Текст книги "Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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The King said he thought this was very generous and the young rip ought to be satisfied with that.

'There is another matter which I wished to discuss with Your Majesty,' went on Mr. Pitt, 'and that is the discord which exists between Your Majesty and His Highness. This is undesirable and it seems that now is a good moment to change it. It has been publicly stated that the Prince, contrary to rumour, has not defied Your Majesty's Marriage Act. You have sanctioned the payments of his debts and increased his income. There is therefore no reason for discord in the family. There should be a reunion—a making-up of differences. This, I think, Sir, is very important and the moment is ripe for it.'

The King looked proudly at his Mr. Pitt, and silently

Betrayal in the House » % r K r,

thanked God for him. Momentarily he compared him wiih dear old North—good friend, but what a blunderer!– and what the King felt he needed more and more as the weeks passed was a good steady prop. Mr. Pitt enabled him to gel away to Kew and Windsor. Mr. Pitt was fast becoming a powt i in the land. Mr. Pitt kept the Fox at bay. Good Mr. Pitt!

'You are right I am sure, Mr. Pitt. There shall be a family reunion. The. Prince shall come to Windsor and I will make sure that the family receive him with friendship.'

Mr. Pitt bowed and took his leave.

Parliament had agreed to settle the Prince's debts and Alderman Ncwnham rose to say that he was happy that the motion he had been proposing to bring forward—that of the Prince's debts—was now no longer necessary.

Members of the House expressed their satisfaction.

'I readily concur in the joy the honourable gentleman has expressed,' said Mr. Pitt.

'We must all feel the highest satisfaction,' added Mr. Fox.

Mr. Rolle, however, while commenting on his satisfaction, added: 'But I temper that satisfaction by making it clear that if it should hereafter appear that any concession has been made, humiliating to the country or dishonourable in itself, I would be the first man to stand up and stigmatize it as it deserves.'

There were groans through the House. Why could not the blunt old countryman leave the matter alone.

Mr. Pitt, however, suavely rose to assure the honourable member that this was not so and he need have no fears.

Sheridan knew that this was his only opportunity. He must speak before the matter was closed. How much better, he thought, to let it alone. But he dared not. He must speak. His friendship with the Prince was at stake.

He stood up. He was aware of Fox watching him warily. Fox would know exactly why he was doing this.

'I cannot believe,' began Sheridan, 'that there exists on this day but one feeling and one sentiment in the House, that off heartfelt satisfaction at the auspicious conclusion to which the

business has been brought. His Royal Highness wishes it to be known that he feels perfect satisfaction at the prospect before him and he also desires it to be distinctly remembered that no attempt has at any time been made to screen any part of his conduct, actions or situation ...'

The members were looking askance at Sheridan. This had all been said before. Why repeat it? Sheridan himself hurried on to the purpose of his speech.

'While his Royal Highness's feelings have been doubtless considered on this occasion, I must take the liberty of saying, however much some may think it a subordinate consideration, that there is another person entitled in every honourable and delicate mind to the same attention. I will not otherwise attempt to describe this person except to affirm that ignorance or vulgar malice alone could have persevered in attempting to injure one on whose conduct truth could fix no just reproach and whose character claims, and is entitled to, the truest and most general respect.'

Eyebrows were raised; lips were curled in cynical smiles. What was Sheridan suggesting? Mrs. Fitzherbert was the Prince's mistress, yet at the same time she was a paragon of virtue, an example to all women?

Even the jaunty Sheridan could not hide the fact that he was embarrassed as he sat down to silence.

But when he presented himself at Carlton House the Prince embraced him.

'My dear friend,' he cried. 'I knew I could rely on you. I have had a report of your speech in the house. Maria will be delighted, I know. I but waited to see you and thank you in person before I go to call on her.'

Sheridan went home in high spirits. He had made a bit of a fool of himself in the House, but that could not be helped. He stood higher with the Prince than ever before; and that was good because Fox's influence was waning fast.

Meanwhile the Prince was calling on Maria; and he had the discomfiture to be told that Mrs. Fitzherbert was not at home.

Not at home to the Prince of Wales! It was incredible. But she had meant it when she had said that she would not live with him. A few words spoken by Sheridan would not in-

flucnce her. She thought they were absurd. Did they really think that Sheridan's getting up in the House and referring to her as a pattern of womanhood could affect her when Fox had stated on direct authority that she was living in sin with the Prince?

