The Queen's Favourites aka Courting Her Highness (v5) (25 page)

Sarah raged about the follies of the Queen, the intractability of their daughter Mary who—at her ridiculous age—was trying to make a most unsuitable match; she might talk of the absurd knighting of bodice-makers, the difficulties of bringing son-in-law Sunderland to heel, her suspicions of Robert Harley and Henry St. John—of whom Marl and Godolphin seemed to have such a high opinion—but all the same there was no joy like having her husband home with her—safe within her sight.

And the same applied to Marlborough. He might be one of the most ambitious men alive; his heart was deep in military affairs; he longed to continue the war, but he yearned all the time to be at Sarah’s side. None but himself saw her soft, tender and gentle, for she had no softness, tenderness nor gentleness for any but him.

Marlborough, with the Duke of Somerset, went to Portsmouth to greet Charles of Austria; and it had been arranged that Prince George should go to Petworth, the Duke of Somerset’s mansion, there to greet the guest in the name of the Queen and bring him on to Windsor.

“I do declare,” said Anne, “that I am a little worried for Mr. Morley to make the journey at this time of the year.”

“It’ll do him good,” countered Sarah, who was now at Court superintending all the preparations for the visit.

“But you know, Mrs. Freeman, how bad his asthma has been this winter. He was bled three times in forty-eight hours and it was only the blisters that relieved him.”

“A little more action would be good for him.”

“Dear Mrs. Freeman, you enjoy such rude health yourself that you do not always understand the weakness of others.”

Sarah allowed the faintest look of exasperation to cross her face.

Hill would have understood my anxiety, thought the Queen; and dismissed the thought at once. It was disloyalty to dear Mrs. Freeman, and it was such a pleasure to have her back at Court. There was not the same peace, but how
vital
Mrs. Freeman was, and what a pleasure to look at those flashing scornful eyes and to listen to the invective which came tripping from that fluent tongue. One felt so
alive
with Mrs. Freeman about. And how handsome she was! One forgot how handsome until one saw her—with her beautiful golden hair hanging about her shoulders or dressed high for a state occasion.

All the same she was worried about George and she did wish Mrs. Freeman would have been a
little
sympathetic. The roads would be even worse than usual at this time of the year after the bad storm.

So George had gone off to Petworth, and when he returned he would be accompanied by their august visitor with Somerset and dear Mr. Freeman.

It was clear that Sarah believed this was as much her occasion as anyone else’s. Who, for instance, had made it possible for Charles of Austria to go to Spain and lay claim to the throne? Marlborough! Whose military genius was deciding the fate of Europe—and England? The answer was the same. And on whom did Marlborough depend for counsel and comfort and to fight his battles at home. His Duchess.

She behaved as though the Queen were her puppet. She all but ordered her; but not quite. Anne never argued; she would nod and smile and then go her own way; or sometimes make up her mind, find the phrase she needed to express it, and go on repeating it at intervals.

Nothing could have maddened Sarah more, but at the same time even she could not be blind to the warning it implied. John had cautioned her a hundred times. He was, of course over-cautious; but in her calmer moments Sarah did admit to herself that the Queen was a stubborn woman who could at times, as she put it, brandish the orb and sceptre.

It was evening when the party arrived at Windsor. Anne had ordered that every alternate man in the guard of honour should hold high a lighted flambeau, and the sight was impressive. The Queen, with Sarah—who should have been behind her—almost at her side, stood at the top of the staircase to greet her guests.

The Archduke was a delicate looking young man, handsome yet with a melancholy expression, and graceful manners; his blue coat with its gold and silver galoon was very becoming.

Poor young man, thought Anne. He looks tired.

He stooped and kissed the hem of her gown, then he kissed her cheek.

Sarah exchanged glances with John. But for you, she was reminding him, that young man would not be on his way to Spain. I hope they realize this.

John returned the smile. Never did a man have a more faithful champion.

Before meeting for supper the company would retire to their apartments and the guest taking the Queen’s hand led her to hers and, when that was over, Prince George conducted the Archduke to his.

Anne was pleased to see Hill in the apartment quietly waiting to be of use, and for a moment she thought how pleasant it would be if instead of going down to the banquet she could visit the green closet where she could lie back in her chair and leave everything to Hill.

Almost immediately it was time to assemble before supper and the ceremonies began. All the ladies of the Court must be presented to the Archduke. He seemed to like them, for he kissed them all with a little more heartiness than seemed necesary and, during dinner when he was seated at the right hand of the Queen, he kept rising to attend to the wants of some lady.

Anne glanced about the table at Sarah who was completely absorbed in Mr. Freeman and he in her, at George who was completely absorbed in, to him, the most serious business of life—eating and drinking.

What a handsome young man! thought Anne. My boy would be a young man now. Would she never have a child? Fruitless pregnancies came and went and she had almost accepted them as part of her life. They were no more inconvenient than the gout and the dropsy. But never a child.

How morbid she was—and at a banquet! And this was such an important occasion. When that young man was King of Spain how friendly England would be with his country for he would be grateful for ever—and it was all due to the Freemans.

