by Ron Pearse
Yet she was not particularly interested in any of the activities but was standing because she was experiencing pain on her behind such as on sitting for breakfast. She concluded that the hard seat of yesterday's wagon ride was responsible. It was one more reason to speculate on the availability of their carriage and whether or not she could bring strong arguments before her lord and husband to allow her the carriage for a projected visit to London.
Yet reflecting upon Lord Churchill's almost exclusive use of the carriage, she had no doubt of his need. It was important business for Churchill having been invited to become a shareholder of a company with the grand title of the Bank of England. It was an idea he had originally brought himself back from the Netherlands where he had been commanding the army on behalf of King William III.
It had been a puzzle to John Churchill as to how the Dutch had maintained a stout resistance for months and upon capturing a Dutch general, he had learned the Dutch army was financed and funded by an institution called the Bank of the Netherlands. Churchill, on cessation of hostilities, upon his return to London, had made a proposal for such a bank in England discussing it long into the night over many dishes of tea or coffee in the numerous coffee houses opening in and around financial centres such as Threadneedle Street, Eastcheap, and the recently named King William Street. It seems he found common cause with a Scottish entrepreneur by the name of William Paterson.
Lady Churchill, along with her peers, wondered about the haunts but contented herself by the convincing argument that the longer he spent in such spots, the further he was from other temptations, for her lord was a handsome man, a former lover of Barbara Castlemaine, before she, Sarah, had caught his eye convincing him where his future lay.
Even so the debonair Lord Churchill, if not in the hunt himself, was a possible prey to many scheming and beautiful temptresses living in and around the fashionable meeting places in London though not, Sarah, consoled herself, in the coffee houses, for, from these places, her gender was strictly barred.
Such reflections did not improve her aches and pains for she would dearly like to sit awhile, preferably somewhere soft. A voice interrupted her reverie: "The boy is back from the doctor, ma'am, and he says doctor Glanville will be along later this morning." She thanked Mrs Chudleigh and began to look along the road for the signs of an approaching carriage and was surprised to spot a man in a long, grey morning coat with wide pockets, matching grey stockings thrust into shoes of brown buckskin. He carried a cane with a large silver knob.
It was undoubtedly Doctor Glanville and she could only surmise that the boy had met him on his rounds and so he had arrived that much sooner than she had anticipated. As if reading her thoughts the doctor looked up and catching sight of her in the window, raised his wide, black hat in salutation.
Thereafter he maintained his gaze at their parterre and canal garden, another import from Holland and for which she was very proud for it never failed to impress visitors even after several calls, as, for instance, the doctor who had made several to their house since they had moved in. His pace had slowed somewhat giving her time to call Mrs Chudleigh to the effect the doctor should be shown upstairs the moment he arrived.
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Mrs Chudleigh was feeling very pleased with herself and it is all on account of the incident on the previous day when her cry alerted Lady Churchill to Abigail Hill's condition for it has had an entirely unexpected outcome. It seems Dr Glanville asked Lady Churchill herself if he might talk to Mrs Chudleigh and his remarks proved very reassuring.
It seems Mistress Abigail had just a very mild infection which would clear up in a few days. This news was very welcome as the small pocks in her experience normally took weeks of isolation and left the victim, should he or she recover at all, with a very bad pitted skin. Yet in Mistress Abigail's case that was not her fate on account of her previous service as a milk-maid, which she dismissed as fanciful.
It was all very strange but then medical matters were always a great mystery to her and as long as the doctor was happy she would not breathe a word abroad which also pleased Lady Churchill who had promised an increase in her remuneration. All these thoughts passed through her head as she mounted the stairs towards Abigail's room which yesterday she would have been reluctant to do.
Her knock on the door brought no response but not unduly concerned she entered and placing the platter of food on an upturned box, Mrs Chudleigh opened the shutters and as the morning light streamed in through the slats, she turned to see a movement behind her. She approached the bed and stood a while motionless, then ventured to say:
"Mistress Abigail, I've brought e some breakfast. Won't e sit up! Come on now! Ye'll soon be well enough to go downstairs, so I've been told."
