Abigail's Cousin (26 page)

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."

It is June 12
^th
, 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 especially 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.'

The bishop has
finished his prayer and a hymn has been sung, Alice standing up but
seeing the queen's eyes closed, believing her asleep and so not
attempting to disturb her. Now the bishop has invited the four in
the front row to stand before him as he begins to intone: "Dearly
Beloved..."

Alice steals a
glance behind her catching the eye of her brother smart in his new
captain's uniform. He looks towards the front as the ceremony
proceeds and has a few thoughts of his own, 'Good old sis. Bagged
her colonel. She's done well. For me too! Captain Hill! It has a
nice ting about it. But Colonel Hill sounds even better. Patience
lad! It'll all come. After all Masham did it in a year. Captain,
lieutenant-colonel, brevet-colonel. It was the year of Blenheim. He
never talks of it. Got his pip on the battlefield by the duke
hisself. No use Hill. The duke's got no time for you. Your only
chance is sis. And the queen of course. What's the odds! Worse
soldiers than me have made it to general even. Nobles even. That's
a thought. General Hill. How 'bout lord general Hill. I do like the
sound of that."

To Hill's ears
comes the voice of the bishop: "...was ordained for the mutual
society." But almost as soon as the words enter Hill's ears he is
distracted again by his sister Alice. But then he notices the queen
stir and turns to his sister who gets up and adjusts the pillow
behind her head. She whispers something to Alice who smiles and
sits down again. Not only Jack's head is turned but the young
organist has turned around to observe the 22 year old Alice Hill
attired in blue dress with puffed sleeves. Her long gloves
accentuate her slenderness, her bonnet displays an impudent air and
as she raises her eyes, his own sink resting upon her smart black
shoes, shining and reflecting the lamps illuminating the large
room.

Alice dare not
look at Mr Clarke. She is all too aware of the social protocol even
cynically so. If only Jeremiah was party to her thoughts. He might
save himself much anguish. She has stolen a glance at people
occupying chairs behind and thinks, 'There they stand the fops in
their lacy frilled hats hanging onto every word the bishop is
saying. They wouldn't look so fashionable in their underwear such
as the garments we're expected to launder. Ugh1 The sweaty
camisoles, soiled undergarments, smelly stockings, dirty whatnots
all destined for the copper for boiling in clouds of smelly steam.
Of course their fine frippery is not for the likes of me, a
laundress. What's that to a duchess! That's a thought! Does the
duchess know? She'd rage if she did. Let her! What's a duchess
against a queen.'

Alice is alive to the queen stirring in
her wheelchair but she does not turn round for attention. The
bishop meanwhile intones: "I require and charge you both.." And Dr
Arbuthnot standing to the rear of Abigail is ready to pronounce his
words and has no thoughts of his own, for the time being. Not so a
smartly dressed gentleman whose thoughts are not upon the ceremony
but upon his colleague standing holding the gold band waiting like
the good doctor upon the bishop's invitation. The smartly dressed
man is Henry St John and his th
oughts are centred upon Harley:

'Got to hand
credit where it's due. Harley's the man to follow. Nobody more
astute than he. Wouldn't be surprised that he'd arranged the entire
match for his own ends. Bound to be for the benefit of Harley at
bottom. But can he unmatch M and G, the Siamese twins. That will be
a coup. But, if not, which way for me? Best not think upon that. Go
with H. Otherwise I'm out of my depth. But must watch him like a
hawk. What are his nicknames? The dragon. Robin, the trickster.
Meanwhile what about fair Alice. She's a mount and no mistake. But
not while queenie's around. But pleasure first and worry later.
Yes, Alice! And I can offer her more than madrigals.'

There is movement at the front as the
bishop invites Masham: "Wilt thou have this woman.." The word has
electrified just such a creature sitting in the third row of seats.
It is Missus Danvers who reminisces on her own ceremony performed
in her village church so many years before. She asks herself, 'Who
was at my mawidge cewemony when I ma-wied Danvuhs. Deah papa! How
he wemonstated but wather Danvuhs than be an old maid. I thought
that might be the fate of mistwiss Hill, congwatulating myself all
these yeahs. Then pwince Geo-awge's gwoom comes a wooing. He took
my bweth away. Took evewyone's bweth away. Womance faw Hill. Fwends
we all ah now. Nevuh befaw. Today she was wadiant.' Tears well up
in Mrs Danvers eyes and she takes a kerchief from her bag and dabs
at he
r eyes as the
bishop drones on:

"
…and forsaking all other, keep thee unto him, so long as ye
both shall live?" Abigail's voice is not so clear as Anne recalls
but gets her response out: "I will." He bishop asks: "Who giveth
this woman to be married to this man?" To which doctor Arbuthnot
responds: "I do." The bishop then turns to Masham and asks him to
take up the right hand of Hill with his own hand and to repeat
after him:

"I call upon the persons here
present.
.."

