Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘Yes, Maria, and when you came to the apartment where the King was dining …’

  ‘Oh, Frances, what a disgrace! There we were close to the rope which held us back. Papa had brought me to stand in front of him so that I could see everything.’

  ‘And the King of France …’

  ‘Is a very old man, Frances. The Dauphin is his grandson. He is not nearly so handsome as his grandfather, for although the King is so old you know just by looking at him that he is a king. But the Dauphin’s wife is lovely. She is like a fairy. I saw them together. She is Austrian.’

  ‘Where Papa served in the Army,’ said Frances. ‘I wonder if he saw her there.’

  ‘I doubt it. But I was telling you about the King at dinner. Well, Frances, his servants brought in a chicken. They kneel before him when they serve him; and he is so fastidious, with the most beautiful white hands sparkling with diamonds, and suddenly he picked up a chicken and tore it apart with his hands. Oh, Frances, it seemed to me so funny.’

  ‘Go on, Maria. Go on.’

  ‘There was silence. Everyone was watching the King and suddenly … I laughed. I laughed out loud and I could not stop laughing, Frances, because for some silly reason it seemed so funny.’

  ‘Yes, yes?’

  ‘And the King said to the man who was serving him, “Who is that laughing?” And Papa held my hand very tightly and I stopped laughing for the man came right over to where I was standing. He said: “Who are you and what is your name?” Papa was about to speak and I thought: No. I will not let Papa take the blame. So I said very loudly and very quickly. “I am Maria Smythe, an English girl from the Conception Convent in the Faubourg St Antoine. It was I who laughed at the King.”’ Maria became convulsed with laughter in which joined Frances, temporarily forgetting the imminent parting. ‘Oh, Frances, the ceremony! It has to be seen to be believed. The King went on eating his chicken as though nothing had happened, and I stood there shivering, thinking that I should be carried off to prison and wondering what it was like living in a cell in the Bastille or the Conciergerie. I watched the man bowing and speaking to the King; then he took something from the table and came over to where I stood. I realized how grand he was when he spoke. “Mademoiselle, I, the Duc de Soubise, have the honour to present to you His Majesty’s compliments. His Majesty wishes you to do him the honour of accepting this gift which he hopes will amuse you.” He then presented me with a silver dish.’

  ‘Which you still have,’ said Frances.

  Maria nodded. ‘And which,’ she went on, ‘was full of sugar plums.’

  ‘Show me the dish, Maria.’

  Maria went to the bag which was already packed and took out a beautiful dish of silver on which a delicate pattern was traced.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ cried Frances. ‘And you had it just for laughing. It’s a royal gift, Maria. The first royal gift you have ever had.’

  ‘And the last, I dareswear,’ said Maria lightly. ‘But it is a lovely dish and I still laugh when I see it. And I envy you, Frances, to stay in Paris, for how I love Paris! I love it in the morning when it is just beginning to wake up and there is an air of excitement everywhere and the streets are filled with the smells of cooking and the shops open and people are all scuttling about in the excited way they have. You can’t help catching the excitement. Brambridge seems very dull in comparison.’

  Brambridge is dull,’ admitted Frances. ‘The only excitement is going to Mass.’

  ‘So that is the same, is it. Do they still lock the door of the chapel when Mass is celebrated?’

  ‘Yes. And apart from that it is all so quiet. Lessons every day and a little riding in the park and we don’t know many people because most of our neighbours are Protestants and Mamma and Papa won’t allow us to know them.’

  It was Maria’s turn to be mournful. ‘Oh, lucky Frances!’ she sighed.

  A happy phase of her life was over; a new one was about to begin. She would have to learn to adjust herself to life at home as she had in Paris – and at least she had succeeded in comforting Frances.

