Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [87]
The Queen was in her boudoir at Windsor—the polygonal room in the turret over the Norman gateway—with Abigail in attendance.
Anne was in a silent mood, thinking of the disagreement of her ministers and Marlborough. It was most disturbing. Abigail had brought her her favourite bohea tea and ratifia biscuits, but she could not drive from her mind the memory of discord. Mr. Freeman was determined to have his way and the ministers were determined to have theirs … and that meant strife and great trouble on the Continent.
A scratching at the door. Silent-footed Hill was there.
“Her Majesty is resting.…”
“This is a messenger from the Duchess of Marlborough. She says he is to be taken to Her Majesty without delay.”
“Who is it, Hill?”
“A messenger from the Duchess.”
“Bring him in then.”
So he came and bowed to her and put into her hands the tavern bill on which was the first news of the victory at Blenheim.
“A great victory, Madam. The Duke himself says that it is a decisive battle and that it is the greatest victory of his career.”
“My dear Colonel, you have ridden far. Hill, bring some bohea for the Colonel. But perhaps you would prefer something a little stronger. Now tell me everything.”
The Colonel told, and as he did so Anne glowed with pride and pleasure.
“He was justified in his action,” she murmured. “I am so pleased. He is the greatest general in the whole world and he works for me. My dear Colonel, how can I tell you how happy this has made us?”
“This will make all England happy, Your Majesty.”
“And rightly so. We will have the Duke’s note copied and circulated in thousands throughout the City. I do not want this wonderful news withheld a moment longer than it need be. And you, my dear Colonel, shall have your reward of five hundred pounds for being the bearer of such news. I shall never be more glad to see a messenger so rewarded.”
“If you please, Your Majesty, I should prefer a portrait of yourself.”
“My dear Colonel,” laughed Anne, “your request shall be granted.”
The next day Colonel Parke received a miniature of the Queen set with diamonds; and as Anne realized that this victory was indeed the greatest of her reign she added a thousand pounds to the miniature, that the bearer of such news might be doubly rewarded.
Sarah, flushed with triumph, treasuring the fact that she had been the first person in the country to hear of the victory at Blenheim—even before the Queen—came hurrying down to Windsor. There she took triumphant charge of affairs; truculent, laughing in the faces of those who had dared criticize the Duke, she was ready to show them who was mistress of them all—the Queen included.
“We must,” announced Sarah, “return at once to London. The people must be made to realize that this is indeed a great victory. There must be celebrations.…”
“And thanksgiving,” put in Anne. “We must give thanks to God to whom we owe this victory.”
“Well, Mrs. Morley,” cried Sarah with a loud laugh, “I think we owe this victory to Mr. Freeman.”
Anne was shocked by such irreverence, but she had always known that dear Mrs. Freeman had never been really devout.
“We shall be eternally grateful to Mr. Freeman,” said Anne with dignity, “but we must not forget that victory or defeat—both are in the hands of Almighty God.”
“There should, of course, be a thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s,” cut in Sarah, her mind forging ahead, making plans. A carriage with herself and the Queen. It was fitting that she should share the Queen’s carriage. This was the Duke of Marlborough’s victory and no one was going to forget it.
The Queen was delighted at the prospect of a thanksgiving service and willing enough to discuss it.
“You should be most splendidly attired,” said Sarah, “and wear your most dazzling jewels. I will choose them. Both should be quite splendid.”
“Oh dear, I am a little worried about Mr. Morley. I do hope his asthma will not