Queen Anne Page 8

  ANNE. He says that Spain is still the sticking point.

  HARLEY. Does he? Well. Perhaps. I’m sure.

  But I should leave – for you are shocked and weary, ma’am. Might I ask, do you have in your possession any other letters from the Duchess?

  ANNE. None save this. For I was careful to destroy them all. It’s what we always promised we would do.

  Pause. ANNE grows tearful.

  HARLEY. Of course. Please keep that one, as evidence.

  ANNE. Forgive me. I am so grateful for your help and your discretion.

  HARLEY. Leave all to me. I swear to you, those letters will not see the light of day.

  Scene Three

  A passageway, St James’s. ABIGAIL is accompanying HARLEY to the door. They speak quietly.

  ABIGAIL. I’d say they’ve overreached their strength.

  HARLEY. They have. And it is wonderful.

  ABIGAIL. What will you do?

  HARLEY. I’ll call them out. Swift will be my second. She chooses print – all well and good – I’ll let them have it hard between the eyes. Oh, yes. Stand by. We’ll write them both to death.

  ABIGAIL. Please do it quick. I never saw the Queen so frail. Prince George is ailing badly…

  HARLEY. Is he indeed?

  ABIGAIL. Now this on top of all. She almost fainted when she read the letter first. Then wept, and cried out over and again, ‘betrayed’.

  HARLEY. It’s up to you to soothe her. And seize all opportunity to urge her to consider peace.

  ABIGAIL. I cannot speak to her of politics. I’ve told you that. It would destroy her trust in me.

  HARLEY. Then do your best. For heaven knows we must prevail.

  Exit HARLEY.

  Scene Four

  ANNE’s bedroom, St James’s. Evening. ANNE is sitting on the bed. ABIGAIL is strapping up her knees, having applied ointment.

  ANNE. Are they very swollen?

  ABIGAIL. They are.

  ANNE. I cannot bear to look at them these days.

  ABIGAIL. The doctor comes again tomorrow morning. We’ll get you well, I’m sure.

  Shall I wash your face now, ma’am?

  ANNE. Yes, please.

  ABIGAIL takes up a bowl of water and a cloth and begins to do so with great care.

  ABIGAIL. I saw a woman earlier today, about the laundry job. I thought she seemed quite suitable.

  ANNE. That’s good. What is her name?

  ABIGAIL. Lassiter. A widow. She told me such a tragic tale. Her husband died at Blenheim. Her eldest son is also at the war, but there’s been nothing from him now for months. She thinks he must have fallen too. Another son just lost his job and so has been recruited – forcibly. Though he is very sensitive, she says. Her youngest son… perhaps I shouldn’t say it.

  ANNE. Do.

  ABIGAIL. He didn’t want to go, ma’am. He has a little wife, and she’s with child. He cut across the sinews in his legs, below the knees. But the sergeants heard of what he’d done and now he’s put in gaol for it and like to hang. It struck me as so very sad. And then she said that none of them had known what they were fighting for – not properly. Except to beat the French, of course, but now all say that’s done. It struck me as so very sad.

  Pause. ANNE is thinking.

  ANNE. Did you offer her the post?

  ABIGAIL. I told her I would speak to you.

  ANNE. Offer it.

  ABIGAIL. I will then, ma’am. And she’ll be very glad of it, for she is lately put onto the streets.

  There now. I’ll comb your hair for you.

  ABIGAIL sets aside the bowl of water and taking up a comb, begins to comb ANNE’s hair.

  ANNE. I delivered seventeen. Though some weren’t fully… formed. I remember well how each one felt inside me. I used to wonder what God meant. To take them all. I won’t have any more…

  ABIGAIL. Ma’am…

  ANNE. I won’t. I think that’s clear. But I am mother to a nation now. That was always His intent.

  I lose too many sons.

  ABIGAIL. You do.

  Pause.

  ANNE. But forgive me. You cannot want to talk about such things, I’m sure.

  ABIGAIL. Don’t worry.

  ANNE. Do you feel your baby move?

  ABIGAIL. Oh, yes. And see him too. A heel perhaps. Sometimes an arm.

  ANNE puts her hand on ABIGAIL’s tummy. ABIGAIL is very still.

