Courting Her Highness (67 page)

Oxford waved his hand lightly. “My dear Lady Masham, I am sure that one of my secretaries will give you all the advice you need.”

He bowed; she could scarcely hold her expression until he had passed.

How dared he! After all he owed to her! In all the vast profits he had made he was not ready to give one bit of recognition.

She was a woman with children, whose future she wished to make secure. Very well, Robert Harley—Lord Oxford as he had become through her good graces—would see that if he would not have her for his friend, he could have her for his enemy.

The Queen was
enjoying a return to health. Peace was at last in sight; and the Marlboroughs were abroad. It was surprising what an effect these two facts had upon her. She never ceased to marvel with her two dearest friends Lady Masham and the Duchess of Somerset.

It was exciting to hunt at Windsor, riding furiously in the chaise she had used in the past which was drawn by one horse, so that she could follow the stag as though she were actually on horseback. It was long since she had been able to enjoy that form of relaxation.

How good it was to feel well again—or almost. Her feet were swollen and sore but her dear friend’s ministrations soon soothed them; then they would settle down to gossip and cards. What pleasure! She was reminded of the old days in the green closet when Abigail Masham—who was Hill then—used to bring in Mr. Harley for their secret conferences.

Mr. Harley! There was a faintly disturbing thought. He was a little uncouth in his appearance. And last time he had come to her he had had the appearance of being intoxicated.

She would not have believed it, but she had seen the quick glance Masham had given him and then herself … as though she were wondering if she, Anne, had noticed.

Masham would be concerned, for she had always thought so highly of Lord Oxford and they were related, though obscurely.

Oh dear, Anne hoped there was not going to be trouble there, just as she had believed everything was going so well.

Such busy days! She even went to the Datchett races. These pleasures must not interfere with her state business of course; and she performed all the public duties which her rank demanded. She was seen at church; she received in her drawing room; and she ordered that an announcement should be put into the London Gazette reminding the people that she would touch people afflicted with the Evil in her palace at St. James’s; and as a result the people flocked there.

She sat benign, the mother of her people; and in the streets it was said that the bad days were over. No more war; prosperity was coming; and England was going to be merry under Good Queen Anne.

Abigail had dressed
with special care to receive her visitor. She was excited. What transpired at this encounter could be very important to her. She must be wary; she must remember her rival’s downfall and never make the mistake Sarah had made of believing herself to be superior to those about her. She must never lose sight of the astuteness of her enemies, but remember she was playing a dangerous game when she set herself to teach the head of the Government a lesson.

But she had a powerful friend.

He bowed over her hand. How different from Lord Oxford. He was younger and so much more handsome. Henry St. John was a rake; he had had countless mistresses and would doubtless have countless more and could never contemplate a relationship with a woman which was not a sexual one. In his youth he had run naked through the park for a wager; and not long ago when he had become Secretary of State and had rode through the town in his carriage, the madam of one of those establishments to which he was a frequent visitor, had amused the crowd by shouting to her girls, “Five thousand a year, my beauties, and all for us!”

Now Henry St. John had become Viscount Bolingbroke but he was the same elegant, aristocratic man of pleasure who had delighted the madams of London by his extravagant patronage of their establishments.

He came to confer with Lady Masham.

He was disgruntled and made no effort to hide such an obvious fact, and as he bowed over Abigail’s hand and lifted his eyes to her small pale face; he fully understood how they might work together; Abigail was pregnant yet even at such a time he was wondering when she would become his mistress—such a consideration being automatic with him.

“So, I greet Viscount Bolingbroke,” said Abigail.

“A Viscountcy! No Earldom! Our friend—should I say our one-time friend—wants no rivals. An Earldom for him, so therefore I must be a mere Viscount.”

“I think we have been somewhat mistaken in our one-time friend.”

“He sees himself as the mighty dragon breathing fire to destroy all his enemies.”

“Rather should they be overcome by the fumes of alcohol.”

They laughed together. “Harley is a fool,” said Bolingbroke.

Abigail nodded.

“He has used us and now believes he has no need of us.”

“He will be shown his mistake,” added Abigail.

“I see,” replied Bolingbroke, “that you and I are of one mind.”

“On certain matters.”

He laid his hand on her arm. “I hope we soon may be in unison in every way.”

“That we shall take time to discover.”

