Abigail's Cousin

by Ron Pearse

  Before the meeting of senior ministers chaired by her majesty, the queen, before this council of war could begin on this occasion there was a specific alteration in its membership to be contemplated. Henry St John foresaw these changes to his advantage but the dashing ex-cavalry officer, veteran of Blenheim and Ramillies was about to learn a harsh lesson of collective responsibility with a pronounced emphasis upon its collective aspect. He was to learn that facts learned in the course of his duties were confidential, which he had learned as an officer of Marlborough's army. He would never have, on his life, divulged intelligence to his former enemy, the French, yet he was to learn that in government your enemy was your political opposition. He was to learn that to use such confidential facts to bolster your own career to the detriment of the government was perceived as treacherous and double dealing as spying for the enemy.

  As Henry St John and Robert Harley had already discovered the information that vital funds had not reached their allies in Spain might have had nothing at all to do with the allied defeat at Alamanza. Yet the principle of confidentiality remained. Among colleagues in government such information had to be considered as learned in confidence and to be kept secret until the leadership of the government had been notified. In Harley's and St John's defence, both men might have believed they owed their advancement to the queen who had notified them of their promotion though what both men had overlooked was that each was recommended to the queen by Marlborough and Godolphin.

  Their loyalty was first and foremost to the Duumvirs who would consider information learned in whatever way should be notified to either Godolphin or Marlborough. It was up to them to notify the queen. As a principle it was sacrosanct and that principle would govern the tone of the discussion between the queen and her lord treasurer taking place. When the meeting began Anne looked and felt bright having enjoyed a good night's sleep thanks to her servant's ministrations but physical well-being was not enough when it came to dealing with her lord treasurer that morning. She addressed her employee sprucely enough:

  "I understand my lord treasurer that certain monies voted by Parliament to ye allies in Spain were not sent. If I recall you came to me to request my permission to send these funds. Ye allied defeat at Alamanza can therefore be laid to you. What have you to say?"

  Godolphin aware that something was in the wind but unaware of its precise nature is taken aback his mind in turmoil thinking back over the many orders he approved of in the course of the previous months and wondering which particular one the queen is talking about but also aware that someone has slyly told the queen. He falls back on the principle of confidentiality and replies:

  "These are secret matters ma'am and what concerns me is that a breach of confidence has taken place and I beg you further to leave the matter with me until I can discover its true nature."

  The queen is also somewhat surprised by his reply as it seemed to indicate that her lord treasurer was running affairs and not her. She felt as monarch above the fray of politics between these warring men. She will decide what is important, what is confidential, what is secret. She, Queen Anne will decide and even a favourite like her lord treasurer must be brought to acknowledge it. Her reply is therefore uncompromising:

  "My lord! This interview grieves me as you have been my faithful advisor these several years. Your long service is therefore justification to allow until tomorrow to consider your position."

  "Ma'am!" Godolphin now firm in his resolve said: "My trust has been betrayed. Be assured the perpetrator will derive no satisfaction thereof."

  Anne was nonplussed by her lord treasurer's reply. This is not what she had expected. This was not an apology, but a defiance that she would not tolerate so she informed him:

  "Pray be so kind and admit ye duke to my presence on your way out, my lord!"

  "Ma'am!" Godolphin uttered the single acknowledgement and getting up slowly, nodded and bowed courteously before retreating to the door and knocking whereupon it was opened by a footman and he left the room. Outside the room he stood somewhat shaken and his face registered some distress which is how Marlborough found him anxious to find out what was upsetting his old friend and colleague.

  Campaigning had come to an end in October and the duke hardly knew what to do with himself. This little fracas he had seen developing promised some excitement and gave scope perhaps to using up an excess of energy. The infighting of government would serve very well in the absence of the real thing but it was clear to him that Godolphin viewed things differently. After their interview he understood what must be done and agreed with him that on no account would he keep her majesty waiting. Had not Marlborough himself been a courtier before being called to the colours?

