her to interfere in that of the Duke of Gloucester.
“He is by no means indulged. He merely happens to be an extremely intelligent boy. In fact, I have never known one more intelligent.”
“Have you not? I must invite you to St. Albans one day and you shall meet my children.”
Barbara laughed. “Everything you have must naturally be better than other people’s.”
“Must always be? What do you mean by that? My children are strong, healthy, intelligent, which is not to be wondered at. Compare their father with that … oaf … I can call him nothing else … who goes around babbling ‘Est-il possible?’ to everything that is said to him! Prince George of Denmark! I call him Old Est-il-Possible! And when I do everyone knows to whom I refer.”
“One would think you were the royal Princess—Her Highness, your servant,” said Barbara. “You ought to take care, Sarah Churchill. You should think back to the days when you first joined us at Richmond. You were fortunate, were you not, to find a place there? It was the greatest good luck … for you. You must admit that you were not of the same social order as the rest of us. We were noble and you …”
“Your relative, Barbara Villiers—my lady Castlemaine as she became—put honours in your family’s way because she was an expert performer in the King’s bedchamber. We had no such ladies in our family.”
“Your husband I believe did very well out of his relationship with my Lady Castlemaine. She paid him for his services to her … in the bedchamber. Was it five thousand pounds with which he bought an annuity? You must find that very useful now that my lord Marlborough is out of favour and has no office at the Court.”
If there was one person in the world whom Sarah truly loved it was her husband, John Churchill, Earl of Marlborough; and although he had had a reputation as a rake before their marriage, he had, she was certain, remained absolutely faithful to her since. This reference to past indiscretions aroused her fury.
She slapped Barbara Fitzharding’s face.
Barbara, taken aback, stared at her, lifted her hand to retaliate and then remembered that there must be no brawling between women in positions such as theirs.
But her anger matched Sarah’s.
“I’m not surprised at your mode of behaviour,” she said. “It is hardly to be wondered at. And besides being arrogant and ill-mannered you are also cruel. I should be ashamed, not to have poor relations, but to turn my back on them while they starve.”
“What nonsense is this?”
“It is no nonsense. I heard only the other day the distressing story of the Hill family. I was interested … and so was my informant … because of their connection with the high and mighty Lady Marlborough! Your uncle, aunt and cousins … dying of starvation! Two girls working as servants, I hear, two boys running about the streets, ragged and hungry.”
“A pitiable story and one which does credit to your imagination, Lady Fitzharding.”
“A pitiable story, Lady Marlborough, but it owes nothing to my imagination. Go and see for yourself. And let me tell you this, that I shall not feel it my duty to keep silent about this most shameful matter.”
Sarah for once was speechless, and when Lady Fitzharding flounced out of the room she stared after her, murmuring: “Hill! Hill!” The name was familiar. Her grandfather Sir John Jennings, she had heard her own father say, had had twenty-two children and one of these, Mary, had married a Francis Hill who was a merchant of London.
Sarah had heard nothing of him since. One did not need to keep in touch with one’s merchant connections—except of course when they were likely to bring disrepute.
Sarah made one of her prompt decisions.
Something must be done about the Hills.
It was too delicate a matter to delegate. She must deal with it herself.
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