  ANNE. George and I would like to be his godparents. If that would please you?

  ABIGAIL. Very much.

  ANNE. We’ll keep him safe.

  ABIGAIL kisses ANNE’s head.

  ABIGAIL. Where would we be without you, ma’am?

  Scene Five

  HARLEY’s rooms, the Inns of Court. Evening. RADCLIFFE, DEFOE, JEZEBEL and COMPANY perform a song, which has an increasingly dark and threatening mood. SWIFT, the author of the song, is watching on with satisfaction.

  COMPANY.

  What a dream I had last night

  And woke with heart a-trembling

  For all around the town was wrecked

  By murderous hordes descending

  And here they robbed and there they raped

  And truth and hope lay dying

  And none dare move to stop the fray

  But closed their ears and turned away

  Though every soul was crying

  Though every soul was crying.

  Enter PERFORMERS, carrying high an effigy of Marlborough in the guise of a knight.

  And there on the hill top in armour of gold

  Stood a glorious horseman with countenance bold

  And by the sun’s fire on the face of his shield

  The words ‘Judas Iscariot’ plainly revealed

  Though mighty and fearsome he never rode down

  But smiled as destruction was wreaked all around.

  Enter MAYNWARING. He watches and is immediately alarmed.

  Says I to my neighbour ‘Why who is this man

  Who stops not the pillage when surely he can?’

  Says he, ‘That’s the hero who once we adored

  But now he’s in league with the thieves from abroad

  And much of the riches they steal are for him

  And he’s building a temple to squander them in.’

  SWIFT. Maynwaring. Come to see how it’s really done?

  Enter JEZEBEL dressed as Anne in the guise of an angel.

  COMPANY.

  Then saw I an angel, the spirit of grace

  With majesty etched on her valiant face

  Enthroned was she ’neath a vast purple shade

  And surrounded by crowds who called blessings and praise

  Though patient and steadfast her spirits were rent

  And I drew ever closer to hear her lament.

  JEZEBEL.

  What a dream I had last night

  And woke with heart a-trembling.

  Enter PERFORMERS, carrying high a hideous effigy of Sarah in the guise of a Fury. At the same moment, SARAH enters, clutching a pamphlet in her hand. There is a sense that she has got wind of what is happening and has come to see for herself.

  COMPANY.

  Said I to my guide who had taken my hand

  ‘Why moves not the angel to rescue the land?’

  He pointed at once to the place by her side

  Where a hideous Fury I quickly espied

  And sulphorous smoke from her nostrils did rise

  As she poisoned the air with the stench of her pride.

  MAYNWARING (to SARAH). Your grace. Your grace, I wouldn’t…

  But SARAH shrugs him away and continues to watch, transfixed and horrified.

  COMPANY.

  Her hair was entwined with the souls she had wrecked

  And the gold of her victims was strung round her neck

  Behold then the mother of evil and ill

  And we all are enslaved to the power of her will

  And so with the horseman she leads us to hell

&
nbsp; And we’ll never be free till we’ve broken their spell.

  JEZEBEL.

  Oh England, my England fair

  I’d gladly die to save you.

  COMPANY.

  Then rise we at once with the strength of the just

  And tear down their temples and raise them to dust

  And out to the street let us drag them to die

  On the bridge of our fathers we’ll hang them on high

  Then into the river we’ll toss them to drown

  And we’ll cheer as their poison is washed from the town.

  DEFOE. To the bridge with them!

  The PERFORMERS start to move towards the door with the effigies. Exit SARAH, horrified and afraid. MAYNWARING watches her go, alarmed and conflicted as to whether to run after her.

  SWIFT. Hang them high, boys!

  (To MAYNWARING.) Still sure you back the winning horse?

  MAYNWARING suddenly rushes to join the

  PERFORMERS as they move through the door.

  MAYNWARING. Hang them high!

  Exit MAYNWARING and PERFORMERS. SWIFT smiles to himself, then follows them.

  Scene Six

  ANNE’s bedroom, St James’s. The same evening. ANNE and GEORGE are in bed. GEORGE is having an attack of asthma. He is struggling to get enough air into his lungs. ANNE awakens from a terrible dream, with tears on her face. She gradually realises that GEORGE is struggling.

