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of Princess Anne,” he told her.
    “But that is indeed good news!” she said, lowering her eyes. Oh, lucky John! she thought, fiercely envious for a moment, comparing this life of servitude as poor relation with the opportunities given to her brother and sister.
    “He has his eyes on the Army,” went on the Earl. “He’s set on it, and if a lad wants to be a soldier, then so should he be—for such make the best soldiers. We shall see; and I promise you that if there is an opportunity later when he is older, he shall have it, if it is in my power to give it.”
    “You are good, my lord.”
    “The boy is my wife’s cousin, and I would do what I can for him. He’ll have to be patient though, for as yet he is only old enough for the Duke of Gloucester’s army. When your brother goes into action it should be with more than a wooden sword, eh? And that reminds me of your sister. She asked me to send a message to you. She is happy in her work, and trusts you are the same.”
    He smiled at her so charmingly that she answered that she was.
    She was glad that he was in the house even though it did mean that the candles were doused early and every economy must be practised. It seemed strange to Abigail that a man who, according to his wife, was a genius capable of holding the highest post in the country should be concerned about the consumption of candles; but she accepted this as one of the idiosyncrasies of the great and was thankful for his presence.
    The Earl had been in the house less than a week when the Marlborough outriders arrived at the house to say that the Countess of Marlborough was on her way.

    Sarah Churchill swept into the house like a tornado—as Alice had once described her advent. Pots and pans were polished, so was furniture; and there was a smell of baking in the kitchen. The Earl was so delighted at the prospect of seeing his wife that he did not calculate the cost of this extra activity. From a window Abigail watched him go out to greet her. She saw him take her hands, stand a little way from her as though to see her more clearly; then he clasped her in a prolonged embrace. And what would my Lady Marlborough think of that? He was crushing her head-dress but she did not seem to mind. Abigail marvelled to see them laughing together; she had never seen Lady Marlborough look at anyone else like that and would not have believed that she could.
    They came in and Abigail could hear her voice penetrating the house.
    “And where is my family? Why are they not here to greet me?”
    But of course they were all there. They would not dream of displeasing her.
    She did not ask for Abigail Hill; as Abigail guessed, she had forgotten her existence.

    Lady Marlborough was never happier than when in the company of her husband. Although she loved intrigue and to enjoy it she must live close to the Princess Anne, and if Marlborough were ever to achieve the fame which was his due he could not do so, as she would say, “in his wife’s pocket,” these brief sojourns at St. Albans with her husband and family were the happiest periods of Sarah Churchill’s life.
    This time a purpose other than pleasure had brought her to St. Albans; and it was one which she would only discuss with her husband in the privacy of their bedchamber.
    There she sat at her mirror and let her rich hair, which he loved so much, fall about her shoulders.
    “Oh my dear Marl,” she said, “I am sick to death of this waiting. How long can he live, do you think?”
    “It’s a question we have been asking ourselves for a very long time, my love.”
    “H’m? Sometimes I think he goes on living just to spite us.”
    Marlborough laughed. “Well, my dear, you can hardly expect him to die to please us.”
    “We are not the only ones who would be pleased. I wish he’d go back to Holland. We could manage very well without him here. I had thought the crown would be on my fat stupid Morley’s head by now.”
    “Hush!”
    “Nonsense, Marl. No one