The first act of the new King is quite unexpected: he confirms all his household officers in their places, adding only a few trusted persons, such as Lord Churchill, to their number. Despite this, the Court is instantly and utterly changed. In the space of a very few days, it has sobered up, straightened its face, buttoned its breeches and pulled its purse strings as tight as they will go. This last, says the King when Anne visits him, is both necessary and urgent.
‘I would not for the world speak ill of the dead, Anne, but there was in the late King’s management of his affairs such a want of – never mind, it is not for your ears – but on this subject in general – I trust you are pleased with the allowance granted you?’
‘Oh yes, Sir, very pleased, and I thank you.’
‘Good. Then I desire you to be a good housewife, and not overspend.’
‘No, Sir.’
‘I do not wish to hear that you have lost it all at cards, or dice, or from going after some other foolishness.’
‘Of course not, Sir. I am very content with what I am given – and also that you have appointed the Prince to your Council. I should like to thank you for that.’
‘It was only proper that we should: he is our son. And you have both your uncles back in high office where they should be – you shall be well taken care of in all respects, my dear.’
‘I know that, Sir.’ ‘But I did not summon you to talk of your Hyde relations, Anne. As you well know, my religion—’ He stops, and looks at her. ‘There’s no need for you to blush and cast your eyes about like that – I have not called you here to convert you; I am no kind of monster, Anne – but I must speak to you about the Chapel.’ ‘I beg your pardon, Sir.’ ‘So. The Chapel. You must understand that just as my conscience would not permit me to enter there while I was the King’s brother, neither will it permit me now that I am King.’ Anne nods. ‘But at the same time I am sensible of the duty of our family with regard to . . . the Church of this country, and so I have ordered the Chapel to be kept in the same order as formerly, and – this is very much your concern – I am to give orders to this effect.’
He takes a sheet of paper from his closet desk and offers it to Anne, who takes it, and reads:
It is His Majesty’s pleasure that Her Royal Highness Princess Anne of Denmark Doe sit in His Majesty’s Closett at His Chappell Royal at Whitehall, upon one side of the King’s Chaire, which must remaine in its place not turned: And that Noe man of what degree or quality soever, presume to come into ye clossett when Her Royal Highness is there, except the Clerke of the Clossett, or his Deputy to officiate there, And the Lord Chamberlayne and Mr Vice Chamberlayne of His Majesty’s Household to stand behind the King’s chaire.
‘You are to be my proxy in all services, and the clergy will perform the same bowing and ceremonies to the place where you are as if I had been there in person.’
‘No-one shall have reason to complain of my conduct there, Sir.’
‘I know they will not. You are a good girl . . .’
‘I have one request, though, Sir?’
‘Yes?’
‘I have observed that lately the Chapel is perhaps not in as good a condition as – there are a number of repairs that might be made – and the decorations—’
‘Do what needs to be done, do not trouble me with it; it shall all be paid for.’
‘Oh thank you, Sir!’
There is a discreet scratch on the door. With the King’s permission, it is opened slightly, to admit two excitable spaniels, and the news that a Mr Sandford is waiting. Anne holds out her hands for the dogs, while her father addresses the servant on the other side of the door.
‘Very good. I’ll see him shortly.’
The door closes. One of the spaniels leaps into Anne’s lap, arranges himself as best he can around her great belly, and sits down.
‘Oh Anne, the poor loves – I do not know what to do with them all. My brother would have them roam all over the place, easing themselves, suckling their pups and you-know-what-else – they are sweet creatures, but there are too many, and I won’t have them in the bedchamber as he did – how he slept with their snuffling, and all those infernal chiming clocks, I will never— which are these two?’
‘This fellow in my lap is Louis, and the one sniffing at my shoes is Bessie.’
‘Perhaps they should like to stay with you at the Cockpit?’
‘Oh, I should be delighted to have them!’
‘Splendid! And take a couple of the wretched clocks as well while you’re about it – I know how your George admires them.’
‘Thank you, Sir. He shall be so pleased.’
‘And I shall be just as pleased to be rid of them. Now, I must dismiss you – there is so much trouble over precedence for the coronation, I have had to have a Commission appointed, and here is a man come to record their work.’
Her Most Gracious Majesty
The Commission convenes, opens a special court, hears evidence and makes its judgements, which do not please everybody. The Lord of the Manor of Fyngrith, Essex, for example, is very disappointed to hear that he does not, in the view of the court, have the right to be the Queen’s Chamberlain for the day, and will thus not be entitled to her bed, furniture or any of the basins which he might otherwise have used to perform his duties. The Prince of Orange, who must on any State occasion be outranked by the Prince of Denmark, declines to attend – a pity, as he and Mary miss a very fine spectacle.
There is blue carpet spread all the way from Westminster Hall to the Abbey Choir. As the King and then the Queen process along it, they are preceded by herb-women in new and becoming costumes with deep ruffles, strewing spring flowers. The Queen, who has always – it must be owned – been a very beautiful lady, seems a goddess today. Her dress is made of white- and silver-embroidered brocade, with every seam covered by diamonds; she has a seven-yard train of purple velvet, bordered with gold lace and lined with ermine and white silk, and carried by the Duchess of Norfolk and four eldest daughters of earls; she has on her head a circlet, and over her head a canopy of cloth of gold borne by sixteen barons of the Cinque Ports. The crowd, moved both by her appearance and by the news that she has taken upon herself the liabilities of all imprisoned small debtors, weep their grateful tears.
Her conduct during the ceremony is faultless too – except for one forgivable instance, when the King’s Champion, in act of throwing down the gauntlet, falls off his mount and straight onto his face, and she is observed to stifle a giggle. After the ceremony is finished, she goes straight up to George and Anne’s box, and tells them that she thought, for one moment, that she might have died of laughter, in front of everyone, right there and then.
‘That poor man,’ Anne says, ‘he could hardly help it, but it was very amusing.’
They laugh together, and for one lovely moment, might believe themselves true friends.