against Louis XIV, who had had the
hubris
to place his grandson on the throne of Spain as Philip V, and Sarah was named Mistress of the Robes and Groom of the Stole, in undisputed command of the royal household. As the first victories of the War of the Spanish Succession began to roll in upon us, it was commonly said that Sarah, who ruled both the Queen and the man who was defeating the armies of Europe's greatest King, had more power than any ruler in history. Indeed, I wondered if I had not left the greater service when I joined that of the Denmarks.
But I was content. I liked the anonymity of palaces. All I had needed was a job that I could handle and a quiet post from which to observe the passing scene. I asked no more. It was a relief to be away from the all-seeing gaze of Sarah, for, oddly enough, she spent little time at court. She seemed able to discharge her duties just as well from her own domiciles, and life in the royal palaces, except when there was a great court function, bored her. She made no pretense of her dislike of the Queen's warm chambers and was forever pushing open windows and fanning herself. She seemed to be growing increasingly impatient with her mistress's slowness and methodical nature. Seldom can two such close friends have been temperamentally so unlike. And certainly seldom has a royal favorite taken so little trouble to curry royal favor.
My first conversation with the Queen occurred when, in the illness of her trusted maid, Mrs. Danvers, I was delegated to bring her fresh bandages. It was on a long summer afternoon at Windsor, when she was having severe twinges of gout. As I was turning away, after spreading the bandages on the table by the armchair where majesty was sitting, I stiffened in surprise to hear the soft low voice address me by name.
"Hill, will you stay, please."
"What may I do for Your Majesty?"
"When you were engaged to serve in my household, do I not recall that the Duchess described you as her kinswoman?"
"Your Majesty's memory is correct."
"I like to think I know what goes on in court. Tell me, how are you related to the Duchess?"
"I have the honor to call her cousin, ma'am."
"But how close a cousin?"
"My mother was her father's sister."
"You mean your mother was a Miss Jennings?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"But then you and the Duchess are cousins-german! I had no idea it was so close a kinship."
"The Duchess does me great honor to recognize it at all, ma'am. My family were but poor folk."
"Well, I'm sure the Duchess is very kind. But cousins-german! Well, well, that does surprise me."
That was all that was said, but thereafter the Queen took more notice of me, addressing me by name and summoning me to her chair to bid me fetch this or that. Even the smallest notice of a menial arouses instant jealousy in a royal household, and I should have preferred my former obscurity had it not been for the encouragement of Mrs. Danvers, who adored the Queen with a selflessness rarely found in palaces.
"Never mind the others, Hill," she told me brusquely. "If Her Majesty likes your company, stick to Her Majesty."
The next step that I made in royal favor was when the Queen, who now professed a liking for my voice, asked me to read to her. When this proved satisfactory, I started to spend at least two hours a day with her. I read ministers' reports, ambassadors' letters, salutations from other sovereigns, novels and even plays. Sometimes the Queen would be so silent that I feared she had gone to sleep. Sometimes she had.
But my mistress and I did not enter into what I may be so bold as to designate a "relationship" until the day I made the suggestion that I might ease the pain in her hands. I had been reading from one of Sir John Vanbrugh's comedies when a little moan from the Queen indicated that I might as well stop. What I next uttered was probably the most important speech of my life. Yet I promise my reader that I had no purpose in mind but to assuage the sufferings of a woman
hubris
to place his grandson on the throne of Spain as Philip V, and Sarah was named Mistress of the Robes and Groom of the Stole, in undisputed command of the royal household. As the first victories of the War of the Spanish Succession began to roll in upon us, it was commonly said that Sarah, who ruled both the Queen and the man who was defeating the armies of Europe's greatest King, had more power than any ruler in history. Indeed, I wondered if I had not left the greater service when I joined that of the Denmarks.
But I was content. I liked the anonymity of palaces. All I had needed was a job that I could handle and a quiet post from which to observe the passing scene. I asked no more. It was a relief to be away from the all-seeing gaze of Sarah, for, oddly enough, she spent little time at court. She seemed able to discharge her duties just as well from her own domiciles, and life in the royal palaces, except when there was a great court function, bored her. She made no pretense of her dislike of the Queen's warm chambers and was forever pushing open windows and fanning herself. She seemed to be growing increasingly impatient with her mistress's slowness and methodical nature. Seldom can two such close friends have been temperamentally so unlike. And certainly seldom has a royal favorite taken so little trouble to curry royal favor.
My first conversation with the Queen occurred when, in the illness of her trusted maid, Mrs. Danvers, I was delegated to bring her fresh bandages. It was on a long summer afternoon at Windsor, when she was having severe twinges of gout. As I was turning away, after spreading the bandages on the table by the armchair where majesty was sitting, I stiffened in surprise to hear the soft low voice address me by name.
"Hill, will you stay, please."
"What may I do for Your Majesty?"
"When you were engaged to serve in my household, do I not recall that the Duchess described you as her kinswoman?"
"Your Majesty's memory is correct."
"I like to think I know what goes on in court. Tell me, how are you related to the Duchess?"
"I have the honor to call her cousin, ma'am."
"But how close a cousin?"
"My mother was her father's sister."
"You mean your mother was a Miss Jennings?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"But then you and the Duchess are cousins-german! I had no idea it was so close a kinship."
"The Duchess does me great honor to recognize it at all, ma'am. My family were but poor folk."
"Well, I'm sure the Duchess is very kind. But cousins-german! Well, well, that does surprise me."
That was all that was said, but thereafter the Queen took more notice of me, addressing me by name and summoning me to her chair to bid me fetch this or that. Even the smallest notice of a menial arouses instant jealousy in a royal household, and I should have preferred my former obscurity had it not been for the encouragement of Mrs. Danvers, who adored the Queen with a selflessness rarely found in palaces.
"Never mind the others, Hill," she told me brusquely. "If Her Majesty likes your company, stick to Her Majesty."
The next step that I made in royal favor was when the Queen, who now professed a liking for my voice, asked me to read to her. When this proved satisfactory, I started to spend at least two hours a day with her. I read ministers' reports, ambassadors' letters, salutations from other sovereigns, novels and even plays. Sometimes the Queen would be so silent that I feared she had gone to sleep. Sometimes she had.
But my mistress and I did not enter into what I may be so bold as to designate a "relationship" until the day I made the suggestion that I might ease the pain in her hands. I had been reading from one of Sir John Vanbrugh's comedies when a little moan from the Queen indicated that I might as well stop. What I next uttered was probably the most important speech of my life. Yet I promise my reader that I had no purpose in mind but to assuage the sufferings of a woman
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