  The house in Brambridge seemed smaller than she had been imagining it. Perhaps, she thought wryly, she had compared it with Versailles. On the journey back they had passed through London and an excitement had touched her then, for the capital city reminded her of Paris. Perhaps this was because in Paris there had been a craze for all things English and the Parisians had been copying the English style of dress … masculine of course. The men wore severely cut coats and white cravats and riding boots; and shops were advertising le thé as drunk in England. Maria had felt excited by the big city, but of course they could not linger there. And when they had at length arrived in the beautiful county of Hampshire and passed through Winchester on the way to Brambridge and the carriage took them up the avenue of limes she felt a certain emotion, for this after all was home. Yet she did remember that the Mother Superior had embraced her with affection when she had left and had told her that if ever she wished to return to the Blew Nuns there would always be a welcome for her, implying that Maria Smythe would always remain one of the favourite pupils.

  There was the house – a country mansion, the home of a squire and his family. Mama was waiting to welcome her and embraced her, then held her at arms’ length. ‘Let me look at you, Maria. Why, how you have grown! Who would have thought that this was my little Maria?’

  ‘Oh, Mamma, it is so good to see you.’

  ‘And you have been happy with the Nuns?’

  ‘They were very kind to me.’

  Mary Smythe smiled. Who would not be good to this charming young creature? How wise they had been to send her away. She had poise and charm and of course she spoke French like a native. Consequently they had a beautiful, intelligent and educated girl to launch on society.

  ‘Come into the house, daughter. You will have forgotten what it looks like after all this time.’

  Arm in arm, mother and daughter entered the house and there were the boys waiting to give her a boisterous greeting.

  ‘Be careful, boys,’ cried their father, ‘you will harm Maria’s Paris coiffure.’

  John reached up and tried to pull down the golden hair which was piled high on Maria’s head.

  She jerked away from him, laughing. ‘We all have to wear it high because Madame la Dauphine has a high forehead and wears hers so. It’s the fashion.’

  ‘And a most becoming one,’ said Mary.

  ‘I’m so pleased you approve, Mamma.’

  ‘Come, my dearest, to your room. I have had a larger one prepared for you. It overlooks the lime avenue. I trust you will like it.’

  ‘Oh, Mamma, I am happy to be home.’

  ‘I feared that you would not wish to leave the nuns.’

  ‘Nor did I. But I wanted to be home, too.’

  ‘You are fortunate, my dear, to have so much that you enjoy. I hope Frances will feel the same.’

  ‘But of course she must, Mamma.’

  Mary smiled, well pleased with her daughter. The boys were merry but inclined to be too boisterous and a little selfish. And Frances? Well, they would see. But perhaps there was only one Maria.

  Later Walter and Mary discussed their daughter.

  ‘She is charming,’ said Mary. ‘And a beauty. Her hair is quite lovely and her eyes … that lovely hazel colour! Her complexion is quite perfect. It is like rose petals.’

  ‘You are a fond mother.’

  ‘Can you deny what I have said?’

  ‘She has my nose. It would have been better if she had yours.’

  ‘What nonsense! It adds character to her face. I think an aquiline nose is so attractive. Without it she would be insipid.’

  ‘You are determined to eulogize your daughter, Madam.’

  ‘Well, Sir, tell me if you can see one fault in her.’

  Walter looked dubious and Mary cried triumphantly, ‘There, you cannot. You are as proud of her as I am.’

  ‘I admit to falling under the spell of our Maria.
She has returned from France even more delightful than when she went.’

  ‘Even the King of France was delighted by her.’

  ‘Oh, those sugar plums. He would have behaved so to any child.’

  ‘I don’t agree. He saw her, was enchanted by her, and wished to make her a present.’

  ‘I do not like to think of that man’s making gifts to our daughter … even though he thought of her as a child.’

  Mary nodded. ‘A sad state of affairs. No wonder the French are displeased with their King. Maria was telling me that he never goes to Paris at all because the people dislike him so much. They feel differently towards the Dauphin and his young Austrian wife. At least our King leads a good life, although there have been rumours about his early indiscretions. Did you know, I heard the other day that he had kept a Quakeress before his marriage and had even gone through a ceremony of marriage with her.’

