Courting Her Highness

THE MASHAM MARRIAGE

Harley, watching events closely, was not sure how great a victory this was for the Churchills; indeed he was hoping that it might be turned to a defeat. Anne had been shown that she had not a free hand to choose her ministers. It was a blow for her. With the appointment of Sunderland the Tories were now out of the Privy Council; the Whigs were in power and the only Tories who remained in office were Robert Harley and Henry St. John, two men on whom Marlborough and Godolphin had believed they could rely.

Sarah was triumphant. She was more arrogant than ever.

But Abigail was aware of a great confidence which had come to Robert Harley; and she shared in it.

She had told the Queen that Samuel Masham had asked her to marry him and Anne was delighted. She would give the marriage her blessing, which meant a handsome dowry as well; and she did not suggest that Sarah should be told.

That was significant. The relationship between Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman had not been strengthened by Mrs. Freeman’s victory.

There seemed no reason why Abigail’s marriage should be delayed any longer. Samuel was eager for it and Abigail was willing.

Dr. Arbuthnot, the Queen’s Scottish doctor, who had learned to admire and respect Abigail during their encounters in the sick room, was interested in the couple.

“I would not care,” he had said, “to see Your Majesty bereft of Mrs. Hill. This is a marriage after my own heart, for the bride’s home will still be in Your Majesty’s bedchamber.”

“I am pleased too,” agreed Anne, “for I could not do without Hill. And it is a great pleasure to me to see her happy. I have had the best husband in the world and my marriage would have been completely happy if it had been … fruitful.”

“Well we’ll hope that Mrs. Hill enjoys both the felicity and the fruit, Madam.”

“I shall pray that she does.”

“And when is the ceremony to take place, Madam?”

“You must consult Hill about that, Dr. Arbuthnot,” said the Queen benignly.

So the doctor did. It was difficult, Abigail explained. She could scarcely expect to be married in the royal apartments, and she was anxious for the marriage to remain something of a secret for a time. She and Samuel wanted no hindrances.

Dr. Arbuthnot nodded. Like Abigail he was thinking of the Duchess of Marlborough. She had no right to interfere with Abigail’s marriage, but she was not one to look for a right before interfering.

This matter of Sunderland had in Arbuthnot’s opinion not helped the Queen’s health. He had said to his wife: “The more we keep that woman from the Court the better for Her Majesty.”

“Mrs. Arbuthnot would take it an honour if you were wedded in our apartment,” he said.

Abigail’s plain face was alight with pleasure.

“Oh, doctor, that is kind of you and Mrs. Arbuthnot!”

“Get away with ye,” said the doctor. “We’ll be glad to do a turn for you.”

When Abigail went back to the Queen, Anne noticed that she was looking pleased and Abigail told her of Dr. Arbuthnot’s suggestion.

“He is a good man,” said Anne. “I am pleased. Sit down, Hill. Oh dear, I shall have to learn to call you Masham. I shall come to the wedding to give you my blessing, my dear.”

Abigail took the swollen hand and kissed it.

“How can I ever thank Your Majesty.”

“Hill, I have much for which to thank you. You are a comfort to me … a very great comfort.”

There was silence for a few moments then Abigail said: “Madam, Masham and I thought that it might be better to keep our marriage a secret for a while. There might be some who, in the first place, might try to prevent it and, in the second, might grow angry because permission had not been asked. Have I your Majesty’s permission to avoid this … this inconvenience?”

Anne’s lips tightened for a moment. Abigail without looking at her was aware of this and knew that she was thinking of the Duchess of Marlborough who had so recently scored the victory of Sunderland—at least she thought it was a victory.

“I think it is good, Hill, always to avoid inconvenience when possible.”

The matter was settled.

Abigail Hill was to be married to Samuel Masham in the apartments of Dr. Arbuthnot. The Queen would be present—but the Duchess of Marlborough should be kept in ignorance of the event.

Mrs. Danvers had been feeling unwell for a long time, and one morning she awoke and said to herself: “I believe I am dying.”

