The Queen's Favourites aka Courting Her Highness (v5) (18 page)

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 relationship. 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 relationship 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 massage 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.”

“I cannot think what your dearest father will say.”

“He will be pleased if you are, Mamma.”

She smiled complacently. It was true—although she had had to persuade him to accept Sunderland. It was not that Sunderland was not an excellent match, but dear Marl had wondered whether his beloved daughter would be
happy
with the man. Dear Marl! Just a little sentimental. And what was he going to say about Elizabeth’s marrying at fifteen!

But Scroop Egerton, Earl of Bridgewater! That did warrant some consideration.

“I must have time to think about this, my dear child. You have somewhat thrust it upon me.”

Elizabeth threw herself into her mother’s arms. “Oh, dearest Mamma, please give your consent. I could not
bear
to be separated from Scroop—and equally I could not bear to displease you!”

Sarah patted the girl’s head. Sweet creature. Next to Marl, she thought, I believe I love her best in the world.

Sarah shooed everyone
out of the apartment and sat down by the Queen’s couch.

“Who would have children, Mrs. Morley! I do declare it is just one thing after another.”

Anne looked tearful. Who would have children? She would if she could. She would have given her crown to have her boy back again. Did not Mrs. Freeman understand that?

“As you know, my dear Mrs. Morley, I have been most put out with young Blandford. He will go for a soldier. He will talk to his father. He will try to have these matters arranged without
my
knowledge. Did you ever hear the like?”

“My boy would have understood his desires to …”

“Without consulting me, Mrs. Freeman! Behind my back! Oh, he knows very well
he
is in disgrace. And if that is not enough what do you think? My Elizabeth has come to me with a tale of being in love.”

“She is but a child.”

“Children nowadays, Mrs. Morley, seem to think they may flout their parents. In our day it was different. We had to do as we were told.…”

Anne looked faintly surprised. She was trying to remember when Sarah had waited to be told what to do.

“Now it is, ‘I am going to do this …’ ‘I am going to do that.’ But I should never be one to allow my children to flout me. It is not good for them. They must learn discipline. But I am telling you. My Elizabeth wishes to marry.”

“Oh but not yet surely.…”

“She is in love, if you please, with Bridgewater. The Earl you know. The Prince’s Master of Horse.”

“I know him well, of course. And I like him. He is a charming young man.”

“I have no objection to Bridgewater. But the girl is only fifteen.”

“Fifteen and in love …” murmured Anne, peering back into a past when the Earl of Mulgrave—still a most delightful man—had written his poems to her and hoped he might be allowed to marry her. “It is very touching.”

“So it is,” agreed Sarah. “And since they are so much in love, I cannot find it in my heart to deny them what they ask.”

“I understand you well, dear Mrs. Freeman. I often used to think about the time when my dear boy would fall in love.…”

“Of course poor Marl will have to find the dowry. Who would have daughters, Mrs. Morley?”

“You must allow me to make a little gift to the couple. Please, Mrs. Freeman, do not deny me this happiness.”

“Your Majesty is always generous.
I
do not forget your goodness to my Henrietta and Anne.”

“It gives me pleasure to see the young people happy. Whenever I see young people happy I think of my boy. He had a great capacity for happiness, Mrs. Freeman; and the time would have come when he would have married … had he lived.”

“But he didn’t,” said Sarah impatiently.

Anne’s lips quivered.

“My dear Mrs. Morley, you do yourself no good by dwelling on your loss. I think it very likely that ’ere long you will be giving us a Prince.”

“Ah, if that could only be so I believe I should suffer less from my terrible loss. I shall give this dear child of yours ten thousand pounds. Please allow me to, Mrs. Freeman.”

Ten thousand pounds! Sarah’s eyes glittered. Marl would be so pleased. And he was going to be anxious on account of his daughter’s youth and he’d be equally so when he thought of the dowry he would have to give her. Ten thousand pounds would be a good dowry for any girl. But there would be the outcry. She knew. It would be the old story of those about the Queen bleeding her and then there might be all sorts of difficulties—even laws made in Parliament. Marl had said that she must be careful not to take gifts which were too large. It was better to take little frequently.

“Your Majesty is too generous. I could not take it.”

“It would give me great pleasure, dear Mrs. Freeman.”