Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [185]
“Your Majesty is tired,” she said, “and I know this is due to Lord Oxford’s behaviour.”
The Queen sighed. “Dear Masham, he was even more difficult than usual.”
“Your Majesty should put an end to the trouble he causes you, by dismissing him.”
“I really believe I should, Masham.”
“Bolingbroke will be so much easier to deal with. There, Madam. That is not too hot?”
“Just warm and soothing, Masham. You are always so good with the poultices. You soothe away the pain.”
“I wish I could soothe away Your Majesty’s other afflictions as easily.”
Anne was thoughtful. The following day she told her Council that she would ask for Lord Oxford’s resignation. Her reasons were that he neglected business and was seldom to be understood, and when he did explain himself she could not be sure that he spoke the truth. Above all, he often came into her presence drunk, which was obnoxious to her, and when he was in a state of intoxication he had behaved indecorously and disrespectfully. She could no longer tolerate such conduct from a minister in his position.
Oxford was dismissed. This was triumph for Bolingbroke … and Abigail.
In the Council chamber Oxford faced his enemy—Bolingbroke.
Bolingbroke was a traitor, declared Oxford. He had lied and cheated his way into the Queen’s graces. He was ready to bring the Popish Pretender into the country; he had abused and misrepresented the man who had befriended him and who had made his way easy along the path of politics. Bolingbroke was a liar, a cheat and a traitor.
Anne sat in her chair trembling; her head ached; her limbs throbbed; and she longed for nothing so much as escape.
Bolingbroke, went on Oxford, the worse for drink, had been aided in all these wicked practices by a certain woman.…
Anne’s swollen fingers twitched; she felt as though she would swoon. She looked appealingly at her ministers. They must not wrangle about Abigail; they must not attempt to probe the intimate secrets of her bedchamber.
She threw a look of dislike at the ranting Oxford. Was it meet and fitting that drunken men should give vent to their feelings so in her presence?
Bolingbroke had risen and drawn his sword. This silenced Oxford.
“You forget the presence of the Queen,” said Bolingbroke.
“I forget nothing,” retorted Oxford. “Nor shall I. I will be revenged and leave some as low as I found them.”
Anne sat back in her chair, her eyes closed; she could hear their angry voices going on and on. How ill she felt! How she longed for the quiet of her bedchamber with Abigail’s tender hands to massage poor swollen limbs, to provide hot poultices.
But she must do her duty. She must sit here while they wrangled.
It was late when she was taken to her room and they were saying that there must be another meeting the next day.
Abigail and the Duchess of Somerset put her to bed where she lay exhausted until Dr. Arbuthnot came to her.
“These conflicts are killing me,” she said to him. “Oh, how I long to be at peace!”
At last she did sleep and Dr. Arbuthnot turning to Abigail shook his head gravely.
“You should get some rest yourself,” he said. “Her Majesty will have need of your nursing in the next few days.”
Anne awoke from her uneasy sleep.
The voices of her ministers still jangled in her head. Lord Oxford, his eyes bloodshot, his voice slurred … she could not forget him; nor the venom she had seen in Bolingbroke’s face. “How tired I am …” she murmured. Then she remembered that she must attend yet another meeting today.
She rose from her bed and stood unsteadily. Where were her women? What time was it?
Time? she thought. It is time for the meeting … and I must go. I must do my duty. I am the Queen.
She moved unsteadily towards the mantelpiece and peered at the clock. Time! she thought. What time was it? She felt herself slipping back in time … living in The Cockpit … listening to Sarah Churchill’s vituperations against the Dutch Monster … working so hard to drive her father from the throne. The warming-pan baby … that brother who was now waiting to take his