She rose from her bed and tottered to her mirror. Her face looked yellow. Of course she was getting old. She had come to the Queen when Anne was a young girl and had been with her all through the reigns of Charles II, James II, William and Mary, and now Anne’s own. Not that they were long reigns, but still they represented a number of years.

Life had been interesting, living close to great events; perquisites had been rewarding—at least they had until Her Grace of Marlborough had become so watchful of the wardrobe.

And today Her Grace might be coming to visit her, on the invitation of Mrs. Danvers herself. On the other hand she might not come, for the Duchess of Marlborough could ignore what was almost a summons from one in Mrs. Danvers’ position.

“Lord,” thought Mrs. Danvers, “I’d never dared have asked her but for the child.”

The child was her daughter—not such a child either, for she was old enough to have a place in the Queen’s bedchamber. Of course she could have asked the Queen herself and been sure of a sympathetic hearing; but over the last years it had become a habit only to ask favours of the Queen through the Duchess. For if the Queen granted a favour and the Duchess thought it should not have been granted, she would find some means to prevent the benefit being bestowed.

All those about the Queen had long ago realized that it was the Duchess who ruled.

Nothing could change that, Mrs. Danvers told herself, nothing at all. That was why, in spite of the Duchess’s overbearing manner one continued to placate her, and realized that it was necessary to serve her.

Lately there had been a change in the immediate royal circle. The Queen was clearly growing more and more incapacitated; but she did not seem to fret for the Duchess’s company as she once did. It was always: “Hill! Hill! Where is Hill?”

One would have thought that Hill had been the servant who had been with her since she was a child, by the confidence she put into that young woman!

Danvers did not like Hill. Hill was calm, never lost her temper, never answered back; but Mrs. Danvers was convinced that Hill was “deep.” When the Duchess was angry the whole Court knew it; she was frank and open, as she was fond of saying. With Hill it was another matter.

One had to beware of Hill. Everyone should beware of Hill. Perhaps even the Duchess.

Mrs. Danvers had been turning over in her mind for some time how to approach this matter, how to explain why she, the humble Danvers, had dared ask the mighty Duchess to visit her. She could not say: “I want you to look after my daughter when I am gone.” But she could say: “I think I should warn Your Grace that something strange is going on between the Queen and Abigail Hill.”

She dressed slowly and rested, for the Queen had given her leave of absence from her duties and as she lay on her bed she rehearsed what she would say if and when the Duchess arrived.

Sarah came to the Castle from the Lodge. She intended to see the Queen over the matter of a certain Mrs. Vain for whom she wanted a place in the bedchamber.

The Queen had been piqued since the affair of Sunderland, but Sarah had made up her mind that she would not allow such nonsense to persist. There was no need for Anne to sulk because Sarah and her ministers had made her see that her duty to the country came before personal prejudice.

It was for this reason doubtless that she had refused the appointment to Mrs. Vain. Godolphin had asked for it and Marl was in favour of it. The woman would be a friend to them and Godolphin and Marlborough believed they needed more friends in the bedchamber.

“I have installed Hill there,” she had told them. “Hill will never forget what I have done for her.”

“Hill is too dull and too servile. She scarcely sees anything,” was Godolphin’s answer.

“No, but she is often with the Queen and I fancy no one would dare speak against me in Hill’s hearing knowing her to be my woman and that I should certainly be told.”

“All the same it would be good to have Mrs. Vain there.”

“I will speak to her this very day,” Sarah promised.

She scarcely waited to greet the Queen before she brought up the matter of Mrs. Vain.

“Such an excellent woman, Mrs. Morley. I can vouch for her. I know that she would give you good service.”

“I am sure anyone recommended by Mrs. Freeman would be excellent.”

“Then I shall send her to you without delay.”

“But,” said Anne, “I do not want a bedchamber woman.”

“Mrs. Vain is a most agreeable creature.”

“I am sure she is all that Mrs. Freeman says she is.”

“Danvers has not been looking well lately.”

“Poor Danvers, I fear she is getting old.”

