Courting Her Highness (32 page)

“Blenheim,” she repeated. “Now,” she went on briskly. “This note must be carried to the Queen with all speed. You must take it, Colonel Parke. But stay a short while for refreshment. You need it. Then be off.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Sarah herself ordered the refreshment and was with the Colonel while he ate and drank, plying him with questions.

And all the time she was thinking, “A great victory. And
I
am the first to receive the news. This will be a slap in the face for all our enemies. This will show Mrs. Morley and the rest that they had better take care next time before they revile the Duke of Marlborough and his Duchess.”

The Queen was
in her boudoir at Windsor—the polygonal room in the turret over the Norman gateway—with Abigail in attendance.

Anne was in a silent mood, thinking of the disagreement of her ministers and Marlborough. It was most disturbing. Abigail had brought her her favourite bohea tea and ratifia biscuits, but she could not drive from her mind the memory of discord. Mr. Freeman was determined to have his way and the ministers were determined to have theirs … and that meant strife and great trouble on the Continent.

A scratching at the door. Silent-footed Hill was there.

“Her Majesty is resting.…”

“This is a messenger from the Duchess of Marlborough. She says he is to be taken to Her Majesty without delay.”

“Who is it, Hill?”

“A messenger from the Duchess.”

“Bring him in then.”

So he came and bowed to her and put into her hands the tavern bill on which was the first news of the victory at Blenheim.

“A great victory, Madam. The Duke himself says that it is a decisive battle and that it is the greatest victory of his career.”

“My dear Colonel, you have ridden far. Hill, bring some bohea for the Colonel. But perhaps you would prefer something a little stronger. Now tell me everything.”

The Colonel told, and as he did so Anne glowed with pride and pleasure.

“He was justified in his action,” she murmured. “I am so pleased. He is the greatest general in the whole world and he works for me. My dear Colonel, how can I tell you how happy this has made us?”

“This will make all England happy, Your Majesty.”

“And rightly so. We will have the Duke’s note copied and circulated in thousands throughout the City. I do not want this wonderful news withheld a moment longer than it need be. And you, my dear Colonel, shall have your reward of five hundred pounds for being the bearer of such news. I shall never be more glad to see a messenger so rewarded.”

“If you please, Your Majesty, I should prefer a portrait of yourself.”

“My dear Colonel,” laughed Anne, “your request shall be granted.”

The next day Colonel Parke received a miniature of the Queen set with diamonds; and as Anne realized that this victory was indeed the greatest of her reign she added a thousand pounds to the miniature, that the bearer of such news might be doubly rewarded.

Sarah, flushed with triumph, treasuring the fact that she had been the first person in the country to hear of the victory at Blenheim—even before the Queen—came hurrying down to Windsor. There she took triumphant charge of affairs; truculent, laughing in the faces of those who had dared criticize the Duke, she was ready to show them who was mistress of them all—the Queen included.

“We must,” announced
Sarah, “return at once to London. The people must be made to realize that this is indeed a great victory. There must be celebrations.…”

“And thanksgiving,” put in Anne. “We must give thanks to God to whom we owe this victory.”

“Well, Mrs. Morley,” cried Sarah with a loud laugh, “
I
think we owe this victory to Mr. Freeman.”

Anne was shocked by such irreverence, but she had always known that dear Mrs. Freeman had never been really devout.

“We shall be eternally grateful to Mr. Freeman,” said Anne with dignity, “but we must not forget that victory or defeat—both are in the hands of Almighty God.”

“There should, of course, be a thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s,” cut in Sarah, her mind forging ahead, making plans. A carriage with herself and the Queen. It was fitting that
she
should share the Queen’s carriage. This was the Duke of Marlborough’s victory and no one was going to forget it.

The Queen was delighted at the prospect of a thanksgiving service and willing enough to discuss it.

“You should be most splendidly attired,” said Sarah, “and wear your most dazzling jewels. I will choose them. Both should be quite splendid.”

“Oh dear, I am a little worried about Mr. Morley. I do hope his asthma will not worry him unduly. These ceremonies tire him so and there is nothing like fatigue for bringing on an attack.”

“I was referring to us, Mrs. Morley, for
I
think it only right and fitting that I should accompany you to St. Paul’s. I am sure Mr. Freeman would wish it. You will remember it was to me that he sent the first news of the victory.”

“But of course, dear Mrs. Freeman should ride with her unfortunate Morley.”

“I do not think the King of France is calling you unfortunate at this moment!” laughed Sarah. “Well, I shall choose our jewels and I think we should have the service as soon as possible.”

“I am in entire agreement,” said Anne.

So Sarah and Anne returned to London with Abigail—now relegated
to be the chambermaid once more—and in her post as Mistress of the Robes, Sarah chose what the Queen should wear.

Such splendour she could never match, and as she was not one to take second place she decided to attract attention by the very simplicity of her own attire.

