The Queen's Favourites aka Courting Her Highness (v5) (13 page)

“You have put them on by mistake, Lady Marlborough,” said Abigail timidly.

“So I am wearing gloves which have touched the odious hands of that disagreeable woman!” shrieked Sarah.

Abigail stood still, trying to stop herself from looking over her shoulder at that open door. Anyone in the next room could not fail to hear that shrill, strident voice.

“Take them away. Take them quickly. Ugh! How unpleasant.”

Abigail picked up the gloves which Sarah had thrown on to the floor and hastily left the room closing the door quietly behind her.

Anne was seated where Abigail had left her, and one look at her face was enough to show that she had overheard every word Sarah had said.

As Abigail laid the gloves on the table beside her, Anne said nothing, but her eyes met those of Abigail and in that moment there was a flash of understanding between them. Sarah Churchill was a disloyal friend to the Princess and they both knew it; the subject was too painful to be mentioned, but neither of them would forget what had happened; and because of it their own relationship had advanced a step further.

The King was
a very sick man. He was beset by anxieties which were aggravated by his weak physical condition and his conscience. He would never forget the letter his wife had received on the morning of their coronation which her father James, from his exile in St. Germains under the protection of Louis XIV, had sent to her. James had said that Mary could not expect anything but the curses of a father whose crown she had allowed to be snatched from him.

Now he was getting near to death and he was constantly concerned with the problem of who should succeed him.

There was one person to whom he could talk with absolute ease. This was Elizabeth Villiers, whom he had made the Countess of Orkney. Elizabeth was the cleverest woman he had ever known; although she was not a beauty, she was to him the most fascinating woman in the world. It had always been so, from the moment he had first seen her. Her quick clever brain and her extraordinary eyes with the slight cast in them which had earned her the name of Squint-eyed Betty, attracted him now as they ever had. She had shown him, in the early days of his marriage, that he was human, after all, when he had overcome his Calvinistic principles and made her his mistress. He had never had another. Mary his wife had seemed a foolish child in comparison; and often he had wished that Elizabeth had been the eligible Princess, Mary her maid of honour.

Mary had been an admirable wife; now that she was dead he realized that more than ever; but on the last night of her life she had sat up writing a letter to him in which she had implored him, for the sake of his soul, to give up his mistress. That had been disconcerting enough; but this document she had left in the care of the Archbishop of Canterbury with a covering letter to the Archbishop explaining its contents. Thus it was known that his wife’s last wish was that he should discontinue the liaison; and such a wish could not be ignored. During the months following Mary’s death he had refrained from seeing Elizabeth; he had married her to George Hamilton whom he had created Earl of Orkney and many had believed that this marked the end of a relationship with a suitable prize in appreciation of past services. But he had not been able to cast off Elizabeth as easily as that; and although in England she had ceased to be his mistress, when he was in Holland she joined him there and the old relationship was resumed. But there had been no expressed wish in Mary’s last letter that he should not continue to discuss his problems with Elizabeth; and since it was a custom of many years to do this he continued in it. Her wit and wisdom were invaluable to him.

He retired to his cabinet, and using a secret staircase which he had had put in and which led to the apartments of the Countess of Orkney, he went to her.

Elizabeth greeted her lover with great pleasure. At least, she could scarcely call him lover now; but she was not displeased with the change in her fortunes. She had as much influence as she had ever had and a great deal more prestige; she was delighted with her marriage and intended to do all in her power to enhance her husband’s career, and this she was effecting very satisfactorily.

She bade him to be seated and tell her his troubles.

“I am growing old, Elizabeth,” he said with his twisted smile. “And I believe my days are numbered.”

“You have said that often before, yet here you are.”

“I am disturbed about the succession. I would I had a son to follow me.”

Elizabeth nodded sadly.

“To think,” he said, “that that foolish fat sister-in-law of mine will be Queen of England on my death fills me with horror. When the boy was alive there was hope. He was a bright little fellow. It is a terrible tragedy that we have lost him.”

“The Princess is the complete dupe of the Marlborough woman,” said Elizabeth. “If she is Queen it will be Sarah Churchill who rules.”

“I should like to prevent that.” He looked at her cautiously and she knew that now he was coming to the object of his visit. “I am thinking of writing to James at St. Germains,” he said.

She waited for him to go on but he remained silent for some seconds; and it was clear to her that he had not yet made up his mind.

“I am thinking of suggesting that I adopt James’s son.”

“James would never allow it.”

“Not when he considers what is at stake? If he came over here as my son and was brought up to be a good Protestant he would be the natural heir to the throne.”

“It’s a brilliant idea,” said Elizabeth; “but I do not think you will be allowed to put it into practice. In the first place James would never entrust his son to you; and in the second Anne’s friends would be ready to start another revolution to ensure her succession.”