“She should be sent away for a holiday. With Mrs. Vain in attendance she would not be missed.”

“We could manage very well without Danvers for a while.”

“There would be no need to manage. With Mrs. Vain …”

“But I do not want a bedchamber woman,” said Anne. “And when I have one, she will not be a married woman.”

“My dear Mrs. Morley must take greater care of her health.”

“I am very well served and Mrs. Freeman need have no fears on that account.”

“But with Danvers’ health failing …”

“Hill and the others manage very well.”

“I will send Mrs. Vain to you and then Your Majesty will see for yourself.”

Anne’s fan came up to her lips and stayed there.

“I do not want a bedchamber woman,” she said. “And when I do I shall choose an unmarried woman.”

Really, thought Sarah, this was becoming too tiresome when there had to be a battle over the installation of a new bedchamber woman! But it was no use talking to Anne when she was in that mood.

Sarah took her leave and went to keep her appointment with Mrs. Danvers.

The woman certainly looked ill.

“It was good of Your Grace to come,” she said, curtseying with great respect.

“What’s the matter, Danvers?”

“I am getting old, Your Grace and I fancy I haven’t long for this world. I have something on my mind … and I felt it was my duty to put this before Your Grace.”

“Well, what is it?”

“It is not easy to say it, but I’m anxious on account of my daughter. If I should die I should like to know that Your Grace would … keep an eye on her.”

“Oh,” said the Duchess.

“Yes, Your Grace. She’s a good girl and would be most grateful to Your Grace, and you will understand a mother’s anxiety.”

“I understand,” said the Duchess, “and if an opportunity should arise I will see that your daughter is not forgotten.”

“She would serve you well and would not be like some.… It is on this matter that I asked Your Grace to call.”

The Duchess’s brilliant blue eyes opened wider and she cried: “What’s that?”

“Well, Your Grace, I was thinking of Abigail Hill.”

“What of Abigail Hill?”

“Your Grace did everything for her but she has not repaid you well. I meant that my daughter would …”

“Not repaid me well! What does that mean?”

“Your Grace knows that it is her most earnest endeavour to take your place with Her Majesty.”

“Take my place! Are you mad, Danvers? That … insect!”

“She is sly, Madam.”

“Sly! She’s … insignificant.”

“The Queen does not find her so.”

“The Queen says she makes a good poultice. That is the limit of Madam Abigail’s abilities.”

“No, Your Grace …”

The Duchess was speechless. That this bedchamber woman should have the effrontery to contradict her! It was incredible!

“Danvers, allow me to know best.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.”

“You’re wandering in your mind, Danvers.”

“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.”

“My poor Danvers! Tell her to come to me when she is a little recovered and I will speak to her.”

“And Your Majesty in the goodness of your heart will ease her mind by offering her girl a bedchamber post?”

“It was you who brought it to my notice yet I fancy Danvers has not always been kind to you.”

“I had so much to learn when I first entered Your Majesty’s service.”

Anne’s white fingers caressed the sandy locks for Abigail was seated on the stool at her feet where she liked her to be.

“You are such a good creature, Hill … Masham I mean. Do you know I fancy I shall never grow accustomed to calling you Masham. I was saying so to the Prince last night in bed.”

It was impossible to keep secret the fact that Masham and Abigail Hill shared those apartments adjoining the royal ones. They slept in the same bed. This could mean only one thing, for the Queen and the Prince must be aware of this which, if the pair were unmarried, Anne would never have countenanced.

Mrs. Danvers, feeling better and still clinging to the belief that the Duchess was her true patron asked the Duchess to call upon her once more; and this time Sarah did not hesitate. Since the last interview she had decided to have a word with Abigail when they met, but to her amazement she found that she never met Abigail. It was not until she received this invitation from Mrs. Danvers that it occurred to her that Abigail might have deliberately avoided her.

“Well?” she demanded of Mrs. Danvers.

“There are rumours about Mrs. Hill, Your Grace … Mrs. Hill and Masham.”

“What rumours?”

“That they are married.”

“Nonsense. Hill would not marry without informing me.”

