Part 50 (1/2)

Oxford must go. Those words were being whispered throughout the Court. Bolingbroke was ready to leap into his place. It was the chance he had been waiting for.

The Queen had been persuaded by Abigail that she could no longer tolerate her Lord Treasurer. There was no doubt that he had come into her presence completely intoxicated.

”Your Majesty is disturbed and distressed by this conduct,” said Abigail. ”I know how it affects you. Your health is not good enough to allow you to endure it.”

Masham was right. Anne was so weary. Sometimes she heard the arguments of her ministers going round and round in her head. There was one matter which worried her more than any other. If only her half brother would give up his religion; if only he would become a good member of the Church of England; then he would be accepted and she would be so happy. Then she could feel that she had righted a wrong; then she would be able to face her father if and when they came face to face in another life. She had tried so hard since she had become Queen to be a good and Christian woman; she had wanted above all things to right any wrong she had done. If her brother could come into his inheritance and be King of England and she could bring it about, she would have expiated that long-ago sin.

”Masham,” she said, ”I have written a letter which is to be opened after my death. I want to keep it under my pillow.”

”Yes, Your Majesty.”

The succession! thought Abigail. James Stuart will be King when she dies and he will remember that I have worked for him.

”You will not forget, Masham.”

”I will remember, Your Majesty.”

Anne held her swollen hands, swathed in bandages on her lap.

”Are they painful, Madam?”

”I think fresh poultices might comfort them.”

Abigail set about preparing them. The Queen's health was rapidly declining and that saddened her. She would never have another mistress like her; but when James Stuart was James III of England he would remember those who had worked for him; he would remember the one who had found the letter under the pillow.

She must not forget her enemies though-the chief of these was Oxford. He had at last realized that he could waver no longer on such an important point and had come down on the side of Hanover, and would do everything he could to bring the Germans over.

”Your Majesty is tired,” she said, ”and I know this is due to Lord Oxford's behaviour.”

The Queen sighed. ”Dear Masham, he was even more difficult than usual.”

”Your Majesty should put an end to the trouble he causes you, by dismissing him.”

”I really believe I should, Masham.”

”Bolingbroke will be so much easier to deal with. There, Madam. That is not too hot?”

”Just warm and soothing, Masham. You are always so good with the poultices. You soothe away the pain.”

”I wish I could soothe away Your Majesty's other afflictions as easily.”

Anne was thoughtful. The following day she told her Council that she would ask for Lord Oxford's resignation. Her reasons were that he neglected business and was seldom to be understood, and when he did explain himself she could not be sure that he spoke the truth. Above all, he often came into her presence drunk, which was obnoxious to her, and when he was in a state of intoxication he had behaved indecorously and disrespectfully. She could no longer tolerate such conduct from a minister in his position.

Oxford was dismissed. This was triumph for Bolingbroke ... and Abigail.

In the Council chamber Oxford faced his enemy-Bolingbroke.

Bolingbroke was a traitor, declared Oxford. He had lied and cheated his way into the Queen's graces. He was ready to bring the Popish Pretender into the country; he had abused and misrepresented the man who had befriended him and who had made his way easy along the path of politics. Bolingbroke was a liar, a cheat and a traitor.

Anne sat in her chair trembling; her head ached; her limbs throbbed; and she longed for nothing so much as escape.

Bolingbroke, went on Oxford, the worse for drink, had been aided in all these wicked practices by a certain woman....

Anne's swollen fingers twitched; she felt as though she would swoon. She looked appealingly at her ministers. They must not wrangle about Abigail; they must not attempt to probe the intimate secrets of her bedchamber.

She threw a look of dislike at the ranting Oxford. Was it meet and fitting that drunken men should give vent to their feelings so in her presence?

Bolingbroke had risen and drawn his sword. This silenced Oxford.

”You forget the presence of the Queen,” said Bolingbroke.

”I forget nothing,” retorted Oxford. ”Nor shall I. I will be revenged and leave some as low as I found them.”

Anne sat back in her chair, her eyes closed; she could hear their angry voices going on and on. How ill she felt! How she longed for the quiet of her bedchamber with Abigail's tender hands to ma.s.sage poor swollen limbs, to provide hot poultices.

But she must do her duty. She must sit here while they wrangled.

It was late when she was taken to her room and they were saying that there must be another meeting the next day.

Abigail and the d.u.c.h.ess of Somerset put her to bed where she lay exhausted until Dr. Arbuthnot came to her.

”These conflicts are killing me,” she said to him. ”Oh, how I long to be at peace!”

At last she did sleep and Dr. Arbuthnot turning to Abigail shook his head gravely.

”You should get some rest yourself,” he said. ”Her Majesty will have need of your nursing in the next few days.”

Anne awoke from her uneasy sleep.

The voices of her ministers still jangled in her head. Lord Oxford, his eyes bloodshot, his voice slurred ... she could not forget him; nor the venom she had seen in Bolingbroke's face. ”How tired I am ...” she murmured. Then she remembered that she must attend yet another meeting today.

She rose from her bed and stood unsteadily. Where were her women? What time was it?

Time? she thought. It is time for the meeting ... and I must go. I must do my duty. I am the Queen.

She moved unsteadily towards the mantelpiece and peered at the clock. Time! she thought. What time was it? She felt herself slipping back in time ... living in The c.o.c.kpit ... listening to Sarah Churchill's vituperations against the Dutch Monster ... working so hard to drive her father from the throne. The warming-pan baby ... that brother who was now waiting to take his inheritance....

If she could go back.... Would it be different? She was afraid of time. It would soon be time for the Council meeting.... Time ...

She looked into the clock's face and thought she saw another face looking at her, calling her, giving her a summons that she could not disobey because it was not in the power of any-Queen or commoner-to do so.

”Your Majesty.”

She turned. Mrs. Danvers was standing beside her, frightened.

”Danvers ...”

”I wondered why Your Majesty was staring at the clock.”

”I saw ...” she began; and Mrs. Danvers caught her as she would have fallen.