No, Maria was wounded. She had been betrayed.

The Prince was mistaken if he thought he could treat her so and be forgiven. She had made it clear in the first place that she would not live with him without marriage; and since by his action he had shown that he considered himself not married to her, she could not live with him.

Fox at Chertsey was in a mood of resignation.

'What a mess, Liz! What a mess!'

'You regret having denied the marriage?' asked Lizzie.

'It was the only thing to do. If it had come out that they had actually gone through a ceremony the Commons would be in an uproar. God knows what would have happened. The people always fancied the Stuarts more than the Guelphs, though our Prince is more popular than most of them have been. But they would never have accepted a Catholic marriage. No, it had to be said; and it was my lot to say it.'

'Our Little George is something of a coward, is he not?'

'You know him as well as I, Liz.'

Lizzie smiled, remembering that time when she had briefly been the Prince's mistress and had accumulated quite a little fortune out of the adventure which was now helping to keep a home together for herself and Charles.

'Perhaps not quite,' she said. f He has a kind heart but he hates trouble. He'd help anyone out of a difficulty if he could without too much trouble, but he'd go to a great deal of trouble to protect himself.'

'He's no fool. He realizes what's at stake. He knows that what has happened was the only way to get him out of a dangerous situation.'

'But he has, by all accounts, lost his Maria.'

'A temporary loss. She'll come round.'

'She's no ordinary woman.' 1

'A paragon of virtue according to Sherry/

'He did very well in the circumstances.'

Toor Sherry. I'm glad it was his job and not mine. Yes, he did well too ... considering the position. How he kept a straight face I can't imagine.'

'He was thinking of his own future, that was why. He has to keep the Prince's favour ... for what is he going to do without Mr. Fox there to support him.'

'Eh?'

'Well, Mr. Fox will, I prophesy, no longer be the close associate of His Royal Highness. Maria would think it rather strange, would she not, that one who had so displeased the Prince should continue to enjoy his friendship.'

'You're too clever, Liz.'

'How can one be too clever? I merely state the obvious. If he wants to keep Maria he has to be displeased with Mr. Fox– and you can bet even higher than your usual stakes that Mrs. Fitzherbert, who never did love Mr. Fox, will now regard that gentleman with loathing. And since His Royal Highness must placate Maria ... well, you don't need me to go on, do you?'

He took her hand and smiled at her.

'No need at all,' he said. 'That is why I propose leaving the country. A change of scene will be very desirable.'

She tried to hide her fears and he held out his hand to her.

'Liz,' he said, 'how would you like to go to Italy? We could study the art treasures of that country. I'll show you the Sistine chapel. We'll sit in the sun and drink their wine.'

She was smiling; intensely happy.

'Oh, my God, Liz,' he said. 'You didn't think I would go without you ... anywhere?'

The Prince in Despair

The King was pacing up and down the Queen's drawing room. How I wish he would stay still! thought the Queen. This excitement is bad for him.

'Although I am receiving him,' the King was saying, 'I shall expect deference from him. He'll have to drop that arrogance, eh? He may be a little king in Carlton House but I'm the King here at Windsor.'

'He'll remember that,' said the Queen. 'I'm sure he has learned his lesson.'

'What's that, eh, what? His lesson? Do you think he'll ever learn? But we'll show him that if he's going to be received back into the family he has to deserve it, eh, what?'

It was not the right attitude perhaps, thought the Queen. Oh dear, she did hope this was going to be an end to these family quarrels.

'Mr. Pitt seems to think that it is a bad thing that there should be enmity in the family.'

The King frowned at her. Charlotte should know by now that he never talked State matters with her. She was not supposed to mention the name of Mr. Pitt. But there was gossip, of course. There was chatter. He was talking to her about the

return of the Prince of Wales to the heart of the family simply because it was a domestic matter and these were the only matters he discussed with her.

'I think it's a good thing that there should be no enmity in the family. Anyone would agree to that, eh, what?'

'But certainly. Oh, how pleased I am that he did not marry that woman. I am surprised in a way because I have heard that she is a very pleasant creature.'

A very pleasant creature, thought the King; and a very beautiful one by all accounts. They had all found beautiful women for themselves, except the King. He had Charlotte. How old she looked! Poor plain little Charlotte. Yet he had been faithful to her, in deed if not in thought, since their marriage.

