Текст книги "Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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'Then perhaps it is Rosenhagen who is reluctant.'

'Rosenhagen will do what is required of him, my dearest.'

A particular phrase from Charles' letter occurred to him: 'If I were Mrs. Fitzherbert's father or brother I would advise her not to agree.'

Her father was still living but more dead than alive having suffered a paralytic stroke some years before, so he would not be in a position to raise any objections; but she had brothers F

and an uncle who had taken a particular interest in her. What if they should write to her as Fox had written to him?

'Your family should be present at our wedding. Do you think so, my love?'

She turned to him all eagerness. How lovely she was when animated. It was something she had hoped for but had hardly dared to suggest.

'You had dared not suggest it! Oh, am I such an ogre then? Do you so fear to offend me ... you who did not hesitate to break my heart when you ran away and left me?'

'How could I believe that it would be broken merely because I went away? And I promise most faithfully to do such a skilful job of repairing it that you will never notice the cracks.'

He laughed; he embraced her; and then he said that her family should be presented to him. Her brothers, her uncle– he wanted to ask them in person to their wedding.

She was pleased, so he was happy.

He sang for her and what better choice than that popular ballad.

She listened fondly. Each day she grew more attached to him. She wanted this wedding as eagerly as he did; and what more appropriate song than that which was so popular throughout the town.

'I'd crowns resign To call thee mine, Sweet lass of Richmond Hill!

Colonel Gardner reported with some concern that the Reverend Philip Rosenhagen had written that it would be against the law for him to perform a ceremony of marriage between the Prince of Wales and Mrs. Fitzherbert.

'Did you tell him,' demanded the Prince, 'that I pledge myself to keep the matter a deep secret?'

'I did, sir, and his reply was that he dare not betray his duty to you/

'What! Rosenhagen! When has he developed such a sense of duty? He has performed many a shady trick in his life, I can

tell you. Why has he suddenly become so virtuous? Did you hint that there might be preferment for him if he obliged us on this occasion?'

'I did, sir. But I think he was after some specific offer.'

4 Bribery ?'

'I think so, sir.'

'Try someone else.'

'I thought of that, Your Highness. There is the rector of Wehvyn in Hertfordshire, the Reverend Johnes Knight. He is no ordinary parson as you know, but a man of wealth—not particularly ambitious. He doesn't need to be. He has been to Court now and then. Your Highness may not remember but he is a friend of friends of Your Highness's. I have ascertained that he is at this moment visiting Lord North at Bushey and I propose—with Your Highness's permission—to write to him there and ask him to come to Carlton House. I think he might be willing to perform the ceremony.'

'Do it, Gardner. I confess I find all this delay irksome.

It was more than irksome. It was faintly alarming. Fox's letter had done it. If Fox felt so strongly, so might others. One could never be sure who was going to hold up hands of disapproval. And if all these arguments against their union were to reach Maria's ears, who knew what she would do? He simply must not allow her to leave him a second time.

In the meantime he was going to meet her family; he was going to persuade them of the advantages of this marriage in case these disturbing impediments were put to them.

The Reverend Johnes Knight was playing a round game in the drawing room of Lord North's house in Bushey when a messenger arrived from Carlton House with an invitation for the clergyman to dine with the Prince of Wales.

Lord North looked a little startled that his guest should have received such a letter and agreed that he should set out without delay for Carlton House; but the gravity of his lordship's expression set the Reverend Johnes Knight wondering what it could mean, and when Lord North drew him aside and whispered that if he were wise he would tell no one of the

summons to Carlton House until he had ascertained what was required of him, he was a little uneasy.

'I am merely to dine with the Prince,' he said.

Lord North raised his eyebrows. 'I should imagine that something more will be asked of you than your company at dinner/

It was possible. When previously had the Prince invited the Reverend Johnes Knight to dine with him? The answer was: Never before.

With some trepidation he presented himself at Carlton House where he was conducted to a waiting room, and when he had been there a very short time one of the Prince's gentlemen, Edward Bouverie, came to say that the dinner party was cancelled. The Prince, however, would see him if he would present himself at Carlton House on the following morning.

Somewhat bemused the Reverend Johnes Knight left Carlton House and feeling hungry went into the Mount Coffee House to have a meal.