  But he left his friend with a heavy heart being saddened by Godolphin's demeanour and disappointment with the world and it was in this sombre mood that he allowed himself to be let into the queen's presence by the footman. Her majesty was clearly getting impatient asking the duke imperiously:

  "Please be seated your grace." And he was in the act of sitting where Godolphin had sat a few minutes before when she added: "Spain is lost to us. Yet ye Junto trumpet their war-cry of, 'No Peace without Spain'."

  The duke was nonplussed as Godolphin had been simply muttering: "Ma'am!" as Anne continued in full spate: "You have my continued support your grace, and will have in ye future until an honourable peace is with us, but Alamanza must sure prejudice the..."

  To Marlborough the words seemed an echo of words he had heard recently and sought, as the queen was talking, to remember. Her words came to him: "the outcome of the war and that peace which my people so desperately desire and which is being denied them."

  "Ma'am!" repeated the duke stupidly as the queen said: "Tell me you will continue to work for ye peace which we all want; do all of us want."

  Marlborough was at last stung to a bitter reply saying: "I must avow ma'am, that I cannot serve longer in a ministry with someone who betrays his friends and his colleagues."

  There! It was out, somewhat hastily but the queen's words had reminded Marlborough of Robert Harley's overheard at a dinner party. He felt bitter moreover in that the man in whom they had placed so much trust was acting in this manner and compelling him to contradict his queen to whom he felt loyalty and friendship. He felt bitter that her good nature was being put upon by unscrupulous men to the detriment of England's war effort, let alone their government, and he was determined to take a stand.

  His queen was outraged: "Your Grace!" was all she could utter but it was everything being spoken in a tone not hitherto heard and Marlborough was stung with a pang of conscience as he uttered the fateful words:

  "Accordingly, your majesty, I must place my sword, the sword of the captain-general that your majesty was kind enough to bestow on your faithful servant, into the hands of another."

  The queen was visibly moved, slumping back into her chair, seemingly robbed of all life. Her earlier spirit had deserted her. Slowly she reopened her eyes and focussed them upon the man in front of her realising there was nobody to replace him. He knew it. She knew it. He knew she knew. Bravely she declared:

  "Do not resign your sword, Your Grace. You may as well run it into my head."

  But her captain-General was adamant: "Circumstances afford me no choice ma'am."

  The queen reached up and pulled the cord for the footman and when he appeared told him to show lord Dartmouth into her presence and turning back to the duke she said wearily:

  "I shall not accept it your grace. Please attend the council thither your queen is presently bound as soon as I have had a short conference with my lord Dartmouth, my secretary."

  A man appeared and offered his hand to the queen as Marlborough rose also. Grim faced he stood as Dartmouth and the queen withdrew through the door behind her chair, but just before she disappeared, she turned round to the duke to say:

  "Pray, I beseech Your Grace; follow me from the council chamber."

  And then she was gone. The duke
left behind slumped in his chair dreading his imminent disobedience. She was not only his queen but his commanding officer. What punishment would an officer of his expect should he defy the captain-general as Marlborough was about to do in ignoring the queen's order. Then he thought of his friend Lord Godolphin and whom he would not betray. It was a choice between Queen or friend.

  Then he thought of the arch-betrayer Robert Harley and cursed the day he had set eyes on him.

  ------------------------------------------

  William Legge, Lord Dartmouth, paused briefly outside in the ante-room and idly observed the scaffolding in place against the newly reconstructed walls of the cabinet office, or, rather the workmen who were occupied in various tasks. There were plasterers busy daubing gypsum upon the wall and another against the ceiling whereby goblets of plaster fell back into his face or onto his shoulders, and Legge shivered not envying his task and was so occupied nonetheless in observation that he was sure he must have missed the plaintive calls by her majesty who was ready and waiting to proceed to the meeting. He reddened inwardly that such plebian distractions had kept him away from the needs of royalty.

