Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [161]
“You may put what you have to say in writing,” insisted the Queen.
“It has been brought to my notice,” burst out Sarah, “that evil tales concerning me have been laid before you. It is said that I have spoken disrespectfully of Your Majesty. I would no more think of doing that than killing my own children.”
Anne’s expression did not change, but she did not look at Sarah’s heated face. Sarah Churchill had often spoken disrespectfully to her in her own hearing, so how much more inclined she would be to do so behind her back! Sarah no longer moved her to affection and her greatest desire was never to look on her one-time friend’s face again.
“There are many lies told always,” murmured Anne, turning her head and picking up her fan.
“I ask Your Majesty to let me know what calumnies you have heard against me. I know you will agree that I should have a chance of clearing myself.”
“In your note you said you required no answer,” said Anne. “I will give you none.”
Sarah was furious. “Do not think to thrust me aside in this way. Do not think that I will stand aside for a chambermaid. You shall hear me.”
“I will leave the room,” said the Queen, rising painfully from her chair.
Sarah strode to the door and stood against it, her arms outspread, her eyes flashing.
“You will stay here until you have heard what I have to say.”
Anne’s meekness dropped from her; she drew herself to her full height and looked in cold amazement at the Duchess.
“I think Your Grace forgets she is in the presence of the Queen.”
The coldness in Anne’s face alarmed Sarah. She knew in that moment that she had failed. The horror of the situation impressed itself upon her. Everything for which she had worked was slipping away from her. And not only had she lost what she ardently desired, she had failed Marl.
Angry tears came to her eyes and in a moment she was sobbing as she never had before. It was a display of frustration and anger; the acknowledgment of defeat; she turned away and opening the door stumbled into the gallery, where she sat down and gave way to her grief.
Anne looked at the door; she could feel nothing but relief. Sarah Churchill had gone too far, but perhaps even she at last understood that their friendship was at an end.
She went to her chair and sat down thoughtfully. She would dissolve the Whig Ministry. There would be a Tory Government which would please her, for she was a Tory at heart. Mr. Harley would be at the head of her new Government and there would be no further attempts to rob her of dearest Masham.
A scratching at the door. She sighed. There was Sarah again, her face blotched with weeping, but her eyes unusually meek.
She has learned her lesson, thought Anne. She knows that I never want to see her again.
“Well, Lady Marlborough?” said Anne haughtily.
“Madam, my posts demand that I am at times in attendance on Your Majesty.”
Anne inclined her head. Yes, she thought, but we must find a means to put an end to that.
“And,” went on Sarah, “I hope that Your Majesty will have no objection to seeing me on state occasions.”
Anne inclined her head. No, she would not object to seeing Sarah on state occasions. What she would not tolerate was giving her another private interview.
“You may come to the Castle,” said the Queen coolly. “That will not disturb me.”
Sarah bowed and the Queen turned away signifying dismissal; but Sarah had never learned to control her feelings and she could not do so now. Her rage took possession of her once more, suppressing common sense.
“This is cruel,” she cried. “All our friendship forgotten for the sake of a woman whom I myself took from a broom. Everything I have done for you is thrust aside as though it had never been, and I am treated to scorn and indignity. Through the court they are whispering about me and talking of your ingratitude to me. Mrs. Morley, have you forgotten the old days?” As the Queen was silent, Sarah went on: “You will be sorry for this. You will suffer for your inhumanity.”
“That,” answered Anne, “will be my affair. Your Grace is