by Jean Plaidy
Uncle Henry came over and was a great consolation; he would be a father to the family, he said. Frances should remain with the Blew Nuns to complete her education, for no good could come in bringing her home; and the boys would have to be found careers, which was not easy, as being Catholics they would be debarred from the professions most suited to their position in life, such as government posts, the Bar, or the Army or Navy.
Uncle Henry stayed with them for a while but Maria discovered that her uncle, although a delightful host, a man who loved to entertain and who enjoyed good food and wine, was not really suited to be the guardian of boys who were fast becoming men. The discipline imposed by their father was completely lacking and Maria had some uneasy moments contemplating their future.
It was now that she regretted her ill luck or lack of prescience which had prevented her from seeing that the will was signed before that fatal ride. What a lot she could have done for her family if she had been the rich widow of Lulworth Castle instead of the poor one of a cottage on Colden Common!
Uncle Henry was, however, very interested in his beautiful niece and he was constantly endeavouring to see that she was not hidden from sight. One of his friends was Thomas Fitzherbert, a rich Catholic squire who had estates in Swynnerton in Staffordshire and Norbury in Derbyshire; he was some thirty years old – older than Maria, it was true, but Maria was now no inexperienced girl. Uncle Henry was right when he guessed that Tom Fitzherbert would be impressed by his niece.
‘She is delightful,’ he cried. ‘I am sure, Henry, that I never saw a more lovely girl.’
Uncle Henry chuckled. If Maria married Tom Fitzherbert she would have a life more suited to her than that she had had through her first marriage. Edward Weld had been very worthy, a good rich Catholic husband, but he had been somewhat old for Maria and he had really lived too quietly at Lulworth. Tom Fitzherbert knew how to live well – which was in that manner so enjoyed by Henry Errington. Maria would really have been wasted at Lulworth where comparatively little entertaining had been done.
As Henry predicted it was not long before Tom Fitzherbert was making his intentions clear; and Maria, like the good sensible girl she was, accepted him.
Maria was just turned twenty-one when she became Mrs Fitzherbert.
Maria was quickly to discover that life with Thomas Fitzherbert had a great deal more to offer than that which she had enjoyed with Edward Weld. Now she had an energetic husband, who was as devoted to her in his way as Edward Weld had been in his. Maria was beautiful, goodnatured, poised and intelligent and Thomas Fitzherbert was certainly not disappointed in the marriage – nor was Maria.
They had plenty of money; they entertained lavishly, not only in the country but in London where they had a house in Park Street, off Park Lane. Here politicians and members of the aristocracy came often and the conversation was witty and amusing. Maria Fitzherbert began to be known as one of the most successful hostesses in London; and how much more to Maria’s taste was London life than that of the country!
Mr Fitzherbert, though an ardent Catholic, was liberal in outlook and fully supported the monarchy. He had great faith in the King whom he knew was anxious to abolish intolerance and he had hopes of seeing a reform in the laws against Catholics.
In her new affluent circumstances Maria did not forget her family, and when it was time for Frances to leave the convent she suggested that her sister come and stay with her.
It was a great joy to see Frances again – grown into a tall and pretty young woman. The sisters embraced warmly and Maria was interested to discover that her sister had been as regretful to leave the Blew Nuns as she had been. She had tales to tell of Paris, the scandals of the Court, the inability of the King and Queen to get children until the recent birth of a Princess to them – Madame Royale.
Maria listened eagerly and with pleasure to her sister’s accounts of life in France and told her what had been happening at home.
‘You will not find it difficult to settle down,’ she assured her.
‘I should have hated to be shut away at Brambridge, Maria. Oh, it is so changed! Poor Papa! He is just there … not like his old self at all; and Mamma seems to have lost her spirit and the boys are so wild. How glad I am that you married Mr Fitzherbert and have invited me to stay with you.’
‘I am glad about both of those things also,’ Maria told her.
Maria enjoyed launching her sister on London society and when she took her to Swynnerton, Frances was a success. She was exceptionally pretty, charming, gay and goodnatured; but a pale shadow of Maria, most people agreed.
There was one young man who was entertained frequently at Swynnerton who did not however agree with this verdict.
Frances came into her sister’s bedroom while Maria was at her dressing table. Maria, who liked to dress her own hair, had dismissed her maid. She still wore it naturally. She was secretly proud of those thick corn-coloured curls and was not going to have them disfigured by powder; and as her own hair was abundant she had no need to pad it. Besides, she preferred to follow an original style.
Frances sat on the bed and watched her sister.
‘You should see the hairstyles in Paris. They get higher and higher. Women are wearing feathers and even country scenes in their hair. And the Queen leads the fashion, which becomes more outrageous every day. Monsieur Leonard, her hairdresser, goes rattling along in his very fine carriage every day from Paris to Versailles to dress the Queen’s hair.’
‘I shan’t change my style … not even for the Queen of France,’ said Maria.
‘I don’t blame you. Yours looks lovely. Maria, I have come to the conclusion that you are a very unusual woman.’
‘Have you only just come to that conclusion?’ asked Maria lightly.
‘Well I’ve always known it. You’re very happy with Tom, are you not?’
Maria agreed that this was so.
‘But then you were happy with Mr Weld.’
That was also true.
‘I wonder whether, Maria, you are the sort of woman who would be happy with any man.’
‘I’m sure I should not.’
‘But two happy marriages. You are, of course, very good-natured, amusing, clever and beautiful.’
‘Please, you are making me blush.’
‘But you are also wise, so you know these things. How much am I like you, Maria?’
‘Quite a bit, I believe.’
‘I wonder if I shall be happily married.’
‘I am sure you will if you marry wisely.’
‘Are people wise when they are in love?’
Maria was thoughtful. She had married what was considered wisely twice. Yet she hesitated to answer that question. A thought came into her head. Had she ever been in love? She was fond of Thomas, of course; she had been fond of Edward, but …
Frances was looking at her intently.
‘I think,’ said Frances steadily, ‘that I could feel the same for Carnaby Haggerston as you do for Thomas Fitzherbert.’
Maria was excited. ‘Frances. He has …’
Frances nodded.
‘And you accepted?’
‘Not exactly. I wanted to talk to you first.’
‘But you are fond of him, Frances? I have seen you together. I know.’
‘Yes,’ said Frances, ‘I’m fond of him.’
‘I’m delighted.’ Maria rose and embraced her sister. ‘Mamma will be so pleased and so will Papa … poor dear Papa … if he is able to grasp what this means. Uncle Henry and Thomas will both be so … gratified. It is just what we should all have wished.’
Frances nodded and kept her eyes on her face. Maria was happy; and her happiness had come through wisdom. No one could deny that Sir Carnaby Haggerston of the Northumberland Catholic Haggerstons was not an excellent match.
With Frances safely married and the chance of helping the boys which marriage with Thomas gave her, Maria was at peace. Occasionally she invited her mother to spend a little time with her in the c
ountry. