As Sarah said to Marlborough: “The death of Gloucester changes the position of Anne. That poor lump of woman … how long will she last? And without an heir she is scarcely of any importance. You see how wise I was to link us with Godolphin, and it will be Sunderland before long.”
Anne had not thought of her changed status. There was only her loss.
George came to her; they held hands and tried to speak of their lost child and then could not bear to.
They sat in silence crying quietly.
Anne said at length: “I keep seeing him, George, reviewing his soldiers, regarding us in his grave way. Do you remember his greeting to us? He wished us peace, unity, and concord. Peace … how shall we ever know that again without him? I cannot believe it, George. Our little one. Never to see him again.”
“Est-il possible?” murmured George brokenheartedly.
Anne wrote to her father. She wanted him to forgive her. She had been a wicked daughter to him and now she suffered a bitter penitence. Her great sorrow, she believed, was a punishment from heaven. Her heart was broken, but if he would forgive her she believed she could go on living.
When she had sent off that letter she felt a little happier; and when James replied forgiving her, asking her to use her utmost power to restore her brother to the throne if ever she came to it, and to accept it only in trust for him; she wept and said that her father’s letter had comforted her as nothing else would.
William was growing weaker and Anne was the heir to the throne who could not shut herself away forever.
Sarah had become a little more insolent than before. She was determined to stress Anne’s less powerful position even if Anne was unaware of it. She had succeeded in marrying her daughter Anne to Charles, Lord Spencer, and that little project had been carried through victoriously.
Sunderland, Godolphin, Marlborough. What a combination! In certain circumstances unbeatable. All that would be necessary for them to rule would be for Sarah to keep the flaccid Queen in leading strings; and that she could adequately do.
The death of one small boy had turned thousands of eyes toward the throne. The Whigs and the Tories were drawn closer together. The Tories wanted the old regime—a King such as they had been accustomed to; the Whigs preferred the Sovereigns they had made of William and Mary, whose power was governed by the Parliament. But they stood together on one point and passed the Act of Settlement which stipulated that the sovereign must be a member of the Anglican Church, must not leave the country without the consent of Parliament and must be advised by the entire Privy Council and not by counsellors who were secret.
This meant two things; there should be no return to that old Stuart love: The Divine Right of Kings; and James’s son by his Catholic wife should be kept from the throne as long as he adhered to the Catholic faith. A constitutional Monarchy and a Protestant King.
William could not live long; Anne was not a healthy woman; in view of the Act of Settlement eyes were turned to the House of Hanover in which James I’s granddaughter Sophia was Electress.
But William still lived and there was Anne, who was a young woman still. She was almost certain to become pregnant again soon and who knew what would happen? She had produced one child. Why should she not produce another?
It was hoped she would. What a lot of trouble that would save!
Death did not come singly to the royal family.
It had not been generally known that, early that year, James had had a stroke which left him partially paralysed. He lived on for a while but by September his condition had weakened and after a short illness he died at St. Germains.
In his last hours he reiterated that he forgave all his enemies and he mentioned specially his daughter Anne. He lovingly took farewell of Mary Beatrice, but he was not sorry to go; sickness and defeat had darkened his life, but what had hurt him most was the treachery of the daughters he had loved so dearly; that was something he would never forget. But the letter of Anne’s, who herself was suffering through a beloved child, had given him some comfort. He was glad that she had asked forgiveness and he had given it before leaving the world.
Louis came to his deathbed and James made a dying request of him.
“Here is my son,” he said. “In a few hours’ time he will be King of England. Will you, my good friend, promise me that you will recognize him as such.”
“I promise,” answered Louis.
William knew that war was inevitable. Louis of France had proclaimed the son of James II and Mary Beatrice, King James III of England.
There was a new King over the Water for the Catholics to drink to.
Only such an act could rouse William from the physical disabilities which were overwhelming him. His body might be failing him, but his mind was as alert as ever. The proclamation of James’ son as King of England was a minor issue. The question of the Spanish succession was involved; Charles II of Spain had named Louis’ grandson Philip of Anjou as his successor. This could only mean that Louis would have a big control over Spain and the balance of power in Europe would be upset. A European war was brewing fast and Holland and England would have to stand together against France and Spain if they were to survive.
Such a project was such to put new life into a great war leader.
William rarely spent an evening drinking Holland’s gin nowadays. He was in consultation with his most able ministers. Marlborough was a good soldier; William had seen enough of him in action to know that. There were Marlborough, Godolphin, and Sunderland … among others.
This was a time for unity. They would all see that.
And at such a time William ceased to be an irritable invalid.
The gateway of greatness was opening to Marlborough; Sarah knew it. And he would always remember whose had been the hand to unlock those gates. He would always remember what he owed to his wife.
She sat at her table in the anteroom to Anne’s bedchamber drawing on her gloves, but she did not see the room; she saw Marlborough crowned with the laurels of success; her lovely daughters queens of their world; and young John, best beloved of all her children, who should have the grandest future of them all.
The door opened so silently that she was not aware that anyone had entered until a soft voice said: “Excuse me, my lady.”
She looked up into the meek plain face of Abigail Hill.
“Good gracious, you startled me. I didn’t hear you come.”
“I am sorry, my lady. But you are wearing the Princess’s gloves.”
Sarah looked down at her hands. She thought they had seemed tight. Anne’s hands were small, her fingers tapering; the only beauty she possessed.
Abigail was regarding her with such awe that she was first amused and then delighted. She supposed these women about Anne realized that she, Sarah Churchill, was of far more importance than their mistress.
She could not resist confirming this opinion or making sure that it existed in case it did not already.
She peeled them off turning up her nose as she did so. “Take them away at once. I do not care to wear something that has touched the odious hands of that disagreeable woman.”