Abigail's Cousin

By Ron Pearse

There is talk today of a gulf between the rich and the poor people of England. In the time of this story, there was a huge disparity between the lower and higher classes, between commoners and the nobility--and yet a pauper, a woman named Abigail Hill, managed to bridge that gulf. Through misfortune she had lost her parents and thereby made the acquaintance of a cousin, Sarah Jennings, some years her senior whose parents were also dead but who had met and married John Churchill, later the famous Duke of Marlborough. Sarah looked after Abigail and her three siblings, finding Abigail a position in the queen’s household as a bedchamber-woman. One of her tasks was to empty the queen’s chamber-pot. However, through diligence and kindness, Abigail became a warm companion to her majesty, Queen Anne, who suffered from the loss of many children in childbirth, as well as dropsy, gout, rheumatism and lack of sleep worrying about the plight of legless and armless soldiers seen daily on the streets of London, England then being at war with France in the War of the Spanish Succession.
In the workplace Abigail answered to the name ‘Hill’, but ended her working life as Lady Abigail Masham: this is her story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ron Pearse
• Release date: Apr 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9789082274127

Ron Pearse

Ron Pearse lives in England.

Book preview

Foreword

There is talk today of a gulf between the rich and the poor people of England. In contrast in the time of this story there was a huge disparity between the lower and higher classes, between commoners and the nobility; that was as great a gulf. Yet, a pauper, a woman named Abigail Hill managed to bridge that gulf. Through misfortune she had lost her parents and thereby made the acquaintance of a cousin, Sarah Jennings, some years her senior whose parents were also dead but who had however met and married John Churchill, later the famous Duke of Marlborough.

Sarah looked after Abigail and her three siblings finding Abigail a position in the queen’s household, that of bedchamber-woman, one of whose menial jobs was to empty the queen’s chamber-pot. Through diligence and kindness however Abigail became a warm companion to her majesty, Queen Anne, who suffered, apart from losing many children in childbirth, from dropsy, gout, rheumatism and lack of sleep worrying about the plight of legless and armless soldiers seen daily on the streets of London, England then being at war with France in the War of the Spanish Succession.

In the workplace she answered to ‘Hill’ and ended her working life as Lady Abigail Masham: this is her story.

PART 1: SERVANT

Chapter 1

Some half a mile from the city centre of St Albans, off Cottonmill Lane, situated in its own grounds, is a well-appointed, if modest house. It is just after nine o'clock on a day in the year 1693, in the month of September. It has been raining which has discouraged Abigail from leaving the house to walk in the garden, although she has been up and about many hours about the business of house clearance preparatory to leaving her parents' home for good.

She looks through an upstairs window as the gardener and his young helpers pile more wood onto a blazing bonfire. The fierce crackling made as the fire consumes the wood makes her wonder about its age and dryness and how long her parents owned the cupboard, now broken up with lusty strokes from the gardener's hatchet, shouting to his children to keep well away from him as the pieces fly in all directions. The panelling succumbs easily but the stout hardwood frame resists the heavy blows from his axe yet finally the cupboard is no more. Abigail watches as a little boy picks up the shattered remnants hugging them to his chest before dropping them before the fire and hurling the individual pieces into the flames.

Hugging the frame of the window, Abigail looks speculatively to her left for any signs of the woman directing the operations but Sarah Churchill remains hidden, probably in a doorway, out of the rain, although now there is a temporary lull in the downpour. Then she hears her voice calling to Mistress Chudleigh and she directs her gaze to a farm wagon. Abigail watches as the stout, grey haired woman walks over and stands before her mistress, still hidden, with a respectful: Your ladyship!

Abigail gently releases the catch of the sash window and eases the bottom half of the frame open in order better to overhear her cousin's next words: A word! She strains to listen to the discourse but the women seem to have moved away as Mrs Chudleigh is now out of sight. Yet it seems she has missed nothing for she hears Chudleigh reply: Ma'am? and listens intently, hardly daring to breathe, let alone change her stance. Lady Churchill says: We can safely leave the gardener to burn the remainder. Discover where Mistress Abigail is hiding herself. and just in time, Abigail retreats as the housekeeper looks up, replying: I'm sure she be above, ma'am.