Dearly beloved Sarah! But how much more
comfortable
to lie back in the green closet. She thought of Hill’s white hands among the tea things. So pleasant.

She was relieved when she could retire to her apartments.

George sat wheezing in his chair. She noticed that he was very breathless after a banquet—even though George’s appetite made a banquet of every meal.

“I fear this has been a little trial to you, my dearest,” she said.

“Bed vill be goot.” George’s pronunciation grew more broad when he was tired.

“The journey was too much for you, my love. I was saying to Mrs. Freeman I was uneasy about your making it.”

“Oh … that journey. Never shall I forget. How glad I am, I said to Masham, how glad the Queen does not come. The roads … my dear love … the roads …”

“The storm of course has devastated everything. It was really not necessary for you to go. I would rather have gone myself.”

“That, my angel, I vould never allow.”

Dear George—only stern when he felt the need to protect her!

“It iss forty miles from Vindsor to Petvorth, they tell me. Fourteen hours it took, my angel, and no stop ve made safe vhen the coach was turned over and ve vas stuck in the mud.”

“My poor,
poor
George. And how was your wheeze then?”

“My veeze vas terrible, my love, vas very terrible.”

“My poor, poor George.”

“And ve should be there now, but for the men who lift up the coach vith bare hands, my angel, vith their bare hands … and they carry the coach and set it on the road.”

“That was wonderful, George. What good and faithful servants! You must present them to me and I will tell them how grateful I am. I was so anxious. I said continuously to Mrs. Freeman how I wished you had not gone.”

“But I vould not haf allowed my angel to go.”

“Nor should I have allowed mine.”

“Vell, ve are safe now … and tired … and let us to bed. But a little brandy vould be varming.”

“A little brandy. I will call Hill. Hill! Hill!”

She came at once. She could not have been far away. How pleasant she looked—how simple after all the brilliant costumes of the evening!

“His Highness fancies a little brandy, Hill. I will take some, too. Such a tiring day … and another before us tomorrow. It will help us sleep.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

And almost at once—how was she so quiet and so quick?—there she was.

So pleasant … sipping brandy with George dozing in the chair and Hill hovering in case she should be wanted.

“Hill, tell Masham His Highness is ready for bed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I too, Hill. Oh, what a tiring day!”

Samuel Masham went with the Prince into George’s dressing room and Abigail remained with the Queen.

“Such a day, Hill! What ceremonies! And this young Archduke—King as he is now. I hope he is allowed to remain so, poor boy. But I daresay Mr. Freeman will see to that. I thought Mrs. Freeman looked magnificent. And so delighted to have Mr. Freeman back. But I am worried about the Prince, Hill. He does not look well to me and that journey to Petworth must have been an ordeal. His coach stuck in the mud … overturned, if you please. And the boors had to lift it out. I really cannot think it has done His Highness any good at all. I wish you would speak to Masham, Hill. I want the greatest care taken of His Highness. Make sure that his underwear is of the warmest and he should not be in draughts.”

“Your Majesty can trust me to speak to Masham.”

“I know, Hill. I know. And now to bed … I am so tired. And tomorrow of course there will be more and more ceremonies.…”

More and more ceremonies, thought Abigail, with the Duchess of Marlborough at the Queen’s right hand, forcing herself forward, already recognized as the power behind the throne, as no King’s mistress had ever been more so. And Abigail Hill—confined to the bedchamber, but only for the term of Her Grace’s pleasure.

The Archduke Charles
was considerably refreshed next day when he joined the Queen in preparation for the ceremonies. Dinner must be taken in public, to be followed by a concert—instrumental and vocal—and after that there would be more music and, of course, cards.

Charles looked even more handsome than he had the previous night, as dressed in his crimson coat he greeted the Queen and her attendants.

Anne found it difficult to suppress her yawns as the day went on. Dinner at three and then the long afternoon of entertainment before supper. Oh for an hour or so in the green closet! She saw that George felt as she did and was thinking longingly of that comfort.

Sarah of course felt no such desire. What energy! What vitality! Dear Mrs. Freeman makes me feel tired merely to look at her. But how handsome! How admired! And no wonder.

Charles was paying attention to her. Like everyone else he knew her importance. And how she enjoyed it! Such occasions were perfection to her. We are really quite different! thought Anne.

How glad she was that the supper was now over and there was dear Mrs. Freeman ready to perform her duty, standing before her with the bowl in which she would wash her hands and the towel across her arm.

But Charles had risen and was attempting to take the towel from Sarah’s arm.

Sarah said: “It was my duty and my honour to do this service for Her Majesty.”

Charles replied: “But at this time you will let me have that honour?”

He took the towel from Sarah and dipping it in the water, lifted one of Anne’s hands and washed it; and when he had done this he washed his own, while Sarah stood holding the bowl, with all eyes upon her; and then Charles took off a diamond ring and taking Sarah’s hand slipped it on her finger.

Sarah’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. This was an acknowledgment of her importance.

In their apartments
Sarah held out her hand with the flashing diamond in it.

“Worth a fortune,” she said.

John took the hand and kissed it.

“You know why he did it?” he said.

“Because he knows that if he wishes for England’s support he has to have mine.”

“Spoken like my Sarah.”