What could Abigail say to that? She lowered her eyes and looked embarrassed; but inwardly she was laughing. Her Grace was going to receive a shock.
Sarah was looking into the accounts. That girl was far too fat. It was probable that she and her fellow servants were following the Queen’s habit of drinking chocolate last thing at night.
The consumption of chocolate had not been excessive.… She glanced through the Queen’s account. What was this three thousand pounds?
The Queen had wanted it for a private matter. As keeper of the Privy Purse she remembered the occasion well.
“A private matter,” said the Queen; and Sarah had been too concerned about the Vain matter to try to discover why.
This would be just about the time of the Masham marriage.
Horror dawned on Sarah. Could it be possible? Had Anne given the girl a dowry?
That would be like Anne. She was a generous woman. The dowry was not really important and naturally she would want to give a relative of Sarah’s a dowry. But it was rather a large sum for a bedchamber woman! And why had the Queen kept the secret? Why had she not told Sarah?
The more Sarah thought of it, the more certain she became that the three thousand pounds had gone to Abigail—and the greater was her perturbation.
Sarah came briskly into the Queen’s apartments and with a wave of the hand dismissed two of the women who were in attendance. Abigail must have heard of her approach for she was nowhere in sight.
Anne, lying back in her chair, picked up her fan and smiled at Sarah.
“My dearest Mrs. Freeman.”
“I have just heard of Hill’s marriage to Samuel Masham.”
“Oh yes,” said the Queen. “Hill is Masham now. I find it difficult to remember to call her Masham. I was saying so to Mr. Morley last night.”
“I cannot understand why Your Majesty has not been kind enough to tell me of the marriage.”
“Oh, I have bid Masham to tell you, but she would not.”
“I brought her to this Court. I took her from a broom. But for me where would she be now? Yet she marries and it appears that the whole Court knows of it and I do not.”
Anne fanned herself unconcernedly. What had become of her? Didn’t she care that she had upset Mrs. Freeman?
“I find it most extraordinary. In the past Mrs. Morley would never have kept secrets from Mrs. Freeman.”
“I always liked to share secrets,” said Anne, “and particularly with you. I remember thinking to myself, ‘I must tell Sarah that.’ It was in the days before we became Mrs. Freeman and Mrs. Morley.”
“And yet you did not tell me of this marriage.”
“I have bid Masham tell you … but she would not.”
How was it possible to keep one’s temper with such a woman?
Sarah took the first opportunity of leaving the Queen, and went at once to Mrs. Danvers.
“You had better tell me everything you know about this affair,” she cried.
“Your Grace is now satisfied that there has been a marriage?”
“I have ascertained that—and that I have been kept in the dark. Now, Danvers, you must tell me anything else you know.”
“I know that Abigail Hill spends some two hours every day with the Queen in the green closet. The Prince is there, but he sleeps most of the time and often Hill is alone with the Queen.”
“Talking to the Queen?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Talking to the Queen! Advising her not to take Mrs. Vain but a woman of her choice instead—the Danvers girl in this instance. Not that Hill was interested in the Danvers girl. Her only object would be to keep out Sarah’s choice.
“She plays the harpsichord to Her Majesty, does the poulticing and massaging. Often I have seen her sitting on the stool at Her Majesty’s feet. If she is not there Her Majesty sends for her. I have heard them laughing and the … mimicry.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. Ridiculing her. Ridiculing the Duke! Oh, this was an enemy indeed. But she would go in and smite her. Soon no one at Court would dare mention the name of Masham!
“And then, of course, Your Grace, there is her cousin. She is very friendly with him and he makes a great fuss of her.”
“Her cousin?”
“Mr. Harley, Your Grace.”
Sarah’s heart began to beat faster. In a word or two Danvers had put a very different colour on the entire affair.
“Very affectionate, they are. He calls her his dear coz, and afternoon on afternoon she’ll let him in to the green closet and they’ll be there together … the Queen, Mr. Harley, Abigail Hill … and the Prince, but he sleeps through most of it.”
“Why did you not tell me of this before?”
“I tried to tell Your Grace … but Your Grace didn’t seem to want to listen.”
“Harley with the Queen in the green closet and you think I don’t want to hear! You’re mad, Danvers. You’re in your dotage. What else?”
“Mr. St. John sometimes comes with Mr. Harley, Your Grace. They are all very friendly with Hill.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace … for a very long time I think.”
The Duchess rose and left. Rarely in her life had she been so shaken. What she had believed to be the social gaffe of an illbred chambermaid was turning out to be a major court intrigue.
Sarah was bewildered. For the first time in her life she did not know how to act. John was abroad. Godolphin was useless; Sunderland and she had never been in tune. What she had to discover was how far had Abigail Hill supplanted her in the Queen’s affections.
She knew Anne depended on her friendships with women. It had always been so from her childhood; and Mary, her sister, had been the same, until she had married William. Anne had selected Sarah as the adored one, but Sarah had disliked the cloying affection bestowed upon her; she had turned from it in disgust—and had, she knew, on occasions betrayed her feelings. But for the fact that Anne was Queen she would never have become involved in such a relationship. It was against her nature; and the older she grew the more repulsive was Anne to her. But she needed Anne’s favour; she needed to rule the woman if she were going to bring that fame and fortune to her family which she had decided they must have.
She had been occupied outside the Court; it was true that she had avoided the Queen; and insidiously, while she neglected Anne, that creature, that insect, that little-better-than-a-servant had been creeping in with her lotions and poultices, her Purcell and her mimicry, her flattery and her solicitude.
“It makes me sick!” cried Sarah.
But she knew that she had to do all in her power to end such a situation. How she wished that dear Marl was at home. With his cool reasoning he would know how to act. There were times when she had upbraided him for his caution. But she had need of that caution now.
What should she do next? It was no use seeing that old parrot who was in full cry with her “I have bid Masham tell you and she would not.” That was going to be her answer to everything.
So she must see Abigail again, and if necessary shake the truth out of the creature.
Sarah went down to Woodstock. There at least was the evidence of the respect in which the Marlboroughs were held. Blenheim was going to be one of the biggest palaces in the country, and it was built for the Marlboroughs in honour of the Duke’s great victory.
That was balm; but she could not get on with Vanbrugh and wished his plans had never been accepted. He was arrogant. One would have thought the house was being built for him.
It was soothing to some extent to harangue Vanbrugh—but little use in the present situation.
Sarah could never resist the pen. It soothed her always to pour out her anger in words and writing them was almost as comforting as speaking them.
She wrote to the Queen, reproaching her for her duplicity. Why, why, why had she kept her in the dark about the Masham marriage? What could have been the point? Mrs. Freeman who had always had such concern for Mrs. Morley was astonished that Mrs. Morley could have treated her so.