Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II

“You must save all your energies for facing that monster!” said Sarah.

Anne was lifted into her chair and carried from Berkeley House first to Campden House and from there to Kensington Palace, where William was waiting to receive her.

Anne was suffering so much from gout and obesity that her chair had to be carried right to the door of the King’s presence chamber, where William, making an unusually gracious concession, came out to receive her and himself opened the door of her chair.

Taking his hand, Anne hobbled out.

Anne said tremulously: “I am sorry for Your Majesty’s loss.”

William answered: “I am sorry for yours.”

For the first time in her life Anne saw that he was moved by his emotions and this let loose her own; she began to weep silently.

William said gently: “Pray come in and be seated.”

He closed the door and they were alone. He brought forward a chair that Anne might sit and then he brought another for himself and placed it close to hers. For a few seconds they remained silent as though to control their grief.

Anne said simply: “If we could have been friends before she died …”

William nodded. At one time he might have given her a sardonic look, but he too had his remorse to disturb him.

“It is too late,” he said. “We must forget the past for the future could be troublesome. I want to make that safe for our heir.” Anne was alert at once. William’s voice was dry as he went on: “In this we must stand together. Do not forget that your father calls himself the King of England, Scotland, and Ireland; and that his son in France is known as the Prince of Wales. We must not deceive ourselves. There are some here who drink secretly to the King over the Water and who insist that that young boy is the Prince of Wales.”

Anne nodded slowly. They disliked each other intensely, but they must be allies.

“We have to make sure that you are accepted as heir to the throne to be followed by your son. I think this is a matter in which we are in complete agreement. Therefore we must forget all other differences. Are you of my opinion?”

“Your Majesty is most kind and gracious.”

“Then … we must show the people that we have settled our differences and are … friends.”

“Your Majesty will remember that the cause of my quarrel with my sister was that she wished me to dismiss my best friends.”

William was alert. “The Marlboroughs?” he muttered.

“Marlborough has been long in exile. He desires above all things to serve Your Majesty.”

“You mean to serve himself?”

“He is an ambitious man, but then so are most men. He would serve himself through serving his King.”

“Which King?” asked William drily.

“For me and for my Lord Marlborough, there is only one King of England.”

“It did not always seem so.”

“I can assure Your Majesty that if you would allow him to return he would serve you faithfully. He is too brilliant a man to be left in banishment.”

Too brilliant a man, thought William. There was something in that. Too dangerous a man. What was Marlborough plotting in his retirement? There was no doubt of his great ability.

Moreover Anne was making a condition. Peace between us providing you bring Marlborough back into favor.

He must have peace with Anne. Without that his crown was unsafe.

It might well be that Marlborough at Court was safer than Marlborough in banishment.

William knew that in this he must grant the Princess’s request.

Marlborough should come back to Court.

Through England the bells were tolling for the state funeral of the Queen. Although she had died at the end of December, this ceremony did not take place until the following 5th of March.

A wax effigy of the Queen was placed over her coffin, and in the royal robes of state it looked lifelike. Following as mourners were all the members of the House of Commons; but Anne was not present and the Duchess of Somerset took her place as chief mourner.

Anne in her apartments was too dropsical to be able to leave her bed; in addition she was pregnant once more.

Sarah sat beside her, bubbling with vitality, her head full of plans that she would not disclose to the Princess.

Anne was melancholy listening to the tolling of bells, overcome by memories of the past. Not so Sarah. This was the great opportunity. The Dutch monster spitting blood, growing more sick every day. How long could he last? Six months? Surely not more. And then … then … it would be Anne’s turn and that meant the turn of the Marlboroughs.

Elizabeth Villiers listening to the tolling bells was as apprehensive of the future as Sarah was hopeful.

So long and he had not sought her out! What did it mean? Surely he needed her now, as always?

He would come to her. Perhaps he was waiting until after the funeral. They would have to be more careful even than before, but he would come.

THE TWICKENHAM INTERLUDE

nne was completely absorbed in her son. She was looking forward to having a child and as usual she was praying this one would survive; the little Duke of Gloucester was the living proof that she could bear a child that could live and although his health gave cause for great alarm no one could deny that he was not extremely intelligent. Dr. Radcliffe, that blunt man who had little respect for rank yet was reckoned to be one of the best doctors at Court, had said the little Duke’s affliction—he had water on the brain—could mean that his brain was consequently more agile than was normal. In any case the young Duke was the delight and terror of Anne’s life. This was a cause of irritation to Sarah who again and again found herself and her affairs relegated to second place on account of the boy.

Mary’s death and her interview with William had made Anne feel the need to rouse herself from her customary lethargy. There was her boy’s future to protect and as a poor invalid unable to move she felt she could not do all that might be required of her.

Therefore she decided that she must recover the use of her limbs; one of the reasons why she found walking so exhausting was because of her size so she decided to take cold baths to help reduce her weight, to eat a little less—although this was torture to her—and to hunt more frequently. She had always hunted from childhood so this was no hardship.

In her condition she was, of course, unable to ride on horseback and she had had a chair made which was just big enough to hold herself and this was set on high wheels and drawn by one horse. In this she followed the chase indefatigably.

These efforts combined with her determination to improve her health for the sake of her son, had their effects. She was able to walk when her gout and dropsy were not too painful.

She and George would sit together for hours discussing their boy. The child was often with them and was fond of them. They watched him anxiously and were very concerned because of his difficulty in walking straight; it was a perpetual topic between them.

One day Anne said to George: “Something must be done. He is still walking as though he were first learning. He is like a child of two in this respect.”

“I know, I know,” murmured George.

“It grieves me. Do you think there is anything we can do about it.”

“That we can do?” repeated George.

“Do you think that he is not making enough effort to walk?” George was thoughtful, his head on one side. “It might be possible.”

“Then, George, we must make him walk straight. We must make him walk without the aid of his attendants.”