Well, he was getting old now and he was glad he had been a good husband.

'Have you warned the Princesses?' he asked.

What a way to talk of the return of a brother! thought the Queen. Warned!

'Yes, I have told them that they may expect a visit from their brother.'

'Hm, and what did they say to that?'

'They are delighted. Amelia was so excited that she bounced up and down in her chair and shot her milk all over the table.'

The King's face creased into a smile. 'Oh, she did then, eh, what? I must go and ask her if she is equally excited by a visit from her Papa.'

The very mention of Amelia's name soothed the King. He doted on the child; in fact the stern rules which the others had to obey were not in force for Amelia. She could imperiously climb on to her father's knee and ask him ridiculous questions and make him sing songs to her—and he merely obeyed her, the love shining from his eyes. She was doubly precious because they had lost Octavius and Alfred—and Sophia the next youngest was six years her senior. It was small wonder that Amelia was his pet.

He rose, the prospect of seeing his youngest daughter temporarily wiping away the anxieties he felt by the impending reunion with his eldest son.

'She will be in the nursery now,' said the Queen.

'Then I will call on Her Royal Highness.'

His good humour was completely restored and when he arrived at the nursery he found his youngest daughter sitting on the floor playing with her toys and kneeling there with her was Miss Burney to whom he had heard Amelia had taken a great fancy.

'Hello, Papa,' said the Princess, scarcely turning her head, while Miss Burney stood up and curtsied.

'Come, Miss Burney,' said Amelia. 'It is my turn. Watch. Watch.'

'His Majesty is here. Ma'am,' whispered Fanny to the little girl.

'I know, but it is my turn.'

'You cannot play while His Majesty is waiting to speak to you, Ma'am,' said the agitated Fanny who was never quite sure how to behave in a situation which she had not visualized happening, and about which she had not been able to consult that doyen of court behaviour, Mrs. Delaney.

The little girl looked surprised. 'Can I not?' she asked. Then: 'Go away, Papa. Go away.'

'What?' cried the King. 'Eh, what?'

And Fanny stood by, blushing and mortified.

'Papa, I said: Go away. We want to play. So Papa ... go. Go.'

The King looked at Fanny and smiled and then picked up the child in his arms.

'Why not a welcome for your old papa?' he asked.

'But it is my turn,' she explained.

How beautiful, he thought. Youth! The little nose, the soft skin with just a freckle or two, the fair hair, the blue eyes of her race. This child makes everything worth while for me. Charlotte produced her ... not Sarah Lennox. Sarah could not have given him a lovelier child than this one.

'Papa,' said Amelia sternly. 'It is my turn.'

'It is my turn to kiss my little Amelia.'

'Then do so and be quick,' she cried imperiously. 'Now, Miss Burney. Take me. Come here, Miss Burney. Take me, I say. Oh, Miss Burnev, come here.'

She was kicking and struggling while Fanny stood there uncertain how to act when the King put his daughter down.

He smiled at Fanny. He liked her. He was amused by her. She had had her book printed because she had thought it would look well in print, she had told him. He had always remembered that. Very fair indeed, he had said at the time. That's being very fair and honest.

'Well, Miss Burney,' he said, 'the Princess Amelia seems to approve of you, eh, what?'

I ... yes, Your Majesty.'

'And that,' he said, 'is very fair and honest, eh?'

There was great excitement in the Princesses' apartments.

'Just fancy,' said the Princess Royal, 'he is our brother and yet it's as though we are to receive a call from visiting royalty/

'I wonder how he and Papa will get on,' added Augusta. 'I wonder if they will start quarrelling immediately or wait a while.'

'They will have to be very polite just at first,' said Elizabeth. 'Mr. Pitt's orders.'

'Is Mr. Pitt so very important?' asked Sophia.

'Very! The most important man in the country. He's not married, you know.' That was the Princess Royal, who thought a great deal about marriage. She was twenty-one and most Princesses had been found a husband at that age.

'Well/ laughed Augusta, 'you don't think they'll let you marry him even if he's not, do you?'

'I often think it would be helpful if we were allowed to marry commoners—our own countrymen. Then there wouldn't be all this difficulty in finding husbands for us. It's well-nigh impossible when they must be foreign royalty and Protestant. And there are so many of us, some of us are sure to be left out.'

'Sometimes/ said Elizabeth, 'I think that Papa won't let any of us marry/

'What do you mean?' cried Charlotte.

