“He was a fool,” said St. John.
“He wrote nothing that was not true.”
“But this pamphlet of his The Shortest way with the Dissenters—why it gave pleasure to no one.”
“It gave pleasure to me, St. John, as all good writing must.”
“But the sentiments, Master, the sentiments.”
“All this conformity controversy in Parliament nowadays needs to be ridiculed, and that is precisely what Defoe did.”
“Yes, but in such a way that the High-Flyers took him seriously.”
“These High Churchmen take themselves so seriously that they think everyone else does the same. They have no humour—and that’s what Defoe has. If they hadn’t at first supported the Pamphlet before they realized Defoe was writing with his tongue in his cheek, they would not have made this trouble for him. So he is prosecuted for libelling the Church.”
“And what now?”
“God knows if he’ll withstand the pillory. If he survives Cornhill, it’ll be Cheapside tomorrow and the day after that Temple Bar. Come away, St. John. I don’t care to see the man subjected to insults.”
“Is there nothing we can do?”
Harley shook his head. “I shall do my best to have him released, but that would take time. If only I could talk to the Queen.”
“Well, why not?”
“I need to bring her to my way of thinking and I could not do that by a formal visit. I need to be on terms with her … as Marlborough is.”
“Ah, he has the Duchess to help him.”
“Yes and Anne dotes on the woman. Would that I could find someone to plead for me as Marlborough’s wife does for him.”
“There’s only one Viceroy Sarah.”
“God be praised for that. It is a marvel to me that she keeps her place in the Queen’s favour. Look. The crowd has divided. How silent they are! Usually the mob shouts so that you cannot hear yourself speak. How strange! What’s happening?”
The two men were silent while Daniel Defoe was set in the pillory. His expression was serene and untroubled; he looked as though he had no fear of the crowd and was completely unrepentant.
This was most unusual. A band of men with cudgels had placed themselves about the pillory.
“Listen now,” said one. “This is our Daniel. Anyone who tries to harm Daniel will get a crack on the head. Is it understood?”
“Aye,” roared the crowd. “ ’Tis understood.”
Someone in the crowd lifted a pot of beer and cried: “Good health and long life to you, Daniel.”
The crowd took up the cry.
Harley and St. John exchanged looks and Harley began to laugh.
“By God,” he cried. “He’s got the crowd with him. He’s got them, St. John.”
The hot July sun poured down on the prisoner’s head; he was clearly in great discomfort; yet his eyes lit up with appreciation for he had realized that the crowd was friendly.
A handful of roses was tossed at the pillory. Two girls ran forward and twined their ready-made garlands about it. Someone brought up a pot of beer and held it up to Daniel to drink.
“God bless you, Daniel,” cried someone in the crowd.
“Aye,” went up the shout. “We’re with you, Daniel.”
A ballad seller accosted the two men.
“Buy a ballad, sir. Daniel’s own. Buy a ballad. He’s a good man with seven children to support.”
Harley bought the verses and signed to St. John to do the same.
When the man had moved off, Harley said: “This is a sight such as I have never seen before. They’ll take him to Newgate after this. But I’ll have him out, I tell you.”
The crowd was becoming more noisy as Daniel’s supporters were growing. The guard about the pillory had doubled and if any man had dared throw anything but flowers at Daniel Defoe he would probably have paid for it with his life.
Harley said: “There’s no need to see more. Daniel will be well cared for.”
As they moved away he glanced at the verses and read aloud:
“Tell them the men that placed him here
Are scandals of the times,
Are at a loss to find his guilt
And can’t commit his crimes …”
“You see what I mean, St. John. Words like that can’t be ignored. Why do you think the crowd is pelting Defoe with roses? Why are they drinking his health? Because of words, St. John. Words … words … words! We are going to do battle and our first weapon will be words.”
Sarah had made her grief an excuse for staying away from Court, but when news reached her in St. Albans that the Lords had thrown out the Occasional Conformity Bill, and that the Tories finding themselves beaten had created four new Tory peers, she was incensed.
Marl was a Tory by instinct, but much as she loved and admired him she had a greater respect for her own views and these were growing more and more Whig. Marl ought to see that the Tories were against the prosecution of the war which he himself so firmly supported. The fact was that he was so occupied in Flanders that he could not see clearly what was happening at home and it was her duty to take command on the home front.
Four new Tory peers in order to get a Bill passed through the Lords! Sarah was not going to stand aside and see that happen. She was going to demand that there be at least one new Whig peer.
This was the best tonic to grief. Sarah left St. Albans at once for St. James’s.
Storming into the Queen’s apartments she found Abigail Hill seated at the harpsichord, and Anne dozing pleasantly in her chair.
Abigail stopped playing as she entered and turning saw the look of delight on the Queen’s face.
“My dearest, dearest Mrs. Freeman!”
“Yes, Mrs. Morley I am here!”
“So welcome! So welcome!”
Abigail watched the fond embrace. Anne was almost in tears.
“Do not think that my thoughts have not been with you all through this long and trying time. Do not think that I would not have been at St. Albans had you allowed me to come.”
“I was so filled with grief that I thought I should lose my reason—and so did those about me. Mr. Freeman even thought of giving up everything … everything to be with me.”
“Dear, dear Mr. Freeman! What a comfort. I understand your loss and your great solace. How alike our lives are, dear Mrs. Freeman.”
Sarah grunted with something of the old freedom of expression. If there was one thing she found hard to tolerate it was comparing her handsome brilliant genius of a Marl with that lazy witless Danish Prince.
“Well, now I am here,” she said, “and I wonder how Mrs. Morley has been faring in my absence.”
“Each day longing for our reunion.”
“When I heard the disturbing news I thought I could no longer stay away.”
“The disturbing news, my dear Mrs. Freeman?”
“This matter of new Tory peers being created to get the Conformity Bill through.”
“Oh, I am sure my ministers know what is right, Mrs. Freeman.”
“But I, Mrs. Morley, am far from sure.”
Anne gave a little gasp. Being absent from Sarah for so long she had not heard anyone contradict her so forcibly during that time, and when it happened it was a shock.
Sarah was aware of Abigail Hill still seated at the harpsichord.
“You may go,” she said.
Abigail’s eyes were on the Queen and Anne knew that she was thinking: Is it your wish that I should obey the Duchess?
Anne nodded dismissal and Abigail went away. What was the use of thinking she had a firm place in the Queen’s affections when Sarah only had to appear to make her understand how insecure that place was. Sarah could say this very day: Dismiss Hill. And Anne would meekly obey. Would she? She might put up a small resistance but it would soon be overridden.