by Jean Plaidy
Abigail neatly and very inconspicuously dressed in her discreet grey dress and short black cape found Alice in a red silk gown cut away to show a black satin petticoat with a white calico border; she also wore a black silk scarf and a black and red spotted hood.
Abigail scarcely recognized her and guessed that she was spending a great deal of her salary on her clothes instead of saving as she should. John too showed his love of finery in his brown frieze coat, breeches of the same colour and light drugged waistcoat; he wore a freshly curled wig and looked quite magnificent. Abigail would have seemed incongruous beside such fashionable people but for the fact that John had brought a friend with him, who was as soberly dressed as Abigail herself.
“This is Samuel Masham,” said John. “I wonder you and my sister haven’t met, Sam, for she is now in the Princess’s household.”
Samuel Masham bowed over Abigail’s hand. He already knew Alice, it seemed.
“I am in the household of the Prince of Denmark,” he said.
Abigail asked if he were satisfied with his post, and he replied that he was very well satisfied.
“One is fortunate to get into the royal household,” he said. “Particularly in my case. I’m the youngest of eight sons.”
“And I believe,” said Abigail, “that His Highness is an indulgent master.”
“The best in the world.”
“The Princess is kindly too.”
“Oh yes, we are fortunate indeed.”
“I should not care to be in the service of the King,” put in John.
“I should say not!” cried Alice. “I’m told he awakes in none too good a temper and lays about him with his cane on those who are unlucky enough to wait on him.”
The four of them laughed and John added: “The clever ones keep out of his way until the day wears on and he becomes more mellow.”
“It’s due to all that Hollands Gin he drinks in the Hampton Banqueting House,” Alice explained. “What a strange man he is! They say that he is filled with remorse because he was unfaithful to Queen Mary and she left a letter reproaching him. Who would have believed that he would ever have been anyone’s lover.”
“You’ve seen the Countess of Orkney, I’ll swear,” asked John.
“Yes,” said Alice. “She’s so odd looking. Her eyes are so peculiar. Squinting Betty they call her. Yet she was the only mistress he ever had, so they say; and there’s some that are sure he still meets her—but only when he goes to Holland.”
Abigail and Samuel Masham said nothing, but stood quietly listening to the conversation of the other two. There seemed to be an accord between them; and Abigail sensed that he was taking everything in, even as she was, but that he was not eager to let them know what he was thinking.
“We should get into our places,” said Samuel. “The display is about to begin.”
He did not touch Abigail but was close beside her. She sensed his interest and it seemed strange to her that a young man should be more interested in her than in Alice. It was something which had never happened before.
The King had arrived and was seated in a grandstand which had been erected for the purpose. No trouble, of course, was too much for the young Duke of Gloucester.
Abigail could not take her eyes from the King, William of Orange, that man of destiny, about whose head, so it was said, on the day of his birth had been seen the three crowns of light, meant to be the crowns of England, Scotland and Ireland which he was destined to inherit. He did not look like a hero. He stooped, and a curvature of the spine was obvious; he was small and thin, his legs like a bird’s, his nose large and hooked, his eyes small, his mouth unsmiling, his face pallid; and his great wig seemed top-heavy on such a little figure. It was small wonder that the people greeted him in a silence that was almost sullen. He was not the man to inspire cheers, for all his cleverness.
“I heard,” whispered Alice, “that he spits blood frequently. He looks like a corpse. He can’t be long for this world.”
“He dismissed Dr. Radcliffe for saying he wouldn’t have his two legs for his three kingdoms,” added John.
“It would seem to me,” Alice went on, “that we shall not long have a King William to rule us.”
Not long a King William, thought Abigail. Well, then there would be a Queen Anne. How strange to think of that mild fat woman ruling a great country. She would not rule in fact; it would be Sarah Churchill who ruled her—Abigail’s own cousin. She felt almost lightheaded to be so close to such important people.
“Here comes the young Duke with his army,” said Samuel quietly.
And there they were—the most unusual army which had ever marched into the park. Ninety boys of varying sizes, shouldering wooden muskets, swords at their sides, all in brilliant uniform.
There were cheers and laughter from the lookers-on as the Duke of Gloucester shouted orders to his company.
“Halt! Present arms!”
There he stood—as odd a figure as the King—in his sparkling uniform, his small frail body and enormous head, made more obvious by his white curled periwig. Beneath the wig his face was animated, his eyes alert, for although he suffered from water on the brain he was clever; and his sayings were quoted not only in the Princess’s Court but in the King’s.
His preoccupation with soldiers had begun in the days when he was driven through the park in the little carriage especially made for him; and it had never left him; and because he was indulged not only by his parents but by the King himself, he had been allowed to recruit his little army and to supply it with uniform and imitation weapons of war.
A small cannon was now being set off in honour of the King; and there was William, lending himself to the occasion with a tolerance he rarely displayed, walking down the ranks with little Gloucester beside him, inspecting the troops.
