“Poor man! It is so terrible and unexpected. The smallpox is a scourge, my dear Lord Oxford. A positive scourge. I remember how it struck my poor sister.”
“Your Majesty is right; and now that Charles of Austria has become the new Emperor we have lost our candidate for the Spanish throne, for the union of the Empire and Spain is impossible. Your Majesty will realize the trouble such a state of affairs would create, for it would completely upset the balance of power.”
“You are right, of course. And the main reason for continuing this dreadful war was to prevent Louis’ grandson from keeping the throne of Spain and to set our candidate upon it.”
“Exactly.”
“What a menace Emperor Charles would be,” sighed Anne, “if in addition to Austria, Italy and the Netherlands he ruled Spain as well.”
“Louis XIV himself would not be more formidable and it is impossible to remove his grandson from the throne. Louis is an old man now. He has offered to meet all our demands except that of fighting against his own grandson. I have to remind Your Majesty that he has not been unreasonable.”
“My dear Lord Oxford, you do not have to remind me. Nothing would please me more than to end this dreadful war. I have wept bitterly when I have seen the list of casualties. Too many of my subjects are losing their lives in this struggle.”
“How fortunate we are to have a sovereign so humane … so reasonable.”
“My dear Lord Oxford. I am the fortunate one, to have such ministers.”
Oxford kissed her hand. He could see that he was going to get his way with the utmost ease.
“I think we might sound the French as to peace terms, Your Majesty. But in the beginning we should not allow too many to share this secret. My Lord Marlborough for one.… His great desire is to continue the war and win more glory. He is a brilliant soldier, Your Majesty. But we cannot allow him to buy his glory at the cost of so much English blood.”
“How I agree with you, my dear Lord,” sighed Anne fervently.
“Then we will work in secret for a while; and I think I can promise Your Majesty peace in a very short time.”
“Nothing could give me greater happiness than to see an end to this spilling of blood.”
Oxford bowed his head in assent. An end to the spilling of blood, he thought; and an end to Marlborough.
Abigail was back at Court after her brief convalescence. And the Queen was delighted to have her.
“Dear Masham, so you have a boy and a girl now. How fortunate you are.”
Abigail sat at the Queen’s feet while they talked of children. Anne went sadly over the childhood of her boy, how precocious he had been, how precious. Abigail had heard all before and while she listened she was wondering when the Queen would reward her for her services and give her the title she needed that it might be passed on to her son.
If only Samuel were a little adventurous. He was a good soldier. Brigadier-General now, and Member for Ilchester. But he lacked all the qualities of a leader. As for my lord Oxford; he was growing farther and farther from her; but as he grew farther away, Henry St. John came nearer.
St. John was different from Oxford—less complicated. Something of a rake still, he had been notorious in his youth for his extravagance and dissipation. He had been a disciple of Oxford’s, but was he just a little piqued now by Oxford’s great and undeserved popularity over the Guiscard affair? Did he feel that Oxford was neglecting his old friends now he was secure in his position?
Abigail intended to discover—very discreetly. It might be that she and Henry St. John could work in unison as once she had worked with Robert Harley.
It was St. John who told her that Marlborough was sounding Hanover. The Queen was middle-aged; she was constantly ill. Each year she became slightly more incapacitated. If she were to die and there was a Hanoverian succession which the Marlboroughs had helped to bring about, it would go ill with the Marlboroughs’ enemies.
St. John smiled roguishly at Abigail. “And we all know whom the Marlboroughs consider their first enemy: You, my dear lady.”
Abigail was uneasy. To contemplate the death of the Queen was a nightmare. All blessings flowed from the royal invalid; and so far, she had nothing which she could pass on to her family.
“It is no use our looking to Hanover,” said St. John.
“In that case we must look in the opposite direction,” replied Abigail.
“St. Germains,” whispered St. John.
The Queen was in tears. News had been brought to her that her uncle Lord Rochester was dead. She sent for Masham to comfort her.
“We were not on good terms, Masham, and that makes it so much more tragic. How I regret the quarrels and discord in my family!”
“Your Majesty has always acted with the greatest goodness,” Abigail replied.
“Oh but the troubles, Masham … the troubles! When I think of my poor father and what we did to him sometimes I think I shall die of shame.”
“Your Majesty did what you believed to be right. He was a Catholic and the people of England would not tolerate a Catholic on the throne.”
“It haunts me, Masham. It still does, and I know that it haunted my poor sister Mary. Why when she died we were not on good terms.”
“I believe Lady Marlborough made great trouble between you.”
“She did. And my dear sister implored me to rid myself of her. If I had but listened! But I was blind then, Masham … quite blind.”
“Your Majesty is free of her now.”
“Yes, and I thank God. But I think of the past, Masham. Now that I am getting old and am so often ill and infirm I think the more.”
“I understand, Your Majesty. That young man at St. Germains is after all your half brother.”
“I often think of him, Masham, and wish that I could put everything in order.”
“Your Majesty means by fixing the succession on him?”
The Queen caught her breath. “I had not gone so far as that.”
“But it is on your mind and it would comfort Your Majesty if you considered this matter … explored this matter …”
“I should not wish him to be brought to England while I lived.”
“No, no, Your Majesty. I thought perhaps you meant you would prefer him to succeed you—which I pray and trust will not be for many years for I do not wish to be here to see it—rather than the Germans.”
“I have no great love of the Germans, Masham. And he is my brother.”
“Your Majesty should talk this over with ministers you trust.”
“Dear Lord Oxford! But the boy would have to change his religion. We cannot have papists in England, Masham. The people would not accept it … and I should not wish it. We should have to communicate with my brother. We should have to impress upon him the need to change his religion. My father would not change … although he saw disaster all about him. I wonder if his son is as obstinate.”
“It may be that Your Majesty may wish to find out.”
The Queen was thoughtful; so was Abigail. The Hanoverian succession must be prevented if she were to remain at Court after the Queen’s death for it seemed that the Marlboroughs were taking their stand with the Germans.
It was not possible to live perpetually in the glory of a penknife wound and Lord Oxford was facing difficulties in the party. Among the Tories were many Jacobites and since the Queen’s half brother had intimated that he preferred his religion to the throne of England the plot to place him next in succession had foundered. Marlborough was still powerful and firmly set against peace; he had his adherents.
The Tory party lacked a majority in the Lords and the only way this could be remedied was by creating new peers. Here was where Abigail could be useful in persuading the Queen. She would do it, Oxford knew, for an adequate reward. It was time she ceased to be plain Mrs.