“I believe I could deal with that revolution.”

“Marlborough and Godolphin would stand together. There is Sunderland and his son Spencer, who would be with them. Don’t forget the diabolical Sarah has united them and they’ll stand together, particularly when the Marlboroughs’ grandchildren are Sunderland’s and Godolphin’s.”

“I have dealt with Marlborough before. I should do so again. I intend to broach James.”

“Well, that would be a good move,” agreed Elizabeth. “Even if James refuses, which he assuredly will, the Jacobites will be pleased.”

“If the boy is sent over, that will be good; and if he is not, at least I have done my best. Though the Jacobites may not be pleased when they know it is my intention to bring the boy up as a Protestant.”

“But even they will realize that only as such will he be acceptable to the English.”

“I feel it is my duty to make him acceptable, Elizabeth.”

She understood; and she was disturbed. William’s conscience was greatly troubled and he had the air of a man who wants to set his house in order before he leaves this life.

Sarah’s fury was
uncontrollable. “Do you know what the Dutch Abortion plans now?” she demanded of Anne. “He is going to cheat you out of your inheritance! He is going to bring that warming-pan brat to England and foist him on the people! I shall not allow that to happen, Mrs. Morley. If you lie there on your couch and accept such abominations, I shall not.”

Anne shook her head. She could scarcely bring herself to look into the face of Sarah since the glove incident. Whenever Sarah came near her she felt cold with horror. She could not shut out the sound of the strident voice referring to her as that disagreeable woman. And Sarah had said her hands were odious. Her beautiful hands which she knew were lovely! They, with her voice which had been so carefully trained by Mrs. Betterton when she and Mary were in the nursery, were the only beauties she possessed. Her beautiful
odious
hands. How could she ever forget! How could she ever feel the same towards Mrs. Freeman again! Yet she could not bring herself to reproach her friend with what she had overheard. She was thankful that no one but herself and Abigail Hill knew of it; the secret was safe with that nice quiet creature.

Sarah went on, “Of course we shall never allow it to happen. I was talking to Mr. Freeman about it. He agrees with me that it is preposterous. Bring that little bastard to England! Why, if he is in truth the heir to the throne, what is William doing on it! No. It shall never be. Never, never,
never
!”

“My dear Mrs. Freeman is so vehement.”

“
Always
—on behalf of Mrs. Morley!”

“It is comforting to know you think so highly of me … 
always.
”

Sarah was more than angry, she was alarmed. She might sneer at William, call him the Dutch Abortion, Caliban, and the Monster, but she had to admit that he was a brilliant leader. When he believed in something he went out to get it with such enthusiasm that he invariably succeeded; such vitality was not natural in one so frail, and Sarah was definitely disturbed.

In an attempt to make the people accept what he was doing William had engaged the brilliant and witty writer Thomas d’Urfey to produce a few ballads about the coming of the boy whom many called the Prince of Wales. William had never forgotten what a part the old Irish song of
Lillibullero
had played in the Irish battles. Many believed it was as responsible for victory as William’s tactics. This was an age which was becoming very susceptible to the written word. The pen was actually proving to be mightier than the sword. Those who could produce telling words must be cosseted and wooed; they must be on one’s side.

In the streets they were singing,

“Strange news, strange news! the Jacks of the city
Have got,” cried Joan. “But we mind not tales—
That our good King, through wonderful pity
,
Will leave the crown to the Prince of Wales
.
That peace may be the stronger still
.
Here’s a health to our master Will.”

It was small wonder that Sarah was grinding her teeth in anguish. If this boy came over, Anne’s position would remain the same as it always had been. And if the boy was brought up as a Protestant who was going to quarrel with that?

But Sarah’s fears miraculously disappeared.

James declared that he absolutely refused to put his beloved son in the care of William.

William looked greyer
every day; Sarah was more jubilant.

“Warming-pan babies! Who ever heard of such a thing!” cried Sarah gleefully. “The man is in his dotage, and if ever I saw a fellow with one foot in the grave that man is Dutch William.”

It was a marvel to everyone that Sarah Churchill was not sent to the Tower. She must have uttered twenty treasonable statements a day. The King loathed her, but was afraid of offending the people if he attempted to interfere with Anne’s freedom, so she remained.

It was noticed that her manner towards Anne was becoming more overbearing; but since Anne voiced no objection it was presumed that the Princess accepted her friend as she was. But Anne herself was thoughtful. She liked to talk to Abigail Hill when they were alone together; she had discovered the pleasure of talking instead of listening, which was what one was obliged to do with Sarah. Abigail rarely offered an opinion unless it was pressed out of her; and then it was not to be despised. But what was so comforting was to be able to talk as though thinking aloud, and to have her murmuring assent, never contradicting.