Courting Her Highness (8 page)

Poor plain Abigail! She will never have a handsome husband—nor any husband for that matter. For where would such a humble creature find a dowry; and who would marry her without?

One could not blame them, thought Abigail. It was perfectly true.

So she stitched the dresses and quietly listened to Henrietta’s abuse because she had not made a dazzling Court gown out of the materials provided; and she envied Henrietta, not her husband, but for the fact that she would escape from St. Albans.

Abigail attended the wedding, keeping well in the background. She briefly made the acquaintance of the Godolphins. “A connection of ours … who is so useful in the house!” It spoke for itself; the Godolphins briefly acknowledged the poor relation and promptly forgot she existed.

But there were some members of the household who did not forget her.

“The household has shrunk a little,” commented the Earl. “When you
and I go back to Court and young John takes up his position in Gloucester’s household, there will only be the three girls here … and of course Abigail Hill. Do they need Abigail now, do you think?”

“Need her?” said Sarah. “They managed well enough before she came, but I understand she is meek and uncomplaining.”

“I do not doubt that, but it is an extra one to feed and those small creatures often have astonishing appetites.”

“My dear Marl, I don’t want the creature here, but what can I do?”

“Find her a place somewhere so that she is off our hands.”

“I will keep my eyes open. I do see what you mean. Why should she live at our expense when she might do so at someone else’s. She is useful, of course.”

“But we did not dismiss any of the servants when she came to us.”

“That’s true enough. I will see what can be done. If there is a place that it would not disgrace us for her to accept then she shall go. For as you say, why should we feed someone who brings no benefit to us.”

On matters of expense the Marlboroughs saw eye to eye. Abigail was a luxury they could do without; therefore they would give her to someone else.

With Henrietta and
John gone, Abigail’s life became less secure. She was aware that the Marlboroughs would consider she was scarcely worth her keep. John had now left to take up his position in the household of the Duke of Gloucester; and as there was no longer the wedding to discuss and prepare for, the house seemed much quieter. Anne was apprehensive—knowing her turn would come. She was more sensitive than her sister, but young Mary seemed to grow more and more like her mother and sister Henrietta, and her arrogance was disconcerting. She referred to Abigail as “that Hill Creature” and turned up her nose when she mentioned her. Abigail disliked the child very much and longed more than ever to get away from St. Albans; but she never gave the slightest indication of her feelings; all Mary could provoke her to do was lower her eyes as though she feared that they alone could betray her dislike.

“It’s a miracle what she puts up with,” commented the servants. “Never gives a back answer—not even a look.”

“And what would happen to her if she did? I wouldn’t be in her position—connected with gentry though she may be.”

“These poor relations! I’d rather be a servant … good and proper. At least then you know your place.”

“She seems to know hers all right.”

“Her! Oh, she’s got no feelings.”

“I wouldn’t change places with that Abigail Hill … not for all the money in the King’s purse!” was the summing up.

While Abigail was wondering how she endured such a life and was contemplating what might happen to her when all the Churchill girls were married, Lady Marlborough arrived at St. Albans.

There was the usual fuss of arrival, the fond embraces from her children, the loud voice, raised in affection or delivering a scolding—whatever the occasion demanded. But the entire household sprang to life with the arrival of Lady Marlborough.

She had not been long in the house when she was demanding: “Where is Abigail Hill?”

Abigail was summoned to the Countess’s room and there Sarah, magnificently dressed, fresh from Court, greeted her, if not with affection without displeasure.

“There you are, Abigail Hill. And you are looking better than when I brought you here. Good food has improved you, Abigail. I hope you appreciate what I’ve done for you.”

“Yes, Lady Marlborough.”

“When I think of the state you were in when I found you all. Those ragged boys! I could not leave you like that, could I? I’ll daresay you often think of those days and compare them with what you enjoy at St. Albans.”

One had to compare lack of food with lack of freedom, independence with patronage. It was difficult to say, Abigail decided, which was preferable. When one had enough to eat independence and dignity seemed the most precious acquisitions; but then when there was enough to eat one quickly forgot what it was like to be hungry.

She said meekly: “Yes, Lady Marlborough.”

“I have many duties in the household of the Princess Anne, as you know; and there is a great drain on my time, but I have been thinking of you, which surprises you. Confess it.”

What answer was expected? With any other, one would have been surprised; but one knew that Lady Marlborough was so good, so kind, so thoughtful, so devoted to duty that she would not forget even the most humble and insignificant of poor relations.

Would she detect the sarcasm behind such a remark? Of course not. Her great pride and belief in herself would not permit her to see such irony.

“I did know, Lady Marlborough, that you are so very kind and …”

“Ha! And you hoped I had not forgotten you? That was rather impertinent of you, Abigail Hill. Had I forgotten you? Did I not see that you were well provided for in this house?”

