Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

‘About William? That was a distressing affair. I do hope he is behaving sensibly. The King has sent him to Plymouth, but he may well take it into his reckless head to go back to Portsmouth. What a trial one’s children are.’

  ‘I was not thinking of His Highness Prince William but … of the Prince of Wales.’

  The Queen’s fingers faltered on her knotting.

  ‘You have heard something fresh?’

  ‘I do not think it is fresh, but it is so … persistent. I greatly fear that there may be some truth in the rumour.’

  ‘What is the rumour?’

  ‘That he is married to this woman, Mrs Fitzherbert.’

  ‘I have heard that rumour. It is simply not possible. How could he be married to her? It is against the law. The Royal Marriage Act forbids any member of the family to marry without the King’s consent.’

  ‘But, Your Majesty, that need not prevent the Prince’s doing so.’

  The Queen said piteously: ‘Oh, my dear Lady Harcourt, what have we done – the King and I – to be so plagued by our sons.’

  ‘They are young men, Your Majesty … lusty young men. They wish for independence.’

  ‘He is the heir to the throne. He could not be so foolish.’

  ‘He is undoubtedly in love with this woman, and the Prince when he does anything does it wholeheartedly. He is, I have heard, wholeheartedly in love with Mrs Fitzherbert.’

  ‘But I have heard that she is a good and virtuous woman. She would never allow this.’

  ‘It is because she is a virtuous woman, Your Majesty, that it has happened.’

  The Queen was silent for a while and then she said: ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Should Your Majesty not speak to the King?’

  Charlotte turned to her friend. ‘I can say this to you though I would say it to no other. I am afraid … for the King.’

  Lady Harcourt nodded.

  ‘This affair of William and the Portsmouth girl. It has upset him more than the Court knows. I have heard him talking … talking endlessly at night. He … he rambles. He goes on and on … and sometimes I do not know what he is saying. He has grown very melancholy. He talks of his sons and how he has failed with them, how the Prince of Wales hates him, how William flouts him.’

  ‘Has he been bled and purged?’

  ‘Constantly. Far more than is generally known. I dare not speak to him at this time of this affair.’

  ‘It may not be true,’ said Lady Harcourt.

  ‘No,’ replied the Queen gratefully. ‘It may not be true. But I think we should know whether it is or not.’

  Lady Harcourt nodded.

  ‘If it were true,’ said the Queen, ‘it could imperil the succession; it could shake the throne. I could not tell the King in his present state of health.’

  ‘Your Majesty is the Prince’s mother. Perhaps you could yourself see him … find out if this rumour is true. He would not lie to you if you asked him for a direct answer.’

  ‘I will do it,’ said the Queen. ‘But my dear Lady Harcourt, should it be true, I tremble to contemplate the effect it would have on the King.’

  ‘Perhaps Your Majesty could keep it from the King … until he is recovered.’

  The Queen smiled brightly. It was a pleasant idea; but she knew in her heart that he never would recover. She laid her hand momentarily over that of Lady Harcourt.

  ‘It is good to talk … with friends,’ she said. ‘I will summon him to Windsor and demand he tell me the truth.’

  On receiving the Queen’s request that he should come to Windsor to see her, the Prince drove down from Carlton House in his phaeton.

  The Queen was moved when she saw him – so elegant in his dark blue coat, his silk cravat and the diamond star glittering on his left breast. He towered above her. How handsome he is! she thought. If he would only kneel at her feet and beg her to intercede for him with the King as William had! But of course he did no such thing. He stood before her, arrogant, caring nothing for her and showing by his manner that he quite clearly had no love for her. Her mood changed, for since he would not let her love him, her feelings were so strong that they bordered on hatred. She had never felt this strong emotion towards any of the others – it was only for George, her adored first-born whom she had worshipped in the first years of his life.

  ‘You wished to see me, Madam.’ His voice was cold containing no affectionate greeting, but merely implying: Come let us get this business finished so that I can get away.

  ‘I have heard rumours,’ said the Queen, ‘rumours which greatly disturb me.’

