Part 18 (2/2)
”What did you think of her, St. John?”
”Scarce a beauty and devilish sly.”
”It may well be that her mental accomplishments make up for her lack of physical attraction.”
”She's quiet as a mouse. They call her the shuffling little wretch at court, so I heard. Danvers and the rest are pleased to put on her all the most unpleasant tasks.”
”Danvers and the rest could well be fools.”
”Come, Master, don't tell me you're taken with the woman.”
”Mightily taken.”
”And you not a man for the wenches.”
”Your mind runs along wearisomely well-worn paths, Harry. Did you know there are other games more amusing, more exciting than those of the bedchamber?”
”An impossibility,” answered St. John.
”Rake! Libertine! You're missing much in life.”
”You are proposing to play games with Mistress Hill?”
”Perhaps. She's a deep one that. Worth watching. Who is she, do you think?”
”Brought to court by Viceroy Sarah, being some distant relation in service, which could not be tolerated, of course. Connection of Her High and Mightiness a serving wench! Never! Better to have her at Court-in a post of spy, you understand.”
”So she is a Marlborough spy! I doubt it, Harry. I doubt it very much.”
Robert Harley was smiling complacently. He was well pleased with his visit to the green closet.
Abigail would have been surprised, for he had failed completely to do anything for Daniel Defoe. She did not guess then that he had achieved his main object. He had seen Abigail Hill and had decided that he had not been mistaken in her.
It was on the night of the 26th November that the great storm broke over London.
The Queen slept through the beginning for she could sleep through most things, but the sound of the rising wind which seemed to shake the very battlements of St. James's Palace kept Abigail awake.
She rose from her pallet on the floor in the Queen's room and wrapped her robe about her, for she was certain that even Anne could not continue to sleep through such noise. Even as she did so the chamber was lightened by a brilliant flash of lightning followed immediately by the loudest clap of thunder Abigail had ever heard.
”What is it?” called Anne. ”Hill! Hill!”
”I am here, Madam. It's the thunder and lightning. It seems to be a bad storm. Shall I make some tea or would Your Majesty prefer brandy?”
”I think brandy in the circ.u.mstances, Hill.”
Abigail had disappeared, but before she was back there was another violent clap and the sound of falling masonry.
”I think, Madam, that it might be wise to leave your bed.”
There was Hill with a warm robe to put about the Queen's shoulders.
”Shall I need this, Hill?”
”I am afraid the draughts might bring on the shoulder pains, Madam.”
”You are right, Hill. Of course you are right. Oh dear ... what is happening?”
”It's a very violent storm, Madam.”
”And right overhead. Oh dear me ... Hill. There again!”
The Queen shut her eyes. Abigail knew that whenever any disaster threatened she thought of the wrong she had done her father and that some curse had come upon her.
”It's only a storm, Madam.”
”I do hope damage has not been done to the poor, Hill.”
”We must see what can be done about it, if that should be so, Madam.”
”Yes, yes, Hill.”
”My angel. My dearest.” George was bursting into the apartment, a robe about him, his wig, having been put on in a hurry, awry. He was wheezing painfully. ”Vot is this? You are safe, my angel. Ah, thank Got. Thank Got.”
”I'm safe enough, George. I have Hill here. You must not get so excited, dear love. You know it brings on the wheeze. Is that Masham? Oh, Masham, is His Highness warmly clad? I do not want him to take a chill again.”
”Yes, Your Majesty. He is wearing his warm underwear.”
”I want no more chills.”
”Masham,” said the Prince. ”We need a little something for the cold to keep out.”
”Yes, Your Highness.”
”Hill,” said Anne, ”brandy for his Highness. Oh dear, who is that screaming?”
It was some of the maids of honour who were terrified of the storm. ”Bring them in, Hill. We will all be together.”
Abigail obeyed, and all through that horrifying night she remained beside the Queen.
That was the most fearful night Abigail had ever lived through and it was not until the next morning that the furious gale had abated; by that time it had left behind tremendous damage.
The streets were blocked with fallen masonry; trees had been uprooted by the hundred; the Thames was blocked with broken craft of all description and many battles.h.i.+ps had been damaged in the North Sea.
All through the days that followed news of the disaster was brought to the Queen. Fifteen of her wars.h.i.+ps with countless smaller craft had been destroyed, hundreds of merchant s.h.i.+ps were missing; the sea had swept inland; the rivers had overflowed; houses had been demolished.
There had never before been such a storm in living memory; all prayed that there never would be again.
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