Courting Her Highness (50 page)

“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.

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 mealy-mouthed 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.