'Well, he is strange, is he not? He talks so quickly and goes on and on repeating himself. Don't say you haven't noticed

that he seems to get worse instead of better. I think he feels strangely about us. He wants us to be virgins all our lives.'

'Oh, no,' wailed Charlotte.

'We shall have to have secret lovers,' said Augusta, her eyes sparkling.

'Or be like George and marry in secret,' said Elizabeth.

'But George didn't marry. That's what all the fuss has been about. Mr. Fox denied it in Parliament. They thought he had but he hadn't all the time.'

'It will be wonderful to see George. Such exciting things always happen to him. Do you remember when he was always in our apartments and sending those long letters to Mary Hamilton?'

'At first I thought he'd come to see us.'

'I think,' said the Princess Charlotte enviously, 'that it must be the most exciting thing in the world to be George.'

'All you need to have done,' said Augusta, 'was to have been born four years earlier and a boy. Then you would have been the Prince of Wales. That would have suited you, Charlotte.'

Charlotte admitted that it would have suited her very well indeed.

Then they began to talk of the stories they had heard of the Prince of Wales until Charlotte, remembering the presence of Mary and Sophia, signed to them to change the subject—which would of course be taken up again with relish as soon as the younger girls were no longer with them.

There was an air of excitement at tea-time with the equerries. Everyone was aware of it—the charming Colonel Digby of whom Fanny was growing more than a little fond; pleasant and careless Colonel Manners who never paused to think what he might be saying; and Colonel Goldsworthy who was constantly gossiping. This was one of the most enjoyable hours of Fanny's day, but only on those occasions when Madam von Schwellenburg was too tired or indisposed to take charge. At such times as this the Colonels would vie with each other to poke fun at the disagreeable old woman which, decided Fanny,

she fully deserved, and as she was quite unaware of their suppressed amusement—there was no harm done.

But this was a happy evening, with the gentlemen all paying attention to Fanny—and in particular Colonel Digby—and the conversation running on the Prince's imminent visit.

Colonel Goldsworthy of course knew all the gossip, and Colonel Manners told some amusing stories about the Prince's exploits and Colonel Digby was flirting to such an extent with Fanny that she really thought that he might be considering making a proposal of marriage.

It was all most diverting.

Colonel Goldsworthy was warning Fanny what she must expect when winter came to Windsor.

'Ah, you are well enough now, Miss Burney, in your lilac tabby and your little jacket, but wait until the autumn. There is enough wind in these passages to carry a man o' war. So on no account attend early prayers after October. You'll see Her Majesty and the Princesses and all their attendants soon start to cough and sniffle and then ... one by one they disappear. You'll find that after November not a soul goes to the chapel but the King and the parson and myself. And I only go because I have to. I'll swear it's the same with the parson.'

'So His Majesty is the-stoic, Miss Burney,' Colonel Manners added.

'I am sure His Majesty would always do his duty.'

'Even to letting the whole family perish with the cold.'

'They seem to have survived a great many winters, Colonel Manners. But I do declare it must be most trying if one wished to sneeze in the royal presence.'

'That one must never do, Miss Burney. It is forbidden.'

'What happens if one does sneeze? A sneeze will on occasions creep on one unawares.'

'Is that so, Miss Burney? Is there not a slight tickle in the nose ... a few warnings? They do say that if the forefinger is placed under the nose, so, and the breath held, the sneeze can be suppressed.'

'Oh dear, I do hope that if I ever feel a need to sneeze I shall remember that.'

Colonel Digby said that if he were at hand she need only ask

The Prince in Despair 265

him. His finger was always available to be applied beneath Miss Burney's charming nose.

Fanny giggled. 'But Colonel Digby, how could I warn you in time?'

'Never mind. Should you commit this most serious ofrience I should take the blame.'

'Colonel Digby, you are too good.'

His eyes were fervent. Oh dear, thought Fanny, what a good thing we are not alone ... or is it?

Then Colonel Digby asked Fanny what she was reading and the conversation turned to literary matters which did not please the others; so Colonel Manners talked of the King and the coming visit of the Prince in order to lure Miss Burney and Colonel Digby from the subject which interested them both so much. If he did not, he knew that in a short time they would be talking about Dr. Johnson and James Boswell and the literary set of which Fanny had been a member until she came to Court.

