Текст книги "Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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She would always remember his devotion to her and be

grateful for it; the memory of his fidelity and devotion sustained her in her exile; but he must not think of leaving England. It would be a fatal mistake which he would regret for the rest of his life—and she would never forgive herself if she allowed him to do this.

She thought of him often; she would not deny that she loved him. Yet if he came abroad she would never stay with him, but would make sure that he could not find her. This she meant and she begged him to be calmer, to wait a while, to see if his feelings changed in the next months.

He read and re-read that letter. It seemed to hold a gleam of hope; and at last he began to see that it would be impossible for him to leave the country and that no good could come of

il » • •

That brilliant young man who had the appearance of having been born old, called on the King: William Pitt, the younger, whose great claim to the King's loyalty was that he was in opposition to Charles James Fox.

The Prime Minister had come to talk to the King about that disturbing subject the Prince of Wales, a subject equally distasteful to both of them.

'His Highness,' said Mr. Pitt, 'has incurred many debts which Your Majesty feels should be discharged.'

The King grumbled about the follies of youth. Not that Mr. Pitt was very old, but being of an entirely different temperament from that of the Prince of Wales he would understand the King's meaning. There had been little time for youthful follies in the life of a young man who had become Prime Minister of England at the age of twenty-four: and to Mr. Pitt the so-called pleasures of the Prince were childish pastimes; how could the pursuit of a woman compare with his own quest for the Great Seal? Pitt was at the head of the country and there he intended to remain. He had no fears of the Prince's animosity; but he did fear Fox. There was a man brilliant enough to unseat him, one of whom he must be ever watchful. And the Prince had made it perfectly clear that Fox was his friend and Fox's politics his.

'Yes,' said the King. 'I feel these debts should be discharged.

The Prince is living beyond his income and there are some members of the Government who feel that the income he receives is not adequate for a Prince of Wales.'

'Sentiments most forcefully expressed in the House by Mr. Charles James Fox,' said Pitt grimly. 'Has it occurred to Your Majesty that if we gave the Prince of Wales a sum of money with which to discharge his debts, a large amount of this might possibly be used for the advancement of the Whigs?'

The King looked startled. His brows bristled and looked whiter than ever because his face had flushed scarlet with rage. His eyes bulged and he cried: 'Eh, what?' three times while Mr. Pitt regarded him coldly. The King was rather incoherent sometimes and this made Mr. Pitt very uneasy, for what if he were to become incapable and it was necessary to appoint a Regency? He saw the figure of the Prince grown powerful and beside him the shadow of a wily Fox.

No, the King must keep his place. He was after all a young man yet. He could not be more than Torty-seven. Yet he had seemed to grow old during the last years.

Pitt went on: 'I think that the Prince's debts should be discharged on one condition.'

'Condition, eh? What condition?'

'That he breaks with the Whigs and Mr. Charles James Fox.'

The King smiled slowly. Nothing would please him more than to see that break. It was a good idea. Trust young Mr. Pitt to come up with the right answer.

The King decided to use Sir James Harris in his negotiations with the Prince and, sending for him, told of his conversation with his Prime Minister.

'Now, my dear Harris, you will go to the Prince and acquaint him with the conditions with which he must comply before his debts are settled.'

When Harris arrived the Prince burst out before lie could say anything: 'If you have come to dissuade me from travelling, let me anticipate your kind intentions by telling you that I have put that idea out of my mind. My friends, as well as yourself, are against it, and I subscribe to their opinion.'

Harris expressed his satisfaction and told him that he had in fact come to speak about the Prince's debts.

The Prince listened horrified. 'Abandon my friends! How could I do that? Give up my opinions for the sake of money!'

'It would, Your Highness, bring about a reconciliation between you and your father. His Majesty is more distressed by your connection with the Whigs and Mr. Fox, than by anything else; and I believe that if you were no longer devoted to them there would be a basis for building up strong family affection.'

'No, no, my dear Harris, even if I would do this, there would never be a reconciliation. The King hates me. I will show you our correspondence over the last six months when I first asked his permission to go to Holland. You will see how I have attempted to be friendly with him and how he rebuffs me.'

