Courting Her Highness

by Jean Plaidy

  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 nigh
t.”

  “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.”