Part 49 (1/2)
That was what Abigail wanted ... a love such as that. Hers was a dream of romantic love and power. There had been only one man in her life who could give her that: Robert Harley. And he had denied it. Bolingbroke? Never! She could have been his mistress for a month or so. But that was not what she sought.
Someone had come into the room.
”Samuel!” she said; and he pulled out a chair and sat by her bed.
”You are not feeling well?”
”A little tired. It is natural.”
”You do too much.”
She was impatient. ”If I did not where would we be?”
He sighed. He knew that he owed everything to her; he knew too that he had failed to give her what she wanted.
”My clever Abigail.” He took her fingers and kissed them. They were limp and unresponsive.
”I'm sorry,” he said.
She turned her head away. For what was he apologizing? His inadequacy?
”I must go,” she said; ”the Queen needs me. I must not allow Carrots Somerset to take over all my duties.”
”Do not drive yourself too hard, my dear.”
”And if I did not ... would you have your fine t.i.tle? Would you have your position here at Court?”
”No,” he said. ”But there are other prizes.”
She shook him off impatiently. He looked so ... how could she say Complacent? Smug. Lord Masham-a man of t.i.tle through his wife's endeavours.
It was not what she wanted.
”You are going to the Queen?” he asked. ”You should not walk across the courtyard in your condition. Take your chair.”
She shrugged him aside. It was years since she had taken advice from Samuel.
As she came out into the cold air, her eyes smarted with tears-tears of frustration. She was thinking of what might have been if the child she carried had been another man's, not Samuel's, the child of a brilliant politician who loved her as Marlborough loved his wife, with whom she could plan the future as Marlborough did with his wife.
Her vision blurred; she was not watchful of her step as one must be in the courtyard. She caught her foot in the cobbles; in a second it had twisted under her and she fell.
She lay bewildered and stunned. Then her pains began. The child was demanding to be born although its time had not yet come.
The news spread all over the Town. Lady Masham was dying. A fall in the courtyard; a premature birth; and the Queen's favourite was lying very near to death.
The Queen was in despair. She sent Dr. Arbuthnot to attend to Abigail and commanded him not to leave her until he was sure she was out of danger; and she must have hourly messages as to Abigail's state.
Anne could not be comforted. She rocked herself to and fro in her chair and asked herself how she could live without dear Masham.
Alice Hill, sitting by Abigail's bed, listened to her rambling, and knew that she was living in the past, in those days of uncertainty and degradation when she had been as a servant in the house of the Marlboroughs.
She wept, and Mrs. Abrahal who would always be grateful to Abigail for speaking well of her to the Queen sought to comfort her, and Mrs. Danvers took time off from the Queen's bedchamber to come to the invalid's bedside.
There were messages from important court personages. Viscount Bolingbroke called or sent his servant every day but Lord Oxford did not enquire once and it might have been that he was not even aware of the accident to his cousin.
Dr. Arbuthnot, who knew Abigail well, and had always admired her, used all his skill, and by great good fortune saved the life of the child which was a boy.
”Don't fret,” he told Alice. ”This is the best thing that could have happened. The child is a boy and he'll live. Once I can get her to understand this, she'll start to recover, I promise you.”
He sat by her bed and took her hand.
”Abigail,” he said, ”can you hear me?”
She opened her pale green eyes and he thought how colourless they were, how lifeless-almost the eyes of a dead woman.
”Ah, you hear me then. Ye've a fine boy. Do you understand me. A fine boy.”
”Robert ...” she began.
The Doctor glanced at Alice. ”Is that the name she wants. Robert. Why ...”
”Named for my lord Oxford,” suggested Alice.
”Ah, it may well be.”
Abigail's eyes were open and she appeared to be listening.
”The boy's a fine strong wee laddie,” said the doctor. ”Do you want to see him?”
But Abigail had already closed her eyes. They thought that she was not aware of what was going on but this was not so. She knew that she had had an accident and that her son was prematurely born. She had been close to death and for that reason life seemed doubly precious.
Her hand was taken and held gently. She knew by whom before she opened her eyes. She thought of Samuel who was gentle and una.s.suming and lacked the overwhelming ambition of men like Robert Harley, Henry St. John and John Churchill. But perhaps for that reason he was capable of giving her greater devotion. Harley had failed her; St. John she would never trust; but she could rely on Samuel. He would always be there, to love and cherish her ... as well as their children.
She had demanded too much of life; she had wanted a great leader to love her, but great leaders were not always successful, and there were times when they were sent to pine in exile.
She had been foolish not to accept life as a compromise. Was she a foolish romantic girl to ask for the impossible?
”Samuel,” she said. ”You are there?”
She heard Alice's voice, gruff, relieved. ”Is he there? He has not been far away for the last forty-eight hours.”
No, he would not be far away when she was in danger.
”Samuel,” she repeated.
He leaned towards her. ”A boy,” he said. ”Arbuthnot says he will live and he is healthy and strong. Listen. You can hear him crying.”
She nodded drowsily. The doctor said: ”Let her sleep now.”
”I'll get a message to Her Majesty,” said Alice. ”She asked that news be sent to her without delay. She'll be delighted.”