'Sir, do you think it wise for me to see this correspondence?'

'Yes, I do, so that you may know how the King treats me. I wish the people knew what I have to endure.'

'I should be sorry indeed, sir, if the enmity between the King and yourself were public knowledge.'

'Read those letters,' commanded the Prince; and when Harris had done so he had to admit to the harsh uncompromising attitude of the King.

'If you would only marry,' sighed Harris, 'then I think there would be a happier relationship between you and your father.'

'I will never marry ... as my father wishes. I have taken my resolution on that. Moreover, I have settled this with my brother Frederick.'

'Give me leave to say, sir, that you must marry. You owe it to the country, to the King and yourself.'

'I owe nothing to the King. Frederick will marry and the Crown will descend to his children. As for myself I do not see how that affects me.'

'Until you are married, sir, and have children, you have no solid hold on the affections of the people even while you are Prince of Wales; but if you come to the throne a bachelor and His Royal Highness the Duke of York is married and has sons to succeed you, your situation when King will be more painful than it is at the moment.'

The Prince turned away in anger, but hastened to assure Harris that it was not directed at him.

Sir James Harris could see that it was no use trying to persuade the Prince of Wales. He was bemused by his affection for this woman. In time, thought Harris, it will pass. It must, for she is abroad and he is here ... and she seems to mean that she will not go to him.

But the Prince of Wales retired to his apartments to write to Maria, to swear eternal fidelity and to reiterate the words of the ballad. He would his crown resign to call her his. It was true. He wanted nothing but Maria.

Maria in Exile

During her first week or so abroad after her flight from England, Maria settled down in Aix-la-Chapelle where she took the waters and lived quietly while she considered the events which had led up to her departure.

She was unhappy, far more so than she had believed possible. In ordinary circumstances she would have enjoyed a brief stay at the spa—a brief stay, ah! That was the point. She had not come for a holiday, but as an exile.

She thought a great deal about the Prince and wondered how he had taken the news of her flight. He would be heartbroken and how sorry she was to inflict such suffering on him. She almost wished that she had not been brought up with such a stern religious outlook. So many women would have been able to reconcile themselves to the situation. If he had been anyone else but the Prince of Wales ... But how stupid to think along such lines. He was the Prince of Wales, and there was an end to the matter. But was it an end to the matter? Was she to spend her life wandering round Europe, an exile from her native land? Nonsense, he would forget her in time. One day she would hear the news that he had fallen in love with someone else—someone more amenable than Maria Fitz-herbert.

She revolted against the idea. E*

What has come over me? she asked herself. I am just a stupid woman who hates the thought of being alone.

One day when she was seated in the Assembly rooms after having taken the water a party of people came by talking in English. They paused and looked at her, and she pretended not to notice. But they were aware of her and she believed they knew who she was.

She left the Assembly rooms and hurried to her own suite. No doubt these English visitors were telling their friends that Maria Fitzherbert was in Aix-la-Chapelle.

She knew what it would be like. Everywhere she went people would stare at her; they would whisper about her behind her back. 'That's Maria Fitzherbert who fled from England to escape the attentions of the Prince of Wales.'

So, she thought, it has followed me here.

Visitors here on returning to England would spread the news; he would hear of it and might do something foolish such as coming over to be with her. What trouble that might cause she could not imagine. And now that she was so lonely, would she continue to resist if she had to listen to his pleading in person?

He must not know. He must never come here. She must not forget that he was the Prince of Wales and what he did could affect the whole country. Travelling through France she had noticed certain signs which had alarmed her. There was a shortage of bread in some towns and the people were murmuring against the aristocracy. She had seen pictures of the Queen portrayed in a most unflattering manner. At home there were lampoons and cartoons about the royal family, but these suggested a good humoured mockery. Here in France there was a sinister undercurrent which was perhaps more apparent to one who had come fresh to it—particularly after having known the country—than to those who had seen it gradually grow.