Bolingbroke was a rash man. He wanted to pursue politics and women at the same time, and he was excited by Abigail because she was different from any woman he had ever known. Many would call her plain, but a woman who had gone into the arena and beaten Sarah Churchill at her own game could not be insignificant. Abigail had worked for Harley; but for her, Harley would never have been able to worm his way into the Queen’s good graces. What had she wanted from Harley? Something which he had failed to give? What a fool Harley was! He had warned him, Bolingbroke, against philandering with women; how much more dangerous to philander with the bottle. If Harley had not been such a virtuous husband, such a family man, if he had taken off a little time from virtue to understand Abigail Hill, he might not now be in the danger in which he stood. For in peril he certainly was, since his one-time friend whom he still believed
to stand beside him, and the woman who had helped to bring him to power and had grown dissatisfied with him, now stood together, to teach him a lesson—a grim lesson which would bring him tottering down from greatness.

Bolingbroke would make no such mistake. He would not underestimate the powers of the Queen’s favourite woman. The Queen’s support was necessary and Abigail could bring him that.

Well, he was always ready to take on a new mistress.

Abigail was watching him covertly, reading his thoughts. Did he imagine that he only had to beckon to her? What did he think he had to offer her? His charm, his elegance, his experience? None of these she wanted.

She knew now what she longed for: devotion, adoration, fidelity, that relationship which she had seen idealized in the St. Albans House.

Was there no escaping from the Marlboroughs?

But in the meantime it would be amusing to join with Viscount Bolingbroke, for although he could never fit into her emotional life she needed his help in taking her revenge on the man who had failed her. In every way, she whispered to herself. Yes, in every way!

She smiled at Bolingbroke, as she evaded his proximity.

“We have much to discuss, my lord.”

He agreed. Business first, he thought. Pleasure later. At least there was one point on which they were in immediate agreement: the downfall of Robert Harley, Earl of Oxford.

Bolingbroke planned to
create a new party and place himself at its head; he was following the path which Harley had set when he had formed his party to defeat Godolphin. The Queen’s brief return to health was over. Her little fling had resulted in a return of the gout and dropsy. Her hands were swollen—all trace of the beauty of which she had once been so proud, gone; her face was patchy with erysipelas; her legs and feet so distorted that she could not walk.

She needed Masham and her dear Duchess day and night and since Masham was expecting, it meant that the Duchess was in constant attendance. Dear Duchess! To whom Anne could talk so much more intimately
of the past than she could to Masham, for the Duchess had been with her long before Masham had come.

One could not expect such a noble lady to do the menial tasks which Masham still performed but Anne often found it difficult to decide which was the more important to her. But when Abigail returned she was not really in any doubt, and she understood that she had imagined she might prefer the Duchess because a pregnant woman must think primarily of the child she was going to bear. No one could administer a poultice with the same care as Masham—so that the minimum of pain went hand in hand with the maximum of benefit.

“Dear Masham, when your child is born, you must be in constant attendance.”

“Nothing could delight me more than to obey Your Majesty’s command,” answered Abigail.

Abigail often talked to her of her half brother in France, for Abigail understood how worried she was at the part she had played in her father’s downfall. When she talked to Abigail she believed that the best thing possible would be for her half brother to come to the throne on her death.

“That, Madam, would make you happiest. I know full well,” Abigail told her; and when she was with Abigail it seemed that this was so.

Abigail brought Bolingbroke to her and he was of the same opinion.

But then the dear Duchess of Somerset would remind her of the perils of popery. Yes indeed, said the Duchess, she would be happy if she could bring back her half brother; but she must not forget her duty to the Church. Her father had been driven out of England because he was a Catholic; would she not, by bringing back her brother—also a Catholic—plunge England into trouble again?

“For Madam,” insisted the Duchess, “the people of this country would never accept a Catholic monarch.”

It was true and she must consider the Church. But when Masham and Bolingbroke talked to her, of keeping the crown to the Stuarts—her own family, her own brother to follow her—she could not help but sway towards their opinions.

Who were these Germans? The Electress Sophia—an overbearing woman—her son George Lewis who, it was said, could not speak a word of English and would not try to! His marriage was unfortunate. His wife
was imprisoned on an accusation of adultery, and it was said that he had plenty of mistresses. Not quite the monarch to follow good Queen Anne!

How complicated it was; and there was Mr. Harley—Lord Oxford who had once been able to answer all her problems so satisfactorily—now it seemed at loggerheads with Bolingbroke who was next in importance in her Government—and worst of all with Masham, who had once thought so highly of him.

He was disturbing her too, for often his speech was so slurred that she could scarcely understand him; and his clothes were becoming more and more untidy. It was not the happiest manner in which a first minister should present himself to his Sovereign.

She had seen Masham turn away in disgust.

And she was in such pain and often so tired. Oh dear, the happy days when she believed she had solved her difficulties by ridding herself of the Marlboroughs and enjoyed a brief return to better health, were over.