by Ron Pearse
"Now, sir! My use of the carriage or it’s my tresses on the floor. Decide!" Marlborough was aghast, pleading: "Dear heart. Don't! What more can I say? You know the reasons it cannot be."
His wife did not hesitate. A tress had been placed between the blades and she was weeping, and cried out:
"Sir! Yeah - or nay?" She screamed, but he was dumb with shock at this turn of events. Snip. The tress fell to the floor. She cried out to him:
"See what you have made me do! What is it to be? Hair - or carriage?"
Marlborough protested but weeping Sarah methodically placed a thick tress between the blades, and snipped. Time after time.
Her golden tresses lay on the floor and she collapsed onto her haunches. He tried to hold her and she threw him off, and looking around, espied a bowl of apples on a side table and moved towards it, but he, in anticipation moved towards the door to a barrage of apples which smashed into little pieces making a frightful mess on the floor and door jamb. For a brief moment, he hesitated to look back at her and the bowl followed the apples smashing into small pieces as it slammed into the door, but he was gone, and hurrying up the stairs. She buried her face in her hands and fell into the couch weeping.
------------------------------------------
Later that evening, long after her master and mistress would be expected to have retired, Mrs Chudleigh making her final round thinking she had left a candle burning in the library, peeped around the door. She saw the Earl of Marlborough whispering to himself while collecting items from the floor and shaking her head, quietly withdrew.
-------------------------------------------
In the selfsame library in which the Marlboroughs had quarrelled over the use of the carriage and which had seen Lady Marlborough fly into a tantrum, which had seen flying apples and an airborne crystal bowl and where Lord Marlborough had later quietly come to collect up his wife's fallen tresses which would only see the light of day again at his death, long into the future, in that same room, all was now quiet. It was earlier in the day also and there was only one person in it and she sitting quietly in expectation and bore no title but plain, prosaic Mistress Abigail.
She hardly ventured to move except to allow her eyes to wander round the shelves reading titles of books, and, not quite managing to make out one particular title, rather than allow her eyes to move on to one she could read with ease had risen from her seat determined the title should not escape her scrutiny.
She read its gothic script which letters not formed in a more normal classic font were not familiar. She read out to herself, Prior's Humorous Poetry removing the book from the shelf to take a closer look where from its pages a slip of paper flutters to the floor then hearing a footstep outside quickly replaces the book and picks up the paper slipping it up her wide sleeve while resuming her chair just as the door opens and Lady Churchill enters, Abigail rises, her hostess greeting her:
"Good morrow, cousin. Set you down now. So you received my message from Mrs Chudleigh, no doubt over breakfast." And as Abigail replies with the customary courtesy, her hostess exclaims:
"Lord me! A word cousin. I needs must prick myself betimes when people address me as lady not being born such, so to speak, so I shall be only too pleased not to hear 'your ladyship', dear Abigail, at least, in the family circle."
Lady Marlborough listens as Abigail stumbles from: "Very well, your.. I mean ma'am, uh cousin," not quite crediting her normally pert guest with hesitation but, as if to emphasise her elevation says: "I would not wish such civility upon you cousin." thinking the plain girl before her was unlikely to tread the same path anyway.
She smiled complacently at Abigail and striding over and taking both hands in hers said comfortingly:
"We're cousins but I'd like us to be friends. How many years have you as I confess I've lost count since last we met. Then remembering her own sensitivity about age, blurts: "Beg pardon, cousin. I did not think."
But Abigail smiled engagingly at Sarah saying: "I mind not cousin. It's the first thing a family asks and I no longer set great store by such niceties. I'll have twenty four summers next October."
"Lord!" said Sarah, "I wasn't so far off in my guess. There is not ten years between us. Come, share a seat on the chaise-lounge."
And Abigail having done so Sarah examined rather unkindly her cousin's complexion remarking:
"The pocks has left you unblemished, my dear; just a few deep marks, which are largely hidden by freckles."