“It is said that they share an apartment close to the Queen’s, Your Grace … to be handy should they be needed for the Prince in the night.”

“I never heard such nonsense. Hill and Masham would not share an apartment unless they were married, and if they were I should know. If Hill was so deceitful as to keep the matter from me, the Queen would tell me and if they have an apartment next to hers and are together on night duty Her Majesty would be in the secret. I never heard such stuff and nonsense.”

“I merely thought Your Grace would not wish me to keep such a persistent rumour from you.”

“I’m not blaming you for telling me, Danvers, but for believing such rubbish. I hear your girl is now in the bedchamber.”

“Yes, Your Grace, Mrs. Hill kindly spoke to the Queen for her.”

“Mrs. Hill spoke to the Queen!”

“Yes, Your Grace, and Her Majesty kindly gave her the place.”

As Sarah left Mrs. Danvers she remembered Alice Hill. There was another of the indigent ones who had been well treated by her. If there was any truth in this absurd story, which was beginning to give Sarah a qualm or two, Alice would be likely to know.

There was a flutter of excitement among the maids at the approach of the Duchess. Such a visit must mean trouble for someone, for wherever the Duchess went there was a train of complaints.

“I want to speak to Alice Hill,” she said. “And without delay.”

Alice, flushed, alarmed, and fat, came hurrying to the Duchess.

Slut! thought Sarah. I have done too much for these Hills. What is this one doing to earn her very comfortable livelihood, I should like to know.

“You’ve grown fat,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” replied Alice, bobbing a curtsey.

“Too much rich food.” Sarah made a note that she would take a look at the accounts and see how much was being spent on servants’ food. “I want to talk to you about your sister.”

“Oh yes, Your Grace.” Alice flushed scarlet. Guilty! thought the Duchess. Yes, something is afoot.

“When did you last see her?”

“Oh … er … Your Grace, I’m not sure. It might have been yesterday. She is very thin, Your Grace. You would certainly not find her fat.”

“I want to ask you a plain question, Alice Hill. Do you know whether your sister is married to Samuel Masham?”

Alice gave a little cry and clapped her hand to her lips.

“Oh … Your Grace …”

“Is she?”

Sarah advanced and catching the girl by the shoulders shook her.

“Yes … Your Grace.”

Sarah released the girl.

“Why was I not told?”

“I … I believe my sister thought that such a matter would be of small moment to such a great lady, Your Grace.”

“I see,” said Sarah. “But I should have been told.”

Abigail could not hope to avoid the Duchess for ever; and now being determined to see her, Sarah soon arranged a meeting. When Abigail came from the Queen’s apartments she found the Duchess waiting for her in one of the ante-rooms.

“Your Grace!” cried Abigail, flushing and lowering her eyes.

“I’ve been hearing news of you. So you are married.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And to Samuel Masham.”

“Your Grace knows him?”

“I know him for a young man who is always making bows to everyone and is ever ready to skip and open a door.”

“He is aware of his humble situation, Your Grace, and has a desire to please; his manners are such that he would hasten to open a door for a lady.”

“H’m,” said Sarah. “An odd affair, was it not? Why should it not be open? Why this secret?”

Abigail opened her eyes very wide. “There was no need for secrecy, Your Grace. I did not tell you because I felt you were too busy with more important affairs.”

“You forget that I had brought you to Court, that I was your benefactress.”

“It is a fact I shall never forget, Your Grace.”

“Nor should you. You were nothing but a serving girl when I brought you from Lady Rivers. I should have thought it was ordinary politeness to tell me you hoped to marry, and to ask my consent.”

“Your Grace, I most humbly beg your pardon.”

“I’m not against the marriage. In fact, I think it suitable. You continue to serve the Queen and Masham continues to serve the Prince. I should have put nothing in the way of it. Of course you have not been well brought up, otherwise you would not have made the mistake of behaving in this way.”

“So Your Grace forgives me?”