There is no movement of the bedclothes and Chudleigh turns, picks up the platter and sits down upon the box holding the platter on her knees. She ventures some more coaxing talk, this time contrite:
"I have to beg your pardon Mistress for some 'arsh words I may 'ave used when I spoke to e yesterday. I meant no 'arm. Neither did Tom. Ye'll forgive us mistress, I'm sure, ‘specially as the doctor assures me you ain't got the pocks, leastways not the bad kind."
There is a movement and a face emerges covering the eyes with one hand against the strong light and a weak voice says: Can you close the shutter again, mistress Chudleigh. It's the strong light on my eyes, which feel very weak. Would you!"
Chudleigh places the tray back on the box, and does as she has been asked, then picking up the platter, hands it to the patient, excusing herself"
"Sorry about that, mistress Abigail." and the patient who has already begun to spoon soup into her mouth, says: "You cook a nice gruel, mistress." who smiles at the praise saying: "That be right nice of e to say so, mistress."
Abigail said between mouthfuls: "I expected you to leave the platter outside the door." at which Chudleigh replied, confidentially:
"Doctor Glanville thinks your condition very mild and that I must not be too concerned to catch anything, Miss Abigail. Mind you it were different with my sister."
"How dost thou mean?" Responded Abigail reverting to the local vernacular which she thought was trained out of her being in Lady Davenport's household, but Mrs Chudleigh seemed not to notice. Instead she ploughed on about the usual treatment, saying:
"Wrapped up in flannel she were and roasted." which caught her listener's attention as Mrs Chudleigh continued on the same theme:
"T’was the usual thing, like. The fire made up. And 'twere summer too. She could not breathe what with her window closed, an' all. Not like in 'ere, but it didn't make a hap'orth of difference, poor soul. She was took from 'er family."
Abigail showed deep sympathy to the housekeeper and to take her mind off her sister's tragic end, said: ""You know, I suppose, Mrs Chudleigh, that I was protected."
"By the Good Lord, you mean." she said to which Abigail hastened to deny: "Not exactly, that. Though I daresay we are all in the hands of our Maker."
Mrs Chudleigh wrinkled her nose evidently thinking why Abigail was protected but not her sister, and as if to indicate her relative's misfortune, said:
"Of course, Lady Churchill did treat e with all kindness imaginable, if that's what you mean. Just fancy now, a room on your own. Doctor Glanville calling the next day, today, instead of the local apothecary. She did do e proud, mistress, and no mistake."
Abigail smiled warmly at the housekeeper assuring her she was very grateful to Lady Churchill, then pausing before saying almost conspiratorially to her companion:
"Did Doctor Glanville tell you that having caught the cow pocks, I was protected that way. Have you heard of an apothecary called mister Culpeper?"
Mrs Chudleigh was mystified and showed it, saying: "All this is news to me mistress. He just said ye 'ad a mild infection. That be all. He said nought about being protected. How mean ye mistress?"
For an answer Abigail rolled back the sleeve of her night at
tire inviting Mrs Chudleigh to look where she was pointing and explaining:
"Look at my upper arm, mistress! D'you see that small scar? It's healing now but was running with blood when Culpeper made the incision."
"My goodness! He cut you - deliberately?" The houskeeper was clearly shocked but Abigail smiled and hastened to reassure her. "It was for my own good," she explained, "for my protection. You see, he infected me with the cow pocks because he discovered that maids who milked the cows and caught the cow pocks did never suffer from the small pocks."
"Well I never! Well I never!" was all the housekeeper could say and Abigail somewhat bemused by her reaction, mumbled: "I'm right sorry for thy sister, Mrs Chudleigh, but one day everybody will be able to have a serum like Culpeper gave me. It was well done. You see, I shall be up and about very soon."
