Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [102]
“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