Виктория Холт - Royal Sisters - The Story of the Daughters of James II

Anne, with what Sarah called to Marlborough her constant slobbering over her boy, often drove her to distraction. “I find the need to get away some times.”

“Be careful,” warned Marlborough. “You can be too frank at times.”

“John Churchill, it is my frankness which has endeared me to the fool.”

“Perhaps, but never forget that there are others just waiting for the opportunity to leap into your place.”

“And you think it is as easy as that! They just jump and are there?”

“No, but be careful.”

“Well, I don’t intend to waste all my time playing cards and listening to her gossip! I am going to put someone in to do some of my duties so that I can get away now and then more easily than I have done.”

“Who, in God’s name?”

“I’m thinking of my uncle Hill’s girl. That family will have to be helped in some way, I may as well make use of them.”

“She is doing good work looking after the children at St. Albans.”

“The children are growing up. She shall come into Anne’s bedchamber. She will be so grateful and she is such a mouse no one will notice her. Then I shall be at liberty to get away when I want to, knowing that there will be no smart madam to try too much friendship with old Morley.”

“You think of everything,” said Marlborough fondly.

Shortly afterward Abigail Hill joined Anne’s household; and it was as Sarah had prophesied; so quiet was she, so humble, so retiring, it was hardly noticed that she was there.

A new century, thought Sarah. The century of the Churchills. She commanded the household of the Princess Anne. She was looked upon as the future power behind the throne for with every passing week William looked more and more frail.

Yet he clung to life with the obstinacy of a shriveled leaf in spite of autumn gales.

In the spring Anne was brought to bed once more and again miscarried. She was sad for a while to think of another child lost. But there was her boy to comfort her and she believed that as he grew older he was growing stronger.

She herself was feeling the strain of the last miscarriage; Dr. Radcliffe had told her that she must show more restraint at the table and she did try; but it was difficult; and when she had to pass by her favorite dishes she grew melancholy.

She often felt sick and faint and one evening on rising from the table she felt so ill that she sent for Dr. Radcliffe. Since William had banished him, Dr. Radcliffe had not lived at Court and had often been summoned to the Princess’s bedside and obliged to make a journey through the night from his house. Being certain that Anne was merely suffering from indigestion caused through overeating he declined to go.

He sent a message back: “Her Highness is not ill. I know her case well. Put her to bed at once and she will be better in the morning.”

He proved to be right; she was better the next day; but a week later she felt ill again at that same hour which Dr. Radcliffe found inconvenient.

This time Dr. Radcliffe was more blunt. “Go back to the Princess and tell her that there is nothing wrong with her but the vapors. Let her go to bed and rest and she’ll be better in the morning.”

Anne was angry and the next time she saw him she told him that on account of his unforgivable conduct his name was no longer on her list of physicians.

“Was I not right?” he demanded. “Did you not feel better in the morning? There was nothing wrong with you but the vapors.”

“Nothing would induce me to put you back on my list,” said Anne.

“Nothing would induce me to come,” retorted the doctor. “I have never hidden my feelings and like as not, on account of them, I’d be accused of poisoning you Whig Sovereigns. So ’tis better as it is.”

He left in his insolent way, as though having the reputation of being the best doctor in England meant that he could flout royalty without fear of retaliation.

He was now no longer a Court physician and glad of it.

Anne forgot her anger over Radcliffe, because her boy’s birthday was approaching. He was eleven years old; he still drilled his soldiers, and under Burnet was becoming very wise. It was fortunate for him that he had a natural aptitude for learning which grew out of his lively curiosity, for Burnet was determined to make him a scholar.

How delightful he looked on his birthday. He was wearing a special suit which had been made for the occasion. The coat was blue velvet—a color which suited him and made his eyes more vivid than ever; the buttons were diamonds and the Garter ribbon matched the coat; he wore a white periwig which made his head look bigger than ever; but he was a charming figure.

Anne could not take her eyes from him; she thought: He is the whole meaning of life to me.

There was flatttery among courtiers, of course, for the heir to the throne, but surely all who saw must admire him as much as they implied.

He had asked permission to fire his cannon in honor of his parents and when this was given and done he approached them and bowing to them he said in his high clear voice: “Papa and Mama, I wish you both unity, peace, and concord, not for a time but forever.”

They were both overcome with emotion; George pressed Anne’s hand to show he shared his wife’s pride and emotion in their son.

“It is a fine compliment,” George told the boy.

“No, Papa, it is not a compliment; it is sincere.”

There never was such a boy. Anne had been so often disappointed through the children she had hoped for; there were so many failures that she had to think hard to remember the number and then she was not sure; but, while she had this son, she was the proudest, happiest mother in the world.

Young Gloucester sat at the head of the banqueting table and welcomed his guests. All his soldiers were present and taking advantage of the good things to eat, for they needed refreshment after their exertions.

Dancing followed. Gloucester danced tolerably well although he told his mother he could not abide Old Dog—his name for Mr. Gorey who had been dancing master to Anne and her sister Mary when they were Gloucester’s age—and he felt that dancing was not for soldiers.

He was very tired when the banquet was over and not sorry to retire to his apartments where he told John Churchill that birthdays were better to be planned for, than to have, and he would rather one big battle any day.

In their apartments Anne and George sat together reminding each other of how he had danced, how he had reviewed his soldiers, what he had said.

“I can never thank you enough for giving me such a son,” said Anne.

“Nay my dear, it is I who should thank you.”

And they went on to talk of him. They laughed and rejoiced in him.

“We cannot say we have been unfortunate while we have our boy,” said Anne.

The next morning when Gloucester’s attendants went to awaken him they found him feeling sick. He said he had a sore throat and did not want to get up.

This news brought his mother to his bedside immediately, and when she saw his flushed face she was terrified.

“Send for the physicians!” she cried. They came; but they did not know what ailed the boy. They bled him, but his condition did not improve. Before the day was out he was in a high fever and delirious.

“Dr. Radcliffe must come,” said Anne. “Go and bring him.”

“Your Highness, you have dismissed him.”

“Go and bring him. Tell him I order him to come.”

Dr. Radcliffe arrived at Windsor in due course but he clearly came reluctantly.

“Your Highness,” he said, “I am no longer one of your physicians, and I cannot understand why you should summon me here.”