Courting Her Highness (43 page)

“I think … my mind is clear, Your Grace, and my only intention was to tell you what I thought you ought to know.”

“Well, go on. Don’t sit spluttering there.”

“She spends hours alone with the Queen … in the green closet … playing the harpsichord and singing.”

“Well, there’s no harm in that.”

“She entertains the Queen with her mimicry. Your Grace would be surprised to see the insolence of that. I have heard her imitation of my Lord Treasurer, the Duke and … Your Grace.”

“If I believed that I would box the slut’s ears.”

“I assure Your Grace that it is true. Would I, a dying woman, make such a charge if it were not?”

“You bedchamber women are all alike. You’re all jealous of each other. It is not so long ago that I found it necessary to reprove you, Danvers, for helping yourself to the Queen’s mantuas.”

“Your Grace, I took what was due to me.”

“I trust you have not again been helping yourself to what you considered your dues.”

“Since Your Grace’s orders I have touched nothing … although …”

The Duchess looked haughty. There was some underhand business here. Danvers wanted to get her girl into the bedchamber, that was certain. So perhaps that was why she wanted to get Abigail Hill out. Abigail playing the harpsichord, making poultices, emptying the slops … what did it matter. Sarah had no desire to do such things. But mimicry, that was a different matter. But not demure, deprecating Hill! She would never believe that of her. No, Danvers was jealous for some reason.

“I am glad to hear you have filched nothing,” said the Duchess. “While I am here I will examine the wardrobe to assure myself that everything is in order.”

Mrs. Danvers said desperately: “Your Grace, I overheard Mrs. Hill speaking of Mrs. Vain to the Queen.”

“What’s that?”

“Mrs. Hill does not wish Mrs. Vain to be brought into the bedchamber.”

“Not wish … But what concern is that of hers?”

“That is a question I should like to ask her, Your Grace, but I swear I heard her speaking to the Queen and telling Her Majesty why they did not need her.”

This made sense. Hill did not want Vain. Hill had spoken to the Queen on this matter and persuaded Anne to agree with her. And for this reason Anne had set herself against employing Vain in the bedchamber.

Impossible! Anne would never listen to Hill when Sarah expressed a
wish. But it was strange. Anne had been so … stubborn, and about such a minor matter. One could understand the Sunderland affair. But a bedchamber woman was somewhat different from a Secretary of State.

Mrs. Danvers saw that she had succeeded in making the Duchess uneasy, so at least the visit had not been wasted. She would do what she could for Mrs. Danvers’ daughter and at the same time she was uneasy about Hill.

The Duchess rose to go. “Don’t worry about your girl,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“I thank Your Grace with all my heart and I trust you do not take amiss what I have said of Abigail Hill. I know she is a kinswoman of Your Grace.”

“You were right to tell me,” said the Duchess.

Her first impulse was to go to the Queen and demand corroboration of what Danvers had told her. But in a moment of rare hesitation she decided she would ponder this matter for a while; and perhaps in the meantime sound Abigail.

“It is a
pleasure, George,” said the Queen as she lay beside her husband in the big connubial bed, “to know that Hill and Masham are so close to us. I am sure they will be happy.”

“You haf been kind to them, my angel.”

“George, dear, you’re lying too flat. It’ll bring on the wheeze.”

George hoisted himself up a little. “The fish was goot,” he said, “but it repeats.”

“George, you should drink a little less. Dr. Arbuthnot says so.”

“It makes no difference, my angel.”

“Dear George, this romance. It takes me back so.… Do you remember the first years? How happy we were!”

“I remember, my love. I am the happiest man.…”

“Yes, we fell in love at sight and that is a rare thing in royal marriages. Now Hill has become Masham. I shall never get used to calling her Masham, but of course just now it is as well, for the marriage remains a secret. I am pleased about that. And it is such a pleasure to see how Masham adores her. I am sure he realizes her good qualities and holds himself the
luckiest man alive … which is how it should be. I have told Hill that I hope she will soon be bringing her first-born to me. I shall take a very particular interest in Hill’s first-born, George, and I hope you will too. You know, George, I believe you were the first to notice how taken Masham was with Hill. You pointed it out to me. It is so delightful to see young people in love and when marriages are so suitable … I think you are rather fond of Masham, George … just as I am of Hill, and is it not a pleasure to think of them together in their apartment within easy call should we need them. Eh, George?”

But George was fast asleep. In a few moments he would begin to snore.

Anne smiled at him; she did not see his unlovely face, the mouth slightly ajar, the heavy breathing that might at any moment become painful. She thought of him as he had been as a bridegroom. Dear George, so handsome, so ready to fall in love.

It was so pleasant to think of Masham and Hill—dear Hill—in the next apartment … together.