Abigail under scrutiny could not help redden, saying nervously: "I needs must thank you ma'am, I mean cousin, for treating me so very kindly. It is not everyone that be so fortunate. Mrs Chudleigh's sister, for instance."
Sarah thinking how she had softened her attitude since the wagon ride now was taken aback by this latest piece of information, but repeated the mantra: "It is a deadly scourge. And no-one spared whether low or highborn. But seeing as how you've recovered so well it seems you'll be spared henceforth. Leastways Doctor Glanville believes so."
She paused a while looking intently at Abigail who sat, hands together on her lap, a finger nervously smoothing a crease on her gown. At last, Sarah spoke: "I wonder cous if I might ask a favour of you. You see the lady Ferrers so badly needs a nurse and I was wondering if you could possibly help them out as their present domestic family is quite unable to cope."
Abigail realised at once Sarah's request was virtually an instruction but she was happy enough to be able to do something in return, returning her smile and commenting:
“Of course, cousin. When would they like me to start?" And Sarah pleased at her immediate acceptance hastened to reassure her: "Are you quite sure you be quite returned to health? Though, looking at you cous, that question hardly needs asking."
Abigail smiled sweetly telling her cousin it was considerate of her to assure herself and asking for details of the Ferrers and where they lived, and how long Sarah estimated the journey would take. Sarah was once again taken aback though pleased with her candour and openness.
There was something else playing on Sarah's mind since she had got to know her cousin better. She employed her father as an opening gambit:
"Mister Hill, your father, seemed a very discerning man. How came he to acquire all those manuscripts and books which all too sadly had to be sold. And the pictures! Knew you of the Holbein? Lord! I made a bid, but a thousand guineas was far beyond my meagre means."
Lady Marlborough's comment had saddened Abigail and Sarah bit her lip in consternation that the subject still caused pain. She was surprised therefore to be asked:
"What were my father's debts that a thousand guineas needs must go towards them. Were all his debts paid?"
Her directness discomfited Sarah but she pressed on: "Your father's sad death, coz, followed by the passing of your dear mother," here she paused dabbing her eyes and querulously added:
"Your family is free of debt. Have no fear! Creditors must answer to me as I am executrix of your family's estate."
Abigail looked perplexed saying: "Pardon me cousin. I had no idea the Jennings and the Hills were so close. Mother never mentioned it."
Sarah could no longer remain seated and got up to walk to the window. As she did so she wondered whether her newly acquired bustle was crumpled and then noticing Abigail looking at her with the same quizzical mien, said:
"It was your brother Sidney, my dear. He gave me power of attorney, before he left."
Her countenance clouded over: "Ah, Sydney!" she whispered, "That explains a lot. Where is he, by the way, cousin?"
Sarah replied reluctantly: We managed to secure a position for him with the Godolphins, as footman, I think." To change the subject Sarah walks to the bookshelf, pointing to a row of books and said: "These books are from your father's library. I bought a job lot."
Abigail got up and fingered the spines then looking to her hostess with the observation: "I thought to recognise some of them. I'm pleased they have a good home."
"Yes," said Sa
rah as if to deprecate Abigail's praise, "we rescued them from the auctioneer. He would have burnt them, I'm sure. I bought the whole bookshelf for ten guineas. A bargain, eh!"
She went on to read a few titles out: "Plato, Pliny, Plutarch, Prior... Lord me! I know none of them." Then she mentally jumped to another purchase, adding: "Bought also a harpsichord, for a song. I wonder he had time to play."
"He bought it for me, on my twenty-first birthday," croaked Abigail sadly almost in tears.
Sarah was, once again, taken aback. Her mother had wanted her to learn the harpsichord but thinking back she recalled her girlish impatience, and neglect of the instrument in favour of dancing, singing, conversation and fooling around, and here was her lowly cousin not only able to play but having a harpsichord bought for her. Now it was hers, Sarah's. Despite all the advantages she had as Lady Marlborough, this plain, lowly woman could do something she could not.
