“I thought you would say that. It is his wife’s idea, I daresay.”

“That woman interferes too much.”

That was something with which I could wholeheartedly agree.

He told me then that he would soon be leaving for Holland and it would be for me to take over the government again.

This did not alarm me as it had in the past. I was realizing that I could be stimulated by the prospect of stepping into first place and taking decisions. I was learning that, in spite of the accompanying anxieties, it is exciting to be in command.

“I must attend the Congress of the Powers,” he said. “The French are more to be feared than James, and now he is in France we can be watchful of him. He is weak, but the French are strong, and those nations who are against the French must stand together. We shall make plans to do this during the Congress.”

It was only a few days before he was due to leave when the plot was discovered. It was reckless in the extreme. The plotters were making a proposition to my father. If he would make a solemn promise to rule England as a Protestant country, they would bring him back. He was to gather together a French force which would bring him to England where a secret landing place would be arranged. The French force would then be dismissed and sent back to France. His friends would then rally round him and set him on the throne.

They were rather naive if they thought my father would keep such a promise, even if he made it in the first place.

Three of the conspirators, Lord Preston, Major Elliot and a Mr. Ashton, were selected to take the proposals to France. Suspicions had already been aroused and before their small boat was able to leave the Thames, it was boarded and the papers which were intended for my father were seized.

As a result the three men were now in the Tower.

William said he was pleased that this matter had been settled before he left England.

Now there was another problem. Prince George wanted to go to sea.

“Could he not do so?” I asked William.

My husband looked at me scornfully. “We cannot afford to encumber the service with those who will be no good in it.”

“Surely some position could be found for him?”

“It would have to be a position of some importance because of his rank. That is the trouble. Think of Torrington.”

“Torrington was a good man. He was just short of ships.”

“A good man accepts difficulties and overcomes them.”

“He has to have good luck to do that. Torrington did not.”

William clearly did not want to discuss Torrington. He was concerned with George. He despised George, who was all that he was not; and he was determined that George should not go to sea. How could he prevent him? It must be done.

“For,” he added, “he shall not join the fleet. On that I am determined. But it would be better if he were persuaded not to, instead of forbidden.”

“Forbidden?” I cried.

William’s face hardened. “If necessary, yes. He shall not join the fleet which must be manned by only the best. We cannot afford more incompetence.”

“Who will persuade him?”

“Anne, I suppose.”

“She never would.”

“Well, you must persuade her to it. Get the Churchill woman on your side. I am told that you know how to deal with people.”

“This would not be easy.”

“Dealing with foolish people never is.”

He dismissed the matter and the next day he left for Holland.

I was anxious about him for the weather was not good, but he would not delay his departure. It was necessary for him to be in a country where people behaved reasonably, where they understood him and he them.

Poor William! I wondered, as I had before, whether he would have been happier if he had never realized his dream and inherited the crown.

It was a relief to hear that he had arrived safely and emerged with nothing more than a cold. The Dutch had welcomed him warmly — in that undemonstrative way, I supposed, which was so much to his taste.

Before me lay the difficult task of “persuading” George that the sea was not for him.

I made several attempts with Anne but that stubborn look came into her face when I mentioned what George proposed to do and questioned the wisdom of it.

“So,” she cried, “he is to be given no post! He is expected to spend his days sleeping, drinking and sitting around. The King treats him like an usher ... of no importance at all.”

I could make no headway with Anne. The only way would be, as William had suggested, to get Sarah to try to persuade Anne.

With some misgivings I sought out Sarah.

I said: “Lady Marlborough, I know you have great influence with my sister, and it is for this reason that I wish to talk to you.”

“The Princess honors me with a rather special friendship, I believe, Your Majesty,” she replied complacently.

“Well, I know that she always listens with attention to what you have to say. This is rather a delicate matter. Prince George has conceived an idea that he should take command of the fleet.”

“I believe that to be in his mind, Your Majesty.”

“It is really not possible, and I want you to persuade the Princess that it would not be good for him.”

“Oh?” said Sarah, her eyes widening in innocence.

I tried flattery, to which I suspected Sarah was not entirely immune.

“If anyone can make the Princess see the wisdom of this, it is you. And when the Princess realizes it, she can persuade the Prince. That is all I ask of you, Lady Marlborough.”

She hesitated for a moment and I saw speculation come into her eyes.

“Madame, Your Majesty, I ask your forgiveness for my forwardness, but I am in the employ of the Princess Anne and therefore owe my allegiance to her, and I hold it as a matter of honor. I will tell her that it is your opinion that it would be unwise of the Prince to join the fleet and you have asked me to persuade her to this. I would tell her that this is your command, for I should be obliged to tell her whence it came. I trust Your Majesty understands my meaning.”

