Abigail's Cousin (46 page)

They had
arrived at the back stairs of St James Palace and Alice refused his
help to alight from the cabriolet. After explaining he would be
away for an indefinite time, she looked up to say:

"I dare say we
shall have cause to celebrate the coming of peace soon, sir, but
how may we celebrate Matt's Peace without Matt. You will be putting
that to rights, sir, I'm sure. Goodbye."

With that
closing comment, Alice walked gracefully towards the steps leading
up to the rear of the palace. He watched until she disappeared with
a quick wave of her hand through the back door.

-----------------------------------------------------

On the morrow
Chalmers was as good as his words had promised; moreover,
proffering needed encouragement and advice that St John hoped he
would remember, and all of it as the occasion arose. He lacked for
nothing it seemed even to the placing of his wheellock pistol. It
was out of sight yet not out of reach in an emergency. His advice
to wear a red coat reflected perceived danger of the open road as
Chalmers declared:

"You cannot
always be on your guard, sir and so a military style coat together
with your height and bearing will deter the average
highwayman."

His final
advice to the traveller was to take the short cut via the privy
Gardens once he had left Whitehall on his way to the horse-ferry at
Sand Wharf.

"No money
needed, sir, bless my soul. It is Mr St John is it not. There it is
in my little book. The missus mentioned you t'other day, sir. She
says, how come that gentleman with the saint's name, calls hisself
Sin-Jin. I calls it a crime! Now, don't take offence sir. She means
no harm. It's just her way. She s very partial to saints, sir,
especialy Saint John."

St John let
the ferryman blather on only half-listening. He was more concerned
whether to take the riverside track or cut across the
plantations.

"Here we are,
sir, Whitening Wharf. Your best way sir this time of day is across
the plantations. When you pass Dirty Lane, you'll know you're on
the right road. God speed, sir! We shall see each other anon."

Then the ferryman had turned to operating
the long oar in the centre of the ferry to take him back as St John
mounted and with a light spur cantered between the trees. Once he
had crossed the Borough High Street he looked for the Kent Road
which led directly to Blackheath. It might have been an early hour
for St John but not for this part of south London though once he
had steered Beauty through the throng of people on their way to
London Bridge, the only span across the Thames, at
that time, it was easier
going.

The locals had
managed, he noticed, to prevent the encroachment of hedges on to
their common land which stretched like a of carpet of grass as far
as the eye could see especially on the northern side of the road.
He got down off Beauty and wandered over the green sward and
allowed his mare to crop the grass at the edges where it grew long.
In the middle distance a crowd of young men hastened in one
direction like a shoal of fish frightened by a seal, and then for
some reason in the opposite direction and he wondered about the
object of their meanderings. Then all made sense for rising out of
the scrum high into the air was a large ball and as he watched its
descent his eye caught the remains of an abbey recalling his friend
Harcourt's words to stand on the mount in Greenwich Park and you
will behold a sight, and I'll warrant not a more noble sight in
Christendom.

Here he was at Greenwich en route, it is
true, and in haste, to the coast yet when else would he have that
opportunity and how could he look Harcourt in the face again having
missed out on Greenwich
?
He took a decision and, gently coaxing Beauty away from the verge,
he started walking, then mounted to the saddle, riding towards the
summit. It was soft underfoot as she cantered up the gentle slope
towards the ruins and as he breasted the rise and looked towards
the swathe of snaking river, he blessed Creation for the
magnificent vista before him. Fascinated he observed boats, ships
and craft of all sizes and shapes furrow their way through the
water in either direction to disappear west towards London or
eastwards on their way to the estuary and perhaps the oceans of the
world.

There was a
crowd of people observing the same view and one of them turned and,
his heart stopped. It was Alice. Instantly their eyes met and she
half-ran to greet him and he slipped from the saddle to greet
her:

"What are y
ou doing here, Mistress Alice?"

