Courting Her Highness (10 page)

“Yes, I think so.”

“Very good. Then come with me.”

Sarah swept imperiously into the Princess’s apartments where Anne was at her table writing a letter.

“My dear, dear Mrs. Freeman,” she said, looking up and smiling. She peered past Abigail as though she were not there. “How pleasant it is to see you. You can seal this letter for me.”

“Abigail Hill will do it, Mrs. Morley. I have brought her along that she may be of use to you.”

“Abigail Hill,” murmured the Princess.

“The poor relation I told you about. She is the one who is going to have the bedchamber post. You’ll find her a good modest creature.”

“I am so glad, dear Mrs. Freeman.”

“I have schooled her thoroughly so you will not have any trouble
there
. She will seal your letters. She will make herself useful without disturbing you in the least. That is what I have trained her to do.”

“How good of you, my dear.”

“As Mrs. Morley knows, she can always rely on Mrs. Freeman to look to her comfort.”

“I know, I know.”

Sarah signed to Abigail to seal the letter. Abigail’s fingers felt wooden; then she realized that neither Sarah nor the Princess were aware of her. How strange, thought Abigail, the letter was addressed to the King. She, homely Abigail Hill, was sealing a letter from the Princess to the King; and what was said in that letter could possibly have a bearing on history. She had never felt quite so important in the whole of her life as she did at that moment.

Sarah was telling the Princess about her newly married daughter Henrietta and that Anne would soon be of an age to marry. The Princess nodded and cooed and now and then spoke of “my boy” in such an affectionate way that Abigail thought how human she was, and how much less terrifying than Lady Marlborough. One would have thought that Sarah was the Queen and Anne the subject.

When she had sealed the letter she laid it on the table.

“Just make yourself useful,” said Sarah. “Mrs. Danvers will tell you anything you want to know. She has been with the Princess for years. But if there is anything you think she should need, you should ask
me
if she should have it. The great point is to remember not to disturb the Princess. She does not want to see you nor hear you.”

“Dear Mrs. Freeman,” murmured Anne, “what should I do without you?”

Sarah congratulated herself on
a shrewd move when she put Abigail into the Princess’s bedchamber. Abigail would be recognized as one of Sarah’s women and it would be known that she would look out for her benefactress’s interests. Moreover, Abigail was efficient; that had been
made obvious at St. Albans. And what was more important she was no pusher. She would keep her place and not attempt to curry favour with the Princess as some of the others did. She was so colourless (apart, thought Sarah with a snort of amusement, from her nose) and so quiet that one scarcely noticed she was there.

Sarah had tested this by asking the Princess what she thought of the new chamber woman.

“Oh,” Anne had replied, “is there one?”

“My dear Mrs. Morley, don’t you remember I presented her to you?”

“You have done me so many favours, Mrs. Freeman. Can you expect me to remember them all?”

“All that I hope is that she is not making herself offensive as some of these bold and brazen pieces do.”

“I am sure she has not, for I did not know that she was there.”

“And you have found nothing amiss? All that you have needed has been done?”

“My dear, dear Mrs. Freeman, I am so well tended … thanks to you. Oh yes, I know it is you I have to thank for the smooth running of my household.”

Nothing could have pleased Sarah better.

Abigail was pleased too. She took her orders from Mrs. Danvers, went about the apartment silent-footed and efficient, and she knew that although she was often in the presence of the Princess, perhaps because the latter was shortsighted, perhaps because Abigail was just another woman to her, she was not aware of her as an individual, although any personal service was always rewarded with a kindly smile.

But it was a pleasant life. The fact of being near the Court greatly appealed to Abigail. She listened to all that was said; she enjoyed hearing stories of the Court of King Charles II and the drama which had followed close on his death. There were many who remembered well how Monmouth had collected an army and calling himself King Monmouth—or perhaps others had called him that?—had attempted to take the crown from James. She heard how William had sailed to England from Holland because he had been invited to take the crown; and how Mary his wife had followed him and the two sisters Mary and Anne had, it was said, broken their father’s heart.

And this Princess whom she served was that same woman who had defied her father and helped to send him into exile, who had circulated stories about her own half brother not being her father’s child at all, but a spurious baby who had been introduced into her stepmother’s bed by means of a warming pan.

Abigail felt that she were living close to history; it could be said that people like the plump, lazy-looking woman whom she served made history. Perhaps her own cousin, Sarah Churchill, did, for she would tell Anne what to do if ever Anne became Queen and it seemed likely that she would. Why not Abigail Hill?

Life had become suddenly more exciting than she had ever dreamed possible. She even had a notion that she was not quite as unattractive as she had always been led to believe.

Alice sent a
message to her telling her that the young Duke of Gloucester was parading his army in the gardens of Kensington Palace, and as the King was to inspect them this was a special occasion and there would be quite a little party going to see this. Why should not Abigail join in. John would be there and so would a friend of Alice’s. She would have an opportunity of seeing the King at closer quarters than she was ever likely to again.

