Anne and Sarah are sitting together in Anne’s chamber at Berkeley House, knotting fringes. They are both making far too many mistakes, Anne because she is tired, and Sarah because it is dull work, and she has had a surfeit of it.
‘I am sure I am mightily grateful to be receiving company again,’ says Anne, ‘but I am all the more glad when they have all gone, and it is just the two of us. Too much company tires me; it always did.’
‘It was a squeeze, wasn’t it?’
‘There were far too many people. Lord Carnarvon was quite put out – did you hear what he said when he’d pushed his way through?’ ‘No. What?’ ‘He said he hoped I would remember that he came to wait upon me, when none of that company did.’ ‘What, does he think you ought to pay him in gold for his visits?’ ‘Well, I could not even if I wished to: Sir Benjamin does nothing but tell me I have no funds.’ ‘My Lord Carnarvon must think you have the King’s ear – which you certainly should.’ ‘It should be obvious to him that I don’t. Nobody has it now but Shrewsbury and Keppel – even our Betty is put aside, which is a thing I never thought to see.’
She hopes by mentioning Betty’s name to divert Sarah, but Sarah’s blood is up. Again.
‘But you are his heir, Your Highness.’
‘He receives me cordially enough, he has given me the late Queen’s jewels, I have my guard back – and he has been most civil to you, and permitted your Lord to kiss his hand again – and that last to me is more—’
‘Oh never mind that! He receives you with no more ceremony than he does any other lady, and not nearly often enough! He ought to see to it that you are kept informed of business – indeed, it would be most improper if you were not Regent next time he goes abroad.’
‘It would be an ugly thing indeed if he did not offer it me, but I must confess I feel myself unfit . . . and my heath . . . my condition . . .’
‘He will not leave till May – you will have been delivered of the child by then.’
‘Yes, but I cannot do it – I have been ignorant my whole life of . . . I cannot.’
‘Ignorance can be remedied, Your Highness.’
‘You know I cannot read so well – with my eyes.’
‘Then I will read to you.’
Anne shakes her head.
‘The Prince – the Prince must be Regent – or on the Council, he may act on my behalf. I am unfit.’
‘But – forgive me – do you intend still to be “unfit” when you are Queen?’
Anne has begun to twist her fringe-work this way and that in her hands; she becomes aware that it has grown damp with sweat, and lets it drop into her lap.
‘Your Highness?’
‘I am put in mind of something my late sister once said to me – I had forgotten it till now – she said that anyone who envied her the Crown was a fool.’
‘Then I must beg pardon for asking what I know is an impertinent question, but did you envy it?’
‘Sometimes – but mostly, I did not envy it – truly I did not – and I do not envy the King’s position now, although it is true he is a foreigner and should not properly have it. I only ever desired what was due to me in mine.’
Ugly Things
Anne does not get what is due to her position. She is not invited to be Regent; George is not asked to serve as one of the Lords Justice during William’s absences. The Irish lands, that were her father’s, and that she should have had long since, are given to Betty Villiers, who has been married off and made Countess of Orkney. The King has announced that she should take over the Duke of Leeds’ lodgings in St James’s, but not in such a way as to cause the Duke to make haste over it.
Was there ever in all of history a princess so shabbily used, or so little respected? If it were not for the Marlboroughs, Lord Godolphin and – for she must own it – the Earl of Sunderland, then surely she would be as little regarded in this Kingdom as any country squire’s wife. Her own physician will not come away from a party to see her, and sends back word that her distemper is nothing but the vapours, that she would be as healthy as any other woman alive, if only she would believe it. If this were not humiliation enough, Dr Radcliffe must then spread this opinion about Court and town, along with another, shared by many, that Anne’s belly is but a false conception. Anne dismisses him. She does not reinstate him when he turns out to be correct. She takes her husband, her son and her stubborn bulk to Windsor for the summer, and wonders when God will be done with this chastisement.
God must think better of the King, for although he has but lately taken his wife, he has now granted him a great victory at Namur. Lady Marlborough does not think that he deserves Anne’s congratulations, but her Lord and friends overrule her. Anne duly sends a respectful note, to which the King does not reply. It is as Lady Marlborough says: she will never get her due from Caliban.