“Yes, Lady Marlborough.”

“Well, of what have you to complain?”

“I was not complaining, Lady Marlborough.” The face tinged with pink, the manner alarmed, scared humility in the eyes, the gesture of usually quiet hands.

“But all the same you hoped for a place at Court, did you not?”

“A place at Court. But Lady Marlborough, I …”

“Oh, there are places and places. You did not expect that I was going to appoint you Secretary of State to his most Gracious Majesty. Eh, girl?”

“But no, Lady Marlborough.”

Sarah began to shake with laughter at the thought of Caliban’s receiving Abigail Hill as his Secretary of State.

“It is not the King’s household in which I would place you.”

Nor could you! thought Abigail. You are the last person to whom he would grant favours.

“But that of the Princess.”

“The Princess Anne?”

“Who else? You will see little of the Princess, of course. We need a quiet reliable woman to look after the maids. I thought of you. It will be a good opportunity for you. I did not intend to keep you at St. Albans all your life. The Princess leaves the choice of posts to me and when I knew we wanted a Mother of the Maids I thought of you.”

Abigail’s face was faintly pink, and even she found it difficult to suppress her excitement. She would be near John and Alice; they could see each other, exchange experiences. At last Abigail was to have what the others were enjoying: a place at Court.

“Well, Abigail?”

“I do not know how to thank you, Lady Marlborough.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt not that you will find a way of doing so. You will have to keep those women in order. Do you think you can, Abigail Hill?”

“I will do my best, Lady Marlborough.”

“You will find them a feckless band … given to gossip and often disrespectful to their betters. If you should hear anything interesting you should let me know at once. I like to be aware of what is being said.”

“Anything interesting …?”

“I am sure you are intelligent enough to know what would interest me. Any scrap of knowledge about the Princess or the King; or if anyone should gossip about the Earl or myself in your presence … You understand?”

“Yes, Lady Marlborough.”

“Well then, you should prepare for your journey at once. I see no reason why there should be any delay.”

Abigail went to her powder closet, dazed and bewildered. Escape from this house which she hated; and a place at Court!

But as a spy for Lady Marlborough. At least that was what Lady Marlborough expected; yet perhaps when she had her place it would not be necessary to do all that Lady Marlborough ordered. Who could say?

A few days
after that interview, Lady Marlborough left St. Albans and Abigail went with her. It was pleasant to travel in such state, but more pleasant still when they reached London.

Lady Marlborough went straight to St. James’s Palace, taking Abigail with her, and very soon Abigail was being presented to the Princess.

She saw a large woman, with light brown hair and highly coloured complexion, whose expression was mild perhaps on account of her eyes,
the lids of which appeared to be contracted. This gave her a helpless look. Her hands were perfectly shaped, her fingers tapering; they were very white and they attracted immediate attention, perhaps because with her sweet and gentle voice they were her only beauty.

“Your Highness,” Lady Marlborough was saying, and Abigail remembered afterwards that her tone was just as imperious in St. James’s Palace as it was in the house at St. Albans, “this is my relation. The new Mother of the Maids.”

The shortsighted eyes were turned on Abigail. The lips smiled in a very kindly fashion.

“I am pleased to see any relation of Lady Marlborough.”

“I have found places for the whole of the family,” went on Sarah, and added as though Abigail were not present: “This is the last of them. She has been making herself useful at St. Albans while she has been waiting.”

Anne nodded almost sleepily and Lady Marlborough signed to Abigail which meant she must kneel and kiss the Princess’s hands.

The beautiful hand was given her; Abigail kissed it; Lady Marlborough nodded. That was the sign for Abigail to retire. Waiting for her outside the door was a woman who would take her to the apartment she would occupy and explain her duties to her.

As she left she heard the Princess say: “Now my dear Mrs. Freeman, you must tell me all your news …”

Abigail knew that the Princess Anne had already forgotten she existed.

aving married Henrietta satisfactorily, Sarah
was looking round for a suitable bridegroom for Anne. There was one family whom she considered worthy to join the triumvirate she had decided on; and that was the Spencers.

Robert Spencer, the second Earl of Sunderland, was a wily politician, a slippery statesman; Marlborough himself did not like him; Sarah had at one time hated him, had maligned him and his wife and persuaded the Princess Anne to do the same in her letters to her sister Mary when the latter was in Holland. But there could be no doubt in Sarah’s mind that Sunderland was a man they could not afford to have against them.

The Earl had a son Charles who had married Lady Arabella Cavendish some years before; shortly after Henrietta’s marriage Lady Arabella died and Charles, Sarah decided, would need a wife. Why not Anne?