Courting Her Highness Read Online Free PDF Page A

Ten-year-old John was more like Anne. Being the only boy, he was adored by the family, and the servants said he took after his father rather than his mother.
    Abigail’s room in this household was a small attic; it was a concession, she supposed that she should have one to herself and not have to share the large one with the female servants. When she stood there for the first time, looking out through the tiny window at the countryside, momentarily she felt at peace; but that was of short duration. Young Mary had come up to look for her.
    “So you really are our cousin,” she said.
    “I am your mother’s cousin.”
    “Then you’re not ours?”
    “Oh, we are connected.”
    Mary wrinkled her brows and murmured: “How odd!” Then: “How are you going to make yourself useful?”
    “I shall have to wait and see what is required of me.”
    “But you will make yourself useful because Mamma said you would.”
    Henrietta was calling: “Mary, where are you? Are you up there with Abigail Hill?”
    Henrietta came into the attic and began turning over Abigail’s belongings, which were laid out on the pallet.
    “Are these
all
your things?” The lips curled in that half sneer which was an absolute replica of her mother’s. “Oh, and that’s Elizabeth’s old gown. Does it fit? You are thin, Abigail Hill. And why have they put you in this attic?” She looked round it and her slightly tiptilted nose sniffed disdainfully. For a moment Abigail wondered if Henrietta thought she should have been treated more as a member of the family and was disgusted that she should have been put in an attic usually reserved for a servant.
    “I think,” went on Henrietta, “that you should have a room near ours. There is a small one. It’s a powder closet, but it would serve. Then you can help us dress.”
    Abigail saw the point. There would be no difficulty in making herself useful; she would be shown the way. She might be a blood relation but she had been brought into the house to earn her bread.
    It would be very bitter bread, Abigail thought to herself; but she restrained her thoughts; she gave no indication of how she disliked Henrietta Churchill. She was demure, acquiescing, resigned as a poor relation should be. Even Henrietta could find no fault with that.

    She had settled into her place in the family. She took lessons with the girls; the governess looked down on her and even commented in her hearing that she had not bargained for teaching the likes of her. Abigail applied herself more earnestly to lessons than any of the Churchill children,but she was not commended for her industry. She did not ask for praise; outwardly she appeared grateful; and perhaps when she thought of service in Lady Rivers’ household this was just preferable. For one thing she was acquiring a little more education, which was always good; and because it was a little harder to accept insults in a house full of her own family than in one where she was frankly a servant, she was learning greater endurance. She did not attempt to assert herself; meekly she accepted the fact that she was insignificant beside these flamboyant cousins; she was quiet and they were vociferous; they were physically attractive, she was not; she had little hope of bettering herself, whereas they were dazzled by the reflection of their parents’ ambition. Abigail guessed that Lady Marlborough, who had talked so frankly before the humble Hills, would have been even more open with her own family. She had spoken as though she were certainly as important as the King, if not more so; and her children, of course, would have grand titles and positions at Court bestowed on them.
    There was in Holywell an atmosphere of which Abigail soon became aware. It was a marking time, a waiting for great events. Ambition was ever-present, so that it seemed to have a personality of its own. The children were always talking of what they would do when … When what? When Anne was Queen and was ruled by