Courting Her Highness_ The Story of Queen Anne - Jean Plaidy [27]
Abigail and Samuel Masham said nothing, but stood quietly listening to the conversation of the other two. There seemed to be an accord between them; and Abigail sensed that he was taking everything in, even as she was, but that he was not eager to let them know what he was thinking.
“We should get into our places,” said Samuel. “The display is about to begin.”
He did not touch Abigail but was close beside her. She sensed his interest and it seemed strange to her that a young man should be more interested in her than in Alice. It was something which had never happened before.
The King had arrived and was seated in a grandstand which had been erected for the purpose. No trouble, of course, was too much for the young Duke of Gloucester.
Abigail could not take her eyes from the King, William of Orange, that man of destiny, about whose head, so it was said, on the day of his birth had been seen the three crowns of light, meant to be the crowns of England, Scotland and Ireland which he was destined to inherit. He did not look like a hero. He stooped, and a curvature of the spine was obvious; he was small and thin, his legs like a bird’s, his nose large and hooked, his eyes small, his mouth unsmiling, his face pallid; and his great wig seemed top-heavy on such a little figure. It was small wonder that the people greeted him in a silence that was almost sullen. He was not the man to inspire cheers, for all his cleverness.
“I heard,” whispered Alice, “that he spits blood frequently. He looks like a corpse. He can’t be long for this world.”
“He dismissed Dr. Radcliffe for saying he wouldn’t have his two legs for his three kingdoms,” added John.
“It would seem to me,” Alice went on, “that we shall not long have a King William to rule us.”
Not long a King William, thought Abigail. Well, then there would be a Queen Anne. How strange to think of that mild fat woman ruling a great country. She would not rule in fact; it would be Sarah Churchill who ruled her—Abigail’s own cousin. She felt almost lightheaded to be so close to such important people.
“Here comes the young Duke with his army,” said Samuel quietly.
And there they were—the most unusual army which had ever marched into the park. Ninety boys of varying sizes, shouldering wooden muskets, swords at their sides, all in brilliant uniform.
There were cheers and laughter from the lookers-on as the Duke of Gloucester shouted orders to his company.
“Halt! Present arms!”
There he stood—as odd a figure as the King—in his sparkling uniform, his small frail body and enormous head, made more obvious by his white curled periwig. Beneath the wig his face was animated, his eyes alert, for although he suffered from water on the brain he was clever; and his sayings were quoted not only in the Princess’s Court but in the King’s.
His preoccupation with soldiers had begun in the days when he was driven through the park in the little carriage especially made for him; and it had never left him; and because he was indulged not only by his parents but by the King himself, he had been allowed to recruit his little army and to supply it with uniform and imitation weapons of war.
A small cannon was now being set off in honour of the King; and there was William, lending himself to the occasion with a tolerance he rarely displayed, walking down the ranks with little Gloucester beside him, inspecting the troops.
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the King’s crown,” said Alice.
Abigail did not answer; she was thinking of that frail King and the frail boy and marvelling at the strangeness of events.
How strange it would be if she became the servant of the Queen of England!
The display was over; the Duke of Gloucester had dispersed his army and was being conducted by the King into Kensington Palace. They were talking gravely as they went and the watchers even raised a small cheer