Виктория Холт - Courting Her Highness

George’s asthma was troubling him more than ever, which meant that his night’s sleep was often broken; he dozed more frequently during the day and perhaps this was as well, for he had become such a staunch admirer of the Freemans since Blenheim that he might not have appreciated some of Mr. Harley’s wit.

It was not that it was exactly aimed at Marlborough and his Duchess, but somehow they were included in it; and Anne, in spite of her desire to be loyal to her dearest friend, had to recognize the truth of some of Mr. Harley’s comments.

Mr. Harley was so devoted to the Church, and anyone who cared so much for the spiritual well-being of the nation was Anne’s friend. Dear Mrs. Freeman had never been reverent; in fact sometimes Anne had feared that she was almost irreligious; so how pleasant it was to listen to a clever politician talk with such reverence for the Church!

“The Church,” said Mr. Harley, “could be in danger from certain elements in this country. I am sure Your Majesty would want above all else to keep it strong and aloof from conflict.”

“It would be my first consideration, Mr. Harley.”

“I knew it.”

“And you really think that the Church is being put in jeopardy in … certain quarters?”

“I think this may be so, and when I have some proof of this I shall crave permission to set it before Your Majesty.”

“I pray you will without delay.”

He talked to her about the glorious age which was opening out for England. There were certain times in a country’s history, he said, which were known as glorious ages. The Elizabethan age had been one; and now there was another glorious Queen on the throne and the glory of the age was becoming apparent through the literature of the times.

There were some in the country who sought to suppress this. One of the greatest writers of the age was at this moment languishing in prison.

Who was this? Anne wanted to know.

It was Daniel Defoe. A charge had been trumped up against him. An age which imprisoned its great writers was defeating itself.

Anne wanted to hear more about Daniel Defoe, and Harley talked of him—his brilliance, his wit, his works. He told how the people had been angered when he was set in the pillory, how they had garlanded him with flowers, had drunk his health and set a guard about him.

Anne listened, indignant.

It was well she had Mr. Harley to visit her informally and let her know everything that was going on, for there was much of importance that was kept from a ruler.

Harley was delighted with his discovery of the new relationship. He hoped Abigail Hill understood how important it was. He was certain she did, for there was subtlety behind that demure smile. She had her part to play in this. She was very necessary to him; he never lost a chance of telling her so. His gaze was caressing and Abigail was a little bewildered. He fascinated her, as more than a cousin or a conspirator—for she was well aware that this was a conspiracy. She had never met such a man before. She knew that he was overwhelmingly ambitious, that he was determined to be at the head of the Government, to rule the country; and it was the most flattering thing that had ever happened to her to be selected as his partner. She could not understand her emotions; she was less calm than before and although she hid her excitement she believed that she did not completely succeed as far as he was concerned. He was deferential towards her. Who before had ever been deferential to Abigail Hill, except Samuel Masham? She had shelved that matter for she was too excited by Robert Harley to think very much about Samuel Masham at this time. He paid her delicate compliments—even about her appearance. She was different from the pretty dolls with their paint and their powder and their ridiculously dressed hair. She had character. She was changing. Her sister Alice noticed it. “Lor, Abby,” she said, “what’s happened to you? Are you in love?” With a subtlety which matched Harley’s, she confided in Alice that Samuel Masham had asked her to marry him. Alice was excited. “Abby! Married! Who ever would have thought it!”

“I have not accepted his offer yet,” said Abigail; a remark which sent Alice into fits of laughter.

“The airs!” she cried. For she did not believe Abigail would refuse such an offer, since when would she be likely to get another?

How could she explain to Alice, even if it had been desirable for her to do so, which of course it was not, that she had matters of far more interest than marriage with Samuel Masham with which to occupy herself.

Sometimes Abigail allowed herself to dream. Suppose Robert Harley were unmarried; suppose he married her. She would remain with the Queen; she must never leave the Queen; others less wise than herself might imagine that their influence was so great that they could bully and neglect and keep it. Abigail would never make such a mistake.

To keep Anne’s need of one, one must be constantly there, always ready to console, listen, and comfort with those menial attentions (washing feet, massaging limbs swollen with the gout and dropsy, to play, to sing, to do what was required of one at any moment, to make sure that one’s absence would immediately be noticed with regret). That was the secret some had forgotten. Not that Sarah Churchill had ever retained her hold on Anne through the comfort she offered. Sarah was brilliant, vivacious, domineering, arrogant; she was the exact opposite of Anne and when they were children the Princess must have admired the forceful girl who had nothing but her good looks and her flamboyant personality. But the Princess had become a Queen and the brilliant Sarah was showing herself to be a fool.

And so would Abigail Hill be if she allowed herself to dream too much. Robert Harley and she were partners, but the love of power was at the root of their relationship. Power for him. And for me, thought Abigail.

I must keep my feet on the ground. I must not let Robert Harley dominate me, for if I do I shall be as foolish as Sarah Churchill has become.

Daniel Defoe was released from prison as a result of Robert Harley’s conversations with the Queen; he was conveying to her that while certain people were in power she would be only a cypher, for that was what they intended. There was no doubt to whom the epithet “Certain People” referred, though as yet Harley had not mentioned the names of Churchill and Godolphin.

