Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [118]
It was so pleasant to think of Masham and Hill—dear Hill—in the next apartment … together.
Abigail was wide awake. Samuel lay beside her, pleasantly weary, satisfied. Marriage! she was thinking. It gave one a certain standing. Even her sister’s attitude towards her had changed. Alice had come to the ceremony in Dr. Arbuthnot’s apartments and had been frankly envious. Alice was getting fat—too much good living, too much purposeless living. She thought herself fortunate to have a pension after such short service in the household of the young Duke of Gloucester and then a place in the Queen’s household which was very undemanding. But perhaps Alice was beginning to respect her sister for more reasons than the fact that she was now a married woman.
It was not possible for a woman to be so constantly with the Queen and not arouse some curiosity. And how curious they all were. Why should a Queen select a plain insignificant mouse like Abigail Hill for a favourite!
“Hill makes good poultices.” “Hill keeps her mouth shut.” “Hill listens and agrees and soothes.” “Hill is mealymouthed. Sly. Deep.”
They said all these things of her. It was inevitable.
And now she had Samuel.
Samuel was the devoted husband, and she was lucky since she did not look for romance. But perhaps in foolish moments all women looked for romance. It didn’t matter whether they had somewhat scanty sandy hair or an abundance of corn coloured waves, whether they were handsome or plain. They all looked for romance.
The Duchess had found it, surely. The Duke was the man of her choice; he was handsome, courteous and at the moment the national hero. Yet the Duchess was not satisfied. She was not content to be a dearly loved woman; she must rule the country as well.
She is related to me, thought Abigail, and though I am not handsome as she is I am as ambitious.
Suppose Harley had been free.… Suppose she had married him. What a union theirs would have been! It would have been compared with that of the Marlboroughs. They could have gone as far together. Harley would have his Earldom someday; he would have had his Dukedom perhaps. And she would have been a Duchess; the woman of the Queen’s bedchamber would have trembled when she entered; they would have curtseyed to her as fearfully as they did to Sarah Churchill.
Why not? Why not?
Because Fate had not been so kind to her, because she had not been born handsome; the man whose love she had won was Samuel Masham, whose looks and temperament were similar to her own. Robert Harley had had no feeling for her except amusement, because he understood hers for him, and a desire to cultivate her for the good she could bring him.
But the Queen loved her. Yes, in the secret places of Anne’s mind Abigail Masham was more important to her than Sarah Churchill.
That was her strength. The Queen’s need of her which was real while her need for Sarah was a myth … a fantasy … a dream left over from childhood.
“Sam,” she whispered.
“My dearest …” was his tired answer.
“The Duchess came to the Queen today. I heard she was looking for me. She wished to speak to me.”
“She’ll not be pleased.…”
“She’ll have to be displeased then. We are married now … no one can alter that.”
His hand closed over hers and he grunted with satisfaction.
She felt impatient with him because he would never be a leader. He had no real ambition. Perhaps that was good though because it would leave her a free hand.
But she lay there thinking of Robert Harley—his witty comments, his amusing manners, his worldliness, his ambition.
He would have been the head of the Government and she would have ruled the Queen.
Now they would still work together but it was only ambition that bound them. Abigail felt desolate, disappointed and defeated.
She had wanted Harley and she had been given Masham.
She remembered the days when she had been in servitude at Holywell House—those occasions when the Duke and Duchess had been in residence. Like lovers they were; it was impossible to be in the house and not know it. She remembered how the servants