Maria did not wish to be the cause of trouble to the English royal family.

She must remain abroad for the good of them all.

But not, she had decided, in Aix-la-Chapelle where, because of its proximity to England, many English people came to take the waters.

She would go over the frontier to The Hague where it might well be that no one had ever heard of Maria Fitzherbert.

She had not been in Holland many weeks when she began to wonder whether her move had been a wise one.

The country, like France, was in a state of conflict, only it was different here. In Holland it was known that the republic was independent of the Stadtholder, and there was open enmity between them, whereas the feeling in France was subversive and all the more alarming because of it.

The Stadtholder wished to preserve good relations with England and was in favour of an alliance with that country. The influence of France, however, had been responsible for the break between the Stadtholder and the people of Holland, for the French wished to establish a stale which relied on them and was completely under French influence.

One thing that pleased Maria was that here at The Hague no one seemed to have heard of the affair between the Prince of Wales and Maria Fitzherbert, so that she could enjoy a quiet anonymity which had been denied her in France.

She took a house not far from the palace and as a visitor of obvious wealth was soon drawn into a social circle. There were few English people in the town and those who were there had been there for some time so that they were unaware of events outside Holland; and it was not long before she had an invitation to attend the palace, for the Stadtholder, being a grandson of George II, was very ready to welcome any English visitors to the town.

Maria had always liked company and eagerly accepted the invitations. She found the Stadtholder charming; his wife no less so; and their daughter, a young girl in her teens, very interested indeed in all things English.

She gradually learned that the royal family were in a sad plight, that daily they expected a revolution which could mean the Stadtholder's losing his title and being banished from his country. He was a weak man and could not make up his mind as to which action to take which was, Maria thought, no doubt responsible for his present disastrous position. His wife, who

was a niece of Frederick the Great, was talented and charming, and although she was fully aware of the precarious situation of her household, seemed able to dismiss the ugly problem. She wanted to hear about England and the manners of the Court there; and Maria told her, as best she could, leaving the Prince of Wales out of the conversation as much as possible.

The young Princess of Orange always expressed great pleasure when Maria visited the Court and it was not long before she discovered why.

One afternoon she received an invitation and when she arrived it was to find the young Princess waiting for her.

'Oh, Mrs. Fitzherbert,' she said, 'I want to speak to you alone.'

Maria was surprised and the Princess hurried on: 'I never get the opportunity. And I will speak to you in English. I have learned it and worked hard at it because I have a very special reason for doing so.'

'It is not easy to learn, I fear.'

'It is the most difficult language in the world. But I must learn it. I practise every day. And now that you are here, Mrs. Fitzherbert, it gives me an opportunity to practise on you'

Maria laughed. 'Pray practise all you wish.'

'I will. Now please tell me about the English Court. Tell me about the King and Queen and all their children/

'That would take a long time/ said Maria, 'if I knew very much about them. There are so many of them/

'Very well I will be contented to hear about the Prince of Wales. Pray tell me of him. You have seen him, of course/

Maria flushed slightly. 'Oh, yes, I have seen him/

'I have heard he is very good looking. Is he?'

'Yes. He is good looking.'

'And charming?'

'Yes, charming/

'He dances and sings like an angel. Is that true?'

'I have never seen an angel dance nor heard one sing/

'Ah, but have you seen the Prince of Wales sing and dance?'

'Well, yes, I have/

'That is good enough then. I hear he is kind, very clever and witty and wears dazzling clothes. Is this all true?'

4 I suppose it is.'

'I think he must be the most perfect man in the whole world. Do you think so, Mrs. Fitzherbert?'

She was overcome with embarrassment. She wanted to ask permission to leave. She had an appointment; she had a headache; anything to get away.

'Do you, Mrs. Fitzherbert?'

She heard herself answer almost defiantly: 'Yes, I believe I do.'

The girl was smiling ecstatically. 4 I was sure it was true. Now I know. The fact is, Mrs. Fitzherbert, I am going to marry him.'

'Your Highness is...'

The Princess nodded. Tapa is determined on it. It's so important to him. He needs a strong alliance and he is determined that it shall be with England. So if the Prince of Wales will have me ...'

She looked charmingly shy and Maria thought of phrases in those passionate letters with which he had bombarded her. 'I shall never marry anyone but you.' 'From now onward to the end of my life there shall be no one for me but my Maria.'

And yet, she thought looking sadly at the young girl, it was not impossible. It was far more likely that he should be this girl's bridegroom than her own.

Oh, how foolish she had been to come here! This was more embarrassing than Aix-la-Chapelle.

'I want you to come here often,' the Princess was saying, 'and then you can tell me all you know of the English Court and most of all of the Prince of Wales.'

When Maria left she was very disturbed. How could she tell this young girl that she was only here because she was eluding the pursuit of that same Prince? She felt so sly listening to these confidences; and yet how could she tell the truth?

She was not made any happier by the fact that as she left she noticed a man standing near her carriage. She had seen this same man loitering close to her house, and she had fancied that he was watching it. It seemed strange that he should be waiting near her carriage. Her coachman looked a little uncomfort-

able. It occurred to her that the man might have been asking questions about her.

Could it be that rumour had followed her as far as the Hague?

During the next few days she was summoned to the Palace on several occasions and there the Princess again plied her with questions.

'I have talked often/ said the Princess, 'to Sir James Harris. He is a very charming man and I believe very much in favour of the marriage. I want to discover whether he has given the Prince of Wales a good account of me. But of course I have to be very careful. Everything must be so diplomatic. But I am sure my father would have suggested he find out whether I would be welcome as the future Queen of England. Queen of England! What a grand title! Do you not think so, Mrs. Fitzherbert?'

Mrs. Fitzherbert thought it a very fine title.

'And married to the most charming Prince in the world as well. It seems a great deal, does it not, Mrs. Fitzherbert?'

'Indeed it is a great deal.' Maria spoke wistfully. She thought: Yes, doubtless he will marry this girl ... Or someone like her. And although at first he will think regretfully of me he will grow away from his sorrow. In a few years he will have forgotten how once he longed for Maria Fitzherbert. He is more suited to this girl. He a royal prince, she a royal princess —they are distantly related to each other, and both young. It is so suitable. Yes, it will undoubtedly be arranged; and when it is, I can safely return to England.

She felt a great sadness in her heart; she wanted in fact to talk of the Prince of Wales and his virtues. Surely the greatest of these was his fidelity.

'Sir James Harris will be arriving very soon,' said the Princess. 'I cannot wait for him to come. He may bring news. Who can say?'

Maria went back to her house and felt very lonely. How sad it was to be exiled from one's home! She was longing for the bustle of London and the charm of Richmond. What would

she not give to be in her house at Park Street? She thought of the Prince standing there as he had that night when he had followed her home from the Opera. What outrageous adorably mad things he did! The idea of a Prince of Wales following a woman home and standing there in the road pleading for admittance, and then when it was refused feeling no rancour, only a great and abiding love.

She thought of Marble Hill—that wonderful view of Richmond Hill—and of the Prince driving up in his phaeton, having come with dashing speed from Carlton House.

I want to go home, she thought. I want to see him again. It was cruel to go away as I did.

Someone had ridden up to the house. She heard her servants talking; a great excitement possessed her and she went to the door of her room to listen.

The servant came to her. A courier had arrived from England. He had letters for her. She knew from whom those letters came; she seized them eagerly. He had discovered where she was. He had good friends on the Continent. He wanted her to know that he was steadfast unto death, that he would marry no one else but her, that he was exploring all possibilities; he might meet her in Hanover where they would live quietly together for the rest of their lives; he might fly with her to America; he wanted her to come back because he could not live without her; but whatever happened of one thing she could be sure: he would be faithful unto death.

She read through the letters. She felt alive again. Had she been obliged to travel so far to learn the true state of her feelings?

She shut herself in her room and kneeling by her bed she took her rosary in her hand and prayed for courage.

