Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [181]
The Queen was in despair. She sent Dr. Arbuthnot to attend to Abigail and commanded him not to leave her until he was sure she was out of danger; and she must have hourly messages as to Abigail’s state.
Anne could not be comforted. She rocked herself to and fro in her chair and asked herself how she could live without dear Masham.
Alice Hill, sitting by Abigail’s bed, listened to her rambling, and knew that she was living in the past, in those days of uncertainty and degradation when she had been as a servant in the house of the Marlboroughs.
She wept, and Mrs. Abrahal who would always be grateful to Abigail for speaking well of her to the Queen sought to comfort her, and Mrs. Danvers took time off from the Queen’s bedchamber to come to the invalid’s bedside.
There were messages from important court personages. Viscount Bolingbroke called or sent his servant every day but Lord Oxford did not enquire once and it might have been that he was not even aware of the accident to his cousin.
Dr. Arbuthnot, who knew Abigail well, and had always admired her, used all his skill, and by great good fortune saved the life of the child which was a boy.
“Don’t fret,” he told Alice. “This is the best thing that could have happened. The child is a boy and he’ll live. Once I can get her to understand this, she’ll start to recover, I promise you.”
He sat by her bed and took her hand.
“Abigail,” he said, “can you hear me?”
She opened her pale green eyes and he thought how colourless they were, how lifeless—almost the eyes of a dead woman.
“Ah, you hear me then. Ye’ve a fine boy. Do you understand me. A fine boy.”
“Robert …” she began.
The Doctor glanced at Alice. “Is that the name she wants. Robert. Why …”
“Named for my lord Oxford,” suggested Alice.
“Ah, it may well be.”
Abigail’s eyes were open and she appeared to be listening.
“The boy’s a fine strong wee laddie,” said the doctor. “Do you want to see him?”
But Abigail had already closed her eyes. They thought that she was not aware of what was going on but this was not so. She knew that she had had an accident and that her son was prematurely born. She had been close to death and for that reason life seemed doubly precious.
Her hand was taken and held gently. She knew by whom before she opened her eyes. She thought of Samuel who was gentle and unassuming and lacked the overwhelming ambition of men like Robert Harley, Henry St. John and John Churchill. But perhaps for that reason he was capable of giving her greater devotion. Harley had failed her; St. John she would never trust; but she could rely on Samuel. He would always be there, to love and cherish her … as well as their children.
She had demanded too much of life; she had wanted a great leader to love her, but great leaders were not always successful, and there were times when they were sent to pine in exile.
She had been foolish not to accept life as a compromise. Was she a foolish romantic girl to ask for the impossible?
“Samuel,” she said. “You are there?”
She heard Alice’s voice, gruff, relieved. “Is he there? He has not been far away for the last forty-eight hours.”
No, he would not be far away when she was in danger.
“Samuel,” she repeated.
He leaned towards her. “A boy,” he said. “Arbuthnot says he will live and he is healthy and strong. Listen. You can hear him crying.”
She nodded drowsily. The doctor said: “Let her sleep now.”
“I’ll get a message to Her Majesty,” said Alice. “She asked that news be sent to her without delay. She’ll be delighted.”
“There have been messages …?” asked Abigail.
“The Queen had to be kept informed,” replied Alice excitedly. “Viscount Bolingbroke sent his servant every day.”
“My lord Oxford …”
“Oh come, you have a Queen demanding news of you. Is that not enough?”
So he had not asked for her. He cared nothing that she might have died.
“And,” went on Alice, “a husband who has not slept or eaten since you fell.”
She smiled, and closed her eyes.
Is that not enough? That phrase of Alice’s kept ringing in her mind.