Part 13 (1/2)
”Hill, I wish for some music on the harpsichord.”
”Certainly, Madam.”
Abigail sat down and played. Anne beat time with her fingers.
”Hill, one of the dogs wants to come up. Which one, I cannot see.”
Abigail lifted the dog and set it on the Queen's lap. Anne stroked it lovingly. ”There, there! Listen to Hill's playing. Is it not pleasant? Such a clever little thing! Go back to the harpsichord and play something lively.”
Abigail obeyed and the Queen sat smiling at the straight little figure with the limp ginger hair dressed high in the fas.h.i.+on, at the straight back in the neat grey gown.
Such a pleasant creature, she thought. Also so eager to please ... as though it gives her pleasure to serve. Never strident. Always quiet. Oh dear, how I do miss my dearest Mrs. Freeman!
George began to snore and she leaned forward and tapped him with the fan which lay on her lap.
”Eh? Vat?” cried George.
”You had fallen asleep, dearest. Listen to Hill's playing. Such a good, clever creature.”
”Very nice ... Very nice,” murmured George sleepily.
”A little music is very pleasant now and then. I cannot be grateful enough to my dear Mrs. Freeman for bringing me this good kind creature.”
George scowled. He was not very pleased with the Freemans. He had had dreams of commanding the Navy or the Army and the Earl of Marlborough had been one of those who had put a stop to that ambition.
”It is gut she's away,” he grumbled. ”She make too much noise.”
Anne laughed. ”Oh, that is Mrs. Freeman's way.”
”Don't much like,” murmured George. ”Nice, peaceful ...” He waved a fat hand.
”Well, George, there is something to be said for peace in one's apartment, I do agree.”
Abigail's fingers faltered because her mind was so alert. But neither the Queen nor the Prince noticed it. She was thinking: The Prince resents the Marlboroughs. It's a mild resentment because he is too lazy to feel deeply, but it is there and he'll not forget it easily. The Marlboroughs were getting stronger and stronger and yet there was a place in the royal bedchamber for a quiet and soothing personality.
”George, you are going to sleep again,” Anne was saying. ”A little game of cards will keep you awake. Hill. Get the cards. Call in Masham. He plays a good hand. Then join us.”
Abigail rose from the harpsichord, eager to obey.
Anne smiled at her. The dear good creature!
It was an uneasy summer. Marlborough was out of England fighting the French and Sarah watched constantly for news of him; without him to lay the restraining hand on her-he was the only one who dared do this-she was more blatantly outspoken than ever. She thought nothing of interrupting the Queen, hectoring her and even showing her irritation. She was nicknamed Queen or Viceroy Sarah. Anne meekly accepted her behaviour, and to Abigail's secret chagrin it seemed to have no undermining effect on their relations.h.i.+p. How could she, wondered Abigail, after overhearing that most unkind and unwarranted attack over the gloves, ever feel the same towards Mrs. Freeman again. But apparently she did. What was the magnetic attraction of the woman that could have made a Queen all but grovel to her, and an ambitious libertine, as Marlborough had certainly been before he met her, become her devoted slave? Slave was a word one thought of when one considered people's relations.h.i.+p with Sarah. She would wish to see us all her slaves! thought Abigail. She is invincible.
But often an insistent voice within her said: Not quite. And when she listened to that voice, life became wonderfully exciting to Abigail.
She took every opportunity of talking to Samuel Masham. They discussed affairs; it was surprising what that young man discovered; and he was always eager to impart what he knew to Abigail. There was no doubt, he told Abigail, that John Churchill was a brilliant soldier. He was a born leader; so calm, so serene, so courteous to all, yet he was always firmly in control and his men were ready to follow him to the death. Even those who envied his command grudgingly admitted that when he was engaged in war he showed a quality which might well be genius. Small wonder that Marlborough wanted to conduct a war against England's enemies. Thus he would show the world his own greatness, and at the same time add to England's stature.
”Marlborough abroad, his lady at home ...” mused Samuel. ”They are invincible.”
During that summer Marlborough drove the French from the Maas and the Lower Rhine. It was an achievement which put new hope into the hearts of the Allies and apprehension in those of the enemy.
Sarah, as news of her husband's triumphs was brought to her, grew more and more aggressive. Sometimes, though, when she received his letters, she would take them to her private apartments and shed a few tears over them. His love for her was always the theme of those letters. He did not consider he had had any real success in the battlefield as yet, he told her, but he knew it would come. He was aware of the power within him, but everything he would give up-all hope of advancement and honour-for the sake of being with his dearest Sarah.
Sarah allowed herself moments of tenderness when she kissed his letters and put them away to be re-read later. Then she set about making everyone aware that as the wife of the greatest genius living she received the respect due to her, and ranting through the apartments, quarrelling with everyone, she was a great trial to all.
Even Anne would sigh sometimes and, when Sarah had left, send for Hill to soothe her with gentle ma.s.sage and that wonderful gift of being able to listen. Hill would ask questions that had been asked before; would ask to hear what the Queen's dear boy had done on such and such occasion although she had heard it many times before. Dear, kind Hill! Anne found herself thinking often. What a contrast to dear Mrs. Freeman. So odd that they should be related!
”Your Majesty is very tired,” Hill would murmur.
”So tired, Hill. So very tired.”
”Lady Marlborough is so amusing. But I think her brilliant conversation has tired your Majesty.”
”She is indeed brilliant, Hill. And how handsome she is! I declare it is a joy to look at her. I have so much to be thankful to her for, Hill.”
”And she to Your Majesty.”
”We have been friends since we were children, Hill. I was taken with her from the beginning and so happy when she wanted to become my friend. And one of the nicest things she ever did, was to bring you to me, Hill. There! Just soothe my brow. I have a headache and there is quite a magic in those fingers of yours.”
Triumph ... in a strange way, thought Abigail.
Sarah had brought her daughter Elizabeth with her to Court. Elizabeth was just past fifteen and a charming girl. Sarah was fond of her because not only was she very beautiful and accomplished but she did not argue as Henrietta did, nor was she petulant like Mary. Elizabeth was a perfect daughter because she bore such a striking resemblance to her father. Anne was serene also, but her marriage to Sunderland had naturally made her withdrawn from her mother and Sarah was not completely satisfied with her daughter Anne; therefore, at this time, Elizabeth was her favourite. Young John, the Marquis of Blandford, now at Cambridge, was definitely in her bad books. It was not so much the fact that he wanted to go against her wishes but that he had dared consult his father and tried to form an alliance against her. That was something she would not tolerate.
Elizabeth however had always been amenable and she was surprised therefore when the girl came to her and told her that she had fallen in love.
”What!” screamed Sarah.
”Mamma, I know I am young but I am certain of my feelings and I shall never have another moment's happiness unless you give your consent.”
”Have you gone out of your mind?”
Elizabeth's lips trembled and Sarah noticed with satisfaction how very much in awe of her she was. But in love! With a man of her own choosing! Could anyone be so ignorant of her duty as a Churchill!
”You had better tell me all about this folly, girl,” said Sarah grimly.
”Scroop says that he does not wish to wait.”
”Scroop?” cried Sarah.
”Scroop Egerton.”
Sarah was silent. Scroop Egerton, fourth Earl of Bridgewater, Master of Horse to Prince George! This was different. She would have no objection to accepting him as her son-in-law. He would be another supporter for dearest Marl.
Her voice softened. ”So, my dearest Elizabeth, you have seen fit to affiance yourself to this young man without my consent?”
”Mamma, Scroop wishes to speak to you. He says that he is sure he can persuade you....”
”And you little more than fifteen!”
”My sisters were not much older.”