The Queen's Favourites aka Courting Her Highness (v5) (8 page)

“I did know, Lady Marlborough, that you are so very kind and …”

“Ha! And you hoped I had not forgotten you? That was rather impertinent of you, Abigail Hill. Had I forgotten you? Did I not see that you were well provided for in this house?”

“Yes, Lady Marlborough.”

“Well, of what have you to complain?”

“I was not complaining, Lady Marlborough.” The face tinged with pink, the manner alarmed, scared humility in the eyes, the gesture of usually quiet hands.

“But all the same you hoped for a place at Court, did you not?”

“A place at Court. But Lady Marlborough, I …”

“Oh, there are places and places. You did not expect that I was going to appoint you Secretary of State to his most Gracious Majesty. Eh, girl?”

“But no, Lady Marlborough.”

Sarah began to shake with laughter at the thought of Caliban’s receiving Abigail Hill as his Secretary of State.

“It is not the King’s household in which I would place you.”

Nor could you! thought Abigail. You are the last person to whom he would grant favours.

“But that of the Princess.”

“The Princess Anne?”

“Who else? You will see little of the Princess, of course. We need a quiet reliable woman to look after the maids. I thought of you. It will be a good opportunity for you. I did not intend to keep you at St. Albans all your life. The Princess leaves the choice of posts to me and when I knew we wanted a Mother of the Maids I thought of you.”

Abigail’s face was faintly pink, and even she found it difficult to suppress her excitement. She would be near John and Alice; they could see each other, exchange experiences. At last Abigail was to have what the others were enjoying: a place at Court.

“Well, Abigail?”

“I do not know how to thank you, Lady Marlborough.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt not that you will find a way of doing so. You will have to keep those women in order. Do you think you can, Abigail Hill?”

“I will do my best, Lady Marlborough.”

“You will find them a feckless band … given to gossip and often disrespectful to their betters. If you should hear anything interesting you should let me know at once. I like to be aware of what is being said.”

“Anything interesting …?”

“I am sure you are intelligent enough to know what would interest me. Any scrap of knowledge about the Princess or the King; or if anyone should gossip about the Earl or myself in your presence … You understand?”

“Yes, Lady Marlborough.”

“Well then, you should prepare for your journey at once. I see no reason why there should be any delay.”

Abigail went to her powder closet, dazed and bewildered. Escape from this house which she hated; and a place at Court!

But as a spy for Lady Marlborough. At least that was what Lady Marlborough expected; yet perhaps when she had her place it would not be necessary to do all that Lady Marlborough ordered. Who could say?

A few days
after that interview, Lady Marlborough left St. Albans and Abigail went with her. It was pleasant to travel in such state, but more pleasant still when they reached London.

Lady Marlborough went straight to St. James’s Palace, taking Abigail with her, and very soon Abigail was being presented to the Princess.

She saw a large woman, with light brown hair and highly coloured complexion, whose expression was mild perhaps on account of her eyes, the lids of which appeared to be contracted. This gave her a helpless look. Her hands were perfectly shaped, her fingers tapering; they were very white and they attracted immediate attention, perhaps because with her sweet and gentle voice they were her only beauty.

“Your Highness,” Lady Marlborough was saying, and Abigail remembered afterwards that her tone was just as imperious in St. James’s Palace as it was in the house at St. Albans, “this is my relation. The new Mother of the Maids.”

The shortsighted eyes were turned on Abigail. The lips smiled in a very kindly fashion.

“I am pleased to see any relation of Lady Marlborough.”

“I have found places for the whole of the family,” went on Sarah, and added as though Abigail were not present: “This is the last of them. She has been making herself useful at St. Albans while she has been waiting.”

Anne nodded almost sleepily and Lady Marlborough signed to Abigail which meant she must kneel and kiss the Princess’s hands.

The beautiful hand was given her; Abigail kissed it; Lady Marlborough nodded. That was the sign for Abigail to retire. Waiting for her outside the door was a woman who would take her to the apartment she would occupy and explain her duties to her.

As she left she heard the Princess say: “Now my dear Mrs. Freeman, you must tell me all your news …”

Abigail knew that the Princess Anne had already forgotten she existed.

IN THE PRINCESS’S APARTMENTS

aving married Henrietta satisfactorily, Sarah
was looking round for a suitable bridegroom for Anne. There was one family whom she considered worthy to join the triumvirate she had decided on; and that was the Spencers.