  With difficulty she held onto his arm as he negotiated the corridor where the scaffolding caused them to go single-file hearing the hubbub of talk at the end of the passage and aware they were about to reach the council chamber. As they approached a footman opened the door wide, it having been slightly ajar, and as they entered every man rose and bowed to his monarch and there was a continued hush as she prepared to take her place in the chair provided. Having made herself comfortable she gestured to Legge with a nod that the meeting should be called to order whereupon Harley half rose indicating to Legge his location.

  But Legge while aware of Harley also is made aware of the Master of the Horse whose place is filled by Charles Seymour and who fidgets but nonetheless Legge invites the Secretary of State for Europe, Robert Harley to begin reading the agenda and Legge scarcely listens but finally does catch his words: "...pursuant to the plenary meeting of the cabinet on the tenth of February..."

  Legge suddenly sees the empty chair of the lord treasurer and then his eyes swivel to the chair of the captain-general and Harley drones on: "..in the year of our lord seventeen hundred and eight, matters arose which the secretary of.."

  He got no further for there was a scraping of chair against the uncarpeted floor as Seymour rose up from his chair, his face serious and clearly angry. He nodded towards the queen and said:

  "Beg pardon ma'am. Should these proceedings be allowed to continue in the absence of his grace, the Duke of Marlborough and your lord treasurer, ma'am, the right honourable Lord Godolphin?"

  Harley had not only stopped reading but put down the paper upon the polished surface of the table and sat down slowly. The queen glowered at Seymour then shifted her attention back to Harley who arose to resume his reading but was forestalled by Seymour who again addressed the queen:

  "Your majesty, I respectfully submit that I do not understand how any worthwhile business may be carried on in the absence of his grace, the duke and my lord Godolphin." Then Seymour turned towards the person of Robert Harley sitting at a tangent across the table and addressed him icily:

  "I am given to understand that the duke and earl are not present owing to the treacherous dealings and machinations of a certain gentleman."

  Then emboldened by his rhetoric, Seymour swivelled his gaze at the queen who did not look at him but sat with eyes down looking at her lap. She says nothing and Seymour persists:

  "Your majesty, I see no purpose in continuing this meeting. It is my immediate intention to leave this room. With your permission!" He turned his head confidently to look at his fellow dukes, Newcastle and Devonshire; next, at the earls of Pembroke and Sunderland, and, for some reason, pointedly at the lord high admiral, George Churchill, before declaring:

  "I would anticipate anyone present who feels as I do, with her majesty's gracious leave, to follow my lead." Then taking up his briefcase, Seymour, hesitantly, nodding at Legge, swivelling his eyes in deference to Anne, silently pushes back his chair, hesitates another fraction then with decision marches from the room. Nobody follows but the moment the door closes, the queen nods at Legge who as though observing a pre-arranged routine, gets up to say:

  "Your majesty, gentlemen. This meeting is adjourned."

  Nobody moves until the queen is assisted to her feet by Legge who knocks at the door whereupon a footman ensures there is sufficient space for the queen, resting her arm upon Legge's, as she walks slowly, stiffly, painfully, judging from her facial expression, from the room and only when the footman has seen the queen several paces along the corridor, does he shut the door after her, and the gentlemen arise from their seats prepared to depart themselves.

  A few remain waiting deferentially until those senior in rank have left before vacating their own seats in order to join the throng around Robert Harley, who has not moved but sits still occasionally eyeing his colleagues. One of a pair of men approaches his chair:

  "You will have my support, Robert, whatever happens." Harley is suddenly alive and turns to the speaker: "Thank you, Sir Thomas." At which answer, the second man offers also his support being thanked by Harley whereupon Sir Thomas says:

  "You gentlemen must have much on your minds. Simon and I will leave you to your discussions, but once again, let me say that however the situation turns out, you have my support." His friend, Sir Simon Mansell says: "Hear, hear." uttering the MPs favourite phrase of support.

  One of the gentleman referred to is Henry St. John, Minister for War and upon the departure of Sir Thomas and Sir Simon, and the audible closure of the heavy door, he impatiently muttered to Harley, now in an otherwise empty chamber:

  "The Siamese twins were inseparable then!"

