Recognising her error when too late, the Duchess requested an audience of the Queen, in the hope of exculpating herself. Anne, who dreaded her furious violence, replied that she could justify herself by letter, and to avoid the chance of an interview, left London for Kensington Palace.
Explicit, however, as was this step, it did not stop the Duchess. She despatched a letter to the Queen, in which she excused herself, on the score of the impossibility of writing such a justification, and requested an interview—a proposition the most alarming conceivable to the poor Queen, on account of the advantage which her antagonist possessed in powers of tongue. She therefore parried it as long as possible, and would evidently have not assented at all, had not the Duchess extorted the permission by stratagem. Unfortunately, however, for her success, she had told the Queen, in a letter which preceded it, that she only desired to be seen and be heard by her Majesty. There was no necessity, she said, for the Queen to answer. The Queen, in fact, had answered so many of her tormentor’s letters in the negative, that the Duchess, not foreseeing what would be the consequence of this general preclusion of response in her Majesty’s favour, was resolved to prevent further epistolary acknowledgment by following up her last letter in person. She says, in the foolish “Account” which she gave to the world of her “Conduct,” and which had the reverse effect of what she intended (which is the usual case with violent relaters of their own story):—
“I followed this letter to Kensington, and by that means prevented the Queen’s writing again to me, as she was preparing to do. The page who went in to acquaint the Queen that I was come to wait upon her stayed longer than usual; long enough, it is to be supposed, to give time to deliberate whether the favour of admission should be granted, and to settle the measure of behaviour if I were admitted. But, at last, he came out and told me I might go in.”
The Queen was alone, engaged in writing. “I did not open your letter till just now,” she said, “and I was going to write to you.”
“Was there anything in it, Madam, that you had a mind to answer?”
“I think,” continued poor Anne, who even now endeavoured to stop the coming torrent of words, “I think there is nothing you can have to say but you may write it.”
But as this was the very thing over which the Duchess thought she had triumphed, she must have heard the proposal with contemptuous delight; and she proceeded accordingly to pour forth her complaints.
“I cannot write such things,” exclaimed the haughty Sarah, alluding to the grossness of the language attributed to her, adding, “Won’t your Majesty give me leave to tell it you?”
“Whatever you have to say, you may write it,” was the royal answer.
“I believe your Majesty never did so hard a thing to anybody as to refuse to hear them speak—even the meanest person that ever desired it.”