Виктория Холт - Courting Her Highness

And in the coach with her rode the Duchess, the beautiful Sarah Churchill who was—not excepting the Queen—the most famous woman in England and abroad.

Sarah was delighted. Another victory for dear Marl. She was the heroine of the occasion. All these people on the streets who were cheering the Queen were in reality cheering her and of course dear Marl. Who was responsible for the victory? Was it this fat woman with the rheumy eyes and the swollen limbs? No, it was her companion—handsome, though well advanced into her forties, with her rich hair, still golden and her fine glowing skin and her brilliant eyes—because after all, Marlborough’s victories were hers. Genius that he was he owed his success to her.

A great occasion to be celebrated as such. Nothing should be spared to show the people how important was Marlborough’s victory.

Sarah glanced at the Queen, and for the first time noticed that she was not wearing the jewels she had set out for her.

No jewels at all! On an occasion like this! Whatever had happened?

“Where are your jewels?” she snapped.

The Queen turned to her. There were tears in her eyes. She had been noticing that some of the subjects who cheered her were ill-clad and hungry looking. “My jewels …?” she murmured absently.

“I put out what you were to wear. What does this mean?”

The Queen, her thoughts still not entirely on the jewels, said: “Oh, we thought that because there had been such bloodshed it was a sad occasion as well as a great one.”

“We?” thundered Sarah.

“Masham agreed with me.”

Nothing the Queen could have said could have whipped Sarah’s anger to greater fury. She, the wife of the hero of the hour, had set out the Queen’s jewels, in accordance with her duties as Mistress of the Wardrobe, and Abigail Masham, the chambermaid-slut, had said “No jewels!” and no jewels there were.

This was too much to be borne and even on the ceremonial ride to St. Paul’s Sarah could not curb her anger.

“So Your Majesty would insult the Duke?”

“Insult the Duke? What do you mean, Mrs. Freeman? How could I do aught but honour him?”

“It is hard to imagine that you could; but it seems that if that slut Masham orders you, you obey.”

“I would rather not discuss this matter.”

“But I would.”

“Mrs. Freeman …”

“Oh, here is a nice state of affairs. The Duke risks his life for you. His one thought is your honour and that of his country. He brings you victories such as no Sovereign has ever been given before and you behave as though this victory is an occasion for mourning rather than rejoicing.”

“I rejoice, naturally, but at the same time I think of those of my subjects who have lost their lives. I think of those poor families who have lost a dear one.…”

“Sentimental nonsense, Mrs. Morley.”

“I do not think it is sentimental nonsense. It is true. Masham and I were very sad about it.…”

“Don’t give me Masham, Madam. I am sick to death of that name. I wish most heartily that I had known what a snake I was sending you when I put her in your bedchamber.”

“I have had nothing but kindness and consideration from Masham. She has served me with greater care than any … yes any ever did before.”

“Since Mrs. Morley is so enamoured of this dirty chambermaid …”

The carriage had stopped at St. Paul’s and the door was being opened for the Queen and the Duchess to alight.

The Queen walked painfully towards the Cathedral, Sarah beside her.

“God Save the Queen!” shouted the crowd. Anne smiled her shortsighted but most appealing smile and lifted one of her hands to wave to them.

“A dirty chambermaid!” continued Sarah. “She has come into your bedchamber and poisoned your mind against all your best friends! It is a marvellous thing, and none would have thought you could be so duped. But it has happened!”

“I do not want to hear such things,” said Anne.

“But hear them you shall!” cried Sarah. “I was ever one to speak my mind. In the past you always said that you preferred my frankness to the subterfuge of others. You knew that when I said something I meant it. But it seems that has changed. You prefer a mealymouthed chambermaid who has nothing to say but ‘Yes, Madam,’ ‘No, Madam’—whatever you wish to hear. And all she asks in return is your permission to bring her dear friend Harley into the bedchamber to pour his lies into your willing ears. And Marlborough, the Commander-in-Chief of your armies, is nothing to you.”

They had reached the top of the Cathedral steps. The Queen was exhausted by the effort. She cried in a loud and agitated voice: “It is not true. It is not true.”

Several people looked startled and the Duchess being aware of this said in a voice which was heard by many standing close by: “Be silent. Don’t answer me now.”

There was a titter of astonishment as the Queen and the Duchess passed into the Cathedral.

Had they heard correctly? Had a subject actually given the Queen such a peremptory order and in public?

Surely not. But it was so. Many had heard it. It would have been incredible if the subject had not been the Duchess of Marlborough.

After the ceremony, Anne was exhausted; yet she could not shut out of her mind the peremptory voice of the Duchess of Marlborough telling her to be silent.

“This is too much,” she told herself. “This really is too much. I should be happy never to see her again.”

Masham tended her and helped her to bed. She did not speak of the matter, even to Masham, who was so discreet though she must have heard of it, for all London would be talking of it.

Sarah had not come to St. James’s. Perhaps she too understood that she had gone too far.

Sarah did in fact realize that she had been somewhat outspoken; also that many people must have heard the manner in which she addressed the Queen on the steps of the Cathedral. But it was true, she excused herself. And I will have truth.