“I will overlook your fault, but do try to behave with more grace in future. So … you are a married woman now. The Queen will not be pleased. She does not care for all this secrecy, but I don’t doubt I can explain to her. I will ask her to give you a better lodging. Now that you are married you should have some standing. If there are children you will have to think of them. But in spite of your folly and your lack of consideration to me I will inform the Queen.”

“Er …” began Abigail.

“What?” cried the Duchess, appalled that Abigail after having committed one breach of good manners by keeping her marriage secret could be guilty of another and as great—daring to break in on the Duchess’s conversation.

“I … I believe that Her Majesty has already been informed.”

“Nonsense! You don’t imagine that Her Majesty would not have told me!”

What could Abigail say to that? She lowered her eyes and looked embarrassed; but inwardly she was laughing. Her Grace was going to receive a shock.

Sarah was looking into the accounts. That girl was far too fat. It was probable that she and her fellow servants were following the Queen’s habit of drinking chocolate last thing at night.

The consumption of chocolate had not been excessive.… She glanced through the Queen’s account. What was this three thousand pounds?

The Queen had wanted it for a private matter. As keeper of the Privy Purse she remembered the occasion well.

“A private matter,” said the Queen; and Sarah had been too concerned about the Vain matter to try to discover why.

This would be just about the time of the Masham marriage.

Horror dawned on Sarah. Could it be possible? Had Anne given the girl a dowry?

That would be like Anne. She was a generous woman. The dowry was not really important and naturally she would want to give a relative of Sarah’s a dowry. But it was rather a large sum for a bedchamber woman! And why had the Queen kept the secret? Why had she not told Sarah?

The more Sarah thought of it, the more certain she became that the three thousand pounds had gone to Abigail—and the greater was her perturbation.

Sarah came briskly into the Queen’s apartments and with a wave of the hand dismissed two of the women who were in attendance. Abigail must have heard of her approach for she was nowhere in sight.

Anne, lying back in her chair, picked up her fan and smiled at Sarah.

“My dearest Mrs. Freeman.”

“I have just heard of Hill’s marriage to Samuel Masham.”

“Oh yes,” said the Queen. “Hill is Masham now. I find it difficult to remember to call her Masham. I was saying so to Mr. Morley last night.”

“I cannot understand why Your Majesty has not been kind enough to tell me of the marriage.”

“Oh, I have bid Masham to tell you, but she would not.”

“I brought her to this Court. I took her from a broom. But for me where would she be now? Yet she marries and it appears that the whole Court knows of it and I do not.”

Anne fanned herself unconcernedly. What had become of her? Didn’t she care that she had upset Mrs. Freeman?

“I find it most extraordinary. In the past Mrs. Morley would never have kept secrets from Mrs. Freeman.”

“I always liked to share secrets,” said Anne, “and particularly with you. I remember thinking to myself, ‘I must tell Sarah that.’ It was in the days before we became Mrs. Freeman and Mrs. Morley.”

“And yet you did not tell me of this marriage.”

“I have bid Masham tell you … but she would not.”

How was it possible to keep one’s temper with such a woman?

Sarah took the first opportunity of leaving the Queen, and went at once to Mrs. Danvers.

“You had better tell me everything you know about this affair,” she cried.

“Your Grace is now satisfied that there has been a marriage?”

“I have ascertained that—and that I have been kept in the dark. Now, Danvers, you must tell me anything else you know.”

“I know that Abigail Hill spends some two hours every day with the Queen in the green closet. The Prince is there, but he sleeps most of the time and often Hill is alone with the Queen.”

“Talking to the Queen?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Talking to the Queen! Advising her not to take Mrs. Vain but a woman of her choice instead—the Danvers girl in this instance. Not that Hill was interested in the Danvers girl. Her only object would be to keep out Sarah’s choice.

“She plays the harpsichord to Her Majesty, does the poulticing and massaging. Often I have seen her sitting on the stool at Her Majesty’s feet. If she is not there Her Majesty sends for her. I have heard them laughing and the … mimicry.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. Ridiculing her. Ridiculing the Duke! Oh, this was an enemy indeed. But she would go in and smite her. Soon no one at Court would dare mention the name of Masham!

