“I hope so, Hill. I hope and pray so.”
“But Your Majesty has the utmost confidence in the Duke?”
“Oh yes, Hill. But the Government seems quite angry with him. They are talking of impeachment.”
“It would never come to that, Madam, surely.”
“No, because the Duke will succeed. Of course he will succeed. But the French seem very confident. I have a despatch here, Hill.”
Abigail was trembling slightly. A despatch. So it had come to this. The Queen was going to show her a despatch!
“The King of France gave a great fête and banquet, Hill, at Marly on the Seine, and the banquet was for my stepbrother and his mother. He is calling them the King and Queen of England.”
“It cannot be so, Madam.”
“Yes, I fear so. Read this. Read it aloud to me.”
“It was a sumptuous repast,” read Abigail, “with new services of porcelain and glass on tables of white marble. At nightfall, drums, trumpets, cymbals and hautbois announced that the fireworks were about to begin and after supper the King and Queen of England returned to St. Germains.”
“The King and Queen of England!” repeated the Queen. “You see that is an insult, Hill … to me.”
“But it is only the King of France, Madam.”
“And Marlborough has the Army in Germany. Oh dear, I do hope he succeeds in what he is trying to do, for the Government is very angry with him. Really, Hill, I don’t know what should be done.”
“We can pray, Madam.”
Pray! Dear, good, pious creature. It was comforting to be with her.
Anne was at Windsor and Sarah in London during that hot August. The tension was too great, Sarah told herself, for her to be able to endure Anne’s inanities at this time. It was better therefore that they should be apart and she could trust Abigail Hill to do what was necessary.
She longed for news of John. She was even a little remorseful that, the last time they had been together, she had been so cruel to him. Now that his enemies were preparing to tear him apart she wanted the whole world to know—but most of all John—that she was beside him and would defend him with her life.
What was happening on the Continent? The rumours grew daily. Godolphin was no comfort. Spineless fool! thought Sarah. It was being said that John had disobeyed instructions. Whose? Those who did not know what warfare meant? Those who stayed behind in London and told the greatest general in the world how the war should be run? And they were waiting for disaster. Almost hoping for disaster, not caring if they saw the downfall of England as long as it brought with it the downfall of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough.
Occasionally letters reached her, but she knew that for every one she received there were two or perhaps more that went astray. John was marching through Germany; he had told her that the weather was alternately uncomfortably hot or, almost worse still, very wet. She knew from the scrappiness of his letters that he was often apprehensive and she wished that she could be with him to encourage him.
It was the twenty-first of August and there had been no news for some time; tension was growing; she was afraid every time a servant knocked at her door that ill news was being brought to her. She, who never found it easy to remain calm, was now overwrought. She bullied her servants and any members of her family who came near her; it was her only way of releasing her feelings.
And on that day the news came. It began with a scratching on her door.
“Yes, what is it?” cried Sarah, her voice almost shrill.
“A gentleman to see Your Grace. He says he is Colonel Parke.”
Colonel Parke! John’s aide-de-camp. Sarah cried: “Bring him to me. No … I’ll go to him.”
She was running down the stairs and there he was—travel-stained and weary, holding out a letter to her.
“From the Duke,” she cried and snatched it.
August 13th, 1704.
“I have not time to say more, but to beg you will give my duty to the Queen and let her know her Army has had a glorious victory. Monsieur Talland and two other Generals are in my coach and I am following the rest: the bearer, my aide-de-camp Colonel Parke, will give her an account of what has passed. I shall do it in a day or two by another more at large.
Marlborough.”
Sarah read the note through and read it through again. No loving message. No word of tenderness. Then she realized that the battle had just been over when he had written that note—it was scrawled on a bill of tavern expenses—and that he had bidden Colonel Parke ride with all speed to her. It had taken a week for the Colonel to reach her.
“The Duke has been victorious,” she cried.
“Yes, Madam, and he wrote first to you. He spread the only paper he could lay hands on on his saddle and wrote. Then he said: ‘Carry that to the Duchess with all speed.’ ”
“To me first …” she said. “Tell me the name of this battle.”
“It was the battle of Blenheim, Your Grace, and it is one of the greatest victories of all time.”
“Blenheim,” she repeated. “Now,” she went on briskly. “This note must be carried to the Queen with all speed. You must take it, Colonel Parke. But stay a short while for refreshment. You need it. Then be off.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Sarah herself ordered the refreshment and was with the Colonel while he ate and drank, plying him with questions.
And all the time she was thinking, “A great victory. And I am the first to receive the news. This will be a slap in the face for all our enemies. This will show Mrs. Morley and the rest that they had better take care next time before they revile the Duke of Marlborough and his Duchess.”
The Queen was in her boudoir at Windsor—the polygonal room in the turret over the Norman gateway—with Abigail in attendance.
Anne was in a silent mood, thinking of the disagreement of her ministers and Marlborough. It was most disturbing. Abigail had brought her her favourite bohea tea and ratifia biscuits, but she could not drive from her mind the memory of discord. Mr. Freeman was determined to have his way and the ministers were determined to have theirs … and that meant strife and great trouble on the Continent.
A scratching at the door. Silent-footed Hill was there.
“Her Majesty is resting.…”
“This is a messenger from the Duchess of Marlborough. She says he is to be taken to Her Majesty without delay.”
“Who is it, Hill?”
“A messenger from the Duchess.”
“Bring him in then.”
So he came and bowed to her and put into her hands the tavern bill on which was the first news of the victory at Blenheim.
“A great victory, Madam. The Duke himself says that it is a decisive battle and that it is the greatest victory of his career.”
“My dear Colonel, you have ridden far. Hill, bring some bohea for the Colonel. But perhaps you would prefer something a little stronger. Now tell me everything.”
The Colonel told, and as he did so Anne glowed with pride and pleasure.
“He was justified in his action,” she murmured. “I am so pleased. He is the greatest general in the whole world and he works for me. My dear Colonel, how can I tell you how happy this has made us?”
“This will make all England happy, Your Majesty.”
“And rightly so. We will have the Duke’s note copied and circulated in thousands throughout the City. I do not want this wonderful news withheld a moment longer than it need be. And you, my dear Colonel, shall have your reward of five hundred pounds for being the bearer of such news. I shall never be more glad to see a messenger so rewarded.”
“If you please, Your Majesty, I should prefer a portrait of yourself.”