“Yes,” she murmured, “we will go to Kensington.”
So they went to Kensington, and when Hill explained that if Her Majesty did not object she would take possession of the apartments which led by a stairway into the Queen’s own, Anne agreed that she should. Previously these apartments had been occupied by Sarah and they were consequently more magnificent than Abigail had ever used before. She was delighted therefore with Anne’s consent and installed herself there.
Mrs. Danvers expressed surprise that she occupied them.
“The Queen wishes me to be close in case I am needed,” said Abigail.
“But those are Her Grace’s apartments.”
“I can see no objection to using them while Her Grace is not at Court … providing Her Majesty has none.”
Mrs. Danvers went away to grumble to Mrs. Abrahal that Hill was giving herself airs and she’d like to know what she would be getting up to next.
The Queen was happy to have Abigail in constant attention. The unfortunate affair of Sunderland seemed to have been forgotten and Anne did not seem to be greatly disturbed because the Duchess of Marlborough stayed away from Court.
She gave entertainments and the people were delighted to be admitted to the royal gardens. It was the fashion to attend gloriously clad; and to the sound of music Anne’s subjects wandered about, as one of the court writers said, in brocaded robes, hoops, fly-caps and fans.
D’Urfey, the court lyrist, wrote special verses and songs for the occasions and from all over London Anne’s subjects flocked to see their Queen.
“Such pleasant days and evenings!” sighed Anne, when she retired to her apartments for the ministrations of Hill.
Sarah meanwhile was consulting with Godolphin as to the next step she should take with regard to Sunderland’s appointment; she was also writing at great length to her son-in-law. She wrote to Marlborough, too, and told him that he simply must join his voice to hers, for as the victor of Blenheim the Queen could simply not deny him anything.
She visited Kensington to talk to the Queen once more and coming unexpectedly to her apartments there found them in use.
She stood in the centre of the room staring at the bed on which lay a robe. She picked it up and frowned at it, and while she stood there, on her face that expression of one enduring an unpleasant smell, Abigail came into the room, as she told herself later—much later—gaily, brazenly, with a smile on her lips.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I … I … thought as these rooms were not being used.”
“You thought what?”
“That as the Queen needs me constantly …”
“You thought that you might use my apartments … without my permission you thought you might use them?
“I beg Your Grace’s pardon …” It was on the edge of Abigail’s tongue to say that the Queen had approved her use of these apartments, but no. Sarah would reproach Anne, and Abigail wanted no trouble through her. Far better to take all the blame. So lowering her head she said no more.
“You will move yourself and your possessions without delay,” commanded Sarah.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Abigail gathered her robe and everything she could lay her hands on; and with downcast eyes scuttled away; as she went she heard Sarah say: “What can one expect? No breeding. No manners. After all I took her from a broom!”
Sarah had more important things than the insolence of underlings with which to occupy herself; she had spoken to the Queen once more about Sunderland only to evoke what Sarah called the old parrot cry. There was no doubt that Anne was very set against Sunderland’s appointment. But Sarah was all the more determined to secure it. She would write to Marl at once and tell him that he simply must add his voice to hers.
In her fury she busied herself with the Queen’s wardrobe.
“Mrs. Danvers,” she cried angrily. “It seems to me that some of the Queen’s mantuas are missing. I should like to know where they are.”
Mrs. Danvers flushed with apprehension, replied that the mantuas were worn and it was the bedchamber woman’s prerogative to have her share of the Queen’s cast-off wardrobe.
“Not without my permission,” stormed the Duchess. “I am the Mistress of the Robes. Have you forgotten it?”
“Of a certainty I have not, Your Grace, but I believed I had a right to take these mantuas.”
“I wish to see them.”
“But Your Grace …”
“Unless I do I shall lay this matter before Her Majesty.”
“Your Grace I have been with Her Majesty since she was a child.”
“It is no reason why you should remain there if you do not give me satisfaction.”
“I have always given Her Majesty satisfaction, Your Grace.”
“I am the Queen’s Mistress of the Robes and I wish to see those mantuas.”
“I will show them to Your Grace.”
“Pray do—at the earliest possible moment. And I would wish to see the jupes and kirtles and the fans.”
Mrs. Danvers, hoping to divert the Duchess’s fury said: “Your Grace, I would like to speak to you about Mrs. Hill.”
“What about Mrs. Hill?”
“It would seem, Your Grace, that she is too often with Her Majesty.”
The Duchess’s eyes narrowed, and Mrs. Danvers went on: “And in the green closet too, Your Grace …”
“Do you know, Mrs. Danvers, that Mrs. Hill has her place through me?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Then, Mrs. Danvers, you can safely leave me to decide what Abigail Hill’s duties shall or shall not be. Now to those jupes …”
Danvers shall go, decided Sarah. She is talking against Abigail Hill whom she suspects is spying for me. We shall see, Madam Danvers, who will go … my woman or you.
When she had dismissed Mrs. Danvers, after imparting that she had somewhat grave doubts as to the manner in which the Queen’s wardrobe was being looked after, she went to the Queen.
Anne was sipping the chocolate Abigail had just brought to her.
“Do try a little, dear Mrs. Freeman. Hill makes it most deliciously.”
“No thank you,” said Sarah. “Mrs. Morley is I believe pleased with Hill, whom I brought to wait on her.”
“Such a good creature, dear Mrs. Freeman. Your unfortunate Morley can never thank you enough.”
“I am glad she gives satisfaction, for some in your bedchamber do not.”
“Oh dear …” Anne looked alarmed.
“I refer to Danvers.”
“Danvers! Oh, she is getting old, you know. She is like a dear old nurse to me.”
“That is no reason why she should be insolent to me.”
“Oh dear me. How terrible! My poor dear Mrs. Freeman.”
“The woman is a spy.”
“A spy, Mrs. Freeman. For whom is she spying?”
“That we shall endeavour to find out. But she has been helping herself from the wardrobe. She has had four mantuas, she confessed to me. She thought they were her right and you had no further use for them.”
“But Danvers has often had these things you know. In her position it is accepted that she should have these things now and then.”
“But my dear Mrs. Morley, as Mistress of the Robes I should have charge of the wardrobe.”
Oh dear, thought Anne, how my head aches! I shall have to ask Hill to put that soothing lotion of hers on it.
“Danvers must not pilfer from the wardrobe,” went on Sarah.