“And then, of course, Your Grace, there is her cousin. She is very friendly with him and he makes a great fuss of her.”

“Her cousin?”

“Mr. Harley, Your Grace.”

Sarah’s heart began to beat faster. In a word or two Danvers had put a very different colour on the entire affair.

“Very affectionate, they are. He calls her his dear coz, and afternoon on afternoon she’ll let him in to the green closet and they’ll be there together … the Queen, Mr. Harley, Abigail Hill … and the Prince, but he sleeps through most of it.”

“Why did you not tell me of this before?”

“I tried to tell Your Grace … but Your Grace didn’t seem to want to listen.”

“Harley with the Queen in the green closet and you think I don’t want to hear! You’re mad, Danvers. You’re in your dotage. What else?”

“Mr. St. John sometimes comes with Mr. Harley, Your Grace. They are all very friendly with Hill.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace … for a very long time I think.”

The Duchess rose and left. Rarely in her life had she been so shaken. What she had believed to be the social gaffe of an illbred chambermaid was turning out to be a major court intrigue.

Sarah was bewildered. For the first time in her life she did not know how to act. John was abroad. Godolphin was useless; Sunderland and she had never been in tune. What she had to discover was how far had Abigail Hill supplanted her in the Queen’s affections.

She knew Anne depended on her friendships with women. It had always been so from her childhood; and Mary, her sister, had been the same, until she had married William. Anne had selected Sarah as the adored one, but Sarah had disliked the cloying affection bestowed upon her; she had turned from it in disgust—and had, she knew, on occasions betrayed her feelings. But for the fact that Anne was Queen she would never have become involved in such a relationship. It was against her nature; and the older she grew the more repulsive was Anne to her. But she needed Anne’s favour; she needed to rule the woman if she were going to bring that fame and fortune to her family which she had decided they must have.

She had been occupied outside the Court; it was true that she had avoided the Queen; and insidiously, while she neglected Anne, that creature, that insect, that little-better-than-a-servant had been creeping in with her lotions and poultices, her Purcell and her mimicry, her flattery and her solicitude.

“It makes me sick!” cried Sarah.

But she knew that she had to do all in her power to end such a situation. How she wished that dear Marl was at home. With his cool reasoning he would know how to act. There were times when she had upbraided him for his caution. But she had need of that caution now.

What should she do next? It was no use seeing that old parrot who was in full cry with her “I have bid Masham tell you and she would not.” That was going to be her answer to everything.

So she must see Abigail again, and if necessary shake the truth out of the creature.

Sarah went down to Woodstock. There at least was the evidence of the respect in which the Marlboroughs were held. Blenheim was going to be one of the biggest palaces in the country, and it was built for the Marlboroughs in honour of the Duke’s great victory.

That was balm; but she could not get on with Vanbrugh and wished his plans had never been accepted. He was arrogant. One would have thought the house was being built for him.

It was soothing to some extent to harangue Vanbrugh—but little use in the present situation.

Sarah could never resist the pen. It soothed her always to pour out her anger in words and writing them was almost as comforting as speaking them.

She wrote to the Queen, reproaching her for her duplicity. Why, why, why had she kept her in the dark about the Masham marriage? What could have been the point? Mrs. Freeman who had always had such concern for Mrs. Morley was astonished that Mrs. Morley could have treated her so.

Anne wrote back:

“You are pleased to accuse me in your last letter very unjustly, especially concerning Masham. You say I avoid giving you a direct answer to what I must know is your greatest uneasiness, giving it a turn as if it were only the business of the day that had occasioned your suspicion. What I told you is very true and no turn as you are pleased to call it.…”

The tone of that letter, so different from those which Sarah was accustomed to receive from her “unfortunate and faithful Morley” should have warned Sarah, but Sarah had never heeded warnings.

As she said, she wanted plain answers to plain questions and she wanted to know how deep was this friendship between Abigail and Anne, whether Abigail had replaced her in the Queen’s affections, and what had happened at those meetings in the green closet between the Queen, Harley, St. John and Abigail Hill.

