Courting Her Highness

by Jean Plaidy

  When the Duchess was away the ceremony was relaxed, and Abigail Hill was happy to do all the services the Queen desired—no matter how menial; she would put on the Queen’s gloves with tenderness, for often Anne’s hands were too gouty to do this for herself; she would put on the Queen’s shoes in the same gentle manner, and when it was necessary to poultice those poor swollen feet she never allowed a poultice to be too hot on application, and was always ready to suggest it might be getting cold that minute or so before the Queen realized it.

  It was Abigail who had brought the Queen’s chocolate to her before she lay down to rest; and what comfort it was to sip the warm sweet drink which she so much enjoyed and chat to Abigail of all the irritations or the pleasures of the day.

  Of course it was so stimulating to have dear Mrs. Freeman at Court. Something was always happening to Mrs. Freeman, and it was almost always something to arouse her indignation. With Mrs. Freeman there was never a dull moment; and it was pleasant to find that they were not so politically divergent as they once were.

  Sarah came into the royal apartments one day, her face purposeful. She received the Queen’s embrace coolly and sat down beside her, her lips set in lines of determination.

  “I have been thinking,” said Sarah, “that it is time there was a change of office in the Secretaryship of State.”

  Anne gasped. “But I am very fond of Sir Charles Hedges. He is a very good man.”

  Sarah clicked her teeth impatiently. “Lord, Madam,” she said, “a man must be a little more than good to hold a high office in the Government.”

  “But Sir Charles has always given the utmost satisfaction.”

  Sarah looked distastefully at the large figure in the chair. She was going to be in one of her stubborn moods and Sarah had counted on getting this matter settled as quickly as possible. What on earth did the fat fool think she was wasting her time here for if it was not to arrange affairs to her liking. Marl had warned her, but she knew her dear cautious old Marl. Godolphin was even more cautious—cowardice she called that. A fine state of affairs with Marlborough abroad and Godolphin afraid and an obstinate old Queen on whom so much time had to be wasted.

  “Mrs. Morley knows that I always make her affairs my constant concern,” said Sarah sternly. “I do assure her that the time has come for Hedges to go.”

  “On what grounds?” asked the Queen.

  “He is a bumbling old fool.”

  “He has never shown me that he is anything but fitted for his duties.”

  “Mrs. Morley is apt to form attachments and in her kindness be blinded to truths.”

  Here was another suggestion that she was edging towards senility. Anne set her painful feet firmly on their stool and a cool note crept into her voice.

  “And whom have you in mind to fill the position?”

  “Who could do it but Sunderland.”

  Sunderland! Sarah’s son-in-law, a man whom Anne had never liked, a man who had opposed the proposal for dear George’s annuity! No, said Anne to herself and wished that she dared say it openly to Sarah. No, no, no!

  “A brilliant young man,” went on Sarah almost angrily. “Oh, I know he has had his strange ideas. But what young man worth his salt has not? He is a brilliant fellow. Adventurous!”

  “I do not think I should care for him,” said Anne. “His temper is not one which appeals to me. I do not think we should be friends.”

  “Nonsense, Mrs. Morley would soon begin to understand him.”

  “I understand all I want to now, Mrs. Freeman.”

  “You don’t know the fellow. I’ll tell you this: Mr. Freeman has not always been fond of him, but now he agrees with me that he has a touch of genius.”

  No, thought Sarah, Marl had not always been fond of him. Not very long ago—before Blenheim—he had felt like murdering the fellow. It was Sunderland who had dropped that hint to her of Marl’s infidelity and caused them both such anguish. Why should she speak for him now. Because the need for complete power was beyond minor personal irritation. Because Sunderland was a Whig and Hedges a Tory, because he was her son-in-law and it was her desire to make a strong family war-head to fight off all their enemies. Marlborough, Commander in chief. Godolphin, head of the Government. Sunderland, Secretary of State. And Sarah the Queen. Who could stand against that combination? If she could bring that about the whole of the country and of Europe would know who ruled England.

  “I do not like his temper,” persisted Anne, “and should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

  “I will send him along to talk to you.”

  “Pray do not, Mrs. Freeman. I have no wish to talk to him.”

  “I do assure you you are making a mistake.”

  “I do not like his temper, and should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

  Here we go! thought Sarah angrily. The parrot has taken charge of my fat friend.

  “If the Duke of Marlborough wrote to you and told you that he believed Sunderland would make an excellent Secretary of State would you believe me then?”

  “It grieves me not to be in agreement with my dear Mrs. Freeman, but I can say that I know as much as I wish to know of my Lord Sunderland.”

  “Personal likes cannot come into such a matter,” cried Sarah.

  “I have always found it so useful to be on friendly terms with my ministers.”

  “If Mrs. Morley would only listen to me.”

  “But Mrs. Freeman knows nothing gives me greater pleasure than to listen to her.”

  “You have set yourself against me on this occasion.”

  “It is because I do not like the man’s temper and should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

  The Queen, who had been playing with her fan, lifted it up to her lips and kept it there. It was a gesture which Sarah knew well and which never failed to exasperate her. It meant that Anne had made up her mind on a certain point and in her obstinate way was not going to be moved from it.

  “I can see, Madam,” said Sarah coldly, “that it is useless to talk to you further … on this day.”

  Anne did not answer, but kept the fan to her mouth.

  “It is time,” said Sarah, “that I went down to Woodstock to see how the work is progressing. I must say that I am not very pleased at the dilatoriness. Your Majesty knows how long it is since Mr. Freeman won the greatest battle in history for you. And they have done scarcely anything yet.”

  Anne continued to press her fan to her lips. Sarah thought: She’s saying her parrot phrase over and over again in her mind, I’ll swear. But she’ll come round. I’ll see that she does. In the meantime it was a relief to escape from Court and the need to listen to such sentimental or senile bleatings.

  Anne was relieved when Sarah went. Sunderland! she thought. That man. Never.

  She pulled the bell rope.

  “Hill,” she said. “Send Hill.”

  Abigail came, green eyes anxious.

  “Your Majesty is unwell?”

  “So tired, Hill. So very tired.”

  “Is it a headache, Madam? Shall I bathe your forehead? There is that new lotion I found the other day.”

  “Yes, Hill. Please.”

  How quietly Hill moved about the apartment.

  “Hill, my feet are so painful.”

  “Perhaps a warm poultice, Madam.”

  “It might be good. But bathe them first.”

  “After I have soothed your head, Madam?”

  “Yes, Hill, after.”

  Such a comfort to feel those gentle hands; such a comfort to watch the dear creature. She was so different … so soothing.

  I believe, thought the Queen, that I am glad Mrs. Freeman has gone.

  That was impossible of course. She loved Mrs. Freeman beyond anyone … even dear George, her own husband. Mrs. Freeman was so vital, so beautiful. It was a joy to watch her eyes flash and the sun on that magnificent hair of hers. But that man! After having dared vote against George’s allowance! He was a
crank in any case. At one time he had talked about giving up his title and remaining plain Charles Spencer. No sign of that when his father had died. He was the Earl of Sunderland now.

  “I do not like the man’s temper and should never have a friendly relationship with him,” she said aloud.

  “You spoke, Madam?”

  “I was thinking aloud, Hill.”

  “Something has happened to disturb Your Majesty?”

  “The Duchess suggests I make Sunderland Secretary of State. Sunderland! I never did like the man.”

  “No, Your Majesty, and that is understandable.”

  “He has never been a friend to the Prince and as you know, Hill, no one who was not a friend of the Prince could be a friend of mine.”

  “Your Majesty and the Prince are an example to all married couples in this realm.”

  “I have been fortunate, Hill, in marrying one of the kindest men alive.”

  “It is only necessary to see the Prince’s care for Your Majesty to realize that.”

  “Such a good man, Hill! And Sunderland voted against his allowance and now would like to be my Secretary of State in place of dear Sir Charles Hedges—such a charming man whom I have always liked.”

  “How fortunate that it is for Your Majesty to choose her ministers.”

  “Of course, Hill.”

  Anne felt better already. Dear Hill, always so soothing!

  “I hate to disappoint the Duchess, Hill.”

  “But, Madam, the Duchess must hate to disappoint you.”

  The Queen was silent as a memory of Sarah’s flushed and angry face floated before her.

  “The Duchess left in a hurry,” said Hill, speaking more boldly than she usually did, for it was rarely that she offered an opinion or an observation. “She seemed angry. She must be so … with herself … for having offended Your Majesty.”

  Anne pressed the small freckled hand of her attendant. Dear Hill! So tactful! So different.

  “I do not like the man’s temper, Hill,” she said firmly, “and I should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

  Abigail Hill put on a cloak which concealed her from top to toe and coming out of the Palace sped across the park.

  She paused before a mansion in Albermarle Street, knocked, and when she was admitted asked that Mr. Harley be told Mrs. Abigail Hill wished to speak to him without delay.

  She did not have to wait long. She was taken into a drawing room and there was joined after a few minutes by Harley himself.

  As ever she was excited by his presence. He was like a different person in his own home—less formal—and she could not help picturing herself as the mistress of such a home.

  His eyes were a trifle glassy and as he came into the room even before he approached her she could smell the wine on his breath. But he was by no means intoxicated. She realized that the smell of wine or spirits was always with him; yet never did he appear influenced by it in the slightest way.

  “My dear cousin,” he said; coming to her and taking her hands; as he did so the hood fell back from her head and he smiled into her eyes; and in that moment he conveyed nothing but his pleasure to see her, completely hiding the urgent desire to know why she had taken this unusual step.

  She did not keep him in suspense.

  “The Queen is agitated and even angry I suspect with the Duchess who has suggested that Sunderland replace Hedges.”

  He was alert at once.

  “Sunderland!” he said. “What a position! We must not let that happen, cousin.”

  “So I thought.”

  “And the Queen … she is at least angry.”

  Abigail nodded. “She keeps repeating that she doesn’t like him and would never be friends with him. Sarah has left in a huff.”

  “What a fool she is. Thank God! She has left Court?”

  “I think so.”

  “Make sure of that. She must not have any idea that we enjoy those friendly little sessions in the green closet. If she does that will be an end to them, for she is not such a fool as to allow them to go on.”

  “She has no suspicion.”

  “We must keep her in ignorance, but I should see the Queen without delay. Dear clever little cousin, find some means of conveying a message to me when you are sure Sarah is well away, and try to get the Queen alone in the closet.”

  Abigail nodded. “The Prince …”

  “Does not count, dear coz, providing he sleeps—and he is almost certain to do that. Hot chocolate is very soothing. Suggest it and get him well asleep. He is inclined to favour the Marlboroughs and might have a favourable word to say for them.”

  “He fancies himself as a great soldier and therefore admires the Duke.”

  “Now is the time, cousin, to work swiftly and in secret. Sunderland must not have the post. We must prevent it.”

  “I will let you know as soon as I am sure Sarah has left Court. Then … the green closet meeting.”

  “My sweet cousin. It is good, is it not that we can work together thus?”

  “It gives me great pleasure to do as you wish,” answered Abigail.

  He smiled at her and lifting her hood pulled it up over her head.

  “Go now,” he said. “It would not be good for it to be known you had come here.”

  She nodded, excited as always by the conspiracy between them, by the secret allure of this man.

  He conducted her down the beautiful curved staircase. She saw an open door and in the room beyond a woman was seated at a table.

  She knew who that woman was. His wife!

  She hurried down the stairs and out into the air.

  How ridiculous it was to dream! And of what did she dream?

  She should be content with what was hers, for she had a great deal. She, who had lived in poverty in this City which she now saw straggling out before her, who had been a maid in the house of Lady Rivers, was now a friend of the Queen of England—yes, she was a friend; no one was going to say she was not. Anne was fond of her. Perhaps more fond than she realized. Only at present she was bemused by Sarah Churchill—perhaps in much the same way in which Abigail Hill was bemused by Robert Harley. Such enchantments gave no satisfaction. There was pleasure in reality. Anne found more ease and comfort with plain quiet Abigail Hill than she ever would with brilliant Sarah Churchill; and Abigail Hill would never find lasting happiness if she looked to Robert Harley for it.

  Abigail made a decision as she walked briskly across the Park.

  The next time Samuel Masham asked her to marry him she would accept.

  The Queen was seated in her chair sipping hot chocolate. So pleasant and Hill made it deliciously. The Prince in spite of his heavy dinner at three o’clock when he had partaken a little too much of the sucking pig, was ready for his chocolate, and as Hill had suggested it, she had had some too.

  Hill was at the harpsichord and it was a long time since the Queen had been so contented.

  A scratching at the door! How lightly and quickly Hill sped across a room!

  Now she was back at the Queen’s chair.

  “Mr. Harley, Your Majesty. He humbly begs to be admitted.”

  “Dear Mr. Harley. Such a pleasure to see him!”

  Harley came in; he bowed; he took the white hand—a little swollen at the moment, but still beautiful—and kissed it.

  “Your Majesty is so gracious to receive me thus.”

  “My dear Mr. Harley I was just thinking what pleasant times we have had here.”

  “Your Majesty’s goodness overwhelms me.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Harley would care to take some chocolate, Hill.”

  Mr. Harley assured the Queen that he had come straight from dinner and would take no chocolate.

  Harley complimented the Queen on her looks. He was certain that she looked more healthful than when they had last met.

  “My dear good Hill takes care of me,” said the Queen.

  “And the Prince seems better too.”

  “His asthma trouble
s him greatly. He had difficulty in breathing last night. It is worse after dinner and supper. I have told him that if his appetite were less good his asthma might be better. But Hill makes a good brew which he inhales and that has brought him some relief. Hill, you must tell Mr. Harley about this brew of yours.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “I shall be most interested to hear of it.”

  “The Prince’s health is a matter of great concern to me,” went on the Queen.

  “Your Majesty is such a devoted wife. He is the most fortunate Prince alive.”

  “And I am most fortunate to have him.”

  The Prince muttered in his sleep.

  “It is all right, George,” said the Queen. “Mr. Harley is saying charming things about you.”

  The Prince grunted while Harley watched him cautiously. It was when he assured himself that George was fast asleep that he said: “I’ve heard a disturbing rumour, Madam.”

  “Oh!” The pleasure slipped from Anne’s face.

  “It need not disturb Your Majesty,” said Harley hastily. “In fact, I am sure it will not because, Madam, you will never allow ambitious people to choose your ministers for you.”

  “Is it that man?”

  “Sunderland, yes.”

  “I do not like the man’s temper and I should never have a friendly relationship with him.”

  “It is not to be wondered at. Like Your Majesty I do not like his temper and I know I could never have a friendly relationship with him.”

  Delight spread across the Queen’s face. It was always pleasing when someone took up her phrases and used them as their own.