Courting Her Highness (37 page)

Abigail picked up the little dog for which she had been searching and walked calmly out of the room. Mrs. Danvers who considered herself the Duchess’s woman grimaced at Mrs. Abrahal.

“All the same,” she insisted, “it’s a change she doesn’t like.”

She was thoughtful. “There was a time,” she went on, “when I thought I ought to mention to Her Grace what a friend Her Majesty was making of that woman. Sometimes I used to think that Abigail Hill rather fancied herself as the Queen’s special favourite. Well, it shows, doesn’t it? Her
Grace only has to put her handsome nose in the place and back scuttles Hill to her corner. I needn’t have worried.”

They both agreed that she need not have worried.

With Sarah back
at Court the pleasant intimacies of the past were lost. Now dressing was a fomality. Every time Anne changed her dress she must be surrounded by women who did the tasks which had been allotted to them in order of precedence. Each garment was passed from hand to hand until it reached that of the Duchess who then handed it to the Queen or put it on for her. It was in these occasions that Sarah was more and more openly showing her disgust, turning away, nose in the air, as the garment passed from her hands to the Queen’s. Every time Anne washed her hands, the page of the backstairs must bring the basin and ewer; then one of the bedchamber women must place it beside the Queen and kneel at the side of the table, and another bedchamber woman must pour the water over the Queen’s hands.

When the Duchess was away the ceremony was relaxed, and Abigail Hill was happy to do all the services the Queen desired—no matter how menial; she would put on the Queen’s gloves with tenderness, for often Anne’s hands were too gouty to do this for herself; she would put on the Queen’s shoes in the same gentle manner, and when it was necessary to poultice those poor swollen feet she never allowed a poultice to be too hot on application, and was always ready to suggest it might be getting cold that minute or so before the Queen realized it.

It was Abigail who had brought the Queen’s chocolate to her before she lay down to rest; and what comfort it was to sip the warm sweet drink which she so much enjoyed and chat to Abigail of all the irritations or the pleasures of the day.

Of course it was so stimulating to have dear Mrs. Freeman at Court. Something was always happening to Mrs. Freeman, and it was almost always something to arouse her indignation. With Mrs. Freeman there was never a dull moment; and it was pleasant to find that they were not so politically divergent as they once were.

Sarah came into the royal apartments one day, her face purposeful.
She received the Queen’s embrace coolly and sat down beside her, her lips set in lines of determination.

“I have been thinking,” said Sarah, “that it is time there was a change of office in the Secretaryship of State.”

Anne gasped. “But I am very fond of Sir Charles Hedges. He is a very good man.”

Sarah clicked her teeth impatiently. “Lord, Madam,” she said, “a man must be a little more than
good
to hold a high office in the Government.”

“But Sir Charles has always given the utmost satisfaction.”

Sarah looked distastefully at the large figure in the chair. She was going to be in one of her stubborn moods and Sarah had counted on getting this matter settled as quickly as possible. What on earth did the fat fool think she was wasting her time here for if it was not to arrange affairs to her liking. Marl had warned her, but she knew her dear cautious old Marl. Godolphin was even more cautious—cowardice she called that. A fine state of affairs with Marlborough abroad and Godolphin afraid and an obstinate old Queen on whom so much time had to be wasted.

“Mrs. Morley knows that I always make her affairs my constant concern,” said Sarah sternly. “I do assure her that the time has come for Hedges to go.”

“On what grounds?” asked the Queen.

“He is a bumbling old fool.”

“He has never shown me that he is anything but fitted for his duties.”

“Mrs. Morley is apt to form attachments and in her kindness be blinded to truths.”

Here was another suggestion that she was edging towards senility. Anne set her painful feet firmly on their stool and a cool note crept into her voice.

“And whom have you in mind to fill the position?”

“Who could do it but Sunderland.”

Sunderland! Sarah’s son-in-law, a man whom Anne had never liked, a man who had opposed the proposal for dear George’s annuity! No, said Anne to herself and wished that she dared say it openly to Sarah. No, no, no!

“A brilliant young man,” went on Sarah almost angrily. “Oh, I know he has had his strange ideas. But what young man worth his salt has not? He is a brilliant fellow. Adventurous!”

“I do not think I should care for him,” said Anne. “His temper is not one which appeals to me. I do not think we should be friends.”

“Nonsense, Mrs. Morley would soon begin to understand him.”

“I understand all I want to now, Mrs. Freeman.”

“You don’t know the fellow. I’ll tell you this: Mr. Freeman has not always been fond of him, but now he agrees with me that he has a touch of genius.”

No, thought Sarah, Marl had not always been fond of him. Not very long ago—before Blenheim—he had felt like murdering the fellow. It was Sunderland who had dropped that hint to her of Marl’s infidelity and caused them both such anguish. Why should she speak for him now. Because the need for complete power was beyond minor personal irritation. Because Sunderland was a Whig and Hedges a Tory, because he was her son-in-law and it was her desire to make a strong family war-head to fight off all their enemies. Marlborough, Commander in chief. Godolphin, head of the Government. Sunderland, Secretary of State. And Sarah the Queen. Who could stand against that combination? If she could bring that about the whole of the country and of Europe would know who ruled England.