  Harley eyed his colleague disapprovingly, then said matter-of-factly:

  "Her majesty is conscious, as I am, as we all are, that the ministry cannot be carried on without the captain-general. As you saw the duke would not sit in the meeting of the cabinet without the lord Godolphin. I fear it will not be possible at present to form the modest ministry to serve her majesty as she desires."

  "How do you intend to proceed Robert?" At St John's words, Harley said nothing as if his mind was on other matters and this fact appeared to be confirmed when he brightened, telling his colleague:

  "Proceed! That will I - to my estate at Brampton Bryan, forthwith, and I must soon hence for even as we speak a certain lord is demanding my head on a platter before he sups tonight."

  St John smiled sardonically: "Somewhat melodramatic, Robert!"

  "No more melodramatic than the Duke of bloody Somerset's performance. I was almost expecting him to utter the words of Richard III. Remember the scene in the Tower. The rest who love me follow me! That was the duke of Somerset, Henry my lad. These nobles live in a world of their own."

  St John smiled and said: "Whatever happens, count on me. If you go, St John will not stay, and as you heard, you also have the support of Mansell and Harcourt. We shall all go."

  Harley offered his hand and St John took it saying: "The Whigs will have the cabinet to themselves. Harley smiled: "People are getting sick of this war and at the next election the country will remember there is one party to blame for its troubles. Our chance will come."

  Chapter 12

  It is June 12th, 1707 a day eagerly looked forward to by Mistress Abigail Hill for at the end of it she will be, according to the custom of the time, able to see her name as Mrs Abigail Masham. Henceforth she will be addressed as Missus Masham being married to Samuel Masham of Watford, Hertfordshire. The precise time for their wedding will be noon and the place, Kensington Palace though not in the queen's private chapel but in Doctor Arbuthnot's spacious rooms, one of which has been reserved for the marriage ceremony officiated by Dr Henry Sacheverell of St Paul's cathedral.

  The queen has elected to be present in a wheelchair, her affliction leaving her incapacitated espec
ially without her servant, Abigail Hill, whom Anne insists must concern herself with preparation for the nuptials, her place having been taken by her sister, Alice Hill. The organ begins to play a tune by Johann Pochelhebel and is played by Jeremiah Clarke. It is a signal for the couple followed by the best man, Robert Harley and the bride's acting father, Dr Arbuthnot. All four take their place on the front chairs. As the organ music dies, the bishop begins to speak:

  "Let us pray. O God who in thy loving kindness..."

  Hearing the words but not listening is Robert Harley who is thinking, 'So far so good! My passport via the backstairs is assured but should my plans for Godolphin mature as planned, I'll be making my entrances up the grand staircase sweeping to the front porch of St James Palace, as lord high treasurer. One thing missing is the earl's intimate relationship with the queen. It will be no use learning about bloodstock, race courses or even gambling as the earl's had a head start with his money and connections. I might take a leaf out of Masham’s book and learn to play cards. Hmmm! An invitation to Brampton Bryan for the gentle games of Ombre, Basset and what else."

  The object of Harley's designs sits in her wheelchair with Alice sitting alongside on the pew. Alice is intently listening and occasionally steals a glance at her majesty, who appears to be listening but is mentally bemoaning her fate. 'Self-sacrifice is all very well', she thinks, 'but what am I to do without my dear, dear Hill in ye next week. Already my foot is starting to throb as her poultice, put on by Alice, begins to cool. She hasn't dear Abigail's skill. And there's nobody to talk to without listening to their inane replies. There's poor George. Nobody to relieve his wheezing. Oh, and no harpsichord. Dear me! I am bereft. Perhaps Alice might prevail upon Mr Clarke to play. But a week without Hill and no Ombre, either. What a bleak, dismal week before me. I shall go to Windsor. There I can hunt in my chaise. Some small comfort until dear Hill, no, until dear Masham returns.'