Were Sarah a contemplative person, capable of examining herself introspectively, she might, at some future date, look back wondering when her cousin's loyalty wavered. It would not have been a sacrifice to deprive herself of this instrument and present it to her cousin, especially after this plea from Abigail:
"It was the only possession I ever treasured of dear father. Yet I would gladly have surrendered it to rescue my mother's...." She did not finish as sobs choked her preventing her speaking.
Sarah said as though to comfort her: "You can play the harpsichord, cousin, whenever you've a mind to, and who knows, when you have a home of your own." She could not bring herself to give up the instrument not realising the cost of such a gesture might have spared her much anguish, later. There was a scratching at the door and Abigail rose, looking at Sarah, as though they shared a secret.
On opening the door, she called out: "Now, little miss. Are you playing or!" upon which note Sarah appeared speaking sharply: "Now child what is going on?"
The little girl stood up offering her doll to Abigail who looked at Sarah who said: "It's our coachman's little girl. Now Mary, run off into the kitchen like a good girl!"
"Take my hand, miss Mary!" offered Abigail smiling defiantly at her cousin, "We'll go to the kitchen, together, shall we? Are you going to show me the way?"
"Yes, please!" cried Mary taking the proffered hand and off they went down the corridor leaving Sarah feeling rather miffed that her cousin had not asked her leave nor even given her a backward glance. Was it just thoughtlessness or a defiant sense of independence? She hoped the former as she had definite plans for Abigail.
Chapter 2
Roads in the closing years of the seventeenth century were little better than the farm tracks of today where the farmer will fill in holes to even out bumps for a reasonably even ride on his tyred tractor. Tyres however were well into the future and the inventor of the modern macadamised road had not been born. However cantilever springing had brought a degree of comfort and the Marlborough's carriage was so equipped though the wheels were still of wood with an iron band smithied onto the circumference with the object to inhibit wear rather than provide any extra comfort.
Having set out and joined the Cottonmill Lane in the direction of the London road, they were at the mile-house before Sarah ventured to say anything to her companion, Abigail Hill:
"For once his lordship, my lord and master, has seen fit not to take the carriage and has taken Chestnut into the City."
"The carriage is much more comfortable than the wagon" replied Abigail, adding: "But the great bonus is having Tom. His Grace will miss him keenly today unless he has got to know London streets in the meantime."
Sarah agreed: "Had I thought on him yesterday evening, I might still have my hair. Denying his services to my lord and master put a different complexion on things."
Abigail in a reflective mood, said: "I'm so looking forward to meeting brother Jack."
Lady Churchill looked at Abigail with amusement as her memory of Abigail's brother was of his maintaining distance between himself and his sister. There seemed to be no brotherly longing for togetherness, but perhaps, being an only child, she had little understanding of a brother and sister relationship. To keep up the conversation, she mused aloud:
"It be strange the preferences of princes."
"I think you mean," replied Abigail, "about my Jack being too tall for Prince George's liking."
Sarah hastened to dispel any suggestion of lese-majesty, saying: "It be a little unseemly I think that a great gallant like your Jack should tower over a prince of the royal blood, and a foreigner at that."
Abigail burst out laughing and Sarah raised her eyebrows until Abigail explained: "He wasn't too tall to reach the apples in the orchard, last summer."
"Or the ladle to help himself of the cider" retorted Sarah sternly, "Otherwise I scarce saw neither sight nor sound of him."
"But he was well liked," insisted Abigail though Sarah still was grudging: "Especially with a few ladles of cider tucked away."
"His speciality was bottles, ma'am." Sarah looked up sharply to see the little hatch open and Tom peering down. She said: "You gave me a shock Tom as I didn't hear you open the hatch."
Tom went on garrulously: "Did you never 'ear 'is nickname, ma'am. That were four-bottle Jack. Nobody beat 'is record, nor never will."