Jeremiah Clarke is once again at his small
organ his eyes scanning the pages of music resting on the easel of
the organ. He is itching to play the finale waiting for the signal
but his mind wandering at the thought of the lovely creature behind
him, and thinking, 'Sobering thought for me that it's not my music
or my playing skill that brings me here but Alice. She persuaded
her sister so naturally the queen went along with it. Betrothal to
Alice! That's a thought, or just a dream. I would not lack
invitations. I'm for her, but is she for me! I don't know what I'll
do if she refuses me.
Blow my brains out!'

Robert Harley
dives his hand into his coat waistcoat pocket and finds the ring
and at the bishop's invitation hands it to Masham, who takes it
nervously. He observes him shaking like a leaf. Fancy that! The
hero of Blenheim. Captures a platoon of Frenchmen single-handed,
but now his hand quivers like an aspen. There's no accounting for
human conduct. He watches nervously praying Masham will not let the
gold band fall, but no, he lifts his love's hand tenderly and
counting to the fourth finger, looks up into her eyes, as he slips
the ring onto her left hand echoing the bishop's words:

"With this ring
…with this ring...a token and pledge of the
vow...a token and pledge of the vow.."

The wife of
the doctor sits and observes her husband but her thoughts are not
on their own marriage ceremony but on the largesse of the queen.
Her thoughts have an overtone of envy as they form themselves in
her heated brain, 'Two thousand guineas from her majesty as a
wedding dowry for mistress Hill. What generosity! Mr Harley offers
his country estate for a week. A whole week. The doctor, my
husband, offering his lodgings for the ceremony and a reception to
follow. And her majesty paying for everything. Food, wine,
carriages. For a bedchamber woman. She who scrubs floors. Empties
chamberpots. I've never heard of such things before. What is this
Hill to the queen? Is she a lesbian? It's grotesque. She'd have
been burnt as a witch afore the revolution. Now she physicks the
queen. And the prince. And no-one dare say nay. What is the world
coming to?'

The ceremony
is approaching its close for the bishop realising it himself gets a
second wind, enunciating clearly:

"Forasmuch as
Samuel Masham and Abigail Hill have consented."

'Fiddlesticks'
that was the unspoken comment of a gentlemen sitting on his own
behind the queen. He was William Legge, lord Dartmouth, the queen's
secretary accompanying her everywhere in case she had a thought
that he could take down. Earlier on he had devised a method of
shorthand but dare not let anyone, excepting her majesty, know
unless anyone should think he plied a profession. He had surveyed
the proceedings with disdain and as he observed the couple in front
receiving the sacrament of marriage, utter distaste clouded his
mind.

He thought of Abigail Hill as, 'Mean and
vulgar in her manner, of an unequal temper, childish, exceptious,
and passionate which in my view is her worst conceit and as for
that Masham, nothing better than a jumped-up boot boy. What
Marlborough was thinking of making him a colonel for some petty
services on the battlefield. What matters as everyone of breeding
knows is not what you do but who you are, your breeding, but
Marlborough himself was nothing but James errand boy. The very idea
of making a commoner into a
duke. What is England coming to?'

The ceremony
was coming to an end as the bishop intoned: "Those whom God hath
joined together let no man put asunder."

Jonathon Swift
smiled and added a few shorthand notes on his pad for on the morrow
he would write a piece in The Examiner about this happy event. He
re-read his words to himself, 'The Hero of Blenheim, my Friend,
Colonel Masham was married to Mistress Abigail Hill, a Person of a
plain sound undetstanding, of great Truth and Sincerity, without
the least Mixture of Falsehood or Disguise; of an honest Boldness
and Courage superior to her Sex; firm and disinterested in her
friendship, and full of Love, Duty, and Veneration for the Queen
her Mistress. In brief my old friend Masham is married to a
Paragon. Tis no Wonder the Irish do not rule the Earth for I fain
could achieve no more than a tenth part of this Description.'