  ‘Rumours, Mary, to which it is unwise to listen and more unwise still to repeat.’

  ‘Well, here’s a more pleasant rumour. I have heard that he is inclined to be tolerant to religious minorities. The Quakers for one.’

  ‘So here we are back to the Quaker rumour.’

  ‘Well, is it not important to us? If he is lenient towards Quakers why not to Catholics? I think we are lucky to have such a king and he will do something for us. Oh, Walter, it infuriates me to think we have to go almost stealthily to Mass and lock the door of the chapel.’

  Walter checked this flow by bringing the subject back to Maria.

  ‘Our beautiful daughter is seventeen. Is it not time that we looked for a husband for her?’

  Mary sighed. ‘It’s true, of course, but I wish it were not so. I should love to keep her with me for a little longer.’

  ‘Well, there is no hurry, but we have our duty to her, you know. She will not have a big dowry.’

  ‘Her dowry will be her beauty and her charm, and have you noticed, Mr Smythe, that she has in addition to these the sweetest of natures?’

  ‘Your daughter is a paragon, I doubt not, Madam. Therefore, in spite of her small dowry I am sure she will make a most satisfactory marriage.’

  ‘But who is there here in Brambridge?’

  ‘No one worthy of her, I agree. That is why I have come to discuss with you the possibility of sending her to your rich brother at Red Rice for a visit. I am sure he will be eager to do all that is possible for his charming niece.’

  Maria’s parents were right when they said that Henry Errington would be delighted to welcome his charming niece to his mansion in Red Rice. He had heard accounts of her beauty and when he saw her he was impressed.

  He would invite some wealthy and eligible young men to the house if he could find them. That was the problem. He had wealthy neighbours with eligible sons, but they were Protestants and the most important quality the bridegroom must have was that he must be of the approved religion.

  Still, he would do the best he could and he would invite his old friend Edward Weld to come and stay that he might ask his advice. Edward’s first wife had been the daughter of Lord Petre, and although unfortunately she was dead, Edward did entertain now and then at Lulworth Castle. Henry knew he would be pleased to help.

  In due course Edward Weld arrived at Red Rice and Henry took him to his study to discuss the problem.

  ‘My niece is a delightful creature, educated as few girls are today and in addition lovely to look at and of an engaging disposition. I don’t feel it will be difficult to find a husband for her in spite of her lack of dowry.’

  ‘How old is she?’ Edward Weld wanted to know.

  ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘Very young.’

  ‘Yes, but my sister has another daughter and she would like to see Maria suitably placed. I wondered, my dear friend, whether you could help me in this matter.’

  ‘I’ll do everything I can, of course. What do you suggest?’

  ‘Perhaps you could invite me to Lulworth and include my niece in the invitation?’

  ‘Easily done. You and your niece are invited.’

  ‘We have great pleasure in accepting.’

  ‘Without consulting the young lady?’

  ‘Maria is the most obliging of young women. I only have to say that I wish to go and her to accompany me and she will wish to please me.’

  ‘I must say you make me eager to see this charming creature.’

  ‘I love the girl although I have only just made her acquaintance so to speak; she’s been in Paris so long and was only a child when I knew her before she went to France. I am not so sure that I’m all that eager for her to marry. I’d like to adopt her and keep her with me.’

  ‘Her parents would never agree to that, I’m sure.’

  ‘And I’m equally sure of it. But come into the gardens. I think we shall find Maria there.’

  Maria was picking roses and her uncle was delighted with the impression she made on his friend, for he had seen that Edward had dismissed his praise of his niece as avuncular pride.

  ‘Maria, my dear, come and meet Mr Edward Weld.’

  She looked up from the rose bush and the flowers, thought her uncle fondly, were not more lovely than she was, as setting down her basket she dropped an enchanting curtsey.

  ‘Mr Weld has invited me to Lulworth Castle, Maria, and has suggested that you accompany me. How would you like that?’

  ‘It sounds delightful and I shall be most happy to go with you, Uncle.’