St John's
words seemed banal but hers were no less unoriginal:

"I might say
that of you, sir. Why are you not on the road to Deal?"

She held up
her hands and half-mockingly chided him: "Do not say a word. It is
a state secret and ladies may not know such things."

On hearing
her, another woman in the crowd had turned round and St John beheld
a strong featured countenance and knew at the instant who it was,
but before the thought could crystallize, Alice said:

"Sister, meet
Mr Henry St John."

He came
towards her and took her hand in his and kissed it. Alice said:

"Mrs Abigail
Masham, sir." The lady smiled and simply said: "Delighted to make
your acquaintance, I'm sure."

St John
gushed: "Not a tenth as delighted ma'am as your humble servant to
make your acquaintance at long last."

She smiled at
the compliment though it was Alice who spoke next:

"Well, sister,
are you not pleased I persuaded you to an excursion to Greenwich.
See, how the fresh air has improved your complexion."

"But not a
tenth as pleased as Mr St John, How say you, sir!"

He flushed at
his compliment being returned and blurted out:

"Sadly ma'am,
I must cut short my own excursion otherwise I shall not meet my
steward's expectations."

"Indeed sir!
We must not keep a Secretary of State too long a-dallying, eh
sister." There was a hint of derision in her words and he did not
give direct answer simply saying:

"Delighted to
make your acquaintance, Mrs Masham." Then addressing Alice he bade
her farewell whereas she simply said: "Farewell sir. Remember what
we spoke of yesterday."

He was scarcely aware of his surroundings
as he led Beauty away and not until he had gained the lower slope
did he remount and give a final look around from the vantage point
of his saddle. Alice waved, he reciprocated and then cantered away.
His thoughts were full of both women as he regained the road
and thereafter for many
miles.

He blessed the
occasion of meeting Alice again yet wondered what he might have
chanced had she not been alone. Yet it was scarcely a recompense
for having to miss his rendezvous of yesterday and cursed Prior for
getting himself detained. Why did he not see the flaw in the
arrangement which Chalmers had pointed out, but then flushed with
embarrassment for he had promised him to send an express to Walmer
Castle to explain the subterfuge; a subterfuge which seemed
pointless now.

Beauty
whinnied and pulled at the reins startling him from his reverie and
he saw a trough of water in a lay-by and the reason for Beauty's
interest. At least he thought my beast has her wits about her
allowing the mare to take him to the trough slipping out of the
saddle. As she slurped he looked around him for a familiar landmark
and spotted a milestone just being able to make out of the slanting
letters and figures, the message Rochester 1 M. For a moment he
dwelt on the earl of the name and his recent demise; having lived
through troubled times, he hoped his forbear, the second earl,
would bring more fortune to himself - and his country.

"Befriend a
horse and you're never alone!" St John heard the words thinking he
knew that voice and turned in recognition: "Adam!" He cried out for
joy reciprocated by an instant:

"Henry, you son
of a gun!"

The two men
let fall their reins and embraced and St John allowed himself to be
kissed on both cheeks and a third time as St John heckled: "Those
old Huegenot habits. They'll be the death of you one day."

"Today
, indeed. I'm out of the ministry." A smiling Adam de
Cardonnel told St John adding, "Which is why I am on this road. Yet
fortuitous to meet you, Henry." St John looked at the high forehead
of the man opposite and said with a cynical smirk:

"Now Adam, not
even a Frenchman will claim that meeting me is worth a ministry.
But what are the circumstances? I knew nothing of this from
Chalmers before I left this morning."

"What need of
a Minister for War when there is no war, at least, a Marlborough
sort of war. It was he who originally recommended me to my dear
friend Godolphin who recommended me to her majesty. But, now
Godolphin is no more."

Both men were
silent and Cardonnel patted his horse to hide his tears. St John
asked: "No fear of privateers, then Adam!"

Cardonnel
shaking off his sadness said cheerfully: "One sight of a Royal Navy
man-o-war and they leave us alone. Those French privateers are
after easy pickings not quarrels with English seamen. The route
from Margate to Antwerp is as safe as the Bank of England."

