Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [174]
Abigail was back at Court after her brief convalescence. And the Queen was delighted to have her.
“Dear Masham, so you have a boy and a girl now. How fortunate you are.”
Abigail sat at the Queen’s feet while they talked of children. Anne went sadly over the childhood of her boy, how precocious he had been, how precious. Abigail had heard all before and while she listened she was wondering when the Queen would reward her for her services and give her the title she needed that it might be passed on to her son.
If only Samuel were a little adventurous. He was a good soldier. Brigadier-General now, and Member for Ilchester. But he lacked all the qualities of a leader. As for my lord Oxford; he was growing farther and farther from her; but as he grew farther away, Henry St. John came nearer.
St. John was different from Oxford—less complicated. Something of a rake still, he had been notorious in his youth for his extravagance and dissipation. He had been a disciple of Oxford’s, but was he just a little piqued now by Oxford’s great and undeserved popularity over the Guiscard affair? Did he feel that Oxford was neglecting his old friends now he was secure in his position?
Abigail intended to discover—very discreetly. It might be that she and Henry St. John could work in unison as once she had worked with Robert Harley.
It was St. John who told her that Marlborough was sounding Hanover. The Queen was middle-aged; she was constantly ill. Each year she became slightly more incapacitated. If she were to die and there was a Hanoverian succession which the Marlboroughs had helped to bring about, it would go ill with the Marlboroughs’ enemies.
St. John smiled roguishly at Abigail. “And we all know whom the Marlboroughs consider their first enemy: You, my dear lady.”
Abigail was uneasy. To contemplate the death of the Queen was a nightmare. All blessings flowed from the royal invalid; and so far, she had nothing which she could pass on to her family.
“It is no use our looking to Hanover,” said St. John.
“In that case we must look in the opposite direction,” replied Abigail.
“St. Germains,” whispered St. John.
The Queen was in tears. News had been brought to her that her uncle Lord Rochester was dead. She sent for Masham to comfort her.
“We were not on good terms, Masham, and that makes it so much more tragic. How I regret the quarrels and discord in my family!”
“Your Majesty has always acted with the greatest goodness,” Abigail replied.
“Oh but the troubles, Masham … the troubles! When I think of my poor father and what we did to him sometimes I think I shall die of shame.”
“Your Majesty did what you believed to be right. He was a Catholic and the people of England would not tolerate a Catholic on the throne.”
“It haunts me, Masham. It still does, and I know that it haunted my poor sister Mary. Why when she died we were not on good terms.”
“I believe Lady Marlborough made great trouble between you.”
“She did. And my dear sister implored me to rid myself of her. If I had but listened! But I was blind then, Masham … quite blind.”
“Your Majesty is free of her now.”
“Yes, and I thank God. But I think of the past, Masham. Now that I am getting old and am so often ill and infirm I think the more.”
“I understand, Your Majesty. That young man at St. Germains is after all your half brother.”
“I often think of him, Masham, and wish that I could put everything in order.”
“Your Majesty means by fixing the succession on him?”
The Queen caught her breath. “I had not gone so far as that.”
“But it is on your mind and it would comfort Your Majesty if you considered this matter … explored this matter …”
“I should not wish him to be brought to England while I lived.”
“No, no, Your Majesty. I thought perhaps you meant you would prefer him to succeed you—which I pray and trust will not be for many years for I do not wish to be here to see it—rather than the Germans.”
“I have no great love of the Germans, Masham. And he is my brother.”
“Your Majesty should talk this over with ministers you trust.