Abigail's Cousin (47 page)

"Carry on
Adam. We still have many miles before we reach Canterbury. Time
enough to complete the story, if you still can bear it."

"You can
imagine our losses as we were still under constant bombardment from
their cannon in the bastions. Yet the work done by the sappers at
night was about to bear fruit. It was a matter of getting the
ranging shots right and adjusting the elevation accordingly."

"But what about the gunners? They were
still under fire, surely
?" St John said with a concerned tone though Cardonnel
reassured him:

"That was good
and unexpected, the fact that their shot passed over our positions.
The men were still in danger but the mortars were safe. The sappers
lit the fuses at knee level though not for long for after a dozen
direct hits, the mortars made a shambles of the bastion du roi.
Then it was a case of the sappers manoevering the heavy cannon into
the next position. We dealt with three such bastions in like
fashion."

"But the city
of Lille did not surrender until October, Adam. Since the citadel
was inside the walls, you still had to knock them down." St John
looked puzzled wondering at the duke's strategy."

Cardonnel said
appreciatively: "There speaks the voice of experience. You remember
your own scouting days and the necessity of weighing options. The
Citadel had all round fire and could reach any part of the city so
even had we knocked down a wall, the Citadel intact was still a
menace apart from a hostile population. So his grace destroyed the
external facing bastions to give the army bivouac space. Then he
ordered the artillery to annihilate the Porte St Andre and other
strongpoints while inhibiting cannonfire from the Citadel. Moreover
by surrounding the city, no food supplies could get in."

"I pity the
inhabitants of Bouchain." St John was not serious though it brought
an effective end to Cardonnel's narrative. Besides they had reached
another milestone that thousands of pilgrims must have welcomed in
their day; etched in stone, it said Canterbury, 6 miles. Their road
rose above the surrounding countryside and a nearby burnt-out pile
indicated Beacon Hill whereby the travellers could not forbear to
stop and admire the splendid vista to the north-east shimmering in
the early evening sun and they saw clearly it was a sheet of water
surrounded by reeds. St John murmurred, the Swale estuary and
ruefully wished he had his fowling piece as a flood of ducks rose
honking into the distance.

Cardonnel
nodded in agreement: "I shall certainly come back here, Henry with
my duck gun." Another horde of wild ducks arose from the marshes
and headed for them to pass overhead quacking their defiance. St
John snatched at his pistol and screamed: "Bang, bang." as he aimed
the gun skywards. "The ducks have the last word," he said with
resignation saying almost petulantly: "My pistol wants for powder
in the firing pan though by the time, I've poured it in, the
wretched birds would be away."

"As in all
things, Henry, preparation is all. You load your piece beforehand
with powder. Then you sit and wait."

"And along comes a gust of wind and blows
the powder from the pan. That is my experience." St John was grim
in his determination t
o
defeat his friend’s argument.

Cardonnel
smirked: “Not with my duck gun. The firing pan is within the breech
which is opened to pour the powder in and then closed."

St John yawned
taking out his telescope which he put to his right eye, saying: "I
believe I see the spires of Canterbury, Adam. If we hasten we shall
reach it long before nightfall."

In answer,
Cardonnel rammed his tricorn hat firmly on his head and
shouted:

"What say you
to supper at seven, Henry!" Spurring his grey and challenging St
John to catch him.

At last the
day had arrived; it was the 27th of September, 1711 and after
prolonged, even tedious negotiations, extensive travelling by
carriage, at home and abroad, and on horseback, the most recent
being his dash to Deal to set Mather Prior at liberty, imprisoned
as a suspected French spy, Henry St John was on his way on foot to
Duke Street, Westminster, to a house on loan to Mathew Prior for
the purpose of clandestine meetings between himself and French
agents.

