Courting Her Highness (53 page)

The Queen had always liked to listen to his advice on state matters, even if she had not taken it; and his presence at the interviews gave her confidence. Moreover, he had a way of cutting short an interview which had gone on too long by showing his impatience for his dinner; which might seem a frivolous excuse for cutting short a conference, but was effective.

“Dearest George! What shall I do without him?” sighed the Queen.

There was Masham, always ready to help, always eager to comfort.

“At least
you
are left to me, dear Masham,” she said.

Abigail replied with fervour that she hoped to serve the Queen as long as she lived; she would ask nothing more of life.

“It is at such grievous times as this that we know our friends,” said the Queen.

“The Prince was the kindest of masters,” murmured Abigail. “Poor Masham is desolate.”

“Poor faithful Masham!” agreed the Queen. “The Prince always relied on him. He is a good man and I am glad you chose him for your husband.”

“I do not know how to comfort him, Madam. He is without one whom he revered and he has nothing with which to occupy his mind. I tell him the sooner he finds something to do the better. The Prince would not have wished him to grieve.”

“No,” she said. “Poor Masham! He has lost not only the kindest master in the world but his position.”

“I think he would like to join the Army, or to go into politics, Madam.”

“Well, he is following a noble example.”

“You mean the Duke’s.”

“Mr. Harley tells me that he wishes to govern the country as well as the army.”

“Mr. Harley is Your Majesty’s most brilliant statesman and he is very likely right. But poor Masham is no Marlborough, Madam. He would, I suppose, be grateful for a humble post … something to take his mind off this dreadful loss.”

“I understand, Masham. It is what the Prince would wish.”

“Your Majesty and the Prince were always in harmony. I declare it was a lesson for all married people merely to see you together.”

The Queen put her hand to her eyes and Abigail brought the handkerchief with which to wipe away the tears.

Marlborough returned to
the Continent to open a new campaign, and Sarah came to Court. But she could not now walk into the Queen’s apartments and scatter all those who were in attendance. She must ask for an audience and await the Queen’s pleasure.

She was constantly seeking openings to see the Queen, to bully her into returning to the old relationship. She found an opportunity to see her when she wanted her apartments to be extended and sent in a request that a few small rooms adjoining this apartment might be assigned to her. The reply came back that the Queen had already promised these rooms to one of her women.

Sarah was furiously frustrated. How dare Anne send her messages in this aloof fashion, as though she were some unknown person soliciting a favour!

She summoned Danvers whom she could still terrify.

“Is this true?” she demanded.

“Yes, Your Grace. The rooms are promised.”

“Which woman has them?” Sarah wanted to know, believing that if she made her wishes known the rooms would be relinquished.

“Alice Hill, Your Grace.”

“Alice Hill!” screamed Sarah. “Sister of the … chambermaid.”

“She is Mrs. Masham’s sister, Your Grace.”

“That’s who I mean,” cried Sarah.

“She has been given these rooms, Your Grace. Mrs. Masham thought those she had before were unsuitable.”

“But
I
wanted them! I shall see the Queen. I refuse to be treated in this way. Do you know, Danvers, that I took that woman from a broom.”

“Your Grace has mentioned it.”

“And now she seeks to direct me.”

“That, Your Grace, would be quite impossible.”

“It is impossible!” cried Sarah.

At length she
forced herself into the Queen’s presence. Anne was clearly fretful, playing with her fan, her eyes on the door, wondering, thought Sarah grimly, whether she can ask me to summon Masham. Dear Masham! Kind Masham! Who coos in her ear and gets favours for her good-for-nothing brother and ninny of a husband and … Sarah could have screamed in her rage … for that sly toad, that monster, that traitor Robert Harley.

“It would seem that Mrs. Morley sets out to frustrate me,” she cried. The Queen closed her eyes and looked tired.

“Even a simple matter of rooms …”

“If Mrs. Freeman has anything to say to me she may write it,” said the Queen.

“I have much to say to Your Majesty and I have been writing to you all through the years. It seems to me that Mrs. Morley has allowed herself to be deceived by those whose greatest pleasure is in doing harm to Mrs. Freeman.”

“If you have anything to say to me you may write it,” said the Queen.

She had her parrot cry and Sarah could see that she would not be tempted from it.

A pleasant state of affairs! What could she do with a woman like that? Her coolness was apparent and there were times when Anne could remind any subject—even Sarah—that she was the Queen.