She wrote to Abigail demanding a meeting as soon as she returned to London from Woodstock; but when she did come back Abigail kept out of her way and Sarah’s fury rose.

She imagined that the “chambermaid” as she referred to her, was being deliberately insolent, particularly when Abigail called on her at a time when she would be aware that she would not be at home.

“If that chambermaid should call again,” shouted Sarah, “I am not at home.”

But Sarah knew that if she could speak with Abigail she would be more likely to get the truth of the situation, and when Abigail wrote a meek little note asking for an interview she granted it.

So carefully worded was that note that Sarah was sure Harley had dictated it. The entire situation was becoming horribly clear. Harley and St. John were the enemies of the Churchills. They always had been, in spite of mealymouthed Harley’s sycophantic admiration for the Duke. Those two had put their heads together to destroy the Churchill faction. She had never liked them. She had told John a hundred times. John had trusted Harley; so had Godolphin. She was the only one with insight into character, and she had known those two were not to be trusted. And all the time they had been in secret conference with the Queen—let in by that snake Abigail Hill, whom she herself had put into the position, to betray them!

They faced each other in Abigail’s apartment.

Oh yes, thought Sarah, she has changed. Not so demure now. The sly creature. Harley has groomed her. She is very sure of herself.

She was dignified, serene and outwardly gracious, knowing her place—Masham now instead of Hill. The Queen’s favourite but still her chambermaid in the presence of the great Duchess of Marlborough.

“So at last I see you!” said Sarah. “I will tell you this that I am astonished by your conduct.”

“I am grieved,” replied Abigail demurely, “and not a little astonished that Your Grace should have found my humble marriage of such concern.”

“Not your marriage—the secrecy that attended it. But let us have the plain truth. The Queen has changed towards me.”

“Your Grace has been much absent. You have so much with which to occupy your time. And added to all else, the building at Woodstock.”

“There is no need to tell me what I do. I know far better than you. I say this—that the Queen has changed towards me because of you, Masham.”

Abigail’s green eyes were very faintly insolent. “Surely that is impossible, Your Grace. A humble chambermaid could not affect the friendship between Her Majesty and the Duchess of Marlborough.”

“Through sly and secret management, yes.”

“Your Grace gives me credit for a diplomacy which is surely beyond my powers.”

“I am just discovering what your powers are. You have been frequently with Her Majesty in private.…”

“As her chambermaid.”

“Don’t evade the truth. You have been with Her Majesty as … a friend. Don’t deny it. Do you think I don’t know her. You have slipped in like the serpent in Eden.”

Abigail smiled.

“Take that smirk off your face, woman. You have wormed your way into the Queen’s favour; and while you have been doing this you have taken every measure possible to hide it. And to hide it from me. I have been a friend to her for years … and you have changed this.”

“I have no power to direct the Queen’s affection.”

“You … snake! Anyone who can behave as you have done is proved to have a very bad purpose at bottom.”

“I do not think Your Grace should be unduly alarmed.”

“You do not think!”

“I know that the Queen has loved you in the past and that she will always be kind to you.”

Sarah could scarcely believe she had heard correctly. This insolence was intolerable. This chambermaid, this hanger-on, this ex-servant girl whom she had taken from a broom was now promising her the Queen’s kindness! She was without words for a few seconds. It was unbelievable. Moreover, it was quite alarming, for Abigail was not the woman to speak such words unless she had the authority to back them.

Sarah felt sick with rage and fear.

What had happened? Could it really be that she had lost the Queen’s favour … lost it to a chambermaid!

“You … wicked creature!” she cried as her powers of speech returned to her and the words came rushing out. “You … snake and serpent … you insect. How dare you smile!”

“There is such a disparity between an insect and a reptile, Your Grace.”

“Oh, the insolence! The ingratitude. Would to God I had never taken you from your broom.”

“It was never my duty to sweep floors, Your Grace.”

“Don’t answer me, you slut! I took you from a broom. I brought you to my house where I fed you and clothed you …”

“As an unpaid servant, Your Grace.”

