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.

“One thing we have decided,” she said, “and that it is that it must either be politics or the Army.”

The quiet of the little house in Windsor was broken by the news of Marlborough’s great victory at Oudenarde.

“The great Duke is a genius,” said Anne when she read the news and hastily wrote to him expressing her appreciation, but when she saw the lists of dead and wounded in the battle and understood the losses which had gone to make this victory she wept.

“Oh Lord,” she cried, “when will all this dreadful bloodshed cease.”

Such a victory, whatever it had cost, must be celebrated. The nation would expect it; and Anne must therefore leave Windsor and travel to London for the thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s.

Marlborough’s new feat had brought Sarah back to Court triumphantly, snapping her fingers with glee. Let them understand once and for all that they could not do without Marlborough.

She was back at her old duties at the wardrobe. She would ride with the Queen to St. Paul’s, and receive the cheers. And some people would realize that they must take her into account, for she was far more important than any dirty little chambermaid could ever be.

Anne, terribly anxious on account of George, was subdued when she considered all those who had fallen on the battlefield, asking herself how much longer this dreadful war would continue and whether the good which would come of victory was worth the price that was paid; and Sarah with customary blindness and concern with her own affairs mistook this for remorse for the manner in which Anne had treated her and a desire to return to the old relationship.

Very well, thought Sarah, she would take her back; but she must realize that if the friendship was to be put back on its old footing, there must be no more foolish tantrums.

She bustled into the royal apartments where the Queen was resting in preparation for the ordeal before her and busied herself with arranging the Queen’s jewels. Mrs. Danvers, recovered from her illness and no longer concerned with immediate death, fluttered sycophantishly round her, whispering of the further insolence of that upstart Masham, for in Sarah’s presence it was impossible for some people to doubt that she was all she believed herself to be.

“The Queen will wear these rubies and these diamonds,” Sarah told Danvers. “She must look … dazzling. The people will expect it.”

“Well, Your Grace, she will look magnificent.”

“And so she should, Danvers. To look anything less would be an insult to the Duke!”

Sarah was undoubtedly back. Mrs. Danvers predicted to Mrs. Abrahal that Mrs. Masham would not be lording it much longer. It was only necessary for the Duchess to make an appearance and it was remembered how important she was. It would not be long, mark her words, before Madam Masham was sent away and things would be as they used to be in the old days.

Abigail was in attendance on the Queen, helping her prepare for the journey to St. Paul’s. She was uneasy. The attitude of the bedchamber women had changed towards her; they were faintly insolent. “Her Grace has said that Her Majesty shall wear these.…” As though Her Grace were the Queen. They did not know that the Queen had changed towards the Duchess in the last months. Abigail was certain that the moment could not be far off when there would be a final break between the Queen and her one-time friend. Yet Sarah had only to appear and everyone was ready to accept her as the invincible Duchess.

Well, it should not be so. Sarah was a fool, Abigail reminded herself, who could not control her anger, keep her mouth shut nor her fingers from a pen. Her anger when she was crossed was so fierce that it had to flow, but that was Sarah’s undoing and Abigail was going to see that she was vanquished once and for all time.

“I am sorry this has to be,” Abigail was saying. “Your Majesty is worn out.”

“My thoughts are with George. He will be needing us.”

“I have given Masham firm instructions. He will not fail us.” Anne pressed Abigail’s hand. “But I shall be glad, my dear, when we are back with him.”

“It will be soon, Your Majesty.”

“I feel in little mood for thanksgiving. You saw the casualty lists. They haunt me. I think of those poor men dying on the battlefield and I wonder whether it is worthwhile. I wonder whether any fighting is worthwhile.”

“The Duke of Marlborough will explain that to you. Madam.”

“Ah, the Duke! A brilliant soldier, a genius.”

“And where would brilliant soldiers show their genius if not on the battlefield, Madam?”

“But the carnage! My subjects! I told you I think of them as my children, Masham.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Your heart is too good.”

“I want the best for them, Masham. I want to see them in their homes, with plenty to eat, work to do, families to bring up … most of all families, for I feel that is the greatest blessing of all. If I had had children … If my boy had lived there would not be this tiresome matter of George of Hanover. You know, Masham, the Whigs wanted to bring him to visit England as the future heir to the throne. I will not have it. I will not.”

“Mr. Harley told me of it. He thought it monstrous. But he said Your Majesty has only to refuse to receive him.”

“You know how insistent these people can be.”

“The Whigs at the moment have too much power. Since they turned out Mr. Harley and Mr. St. John and the others, they have taken control and that could never be a good thing.”

Anne nodded.

“People are saying that the war is a Whig war, Madam. The Duke of Marlborough was a Tory until he needed the Whigs to support his war.”

“Sometimes I think, Masham, that Marlborough’s great concern is to make war for its own sake.”

“And for his, Madam.” Abigail’s face formed into an expression matching that of the Duke’s, and Anne smiled appreciative of this amusing talent.

“I never liked George of Hanover,” went on Anne. “He was most … uncouth. I met him in my youth.”

Yes, she thought, most uncouth. They had brought him to England as a possible bridegroom for her but he had declined the match presumably. It was fortunate, for because of that they had brought her that other dear, good George who now, alas, lay so ill in the little house in Windsor Forest. But although she rejoiced that she had missed George of Hanover, she would never like him.

“If he came,” she went on, “he might stay. He might set up a Court of his own. I should feel that there were some who were simply waiting for me to die. Oh, no, I will not have him here.”

“Even the Whigs will not dare, Madam, if you refuse to have him. It is a pity that there has been so much noise about his exploits on the battlefield of Oudenarde.”

“Ah! The battle!” sighed the Queen. “How I wish that we could have done with battles.”

“And now, Madam, you must leave His Highness at Windsor to come here to take part in this celebration.”

“I never felt less like celebrating, Masham.”

“I know it.”

“I do not want my people to think that I glorify war.”

“I understand Your Majesty’s deeply religious sentiments, and how you feel about going to St. Paul’s decked out in jewels. It would give the impression …”

“I know exactly what you mean, Masham.”

“It is a victory over the French, but in my opinion it would be better to give thanks humbly to God and to pray that soon there might be an end to this bloodshed.”

“You voice my feelings so admirably, Masham.”

“Then since Your Majesty is of this opinion why should you not act according to what is in your heart?”

“The Duchess has a grand occasion in mind. She has set out my most dazzling jewels.”

“But if it is not Your Majesty’s wish …”

“You are right. It is my heart which I should obey … not the wishes of the Duchess of Marlborough.”

The cavalcade went on its brilliant way from St. James’s to St. Paul’s; the people of London lined the streets to watch it pass and to wait for the first glimpse of the Queen. They wanted to shout “Long live Good Queen Anne.”

She was a good woman and a good Queen, they agreed. The fact that she herself was nursing her sick husband won their regard more certainly than the fact that her Commander-in-Chief had scored up yet another victory against the French at Oudenarde. She touched for the Evil; she had set up her Bounty; and they sensed that she genuinely cared for her subjects. There was no scandal in her married life; the only strange aspect of her emotional life was her passionate friendship for Sarah Churchill and now it was said for Abigail Masham, her chambermaid. But she was Good Queen Anne and they cheered her heartily.