The housekeeper was silent awhile then whispered to her erstwhile patient: "Don't e say anything of this to Doctor Glanville. He'd call it sorcery. That's why e had your box, I mean your mother's box, destroyed."
Abigail smiled at her and agreed: "You're right Mrs Chudleigh. We'll keep this as our little secret." And got the observation that took Abigail by surprise when she said: "Your mother and Mr Culpeper knew each other, then."
"Indeed," she answered, "it was through mother that I was privileged to get the protection of the serum, but as you say, doctor Glanville would consider it very near to witchcraft. Still, we'll let the doctor believe what he wants." Then she took Mrs Chudleigh by the hand saying to her warmly:
"But we shall know the real reason, won't we?" Abigail knowing full well that she was asking the impossible for the housekeeper to keep the secret for long.
Mrs Chudleigh confided: "Your mother gave me something once when I had a high fever. I wonder now if the potion perhaps did not come from your mister Culpeper but it did the trick. But, oh, it was very bitter."
Abigail said: "That would be quinine, I think. The doctor doesn't like that because it was brought into England by Jesuit priests who, in Doctor Glanville's opinion, would be little better, being Catholics, than Beelzebub himself."
"I must go," said the housekeeper, "It's good to see e on the mend mistress." and with that final comment placed Abigail's bowl on the platter and tripped to the door, and soon could be heard tripping down the stairs.
Abigail got up and drew the shutters fully open.
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"Rain, rain, rain! Will it ever stop!" It was Lady Churchill who spoke as she stood staring through the window of the library of Holywell House at the downpour. It bounced off the sill, splashed on puddles, spattered the glass obscuring her view of the road, A carriage was approaching the House and she watched it turn in at the gate. "It's his lordship!" she thought excitedly watching as the coachman made an expert turn, an obligatory turn to stop beside the steps leading to the portico.
But long before that Lady Churchill was waiting in the portico and the instant its wheels slowed before stopping, she watched as the handle turned and the carriage door swung open followed immediately by her lord jumping to the ground. Sarah called to him: "John! In here, quickly!"
He obeyed, running towards her arms and the welcome etched on her face:
"Dear heart, so good to see you." Snatching a quick kiss so as not to wet her smart gown going past her to the inside, murmuring:
"Yes, let's get inside out of this downpour," suddenly turning to shout:
"Alright Tom," waving him to the coach house and they watch as the carriage completes the full circle returning the way it came.
Churchill, meanwhile, is confronted by Mrs Chudleigh who takes his dripping cape, soaking tricorn hat and gloves into the cloakroom. He follows his wife who has returned to the library. There is a cheerful tongue of flame as the fire in the grate engulfs a log recently laid by the housekeeper and he is grateful for its warmth on this chilly September day.
Nonetheless he is more eager for the glow of his wife's embrace and gives his hands but momentary warmth as he turns towards her who is watching his every movement from the window. He rushed towards her with arms outstretched which she takes coolly, and, ardour rebuffed, he is forced to express his welcome in words:
"It's so good to be home dear heart. I never thought we should get through that press at the turnpike. It was bedlam. Tomorrow I must be away early for I must not be held up as there is another vitally important meeting of the Board."
"Lord me! Away again, sir!" There is an edge in his wife's voice which he attempts to soften:
"There's not much more to do, and to tell truth, I was unsure whether to spend the night in town, but, dear heart, it's so much better to be home."
"I trust you'll not take the carriage." was his wife's response and unthinking, he replies: "Not take the carriage! How should I reach town?"
"You can take the chestnut." she said adding defiantly: "Why not the chestnut?"
"But I cannot entertain, dear heart. Mayhaps I'll meet with the king and use the coach for private conference."
Marlborough was now exaggerating and he knew his wife knew it, but, with resignation, he had settled for an argument. For her part, Sarah, had lost one argument with doctor Glanville over her cousin's property and now her lord and master would win this one unless she dug her heels in. Sensing weakness, her lip curled in mock contempt:
"Mayhaps you'll meet with the king. Mayhaps you'll meet a queenie you have tucked away in Kensington. You'll have private conference alright with her, judging from the peck you gave me tonight. It seems you haven't much left over for me."