Besides
himself, Henry St. John, there were to be his colleague and fellow
minister, Robert Harley, newly created earl of Oxford, William
Legge, the earl of Dartmouth and the queen's personal secretary,
Charles Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury, ambassador in waiting to the
court of Louis XIV, Mathew Prior, diplomatist and minister
extraordinary and Baron Nicolas Mesnager, representative of the
Marquis de Torcy, French foreign secretary. There were also clerks,
both English and French, who had done the donkey work of checking
the text for punctuation errors and omissions as well as for syntax
and grammar.

Henry St John was looking forward to
seeing the documents representing the draft treaty between England
and France, of a preliminary nature but meaning that the first step
had been taken towards ending the War of the Spanish Succession, at
l
east between the two
countries.

The documents
had been perused line by line by their respective clerks for
language not only for grammar but also for the clarification of
language, and it now remained for their masters to come together
and make use of the generous supply of ink, quill pens, blotting
paper, sealing wax and the means of combustion towards the creation
of a scroll of parchment carrying the particulars of the treaty and
soon to be carrying the designated signatures of the
plenipotentiaries.

Henry St John
had a jaunty step as his own signature on the document represented
more than a historical entry. He had been promised an earldom and
he had set his heart upon the recreating of a long extinct title,
that of Bolingbroke. Ever since the first day of his entering
Parliament he had dreamt of this realisation and the fulfilment of
his father's dearest wish; he recalled his words on his
deathbed:

"Perhaps it
will fall to you dear boy to regain our family's ancient
title."

On giving his promise, his father had
pressed his hand expiring with gratitude etched upon his ancient
features. Since that moment St John's decisions had been qualified
by the ever-present need to view its outcome as to how his dream
would be be
st
attained.

Yet, there was one thought that could
drive out even this long-held dream and it was about to become
uppermost in his mind, a long pent-up thought that was about to be
awakened as St John approached the house walking past railings
which prevented the casual pedestrian falling down steps leading to
basement rooms, those occupied by servants. He was about to prepare
to leap the first front steps when a sound caught his attention and
he looked in the direction of the rat-tat-tat, and astonished,
instantly his whole being was enveloped in rapture, as his eyes
alighted upon the one woman in the world at this moment that could
distract him from his solemn purpose.
It was Alice.

Instantly the
effect of this vision was felt within his breeches which tightened
as he gazed at her. She was beckoning with come-hither hands below
beyond the window of the basement. His glance took in the flight of
steps and he rushed down the stone steps. He faced a door. It
opened. Alice rushed to meet him, and draw him inside.

They embraced
and as his arms enfolded her body all other thoughts were driven
from his mind though she too seemed possessed of the same thoughts
for he found himself in a room and falling upon a bed. Neither of
them later would scarcely be able to remember how their
'deshabillement' took place. A coat and hat were found later in a
corner, breeches and dress scattered on the floor as were
stockings, shoes, cravat, stomacher and the etcetera of male and
female fashionable attire. Underclothes remained on only so far as
to reveal the erotic parts of the body; after stripping them off
they remained between the sheets.

At St John's
time of life, desire was tempered with experience as no longer did
he allow his own lust to exclude consideration for a virgin and
this occasion was no different, yet no less pleasurable, though
Alice was no wilting violet and by a gentle manoeuvre she brought
his manhood gently in contact with her pubic hair which soon enough
moistened to effect his entry and they lay entwined with each other
enjoying their skin-to-skin proximity. To his delight, Alice gently
oscillated and he began a reciprocal motion for further entry while
an all-pervading warmth engulfed him. His manhood pulsated in
anticipation of pleasure to come.

Then, thrust
followed thrust until in an explosion of ecstasy a fountain of
semen hit her apex and she emitted a scream of ecstatic pleasure
before subsiding in her lover's arms. As a moist stickiness invaded
her nether regions, she consoled herself, it had happened. Her
dream had happened.