Abigail was wide
awake. Samuel lay beside her, pleasantly weary, satisfied. Marriage! she was thinking. It gave one a certain standing. Even her sister’s attitude towards her had changed. Alice had come to the ceremony in Dr. Arbuthnot’s apartments and had been frankly envious. Alice was getting fat—too much good living, too much purposeless living. She thought herself fortunate to have a pension after such short service in the household of the young Duke of Gloucester and then a place in the Queen’s household which was very undemanding. But perhaps Alice was beginning to respect her sister for more reasons than the fact that she was now a married woman.

It was not possible for a woman to be so constantly with the Queen and not arouse some curiosity. And how curious they all were. Why should a Queen select a plain insignificant mouse like Abigail Hill for a favourite!

“Hill makes good poultices.” “Hill keeps her mouth shut.” “Hill listens and agrees and soothes.” “Hill is mealymouthed. Sly. Deep.”

They said all these things of her. It was inevitable.

And now she had Samuel.

Samuel was the devoted husband, and she was lucky since she did not look for romance. But perhaps in foolish moments all women looked for romance. It didn’t matter whether they had somewhat scanty sandy hair or an abundance of corn coloured waves, whether they were handsome or plain. They all looked for romance.

The Duchess had found it, surely. The Duke was the man of her choice; he was handsome, courteous and at the moment the national hero. Yet the Duchess was not satisfied. She was not content to be a dearly loved woman; she must rule the country as well.

She is related to me, thought Abigail, and though I am not handsome as she is I am as ambitious.

Suppose Harley had been free.… Suppose she had married him. What a union theirs would have been! It would have been compared with that of the Marlboroughs. They could have gone as far together. Harley would have his Earldom someday; he would have had his Dukedom perhaps. And she would have been a Duchess; the woman of the Queen’s bedchamber would have trembled when she entered; they would have curtseyed to her as fearfully as they did to Sarah Churchill.

Why not? Why not?

Because Fate had not been so kind to her, because she had not been born handsome; the man whose love she had won was Samuel Masham, whose looks and temperament were similar to her own. Robert Harley had had no feeling for her except amusement, because he understood hers for him, and a desire to cultivate her for the good she could bring him.

But the Queen loved her. Yes, in the secret places of Anne’s mind Abigail Masham was more important to her than Sarah Churchill.

That was her strength. The Queen’s need of her which was real while her need for Sarah was a myth … a fantasy … a dream left over from childhood.

“Sam,” she whispered.

“My dearest …” was his tired answer.

“The Duchess came to the Queen today. I heard she was looking for me. She wished to speak to me.”

“She’ll not be pleased.…”

“She’ll have to be displeased then. We are married now … no one can alter that.”

His hand closed over hers and he grunted with satisfaction.

She felt impatient with him because he would never be a leader. He had no real ambition. Perhaps that was good though because it would leave her a free hand.

But she lay there thinking of Robert Harley—his witty comments, his amusing manners, his worldliness, his ambition.

He would have been the head of the Government and she would have ruled the Queen.

Now they would still work together but it was only ambition that bound them. Abigail felt desolate, disappointed and defeated.

She had wanted Harley and she had been given Masham.

She remembered the days when she had been in servitude at Holywell House—those occasions when the Duke and Duchess had been in residence. Like lovers they were; it was impossible to be in the house and not know it. She remembered how the servants used to titter on those occasions when the Duke returned home after an absence. They used to say that the Duke would not stop to take off his boots before going to bed with Sarah—so impatient was he.

Such lovers they were—and it was impossible to be in the house and not know it. Love like that was enduring and rare. When one became aware of it, one dreamed of sharing such an emotion, one longed for it.

Sarah had been singularly blessed. She had extraordinary beauty and vitality and the devotion of the man she adored. She might have been the luckiest woman in the world if she had allowed herself to be, for all the most precious gifts in life had been bestowed upon her. But she didn’t deserve them.

If only I had had her good fortune! mused Abigail; and she saw herself in a great mansion, and Harley riding into the courtyard, his face alight with love for Abigail as she had seen John Churchill’s for Sarah.

The bell was ringing.

“Wake up, Sam, they want us. It’s the Prince’s asthma again.”

He groaned, but she was already out of bed. “Don’t be foolish, Sam,” she said. “Rejoice rather. They can’t do without us, you know … and ask yourself this: What would we be without them?”

“Hill,” said the
Queen, “you are looking a little tired.”

“Your Majesty is so kind.…”

“With Danvers spending so much time in her bed there is a great deal for you to do.”

She is relenting! thought Abigail. She is going to please the Duchess by taking Mrs. Vain after all. Let that happen and Sarah would have scored another victory. It must not be.

“Mrs. Danvers has a daughter who is seeking a place,” said Abigail. “Poor Mrs. Danvers, I believe she worries a great deal now that she is ill. She would be very happy if you could take the girl into your household.”