Sombrely dressed she drove to the address she had discovered—a perilous journey, for the streets of London were unsafe even by day, and robbers had a way of knowing the quality, however quietly dressed.

She dismounted at the house—a poor place—and told the coachman to wait, for she would not be long. Two boys in ragged clothes were lounging at the door and looked at her in surprise.

“Do the Hills live here?” she asked imperiously.

They told her, in voices which suggested a certain amount of education, that they did.

“And you?” she demanded.

“Our name is Hill.”

Inwardly she shivered. These ragged creatures her relations! It was incredible. Something must be done … quickly. She was not going to allow that Fitzharding woman to spread scandal about her.

“Take me to your parents,” she commanded.

The house was clean, for which she was thankful, but when she came face to face with Mary and Francis Hill she was horrified. Their state of emaciation was clearly due to starvation.

“I am Sarah Churchill,” she announced. “Sarah Jennings that was.”

Mary Hill gave a little cry and said: “So you’re Sarah.… I have of course heard much of you.”

“And I have heard of you. This is terrible. But I will remedy it. Those are your sons. Here, boy, go and buy food … as quickly as you can.”

She gave him money and both boys went off.

“Now,” said Sarah, “you had better tell me everything.”

“You, Francis,” began his wife.

“It is not an unusual story,” Francis explained. “I was a merchant. My business failed. I became bankrupt and over the last months have had to sell our possessions in order to live. We have become poorer and poorer. We came to this place to live. It is the best we can afford. There is very little money left and I do not know where we shall turn for more.”

“Those boys …?”

“They can earn a penny here and there … but it is not enough to keep us.”

“And you?”

“I have tried, but my strength seems to have deserted me.”

Sarah could understand why. Malnutrition! There was little strength in either of them.

“So there are you and the two boys.”

“The girls were more fortunate. They found places.”

“Places!”

“Yes. Abigail and Alice are in service. Abigail has a good post with Lady Rivers.”

“What as?”

“As a maid in the house.”

A maid! thought Sarah. My cousin … a maid to Lady Rivers! A nice state of affairs! Lady Rivers might come to Court and bring her servants with her. And among these the cousin of Lady Marlborough!

“It is fortunate that I have discovered this. You must tell me everything. Hold nothing back. I will find places for all the children—those two boys and the girls. As for you, I shall leave you ten guineas for the time being and we will decide what has to be done.”

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.

Lady Marlborough stepped from her coach and as she entered the house it immediately appeared to be ten times smaller, shabbier and meaner than it had been before. Her loud voice seemed, to Abigail, to shake its foundations.

The little family were waiting to receive her. Abigail, at its head now, quiet, humble, betraying nothing; Alice apprehensive and finding that all the truculence she had promised herself was fast disappearing; and John who was wondering whether he would have to join his brother in the Custom House or whether he could hope for a place in the Army.

As Lady Marlborough’s gaze swept over them and came to rest on Abigail, she was pleased with what she saw. The girl looked after the others as well as could be expected and she was aware of her position. She was old beyond her years. Thirteen was young but her responsibilities had aged her. She might be at least sixteen or even seventeen.

She took off the cloak that she had worn to conceal her fine garments which were in the latest fashion. Although she hated the King and had done her best, during Queen Mary’s reign, to alienate the Princess Anne from her sister, she had to wear the Dutch styles if she were to be in the fashion. Over her gown, looped up to make panniers at the side, and so droop at the back, she wore a wide skirted coat of dark blue velvet, the sleeves of which came to the elbows where they were turned back in the form of stiff cuffs, beneath which showed the fine lace at the sleeves of her gown. Her magnificent hair, which was her greatest claim to beauty, being thick, wavy and of a bright golden colour, was dressed in the style of a bob wig, and over this she wore a lace head-dress decorated with ribbons which had been completely hidden by the large hood of the dark cloak. A regal Court lady stood before the children, the more magnificent because she made such a contrast to her surroundings.

“Now Abigail,” she said, “you are the eldest. I trust you have been looking after your sister and brother.”