As he stepped inside he heard his name called and there saw an old friend of his, a Colonel Lake, who asked what he was doing in London at this time. Remembering Lord North he prevaricated for a while but let out that he had called at Carlton House, at which the Colonel grew very alert. He was to have dined there, the clergyman proudly explained, but the dinner had been cancelled and he had looked into the coffee house for something to eat.

'Wky not dine with me?' suggested the Colonel, and the clergyman was delighted to have company, for he was a man who was not fond of being alone.

Over dinner they talked of friends and politics and at last the subject of the Prince's infatuation for Mrs. Fitzherbert was mentioned.

4 I would not have believed he could have been so affected. Why, when she went away he was well nigh demented. There is no doubt about it, he is deeply enamoured of this woman.'

'What a pity that she is not a German Princess. What a happy situation that would be! But alas, life does not work out as conveniently as that.'

'Unfortunately not. The Prince is a charming young man

and I should like to see him happy. I see no solution to his problem. She won't live with him without marriage; and how can he marry her?'

Alas, it seems that they are faced with an impossible situation.'

The Colonel gave his companion a shrewd look. 'There is no way out. They may seek some clergyman misguided enough to perform the ceremony.'

'Do you think they will?'

'I should hope not. What would your opinion be of a member of your profession who so far forgot his duty to the Crown and to the State as to do such a thing?'

'It would be quite wrong, of course.'

'I trust no clergyman would do such a thing. I am sure that if such a request were made to you you would refuse. That is so, is it not?'

'Why—yes, yes of course I should refuse.' The Reverend Johnes Knight felt a little sick; he had lost his appetite.

When he left the Colonel he went to his parents' house in Stratford Place where he spent the night; to their questions as to his business in town he was evasive, and the next morning presented himself at Carlton House.

There he was not kept waiting long but was conducted to the Prince's bedchamber where His Highness, wearing a dressing gown as though he had just risen from bed, was waiting for him.

'My good friend...' he began, his eyes warm with affection, and the Reverend Johnes Knight felt in that moment that he would do anything to please such a charming Prince.

'I must offer my apologies for bringing you up from Bushey and being unable to see you last evening. Circumstances ... circumstances...'

The Reverend Johnes Knight murmured that it was such an honour to be received by the Prince at any time and he would make a hundred journeys up from Bushey for such a pleasure.

'For a very long time,' said the Prince confidentially, 'I have been deeply in love with a good and virtuous lady. I shall know no peace until she is my wife. At one time I was so desperate that I attempted to take my life and should have

done so had my doctors not saved me in time. I have suffered greatly by the attitude of my father towards me. I should tell you, my dear friend, that he hates me, that he greatly regrets that my brother Frederick is not his eldest son. I have suffered ... how deeply I can never explain.'

The Reverend Johncs Knight expressed his sorrow at the Prince's sufferings.

'I knew you would,' went on the Prince, 'because I believe that you are deeply attached to me. Is that so?'

'It most certainly is, Your Highness.'

'Then I am going to ask you to give proof of that attachment. I am going to ask you to perform a marriage ceremony between myself and Mrs. Fitzherbert.'

'Your Highness, I could not do it. It is against the law. The Marriage Act stands in the way, sir. It would be criminal of me to perform such a ceremony.'

'As soon as I am on the throne that iniquitous Marriage Act will be repealed.'

'I am sure it will, sir, but now it is in force and I cannot therefore

The Prince paced up and down the room, a look of blank despair on his face.

Then he turned to face his visitor. 'So you refuse me?' he said plaintively.

Tour Highness it is with the deepest regret, but I must.'

'If you refuse I must find a clergyman who will.'

The Reverend Johncs Knight was torn between his desire to serve the Prince and what he knew was his duty. He might, it was true, find someone to marry him, but what sort of clergyman would he be? Someone who would ask for preferment for performing the task; someone who would have to be bribed, someone who might betray the Prince's secret to Mr. Pitt if he were offered a bigger bribe to do so.

He pointed this out to the Prince who grew more and more melancholy. 'It is for this reason that I wished you to help me. I wanted an honest man to come to my assistance. Ah, so many people swear they will serve me ... but only when it pleases them to do so.'

