to her sister; and she feared that if Mary and James met, too much would be revealed and he would be able to tell Mary that he had been maligned.
If Mary came to England now, if she talked with their father, if she pointed out to him the folly of his ways … which she might well do, for Anne did not believe that—although she would support William in everything —Mary wished to see her father deposed … there might be a reconciliation between them.
Anne was too stupid to be a subtle intriguer; Sarah was too hasty.
Here was an awkward situation. How were they going to extricate themselves?
Together they found the answer.
“If either of you should come,” wrote Anne, “I should be very glad to see you, but really if you or the Prince should come I should be frightened out of my wits for fear any harm should happen to either of you.”
Mary’s reply to that was that Anne must be present at the birth. She must make sure that the baby was in fact the son of her father and the Queen.
Anne, who had been rather alarmed by the turn of events and desperately disappointed at the possibility of being deprived of her ambition, and at the same time weakened in health by yet another miscarriage, developed a fever and was confined to her bed.
He sat by the bed and held her hand, and when she opened her eyes she recognized him and smiled, for she had forgotten all the trouble of the last months and thought she was a child again.
“Dear Father,” she murmured; and James’s eyes filled with tears.
“My beloved,” he said, “you must get well. You know what you mean to me. I could never be truly happy without you.”
She was aware of George on the other side of the bed; and the presence of these two comforted her.
Sarah, who found that her authority was weakened when Anne was not there to help her enforce it, was terrified that Anne was going to die. It was clearly brought home to her that Anne was necessary to her future— hers and John’s. If Anne were to die now, what would become of them? They would rise in the world, she was sure of that; but it would take them years to recover what they would lose with the removal of Anne.
Anne was of vital importance to them; Anne
As soon as Sarah could get into the sickroom, she nursed Anne. She amazed everyone with her efficiency, for no one had thought she would make a good nurse; she was gentle with the patient, although fiercely authoritative with everyone else. As for Anne, she drew strength from Sarah and when Sarah said: “You
The King and Prince George had to be grateful to Sarah Churchill, although they could not like her, and under Sarah’s ministrations Anne recovered more speedily than was hoped.
Mary Beatrice had said that she would lie in at Windsor.
Anne and Sarah smiled significantly when they heard this.
“Naturally,” said Sarah. “Why at Windsor it will not be so easy to summon those people who should be at her bedside. Can you not imagine it, Mrs. Morley? It will be: ‘My pains are beginning. Come quickly.’ And by the time all those who should witness the birth have arrived, there will be a bonny baby in the bed!”
“Oh, the wickedness!” cried Anne.
It may have been that some of the Queen’s friends were aware of this rumor, for shortly afterward she changed her mind and said that she would lie in at St. James’s.
“St. James’s!” said Anne. “Such a bustle there was about lying in at Windsor and now it is to be St. James’s. St. James’s is a better place to cheat in.”
It was surprising how she and Sarah made each other believe these spiteful observations. Both knew that St. James’s was the palace in which the Queens usually gave birth to their children, Whitehall being unsuitable since it was more or less a public place in which people could enter night and day. It was noisy; matters of state were dealt with there; and the apartments of the Queen looked straight on to the river along which there was constant traffic. St. James’s on the other hand was an intimate Palace; it had been the home of Mary Beatrice when she had first come to England and she felt sentimental toward it. Therefore naturally she was determined that this most important child should be born in this Palace.
Certain repairs were in progess on her apartments at St. James’s at this time and she gave instructions that they should be hastily finished and her bedroom made ready.
Every small action, every word she spoke, was seized on by her enemies, and made to seem full of significance. Still neither she nor James—least of all James—were aware of the dangers which were overshadowing them, and it never occurred to them that the danger was heightened by the Queen’s condition, for those who had been waiting for an opportunity to depose James saw that they could use the birth of a son for doing so. The cry was: “If there is a son, that son will be brought up as a Catholic. A Catholic King; a Catholic Queen; a Catholic Prince of Wales! There can be no doubt then what the fate of England would be. It must never be allowed to happen.”
There was a whisper in some circles that if a son was born to the King and Queen, William of Orange would come to England and make a bid to take the crown from him on behalf of his wife.
This was a time of tension and great danger—realized by all except the King.
James, with his penchant for falling into trouble just at the time when it could bring him most harm, sent the Archbishop of Canterbury and six bishops to the Tower for asking to be excused from ordering the reading of the