She knew what she must do. She must not answer those letters. She must leave The Hague. Not only could she no longer listen to the confidences of a young girl who herself hoped to marry him, but she must hide herself afresh, for the English Ambassador, Sir James Harris, would soon be arriving in The Hague and she did not want him to find her here.

Maria left Holland and a few weeks later arrived in Paris. There she stayed for a while in the convent in the Faubourg St. Antoine with the English 'Blew Nuns' of the Conceptionist Order with whom she had been educated. For a short while she was at peace there, living the days of her childhood over again, her life regulated by the ringing of bells. She confessed that she had fled from England to escape the Prince and was applauded for having taken the only step possible to a good Catholic.

Then she began to feel restive and would heave the convent and wander into the streets of Paris. She liked to watch the city come to life in the mornings when the streets were full of noise and commotion; she found pleasure in watching the barbers covered from head to foot in powder, the practitioners of the law, black clad like so many crows making their way to the Chatelet, and the lemonade sellers and the coffee women who stood at the street corners with their tin urns on their backs. And in the afternoons when the din in the city was intensified and vehicles of all kinds jammed the narrow streets, people crowded into the caf£s to chatter of inequalities, of differences between rich and poor, the price of bread and of the new ideas which were being circulated. All men are equal; why should the rich live in luxury while the poor man could not find the price of a loaf of bread? Liberty and Equality were the watchwords of the day. In the carriages the quality rode by, splashing pedestrians with the mud of the Paris streets—the worst mud in the world, Maria remembered, for if it touched a garment it would certainly in time burn a hole there. It was foul smelling and sulphurous and people cursed as it splashed them. But the ladies, rouged and patched, their hair dressed fantastically high in the fashion set by the Queen of France, did not notice the murderous glances which followed them.

When she returned to the convent Maria discovered that the peace which she had at first found there was missing. She was not meant for the secluded life. It was not that she wished for the luxury of a court; if the Prince had been a country gentleman such as Mr. Weld or Mr. Fitzherbert she would have been delighted. She pictured their living in the country, entertaining their friends. Would he be content? How many times had he said that all he needed for contentment was to be

with her? She had been a little sceptical in the beginning; but then she had doubted his fidelity which had now been proved.

He loved her. She believed that. Had he not tried to take his life because of her? What a dilemma—and was she solving it by running away?

The Paris streets which had once so delighted her now began to depress her. On one occasion she hired a carriage and rode out to Versailles. All along the road was the familiar noise and bustle: the great carrabas drawn by eight horses—the Versailles omnibus—carrying in its wickerwork cage some twenty people, and beside it the little 'pols-de-chambre' gambolled along– more comfortable than the carrabas but exposing the occupants to all weather. Maria in her carriage was aware of the resentful glances cast her way. There was no way of escaping the growing animosity between the people with money and those without. How different it had been on that day when her parents had taken her there to see King Louis XV at dinner; she still had the dish which had contained the sugar plums. It might be that she would be invited to Court. This would most certainly be the case if it were known she were here. If the Due d'Orl^ans should return to Paris, which was very likely, he would hail her as an old friend. Then her hiding-place would be disclosed once more.

Perhaps she should not stay in Paris; perhaps she should leave France altogether. She decided that she would go to Switzerland and very soon was on her way.

But after a brief stay there she was eager to return to France, which being like a second home to her seemed to offer a less cruel exile. Not Paris this time but somewhere quieter, in the country perhaps. She decided on Plombiers in Lorraine and there she took a fine old house and attempted to adjust herself to the life of the town.

It was not long, however, before her whereabouts was discovered, and letters from the Prince began arriving regularly. He kept her informed of everything that was happening between the King and himself regarding their future; and she was a little exasperated but entirely satisfied because he seemed to regard it as a certainty that in time they would be together.

Since the King had refused him permission to travel abroad, and everyone had convinced him that this was impossible, he had been taking other steps. He had already arranged with his brother Frederick to take his place.

Maria thought of the consequences of such an act. It would have to be a solemn renunciation. And what if in the future he should regret?

