Виктория Холт - Courting Her Highness

Sarah then began firing questions at the couple who, trembling with excitement and hope, answered them. She sat upright on the chair they had given her, while her busy mind was working. Two boys … perhaps a place in the Custom House for one and the other … well, she would see. As for the girls, she must consider what could be done for them, and when the children were in good positions they could help support their parents; in the meantime she would see that they did not starve.

The boys returned with food and it was shocking to see the manner in which it was immediately devoured.

Sarah was horrified; but at the same time pleased by their homage. It was quite clear that they thought her an angel in disguise, the omnipotent, beautiful benefactress!

It was pleasant to be so regarded and she knew that without a great deal of effort she would be able to bestow such benefits on the Hill family that would make them her willing slaves for ever.

Help to Mary and Francis Hill had come a little too late. A few days after Sarah’s visit Francis died; Mary was so stricken with sorrow, and suffering from the same disease caused by starvation, quickly followed him.

Now Sarah had only the four orphans to settle, and she ordered the two girls to return to their parents’ house to attend the funerals. She sent off money and cast-off clothes to the family and busied herself with planning what to do with them.

The boys must be settled first. The thought of them running about the streets in rags horrified her. She told the Princess Anne about her discovery of these needy relations—for she was anxious that Barbara Fitzharding should not start circulating her stories before she had had a chance of putting her own case—and Anne was immediately sympathetic.

“My dear Mrs. Freeman has the kindest heart!” she sighed.

“I want to place them all as soon as possible,” Sarah told her.

“I am sure Mrs. Freeman will know what to do for the best.”

She did. It was infuriating that Marl should be out of favour; but she consoled herself that all the slights and humiliations would be forgotten once Dutch William was no more and Anne was Queen. She was very impatient for that much longed for event; so after hurrying down to St. Albans, where Marl was staying with the children, and talking over the matter with him, she went, with his blessing, to see their old friend Sidney Godolphin.

Godolphin was such an adept politician that although he was a Tory and the Ministry was mainly Whig, he retained his position in the Treasury. Godolphin was well aware that Marlborough’s decline into the shadows was only temporary and he was anxious not to offend Sarah, so he listened intently to her request and offered at once to find a place for the eldest Hill boy in the Custom House.

Having taken this step she decided once more to pay a visit to the humble house and see the creatures for herself.

When Lady Marlborough declared her intention of visiting the young Hills, there was immediate tension throughout the house.

“It was,” said Alice, “like a royal command.”

“It is indeed so,” replied Abigail. “Everyone knows that our important female relative is greatly admired by the Princess Anne who takes her advice in all things.”

“She rules royalty,” agreed Alice. “I’ll wager she will find places for us.”

“Being penniless you have nothing with which to wager,” Abigail reminded her.

“Don’t be so prim, Abby! I do declare you don’t seem the least excited. Don’t you realize how fortunate we are to have such a benefactress?”

“She is only finding places for us because she can’t allow her cousins to be servants.”

“What does the reason matter … as long as we get the places?”

Abigail shrugged her shoulders and murmured: “Come, we should be ready to receive her when she arrives.”

They were thinking of their elder brother who, by the good graces of Lord Godolphin and Lady Marlborough, was already installed in the Custom House, as they made their way to the sparsely furnished bedroom to put on the dresses which Lady Marlborough had sent them. These had belonged to Lady Marlborough’s daughters, some of whom were very much the same age as thirteen-year-old Abigail and eleven-year-old Alice.

Abigail wore a mulberry-coloured cloth gown and because she felt it might appear to be a little too grand for a poor relation decided to wear her linen apron over it.

“That spoils it,” declared Alice. “Why do you do it?”

“I don’t want her to think I am aping my betters.”

Alice burst out laughing. “You stand there looking buttoned up,” she said. “I know you hate this as much as I do.”

“We have to be grateful to Lady Marlborough.”

“That’s why we can’t abide her. Whoever liked those to whom they had to be grateful?”

“It could depend.”

“On what?”

“On the manner in which benefits were bestowed.”

“Oh, Abby, you don’t talk like Lady Rivers’ chamber maid.”

“Why should I when I was never meant to be a servant. You know how Papa always insisted on our doing our lessons.”

“Well, we were servants—for whatever reason—until Lady Marlborough decided otherwise. She is like God—all powerful, but I wish that like God she would remain invisible. I might be able to offer more fervent hymns of praise then.”

“You’re blaspheming, Alice.”

Alice laughed and struggled with the fastening of Elizabeth Churchill’s cast-off gown. “I wish I knew what you were thinking, Abby.”

“Doubtless the same as you on this occasion.”

“Abigail, do you never lose your temper?”

“Often.”

“You never show it.”

“What good would that do?”

Alice sighed. “There are times, sister, when I think you have more sense than you’re given credit for.”

The two girls were standing side by side looking into the mirror.

“Then that is useful,” commented Abigail, “for I have little else.”

Poor Abigail! thought Alice. She was plain. She was small, thin, and in spite of this she looked older than thirteen. A little woman already. Her hair was fine, limp and a sandy colour; her eyes were pale green and small; her only distinguishing feature was her high bridged nose which was inclined to be pink at the tip; and she had an unfortunate habit of hanging her head as though she wanted to spare people the need to look at such an unprepossessing face. She had no beauty, so it was fortunate that she had good sense and knew how to keep her temper under control.

“Well,” went on Alice, “I wonder what she has decided for us.” Her face puckered and the assumption of age which the hardness of her life had put upon her, fell away; she looked like the eleven-year-old child she was. “Oh, Abby, I don’t want to go away. How I hate being poor. Don’t you?”

Abigail shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, what use would it be? We are—and there’s no help for it.”

“Don’t you sometimes dream that you’re important … as she is. That you descend like a tornado on your poor relations …”

“I have never witnessed a tornado so I do not know how it descends.”

“Have you no imagination? Of course you haven’t … only plain good sense. And when her ladyship finds you your post you will take it most gratefully and you will go about your duties with a quiet efficiency which will be a credit to the great lady who recommended you, while I …”

“While you, Alice, will do exactly the same.”

Alice smiled at her sister. She was right. And the cast-off clothes of a rich Churchill girl could not help her at all; she looked just as plain as she did in her working clothes. But perhaps when one was poor and had to be grateful for small benefits it was as well to be plain and modest, controlled and hardworking.