Abigail's Cousin (3 page)

"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 h
er 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
pr
otected. How mean ye
mistress?"

For an answer Abigail rolled back the
sleeve of her night attire inviting Mrs Chudleigh to look where she
was pointin
g 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 housekeep
er 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.

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

"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
noi
se 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
won
dering 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
c
ome 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 prodigiou
s 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:

"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.