“I do not like his temper,” persisted Anne, “and should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

“I will send him along to talk to you.”

“Pray do not, Mrs. Freeman. I have no wish to talk to him.”

“I do assure you you are making a mistake.”

“I do not like his temper, and should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

Here we go! thought Sarah angrily. The parrot has taken charge of my fat friend.

“If the Duke of Marlborough wrote to you and told you that he believed Sunderland would make an excellent Secretary of State would you believe me then?”

“It grieves me not to be in agreement with my dear Mrs. Freeman, but I can say that I know as much as I wish to know of my Lord Sunderland.”

“Personal likes cannot come into such a matter,” cried Sarah.

“I have always found it so useful to be on friendly terms with my ministers.”

“If Mrs. Morley would only listen to me.”

“But Mrs. Freeman knows nothing gives me greater pleasure than to listen to her.”

“You have set yourself against me on this occasion.”

“It is because I do not like the man’s temper and should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

The Queen, who had been playing with her fan, lifted it up to her lips and kept it there. It was a gesture which Sarah knew well and which never failed to exasperate her. It meant that Anne had made up her mind on a certain point and in her obstinate way was not going to be moved from it.

“I can see, Madam,” said Sarah coldly, “that it is useless to talk to you further … on this day.”

Anne did not answer, but kept the fan to her mouth.

“It is time,” said Sarah, “that I went down to Woodstock to see how the work is progressing. I must say that I am not very pleased at the dilatoriness. Your Majesty knows how long it is since Mr. Freeman won the greatest battle in history for you. And they have done scarcely anything yet.”

Anne continued to press her fan to her lips. Sarah thought: She’s saying her parrot phrase over and over again in her mind, I’ll swear. But she’ll come round. I’ll see that she does. In the meantime it was a relief to escape from Court and the need to listen to such sentimental or senile bleatings.

Anne was relieved
when Sarah went. Sunderland! she thought. That man. Never.

She pulled the bell rope.

“Hill,” she said. “Send Hill.”

Abigail came, green eyes anxious.

“Your Majesty is unwell?”

“So tired, Hill. So very tired.”

“Is it a headache, Madam? Shall I bathe your forehead? There is that new lotion I found the other day.”

“Yes, Hill. Please.”

How quietly Hill moved about the apartment.

“Hill, my feet are so painful.”

“Perhaps a warm poultice, Madam.”

“It might be good. But bathe them first.”

“After I have soothed your head, Madam?”

“Yes, Hill, after.”

Such a comfort to feel those gentle hands; such a comfort to watch the dear creature. She was so different … so soothing.

I believe, thought the Queen, that I am
glad
Mrs. Freeman has gone.

That was impossible of course. She loved Mrs. Freeman beyond anyone … even dear George, her own husband. Mrs. Freeman was so vital, so beautiful. It was a joy to watch her eyes flash and the sun on that magnificent hair of hers. But that man! After having dared vote against George’s allowance! He was a crank in any case. At one time he had talked about giving up his title and remaining plain Charles Spencer. No sign of that when his father had died. He was the Earl of Sunderland now.

“I do not like the man’s temper and should never have a friendly relationship with him,” she said aloud.

“You spoke, Madam?”

“I was thinking aloud, Hill.”

“Something has happened to disturb Your Majesty?”

“The Duchess suggests I make Sunderland Secretary of State. Sunderland! I never did like the man.”

“No, Your Majesty, and that is understandable.”

“He has never been a friend to the Prince and as you know, Hill, no one who was not a friend of the Prince could be a friend of mine.”

“Your Majesty and the Prince are an example to all married couples in this realm.”

“I have been fortunate, Hill, in marrying one of the kindest men alive.”

“It is only necessary to see the Prince’s care for Your Majesty to realize that.”

“Such a good man, Hill! And Sunderland voted against his allowance and now would like to be my Secretary of State in place of dear Sir Charles Hedges—such a charming man whom I have always liked.”

“How fortunate that it is for Your Majesty to choose her ministers.”

“Of course, Hill.”

Anne felt better already. Dear Hill, always so soothing!

“I hate to disappoint the Duchess, Hill.”

“But, Madam, the Duchess must hate to disappoint you.”

The Queen was silent as a memory of Sarah’s flushed and angry face floated before her.

“The Duchess left in a hurry,” said Hill, speaking more boldly than she usually did, for it was rarely that she offered an opinion or an observation. “She seemed angry. She must be so … with herself … for having offended Your Majesty.”

Anne pressed the small freckled hand of her attendant. Dear Hill! So tactful! So different.

“I do not like the man’s temper, Hill,” she said firmly, “and I should never have a friendly relationship with him.”