The Reverend Johnes Knight was young and impressionable

and the Prince was well aware of this. He went on talking of his sufferings, of the manner in which the King had ill-rrcatcd him, of his enduring love for the most virtuous of women; and at length the Reverend Johnes Knight cried out: 'I will do it. For Your Highness I will do it.'

At which the Prince embraced him and said that never never would he forget his very good friend.

At the house in Park Street the Prince of Wales met Walter and John Smythe and Henry Errington. Dressed soberly by his standards in a green coat of the finest cloth and white leather breeches he looked quietly elegant; but the diamond star on his left breast and the diamond buckles on his shoes made it impossible to mistake him for any but the Prince of Wales.

He greeted the men with a warm friendliness which implied that this was for him a very solemn occasion. His emotions– superficial as they often were—were constantly displayed for everyone to sec. Tears would fill his eyes when he spoke of friendship and at the sentimental words of a ballad. It was one of the reasons why he drew people to him; he made them feel in the short time he was with them that they were of importance to him.

Henry Errington had come with some misgivings. Seeing himself as a guardian of the family since his brother-in-law was incapacitated he felt it was for him to look after Maria's interest and he was a man of the world enough to know that a marriage with the Prince of Wales could not be recognized by the State because of the Royal Marriage Act.

Tray be seated,' said the Prince. 'I am delighted to make the acquaintance of my dearest Maria's family. I want to explain this situation to you for it will grieve me deeply if I cannot dismiss your concerns ... which, believe me, I fully understand.'

He crossed his legs gracefully; John Smythe's eyes were dazzled by the diamond shoe buckles but more so by the easy manners of the Prince. He kept telling himself that this glittering personality was proposing to become his brother-in-law. His sister Maria was the most talked of woman in England;

and when the Prince of Wales spoke of her there were tears in his eyes.

She was, the Prince went on to say, all that he asked in life. He would willingly give up the crown for her sake; this marriage that was about to take place would be in the eyes of the Church a true marriage. He, who respected Maria as he could no one else on Earth, was determined on this. He was in an unfortunate position. He spread his hands deprecatingly—very white hands adorned by a few fine diamonds—and the star on his breast flashed as though in defiance of this statement. But he was going to marry Mr. Errington's niece, Walter and John Smythe's sister. If he could make her the Queen of England that would be the greatest joy of his life. Who knew ... When he became King he would instantly repeal the Marriage Act. What he wished to impress on his dearest Maria's family was that his intentions were entirely honourable. He respected Maria as a pure good woman and he was going to see that everyone else did the same.

John stammered that this was a great honour to their family; and he trusted that Maria would be worthy of such a Prince.

John was won over; Walter quickly followed. The uncle was not quite so ready; so the Prince turned his attention to him.

He need have no fear, he assured him. He understood of course, his misgivings. He himself would have had them in similar circumstances; but if he would but trust him ... 'well, I shall be your nephew by marriage, shall I not? ... If you will but trust me, you will not be disappointed in it. I promise you.'

How could Henry Errington hold out against such charm? How could he—a humble country gentleman—resist the honour of becoming uncle to the Prince of Wales?

'I see/ he said, catching the Prince's emotion, 'that my niece must be a very happy woman to have inspired such ... such disinterested devotion.'

The Prince was all smiles. That battle was won.

'I shall expect you at the ceremony,' he said. 'Uncle Henry, you must give the bride away.'

He rose, thus dismissing them. He was eager to be back with Maria.

When he left the Prince the Reverend Johnes Knight walked through the streets of London deep in thought.

What had he done? He had promised to perform a marriage between the Prince of Wales and Maria Fitzherbert, an act which he knew to be illegal. Moreover, he had given his word to Colonel Lake, who had suspected rightly that this was the reason why he had been summoned to Carlton House, that he would have nothing to do with the affair.

Not only had he committed himself to an illegal act but he had lied to a friend.

As far as performing the ceremony was concerned he would not have been so worried. After all, this was the Prince of Wales who could at any time be the King. He did not believe he would come to much harm through the act. But what had Colonel Lake said to him? Had he not asked him if he would do such a thing, and had he not given him his word that he would not?