Marlborough smiled. He knew this mood. He clasped her to him:
"Dear, dear Sarah!" She tries to free herself but he holds her by the wrist and kisses her hair. Then she wrenches herself free:
"Lord me! You think to stroke me like a pet kitten."
He has retained a tress of her hair in his hands and kisses it with praise: "What beautiful golden hair." But she wrenches it from his hands wincing at the sharp pain it causes while he says gently, smiling:
"Even lovelier when you're angry."
This speech she dismisses with a contemptuous bah!, defiance gilding her words:
"So, sir! Words, is it to be. You think you can charm me, as you charm those.... those silly men in their pomaded periwigs. Whigs are they too! Whigs in wigs, hah!"
Her husband laughs uncertainly saying not a word more uncertain what to say, but there's no need for his wife carries on. Her lips purse now in outrage:
"Sir! Words and mirth have you. Lord! Was it a century since when you couldn't wait to get inside but pleasured me on the terrace. Lord me! On those very steps. Those steps!"
He said emolliently: "We were alone then, dear heart. Not one servant had we."
"Huh!" She almost spat out the words, "Servants, indeed. Seems you cannot afford a gig for your countess. Ready to spend thousands on some bank, but a gig for your lady!"
Marlborough again smiled, saying patiently:
"Dear heart, not some bank. It will be The bank. It will control all other banks which is why we've called it The Bank of England. And we shall be the first shareholders. We shall reap a very handsome return in years to come. All in all it will be a very profitable investment."
Sarah did not sound impressed: "Lord! There's the great man of words again. I talk of pleasuring and you of investments. Invest me a while. Not sight nor sound these past few days."
All the while she has been walking the library in all directions but ends up sitting on the solitary couch. She holds out her arms:
"Come to the couch, John dearest!"
With a suppressed sigh, he takes her arms and is pulled down so that he is forced to sit and embrace, which he does lovingly and lingering. Yet her tenseness betrays her and he perceives her display of ardour is a strategm and thinks, he can also play at this game, and so the slightest external noise he uses as an excuse to say:
"Is the door on the latch, or locked! Supposing one of the
children should enter!" But Sarah riposted: "Then they'd know what's what, sir. They must know sometime."
He said: "The servants don't always knock. Mrs Chudleigh suddenly appears. Then there's your cousin."
"Ah, Abigail." replied Sarah with relief wondering how to raise the subject.
"It's for her I need the carriage. Mayhaps I can place her. But I must to the princess tomorrow. Any delay and the position may be gone. Bathhurst may sell it or have some such commerce."
"Sir Benjamin!" quizzed Churchill which Sarah confirmed explaining that he ran Princess Anne’s household affairs. Churchill however put his wife in remembrance of a recent letter which she had proudly shown him. Now it would come to his defence. He intoned:
"I think it were better to say nothing for it will do no good and since there is nobody so perfect as my dear Mrs Freeman, I must have patience with ye rest of ye world. I do really believe there never was nor never will be such a friend as dear Mrs Freeman."
Sarah clapped, slowly saying derisively: "Word perfect, sir. What a prodigious memory." Yet he had his opening:
"Dear heart! If I know Mrs Morley that position will not be sold until Mrs Freeman has given her approval. The princess dotes on you."
Sarah at once saw her argument was lost and arose in a huff of frustration, saying dismissively: "You, sir, are impossible. I give you good reasons for needing the carriage and you throw them back in my face."
Marlborough took her hair again and ran tresses lovingly through his hands and she snatched it away, almost crying:
"So you think so much of my hair, do you, sir!"
And, rushing to her escritoire, she snatched the same cutting shears used to cut writing paper into notes of hand, and hastening back to his presence exclaimed in challenging mood:
