Yet, at times I believed that Sarah Churchill was more important to her than George. She always liked to have her close. Perhaps she felt with Sarah around she need not bestir herself to talk, for Sarah talked incessantly. She was giving herself special airs, too.

The custom was to distribute honors at a coronation, and this had been done. For instance, Gilbert Burnet had become Bishop of Salisbury and William Bentinck was now the Duke of Portland and John Churchill was the Earl of Marlborough. Sarah was very pleased to be Lady Marlborough and Anne was, of course, delighted by Sarah’s triumph.

It was indeed a close relationship — dominating on Sarah’s side, submissive on Anne’s. I think Sarah ruled Marlborough himself in the same way as she did Anne.

When Anne had chosen the names of Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman for herself and Sarah, she had asked Sarah to choose which she would have and, with a touch of humor I always thought, Sarah chose Mrs. Freeman. Nothing could have been more apt.

Between myself and Sarah there was a certain animosity. There was something in our natures which grated on each other. Sarah, of course, must show a certain respect for the Queen, and naturally she could not offend me openly; but I did wonder whether, in private, she tried to turn Anne’s mind against me.

I traced her dislike back to that incident of the two pages, which had happened while I was in Holland. It was when Anne had taken up her residence in the Cockpit, those apartments which were more or less attached to the Palace of Whitehall and where Lady Castlemaine had once had her lodgings.

There had been a rearrangement of staff and Anne had needed two more pages in her household.

People in special places, as Sarah was, had the privilege of selling positions in those households where it could be advantageous to be installed, and Sarah had succeeded in selling these places for the sum of £1,200, which was very profitable for her; but since these were posts in the household of the Princess Anne, who could inherit the throne one day, the price seemed reasonable enough to the families concerned.

She must have been congratulating herself on the sale, when it was discovered that the two pages were Roman Catholics. This was something which we could not accept, for it was at the time when there was a great deal of feeling working up against King James; and Anne, of course, was said to be a staunch Protestant.

I wrote to Anne and told her that the two pages must be dismissed without delay. This created a difficult situation, for Anne would know of Sarah’s profitable deal and the Churchills were always in need of money and sought to find it wherever they could. But, in view of the gathering storm, there was nothing to be done but dismiss the pages.

Sarah was very reluctant to give up the money, which by right she should refund to the families who had paid it for the posts which were not now theirs. There was a certain amount of bargaining and in the end it was agreed that Sarah should keep £400 and refund the rest.

This had been done and Sarah was very disgruntled. She blamed William and me — first for discovering the religion of the pages, and then for insisting on their removal.

I knew the money was of great importance to Sarah and the loss of £800 would never be forgiven.

I was always conscious of her enmity and I did not trust her.


* * *

ANNE’S CHILD WAS NEARLY DUE. The hot weather had come and she was more lethargic than ever. I began to worry about her. She had taken childbearing as she did everything else, and it did not greatly disturb her; and now, in the heat of summer, she just lay about, placidly waiting. I was far more anxious than she was.

She had taken up residence at Hampton Court. She was as fond of the place as I was and I was glad that she appreciated the improvements which William had brought about.

William was often at the palace. He was keeping a watchful eye on events in Ireland and was not very pleased about the support my father was getting there. He talked of it to me a little and said that we must be ready to face James if the need arose.

We often walked in the gardens together. I was very proud of them, having helped to create them. He used to take my arm, instead of my taking his, and I knew it was because he sometimes needed support. He tired easily but would not admit that this was the reason.

I saw looks of amusement on the faces of some of the English, who had not taken to William any more than he had to them. I was taller than William and getting plump. I might seem almost sylphlike when compared with Anne; but it was different when I walked side by side with William.

Sarah said with a smirk: “I saw you and the King walking together ... he taking your arm. Such a good example to married people!”

She knew why he took my arm and she wanted to remind me of his relationship with Elizabeth Viliers. Sarah was no friend of mine.

One hot July day, Anne’s baby was born. I had insisted on being with her and I was so relieved when I heard the cry of a child. It was a boy. How pleased everyone would be!

Anne herself was in a state of ecstasy, and I was overjoyed to see her raised out of her indifference. I had not seen Anne, the mother, before, and the state certainly became her.

She looked almost beautiful, peering at the child with her myopic eyes, demanding: “Is he well ... every limb of him?”

She was assured that the child was in perfect health and the strength of his voice was like sweet music to us all. A boy! An heir to the throne!

People crowded into the chamber. William was there. George, the father, was highly emotional, proud, delighted, gazing down on his wife and son with adoration in his eyes.

It was a touching and moving scene.

Anne said: “We shall call him William, after the King.”

William looked gratified. I knew he was thinking that the boy had come at the right moment. The people would be pleased. The child would be brought up as a Protestant and he would be heir to the throne. At last there was a Protestant male heir and the menace of King James, now trying to raise an army in Ireland, had receded a little.

This was a very important little boy.


* * *

I TOOK IT UPON MYSELF to share in the nursing of my little nephew. Anne was rather weak after her ordeal, and was quite happy to sink back into a state of lethargy. It was a great delight to hold the baby in my arms. He seemed a bright little fellow. William had already created him Duke of Gloucester, and I am sure no child ever had a warmer reception into the world.

However, it was not long before there began to be fears for his health. He grew thin and fretful. Was it going to happen all over again? The familiar pattern, the birth, the hopes that this one would survive, and then the weaknesses which began to show?

It was unbearable to watch little William grow weaker every day. He put on no weight whatsoever and we could not understand what ailed him. Poor Anne was despondent. The others had been stillborn or lived their brief spells. Not little William, too.

We were filled with gloom. The child could not live much longer. Each morning, when I rose, I would say to my women: “How fares the Duke of Gloucester?” and they would have the answer ready, knowing that the question would be asked.

“He is poorly, Your Majesty, but he lives.”

Then one day, when the baby was a month old and not expected to live through until September, I was told that a woman was there, who wished to see me most urgently.

“A woman,” I said. “What woman?”

“She is carrying a young child, Your Majesty. A rather big, strong woman.”

“I will see her,” I said.

She was brought to me. She was plainly dressed in a garb I discovered to be that of a Quaker; she had fresh skin, clear eyes and was obviously healthy. She was carrying a plump baby of about the same age as William, but how different this child was from the little Duke. He had smooth round cheeks, and what struck me most was his look of sleek contentment.

She did not bow to me, nor show me the respect due to me, nor did she express any surprise that I had deigned to see her.

In fact, she treated me as a woman like herself.

I said: “Who are you?”

“I am Mrs. Pack,” she told me. “I have come here on an errand of mercy because I believe the young Duke is dying.”

She spoke bluntly and to the point, in a straightforward, honest way which immediately won my respect. She was very different from the sycophantic people who surrounded me and she went on without preamble: “I believe I can save the boy’s life.”

“How?” I demanded. “He is already surrounded by those who seek to do that.”

“It may be that they do not know what is wrong.”

“And you, who have not seen him, do?”

“I would take him to my breast. I would give him of that milk which the good Lord has given me in good plenty that I may save the Duke. A voice came to me in the night telling me what I must do.”

I wondered if she were a little mad, but she did have an air of simple piety about her which impressed me. Moreover, my anxiety about the baby was so great that I could not turn away from the flimsiest hope of saving him.

I said to Mrs. Pack: “Come with me.”

I took her into the room where the baby lay whimpering in his cradle, and to the astonishment of the nurses, I said: “Take up the child, Mrs. Pack, and show me what you can do.”