If only the Prince of Wales had received him when he had arranged to. If only he had not gone into the Mount Coffee House he would not have given his word to Colonel Lake.

But he had and he had given his word and he would be not only a clergyman who had failed in his duty—but a liar into the bargain.

Moreover, why should Colonel Lake have been so insistent? He was one of the true friends of the Prince of Wales. It would only have been because he knew that the marriage could bring harm to the Prince that he was so much against it.

'I cannot do it,' he said.

Back at Stratford Place the Reverend Johnes Knight sat down to write a letter to the Prince of Wales.

It was difficult, but he knew he had to do it.

He took up his pen and began. He was a devoted servant of the Prince's, he explained. He wished to please him. He would have sustained any loss that might have been his; he would have suffered any punishment that he might have incurred by breaking the law; all this he was ready to do for the Prince's sake. But before his interview with the Prince he had given his F*

word to a friend that he would not perform the marriage ceremony and this promise had—because of the Prince's eloquence—slipped out of his mind. He was in a most unhappy state, but he could only crave His Highness's pardon while being sure he would understand the position in which his humble servant found himself.

After having written and despatched the letter, Knight waited the answer with trepidation.

It was not long in coming. The Prince's reply was kind; he did not reproach Knight but commanded him to present himself at the house of Colonel Gardner which was in Queen Street.

Colonel Gardner was waiting for him on his arrival. He received the clergyman coolly and remarked that it was regretful he had not recalled his promise to a friend before the Prince had told him of his intentions.

'I admit it,' said Knight. 4 I cannot tell you how deeply I regret my conduct.'

The Prince arrived and was cordial though disappointed. He did not believe that it would be impossible to find a clergyman who would comply with his wishes, although the first two had defaulted.

'I should like to know,' said the Prince, 'who this friend is who extracted this promise from you.'

Tour Highness, I could not tell even you that and I beg of you not to ask me.'

'It was Lord North, I'll swear. You were at his house when I sent for you.'

'Sir, I do assure you that it is not Lord North.'

'Well,' said the Prince, 'you have shown us that you are a man to respect a promise. Now I shall ask one of you. I want you not to speak to anyone of what has passed between us and to destroy any correspondence concerning this matter.'

'Your Highness,' cried Knight fervently, 'I give you my word.'

'I accept your word,' replied the Prince.

It was dismissal, and thankfully the Reverend Johnes Knight came out into the cold December air.

When he had gone the Prince turned mournfully to Colonel Gardner.

So,' he said, 'we are still without our officiating clergyman.'

But this was soon rectified. Colonel Gardner had discovered a man who would do what was asked.

'Your Highness,' explained Colonel Gardner, 'I have on this occasion taken a different approach. I believe that had we offered Rosenhagen a sum of money in the beginning we should not have had these unfortunate incidents. I am therefore offering £500 to this man and Your Highness's promise of preferment.'

The Prince nodded. 'And he has accepted?'

'With alacrity, sir. He is not a worldly rogue like Rosenhagen, nor an honest man like Knight. He is a young curate, ambitious, eager to marry, and looking for honours in the Church. Just the man to be prepared to take a risk in the hope of getting them.'

'And you think there'll be no hitch this time?'

'None at all. He is the Reverend Robert Burt who has but recently taken Orders. I am sure that it is now safe to go ahead with our plans. I have impressed on this man the importance of secrecy.'

'Importance indeed!' agreed the Prince. 'You know, Gardner, that if this got to Pitt's ears he could have it stopped.'

'Yes, sir. But I do not think we shall have trouble from Burt. He is most eager to serve Your Highness and for ... preferment. He will have to be given a living after the ceremony.'

'He shall have it.'

'And a good one, sir.'

'There is one at Twickenham ... a very comfortable one ... in Mrs. Fitzherbert's own parish there. That would be most appropriate, Gardner. He shall have that.'

'Then I am sure we need have no fear. If Your Highness's enemies had wind of the affair and tried to bribe him they could not give as much as that.'

'I would have preferred to deal with a man like Knight.'

'It is difficult to find men like Knight who will act in circumstances like this.'

4 That infernal Marriage Act. By God, that will go as soon as I'm on the throne.'

Colonel Gardner was silent. The Prince, by marrying a Catholic, might very well have forfeited his right ever to mount the throne.