So there was nothing Sarah could do but retire.

But she would not let the matter rest there. She had been told that if she had anything to say she could write it. If she had anything to say indeed! She had much to say to that ungrateful friend.

She therefore returned to her lodgings and set to work to write a long account of her twenty-six years’ service to the Queen. She quoted passages from Jeremy Taylor on the subject of friendship. She accused the Queen of infidelity and ingratitude. She surpassed even herself in her invective.

The Queen’s response to this missive was to express her grief. It was
impossible for her to recover her former friendship towards Mrs. Freeman and her chief complaint against her was her inveteracy towards Mrs. Masham. She would however always treat Sarah with the respect due to the wife of the Duke of Marlborough. She would in time, read what Sarah had sent her, and give Sarah her reply.

That was all the answer Sarah could get. She waited for an answer to her accusations. None came.

And when she saw the Queen in church Anne smiled at her vaguely as she would towards any lady with whom she had a slight acquaintance.

That was an
uneasy summer. It was being said that the war was being prolonged unnecessarily by a faction with Marlborough at its head; and that the sole reason was that the Duke might continue to indulge his love of war.

His brilliant victories had reduced the French to a great desire to put an end to the carnage; Louis would consider terms, but those put forward were not acceptable. He had agreed to banish the Pretender—and his protection of James Stuart was one of the main reasons for the war—to acknowledge the Protestant succession in England, to demolish Dunkirk as a fortress and grant a protective frontier to the Dutch. There was one demand he could not accept and that was to gather an army and send it to drive his grandson from the Spanish throne.

“If it is necessary to make war,” said Louis, “I would prefer to fight my enemies than my children.”

This was a sentiment which all could understand and the war-weary English were more in sympathy with the old enemy than their own victorious Duke.

Then came the news of the victory of Malplaquet.

Marlborough had done it again. “He is invincible!” cried Sarah when she heard the news. “Now Mrs. Morley will see that she cannot ignore the wife of the greatest commander on Earth.”

But when the Queen saw the results of the battle and the tremendous slaughter of her countrymen, for the allies’ losses were 25,000 and although the French had lost the battle they had not lost nearly as many men.

“How long must this wicked slaughter go on!” cried the Queen; and although she took up her pen to write the usual congratulatory letter to the Duke she could not do so. How could she feel that this was a matter of congratulation when thousands of her subjects—her
children
—had died on the battlefield? For what? Had not Louis offered to banish the Pretender? Was he not suffering great stress in his own country through this war? Why could there not be peace, for it seemed that only with peace could there be the prosperity she wanted for her people!

Abigail brought Mr. Harley to the green closet. Dear Abigail! She was pregnant and it made such a bond between them. It reminded Anne of those years of hopes … hopes which had come to nothing except in the case of her dearest boy who had lived a while to make the tragedy the greater. And Abigail’s husband and her dear brother were soldiers too.

Such occasions for condolences; and Abigail agreed with her that the Duke was perhaps the only man who wholeheartedly wanted war.

Mr. Harley kissed her hand. He sat beside her and Abigail brought them tea, which though perhaps not to Mr. Harley’s taste he always took.

“Malplaquet!” he said. “A victory, they tell us, Madam. But a bloodstained victory. The Duke never loses a battle—but what he does lose is countless English lives. Madam, forgive me. I am carried away by this terrible carnage.”

“You voice my own thoughts, Mr. Harley. I feel I can scarce attend a thanksgiving service for such slaughter. How long must this dreadful war continue?”

“For as long as it pleases His Grace of Marlborough, it would seem, Madam.”

“I shall not allow it.”

“Then, Your Majesty, the war will end.”

“The Government, Mr. Harley, seem so firmly
behind
the Duke.”

“Godolphin, Sunderland—family connections! A Marlborough junta Madam. That sort of thing can be very powerful.”

“I never liked the Whigs.”

“Nor did the Duke, Madam, until he needed their support for his war. I have been consulting with my friends.…”

“Yes, Mr. Harley.”

“If we could overthrow the present Government I believe I could
present Your Majesty with a Tory Ministry which would be very much to your liking.”

A Tory Ministry! thought Anne. Peace abroad! The Church and State safe! And dear, amusing,
clever
Mr. Harley at its head. That was a very desirable prospect.