Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [104]
“My sweet cousin. It is good, is it not that we can work together thus?”
“It gives me great pleasure to do as you wish,” answered Abigail.
He smiled at her and lifting her hood pulled it up over her head.
“Go now,” he said. “It would not be good for it to be known you had come here.”
She nodded, excited as always by the conspiracy between them, by the secret allure of this man.
He conducted her down the beautiful curved staircase. She saw an open door and in the room beyond a woman was seated at a table.
She knew who that woman was. His wife!
She hurried down the stairs and out into the air.
How ridiculous it was to dream! And of what did she dream?
She should be content with what was hers, for she had a great deal. She, who had lived in poverty in this City which she now saw straggling out before her, who had been a maid in the house of Lady Rivers, was now a friend of the Queen of England—yes, she was a friend; no one was going to say she was not. Anne was fond of her. Perhaps more fond than she realized. Only at present she was bemused by Sarah Churchill—perhaps in much the same way in which Abigail Hill was bemused by Robert Harley. Such enchantments gave no satisfaction. There was pleasure in reality. Anne found more ease and comfort with plain quiet Abigail Hill than she ever would with brilliant Sarah Churchill; and Abigail Hill would never find lasting happiness if she looked to Robert Harley for it.
Abigail made a decision as she walked briskly across the Park.
The next time Samuel Masham asked her to marry him she would accept.
The Queen was seated in her chair sipping hot chocolate. So pleasant and Hill made it deliciously. The Prince in spite of his heavy dinner at three o’clock when he had partaken a little too much of the sucking pig, was ready for his chocolate, and as Hill had suggested it, she had had some too.
Hill was at the harpsichord and it was a long time since the Queen had been so contented.
A scratching at the door! How lightly and quickly Hill sped across a room!
Now she was back at the Queen’s chair.
“Mr. Harley, Your Majesty. He humbly begs to be admitted.”
“Dear Mr. Harley. Such a pleasure to see him!”
Harley came in; he bowed; he took the white hand—a little swollen at the moment, but still beautiful—and kissed it.
“Your Majesty is so gracious to receive me thus.”
“My dear Mr. Harley I was just thinking what pleasant times we have had here.”
“Your Majesty’s goodness overwhelms me.”
“Perhaps Mr. Harley would care to take some chocolate, Hill.”
Mr. Harley assured the Queen that he had come straight from dinner and would take no chocolate.
Harley complimented the Queen on her looks. He was certain that she looked more healthful than when they had last met.
“My dear good Hill takes care of me,” said the Queen.
“And the Prince seems better too.”
“His asthma troubles him greatly. He had difficulty in breathing last night. It is worse after dinner and supper. I have told him that if his appetite were less good his asthma might be better. But Hill makes a good brew which he inhales and that has brought him some relief. Hill, you must tell Mr. Harley about this brew of yours.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I shall be most interested to hear of it.”
“The Prince’s health is a matter of great concern to me,” went on the Queen.
“Your Majesty is such a devoted wife. He is the most fortunate Prince alive.”
“And I am most fortunate to have him.”
The Prince muttered in his sleep.
“It is all right, George,” said the Queen. “Mr. Harley is saying charming things about you.”
The Prince grunted while Harley watched him cautiously. It was when he assured himself that George was fast asleep that he said: “I’ve heard a disturbing rumour, Madam.”
“Oh!” The pleasure slipped from Anne’s face.
“It need not disturb Your Majesty,” said Harley hastily. “In fact, I am sure it will not because, Madam, you will never allow ambitious people to choose your ministers for you.”
“Is it that man?”
“Sunderland, yes.”
“I