Sarah was telling the Princess about her newly married daughter Henrietta and that Anne would soon be of an age to marry. The Princess nodded and cooed and now and then spoke of “my boy” in such an affectionate way that Abigail thought how human she was, and how much less terrifying than Lady Marlborough. One would have thought that Sarah was the Queen and Anne the subject.
When she had sealed the letter she laid it on the table.
“Just make yourself useful,” said Sarah. “Mrs. Danvers will tell you anything you want to know. She has been with the Princess for years. But if there is anything you think she should need, you should ask me if she should have it. The great point is to remember not to disturb the Princess. She does not want to see you nor hear you.”
“Dear Mrs. Freeman,” murmured Anne, “what should I do without you?”
Sarah congratulated herself on a shrewd move when she put Abigail into the Princess’s bedchamber. Abigail would be recognized as one of Sarah’s women and it would be known that she would look out for her benefactress’s interests. Moreover, Abigail was efficient; that had been made obvious at St. Albans. And what was more important she was no pusher. She would keep her place and not attempt to curry favour with the Princess as some of the others did. She was so colourless (apart, thought Sarah with a snort of amusement, from her nose) and so quiet that one scarcely noticed she was there.
Sarah had tested this by asking the Princess what she thought of the new chamber woman.
“Oh,” Anne had replied, “is there one?”
“My dear Mrs. Morley, don’t you remember I presented her to you?”
“You have done me so many favours, Mrs. Freeman. Can you expect me to remember them all?”
“All that I hope is that she is not making herself offensive as some of these bold and brazen pieces do.”
“I am sure she has not, for I did not know that she was there.”
“And you have found nothing amiss? All that you have needed has been done?”
“My dear, dear Mrs. Freeman, I am so well tended … thanks to you. Oh yes, I know it is you I have to thank for the smooth running of my household.”
Nothing could have pleased Sarah better.
Abigail was pleased too. She took her orders from Mrs. Danvers, went about the apartment silent-footed and efficient, and she knew that although she was often in the presence of the Princess, perhaps because the latter was shortsighted, perhaps because Abigail was just another woman to her, she was not aware of her as an individual, although any personal service was always rewarded with a kindly smile.
But it was a pleasant life. The fact of being near the Court greatly appealed to Abigail. She listened to all that was said; she enjoyed hearing stories of the Court of King Charles II and the drama which had followed close on his death. There were many who remembered well how Monmouth had collected an army and calling himself King Monmouth—or perhaps others had called him that?—had attempted to take the crown from James. She heard how William had sailed to England from Holland because he had been invited to take the crown; and how Mary his wife had followed him and the two sisters Mary and Anne had, it was said, broken their father’s heart.
And this Princess whom she served was that same woman who had defied her father and helped to send him into exile, who had circulated stories about her own half brother not being her father’s child at all, but a spurious baby who had been introduced into her stepmother’s bed by means of a warming pan.
Abigail felt that she were living close to history; it could be said that people like the plump, lazy-looking woman whom she served made history. Perhaps her own cousin, Sarah Churchill, did, for she would tell Anne what to do if ever Anne became Queen and it seemed likely that she would. Why not Abigail Hill?
Life had become suddenly more exciting than she had ever dreamed possible. She even had a notion that she was not quite as unattractive as she had always been led to believe.
Alice sent a message to her telling her that the young Duke of Gloucester was parading his army in the gardens of Kensington Palace, and as the King was to inspect them this was a special occasion and there would be quite a little party going to see this. Why should not Abigail join in. John would be there and so would a friend of Alice’s. She would have an opportunity of seeing the King at closer quarters than she was ever likely to again.
So Abigail asked Mrs. Danvers for leave of absence which was readily given. It was rare, Mrs. Danvers had commented, that one found a chambermaid of Abigail Hill’s stamp, who moved about so quietly that you did not notice she was there, yet managed that everything that should be done was done. A little gaiety would not come amiss either, thought Mrs. Danvers; for although the girl was small and plain, she was also young.
Abigail neatly and very inconspicuously dressed in her discreet grey dress and short black cape found Alice in a red silk gown cut away to show a black satin petticoat with a white calico border; she also wore a black silk scarf and a black and red spotted hood.
Abigail scarcely recognized her and guessed that she was spending a great deal of her salary on her clothes instead of saving as she should. John too showed his love of finery in his brown frieze coat, breeches of the same colour and light drugged waistcoat; he wore a freshly curled wig and looked quite magnificent. Abigail would have seemed incongruous beside such fashionable people but for the fact that John had brought a friend with him, who was as soberly dressed as Abigail herself.
“This is Samuel Masham,” said John. “I wonder you and my sister haven’t met, Sam, for she is now in the Princess’s household.”
Samuel Masham bowed over Abigail’s hand. He already knew Alice, it seemed.
“I am in the household of the Prince of Denmark,” he said.
Abigail asked if he were satisfied with his post, and he replied that he was very well satisfied.
“One is fortunate to get into the royal household,” he said. “Particularly in my case. I’m the youngest of eight sons.”
“And I believe,” said Abigail, “that His Highness is an indulgent master.”
“The best in the world.”
“The Princess is kindly too.”
“Oh yes, we are fortunate indeed.”
“I should not care to be in the service of the King,” put in John.
“I should say not!” cried Alice. “I’m told he awakes in none too good a temper and lays about him with his cane on those who are unlucky enough to wait on him.”
The four of them laughed and John added: “The clever ones keep out of his way until the day wears on and he becomes more mellow.”
“It’s due to all that Hollands Gin he drinks in the Hampton Banqueting House,” Alice explained. “What a strange man he is! They say that he is filled with remorse because he was unfaithful to Queen Mary and she left a letter reproaching him. Who would have believed that he would ever have been anyone’s lover.”
“You’ve seen the Countess of Orkney, I’ll swear,” asked John.
“Yes,” said Alice. “She’s so odd looking. Her eyes are so peculiar. Squinting Betty they call her. Yet she was the only mistress he ever had, so they say; and there’s some that are sure he still meets her—but only when he goes to Holland.”
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.