Then Lady Churchill's voice reaches Abigail clearly: Tell her, I would like to be on our way. And as the woman does her mistress' bidding, Abigail is alerted again to Sarah's shrill command, this time directed into the garden: Tom! Take off the nosebags. the rest is lost as Abigail hears the housekeeper on the stairs. She picks up her bag, already packed pausing to take a final look around the room occupied so many years by her parents and is interrupted as Mrs Chudleigh appears on the landing outside the room, and anxious to forestall the anticipated call, walks through the door standing in front of the housekeeper whose mouth is already open to speak, snapping shut to her annoyance but to Abigail's inner satisfaction.

As she descends the stairs she hears Sarah through the open back door still reminding her gardener of something and his response: Yes, your ladyship! followed by Sarah's peremptory command: When everything is burnt, Atkins, trample down the ashes. See no burning embers are left. Water it, if the rain has stopped, and you think it's necessary.

Mentally Abigail pictures Atkins touching the hair drooping over his forehead in age-old subservience muttering resignedly: Yes, your ladyship. Her cousin never seems to tire hearing her title newly acquired and Abigail wonders if Sarah Jennings ever existed. The gardener speaks again: Your ladyship, ma'am. Uhh! The artefacts!

Sarah replies: What artefacts? To which Atkins answers: The mortar and pestle; the phials, bottles, and what-not. And she suddenly seems to recall of what he speaks, saying: Doctor Glanville says to smash them and bury the pieces. At these words Abigail's heart sinks for the artefacts are among her mother's prized possessions, the tools of her calling. Despair rises in her breast because she wanted to keep them so that one day she might take up where her mother had left off, perforce by her death, but it was not to be. More influential people such as Doctor Glanville representing the medical establishment would not want them to survive; so much for Sarah's professions of support for her cousin.

Abigail is interrupted in these sad ruminations by the sight of a black-coated man in a top hat entering the garden. She watches as her cousin bristles drawing herself to her full five feet, five and a half inches, and barks at the man: You are late, bailiff, and I dare say you have come now just to collect your fee. My gardener does the work and you collect the fruits of his labour, without doing anything. Your fee, I believe, was two guineas. Snob or not, Abigail admired Sarah at this moment doing, saying what she would not dare to say.

The bailiff was not overly surprised and did not immediately reply but looked about him and spotting the gardener holding the box of artefacts, said to him: I'll take that; Mister Atkins, is it not. Then turning jauntily to Sarah, looking distinctly sour, he said: The box may safely be left with me ma'am. I believe the charge for my services was agreed at three pounds, if you please.

Her ladyship humphed speaking to her gardener: Be sure you oversee its destruction, Atkins! and handed three coins over to him with the added remonstrance: Do not pay him a single piece until you see with your own eyes its destruction. Come Tom, let's be on our way.

As they moved towards the wagon, Sarah suggested to the driver: Tom, I shall sit up front beside you. Then turning round to Abigail, asked: Are you ready cousin?

Her peremptory tone had impressed Tom, Mrs Chudleigh and they hurried to heed her words, but when Abigail hung back, she turned to her with a puzzled expression: What ails you, cousin?

A want of feeling, perhaps; my father dead just weeks ago and now poor mother. Everything sold to pay our debts and the remains cleared out and even burned. Then looking wistfully at her mother's box of artefacts, added: My mother's life's work about to be destroyed. Then looking Sarah directly in the face said, disarmingly: I'm ‘mazed by your coolness, your ladyship.

Mrs Chudleigh shocked by Abigail's seeming reproof, said, out of Sarah's hearing: Be more respectful, mistress. Lady Churchill showing every mark of respect to you and yours; ‘tis ingratitude. You should show some respect!

Her ladyship was being helped into the seat by Tom and would have missed her servant's rebuke, but she, irritated that she was ready to leave and they were not, called over: What be you playing at mistress! Get into the wagon, at once, both of you!

Abigail and Mrs Chudleigh exchanged glances without words and heeding Sarah's words, they got into the open wagon finding themselves makeshift seats. Tom, meanwhile jumped down to secure the backboard to Sarah's obvious chagrin, but Tom had another motive which he hastened to demonstrate, addressing Abigail, sternly:

Lady Churchill gave e ten guineas for things just a week back. Ungrateful, I calls it. Abigail did not reply to Tom but waited while he ascended to resume his seat beside Lady Churchill, then said:

Ten guineas, eh! Two guineas for funeral and the rest in fees to Doctor Glanville. Lady Churchill might as well have given him the money and be done with it.

Sarah turned and speaking directly to her cousin, said: Lord! That don't make sense. How mean you?

Tom had meanwhile turned round and exchanged silent if meaningful looks with Mrs Chudleigh while Abigail responded to Sarah, thus:

Doctor Glanville charged mother twice his normal fee on account of her illness being the small pocks. She looked softly at Sarah: I'm not ungrateful cousin. Your ten guineas was welcome, very welcome and very generous.

She paused and then said almost wistfully: Thanks be to you cousin and the Good Lord, she got some very good meals afore she died. Otherwise your money was well spent.

Mrs Chudleigh spoke loudly wanting her mistress to hear: See what Lady Churchill did for thy brothers and sister. By the bye, where be they?

Sarah smiled, with satisfaction, answering: Alice is entered into the household of lady Davenport and young Jack and his brother are at school.

Mrs Chudleigh turned in triumph to Abigail: See mistress! It's not everybody as cares for their folk like her ladyship.

Sarah said modestly: Now Mrs Chudleigh enough of that. Tom, you must have given up on us ladies, you are so patient. Shall we be on our way?

Tom Sawyer spoke his commands to the horses and the wagon turned out of the garden through the derelict wooden gates and into Cottonmill Lane, and both women at the back needed to hold on tight as the wagon bumped along the rutted road. There were potholes which the recent rain had filled with muddy water and both women bent inwards in an attempt to dodge the worst of the splashes.

Mistress Chudleigh eyed Abigail askance. She was getting above herself. In all her years with the gentry she had never dared to say anything untoward and this woman had shamed her. She repeated her earlier complaint: Indeed Mistress Abigail, it's not everybody as cares for their folk as does her ladyship. Such ungraciousness!

She had whispered the reproof but unfortunately for her the wagon went over a short patch of grass and Mrs Chudleigh experienced the ignominy of a reproof from her mistress: Now Mrs Chudleigh, enough of that. Then she turned to Tom to ask: How far be it, Tom? getting no immediate response as Sawyer was talking to and encouraging his team.

Finally satisfied with them he turned to Sarah: Funny beasts they be. You need to encourage them from time to time. I should say, as soon as we get atop this rise ma'am, Holywell House be about half a mile distant as the road be dead straight ahead.

Abigail eyed her fellow passenger with amusement and as if to rub salt in the wound said loudly: We could have saved mother's box. She treated so many of the local people while living at Cottonmill Lane. And cured many! Who is to see to their needs now?

Then as nobody deigned a comment, she continued, with an amused look at Mrs Chudleigh: I think I know why, perhaps. Doctor Glanville wanted it destroyed. All the remedies and cures gone for ever.

Tom said caustically: Didn't do 'er much good, mistress. He shared Mrs Chudleigh's distaste for Abigail's brazenness feeling that her ladyship ought to be defended, but Abigail retorted: Nor did Doctor Glanville; for all his expensive fees. He's near five guineas better off and mother lies dead.

Tom called: Whoa up, my beauties! and the wagon came gradually to a halt and he jumped down to lead the team by the bridle into the yard of Holywell House stopping beside a hitching post before turning to his mistress, offering his hand as she climbed down, while saying: Undo the backflap for the ladies, there's a good man,

He did as bid offering his hand first to Mrs Chudleigh who got down with his help whereupon he walked away to attend to his horses, but Sarah addressed her housekeeper: Help my cousin down, Mrs Chudleigh! followed moments later by a scream from her:

Ahhhhh! She has the small pocks. I knows it. Me own sister 'ad it. Don’t no-one go near 'er!

Sarah rebuked her, now irritated: What mean you, mistress? who somewhat miffed said defiantly:

Look at them spots missus, I mean, ma'am. And, the rash on her neck. Then addressing Abigail still seated in the wagon, said to her:

Show her ladyship, mistress!

Sarah not waiting for Abigail approached the rear of the wagon and walked round to Abigail, asking: Let me see!

Tom, taking also an interest in the proceedings told his mistress:

Don't let her speak. That's how contagion spreads.

Sarah mindful of her driver's words yet wanting to keep control of the situation told Abigail:

Lord! Heed what mister Sawyer says, but give me your hand, cousin. Come!

Tom was almost panic stricken, shouting: No, don't ma'am. Don’t touch her! Now Sarah cast a disdainful look at Sawyer, as if to imply, her separation as mistress from that of servant:

Come cousin! Give me your hand! Hold on to the side to steady yourself. Jump! Then she turned to Chudleigh:

What think you, Mrs Chudleigh, a bedroom on the second floor. She cannot share with anyone now. Off you go. Make the arrangements! Then, as an afterthought called to her departing figure:

If the children be back, keep them well away from the stairs.

The housekeeper suddenly stopped having spotted a young woman whom she recognised turning round to Sarah to comment almost reproachfully:

I understood mistress Alice was away in service, ma'am. She be here. Sarah commented: She starts tomorrow, and just as well. Tell her to keep to her room for the time being.

Then it was Tom's turn: And Master Jack, ma'am!

Sarah was momentarily taken by surprise falling back on her favourite exclamation: Lord! Master Jack. When be he home from school? Tom, be a good man and keep him with you until we have mistress Abigail settled. Is that alright?

Sawyer said grudgingly: Have to be ma'am.

As both servants vanished from sight about their duties leaving Lady Churchill and Abigail alone, the latter looking very disconsolate at the dread news she had just heard, as well she might, for in the matter of moments, her life expectancy had just diminished by a factor of seven to ten.

It was her cousin who demonstrated both self assurance and open heartedness in trying to put her cousin at ease:

Cousin Abigail. The Hills, your family, are now part of my family. Holywell House is your home, like it be ours.

She pointed at the House just yards away indicating the pathway saying: I'm going up the path to the house now. You just follow me. I'll be taking you to your room which Mrs Chudleigh is now getting ready. The room will be your home for a little while, but be of good cheer. We'll soon have you on the mend. I'll send for the doctor tomorrow to come and see you.

It was not lost upon Abigail that it would probably be Doctor Glanville, the same physician she had railed against only moments before, but Sarah appeared not to have considered it. She added:

Do you feel hot? Oh, lord! Like Tom said don't say a thing. I'll walk in front. Keep a little distance. Ready? Off we go!

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Lady Churchill stood at an upstairs window looking out over the fields where there was much activity; two workmen were rebuilding a hedge, another swept over the grass at daisy level cropping tall grass with his long scythe while she watched a man in gaiters emerging from a copse with a bundle of sticks under his arm. In the next field a herd of cows either chomped grass or stood chewing their cud occasionally letting out a roaring moo. Sarah could not but wonder at the activities of two men armed with measuring devices, the one holding a stick vertically in the air while the other seemed to observe him through an instrument waving his hand at the other who moved left or right.

Yet she was not particularly interested in any of the activities but was standing because she was experiencing pain on her behind such as on sitting for breakfast. She concluded that the hard seat of yesterday's wagon ride was responsible. It was one more reason to speculate on the availability of their carriage and whether or not she could bring strong arguments before her lord and husband to allow her the carriage for a projected visit to London.

Yet reflecting upon Lord Churchill's almost exclusive use of the carriage, she had no doubt of his need. It was important business for Churchill having been invited to become a shareholder of a company with the grand title of the Bank of England. It was an idea he had originally brought himself back from the Netherlands where he had been commanding the army on behalf of King William III.