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the King’s crown,” said Alice.
Abigail did not answer; she was thinking of that frail King and the frail boy and marvelling at the strangeness of events.
How strange it would be if she became the servant of the Queen of England!
The display was over; the Duke of Gloucester had dispersed his army and was being conducted by the King into Kensington Palace. They were talking gravely as they went and the watchers even raised a small cheer for the King among the louder ones for young Gloucester.
Gloucester gravely acknowledged their acclaim, which was more than the King did; and all eyes were on the little figure in the dazzling uniform with the blue garter ribbon across his tunic. It was obvious that they would be very willing to accept him as Prince of Wales when the time came; and that would be on the death of William.
The crowd was breaking up and Abigail found that Samuel Masham was at her side. Alice and John had joined some of their friends from the royal household and were chatting and laughing together.
“You look grave,” said Samuel.
“I was thinking how ill the King looks.”
“He has been dying for many years,” Samuel told her.
“I can’t believe he will for many more.”
“There is a mighty spirit behind those sick looks.”
“Yes, but surely even that cannot keep him alive much longer.”
“You are satisfied with your post?” he asked.
“I am very fortunate to have it. Did you know that my cousin is Lady Marlborough?”
He nodded and smiled.
“Well, she decided to place us all … and she did.”
“She would always do everything she set out to.”
“It was very necessary to place us. I discovered this a few days ago. Someone had heard that her relations were in want, and she did not care that people should know that, hence we all have been provided for. One brother in the Custom House—another in the Prince’s household, Alice in that of the Duke of Gloucester and myself now with the Princess.”
“You have the most interesting post of them all.”
“I believe you are rig
ht.”
“We shall surely meet now and then; for the Prince and his wife live very amicably together and I am often taking messages to and from their apartments.”
“I hope we shall,” said Abigail; and she was surprised that she meant it.
Samuel Masham was not handsome, not gallant; but he was rather like she was herself.… Quiet, unassuming, eager to please, grateful for his place, determined to hold it through his own modesty rather than effrontery, and a little bewildered that such an important post could have fallen into his humble hands.
He was interested in her and asked her questions about herself; she told him frankly of her father’s bankruptcy and the desperate state of the family until Cousin Sarah came to rescue them.
“It was too late for my parents,” she said; her voice was quiet and he looked for a trace of bitterness and found none. He decided then that Abigail Hill was an extraordinary woman. One would never be entirely sure what she was thinking and she would be completely discreet.
She told him of those months at St. Albans, and although she did not say how humiliating they had been, he understood. Her lips were firmly set and he believed she would make a stand against going back to them.
She did not ask him questions but he told her something of his childhood.
“When you are the youngest of eight sons you cannot hope for very bright prospects,” he told her. “I think I was very lucky to get a post at Court at all.”
“How was it arranged?”
“My father is distantly related to the Princess Anne, because Margaret the Countess Salisbury is our kinswoman. That is why I was given the opportunity. It was pleasant to get away from home.”
“You were unhappy there?”
“Scarcely that. My mother died when I was very young and my father married again. Lady Damaris Masham is very clever. She writes on theology. We are all very proud of her, but it was difficult to live up to her. Then when she had a child of her own, naturally she devoted most of her attention to him.”
“I see,” said Abigail. “So here we are … both arrived at the same place but through very different routes.”
They had been walking sedately through the Park towards the Palace where Abigail must join the Princess’s household and Samuel that of Prince George.
But before they took leave of each other they had promised they would meet again.
Abigail found herself alone with the Princess Anne and it was rarely that this happened. She was setting the dish of sweetmeats by her couch when she noticed that the silk coverlet had slipped a little and she adjusted it.
For a few seconds the mild shortsighted eyes were concentrated on her as the beautiful white hands—plump and smooth with tapering fingers—grasped the edge of the coverlet.
“Thank you,” said the Princess.
“Your Highness is a little tired today,” ventured Abigail.
“I have been to the display. My boy looked splendid.”
“Your Highness, I … I had the honour to see him. I was there.”
The dull eyes brightened. “So you saw my boy? Did you not think he was magnificent?”
“Your Highness, I have never seen anyone quite like him. So young and in such command! I would not have missed it for a great deal.”
“I don’t think there ever was another boy like him.”
“I am sure Your Highness is right.”
“He is so clever. Sometimes I believe he simply must be older than I have always thought him.” The Princess smiled. “I think I must have made a mistake in his birth.”
Abigail smiled with the Princess.
“He is so very clever.… I must tell you what he said the other day.…”
Abigail had heard it before. It had been told to both cousin Sarah and Mrs. Danvers, besides several of the waiting women; but Abigail was delighted to have the whole of the Princess’s attention to herself and she listened as though she was hearing the story for the first time.
“Can it be really true, Your Highness!”
