William was more at home with his armies than in the council chambers; and so was Marlborough. This war should prove a source of inspiration and profit to John Churchill; and Sarah wanted to see him exploit his talents.
If William were to die—and any normal man in his physical condition would have been dead years before—then Anne would be ruled by the Marlboroughs, for Sarah would see to that; and with his two influential sons-in-law they would be able to stand firm against any of their political enemies.
With such a dazzling prospect before her it was difficult for Sarah to listen with patience to the tittle-tattle of Anne’s conversation.
“I do declare,” she told her husband, “that I am beginning to loathe that woman.”
“For God’s sake, Sarah, have a care of what you say.”
“My dear Marl, there is no need for you to tell me how to behave. Is it not largely my doing that we are where we are today?”
Marlborough had to admit the truth of this. “But, Sarah,” he added, “when I think of your frankness I do not know why our enemies have not overthrown us long ago.”
“Old Morley knows me as I am and accepts me as such. I have always been free with her and she has raised no objection. I am not going to change now. But as I was saying she sometimes sickens me so that I feel I shall scream if she touches me. It was clever of me to give her Abigail Hill. That creature now has to do all the loathsome tasks. I hear she does them well too and Anne has no complaints. She says she is a good creature. ‘Good but dull,’ I said; and she replied ‘Dullness is sometimes a comfort.’ But I do declare that she is a trial, particularly since Gloucester’s death.”
“Well, I suppose I need not tell you to be careful. You know what you are doing.”
“And when have I ever failed you?”
“Never!” Marlborough assured her.
Sarah not only showed her growing impatience with Anne to her husband, but also to Abigail. The girl was so much her creature, Sarah believed, that she had no need to speak anything but freely in her presence.
On several occasions she spoke slightingly of the Princess and Abigail made no comment. She merely listened in that quiet way of hers as though she were not in the least surprised.
Sarah was behaving as though she were already the Sovereign.
Abigail continued surprised and startled at the effrontery of her relation; and she often wondered how Anne would feel if she knew how far Sarah went in her condemnation of her. Sarah was inclined to be what she would call frank, to Anne’s face, but of course she reserved the real abuse to be uttered behind her back.
Abigail did not speak of Sarah’s abuse of the Princess, even to Samuel Masham. She was by nature discreet and she was not sure what her position would be if Sarah fell out of favour. And she could not believe that Sarah would not fall out of favour if Anne heard some of the really wounding things which were said of her.
At the same time she dearly wanted to know what Anne would do if she knew how very disloyal Sarah could be.
One day she was helping the Princess to dress and Anne and she were alone together. Since her quarrel with her sister who had now been dead more than six years Anne had not stood on any great ceremony. For a time she had lived very humbly indeed at The Cockpit and Berkeley House and had even spent a month or so in the country at Twickenham, living the simple life of a noble lady. Now William realized that if he were to keep his throne he must treat Anne as the heiress and she had moved to St. James’s Palace and spent her summers at Windsor Castle, but she had not gone back to living in the state which would have been natural to her rank. Therefore there were many occasions when she allowed only one of her maids to assist at her toilet.
Abigail was looking for the Princess’s gloves when Anne said: “I remember, Hill, I left them in the adjoining room. Pray go and get them for me.”
Abigail at once obeyed, and as she opened the connecting door between the two rooms saw Lady Marlborough sitting at a table reading a letter while she absentmindedly drew on a pair of gloves which Abigail recognized as those of the Princess Anne.
For a second Abigail hesitated. She could shut the door so that whatever Sarah said would be unheard by the Princess; or she could leave it open and the words would be heard.
A fleeting temptation. Sarah would not know that Anne was within earshot, and Anne did not know that Sarah was in the next room.
Abigail held the door open for a second; then she made up her mind. Without shutting it she went to the table at which Lady Marlborough sat.
She did not speak for a second or two; then gave a discreet cough.
Sarah looked up. “Oh, it’s you, Abigail. How you creep about. You startled me.”
“I am sorry, Lady Marlborough.”
“What is it you want?”
“The Princess’s gloves. I believe you have mistaken them for your own.”
“What!” shrieked Sarah, staring down at the gloves on her hands.
“Those are the Princess’s, I believe.”
Sarah wrinkled her nose; she was aware of Abigail looking at her with astonishment, and could not resist the temptation to show this meek creature that she cared nothing for royalty, considering herself at least equal, if not above it. Certainly she felt above the foolish Princess Anne.
“That woman’s gloves!” she cried.
Abigail stepped back; and had Sarah been more observant she would have noticed that Abigail was betraying an emotion which was unusual with her, but Sarah believed the girl was admiring one who could speak so of a Princess. Well, Sarah would show her.
“You have put them on by mistake, Lady Marlborough,” said Abigail timidly.
“So I am wearing gloves which have touched the odious hands of that disagreeable woman!” shrieked Sarah.
Abigail stood still, trying to stop herself from looking over her shoulder at that open door. Anyone in the next room could not fail to hear that shrill, strident voice.
“Take them away. Take them quickly. Ugh! How unpleasant.”
Abigail picked up the gloves which Sarah had thrown on to the floor and hastily left the room closing the door quietly behind her.
Anne was seated where Abigail had left her, and one look at her face was enough to show that she had overheard every word Sarah had said.
As Abigail laid the gloves on the table beside her, Anne said nothing, but her eyes met those of Abigail and in that moment there was a flash of understanding between them. Sarah Churchill was a disloyal friend to the Princess and they both knew it; the subject was too painful to be mentioned, but neither of them would forget what had happened; and because of it their own relationship had advanced a step further.
The King was a very sick man. He was beset by anxieties which were aggravated by his weak physical condition and his conscience. He would never forget the letter his wife had received on the morning of their coronation which her father James, from his exile in St. Germains under the protection of Louis XIV, had sent to her. James had said that Mary could not expect anything but the curses of a father whose crown she had allowed to be snatched from him.
Now he was getting near to death and he was constantly concerned with the problem of who should succeed him.
There was one person to whom he could talk with absolute ease. This was Elizabeth Villiers, whom he had made the Countess of Orkney. Elizabeth was the cleverest woman he had ever known; although she was not a beauty, she was to him the most fascinating woman in the world. It had always been so, from the moment he had first seen her. Her quick clever brain and her extraordinary eyes with the slight cast in them which had earned her the name of Squint-eyed Betty, attracted him now as they ever had. She had shown him, in the early days of his marriage, that he was human, after all, when he had overcome his Calvinistic principles and made her his mistress. He had never had another. Mary his wife had seemed a foolish child in comparison; and often he had wished that Elizabeth had been the eligible Princess, Mary her maid of honour.