  ‘There, Edward,’ said Henry Errington, ‘Your invitation is accepted.’

  Edward Weld smiled, well pleased, and Henry noticed with pleasure that his friend found it difficult to take his eyes from Maria.

  Before Edward Weld left the house he told Henry Errington that he wished to speak to him confidentially and Henry asked him to come with him into his library for this purpose.

  As soon as they were alone Edward burst out: ‘You may have noticed how I feel about Maria. Henry, what chance do you think I should have if I asked her to marry me?’

  ‘You … Edward!’

  ‘Oh come, Henry, I’m not as old as all that, I am forty-four years of age. Maria is almost eighteen. A disparity, I admit, but I cannot help but love her and I – and you too – can assure her parents that I will cherish her and give her everything that – and more than perhaps – she has been accustomed to.’

  ‘I am sure you would, Edward. Have you spoken to Maria?’

  ‘Certainly not. I have spoken to you first, I should want Maria’s family’s permission before I spoke to her. Well, Henry?’

  Henry was thinking: Edward Weld, a Catholic, a good living man, a rich man, the owner of Lulworth Castle, a widower who had enjoyed one happy marriage with a wife who had been the daughter of a lord. He was sure that Maria’s parents could find no fault with such a match.

  ‘There is one thing,’ said Henry, ‘my sister and brother-in-law dote on the girl. I doubt they would force her into marriage. The answer would depend on her.’

  ‘Perhaps she would be so delighted with the Castle …’

  ‘I doubt it. Maria would never be tempted by material gain.’

  Edward looked a little uneasy. His health was not good; he was not of an age to shine in courting a young girl; he had hoped to dazzle her family with his wealth, but if that was of no account his chances would be small.

  His friend laid a hand on his arm. ‘Maria is fond of you, I am sure, but I think though that she regards you in the light of an … uncle, which is natural considering you are my friend. Perhaps that will change. I should not declare your intentions immediately, but I will write to her parents and let them know what they are. In the meantime we will go to Lulworth as arranged.’

  Lulworth! What a delightful spot. And Mr Weld seemed a different man in his own home. She wanted to hear all about the castle; she wanted to explore it. Would she allow Mr Weld to take her on a tour of inspection? She did not wish to encroach on his time because she was sure he had serious business which di
d not include wasting his time on a girl like herself. But no, Mr Weld would be delighted; he was gratified that she should be so interested in his home and he would allow no one to show it to her but himself.

  ‘It is not old … as castles go,’ he told her. ‘My family bought it little more than a hundred years ago, in 1641, for although the foundations were laid about the time the Armada was defeated, the castle wasn’t completed until some forty years later.’

  ‘It must be exciting to live in a castle.’

  ‘I find it so. Do you think you would?’

  ‘I’m sure I should.’

  ‘Well, who knows, perhaps you will.’

  She laughed lightheartedly. ‘I hardly think so. I shall have to be content with our house which is very pleasant but by no means a castle.’

  ‘But perhaps you won’t live there always. Perhaps you will marry and er …’

  ‘Who can say? Have you a chapel in the castle?’

  ‘Yes. Would you like to see it?’

  ‘Very much. At home we have to worship in the priest’s house. Papa has made a chapel there. It must be wonderful to have your own chapel.’

  He laid his hand on her arm and she showed no objection. She thinks of me as an uncle, he thought despairingly. And how lovely she was! How young! How full of health and vigour.

  On the way to the chapel he pointed out the round towers at each corner of the building, battlemented and made of Chelmark Stone. She was deeply interested in everything and delighted when he pointed out how the chapel had been built in four sections to make a cross.

  She thought the views from the park were delightful, looking across the Dorset coast as they did, and she suggested climbing to the top of one of the towers for a better view.

  She led the way up the narrow stone spiral staircase. The way was steep; it was years since he had been up there; he followed her, trying to keep up, trying to hide his breathlessness, and when he finally stood beside her at the top of the tower she turned to him in alarm and cried: ‘Mr Weld, are you feeling ill?’