“Lord Huntingdon is the son of the Earl of Cromartie,” Sarah reminded her daughter.
“I am aware of it.”
“So you consider he is not good enough?”
“I consider I am too young to marry—as you told me recently.”
“Too young for an unsuitable marriage.”
“I cannot see how suitability affects age.”
“I can see how your insolence is affecting me.”
That was how it was. Perpetual strife; and now Lord Monthermer, son of the Earl of Montague, was expressing interest.
“Lord Monthermer is a very worthy young man,” said Sarah.
“Being the future Earl of Montague?” asked Mary.
“Those who turn away the best prizes often have to accept something less valuable later on.”
“I am still too young, Mamma, to be interested in these glittering prizes.”
Who would have daughters!
And thus it was. Taking Mary to St. Albans in the hope that a sojourn from Court would enable her energetic mother to instill a little sense into her foolish young head; going down to Woodstock, having meetings with John Vanbrugh. It took so much time so she could not be with Anne as much as the latter would have liked.
Mrs. Morley must realize how busy I am with my affairs, Sarah told herself. In any case there is Abigail Hill to make sure that everything runs smoothly in my absence. That is exactly why she was put where she is.
So during those weeks when Harley was planning his strategy, Sarah, immersed in her own affairs, left the fort wide open to her enemies.
The Queen was preparing to go into the green closet. George had come to her apartment to accompany her there and was at the moment standing at the window commenting on the passers-by. His remarks were malicious; he enjoyed poking fun at the oddities of others, although, thought Abigail, his own obesity was scarcely attractive; but perhaps this was the reason for his delight in the physical disabilities of others.
“We are ready now, my dearest,” said Anne.
George turned reluctantly from the window and yawned.
“You’ll have your nap, my dear, in the green closet. Hill will make some bohea after a little while and that will revive you.”
“The sucking pig was goot,” said George. “But I think I haf ate too much of it.”
“Dearest, you always eat too much sucking pig—and then there was the wild fowls and fricasse. You’ll sleep it off, never fear. Hill, who will be in the closet today?”
“Mr. Harley, Madam, and Mr. St. John … among others.”
“Pleasant creatures, both,” said Anne; and they went to the green closet.
Abigail, while waiting on the Queen, was conscious of Mr. Harley’s interest. Every time she lifted her eyes it seemed that she met his. His smile was warm and friendly; and she wondered what had happened to arouse his interest in her. She did not imagine that he was attracted by her, for she was not an attractive woman, except to perhaps Samuel Masham who was clearly affected by her; but Samuel was not a great politician—merely a humble servant to royalty like herself, meek and never forgetful of his place. Robert Harley was different. He was one of the most important men in the Government; and surely there was only one reason why he could show his interest in a humble person such as herself.
Yet he had not attracted scandal by his affairs with women. He was respectably married and by all accounts was faithful to his wife, although he was a notoriously heavy drinker and a lover of the night-life of London. But what did it mean?
She watched him talking to the Queen. He knew how to pay a compliment and Anne was obviously pleased with his company. And Mr. St. John could supply his own particular brand of wit.
It was a successful afternoon—Prince George comfortably sleeping without snoring too loudly, Anne sipping tea and listening contentedly while Mr. Harley talked of the advantages which had come to the country since the Queen’s reign. He did not mention Blenheim, though.
It was when he was taking his leave that he found an opportunity of coming close enough to Abigail to whisper: “Could I have a word with you alone?”
She looked startled and he went on, “I have a matter to discuss with you which I think will be of great interest … to us both.”
“Why … yes,” she murmured.
“I will wait in the ante-room. Come when you can.”
Shortly afterwards she made her way there to find him patiently waiting for her.
“I knew you would come,” he said, his voice warm and friendly.
“You said you had a matter to discuss.”
“Yes, I have made a very pleasing discovery.”
“About … me?”
“You and myself. We are cousins.”
“Cousins! Is it indeed so?”
“You are in the same relationship to me as you are to the Duchess of Marlborough. Your father was my cousin.”
“Mr. Harley, is it really so?”
He laughed. “You seem more surprised than pleased. But I can prove it to you.”
“But of course I am honoured to be so … so well connected.”
“It was your name that caught my attention. Abigail is my mother’s name. It is a popular name in our family.”
“It is scarcely unusual.”
“But that was what interested me and then … I discovered the connection. I was … delighted, and I could not refrain from telling you so.”
“It is a pleasure for me,” said Abigail, “but for you …”
“You are indeed as modest as I have always heard you are. There is one thing I wished to say to you and it is this: Cousins should meet now and then, should they not? A relationship is a bond. Do you agree? I hope therefore that we shall meet often in Her Majesty’s green closet.”
“I am sure Her Majesty will be pleased to see you at any time.”
“And you too?”
“I, of a certainty,” said Abigail with a blush.
She went back to the Queen a little bewildered but pleased. What exalted relatives she possessed! And how much more charming was Mr. Harley than the Duchess of Marlborough. He talked to her as though she were a friend—not, as the Duchess did, like a poor relation only fitted to be a glorified servant.
Abigail was excited. Why, she asked herself, had Mr. Harley seemed so pleased by the relationship? He was not a young man to be easily excited. He was a very ambitious middle-aged one.
A thought came to her. Could it possibly be that Robert Harley, one of the leading politicians, believed the acquaintance of a chambermaid was worth cultivating?
What did Harley want? Abigail was no fool. He wanted a closer relationship with the Queen and he believed he could reach it through his cousin. People were noticing the Queen’s fondness for her. This must be the case. It had come to Robert Harley’s ears, and because of it he was proud to recognize his cousin.
For, pondered Abigail, I have been his cousin for a very long time, but it is only now that he has taken the trouble to find out.
She could think of nothing else but Harley’s pleasure in his discovery, the courteous manner in which he had spoken to her.
I am important, thought Abigail. Not only to fetch and carry for the Queen, but for the influence I can have with her. I am becoming a little like my cousin Sarah.
What if one day I should be in Sarah’s position?
Samuel Masham noticed the change in Abigail.
“Something has happened,” he said when she joined him in the ante-room after the Queen and her husband had retired for the night. “You are different.”
Did she then betray her feelings, Abigail wondered, she who had always prided herself on so successfully hiding them. She studied Samuel shrewdly. They were very close friends; he sought her company whenever possible and she trusted him as she did few people.
“Nothing has happened,” she told him. “I have, though, discovered a new cousin.”