  ANNE. Oh, George.

  GEORGE. Forgive me. I bother you.

  ANNE. That doesn’t matter.

  GEORGE. Perhaps you should be sleeping somewhere else.

  ANNE. I won’t leave you. You know I won’t.

  Shall I call for someone? Do you want the doctor?

  GEORGE. No. No. It is gone. It is gone.

  ANNE. Sit back, and I’ll arrange your pillows. You might do better sitting up.

  He does so. GEORGE watches her as she sorts his pillows out.

  GEORGE. You have been crying.

  ANNE. No. A little.

  GEORGE. Why? What are they doing to you now?

  ANNE. It’s nothing. Only dreams. The only thing that matters is to get you well again.

  Pause. He continues to watch her.

  GEORGE. I have been thinking, Annie… I have not protected you as carefully as I should be. I am sorry.

  ANNE. George…

  GEORGE. I am so often… I am sometimes defeated by the words, and…

  ANNE. I would not wish you any other way. Every day they come to me with questions and advice. Every day they talk at me. You have been my open air. My sands that stretch towards the sea. My boundless hills where I can stroll, where I can breathe.

  GEORGE. My love. I thank God that I spend my life with you. You are so strong. You are so wise.

  ANNE. You think I am?

  GEORGE. Though you are such a little tree, your roots grow deep into the ground. They cannot ever push you down. You are more strong than any of them.

  GEORGE closes his eyes. ANNE takes his hand. She is still, and thoughtful.

  Scene Seven

  HARLEY’s rooms, the Inns of Court. Two days later. GENTLEMEN, including DEFOE and MAYNWARING, are gathered around SWIFT, taking up copies of his latest pamphlet.

  DEFOE. But this is excellent, Swift. This will light a fire beneath the Whigs, the like of which they’ve never seen.

  MAYNWARING. Come, gentlemen! Hot off the press!

  Threepence a piece!

  SWIFT. Or free to anyone who’ll stand and read it out upon the street!

  Enter HARLEY. He crosses straight to SWIFT.

  Harley. Well met. (Handing him a pamphlet.) Your copy, sir.

  HARLEY. What is it?

  SWIFT. My critique upon the conduct of the allies and the ministry in the prosecution of the war. It’s brilliant – even by my standards.

  HARLEY. I’m sure it is. By Jove, it’s long.

  SWIFT. I had a lot to say. The words came flowing out of me like piss after the night before.

  HARLEY draws SWIFT away from the crowd.

  HARLEY. Prince George is dead.

  SWIFT. Is he, indeed?

  HARLEY. Abigail sent word to me.

  SWIFT. Let’s hope that God speaks Danish.

  HARLEY. Her Majesty will be bereft. Alone.

  SWIFT. Susceptible is what you mean.

  HARLEY. I’ve just been with the Committee for Accounts. It goes our way. It’s like a dream. I think the time has almost come to launch our last, decisive strike. What say you, Swift?

  SWIFT. Yes, I agree. Go forth, my friend. My friend, go forth. Fulfil your waiting destiny.

  A bell begins to toll.

  HARLEY. There’s the bell.

  I’ll go to her as soon as she’ll receive me.

  HARLEY starts to leave –

  SWIFT. I dare say you’ll be giving up these rooms?

  HARLEY. Why so? I hadn’t thought to.

  SWIFT. You will not want to mingle with us fellows here once you are so much with the Queen. You cannot rule two Courts at once. Much as it delights my heart to have one of our own succeed. It’s you who we’ll be watching now.

  HARLEY. Yes. No. Perhaps. Well. We shall see.

  Exit HARLEY.

  Scene Eight

  The reception room, the Queen’s apartments, St James’s. ANNE is standing alone. Though dressed in mourning black, she looks regal, and more impressive than she has ever done. ABIGAIL, MASHAM, LADY SOMERSET, LADY CLARENDON and various other LADIES and LORDS are also present.

  Enter HARLEY. He looks surprised on seeing so many people in the room. He makes a low bow to ANNE.

  HARLEY. Your Majesty. Thank you for agreeing to receive me at such a sad, nay, tragic time.

  ANNE. Thank you, Mr Harley.