Following
their paroxysm of passion, they lay in each other's arms, exhausted
and as their eyes opened each began to study the other. She drew
the sheets and blankets to cover them both for despite the fire
burning in the living room, the September air was none too warm,
though unnoticed till their love-making had subsided. Alice was
aware of her nipples touching his hairy chest as she pressed
against him for warmth as well as feeling while he ran his fingers
up and down her slender back, over her deliciously rounded buttocks
delighting in the proximity of the nubile maiden long yearned for
and now captured in love.

It was not
long before Alice began again to feel the stirring beast pressed
against her stomach and grasping it to his pain and pleasure she
pushed it towards moistening flesh between which it slipped a
second time and St John felt it throb as he waited for the rough
inside of her passage to moisten which Alice encouraged by rocking
side to side until an excess of juice robbed him of purchase.
Experience taught him to wait for the juices to subside until
feeling returned then he thrust again and withdrew while Alice
forced her pelvic muscles to narrow her passage and squeeze the
beast which provoked his jerks until he had regained momentum.

His jerks turned to thrusts and became
faster until he felt his own juice rising within his scrotum and
traverse his manhood to erupt once more in a jet which still
reached her cervix for she felt the impact of hot liquid and
screamed in delight. Sated, the beast now deflated and slipped out
of her passage and once again she experienced the unpleasant
after-effects which she hastened t
o staunch with her under-draws St John kissed her
forehead before examining his prize and wondering what blessed turn
of fate had allowed him to realise his dream. She for her part
noticed his frown and thinking to divert him, raised her hand above
the bed out of his vision and gave a pull on something. St John
began to hear voices, voices he knew and was about to say something
when she placed a warm hand against his mouth, rolling her eyes
upwards.

Astonished he
followed her directions and saw a tube and heard a voice which he
recognised, whispering, "Shrewsbury." as his mind tried to
visualise the gentleman mentally, making the journey up the voice
pipe to a room far above.

Oblivious to
lovemaking taking place several floors beneath him, Charles Talbot,
duke of Shrewsbury answered a question put to him by William Legge,
the earl of Dartmouth:

"No, definitely not
!" he said emphatically. "Such questions
have no place here today. Surely you would agree, Oxford!" Thus
addressed Robert Harley, the earl of Oxford, sighed before
saying:

"Somewat late
in the day, my lord."

Shrewsbury
turned to Chalmers, St John's steward and clerk, somewhat
irritated: "Where is your master, steward. He should have been here
a half-hour since."

Chalmers
apologised explaining that this master had been delayed by the
queen to which Shrewsbury muttered: "The queen or a queen, eh!"

Dartmouth riposted: "That is appropriate
coming from the King of Hearts himself." He laughed at his own joke
but nobody joined in apart from Shrewsbury himself who observed:
"When shall I ever live my nickname down? ”He looked around,
saying: “W
ho else is
there?"

Then turning
to an individual he said pungently: "Ah, Mr Prior. I trust you want
no extra Jacobite provisions."

Once again
Dartmouth saw a possible joke: "The gentleman wants Prior notice of
that question, your grace." He chortled but again nobody joined
him. The company stared at the floor and he was rescued by Prior
himself who remarked: "I need no prior notice your lordship. As a
diplomatist I am happy to leave it to the statesmen."

There was a
cursory knock at the door and on entry the butler announced"

"His
Excellency, the Baron Nicolas Mesnager." The baron swept in and as
the butler withdrew exaggerated his bow to all and arrested his
civilities when he noticed the glum faces around him. He pondered
upon the possibility and decided it had nothing to do with him yet
made him reflect upon a particular issue now interrupted: "Come,
monsieur le baron, take a seat."

It was
Shrewsbury and Mesnager thanked him remarking upon his friendly
invitation which the duke answered bluntly:

"My dear baron
let me tell you that I have just told the company that a Jacobite
restoration is out of the question so I would hasten to disabuse
you of any such amendment. We are here assembled today, at this
hour, to collectively sign the preliminary articles which your
esteemed person and my estimable friend here have so diligently
prepared; that and nothing more."