“The wicked ingratitude! I brought you to Court.”

“That I might take over duties which you found distasteful.”

“And you dare … attempt to usurp my place!”

Abigail was faintly alarmed. The Queen had by no means escaped from the spell of this woman. It was possible that there would be a reconciliation. She must not allow the brief triumph of the moment to tempt her to act foolishly. Mr. Harley would never forgive her if she did.

She became demure again. “Your Grace, I would not attempt the impossible.”

“You attempted to turn the Queen against the great Duke, against myself and Lord Godolphin. Her attitude has changed towards us and it is due to you.”

“Your Grace, I do not discuss business with Her Majesty. I only bring to her petitions with which Your Grace does not wish to trouble herself.”

Sarah wanted to shout: “And Harley! And St. John! What of them!” But she was remembering John’s constant warnings of caution. At the moment it would be unwise to bring in the names of these men. No, she must work in secret, until she found out how deep was the rot.

When she thought of Anne she almost laughed. Of course she would win her way back into the old fool’s affections. Had she not always been eager to be friends? There was the Sunderland affair, the Vain affair. Indications which should have been a warning. Harley had told Abigail Hill that they must undermine the Marlboroughs and this was the result.

Thank God she knew the truth now. But she must be cautious. She must remember that the creature who sat facing her with her green eyes cast down and her pale crafty face was not the insignificant dependant she had thought her. She was a sly and scheming woman who had won the regard of the Queen.

Sarah was unusually silent; and at last Abigail rose, saying that she had taken up too much of Her Grace’s valuable time and must intrude no longer.

She curtsied with the greatest respect; and with lowered eyes said: “I trust Your Grace will permit me to call now and then to enquire for your health.”

Sarah nodded her assent; and Abigail was gone.

Sarah remained seated.

Then she began to laugh. “It is not possible,” she said aloud. “It is simply not possible.”

But Sarah was to find that it was possible. Anne had changed towards her, and although the Queen wrote that she would always be pleased to hear from Mrs. Freeman, she was cool during their meetings, and when she received Sarah would remain standing so that it was impossible for Sarah to sit, which was an indication in itself that the audience would be one of short duration.

Sarah did not know how to meet such a situation. Tact had never been one of her qualities. There were times when she believed that with a little effort she could win back the Queen’s affections, but Sarah had never sought to win any affection in her life; she had simply taken as a right that which was given her.

Even when she wrote to the Queen her tactlessness was in every line. She could only write angrily and reproachfully. She attacked Abigail continuously, and Anne defended her.

“Your Majesty says this lady is the very reverse of what I take her to be. To which I can only answer that she is the very reverse of what I once took her to be, and I don’t at all doubt but when her master Harley has tutored her a little longer—if I do not die very soon—Your Majesty and I shall come to agree in our opinion of her.”

Sarah could not see that the way to win Anne back was not through attacking Abigail.

Then she accused the Queen of not being frank with her. She herself had always been of the frankest nature and had not Mrs. Morley always admired that quality in Mrs. Freeman?

But this was more than a break between the Queen and the Duchess. The Court watched with interest, the Government with alarm; and the man of the moment was Harley who had alienated the Queen from Marlborough and Godolphin.

Harley was a Tory and the Queen had always been a Tory at heart. There was only one thing a Whig Ministry could do and that was get rid of Harley.

Harley had engaged several of the great writers of the day to work for him. Pamphlets were being circulated throughout the city; but his enemies had realized the value of the literary weapon and the age of lampoons had begun.

The story of Abigail Hill’s friendship with the Queen could, the Whigs believed, be used to advantage. It was very different, they believed, from her devotion to the Duchess.

In the streets they had begun to sing the Whig song:

“And when Queen Anne of great renown

Great Britain’s Sceptre swayed.

Besides the Church she dearly loved

A dirty chambermaid.”

Abigail listened quietly; Harley was mildly annoyed; and when the Duke returned from his activities on the Continent for the winter, he grasped the danger of the situation and went into consultation with Godolphin to decide what should be done.