  HARLEY. If the matter were not urgent…

  ANNE. I think I know why you have come.

  Pause.

  HARLEY. Would you prefer that we converse more privately?

  ANNE. No. Too much is done behind closed doors. Please tell me what you have to say.

  Pause.

  HARLEY. The Commissioners for Public Accounts have concluded their inquiry into the Duke of Marlborough’s financial conduct. I’m afraid there are some questions to be raised. Most of them pertaining to a sort of personal commission which it seems he has been charging on contracts relating to supplies. And more seriously, perhaps, he has been demanding something similar from the foreign allies we have paid to send us troops.

  ANNE. Do you mean a kind of bribe?

  HARLEY. Yes. No. Not a bribe exactly, ma’am. But something in that vein. His current rate, I understand, is two and a half per cent. The money he’s accrued from this activity amounts to hundreds of thousands of pounds. The Commissioners are recommending a further Parliamentary Inquiry. We cannot rule out the possibility that criminal charges will be brought. I have come to ask Your Majesty’s approval and permission to pursue this sad but necessary course.

  Silence. All wait. ANNE sighs deeply. All wait.

  ANNE. You must do it. No one is above the law. And the Duke must have the opportunity to defend his conduct and his name.

  HARLEY. My sentiments precisely, ma’am.

  ANNE. I want it doing fairly, Mr Harley. There will be no witch-hunt.

  HARLEY. Yes, of course.

  ANNE. Do as you would be done by.

  Something in ANNE’s look and words sends a shiver down HARLEY’s spine.

  When is he returning from abroad?

  HARLEY. Within the week, I understand.

  ANNE. It will be a wretched homecoming.

  HARLEY. Your Majesty, I am acutely sensible of the pain this matter must occasion you. Though, I think I speak for all the land, when I suggest there’s also promise in this day. The Duke and – yes – the Duchess too have lately proved the major obstacle to peace. Now perhaps, we might…

  ANNE. I will move for peace at once. A conference must be arranged, as quickly as is possible. Convene the Cabinet, and
Court. I will consider the proposals from the French.

  HARLEY. I see. Why, yes. I see. Good Lord.

  ANNE. My sovereignty began with war. And by that war has been defined. But that will change. The war is won. I’ll see my country flourish now. My reign will move towards the sun.

  Scene Nine

  The Marlboroughs’ house, St Albans. SARAH finishes reading a letter. MARLBOROUGH is standing apart from her.

  SARAH. She doesn’t say that you’re dismissed. Only that you are suspended, pending an inquiry.

  MARLBOROUGH. She knows I will not suffer that. I will resign at once and with immediate effect.

  SARAH. But why? You can’t. There is no need. Allow this travesty of an inquiry to play out, and in the meantime we can work to…

  MARLBOROUGH. She moves for peace. It is confirmed. And I’m the last to know, it seems.

  SARAH. She might arrange some talks. But she can do no more than that. You know our allies won’t accept the terms the French are offering.

  MARLBOROUGH. She abandons all our allies. She breaks all treaties signed. She will have peace at any price.

  SARAH. Who told you this?

  MARLBOROUGH. Godolphin. Others. And if you’d been attending Court you would have known it too.

  SARAH is shocked.

  We have to leave. We have to go abroad at once.

  SARAH. No. She’s doing this to caution you. To caution me. Yes – there’s the point, I think. It’s done to clip my wings.

  MARLBOROUGH. We’ll go to Antwerp. Then to Hanover. I’ll find no shortage of support. Then let the pale Pretender come. Does she think he’ll write to her and ask her for permission? Or wait until she’s in her grave? Let him come. And when she’s tamed and set aside, and British lungs are choked with incense once again, then I, with Hanover invade. And finish them. These Stuarts have outlived their use. They don’t deserve these people. They don’t deserve their sacrifice. My God… the blood and bones we left behind.

  SARAH. John… you are too hasty. This is wrong. I went too far with her. I see that now. I struck too deep. But this can still be remedied. I’ll go to her. Apologise – it’s what she wants. I promise you, one word of love, one tender look from me, and she will then be ours again…

  MARLBOROUGH. Not everything is done for you. You really think… you are deluded… you really think that this is done as vengeance for some bickering on your behalf?