“Oh yes. I can tell you I would astonish you with my boy’s antics. I wish you could have seen him in his new camlet suit with the jewels glittering in it. I had let him wear my jewels for the occasion. Such a sight! And the Garter ribbon! He blessed us both … the Prince, his father, and myself … and the sweet child told us afterwards that he sincerely meant all that he had said and that it was not the formal greeting a Prince would be expected to give in public to his parents.”
“How proud Your Highness must be!”
“Proud, I can’t tell you … er …”
“Hill,” said Abigail. “Abigail Hill.”
“No, I cannot tell you. But he is a constant anxiety to us both … his father and me. We watch him. You see I have been unfortunate so often and he is so precious. He has been ill often and I can tell you, er …”
“Hill, Your Highness.”
“I can tell you, Hill, I nearly died of grief. And so did the Prince. If anything should happen to that boy …”
“It must not,” said Abigail quietly.
There were tears in the Princess’s eyes and Abigail handed her a kerchief.
“Thank you. So thoughtful,” murmured Anne; but Abigail knew that she was scarcely aware of her; her mind was at the bedside of her boy during one of his illnesses when she and her husband had experienced all the desolation which would be theirs if they lost this precious boy.
“He is surrounded by care,” said Abigail; “and he is so bright and interested in life.”
“Yes, you are right.”
The Princess was silent, a smile playing about her lips and Abigail had no excuse for remaining.
She said quietly: “Is there anything you need, Your Highness.”
Anne shook her head; she wanted to be alone to dream of her wonderful boy.
Abigail went away so quietly that Anne was unaware of her departure. It was some little time later when she awoke from her reverie and looked about for the woman.
She had discreetly retired, but everything she needed was at hand.
A nice creature, thought Anne. Now what did she say her name was?
Abigail was finding life full of interest. After that conversation with the Princess, Anne was aware of her. She could not always remember her name, but there was no doubt that she was not displeased by Abigail’s personality.
Her women were a vociferous crowd. They were ostentatiously sycophantish, but they could be careless. Often they forgot to perform some little duty which seemed important to the Princess and she had to ask for what she wanted; she had begun to notice that when Hill was on duty everything she needed was always at her side without her asking.
Once when Sarah had been amusing her and making her laugh with her imitations of some of the ministers, Sarah had made some references to Anne’s husband, the Prince of Denmark, which Anne although she smiled, did not quite like. But that was how it was with Sarah. No one was spared.
But it rankled a little, and after Sarah had left it was pleasant to talk to that quiet Hill about the virtues of the Prince.
Hill said that she had a friend who was a page in the Prince’s household and she had already heard from him of the wonderful kindness and extraordinary good qualities of the Prince.
Anne was pleased. Who was he? She would tell the Prince what a good and loyal servant he had.
“His name is Samuel Masham, Your Highness.”
“Is it then? You must remind me of that, Hill. For I shall never remember.”
Anne felt sleepy as she always did when talking to Abigail Hill. Abigail was so quiet and so restful. Just the kind of woman she liked to have about her after one of Sarah’s stormy visits. Of course she loved dear Mrs. Freeman as she would never love another woman; more than she loved dear George who was the kindest of husbands; Sarah came second only to her beloved boy; but it was pleasant to let the placid Hill soothe her now and then.
She dropped off to sleep when Abigail was talking.
Abigai
l stood looking at her and then tiptoed from the room.
She told Samuel Masham about this relationship with the Princess. He was very interested; in fact he was interested in anything that concerned Abigail, and Samuel interested Abigail; he was so like herself. He knew a great deal about what was going on and no one would have guessed it.
They often walked together in the Park or along the river. Abigail was glad that they were so inconspicuous in their dress and insignificant in their persons because this gave them an opportunity to do what other more notorious people never could. They could even walk through the streets of the city without attracting much attention, as few people attached to the Court could hope to do. They were once among a crowd and saw a pickpocket caught in the act and dragged to a nearby sewer to be ducked there. Ducking was a common enough event. Prostitutes were ducked if they lived in a respectable street and annoyed their neighbours; nagging wives were ducked; complacent husbands were treated to a serenade on iron pots and pans and old tin kettles; bailiffs, the enemies of all, if caught unaware, were taken to a trough and made to drink against their will until they were reduced to a state of great discomfort. Mob law ruled in the streets; and it was astonishing how self-righteous the people were in judging the sins of others. This way of life, which Abigail and Samuel were able to witness, was unknown to people such as Sarah Churchill whose lives were bounded by the Court and their own country houses.
Samuel and Abigail had been watching the fate of a quack doctor whose pills had failed to achieve what he had claimed for them; he was divested of his garments and tipped into a ditch and his clothes thrown in after him; and as they wandered away Samuel remarked on the great love in human nature to rule.
“Did you see their faces?” he asked. “Each one of those people enjoyed playing judge to that poor quack. There is very little difference in these people and those in high places.”
Abigail nodded. She and Samuel were in such accord that words between them were not always necessary.