It had been a puzzle to John Churchill as to how the Dutch had maintained a stout resistance for months and upon capturing a Dutch general, he had learned the Dutch army was financed and funded by an institution called the Bank of the Netherlands. Churchill, on cessation of hostilities, upon his return to London, had made a proposal for such a bank in England discussing it long into the night over many dishes of tea or coffee in the numerous coffee houses opening in and around financial centres such as Threadneedle Street, Eastcheap, and the recently named King William Street. It seems he found common cause with a Scottish entrepreneur by the name of William Paterson.

Lady Churchill, along with her peers, wondered about the haunts but contented herself by the convincing argument that the longer he spent in such spots, the further he was from other temptations, for her lord was a handsome man, a former lover of Barbara Castlemaine, before she, Sarah, had caught his eye convincing him where his future lay.

Even so the debonair Lord Churchill, if not in the hunt himself, was a possible prey to many scheming and beautiful temptresses living in and around the fashionable meeting places in London though not, Sarah, consoled herself, in the coffee houses, for, from these places, her gender was strictly barred.

Such reflections did not improve her aches and pains for she would dearly like to sit awhile, preferably somewhere soft. A voice interrupted her reverie: The boy is back from the doctor, ma'am, and he says doctor Glanville will be along later this morning. She thanked Mrs Chudleigh and began to look along the road for the signs of an approaching carriage and was surprised to spot a man in a long, grey morning coat with wide pockets, matching grey stockings thrust into shoes of brown buckskin. He carried a cane with a large silver knob.

It was undoubtedly Doctor Glanville and she could only surmise that the boy had met him on his rounds and so he had arrived that much sooner than she had anticipated. As if reading her thoughts the doctor looked up and catching sight of her in the window, raised his wide, black hat in salutation.

Thereafter he maintained his gaze at their parterre and canal garden, another import from Holland and for which she was very proud for it never failed to impress visitors even after several calls, as, for instance, the doctor who had made several to their house since they had moved in. His pace had slowed somewhat giving her time to call Mrs Chudleigh to the effect the doctor should be shown upstairs the moment he arrived.

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Mrs Chudleigh was feeling very pleased with herself and it is all on account of the incident on the previous day when her cry alerted Lady Churchill to Abigail Hill's condition for it has had an entirely unexpected outcome. It seems Dr Glanville asked Lady Churchill herself if he might talk to Mrs Chudleigh and his remarks proved very reassuring.

It seems Mistress Abigail had just a very mild infection which would clear up in a few days. This news was very welcome as the small pocks in her experience normally took weeks of isolation and left the victim, should he or she recover at all, with a very bad pitted skin. Yet in Mistress Abigail's case that was not her fate on account of her previous service as a milk-maid, which she dismissed as fanciful.

It was all very strange but then medical matters were always a great mystery to her and as long as the doctor was happy she would not breathe a word abroad which also pleased Lady Churchill who had promised an increase in her remuneration. All these thoughts passed through her head as she mounted the stairs towards Abigail's room which yesterday she would have been reluctant to do.

Her knock on the door brought no response but not unduly concerned she entered and placing the platter of food on an upturned box, Mrs Chudleigh opened the shutters and as the morning light streamed in through the slats, she turned to see a movement behind her. She approached the bed and stood a while motionless, then ventured to say:

Mistress Abigail, I've brought e some breakfast. Won't e sit up! Come on now! Ye'll soon be well enough to go downstairs, so I've been told.

There is no movement of the bedclothes and Chudleigh turns, picks up the platter and sits down upon the box holding the platter on her knees. She ventures some more coaxing talk, this time contrite:

I have to beg your pardon Mistress for some 'arsh words I may 'ave used when I spoke to e yesterday. I meant no 'arm. Neither did Tom. Ye'll forgive us mistress, I'm sure, ‘specially as the doctor assures me you ain't got the pocks, leastways not the bad kind.

There is a movement and a face emerges covering the eyes with one hand against the strong light and a weak voice says: Can you close the shutter again, mistress Chudleigh. It's the strong light on my eyes, which feel very weak. Would you!"