To turn her thoughts from Robert Harley, Abigail began to think increasingly of Samuel Masham. He was as yet a page in the household of the Queen’s husband. But then she was only a chambermaid in that of the Queen. That was what they appeared to be to the undiscerning. But that could be easily changed.

Lord Masham … Lady Masham? Why not? Had Harley been free, had his interest in her been due to love instead of her peculiar influence with the Queen, she might have been a Duchess. For it was not difficult to imagine Harley a Duke—never Samuel Masham, though.

But Samuel would do exactly as she wished; there could be many advantages in a marriage with Samuel.

When she was with Robert Harley she forgot all about Samuel Masham. He talked to her in his caressing way which was full of hidden meanings.

It was natural at this stage not to state too openly what their intentions were, but there was one major issue and both were very much aware of it.

Together they were going to bring about the downfall of the Churchills. Harley was going to take the place in the country’s affairs now occupied by the Marlboroughs and their faction; and the power behind the throne which for so long had rested in Sarah was to be Abigail’s.

Sarah returned to St. James’s and installed herself in her apartments there. From these there was a secret staircase which led down to the Queen’s apartment and which in the old days had delighted them both.

Anne was pleased to see her; whenever Sarah put in an appearance she always forgot the alarming thoughts which had beset her previously, for such was the power of Sarah’s personality that when she was there Anne still believed that she was the one person in the whole world for whose society she longed more than any other.

“So, Mrs. Morley,” she was saying, “I shall get my Mary married at last.”

“She is so young yet, dear Mrs. Freeman.”

“She is old enough for marriage, that one. I can tell you she has led me a pretty dance. Who would have daughters?” Sarah did not notice how her companion winced, nor did she give a thought to the many miscarriages which had become a pattern of the royal existence. So many disappointments that Anne was losing all hope; but that did not mean she wanted continual references to those who were more fortunate than herself. Didn’t her sad mode of signing letters as “your poor unfortunate Morley” explain her feelings? But Sarah was heedless of the thoughts of others. She was without tact, a failing which she called honesty; but that which she saw as honesty in herself she would call rudeness in others. Sarah cared for no opinion but her own—not even the Queen’s. In Sarah’s opinion Sarah was always right and that applied even when people like Godolphin or even Marlborough himself contradicted her.

Sarah swept on: “The sooner the marriage takes place the better. It’s an excellent match. Both her father and I will be pleased to welcome Lord Monthermer as a son-in-law. He’ll be the Earl of Montague in due course and the marriage is as good as those of her sisters.”

“She is only a child.”

“You deceive yourself, Mrs. Morley. Mary’s no child. She has already found a bridegroom for herself … a most unsuitable one, I can tell you. Of course I soon put an end to that bit of nonsense.”

“Poor Mary! I suppose she was in love.”

“In love! My dear Mrs. Morley! In love with a man who had nothing but a poor estate! A fine thing for Marlborough’s daughter.”

Anne continued to look sad. Sentimental fool! thought Sarah. Why do I have to waste my time with her! What does she ever think of but the cards … and food! Of course she must give Mary a dowry like the others. Marl will be horrified if he has to provide the lot.

“This is most satisfactory and I shall be glad to see the girl settled. I hope your Majesty approves of the match.”

“If Mr. and Mrs. Freeman approve so do I. You must allow me to give her a dowry.”

“You are the most generous friend in the world, Mrs. Morley.”

“My dearest Mrs. Freeman, you are the best friend in the world to allow your poor unfortunate Morley to take a share in your children’s marriages, since she can have no hope of such personal happiness.”

“You are so good to Mrs. Freeman.”

How much? wondered Sarah. Five thousand like the rest?

Sarah also had another reason for being at Court. Her first grandchild was to be christened and she hoped the Queen would be his godmother.

Anne wept with joy at the prospect.

“The next best thing my dear Mrs. Freeman to being a grandmother is to be a godmother.”

“I had hoped you would think so. Godolphin and Sunderland will be the child’s godfathers.”

The Queen nodded. She had never liked Sunderland who had voted against dear George’s allowance being increased, and that was something for which she would never forgive him; and since she had become so friendly with dear Mr. Harley she was beginning to find Lord Godolphin rather tiresome.

“We’re going to call him William,” said Sarah. “His mother has already given him the name of Willigo.”

“Willigo for William. He’s named after my boy. It’s so charming,” said Anne. “I long to see the dear little creature.”

So cosy! she thought. It was like the old days when they had talked about their children, when her dear boy had been alive and Sarah’s son too. Poor Mrs. Freeman, she had lost a beloved son, the same as the Queen had; it made such a bond between them; but Sarah was the more fortunate. She had her daughters and now her darling grandchild. Little Willigo!

The door opened suddenly and Abigail came in; she was smiling and turning, Sarah stared at her in astonishment.

What an unusual way for a chambermaid to enter the Queen’s presence! No scratching at the door, no humble approach!

How odd! thought Sarah. How very odd.

Abigail stopped short, seeing who was with the Queen.

“You … Your Majesty rang?” she asked.

Anne looked at the bellrope as though with surprise. “No, Hill,” she said with a pleasant smile, “I didn’t ring.”