Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [137]
“Then since Your Majesty is of this opinion why should you not act according to what is in your heart?”
“The Duchess has a grand occasion in mind. She has set out my most dazzling jewels.”
“But if it is not Your Majesty’s wish …”
“You are right. It is my heart which I should obey … not the wishes of the Duchess of Marlborough.”
The cavalcade went on its brilliant way from St. James’s to St. Paul’s; the people of London lined the streets to watch it pass and to wait for the first glimpse of the Queen. They wanted to shout “Long live Good Queen Anne.”
She was a good woman and a good Queen, they agreed. The fact that she herself was nursing her sick husband won their regard more certainly than the fact that her Commander-in-Chief had scored up yet another victory against the French at Oudenarde. She touched for the Evil; she had set up her Bounty; and they sensed that she genuinely cared for her subjects. There was no scandal in her married life; the only strange aspect of her emotional life was her passionate friendship for Sarah Churchill and now it was said for Abigail Masham, her chambermaid. But she was Good Queen Anne and they cheered her heartily.
And in the coach with her rode the Duchess, the beautiful Sarah Churchill who was—not excepting the Queen—the most famous woman in England and abroad.
Sarah was delighted. Another victory for dear Marl. She was the heroine of the occasion. All these people on the streets who were cheering the Queen were in reality cheering her and of course dear Marl. Who was responsible for the victory? Was it this fat woman with the rheumy eyes and the swollen limbs? No, it was her companion—handsome, though well advanced into her forties, with her rich hair, still golden and her fine glowing skin and her brilliant eyes—because after all, Marlborough’s victories were hers. Genius that he was he owed his success to her.
A great occasion to be celebrated as such. Nothing should be spared to show the people how important was Marlborough’s victory.
Sarah glanced at the Queen, and for the first time noticed that she was not wearing the jewels she had set out for her.
No jewels at all! On an occasion like this! Whatever had happened?
“Where are your jewels?” she snapped.
The Queen turned to her. There were tears in her eyes. She had been noticing that some of the subjects who cheered her were ill-clad and hungry looking. “My jewels …?” she murmured absently.
“I put out what you were to wear. What does this mean?”
The Queen, her thoughts still not entirely on the jewels, said: “Oh, we thought that because there had been such bloodshed it was a sad occasion as well as a great one.”
“We?” thundered Sarah.
“Masham agreed with me.”
Nothing the Queen could have said could have whipped Sarah’s anger to greater fury. She, the wife of the hero of the hour, had set out the Queen’s jewels, in accordance with her duties as Mistress of the Wardrobe, and Abigail Masham, the chambermaid-slut, had said “No jewels!” and no jewels there were.
This was too much to be borne and even on the ceremonial ride to St. Paul’s Sarah could not curb her anger.
“So Your Majesty would insult the Duke?”
“Insult the Duke? What do you mean, Mrs. Freeman? How could I do aught but honour him?”
“It is hard to imagine that you could; but it seems that if that slut Masham orders you, you obey.”
“I would rather not discuss this matter.”
“But I would.”
“Mrs. Freeman …”
“Oh, here is a nice state of affairs. The Duke risks his life for you. His one thought is your honour and that of his country. He brings you victories such as no Sovereign has ever been given before and you behave as though this victory is an occasion for mourning rather than rejoicing.”
“I rejoice, naturally, but at the same time I think of those of my subjects who have lost their lives. I think of those poor families who have lost a dear one.…”
“Sentimental nonsense, Mrs. Morley.”
“I do not think it is sentimental nonsense. It is true. Masham and I were very sad about it.…”
“Don’t give me Masham, Madam.