Chudleigh places the tray back on the box, and does as she has been asked, then picking up the platter, hands it to the patient, excusing herself"

Sorry about that, mistress Abigail. and the patient who has already begun to spoon soup into her mouth, says: You cook a nice gruel, mistress. who smiles at the praise saying: That be right nice of e to say so, mistress.

Abigail said between mouthfuls: I expected you to leave the platter outside the door. at which Chudleigh replied, confidentially:

Doctor Glanville thinks your condition very mild and that I must not be too concerned to catch anything, Miss Abigail. Mind you it were different with my sister.

How dost thou mean? Responded Abigail reverting to the local vernacular which she thought was trained out of her being in Lady Davenport's household, but Mrs Chudleigh seemed not to notice. Instead she ploughed on about the usual treatment, saying:

Wrapped up in flannel she were and roasted. which caught her listener's attention as Mrs Chudleigh continued on the same theme:

T’was the usual thing, like. The fire made up. And 'twere summer too. She could not breathe what with her window closed, an' all. Not like in 'ere, but it didn't make a hap'orth of difference, poor soul. She was took from 'er family.

Abigail showed deep sympathy to the housekeeper and to take her mind off her sister's tragic end, said: You know, I suppose, Mrs Chudleigh, that I was protected."

By the Good Lord, you mean. she said to which Abigail hastened to deny: Not exactly, that. Though I daresay we are all in the hands of our Maker.

Mrs Chudleigh wrinkled her nose evidently thinking why Abigail was protected but not her sister, and as if to indicate her relative's misfortune, said:

Of course, Lady Churchill did treat e with all kindness imaginable, if that's what you mean. Just fancy now, a room on your own. Doctor Glanville calling the next day, today, instead of the local apothecary. She did do e proud, mistress, and no mistake.

Abigail smiled warmly at the housekeeper assuring her she was very grateful to Lady Churchill, then pausing before saying almost conspiratorially to her companion:

Did Doctor Glanville tell you that having caught the cow pocks, I was protected that way. Have you heard of an apothecary called mister Culpeper?

Mrs Chudleigh was mystified and showed it, saying: All this is news to me mistress. He just said ye 'ad a mild infection. That be all. He said nought about being protected. How mean ye mistress?

For an answer Abigail rolled back the sleeve of her night attire inviting Mrs Chudleigh to look where she was pointing and explaining:

Look at my upper arm, mistress! D'you see that small scar? It's healing now but was running with blood when Culpeper made the incision.

My goodness! He cut you - deliberately? The houskeeper was clearly shocked but Abigail smiled and hastened to reassure her. It was for my own good, she explained, for my protection. You see, he infected me with the cow pocks because he discovered that maids who milked the cows and caught the cow pocks did never suffer from the small pocks.

Well I never! Well I never! was all the housekeeper could say and Abigail somewhat bemused by her reaction, mumbled: I'm right sorry for thy sister, Mrs Chudleigh, but one day everybody will be able to have a serum like Culpeper gave me. It was well done. You see, I shall be up and about very soon.

The housekeeper was silent awhile then whispered to her erstwhile patient: Don't e say anything of this to Doctor Glanville. He'd call it sorcery. That's why e had your box, I mean your mother's box, destroyed.

Abigail smiled at her and agreed: You're right Mrs Chudleigh. We'll keep this as our little secret. And got the observation that took Abigail by surprise when she said: Your mother and Mr Culpeper knew each other, then.

Indeed, she answered, it was through mother that I was privileged to get the protection of the serum, but as you say, doctor Glanville would consider it very near to witchcraft. Still, we'll let the doctor believe what he wants. Then she took Mrs Chudleigh by the hand saying to her warmly:

But we shall know the real reason, won't we? Abigail knowing full well that she was asking the impossible for the housekeeper to keep the secret for long.

Mrs Chudleigh confided: Your mother gave me something once when I had a high fever. I wonder now if the potion perhaps did not come from your mister Culpeper but it did the trick. But, oh, it was very bitter.

Abigail said: That would be quinine, I think. The doctor doesn't like that because it was brought into England by Jesuit priests who, in Doctor Glanville's opinion, would be little better, being Catholics, than Beelzebub himself.