Sarah reproved him: "You mind the road, Tom. Never mind, Jack!"
"Just want to tell e ma'am. We be at London Colney." And with that advice he shut the hatch and Abigail commented that each bottle held a quart so that her brother would have a gallon of cider swilling round inside him to which Sarah wrinkled her nose in disgust commenting:
"I trust he paid for it, himself."
In order to dispel her cousin's gloomy mood, Abigail changed the subject: "Brother Jack is very grateful that you were able to find a place for him in the Duke of Gloucester's household. He'll be very sorry to leave the prince's family, naturally." She paused reflectively then added:
“It seems he liked everybody, I mean all the servants in the family, apart from one person."
Sarah had got bored, as she was wont to do when the talk was of servants and their doings, yet her cousin's last remark invoked her opprobrium and she thought, the impudence of the man, with his likes and dislikes; who do these Hills think they are! Yet she refrained from voicing her thoughts not wishing to hurt her cousin's feelings. She simply commented acidly:
"And who might that be?" getting the reply of Samuel Masham, whereupon she sat upright retorting: "I confess to harbouring some distaste for your brother's views until this moment. Did he say why?"
"It seems mister Masham is wont to accuse my Jack of not being a gentleman, like himself."
All sorts of thoughts inhabited Sarah's mind upon hearing that reply, and Abigail wondered, seeing her cousin's cheeks reddening whether it was through anger over the implied rebuke for placing Jack in Prince George's household or whether she blushed on remembering her own upbringing.
Naturally Abigail was reticent and Sarah also being silent there reigned an uneasy quiet broken by the hatch suddenly being opened and Tom, appearing and saying:
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, that spire over on the right be St Mary's church atop Harrow on the Hill. See that milestone. It says eight mile to London. Turnpike be our next stop. And then non-stop to London."
-------------------------------------------------
Tom brought the carriage to a halt on the approach to the portico entrance of St James Palace from which a uniformed servant emerged even before the carriage had stopped opening the door and unfixing the hinged steps which was the signal for Lady Marlborough to arise from her seat and alight accepting the servant's gloved hand. She graciously waited the few moments for her cousin to join her and both upon the servant's invitation proceeded through the portico into the covered walkway leading to the main building entrance.
As they walked between the parallel rows of Doric columns, they were passed by servants who, according to gender, curtsied or bowed to Sarah but
completely ignored Abigail who did not mind in the slightest. At the end of the walkway, an individual greeted both ladies with exaggerated deference which took her ladyship by surprise dressed as he was in an enormous red coat with epaulettes on both shoulders, the coat reaching down to his knees, his breeches were of cream silk and he wore shining black shoes with gleaming buckles, completing his ensemble. His affectatious salute brought both ladies attention to his peculiar headwear which had a very wide peak and, with the high collar of the coat, his face was hardly to be seen. It reminded Abigail of the flunkeys who graced the hallways of fairy tale castles. Sarah, on the other hand, made a mental note to ask the princess about the new uniform.
His greeting also seemed a little extravagant: "Good morrow unto madam la duchesse; and, to your dear lady companion. Pray permit me to direct the ladies to their destination." Sarah was short with him showing him the princess's seal upon her letter of invitation to which he gave but a cursory glance asking both ladies to follow him along passageways turning to right and left until Sarah arrived at the door she recognised from previous visits thanking him upon which he executed a military turn and disappeared back to his post.
Her ladyship pointed out to her cousin a device on a string which Abigail was to rub over one of the door panels which had raised blisters. As she rubbed so the sound echoed inside and before long, the door was opened and Sarah faced the familiar form of Mrs Danvers, Princess Anne's amanuensis. At once from inside, a plaintive voice called:
"Who be there Mrs Danvers?" and upon Sarah's response came a loud scream of delight from the same quarter and as Mrs Danvers stood aside to allow Sarah to sweep past her in all her bustled glory, from the direction of the day-bed upon which a woman reclined, the scream was followed by:
