply must add his voice to hers.

In her fury she busied herself with the Queen’s wardrobe.

“Mrs. Danvers,” she cried angrily. “It seems to me that some of the Queen’s mantuas are missing. I should like to know where they are.”

Mrs. Danvers flushed with apprehension, replied that the mantuas were worn and it was the bedchamber woman’s prerogative to have her share of the Queen’s cast-off wardrobe.

“Not without my permission,” stormed the Duchess. “I am the Mistress of the Robes. Have you forgotten it?”

“Of a certainty I have not, Your Grace, but I believed I had a right to take these mantuas.”

“I wish to see them.”

“But Your Grace …”

“Unless I do I shall lay this matter before Her Majesty.”

“Your Grace I have been with Her Majesty since she was a child.”

“It is no reason why you should remain there if you do not give me satisfaction.”

“I have always given Her Majesty satisfaction, Your Grace.”

“I am the Queen’s Mistress of the Robes and I wish to see those mantuas.”

“I will show them to Your Grace.”

“Pray do—at the earliest possible moment. And I would wish to see the jupes and kirtles and the fans.”

Mrs. Danvers, hoping to divert the Duchess’s fury said: “Your Grace, I would like to speak to you about Mrs. Hill.”

“What about Mrs. Hill?”

“It would seem, Your Grace, that she is too often with Her Majesty.”

The Duchess’s eyes narrowed, and Mrs. Danvers went on: “And in the green closet too, Your Grace …”

“Do you know, Mrs. Danvers, that Mrs. Hill has her place through me?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then, Mrs. Danvers, you can safely leave me to decide what Abigail Hill’s duties shall or shall not be. Now to those jupes …”

Danvers shall go, decided Sarah. She is talking against Abigail Hill whom she suspects is spying for me. We shall see, Madam Danvers, who will go … my woman or you.

When she had dismissed Mrs. Danvers, after imparting that she had somewhat grave doubts as to the manner in which the Queen’s wardrobe was being looked after, she went to the Queen.

Anne was sipping the chocolate Abigail had just brought to her.

“Do try a little, dear Mrs. Freeman. Hill makes it most deliciously.”

“No thank you,” said Sarah. “Mrs. Morley is I believe pleased with Hill, whom I brought to wait on her.”

“Such a good creature, dear Mrs. Freeman. Your unfortunate Morley can never thank you enough.”

“I am glad she gives satisfaction, for some in your bedchamber do not.”

“Oh dear …” Anne looked alarmed.

“I refer to Danvers.”

“Danvers! Oh, she is getting old, you know. She is like a dear old nurse to me.”

“That is no reason why she should be insolent to me.”

“Oh dear me. How terrible! My poor dear Mrs. Freeman.”

“The woman is a spy.”

“A spy, Mrs. Freeman. For whom is she spying?”

“That we shall endeavour to find out. But she has been helping herself from the wardrobe. She has had four mantuas, she confessed to me. She thought they were her right and you had no further use for them.”

“But Danvers has often had these things you know. In her position it is accepted that she should have these things now and then.”

“But my dear Mrs. Morley, as Mistress of the Robes I should have charge of the wardrobe.”

Oh dear, thought Anne, how my head aches! I shall have to ask Hill to put that soothing lotion of hers on it.

“Danvers must not pilfer from the wardrobe,” went on Sarah.

“I will tell her that she must take nothing without your consent.”

“And she should be dismissed.”

“I will speak to her.”

Sarah was smiling sweetly and bending towards the Queen. “And there is that other little matter which Mrs. Morley has been turning over in her mind.”

“What matter is that, dear Mrs. Freeman?”

“Sunderland …”

Anne’s fan came up to her mouth and rested there.

“I have not changed my mind on that,” she said. “I could never enjoy a good relationship with him for I could not endure his temper.”

At least, thought Sarah viciously, the refrain has changed a little.

She left the Queen who immediately sent for Abigail.

“Such a headache, Hill.”

No need to ask. Hill was ready with the treatment.

Such soothing fingers! What a comfort to be alone with Hill who did not shout.