“I understand you well, Lady Marlborough,” I said rising. She immediately stood, as she could not remain seated when I was not. “I pray you, say nothing of this matter to the Princess, for I see little good could come of it.”

With that I left the insolent woman. I could see that more harm than good had been done. Now it would be necessary to give an outright refusal to Prince George. It would have been better to have refused him in the first place.


* * *

ONE OF MY MOST UNPLEASANT DUTIES at that time was signing the death warrant. I hated the thought that someone had died because I had penned my name to a paper and ordered it to be done.

I must obey the law, of course, and there were the three prisoners who had been caught in an act of treason. It was harder because that act of treason was one of loyalty toward my father. Aston, with Lord Preston and Major Elliot, had been caught with treasonable documents in their possession. So there was no help for it. They would have to die.

This weighed heavily on my mind. I wished that William had been there. He would have signed those documents without a qualm. He would be contemptuous of me for my soft feelings.

I had read a great deal about my predecessor, Queen Elizabeth, for whom I had a great admiration. She had been a strong woman and had ruled despotically in her own right. She had talked of her proud stomach, and she would never have allowed a man to usurp the smallest part of her power.

And there was I — Queen of this Realm — beside a husband to whom I gave the right to come before me. Elizabeth would have despised me, and perhaps she would have been right.

I did remember that she had suffered pangs of conscience when she had signed the death warrant of Mary, Queen of Scots. These men were not close to me. I did not know them, but I deplored what I had to do, and would have given a great deal to have had that burden taken from me.

The people understood my feelings, I believed. They may have thought me weak, but they liked me as they never could like William.

While I was suffering from these pangs of conscience, I had an experience which made me even more sad. It happened in Kensington Palace, which was now beginning to look very fine. In the great hall, when William and I had bought the place, there hung a big picture of my father looking splendid in all his regalia. It was still there.

One day when I came down the stairs I saw a young girl sitting on the lower step, staring fixedly at my father’s portrait.

I said: “What are you doing here, child? And why do you look so intently at that picture?”

She stood up and curtsied.

“Your Majesty,” she said. “That is your father.” She fixed melancholy eyes on me and went on: “My father is in the Tower. He is Lord Preston. They are going to kill him. It is sad that my father is going to be put to death for loving your father too much.”

I was stunned. The child curtsied again and ran off. I wanted to call after her, to bring her back, to say her father should not be killed. Instead, I went to my apartments and prayed, as I always did in moments of intense unhappiness; but I found little comfort.

I wished, as I had so many times, that I was that child’s age and happy in the love of my father.

When I thought about the matter afterward, I guessed that someone had primed that child to be at that spot where I would pass and told her to say what she did. They knew I was not hard like William. How I wished I could give those men their freedom, but I could not remake the laws.

I was relieved when Lord Preston revealed the names of his fellow conspirators — which was not a noble thing to do, but it saved his life and eased my conscience to a certain extent.


* * *

THERE WAS BAD NEWS FROM HOLLAND. The French seemed to be triumphant everywhere. At home the people were growing more and more dissatisfied. They wanted to hear of victory, not defeat; and when the news was not good they immediately asked themselves why they had exchanged one unsatisfactory ruler for another who was equally so.

The good old days under Charles were remembered. How had he managed it? I often wondered. I thought of the manner in which he had averted trouble. He was not always sincere, but he always pleased the people, and the art of governing was to do that.

I was rather proud of the manner in which I handled the sailors’ wives of Wapping.

Funds had been low for some time. The wars were responsible for that. Payments which should have been made had been temporarily suspended, and because of this the sailors’ wives had decided to bring a petition to Parliament to air their grievances.

This state of affairs must not be allowed to go on, I decided. These debts must be settled even if it were from the Privy Purse. The poor must not be made to suffer. It was important that those who had only a little money should be the first to receive it.

There was consternation when, in the midst of a Cabinet meeting, the angry wives of Wapping arrived.

This was the kind of situation which could quickly result in a riot; and when one started others could spring up. The matter had to be settled at once.

I said: “I shall speak to them.”

“Your Majesty . . .” several of the ministers cried in horror.

But I was determined.

“Down there is a mob of angry women,” I said. “Go down and tell them to select four who will speak for them and bring them to me.”

They tried to dissuade me. There was I, wearing the state robes which I wore for Cabinet meetings, and I was preparing to see those women, dressed so!

I waved aside their protests and insisted that the women be sent to me.

They came in a truculent mood, angrily determined to demand their rights. I must say they looked taken aback at the sight of me in my splendid robes, and, being somewhat rotund, I must have made quite a regal sight. I could not believe that they would be pacified by the contrast they made in their poor patched garments.

But I have a very soft and gentle voice, I am told, and when I spoke and told them how sorry I was that their husbands had not been paid and they had been right to come to me, I saw the expression on their faces change.

“Tell me all about it,” I went on.