“God save the Queen!” was the loyal answer.
The new reign had begun, but there were many who, watching the Queen and her courtiers, asked themselves: “Whose reign? That of Queen Anne or Queen Sarah?”
The day selected for Queen Anne’s coronation was April 23rd.
She confided to Abigaiclass="underline" “Hill, I dread the ceremony, for I do not see how I am going to walk to the Abbey.”
“Your Majesty will have to be carried.”
“A Queen carried to her coronation! Have you ever heard the like? Oh dear, I fear it is going to be a most tiring occasion. I wish that I could dispense with it.”
“Your Majesty will come through it, charming all who behold you.”
“But a Queen carried to her coronation, Hill!”
“The people will love you the more for your misfortune.”
“I believe you are a wise young woman. ’Tis true enough they love when they pity. And they will remember the loss of my boy.”
Anne had formed a habit of talking of her boy to Abigail; she would go over the anecdotes again and again, but Abigail always listened as though she was hearing them for the first time.
“You’re a comfort to me, Hill,” Anne said on more than one occasion, for another habit of hers was to make a phrase and repeat it again and again. This irritated Sarah, who would sometimes make an impatient gesture when these repetitious phrases were used; Abigail never gave a sign that she had heard them before. And there were occasions when Abigail suspected that Anne enjoyed those sessions with her more than she did the brisk encounters with Sarah.
So on the morning of the coronation Abigail listened once more to the stories of the dead Duke’s perfections until Sarah bustled in to stop the reminiscences.
“I was telling Hill how I wish my boy were here to see this day.”
“I doubt not it would have pleased him mightily,” said Sarah. “Now I have come to see that everything is in order. Nothing must go wrong today!”
“I am sure it could not with you, dear Mrs. Freeman, to attend to all that should be done.”
Abigail faded into the background, forgotten.
“Ah, yes,” mused Anne, “if only my boy were here.…”
“I can tell you, Mrs. Morley, I am not so pleased with my boy.”
“My dear Mrs. Freeman, what do you mean?”
“He has a desire, mark you, to join the Army, and serve under his father.”
“A very natural desire when you consider he is Mr. Freeman’s son. And my dear Mrs. Freeman is a fighter too. I am sure if she had been born a man she would have been commanding an army.”
“Lord Blandford is sixteen years old. That is no age to become a soldier. I said that he should go from Eton to Cambridge and that is where he has gone. But he is displeased with me because of it and I can tell you I am displeased with him.”
“It is a pity when families quarrel.”
“Quarrel, Mrs. Morley! Do you think that I shall allow my own son to go against my wishes?”
Anne sighed. “And what does Mr. Freeman think?”
“Oh, he thinks that there is only one worthwhile profession in the world and would willingly take young John with him into service. I can tell you I put a stop to that nonsense.”
“I believe even Mr. Freeman is afraid of you.”
“Then I am the only one in the world he is afraid of. Of course later on it may well be that young John will join his father, but not yet.”
“How fortunate you are, Mrs. Freeman, to have children. I often think that if my boy had lived and I had been able to give him brothers and sisters I should have been a very happy woman. I would willingly give my crown in exchange for a family of boys and girls. Sometimes when I see my poorest subjects …”
“Well, well, we have to accept our lot. And now, Madam, if you are to be in time for your coronation …”
Abigail listening, marvelled at the temerity of a woman who could cut short the Queen. Yet here was Sarah taking the important posts while she, Abigail, who let the Queen talk, who always agreed with her and soothed, had to dissolve into the background as soon as Sarah appeared, and emerge again only when she could make herself useful.
It was eleven o’clock when Anne was carried in her sedan chair from St. James’s Palace to Westminster Hall.
She was deeply conscious of her state, for since she had become Queen she had thought more and more seriously of her position. She wanted to be a good Queen; she wanted her people to love her; as she had told dear George: If she looked upon the people as her children she could find some compensation for the loss of her dear boy.
In the Hall she remained seated while the company was assembled for the procession to the Abbey. As her husband followed the Archbishop of Canterbury into the Hall he looked for her, and when he saw her his expression was one of such tenderness that she thanked God for giving her such a good man.
I am happily married, she thought, and the only sorrow in our union is the loss of all our babies and the greatest sorrow of all, that of our boy.
George was a dear man, although he was rather dull; he did eat too much and drink too much, but he was never bad-tempered. He became more and more affable as he grew more and more sleepy; and when he murmured “Est-il possible?” which was his favourite phrase he meant to encourage those who were talking to him. It was true that she found the company of Sarah more amusing and that of Abigail Hill more soothing—but George was a good man, and the best possible husband for her.
He was concerned now for her feet which were so tortured by gout and dropsy, but she flashed him a smile to assure him that she was managing well enough.
She was helped into the open chair in which she would be carried and the procession set out through New Palace Yard towards the west door of the Abbey. The sight of the Queen in her chair, the circle of gold set with diamonds on her abundant curled hair, the kindliest of smiles on her placid face, set the people cheering and shouting “God Save the Queen.” Tears were in her eyes; she wanted to tell them that she loved them all, that she regarded them as her children; that she wanted to care for them and bring good to them.
It was a moving ceremony. She thought of all those who had passed through it before her and naturally she must remember her father. She reminded herself that he had forgiven her before he died; and at least he was not alive now, so she was not taking the throne from him. How different it had been with poor Mary who had been crowned while he lived, and had received a letter from him on the very morning of the coronation in which he had cursed her.
It was a thrilling moment when the Archbishop presented her to the people.
“I here present unto you Queen Anne, undoubted Queen of this realm. Whereas all you that are come here this day to do your homages and service, are you willing to do the same?”
The cry echoed through the Abbey. “God save Queen Anne.”
The trumpets burst forth and the choir rose to sing: “The Queen shall rejoice in Thy strength, O Lord; exceeding glad shall she be of Thy salvation! Thou shalt present her with the blessings of goodness, and shall set a crown of pure gold on her head.”
Anne deeply moved vowed to herself: I will be all that they desire of me. Before my days are done they shall call me Good Queen Anne.
Her progress to the altar was painful, but she scarcely felt the ache in her feet; she believed that God gave her special strength on that day. When she heard the words “Thou shalt not appear before the Lord thy God empty!” she put the gold which she had brought with her into the proffered basin and thought once more of her sister and William who at this moment of their coronation—owing to the consternation they had felt earlier on receiving the letter from the deposed James—had forgotten to provide themselves with the necessary gold.