There were thirty-seven pages in his flourishing handwriting telling of his devotion to her, how his only comfort was in writing to her, begging her to come back because if she did not he would die without her.

It was very touching, very appealing. Had any one woman, Maria asked herself, ever been so devotedly loved? He would give up his crown for her sake.

If I had not been brought up in this stern belief ... She

dismissed the thought; but she was thinking more and more of

surrender.

* * *

Driving in her carriage one day she passed a man on horseback who bowed gallantly. He was extremely handsome and had the manner of a nobleman; and the next day she met him again. On the third day he pulled up beside the carriage and she had no alternative but to order her coachman to stop.

'Forgive me, Madame,' he said, 'but I felt I must stop to say what pleasure it gives me to see such beauty in our country lanes.'

Maria inclined her head and replied: 'You are very kind, sir. Good morning.'

'But I believe we must be neighbours ... or at least not many kilometres separate our estates.'

'Is that so?'

'You arc impatient to continue with your drive, I see, so I will introduce myself. I am the Marquis de Bellois and I know you to be the English lady who has honoured us by liking Lorraine enough to visit us and stay with us. I doubt not that we shall meet again.'

As her carriage drove on Maria was a little uneasy. The man had a very bold expression and she had no wish to become involved with him.

But the Marquis proved to be a man of purpose and it was not long before Maria found herself drawn into the social life of the surrounding country. It would have been churlish to refuse to know her neighbours and since she accepted invitations to the houses of the neighbouring gentry she must return those invitations. It seemed to her that in a very short time she was entertaining as frequently as she and Thomas used to do at Swynnerton. And always at her elbow was the Marquis de Bellois.

She was enchanting, he told her; she was like no one else. All other women were of no interest to him since he had set eyes on the incomparable Mrs. Fitzherbert.

She learned a little about this man. His reputation was far from good; he had all the graces that could be learned at Court —and the French Court at that; but he was an adventurer and she was a woman of fortune. Maria was no fool. She knew very well what was going on in the mind of the Marquis. He had debts; he was looking for a wife; and this beautiful young English widow would suit him very well. Moreover, there were rumours of the Prince of Wales's passion for her which was an added fillip.

Did he think, Maria asked herself, that she would accept him when she had refused her faithful, adoring and disinterested Prince? When she thought of her own fortune and that of the Prince she laughed aloud. Her income would not keep him in ... shoe buckles. Yet he did not think of money. He thought only of his devotion to her. She had run away from him, caused him great pain, and yet he continued to love her.

When the Marquis asked her to marry him she refused immediately.

'But I do not take no for an answer,' he told her.

She smiled wanly; and was again reminded of her Prince.

But she was disturbed by the persistence of the Marquis, who was constantly in her house. He was determined, he said, quite determined; and she began to be a little afraid of him for there was something rather sinister in his persistence. She heard stories of his adventures with some of the village girls. What if he should attempt to trap her?

She gave orders to the servants that no one was to be

admitted whom they did not know and when the Marquis called she arranged that one of her maids should be in the next room to come at once should she receive a signal.

And finally she decided that she could no longer endure this vague uneasiness. So one day, having made her arrangements, she very quietly left Plombiers for Paris.

Back to the convent and there to live the unsatisfactory life again. Paris was growing more and more uneasy. Everyone was talking about the strange affair of the Diamond Necklace. The Cardinal de Rohan had been arrested and there was a strong suspicion that the Queen was involved in the fraud.

In the streets, in the cafes and the lemonade shops they were discussing this affair; and there were horrible pictures passed round of the Queen—always wearing a diamond necklace—in revolting positions with her favourites, male or female.

The scene was growing uglier and the longing for London was almost too intense to be borne. In the streets men were wearing the jacket in the English fashion, in the shops they were drinking le the; they were going to the horse-racing; all customs which the Due d'Orteans had brought over with him from England, and to which the French took with a certain perversity because they hated the English and were constantly in conflict with them.

But this reminded Maria poignantly of home and as she had been away for almost a year she was longing to be back.