By now both
men had remounted as their road would take them to Canterbury where
Cardonnel's would diverge to Margate while St John's would end in
Deal.

"So we have a
peace loving Minister for War."

"Well put,
Henry. What say you to George Grenville?"

"He would not
hurt a fly." riposted St John.

"Not even a
French fly. His appointment will be announced in the London
Gazette's next issue. I want to notify his grace myself. Besides
London is no place for a war-mongering Frenchman. I have to hand it
to you English, my old friend."

St John looked
across at his friend. He allowed his mount to walk at its own pace,
as he did, with reins slack. Ahead the road went straight into the
distance as they were on the old Roman road. They were virtually
alone, the only other people being the occupants of farms and
cottages which they passed. There was a blackbird singing for all
its worth as if wanting tell them something but, of course, singing
because it had the energy and wanted to. He said: "What do you hand
to me, Adam. Not some old Huegenot saw."

"Saw it might
be yet I'm grateful that as a possible enemy I was put in charge of
anything, let alone the War Ministry."

St John
chuckled: "Sound policy, Adam. We had to keep an eye on a man like
you. Besides, how does the old saw go! Set a thief etc."

Cardonnel shot
a glance at his friend and realised he meant nothing untoward and
as if he did not expect any reaction St John went on:

"Where do you
expect to find his grace?"

"Not far from
Bouchain not far from the frontier. Le marechal Villar has promised
Louis that le Malbrouk will never penetrate the defensive line he
has constructed to save France from further invasion. He calls it
'Le ligne ne plus ultra' which in English translates roughly as
'they shall not pass', but you well know how his grace feels about
impregnable fortresses."

St John
however only half-listened to Cardonnel. His thoughts were in
turmoil struggling to confess to his friend that he was on his way
to meet the man with a peace treaty that would scupper any invasion
plans. His grace the duke had also been good to Henry St John and
he felt deeply ashamed but Cardonnel did not notice and went on
talking about the doings of the man that he admired more than any
other man in Europe, Englishman though he may be and continued:

"It will be Lille all over again, Henry.
You mark what I say. It was Vauban's masterpiece yet how long did
it take the duke to break its spirit? St John did not answer giving
a feeble smi
le and
encouraged Cardonnel to go on to explain the campaign:

"We started to
deploy to surround the city on August 2nd, 1708, and completed its
encirclement by the 13th and all the time the army was under fire
from the citadel, from its five bastions." Cardonnel stopped and
gave a look which St John read as horror and Cardonnel
explained:

"The slaughter
of those days. Ghastly. Yet no-one demurred. All had absolute
confidence in the duke, and our faith was not misplaced."

St John forgot
his woes and listened to Cardonnel recount the siege. He said, as a
matter of politeness, wishing him to ignore his pleas: "If you
don't wish to talk about it, I understand. It must be painful to
recall."

Cardonnel
nodded and said: "It is a pain, yet joy too. It's the genius of his
grace. Truly Henry I was privileged to serve him. On the night of
the 13th, his grace ordered Cadogan to site the mortars. Vauban in
the construction of the fortress had diverted the local river to
surround the city walls yet that lulled the citadel into a false
sense of security. The men in the Citadel must have been shocked
the next day to find our mortars in position."

Cardonnel had
to stop the narrative as they were about to cross the bridge over
the Medway in the town of Rochester. There was a toll to pay and
thereafter the going was easier as the two riders passed through
the suburb of Strood. In the distance on their left appeared a
forest of masts signifying one of the busiest ports beyond London,
namely Chatham, and even the passers-by reflected their maritime
calling. Many were the men in striped jerseys, calico trousers and
jaunty straw hats. Such scenes and scenery occupied their vision
for many a mile and it was not until they were through the forest
of Rainham well on the way to Sittingbourne that St John
tentatively addressed Cardonnel: