Mrs. Pack, with simple dignity, laid her own child in the cradle beside little William. She then took him in her arms and, seating herself, undid the buttons of her bodice and gave her breast to him.

There was quietness in the room. I saw the child, his lips at her breast, and I heard him; he was sucking eagerly.

Mrs. Pack sat there, smiling benignly. There was a look of saintliness about her in her simple gray gown and the manner in which she held herself, as though there was nothing unusual about her being in the royal apartments suckling the Duke of Gloucester.

What delighted me was to see the child satisfied, and after he had had his fill, he fell into a deep sleep.

I went along to Anne and told her what had happened. She wanted to see Mrs. Pack without delay, and I took her with me to the nursery where little William was. He looked frail but it was wonderful to see him sleeping quietly.

Anne questioned Mrs. Pack, who responded with that dignity which had already surprised me, and she talked with a lack of self-consciousness, showing that she was not in the least overawed.

Mrs. Pack said that the baby was not getting the milk he needed and that was the reason for his weakness. Her milk was good and wholesome and she had enough for two. She had come on the Lord’s business and she believed she could transform the Duke into a healthy child.

Anne immediately asked Mrs. Pack if she could stay and feed the Duke with her own baby, a proposition which was accepted.

It was extraordinary, but from that day William began to grow stronger. It was a fact that the lower classes seemed to rear their children more easily than royalty. It must be something in the milk. Mrs. Pack’s child was as healthy as any child could be and the Lord or nature had endowed her with enough milk to feed two. It seemed a miracle.

So Mrs. Pack became a member of the household — not always an easy one. I heard she was no respecter of persons. I am sure she had many a tussle with Sarah Churchill, but even that lady’s imperious ways could have little effect on the Quaker, who saw all men and women as equal, and was allowed to act as she pleased since she had saved little William’s life and continued to keep him healthy.

I was as grateful to her as Anne was, and we would allow no one to upset her. I loved my little nephew and greatly regretted that he was not my son. He was growing into a very bright child. Anne adored him and she and George gloated over him together. I was continually sending toys. I was glad he was at Hampton Court because that gave me many opportunities of seeing him. Mrs. Pack continued her reign in the nursery with her child and under her care young William grew stronger every day.

Unfortunately, my relationship with my sister was deteriorating. Anne irritated me more and more. I liked lively conversation and I wanted to be with people who could share in it. In Holland, I had lived in such seclusion that I had been starved of it, but I was not going to allow that to happen here. I was the Queen and I would not be shut away as I had been when I was Princess of Orange. Occasionally I reminded myself that it was I who had allowed William to become the King and not merely my consort as many people thought he should be. I wanted Anne to remember who I was — not too formally, of course, but on occasions, and I thought she should make some effort when I was present.

It was not only her slothfulness. I fancied she sometimes annoyed me deliberately. I suspected that Sarah Churchill encouraged her in this. Sarah was my enemy but I was not going to allow her to poison my sister’s mind against me. I tried to find out what Sarah said to her in secrecy about people, including myself. But Anne, careless as she was about most things, could be sly and secretive if anything was said about Sarah.

I was sure the matter of Richmond Palace had been suggested by Sarah.

Richmond Palace was enshrined in our memories as the home of our childhood — a time when we were ignorant of the misfortunes of life and had believed we were to go on living blissfully forever.

Anne needed a place to live, for she could not stay indefinitely at Hampton. As a princess in line to the throne, and moreover mother of an heir, she needed a home of her own, and Sarah had persuaded her to set her heart on Richmond.

It would be wonderful to go back there, she insisted.

“So healthy for dear little William,” and she was sure her dear sister would put no obstacles in the way of her having it.

As soon as I looked into the matter I knew why Sarah had chosen Richmond.

Sarah had always disliked William. It was she who had given him the name of Caliban all those years ago, and her feelings toward him had not softened. William had commented on Marlborough with typical candor. “A good soldier — one of the best — which is why he holds his position in the army; but a vile man, not to be trusted, not entirely honest. But, for his military skill, he shall retain his position.” And, presumably, be given an earldom, I thought.