'I will give him his instructions, Your Highness. The ceremony will take place at night. That will be safer, I'm sure.'

'At night/ agreed the Prince.

'Say between seven or eight o'clock ... at Mrs. Fitzherbert's house in Park Street.'

The Prince nodded.

'I will tell Burt that he must be walking along the street with an air of casualness. He will be met by a gentleman who shall make a comment ... as yet to be decided ... and who will bring him to the house where we shall be waiting for him.'

'That is good. Ah, Gardner, my dear friend, we are moving at last. It will not be long now.'

On the evening of the 15th December the little party was gathered in Park Street.

The Reverend Robert Burt walking slowly down Oxford Street and turning into Park Street was stopped by a man who greeted him as he had expected, and together they walked down Park Street to the house of Mrs. Fitzherbert which they unostentatiously entered. Assembled in the drawing room was Mrs. Fitzherbert with her brother John and her uncle Henry.

As soon as the clergyman had been ushered into the drawing room the Prince arrived. He had come very quietly on foot from Carlton House and with him was his friend Orlando Bridgeman. He had chosen Orlando who was about the same age as he was himself and had been a friend of his for some time; he was the Member of Parliament for Wigan and therefore one of the Prince's more serious friends. Moreover, being a Shropshire man he was acquainted with the Smythes, and Maria knew him well, so he seemed an admirable choice.

The Prince had explained to him that it was a friendly act to take part in this ceremony and that he was not allowing Colonel Gardner to be present because if it were discovered

later that he had been party to it, it could jeopardize the Colonel's relationship with the King.

'As for you, my dear Orlando, I shall ask you to wait outside the house while the ceremony is performed, then you will not be directly involved. Also, we must be warned if anyone attempts to come into the house. It is a possibility, for if this should reach Pitt's ears, as Prime Minister he would have the right to stop the cenmony. I have waited so long, my dear friend, that I should go mad I am sure if anything happened to prevent my marriage now.'

Bridgeman replied that nothing should if he could help it. He would take up his stand in the shadows at the door of the house and would immediately report if any stranger came near and sought to enter.

'Then let us waste no more time,' said the Prince.

He went into the house declaring that he was there and that the ceremony should proceed without delay.

In that drawing room of the House in Park Street the Prince and Maria made their vows; and after the ceremony the Prince wrote the certificate which confirmed that on the 15th day of December of the year 1785 Maria Fitzherbert was married to George Augustus Prince of Wales.

He embraced his Maria with rapture. He had decided where the honeymoon should be spent.

Marble Hill, of course. Was she not his sweet lass of Richmond Hill? Had he not been ready to renounce a crown for her sake?

This was going to be the beginning of such happiness as she had never known. Maria believed him. This romantic marriage was so different from the others she had experienced. As the coach took them out of Park Street to Oxford Street and along the road to Richmond he told her what he would do for her. Every hostess would have to receive her if they wished to see him. She was the Princess of Wales and he would know how to deal with anyone who attempted to deny this. All that she

wanted should be hers. He would give her a carriage with the royal arms on it; he would give her priceless jewels. None of which she wanted, she told him; all she wanted was his love.

An enchanting reply which delighted him. But then when did his Maria not enchant him?

He was happy; he was in love; he was married to the most beautiful woman on earth; he had eluded the fat German Princess they would have chosen for him. He had his sweet lass.

How slow the coach was! But he did not greatly care; she was there beside him, with her perfect complexion, her cloud of curly fair hair and that pure white bosom to be caressed and wept on.

The coach stopped. He looked out. Where were they?

'Hammersmith, I believe, my dearest.'

'Why have we stopped?'

The coachman was at the door.

'Begging Your Highness's pardon, the roads are so blocked with snow, the horses have broken down. It will be necessary to rest here for a while, sir. There is an inn here, sir, where you could stay while we see what can be done.'

So they alighted and by candlelight they supped at Hammersmith.

It mattered not where they were, said Maria, since they were together.

And fervently the Prince agreed.