'They'll never understand each other,' Colonel Manners was saying. 'You wait. H.R.H. won't be in the Lodge more than an hour or so before the fur starts to fly. Like to take a bet on it, Digby? What about you, Manners?'

'Make your bets,' said Digby. 'I'll give them a few weeks. But both of them will be on their best behaviour for a while, at any rate.'

'Is it possible?' asked Manners.

'Mr. Pitt's orders,' added Goldsworthy. 'His Highness has to be grateful for his windfall; somewhere in the region of £200,000, I've heard. Wouldn't you expect affability for that? As for His Majesty, well as I said, he has had his instructions. Family devotions is the order of the day.'

'Can they keep it up?' asked Manners.

'They'll manage ... for a while. The King is a stoic'

Goldsworthy cut in: 'You've no idea. Why, yesterday I was hunting with His Majesty. He doesn't spare himself ... nor his attendants. There we were trotting ... riding ... galloping. The er ... I beg your pardon, I fear, Miss Burney, but I was going to say a strange word. The er ... perspiration ... was pouring from us so that we were wet through, popping over

•ditches and jerking over gates from eight in the morning till five or six in the afternoon. Then back to the Lodge, looking like so many drowned rats with not a dry thread among us, nor a morsel within us, sore to the bone and ... forced to smile all the time. And then His Majesty offered me refreshment. "Here, Goldsworthy," he said, "have a little barley water, eh, what?" And there was His Majesty taking his barley water from a jug fit for a sick room ... the sort of thing, Miss Burney, you would find on a hob in a chimney for some poor miserable soul who keeps his bed.'

They were all laughing, visualizing Goldsworthy's discomfiture.

'And what do you think,' went on the garrulous Colonel, 'the Prince of Wales will say if he is offered barley water}'

They were all laughing. And that was how it was on those evenings when Fanny was mistress of the tea table and Schwel-lenburg delighted them all by her absence.

And soon they, like everyone else at Windsor, were back to the subject of the Prince of Wales.

All the way to Windsor the Prince was thinking of Maria as he drove his phaeton at frantic speed to relieve his feelings. With any other woman he would not have worried. Well, with any other woman it would not have been of vital importance. But he had not seen Maria since she had closed her doors on him and he was getting desperate.

Now he had to go through this silly farce of reunion. As if there ever could be a true reunion? As if he and his father could ever agree, or see anything from the same point of view. The King was an old bigot, a silly old despot without even the strength and the power to be one. He had no taste for art; and the only culture he possessed was for music; and even that was mainly confined to Handel.

God help me! thought the Prince. What will it be? Evenings of Handel; lectures on the duty of princes; a game or two of backgammon; the dullest conversation in the world; services in that freezing chapel; more lectures on princes who must not act so as to be talked about; diatribes about Mr. Fox, Mr.

Sheridan and the Whigs; more on the virtues of Mr. Pitt and the Tories.

And Maria? Where was Maria? What if she attempted to leave the country? He had given orders that he was to be told at once if she proposed any moves like that. He had given instructions that close watch was to be kept on her.

How happy he would be if he were driving out to Richmond instead of Windsor ... if only Maria, beautiful, desirable Maria were waiting for him instead of his doddering old father, his stupid mother and his simpering sisters. Well, perhaps he was wrong to condemn the Princesses. He had nothing against them. They, poor creatures, were what they were because they were forced to live like nuns in a convent. Poor Charlotte—twenty-one, she must be. His Maria had had two husbands before she was that age. Not that he cared to think about Maria's previous husbands, except of course that it was her experiences which had made her the mature and fascinating creature she was—and of course they had both been older than she was and must have been dull creatures compared with her third—the Prince of Wales.

Her third husband ... that was the point!

Would she ever forgive him? What could he do? Sherry must help him. It was no use calling on Fox. She hated Fox more than ever and who could wonder at it? Really Charles had gone too far!

And here was Windsor and why was it not Marble Hill and how could he live without Maria? She must come back to him. Something must be done ... or he would have no wish to live.

The King received him formally, the Queen beside him. The Princesses were lined up and presented to him as though he had never met them before.

The girls clearly adored him; it was obvious in their faces. Not so the King and Queen.

He could see the irritation he always provoked; it was apparent in the King's bulging eyes and the twitching of his brows; and the Queen's resentment was there too. She wanted to be part of his rich and exciting life. As if that were possible!

But there was a pretence of affability; and later he attended a drawing room which was very public; many of his own attendants were present and the King chatted to him most of the time to show the company that all was well between them.

But all was not well, thought the Prince. It was some months since he had seen the King and it might have been that he was therefore more aware of the change than those who saw him every day.

By God, he thought, the old man's changed. He talks too much and the repetition is greater than it used to be. He seems to lose the thread of what he's saying. What does it mean?

He wished that Fox were available so that he could report to him. If the King were going to be ... ill, that could present a new and dazzling prospect. He wondered whether Pitt had noticed the alarming changes in his father.

Yet even with such a prospect before him he could think of little but Maria. He would know no peace until he had explained to her that the fault was not his. Charles James Fox had gone too far. That must be his theme.

Maria must come back to him. Whatever the world thought, to him she would always be his wife.

So he went through the farce of friendship with the King; he was affable to the Queen; he talked to the Princesses, noticed that Charlotte was inclined to be bandy, thought what dull creatures they were—but then all women were dull when compared with Maria—and then was sorry for them because they would be prisoners for longer than he had been. He at least had made a part escape at the age of eighteen when he had set up Perdita Robinson in Cork Street.

He thought of those days witli pity. Had he really believed himself in love with Perdita? How could any emotion lie would ever feel compare with his love for Maria? And Maria had left him ... sworn she would never see him again.

So there he was back at Maria.

As soon as he could conveniently leave Windsor he was on his way back to London, to write to Maria, to appeal to Maria, to beg her, implore her to come back to him.

Maria would not see him. She was staying in the house of a friend who was also a distant connection of her family, the Honourable Mrs. Butler, and with her was Miss Pigot—and both these ladies acted as her guardians.

The Prince called; alas, she would not see him. It was unprecedented. Who else but Maria would not be at home to the Prince of Wales? He stormed and raged; then he pleaded; but it was no use. Maria was not to be seen. What could he do?

He demanded to see Miss Pigot. She was an old friend of his as well as Maria's and she told him at once that Maria had repeatedly said that she would not see him and there was nothing Miss Pigot could do to persuade her.

'But she can't mean it, dear Pig.'

Dear Pig assured him that she did.

'I have never seen her so distressed, Your Highness, as she was when she heard what Mr. Fox had said.'

'But she knows Fox.'

'Yes, but he spoke on Your Highness's direct authority. That's what broke her heart.'

'Her heart broken. What about mine. Sheridan spoke well of her. Did she hear that.'

'Oh yes, sir, she heard of it; and she was mollified to some extent, but it didn't alter what Mr. Fox had said.'

'Dearest Pig, tell me what I can do to convince her that I adore her.'

'Well, there's only one thing, and it seems it's the only thing you can't do. Admit to the King and the Parliament and the world that she's your wife.'

'There'd be trouble ... great trouble ... if I did.' He thought of the King as he had last seen him. That peculiar look which was sometimes in his eves. What could it mean? Glittering possibilities! And what disasters could follow if he admitted to marriage?

'She's a Catholic, that's the trouble.'

'It's a sad state of affairs, Your Highness. And it seems there's no way out.'

'Pig, you'll do what you can for me?'

'You can be sure I will.'

'Remind her of what a good husband I've been to her, will you?'

'She doesn't need to be reminded, sir. She remembers ... She says so.'

'She says I've been a good husband?' he asked eagerly.

'Yes, right up to the time you denied you were.'

7 did not. It was Fox. Oh, he went too far. There was no need to go as far as that.'

Miss Pigot shook her head at him sadly. 'I'll do my best. I talk to her, but at the moment it's no use. If I saw that it was, you can trust me to let you know at once.'

'Bless you, dearest Pig.'

'I'll tell her how downcast you are.'

'Downcast! I'm broken-hearted. Honestly, Piggy, I shall do something desperate if she doesn't come back to me.'

'I'll tell her. She's still fond of you, of course.'

But although she told Maria, it was no use. Maria was adamant.

He had denied he was married to her; and if that ceremony had not been a solemn one to him, then her conscience would not allow her to live with him as his wife.

The Prince was very ill. He suffered a violent paroxysm and had to be bled almost to the point of danger. Rumours spread through the Court that he was seriously ill.

Miss Pigot brought them to Maria. She looked at her friend and mistress sadly.

'He has brought this on himself because you won't see him,' she said.