“I dare swear Lady Marlborough will succeed where the Earl of Sunderland fails. But Spencer is a Whig and Marlborough a Tory. I wonder how that will work. But you see the point, Abigail. They are waiting for William to die and Anne to take the crown. Then the rulers of this country will be the Marlboroughs, the Spencers and the Godolphins.”

“It’s very exciting to watch … like sitting in the stalls at the playhouse.”

“And in a way, Abigail, we play our part. Because we are on the stage after all.”

“In very small parts … the parts that don’t influence the play,” said Abigail with a smile. “Why I’m not even sure what all this fuss about Whigs and Tories means.”

“You should know, Abigail, for they are the people who rule us.”

“I believe Lady Marlborough to lean towards the Whigs although Lord Marlborough is a staunch Tory.”

“And Charles Spencer is a Whig and he has joined the Marlborough family. There will be fireworks, you see.”

“I don’t understand why there should be this conflict between the two parties.”

“But naturally there is for they stand for two opposing opinions. The Whigs are for William because they look upon him as a constitutional monarch; the Tories stand for the old rule—the rule of those Stuart Kings who believed in the Divine Right of Kings. We see where that led Charles I. Charles II had the same beliefs but he was far more clever. He did exactly what he wanted behind the backs of his ministers; but the belief in the Divine Right was there. Then there was James; he was determined to foist Catholicism on a nation which did not want it and you know what happened to him.”

“How clever you are, Samuel.”

“But these facts are common knowledge.”

“And William and Mary were the Whig Sovereigns. I have often heard them called that.”

“Yes, and William never forgets it. That is why he feels so insecure.”

“And when the Princess Anne is Queen, do you think she will be as her uncle and father?”

“I do not know. That is why it is necessary to watch these Whigs and Tories. I think it would depend a great deal on which party was elected.”

“How strange that the Earl of Marlborough should support the Tories.”

“Yes, but his wife is leaning towards the Whigs. She does not want an absolute monarch. What she is after is a Sovereign who is ruled, not by her Parliament, but by the Churchills. We shall have to watch very closely to see what her game is.”

We shall have to watch closely! It made an excitingly intriguing situation. A little plot between herself and Samuel. They were watchers in the wings while the players performed. Somewhere in the back of Abigail’s mind was the thought that one day she and Samuel might actually perform on that stage. But it would be a part that was not noticed by the audience; they would work in the shadows; but perhaps they would be none the less powerful for that.

What extraordinary thoughts for a chambermaid to have! But Abigail was beginning to believe that she was no ordinary chambermaid.

She wanted to know more of these Whigs and Tories, that she might understand all that Samuel had to tell her.

“The Tories?” he said. “It certainly is a strange name. It comes from Ireland. It was first used in Cromwell’s day and described those Irish who remained as outlaws on their own lands instead of immigrating to Connaught as they were commanded to do. Of course our present Tories have nothing to do with that. It is merely the name of the party which opposes the Whig attitude to the Church and State. They stood for the old order of things and many of them are Jacobites of course.”

“And the Whigs?” asked Abigail.

“That was the name first given to the Covenantors of south west Scotland who fought against the Restoration. Then the name was given to those who championed the Exclusion Bill which was to keep James II from the throne and prevent the risk of Popery. They are the country party, the commercial party, those with more liberal views, while the Tories stand for the old way of life.”

“Why, Samuel, you are very knowledgeable.”

They smiled at each other. Samuel found Abigail’s quiet concentration, her modesty, her willingness to learn extremely attractive. Her quiet personality suited his. They enjoyed their meetings and their friendship grew.

Tragedy came to St. James’s Place.

The young Duke of Gloucester had celebrated his eleventh birthday and there had been festivities to mark this occasion.

The Princess Anne had been in good spirits and almost animated. Sarah had been a little impatient with her as she could so easily be at the Princess’s excessive devotion to her son and Anne, sensing this, had sent for Abigail Hill. Abigail had a soothing manner; she agreed with the Princess; she listened to the monologues on the perfections of the boy and only spoke to express incredulity and wonder at his actions. This was just what the Princess needed at the time, even though her greatest joy was in listening to Sarah Churchill’s brilliant and often cruel conversations. With Sarah one listened; with Abigail one talked. Usually Anne preferred to listen; but there were occasions when she wanted to talk; and then she found herself enjoying the society of the meek little chambermaid.

“My boy reviewed his troops this morning. Did you see him? My poor Hill, I must see that you get out more. Remind me. He was so excited by his cannon. A new one, Hill, which the King gave to him. I am delighted that the King and my boy are such good friends. Of course even William cannot help being charmed by him. I know it astonishes everybody. Did you know, Hill, that my boy offered the King his troops and himself to fight for him in Flanders.”

“Really, Madam. What a boy he is!”

“You may well say so, Hill. ‘I would be proud to die in Your Majesty’s service.’ That is what he wrote to the King. Oh dear …”

“Your Highness is cold?” Abigail had put a shawl about Anne’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Hill. I always shiver when I hear the word ‘death’ in connection with my boy. If I lost him, Hill, I do not think I could bear it.”

“I thought he looked very healthy when I last saw him, Your Highness.”

“You did, Hill, did you? And you are an observant creature. Yes, I fancy he grows stronger as he grows older. But I have lost so many. Sometimes I despair of ever having another child. That is why …”

“Your Highness is such a devoted mother.”