Prince William's Indiscretion

The Court was at Windsor where it was housed most uncomfortably. The Castle itself was in a state of deterioration and as repairs were done now and then the King and Queen with their elder children stayed in what was known as the Upper or Queen's Lodge while the younger ones were housed in the Lower Lodge. These Lodges were gloomy and cold, the rooms small and old fashioned; there were numerous cupboards and small alcoves; the staircases were steep and dangerous; and there were so many pairs of stairs and so many passages that attendants new to the place were constantly losing their way. The fires in the small rooms during winter overheated them but the blast through the corridors was icy. Most of the household suffered from colds; and every morning during the coldest weather they were expected to attend a service in the unheated Castle chapel which was colder even than the corridors.

Still the King and Queen preferred Windsor to St. James's, and Buckingham House which had, not so long ago, been made into a home for them at great cost. 'Dear little Kew' was of course the favourite residence, but as both the King and Queen liked living in the country they were often at Windsor.

One knew exactly what was going to happen each day, said some of the bored members of the Court. No one would believe this was a royal household for it was conducted as many houses were in remote districts throughout the country. There was no ton, no excitement, nothing royal. The Queen examined her household accounts with a fervour she showed for nothing else except her habit of taking snuff; the King walked about the neighbourhood like a squire, interesting himself in what crops his tenants were growing and had even been known to take a hand at the butter-making. They were parsimonious both of them, and no one was ever allowed to be late for meals or the King wanted to know the reason why. Every evening there was music—and even this varied very little. There was always some composition by Handel and all the Princesses had to be present—even baby Amelia who must, said the King, be brought up to appreciate the right kind of music—which was of course the kind which appealed to him.

The Royal Court was in the greatest contrast to the Prince's entourage at Carlton House. Often the King and Queen heard their son's establishment spoken of almost reverently. There was the centre of gaiety; there the fashionable, the erudite and the witty gathered. The Princesses listened eagerly for news of their brother; they envied him; they wished he would come to Windsor or Kew or wherever they were. But he rarely did; he was too busy living his exciting life.

The King thought about him constantly and disliked him more intensely every day. The Queen fretted about him. Why had he made this gulf between them? Why could he not be the dutiful son she longed for him to be? She was torn between her love and pride in him and her resentment towards him, and she thought of him more than she did the rest of her children put together. There were very disturbing rumours about him and the Catholic widow, Mrs. Fitzherbert. The only pleasant thing about those rumours was the good opinion everyone seemed to have of the lady.

The Queen discussed him with Lady Harcourt, one of her closest friends as well as one of her Ladies of her Bedchamber.

'I think it is a very good friendship ... nothing more,' she said. 'I remember he had such a friendship with one of the

Princess's attendants—Mary Hamilton. She was a pure girl and I hear that this Mrs. Fitzherbert is the same.'

'I've heard it too, Your Majesty,' agreed Lady Harcourt, 'but...'

Yet how could she disturb the Queen who had so much to disturb her? Lady Harcourt knew how anxiously the Queen watched the King for a return of that strange malady which had attacked him once and in which he had rambled so incoherently that both he and the Queen had thought he was going mad.

Lady Harcourt—who was devoted to the King as well as to the Queen—sincerely hoped that the Prince would not provoke his father so much that he made him ill.

On one cold morning early in the year 1786 the Queen arose as usual, and when she had undergone the ceremony of the early toilette, which took about an hour, had been to the service in the icy chapel and had taken breakfast in the company of the King and her elder daughters she returned to her apartments for the morning toilette, a lengthy matter for her hair had to be dressed and powdered and this was one of the two days in the week when it had to be curled, and this took an hour longer than usual.

She sighed because no matter what attention was paid to her appearance it made little difference. She wished these ridiculous hair styles were not fashionable. They came from France where Marie Antoinette had so exaggerated them as to make them ridiculous.

She sat watching her women as they set the triangular cushion on the crown of her head and, frizzing her hair, built it up over the cushion. Now they would curl it and set it into waves one either side of her head before they wrapped her in her powdering robe and the business of powdering began.

While her hair was dressed her women read to her; she liked to hear what was being written in the papers; and when they had finished those she enjoyed a novel. The readers were constantly passing over little items about the Prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert which could make an awkward pause now and then and the Queen knew the cause of it, and while she wanted to know what was being said of her son was afraid to ask unless it