I could imagine Sarah’s comments to Anne. William might not have a good opinion of John Churchill, and what sort of opinion did Sarah have of William? Morose, graceless, without courtesy, an oaf ... Caliban. True, Churchill had deserted James to support William. That would have been because he saw James’s cause as hopeless. John Churchill was no fool — nor was Sarah. They knew whose side they had to be on — and that was the winning one. But that did not prevent them from criticizing those who did not appreciate the Churchills as they should be.

I soon realized that Sarah had persuaded Anne that Richmond would be an ideal home, because she knew that by asking for it she would be creating an awkward situation.

Madame Puisars, Elizabeth Villiers’s sister, already owned a lease on the palace which had belonged to her mother, Lady Frances Villiers, who had been our governess. When Lady Frances died, she left the lease to her family. Therefore, to allow Anne to take possession would mean evicting Madame Puisars.

I could see that Sarah wanted to call attention to the favors shown to the Villiers family, and so discountenance William, and, though his liaison with Elizabeth was not exactly a secret, to bring it into prominence.

I was sure William had other matters with which to concern himself at this time. The news from Ireland was becoming more dis-quietening. My father was rallying men to his side and there were skirmishes between his supporters and those soldiers whom William had stationed there. And now Anne must come along with this trivial matter of Richmond Palace when there were plenty of other places which she could have taken.

“No,” said William, irritated that he should have to give a moment’s thought to such a matter. “The Princess Anne cannot have Richmond Palace. Madame Puisars already has the lease and there is nothing to be done about it.”

Anne was sulky. Nobody cared for her, she said. She was thrust aside ... of no importance. Other people ... the Villiers family ... came before her.

“I wonder you allow this,” she said to me.

There was a faint smile about her lips. What did Sarah Churchill say to her during their cozy chats? They would talk of the meek Queen who submitted to her husband’s tyranny and even accepted his infidelity without complaint. They knew full well how many other queens had done this. Anne had the example of our own father and uncle. I could imagine Sarah saying, that was different. Their husbands had at least treated them with courtesy. They did not behave like Dutch boors; and those queens were not queens regnant married to a king who was so only because of his wife’s good graces toward him.

And so the rift between myself and my sister widened, and there was a new cause for it. This time it was money.

When we had arrived in England, Anne had been receiving an annuity of £30,000 a year as a marriage settlement; and when the Duke of Gloucester had been born Anne had asked for this sum to be raised to £70,000. Nothing had come of that.

Now, to our amazement, the question had been raised in Parliament. This could only have happened if Anne and her friends — whom I suspected were the Marlboroughs — had instigated this.

When I saw Anne, I could not help showing my disapproval.

“How could you do such a thing?” I demanded. “To go behind our backs and have this matter raised in Parliament. Do you know what demands are made on state funds? Do you know that there is a war threatening in Ireland? And you can behave in this underhand way ... bringing the matter to Parliament!”

Anne blinked at me, looking helpless and maltreated.

“I am in debt,” she said. “I must be able to live. If I cannot have some money I shall have to retire into private life. I cannot go on.”

“Anne,” I cried. “You are being foolish. You have been persuaded to this and I know by whom. It is Sarah Churchill, is it not? Trust that woman to make mischief!”

“It is my own need which forces me. I am treated with unkindness, as though I am of no importance.”

“Tell me when the King or I have ever been unkind to you.”

She muttered that she could think of one occasion. It was just before the birth of little William and she had had a great fancy for green peas. It was early in the season and there was only a small dish on the table. Oh, how she had wanted those green peas! It was due to her pregnancy, of course. Women had such fancies at these times. And what had William done? He had taken the dish of peas to himself and eaten them all under her eyes!

I could have shaken her. She was so foolish at times. All the same, there was a certain cupidity in her eyes and when she remembered that she was the Princess and in line to the throne, she could play the autocrat.