“And who would not be, Hill, to such a boy?”

“Who would not indeed, Madam.”

Such pleasant conversations. So comforting!

But the next day the little Duke of Gloucester was taken ill, and the Princess was in despair. He was bled but this did nothing to relieve him. Anne threw off her lethargy; she was at his bedside night and morning; her grief was terrible, but it gave her a dignity she had not shown before.

Abigail remembered the day the little Duke died, for she believed it was a turning point in her life.

The Princess Anne came to her apartments, Prince George of Denmark was with her, and they held hands like two lost children from whom all the joy of living had been removed.

Afterwards Prince George went to his apartments and the Princess was alone.

She did not want to see anyone—not even Lady Marlborough. She sat rocking to and fro, her hands over her face to shut out the world which was so full of memories of her beloved boy.

“I cannot believe it,” she kept murmuring to herself. “It cannot be true.”

All day she sat alone, refusing food which she had never been known to do before; and when it was time to retire she shook her head and told her women to go away.

Then she caught sight of Abigail and she said: “Let Hill remain. She can give me all the help I need.”

So Abigail helped her to bed and she talked of her boy while the tears slowly ran down her cheeks.

“It is what I dreaded, Hill. I dreaded it more than anything that could happen … and now it has come. What can I say, Hill? What can I do now?”

“Talk of him, Madam. Perhaps it will help you.”

So she talked and to her surprise was soothed; and she looked at the young face of her chambermaid, itself stained with tears and she said: “You’re a good creature, Hill.”

When the Princess was in her bed, Abigail turned to go but the Princess said: “Stay, Hill.”

Abigail stayed and knelt by the bed while the Princess lay and wept silently.

The Princess seemed to have forgotten the chambermaid was kneeling there; but when her eyes did fall on the small figure she said: “Thank you, Hill. You are a good creature.”

And Abigail remained until the Princess slept.

She knew that the Princess would not quickly forget that at the peak of her suffering she had found comfort in Abigail Hill.

The Princess Anne was listless. Each day she sat dreaming of her lost boy. She confided to Abigail Hill that life would never again be the same for her.

Sarah came bustling into the apartment. “Come, dear Mrs. Morley, you must rouse yourself,” she commanded. “You must remember that although you are a bereaved mother you are also the heiress to the throne.”

“I do not think you can understand how I feel, Mrs. Freeman.”

“I! Not understand. Have I not lost a child … a boy? Have you forgotten my dear Charles.”

“No, I have not forgotten and I suffered my dearest Mrs. Freeman’s loss as my own, but this is my boy … my beloved boy.”

“There will be other little Morleys ere long.”

“I wish I could be sure of that.”

“You are certainly not sterile. You have given us good proof of that.”

Sometimes there was almost a sneer in Sarah’s voice; Anne, her feelings made raw by her recent loss, was hurt by it; and oddly enough she was reminded of the gentle sympathy of the chambermaid.

She said that she was tired and would sleep a little. Sarah, who nowadays always seemed to be seeking opportunities to leave her company, said at once that that was an excellent idea.

“Send for the chambermaid, Hill,” said Anne. “She will help me to my bed.”

“And I will see you when you are refreshed,” replied Sarah. “Then I am sure, Mrs. Morley, you will see that I am right when I implore you to stop showing your sorrow. I know you grieve. I still do for my darling Charles, but we have to be brave, Mrs. Morley. We have to hide our feelings from the world.”

When Sarah had left and Anne was alone with Abigail Hill, the Princess said: “Of course we cannot all hope to be as strong as dear Lady Marlborough.”

“No, Madam.”

“Although sometimes I think my dearest friend, being so admirable herself, has little patience with those who are weaker.”

“Your Highness is not weak.” Abigail spoke more fiercely than usual. “If I may offer my humble opinion Your Highness has shown the greatest fortitude.…”

“I have tried, Hill. But sometimes I think the loss of my darling …”

Anne began to weep and Abigail tenderly proffered the handkerchief. Anne did not seem to see it, so greatly daring Abigail wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Thank you, Hill,” said Anne. “You are very different from … your cousin.”

“I fear so, Madam.”

“Do not fear, Hill. I find your quietness to my taste.”

“My cousin is a brilliant woman and I am just Your Highness’s chambermaid.”

“Do not fret with labels, Hill. There are times when I find your presence very comforting … very comforting indeed.” Anne’s face hardened suddenly. “And there are others when I find Lady Marlborough’s most … most … unkind.”

There was a silence which horrified Anne. At last she had spoken aloud a thought which had been at the back of her mind for some time; and spoken in the hearing of Abigail Hill, Sarah’s cousin, who had been given everything she had by Sarah and must therefore be her creature.

Now there will be trouble, thought Anne.

She felt so weary that she closed her eyes and rejected Abigail’s suggestion to soothe her forehead with unguents. She felt stricken with misery. Her boy was dead and she had spoken disloyally of a woman who for years she had regarded as her dearest friend. And in the hearing of Abigail Hill who certainly would be obliged to repeat everything she heard to her cousin.

“Leave me,” said Anne weakly.

And when she was alone she began to weep silently, partly for the loss of her son and partly for the loss of an illusion.

The next time Anne saw Sarah she waited for a reference to her disloyalty. It did not come. In fact Sarah behaved as though nothing had happened.