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Authors: Jean Plaidy
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better to come from him than from her.
“Perhaps you should see my lord Marlborough,” she told Sunderland. “He would be interested to hear what you have to say on this matter. As for myself, I must hurry to the Princess. I see I am overdue.”
Sunderland took his leave of her and she thought how much she would have liked to have been present when he talked to her husband. But she had her duties. Always her duties. Those trivial little tasks for which she was always having to hurry back to the Princess’s bedchamber.
How much more time she would have to do
useful
things if she could delegate these simple homely tasks to someone whom she could trust. What she wanted was some colourless person whom the Princess would not notice about the apartment; someone who would do what had to be done quietly and efficiently and call no attention to herself.
Abigail Hill!
Why had she not thought of that before? Abigail was just the one she needed. And what advancement for Abigail! From Mother of the Maids to chamber woman in the Princess’s own bedchamber. The girl would be grateful to her kind benefactress to the end of her days. She would want to repay her kindness in the only way she could; and that would be to work for the benefit of Lady Marlborough for the rest of her life.
“Abigail Hill!” said Lady Marlborough aloud. “Why of course. Abigail Hill!”
As Mother of the Maids Abigail had opportunities of seeing her brother and sister. Alice was delighted with her position which brought her two hundred pounds a year—a vast sum—and plenty of entertainment besides.
Abigail soon gathered that, like everyone else in the Duke of Gloucester’s household, she adored him. He was an extraordinary boy with his frail body and active mind, his great interest in military matters, his army of ninety boys whom he drilled and inspected daily, his droll sayings, his ability to foretell events, for, declared Alice, he had assuredly foretold the death of his old nurse Mrs. Pack, and that was years ago, before the death of Queen Mary.
“Often,” said Alice, “the Princess comes to visit him and cousin Sarah is sometimes with her. It is true, you know Abigail, the Princess does adore our cousin; and they say she is ruled by her in all things.”
“How strange that she should be,” mused Abigail. “She … a Princess!”
“Well, our cousin is handsome, bold and clever.”
“Brazen, I should say,” mused Abigail. “I never knew anyone with such effrontery.”
“We at least have to be grateful for it. Remember that.”
“Have no fear, Alice. We shall never be allowed to forget.”
“Do you know, Abby, I feel proud to be connected with her.”
Abigail nodded and said nothing.
When she saw her brother John he talked excitedly about the household of the Prince of Denmark.
“He’s kind,” was John’s verdict, “and always on the point of falling asleep. Someone said of him that it is only the fact that he breathes which makes you know he’s alive—in all else he is dead. It’s true he says little; but you should see him eat—and drink. And his answer to everything is ‘Est il possible?’ In the household they call him Old Est il Possible? But he is rarely annoyed and everyone likes working for him as they do for the Princess.”
“Is he often with the Princess?”
“Yes. But when he visits her he falls asleep. Then she talks to our cousin who is always in attendance.”
It was remarkable how the conversation always came back to Sarah.
“How does he feel about cousin Sarah? He must be put out by her influence over his wife.”
“He is never put out. He has the sweetest temper in the world. Besides, the Princess dotes on our cousin and for that reason he too is fond of Cousin Sarah.”
Abigail considered this and believed she would never understand how one who was as overbearing and took no pains to be pleasant should be so admired.
But when she was face to face with her cousin she was conscious
“Perhaps you should see my lord Marlborough,” she told Sunderland. “He would be interested to hear what you have to say on this matter. As for myself, I must hurry to the Princess. I see I am overdue.”
Sunderland took his leave of her and she thought how much she would have liked to have been present when he talked to her husband. But she had her duties. Always her duties. Those trivial little tasks for which she was always having to hurry back to the Princess’s bedchamber.
How much more time she would have to do
useful
things if she could delegate these simple homely tasks to someone whom she could trust. What she wanted was some colourless person whom the Princess would not notice about the apartment; someone who would do what had to be done quietly and efficiently and call no attention to herself.
Abigail Hill!
Why had she not thought of that before? Abigail was just the one she needed. And what advancement for Abigail! From Mother of the Maids to chamber woman in the Princess’s own bedchamber. The girl would be grateful to her kind benefactress to the end of her days. She would want to repay her kindness in the only way she could; and that would be to work for the benefit of Lady Marlborough for the rest of her life.
“Abigail Hill!” said Lady Marlborough aloud. “Why of course. Abigail Hill!”
As Mother of the Maids Abigail had opportunities of seeing her brother and sister. Alice was delighted with her position which brought her two hundred pounds a year—a vast sum—and plenty of entertainment besides.
Abigail soon gathered that, like everyone else in the Duke of Gloucester’s household, she adored him. He was an extraordinary boy with his frail body and active mind, his great interest in military matters, his army of ninety boys whom he drilled and inspected daily, his droll sayings, his ability to foretell events, for, declared Alice, he had assuredly foretold the death of his old nurse Mrs. Pack, and that was years ago, before the death of Queen Mary.
“Often,” said Alice, “the Princess comes to visit him and cousin Sarah is sometimes with her. It is true, you know Abigail, the Princess does adore our cousin; and they say she is ruled by her in all things.”
“How strange that she should be,” mused Abigail. “She … a Princess!”
“Well, our cousin is handsome, bold and clever.”
“Brazen, I should say,” mused Abigail. “I never knew anyone with such effrontery.”
“We at least have to be grateful for it. Remember that.”
“Have no fear, Alice. We shall never be allowed to forget.”
“Do you know, Abby, I feel proud to be connected with her.”
Abigail nodded and said nothing.
When she saw her brother John he talked excitedly about the household of the Prince of Denmark.
“He’s kind,” was John’s verdict, “and always on the point of falling asleep. Someone said of him that it is only the fact that he breathes which makes you know he’s alive—in all else he is dead. It’s true he says little; but you should see him eat—and drink. And his answer to everything is ‘Est il possible?’ In the household they call him Old Est il Possible? But he is rarely annoyed and everyone likes working for him as they do for the Princess.”
“Is he often with the Princess?”
“Yes. But when he visits her he falls asleep. Then she talks to our cousin who is always in attendance.”
It was remarkable how the conversation always came back to Sarah.
“How does he feel about cousin Sarah? He must be put out by her influence over his wife.”
“He is never put out. He has the sweetest temper in the world. Besides, the Princess dotes on our cousin and for that reason he too is fond of Cousin Sarah.”
Abigail considered this and believed she would never understand how one who was as overbearing and took no pains to be pleasant should be so admired.
But when she was face to face with her cousin she was conscious
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