Robert Spencer, the second Earl of Sunderland, was a wily politician, a slippery statesman; Marlborough himself did not like him; Sarah had at one time hated him, had maligned him and his wife and persuaded the Princess Anne to do the same in her letters to her sister Mary when the latter was in Holland. But there could be no doubt in Sarah’s mind that Sunderland was a man they could not afford to have against them.

The Earl had a son Charles who had married Lady Arabella Cavendish some years before; shortly after Henrietta’s marriage Lady Arabella died and Charles, Sarah decided, would need a wife. Why not Anne?

The Spencers were wealthy; Charles was a Whig, it was true, and Marlborough was a Tory; but Sarah was a little more inclined to Whiggery than her husband and she did not regard this as an obstacle. Charles Spencer had already made a name for himself with his democratic notions when he had declared that he would, when the time came refuse the title of Lord and be known as Charles Spencer; he was, according to Sarah, a prig of a Whig, disapproving of his father whose conduct had at times been quite scandalous. But Sarah believed herself capable of directing her son-in-law in the way he would have to go.

Perhaps she was more interested in his colourful father. Robert Spencer, the second earl of Sunderland, had had an exciting career. Feigning fidelity to James II, he had even gone so far as to pose as a Catholic in order to find a way into his favours, while at the same time corresponding through his wife—as wild a character as himself—with the Orange Court supporting the plan to bring William and Mary to England.

Sunderland had been the object of scandal more than once in his life. A young man, with a gay past behind him, deciding to settle down and marry, he chose Anne Digby daughter of the Earl of Bristol, a match which seemed doubly advantageous, for the young lady was not only beautiful but rich. But before the marriage could take place Sunderland had disappeared, having, he afterwards explained, no stomach for matrimony; but he was brought back and the ceremony took place. His wife was an intriguer who, far from being put out by her bridegroom’s conduct, welcomed it, for it gave her an opportunity of pursuing her own colourful life. Very soon she formed an attachment to Henry Sidney, her husband’s uncle and one of the most attractive men at Court, who had earned for himself the title of The Terror of Husbands. He was even suspected by the Duke of York of making love to the first Duchess, Anne Hyde, and dismissed from Court for a period because of this.

Sunderland however bore no grudges on account of his wife’s infidelity. She and he had agreed that one of the ways to favours in those days was the courting of the King’s mistresses and this they did by providing lavish entertainments which, since they were given in honour of the King’s mistresses, obviously brought the King to their table. When Charles was enamoured of Louise de Keroualle and she wanted a guarantee of security before she succumbed, it was Lady Sunderland who arranged what she called a “wedding” for King Charles and the French woman and this was celebrated at the Sunderlands’ house.

But with the passing of Charles and the coming to the throne of James it was necessary to decide where it was necessary to bestow one’s allegiance. Sunderland was an opportunist—so while he pretended to support James he was in league with William of Orange that he might be ready to leap whichever way would bring him most advantage.

William was shrewd; he did not trust Sunderland; in fact no one trusted Sunderland. Yet he was a man whom no one could ignore. When Queen Mary had died and William was disturbed as to whether his subjects would continue to accept him as King, it was Sunderland who had shrewdly arranged a reconciliation between the King and the Princess Anne, which William had realized afterwards was the best method of placating those who were against him.

Sunderland was a man of brilliance and William could not afford to do without him—nor, decided Sarah, could the Marlboroughs.

Sarah considered the possibilities of alliance. His son, Charles Spencer, in himself would be an excellent
parti
. Robert Spencer, Sunderland’s eldest son, had led a profligate life and died some ten years before; thus Charles was the heir. There had been a third son who had died as a child, and four daughters, two of whom were dead. The vast Spencer wealth would be at Charles’s disposal; Charles was a brilliant politician, and Sunderland was one of the most influential men in the country. So union with the Spencers was necessary.

When Sarah told her husband this he was disturbed.

“Charles Spencer for our young Anne,” he demanded.

“
Young
Anne! Really, Marl, what are you thinking? You still see her as a child. She is not I assure you. She will soon be as old as Henrietta was when she married; and look what a success
that
marriage was.”

“I don’t like Charles Spencer.”

“Why should you? You don’t have to marry him.”

“But our little girl …”

“She has been brought up to look after herself. Have no fear she will do that.”

“No,” said Marlborough, “I don’t like it.”

Sarah sighed. Not only had she to arrange this difficult match, but she must make her husband see that it was necessary.

She set to work in her usual indefatigable manner.

Since Marlborough was
not eager for the match Sarah herself sounded Sunderland, who at once grasped the importance of what she was trying to do.

By God, thought Sunderland, they already have Godolphin. With Marlborough and myself, the three of us would be invincible.

To Sarah’s delight he was wholeheartedly enthusiastic.

“My daughter is a very beautiful and charming girl,” said Sarah.

“I am sure, having such a mother, she could be nothing else,” was Sunderland’s reply.

Sarah waved such flattery aside impatiently. “My Lord Marlborough, however, is not in great favour of the match.”

“And why not, I pray you tell me.”

“Oh, Lord Spencer is a Whig and my lord is a staunch Tory.”

“My son would be guided by me in all matters of importance.”

Would he? wondered Sarah. She remembered how the Whiggish prig had denounced his father’s conduct. But that was of no great concern. If Sunderland could not manage his son, she would manage her son-in-law. The important point was to have the three most powerful families together.

“I will tell Lord Marlborough what you say,” she replied; “it might influence him.”

She was elated. Sunderland seemed so eager for the alliance with the Churchills that she believed he would do her work for her. How much better if
he
would persuade dear sentimental Marl of the advantages. Far better to come from him than from her.

“Perhaps you should see my lord Marlborough,” she told Sunderland. “He would be interested to hear what you have to say on this matter. As for myself, I must hurry to the Princess. I see I am overdue.”

Sunderland took his leave of her and she thought how much she would have liked to have been present when he talked to her husband. But she had her duties. Always her duties. Those trivial little tasks for which she was always having to hurry back to the Princess’s bedchamber.

How much more time she would have to do
useful
things if she could delegate these simple homely tasks to someone whom she could trust. What she wanted was some colourless person whom the Princess would not notice about the apartment; someone who would do what had to be done quietly and efficiently and call no attention to herself.

Abigail Hill!

Why had she not thought of that before? Abigail was just the one she needed. And what advancement for Abigail! From Mother of the Maids to chamber woman in the Princess’s own bedchamber. The girl would be grateful to her kind benefactress to the end of her days. She would want to repay her kindness in the only way she could; and that would be to work for the benefit of Lady Marlborough for the rest of her life.

“Abigail Hill!” said Lady Marlborough aloud. “Why of course. Abigail Hill!”

As Mother of
the Maids Abigail had opportunities of seeing her brother and sister. Alice was delighted with her position which brought her two hundred pounds a year—a vast sum—and plenty of entertainment besides.

Abigail soon gathered that, like everyone else in the Duke of Gloucester’s household, she adored him. He was an extraordinary boy with his frail body and active mind, his great interest in military matters, his army of ninety boys whom he drilled and inspected daily, his droll sayings, his ability to foretell events, for, declared Alice, he had assuredly foretold the death of his old nurse Mrs. Pack, and that was years ago, before the death of Queen Mary.

“Often,” said Alice, “the Princess comes to visit him and cousin Sarah is sometimes with her. It is true, you know Abigail, the Princess does adore our cousin; and they say she is ruled by her in all things.”

“How strange that she should be,” mused Abigail. “She … a Princess!”

“Well, our cousin is handsome, bold and clever.”

“Brazen, I should say,” mused Abigail. “I never knew anyone with such effrontery.”

“We at least have to be grateful for it. Remember that.”

“Have no fear, Alice. We shall never be allowed to forget.”

“Do you know, Abby, I feel proud to be connected with her.”

Abigail nodded and said nothing.

When she saw her brother John he talked excitedly about the household of the Prince of Denmark.

“He’s kind,” was John’s verdict, “and always on the point of falling asleep. Someone said of him that it is only the fact that he breathes which makes you know he’s alive—in all else he is dead. It’s true he says little; but you should see him eat—and drink. And his answer to everything is ‘Est il possible?’ In the household they call him Old Est il Possible? But he is rarely annoyed and everyone likes working for him as they do for the Princess.”

“Is he often with the Princess?”

“Yes. But when he visits her he falls asleep. Then she talks to our cousin who is always in attendance.”

It was remarkable how the conversation always came back to Sarah.

“How does he feel about cousin Sarah? He must be put out by her influence over his wife.”

“He is never put out. He has the sweetest temper in the world. Besides, the Princess dotes on our cousin and for that reason he too is fond of Cousin Sarah.”

Abigail considered this and believed she would never understand how one who was as overbearing and took no pains to be pleasant should be so admired.

But when she was face to face with her cousin she was conscious of Sarah’s power. This happened one day when a message was brought to her that Lady Marlborough wished to speak to her without delay.

Abigail went at once to Sarah’s apartment which was connected with the Princess’s by a staircase; and there Sarah was impatiently waiting her.