They rode from St. James’s Palace to St. Paul’s—Anne resplendent, Sarah simply clad; but Anne’s jewels could not compete with Sarah’s beauty; and in any case she was the wife of the hero of the day.

Anne was elated as she was always by her visits to church, and a thanksgiving service for a great victory must be doubly inspiring.

When they returned and Sarah had dismissed the Queen’s attendants, Anne said to her, “I and the nation will never cease to be grateful to Mr. Freeman.”

Sarah bowed her head graciously.

“And I have been thinking,” went on the Queen, “that it is only fitting that we should show our gratitude, and how better than by bestowing on Mr. Freeman and yourself some fine estate.”

Sarah’s eyes had begun to shine.

“It would be a magnificent gesture,” she agreed, “if we could persuade Mr. Freeman to accept it.”

“I am sure,” said Anne, with the glint of a smile, “that if it is
Mrs
. Freeman’s wish it will be Mr. Freeman’s.”

“I may endeavour to persuade him,” agreed Sarah. “What has Mrs. Morley in mind?”

“I was thinking of the Manor of Woodstock, a delightful place in a charming setting. It is my plan that that site might be used to build a house … a palace … for nothing else would be worthy to celebrate this great event … for the use of Mr. and Mrs. Freeman and their heirs.”

“Woodstock,” murmured Sarah, subdued for once. “It is an excellent spot.”

“Yes, a palace,” went on the Queen, “which you and Mr. Freeman should plan together.”

Sarah’s eyes were shining now. A palace! A pile of stones, gracious and imposing, which in the centuries to come should be the home of the Marlboroughs.

“No expense should be spared in the building of this palace,” went on
the Queen, seeing how excited her beloved Mrs. Freeman was becoming. “It should be the gift of a grateful nation to its greatest general. I should only ask one concession.”

“Concession?” said Sarah.

“Yes, Mrs. Freeman, I would ask that it be called Blenheim Palace so that none should ever forget this famous victory and the man who was responsible for it.”

“Blenheim Palace,” repeated Sarah. “I like it. I like it very much.”

obert Harley sat in his favourite spot at the
Apollo Club, indulging his favourite pastime—drinking. Harley enjoyed the night-life of London. He liked the atmosphere of the clubs which were springing up all over the City. He even visited the coffee houses and taverns in order to exchange conversation with literary acquaintances who frequented them. Next to drinking he enjoyed talking, and when Harley talked others enjoyed listening; for he was witty, brilliant and persuasive, in spite of his discordant voice and hesitant delivery.

Since his new appointment—he had recently replaced Nottingham and become Secretary of State for the Northern Department—he still found time to mingle with his literary friends and if he was not at the Apollo he would be at the Rota, invariably accompanied by his friend and disciple, Henry St. John, who, naturally enough, had received an appointment at the same time as Harley and was the new Secretary at War.

They had made their way through streets in which the celebrations for the victory of Blenheim were at their height. The coffee houses were full of people sipping hot coffee, chocolate or Nants brandy. The taverns were
even more crowded. There were already signs of drunkenness and as the evening progressed these would naturally increase. Harley, with St. John beside him, had had to push his way through the crowds.

The comparative peace of the Apollo was very pleasant, so was the taste of good brandy.

Harley looked sardonically at St. John and said: “This could well be called Duke’s Day. That screaming hysterical herd will crown the ducal head with laurels when he returns—the victorious conqueror. But remember they would as readily have screamed for that head to be cut from the ducal shoulders and placed at Temple Bar to be spat at and scorned, had the battle gone the other way. There’s the mob for you, Harry.”

“Well, ’twas always so.”

“True enough. Nor was I intending to make an original observation in stating the obvious. No, I am merely asking you to observe an action natural to the hysterical screaming uneducated mob and to realize that since it is possible successfully to gauge its reaction, how easy it could be to control it.”

St. John looked intently at his mentor.

“Marlborough!” went on Harley. “That name is on every tongue. The Great Duke! The Victorious Duke! The Victor of Blenheim! He disobeyed instructions from home and by great fortune—for him—he won his battle. Ah, if it had gone the other way. That screaming mass of ignorance would have torn him to pieces. And now, it would appear that we shall be ruled by the Marlboroughs.”

“And so have we been since Anne came to the throne, for does not Anne rule us, and is not Anne ruled by Sarah?”

“Ruled by women. Is it a healthy state of affairs, Harry? For I would take the sad story further and say that Marlborough is ruled by his wife—so we might all call ourselves Sarah’s subjects.”

“Has the Queen no will of her own?”

“She has a stubbornness. She comes to a point when she makes up her mind and will not be turned from her opinion—even, I believe, by Sarah. One realizes this by the summing up of opinion which is repeated and repeated in face of all arguments. I often wonder whether even Sarah can break that down. And therein lies my hope.”