She had received a letter from the Duke, for he always wrote to her in detail as soon as was possible after one of his battles, in which he said that he was sorry that the Queen no longer favoured the Duchess and himself and was fonder of Mrs. Masham than ever. He did not believe that there could be any happiness or quietness while this was so. It was not good for the country.

“There!” said Sarah to herself. “Is that not exactly what I have repeatedly told her.”

She immediately took up her pen and wrote to the Queen:

“I cannot help sending Your Majesty this letter, to show how exactly Lord Marlborough agrees with me in my opinion that he has now no interest with you, though when I said so in the church on Thursday you were pleased to say it was untrue!

“And yet I think he will be surprised to hear that when I had taken so much pains to put your jewels in a way that I thought you would like, Mrs. Masham could make you refuse to wear them in so unkind a manner, because that was a power she had not thought fit to exercise before.

“I will make no reflections on it, only that I must needs observe that Your Majesty chose a very wrong day to mortify me when you were just going to return thanks for a victory obtained by my lord Marlborough.”

Sarah never stopped to consider the effect her words might have—written or spoken—and immediately despatched the letter to the Queen.

How tired I am of her perpetual quarrels! thought Anne. But since she asked for Marlborough’s letter to be returned she wrote briefly:

“After the commands you gave me at the thanksgiving of not answering you, I should not have troubled you with these lines, but to return the Duke of Marlborough’s letter safe into your hands; and for the same reason I do not say anything to that nor to yours which enclosed it.”

When Sarah received that letter she began to believe that she was indeed losing her power over the Queen. Never had Anne written to her in such a cool and regal manner.

She was disturbed. She wrote copiously to Marlborough telling him what was happening at home. She also could not refrain from writing to the Queen.

But Anne had no time for correspondence. She was eager to return to her husband and she set out with Abigail and a few attendants for the house in Windsor Forest, where Dr. Arbuthnot greeted her with the idea that he thought a cure at Bath might be beneficial to the Prince.

Anything that would help him Anne was willing to do and immediately made arrangements to set out for the Spa which she herself loved to visit.

Bath welcomed the Queen and her consort, and it seemed as though Dr. Arbuthnot was right, for the Prince’s health certainly did seem to improve.

Anne’s spirits rose. As she said to Abigail: “It is long since I have felt so pleased with his state of health.”

The Bath visit having proved such a success, the royal party returned to Kensington. The Duchess still kept in the shadows and Anne and her husband, with the Mashams in close attendance, settled into the ground floor apartments of the Palace.

Each October the Queen went to Newmarket for the racing and although Anne did not feel the Prince was quite well enough to accompany her she made preparations for the journey.

A few days before she was due to leave she noticed that George seemed unhappy and as, in spite of his sufferings, this was unusual with him, she noticed his mood immediately.

“What is it, George?” she asked. “Are you anxious about something?”

He took her hand and said: “I wish you were not leaving me.”

“You are not feeling so well?”

“I haf a feeling that I do not vish for you to go.”

“You do not care to be parted from me, is that it? We have been married for more than twenty-five years.…”

“Est il possible?” he asked.

“Yes, George, it is … and you still do not like to be parted from me.”

“My love,” he said, “I haf this feeling …” He touched his heart. “… in here … that I vould not vish you to be away from me … at this time.”

Tears filled Anne’s eyes. “Then, my love, I shall remain.”

That night the Prince became very ill. Anne, alarmed, aroused the Mashams. Abigail helped her to hold up George to enable him to breathe while Samuel hurried for the doctors.

“He knew,” whispered Anne. “Oh, my poor dear angel, he knew. He begged me not to leave him.”

This was a more virulent attack than usual and both women knew that the end was near.

“I thank God that I have you with me, Abigail my dear, to help me bear this trial,” said the Queen.

“I suffer with Your Majesty,” Abigail answered, as she expertly lifted the Prince and helped to maintain him in a more comfortable position.

“How … can so little a person … hold such a big one …” whispered George.

“Don’t talk, my dearest. Masham is an angel. And I don’t know what we should do without her. But don’t talk, my love.”

The doctors arrived and eased him a little. But there was consternation throughout the Palace.

Prince George, old Est-il-Possible?, who had never been really unkind to anyone since he had come to England, was dying.

Sarah heard the news. The Prince dying and she not at the Palace! Others would be attending the Queen at this important moment. It was unthinkable. There had been that quarrel in the Cathedral when the Queen had been so bad tempered and there had been no reconciliation. But at a time like this, the Duchess of Marlborough must be at the Palace.

Could she present herself to the Queen? Scarcely when Anne had not answered her letters.

She sat down and wrote a letter to the Queen telling her that in spite of the latter’s ill treatment of her she was ready to let bygones be bygones and return to look after the Queen at this sad time. But she could not curb a word or two of reproach.

“Though the last time I had the honour to wait upon Your Majesty your usage of me was such as was scarce possible for me to imagine or anyone to believe …”

The angry pen raced on; the letter was written and sealed. Now to send it by a messenger.

But perhaps there was little time to waste. It might be that the Prince was already dead. Others would be there, taking over her duties. She could not allow that, so she would take the letter herself.

She arrived at Kensington, haughtily summoned a page and told him to take the letter to the Queen immediately.

“Her Majesty is with the Prince,” was the answer.