I must go, said the housekeeper, It's good to see e on the mend mistress. and with that final comment placed Abigail's bowl on the platter and tripped to the door, and soon could be heard tripping down the stairs.

Abigail got up and drew the shutters fully open.

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Rain, rain, rain! Will it ever stop! It was Lady Churchill who spoke as she stood staring through the window of the library of Holywell House at the downpour. It bounced off the sill, splashed on puddles, spattered the glass obscuring her view of the road, A carriage was approaching the House and she watched it turn in at the gate. It's his lordship! she thought excitedly watching as the coachman made an expert turn, an obligatory turn to stop beside the steps leading to the portico.

But long before that Lady Churchill was waiting in the portico and the instant its wheels slowed before stopping, she watched as the handle turned and the carriage door swung open followed immediately by her lord jumping to the ground. Sarah called to him: John! In here, quickly!

He obeyed, running towards her arms and the welcome etched on her face:

Dear heart, so good to see you. Snatching a quick kiss so as not to wet her smart gown going past her to the inside, murmuring:

Yes, let's get inside out of this downpour, suddenly turning to shout:

Alright Tom, waving him to the coach house and they watch as the carriage completes the full circle returning the way it came.

Churchill, meanwhile, is confronted by Mrs Chudleigh who takes his dripping cape, soaking tricorn hat and gloves into the cloakroom. He follows his wife who has returned to the library. There is a cheerful tongue of flame as the fire in the grate engulfs a log recently laid by the housekeeper and he is grateful for its warmth on this chilly September day.

Nonetheless he is more eager for the glow of his wife's embrace and gives his hands but momentary warmth as he turns towards her who is watching his every movement from the window. He rushed towards her with arms outstretched which she takes coolly, and, ardour rebuffed, he is forced to express his welcome in words:

It's so good to be home dear heart. I never thought we should get through that press at the turnpike. It was bedlam. Tomorrow I must be away early for I must not be held up as there is another vitally important meeting of the Board.

Lord me! Away again, sir! There is an edge in his wife's voice which he attempts to soften:

There's not much more to do, and to tell truth, I was unsure whether to spend the night in town, but, dear heart, it's so much better to be home.

I trust you'll not take the carriage. was his wife's response and unthinking, he replies: Not take the carriage! How should I reach town?

You can take the chestnut. she said adding defiantly: Why not the chestnut?

But I cannot entertain, dear heart. Mayhaps I'll meet with the king and use the coach for private conference.

Marlborough was now exaggerating and he knew his wife knew it, but, with resignation, he had settled for an argument. For her part, Sarah, had lost one argument with doctor Glanville over her cousin's property and now her lord and master would win this one unless she dug her heels in. Sensing weakness, her lip curled in mock contempt:

Mayhaps you'll meet with the king. Mayhaps you'll meet a queenie you have tucked away in Kensington. You'll have private conference alright with her, judging from the peck you gave me tonight. It seems you haven't much left over for me.

Marlborough smiled. He knew this mood. He clasped her to him:

Dear, dear Sarah! She tries to free herself but he holds her by the wrist and kisses her hair. Then she wrenches herself free:

Lord me! You think to stroke me like a pet kitten.

He has retained a tress of her hair in his hands and kisses it with praise: What beautiful golden hair. But she wrenches it from his hands wincing at the sharp pain it causes while he says gently, smiling:

Even lovelier when you're angry.

This speech she dismisses with a contemptuous bah!, defiance gilding her words:

So, sir! Words, is it to be. You think you can charm me, as you charm those.... those silly men in their pomaded periwigs. Whigs are they too! Whigs in wigs, hah!

Her husband laughs uncertainly saying not a word more uncertain what to say, but there's no need for his wife carries on. Her lips purse now in outrage:

Sir! Words and mirth have you. Lord! Was it a century since when you couldn't wait to get inside but pleasured me on the terrace. Lord me! On those very steps. Those steps!

He said emolliently: We were alone then, dear heart. Not one servant had we.

Huh! She almost spat out the words, "Servants, indeed. Seems you cannot afford a gig for your countess. Ready to spend thousands on some bank, but a gig for your