So Abigail asked Mrs. Danvers for leave of absence which was readily given. It was rare, Mrs. Danvers had commented, that one found a chambermaid of Abigail Hill’s stamp, who moved about so quietly that you did not notice she was there, yet managed that everything that should be done was done. A little gaiety would not come amiss either, thought Mrs. Danvers; for although the girl was small and plain, she was also young.

Abigail neatly and very inconspicuously dressed in her discreet grey dress and short black cape found Alice in a red silk gown cut away to show a black satin petticoat with a white calico border; she also wore a black silk scarf and a black and red spotted hood.

Abigail scarcely recognized her and guessed that she was spending a great deal of her salary on her clothes instead of saving as she should. John too showed his love of finery in his brown frieze coat, breeches of the
same colour and light drugged waistcoat; he wore a freshly curled wig and looked quite magnificent. Abigail would have seemed incongruous beside such fashionable people but for the fact that John had brought a friend with him, who was as soberly dressed as Abigail herself.

“This is Samuel Masham,” said John. “I wonder you and my sister haven’t met, Sam, for she is now in the Princess’s household.”

Samuel Masham bowed over Abigail’s hand. He already knew Alice, it seemed.

“I am in the household of the Prince of Denmark,” he said.

Abigail asked if he were satisfied with his post, and he replied that he was very well satisfied.

“One is fortunate to get into the royal household,” he said. “Particularly in my case. I’m the youngest of eight sons.”

“And I believe,” said Abigail, “that His Highness is an indulgent master.”

“The best in the world.”

“The Princess is kindly too.”

“Oh yes, we are fortunate indeed.”

“I should not care to be in the service of the King,” put in John.

“I should say not!” cried Alice. “I’m told he awakes in none too good a temper and lays about him with his cane on those who are unlucky enough to wait on him.”

The four of them laughed and John added: “The clever ones keep out of his way until the day wears on and he becomes more mellow.”

“It’s due to all that Hollands Gin he drinks in the Hampton Banqueting House,” Alice explained. “What a strange man he is! They say that he is filled with remorse because he was unfaithful to Queen Mary and she left a letter reproaching him. Who would have believed that
he
would ever have been anyone’s lover.”

“You’ve seen the Countess of Orkney, I’ll swear,” asked John.

“Yes,” said Alice. “She’s so odd looking. Her eyes are so peculiar. Squinting Betty they call her. Yet she was the only mistress he ever had, so they say; and there’s some that are sure he still meets her—but only when he goes to Holland.”

Abigail and Samuel Masham said nothing, but stood quietly listening to the conversation of the other two. There seemed to be an accord
between them; and Abigail sensed that he was taking everything in, even as she was, but that he was not eager to let them know what he was thinking.

“We should get into our places,” said Samuel. “The display is about to begin.”

He did not touch Abigail but was close beside her. She sensed his interest and it seemed strange to her that a young man should be more interested in her than in Alice. It was something which had never happened before.

The King had arrived and was seated in a grandstand which had been erected for the purpose. No trouble, of course, was too much for the young Duke of Gloucester.

Abigail could not take her eyes from the King, William of Orange, that man of destiny, about whose head, so it was said, on the day of his birth had been seen the three crowns of light, meant to be the crowns of England, Scotland and Ireland which he was destined to inherit. He did not look like a hero. He stooped, and a curvature of the spine was obvious; he was small and thin, his legs like a bird’s, his nose large and hooked, his eyes small, his mouth unsmiling, his face pallid; and his great wig seemed top-heavy on such a little figure. It was small wonder that the people greeted him in a silence that was almost sullen. He was not the man to inspire cheers, for all his cleverness.

“I heard,” whispered Alice, “that he spits blood frequently. He looks like a corpse. He can’t be long for this world.”

“He dismissed Dr. Radcliffe for saying he wouldn’t have his two legs for his three kingdoms,” added John.

“It would seem to me,” Alice went on, “that we shall not long have a King William to rule us.”

Not long a King William, thought Abigail. Well, then there would be a Queen Anne. How strange to think of that mild fat woman ruling a great country. She would not rule in fact; it would be Sarah Churchill who ruled her—Abigail’s own cousin. She felt almost lightheaded to be so close to such important people.

“Here comes the young Duke with his army,” said Samuel quietly.

And there they were—the most unusual army which had ever marched into the park. Ninety boys of varying sizes, shouldering wooden muskets, swords at their sides, all in brilliant uniform.

There were cheers and laughter from the lookers-on as the Duke of Gloucester shouted orders to his company.

“Halt! Present arms!”

There he stood—as odd a figure as the King—in his sparkling uniform, his small frail body and enormous head, made more obvious by his white curled periwig. Beneath the wig his face was animated, his eyes alert, for although he suffered from water on the brain he was clever; and his sayings were quoted not only in the Princess’s Court but in the King’s.

His preoccupation with soldiers had begun in the days when he was driven through the park in the little carriage especially made for him; and it had never left him; and because he was indulged not only by his parents but by the King himself, he had been allowed to recruit his little army and to supply it with uniform and imitation weapons of war.

A small cannon was now being set off in honour of the King; and there was William, lending himself to the occasion with a tolerance he rarely displayed, walking down the ranks with little Gloucester beside him, inspecting the troops.