  ‘Yes, Madam?’

  ‘Concerning you and a lady named Mrs Fitzherbert.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Rumours,’ continued the Queen, ‘that you have married the lady. Of course I know this to be an impossibility but …’

  ‘Why an impossibility, Madam? I am capable of going through a marriage ceremony.’

  ‘I did not doubt it but you would not be so foolish … or so wicked … as to deceive a lady of good character into believing that it was possible for you to marry her.’

  It was the wrong approach. She had seen that when his face flushed angrily.

  ‘Madam, I am married to a lady whom I love and honour above all other people.’

  ‘Married! You are certainly not married.’

  ‘I should have thought, Madam, that I was the best judge of that.’

  ‘Evidently you are not if you can delude yourself into thinking you are this woman’s husband. It is quite impossible for you to be. Have you never heard of the Marriage Act?’

  ‘I have heard so much of that criminal measure that I never want to hear of it again. In fact my first act when I mount the throne will be to repeal it.’

  She stared at him aghast. How could he talk so? And the King was only forty-eight years old – a comparatively young man. One would think his father was in his dotage. She shuddered.

  ‘Please do not talk in that way. I am not sure that it is not … treachery.’

  The Prince laughed. ‘Madam, I thought the reason why I am treated like an imbecile or an infant in the nursery was because it was well known that I should one day be king. Is one supposed not to mention this fact as though it were something shameful?’

  ‘The King is still a young man.’

  ‘He looks and behaves like an old one, so you cannot blame people for thinking of him as such. But you asked me here because you had heard rumours that I was married. Well, I tell you that I am, that the lady I have married is worthy to be the Queen of England; she will not disgrace your drawing room …’

  The Queen burst out: ‘She will never have an opportunity of proving that.’

  ‘So you will not receive her at Court?’

  ‘Certainly I shall not.’

  ‘Why not? Why not?’

  ‘Because I do not receive my son’s … mistresses … in my drawing room.’

  ‘Madam, this is my wife.’

  ‘You know very well that cannot be. You may have gone through a form of marriage with her but she is not your wife. And I repeat, I will not receive your mistress in my drawing room.’

  The Prince was white with anger. ‘Very well. But every other drawing room in London will think itself honoured to welcome her. And Madam, let me tell you this: your drawing room is as dull as a mausoleum and the conversation there about as lively as at a funeral gathering. In my drawing room, Madam, where the wittiest and most brilliant people of the country foregather, my wife will receive the honour due to her. So, let me inform Your Majesty that it will be no hardship to my wife that she is not received in the Queen’s drawing room when she is the hostess in that of the Prince of Wales.’

  He gave a curt bow and walked briskly from the room.

  The Queen stared after him, her heart heavy; her eyes blank with misery.

  She thought of William’s raging against his family in Plymouth, of the Prince of Wales in his glittering drawing room at Carlton House, doubtless making fun of hi
s parents; and the King growing more and more melancholy, talking to himself, addressing everyone with that repetitive rapidity which frightened her.

  There was Frederick in Germany. Frederick had always been of a sunny nature. He had been devoted to the Prince of Wales in their childhood, of course, and the two of them had always been together … loyal to each other, helping each other out of mischief.

  He would be nearly twenty-three now.

  Perhaps if Frederick came home there would be one son to comfort them. And it might well be that Frederick would be the future King of England, for would people accept a King who refused to marry – for this marriage with Mrs Fitzherbert was no marriage in the eyes of the State, and when it came to State affairs it was the State that mattered – and had gone through a morganatic marriage with a Catholic.

  Perhaps she could hint to the King at some time when he was in the right mood that perhaps it was time Frederick came home.

  After the interview with the Queen nothing would satisfy the Prince than that Maria should be received in every drawing room in London – and not only received but treated as though she were the Princess of Wales. Any hostess who did not immediately acknowledge her as such was ignored by the Prince and, as to be cut by the Prince of Wales was social suicide, the desired homage was paid to Maria.

  She had seen that it was useless to protest against the extravagance of the young lover. He would come to her all excitement because he had a surprise for her. The surprise would be a ‘trinket’. A trinket indeed – a brooch, a necklace, a locket … set with diamonds, sapphires or emeralds of which she would alarmingly calculate the cost as she expressed the delight which he expected. How could one tell a Prince of Wales that he must try to live within his means? He had no idea of money. He saw an ornament. It was beautiful. Then his Maria must have it.

  She was alarmed by the extravagance of the entertainments she was obliged to give at Uxbridge House. It was not that she was in the least incapable of playing hostess. Entertaining as she had at Swynnerton with Mr Fitzherbert had given her all the experience she required in that field; and she had a natural dignity and regality which was denied to people such as the Duchess of Cumberland.

  When the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland returned from abroad they immediately were aware of the situation and the Duchess hastened to welcome Maria as her ‘dearest niece’. The Duke was equally effusive. Not only was this necessary to retain the friendship of the Prince of Wales but it also offered a good opportunity of flouting the King – and therefore it was quite irresistible.

  So Maria entertained as the Prince wished while she counted the cost and confided in her companion, Miss Pigot, an old friend whom she had brought with her as chaperone and companion when she set up in Uxbridge House, her anxieties concerning the cost of it all.

  ‘Dear Pigot,’ she said, ‘the Prince cannot understand how much happier I should be in Park Street … or if he does not like me to be in that house since I inherited it from Mr Fitzherbert, some smaller establishment.’

  ‘The dear Prince is so anxious that every honour shall be yours,’ replied Miss Pigot.

  And Maria had to agree with him. How could she spoil his pleasure? He was such a boy – not yet twenty-four, and in his enthusiasms young for his age. She would be thirty in July. Six years. It was quite a difference at their ages. So she must remember his youth, and his enthusiasms were so enchanting, especially when they were all directed at giving her pleasure.

  With the coming of the spring he said they must go down to Brighton. He wanted Maria to enjoy the place as much as he did. With him went the most brilliant section of London society and the inhabitants of the once obscure little fishing village came out to gape at the nobility. But most of all they gaped at the glittering Prince of Wales.

  Nothing, said the people of Brighton, will ever be the same again.

  The Prince took up residence in Grove House. This was the third year he had rented it; and Mrs Fitzherbert took a house behind the Castle Inn – which was as close to Grove House as could be.

  There were balls and banquets and the people would stand outside Grove House and the Assembly Rooms to watch the people through the windows. Ladies and gentlemen took to strolling through the streets in the warm evenings and the Prince would be there always with the same fair plump lady on his arm. They were a magnificent pair. Like a king and a queen, said the people of Brighton.

  Every morning the Prince took his dip in the sea superintended by Smoker Miles, a strapping old sailor, who was more at home in the water than on land. He was the autocrat of the bathing machines, and if he said no swimming that day there was no swimming. One morning the Prince of Wales came down as usual but old Smoker looked at him and shook his head.

  ‘No, Mr Prince,’ he said, ‘no bathing for you this morning.’

  ‘But I have decided to bathe this morning, Smoker,’ said the Prince.’

  ‘Oh, no you don’t,’ retorted Smoker.

  The Prince, amazed that anyone should so address him, attempted to brush the man aside, but Smoker set his great bulk between the Prince and the bathing machine and said:

  ‘No. You’ll not bathe this morning, Mr Prince.’

  ‘And who gives this order?’

  ‘I do, Mr Prince, and no matter what princes say I give orders here.’

  The Prince attempted to mount the steps into the machine, but Smoker caught him by the arm.

  ‘I’ll be damned if you do,’ shouted Smoker. ‘What do you think your father would say to me if you were drowned, eh? He’d say: “This is all your fault, Smoker,” he’d say. “If you’d taken proper care of him, poor George would be alive today.”’ The thought of the King so addressing Smoker made the Prince roar with laughter. Smoker looked hurt.

  ‘It’s true what I say,’ he said. ‘And I’m not having the King of England tell me I don’t know my duty. This sea don’t behave for anyone … not even the Prince of Wales.

  ‘Not even for the King of Brighton?’ asked the Prince.

  ‘You mean me, Mr Prince. Ho, that’s good that is. The King of Brighton.’

  Smoker clearly liked the title and the Prince bowed to him ironically. ‘I am merely a prince and irksome as it is princes often have to obey the will of kings.’

  Smoker repeated the story often and was soon known as the King of Brighton; and more and more people came down to the sea to be dipped or watched over by King Smoker.

  Maria bathed on the ladies’ side of the Steyne under the care of old Martha Gunn, the big strong woman who was the female counterpart of Smoker.

  Those were happy days in Brighton.

  The Prince said to Maria as they strolled along by the sea in the cool of the evening: ‘Grove House is a poor sort of place and I should like to build a house for myself here. Don’t you agree, my dearest, that that would be a very excellent idea?’

  Maria, who had by this time realized the futility of trying to curb his extravagance, agreed.

  Then a most unprecedented incident occurred.

  Returning to Carlton House from Brighton he found strangers seated in his hall and his servants bewildered and uncertain how to explain to him. It was the strangers themselves who had to do that.

  ‘Your Highness’s pardon, sir, but if you will settle this little matter of £600 we’ll go quiet as lambs. No disrespect to Your Highness, sir. It’s just orders, sir … all in the matter of business.’

  The Prince was aghast.

  The bailiffs had come to Carlton House.

  The Prince immediately went to see his friend, Sheridan. It was true since his marriage he had neglected his friends, but he knew that he could trust Sheridan to help him. Charles too, but he hesitated to go to him since Maria had driven a wedge between them.

  Sheridan received the Prince in his house at Bruton Street with expressions of pleasure.

  ‘Sherry, I am in the most extraordinary and humiliating dilemma.’

  ‘Your Highness?’

  ‘The bailiffs
are in Carlton House. And all for a paltry £600. Sherry, what am I to do?’

  ‘But Your Highness, who will deny you £600 should you ask for it? I can think of a thousand people who would willingly give it.’

  ‘You, my dear friend?’

  ‘Your Highness knows that all I have is at your service but I doubt whether I could lay my hands on £600. I myself am expecting a visit from your intruders on any day now. But Your Highness should have no difficulty. Why, there is your uncle, Cumberland, who would be only too honoured.’

  ‘He calls me Taffy. And I don’t greatly care to be under an obligation to him.’

  ‘But what of Georgiana? Or the Duke of Bedford? There are a score of them.’

  The Prince agreed. ‘But it is undoubtedly humiliating when one must borrow from one’s friends, Sherry.’

  Sherry agreed, but he also pointed out that the bailiffs must be ejected as soon as possible.

  He was right. There were many eager to lend the Prince of Wales £600 for the purpose; but when the matter was settled and Sheridan returned with the Prince of Wales to Carlton House and they sat drinking together, Sheridan said: ‘Your Highness’s debts should be settled. This situation may well occur again; and as Your Highness pointed out it is a humiliating position for a Prince of Wales to find himself in.’

  The Prince nodded and looked expectantly at Sheridan. He was very fond of Sherry, who was so charming and handsome, although beginning to look a little jaded. When he had first met him, only a few years ago at the time he was involved with Perdita, Sheridan had not been the politician he was today – merely manager of Drury Lane. But he had had an enviable reputation, having made his name with The Rivals and The School for Scandal. They had been a trio – he, Fox and Sheridan; and Burke was a friend of theirs too. How he had valued those friendships! And how he had delighted in their wit and erudition! They had stood together for the Whigs. Those were good old days, but the coming of Maria had changed them. For one thing he was too devoted to Maria to have as much time as he had had in the past for his old friends, and Maria’s definite antagonism to Fox had affected the Prince’s feelings.

  But now Sheridan was an influential politician and such a close associate of Fox that the Prince’s diminishing affection for the latter seemed to touch Sheridan too.