And poor Danvers! How could one dismiss a servant who had been with one all one’s life?

I shall not dismiss Danvers. I will give a little annuity and special gifts and tell her she must allow the Duchess to have the disposal of the wardrobe.

Anxiety—mainly about this appointment of Sunderland’s—seemed to increase the gout. Anne, her feet bound up with poultices, her face red and spotty, her gown unbuttoned, would lie back in her chair and find comfort in little but the presence of Abigail. She was scarcely recognizable as the dazzlingly clad Queen of her public appearances. She was becoming one of the most important sovereigns in Europe and was well aware that she owed this in a large measure to the Duke of Marlborough.

This was enhanced when Colonel Richards, the Duke’s aide, brought her news of the great victory of Ramillies.

Marlborough wrote that he wished the Queen to know the truth of his heart and that the greatest pleasure he had in this success was that it might be a great service in her affairs, for he was sincerely sensible of all her goodness to him and his.

Anne read this with tears in her eyes. Dear Mr. Freeman! Had she allowed herself to become irritated by all the importunings for that man whose temper she did not like? Such a pity of course that Anne Churchill had married him.

Sarah came to see her, beaming with delight.

“Why, Mrs. Morley, do you realize what this means. It is the greatest victory since that of Blenheim which Mr. Freeman won for you. This is going to make a difference to the whole course of the war. I have heard that Louis is desolate … quite desolate. I can assure you that the enemy trembles … yes, trembles at the very mention of Marlborough’s name.”

“It is indeed a great victory, Mrs. Freeman, and I shall never, never forget the genius of Mr. Freeman.”

“It would give him great pleasure to see Sunderland’s appointment.”

Even on such an occasion Anne retained her stubbornness.

She turned her head away. “Dear Mr. Freeman will have much to occupy him on the Continent. There must be a thanksgiving service for this victory. I will speak to my Lord Godolphin of my wishes in this matter.”

Sarah did not pursue the subject of Sunderland which was a great relief to the Queen. In fact Sarah was a little subdued which, in the circumstances was surprising, but when she told Anne the reason, Anne was full of sympathy and understanding.

“It might easily have been the end of Mr. Freeman,” Sarah burst out. “I can scarcely bear to think of it, for when I do I must remind myself that every hour he spends over there he is in danger. It was so nearly the end at Ramillies.”

“My poor, poor Mrs. Freeman!”

“He was leaping across a ditch when his horse was shot from under him; he fell. If his aide, Captain Molesworth, had not been there to give him his horse, the Duke might have fallen to the enemy. I shudder to think of it.”

In a moment of rare introspection Sarah saw life without Marlborough. She could not have endured it. She almost wanted to throw away ambition, to have him safe with her at Holywell House, home and safe.

“That’s not all,” she said grimly. “While his equerry, Colonel Bringfield was helping him to mount, a cannon ball struck the Colonel and took his head right off. It might so easily have been …”

“It was Providence, dearest Mrs. Freeman,” soothed Anne.

“I have been to see the Colonel’s widow,” went on Sarah. “Poor creature. She is nigh on demented. I comforted her and told her what a great service her husband had done to his country and that you would not wish to let it go unrewarded. I promised her a pension, knowing my dear Mrs. Morley’s generosity, I was sure it was what she would have wished.”

“Certainly she must have a pension. Oh, this terrible war! I shall give such heartfelt thanks, Mrs. Freeman, not only for this glorious victory, but for the preservation of dear Mr. Freeman’s life.”

Godolphin sat beside the Queen and told her what this would mean.

“The King of France lost one of his finest armies at the Battle of Blenheim, Madam, besides all the country between the Danube and the Rhine. But with his defeat at Ramillies he has lost all Flanders.”

“The Duke is a genius,” replied Anne.

“It will be said of him that he helped to make England great, Madam.”

“News has reached me that the French are desolate … quite desolate.”

“In a panic, I should say Madam. Marshall Villeroy was afraid to acquaint his master with the disaster and remained shut in his tent for five days.”

“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.”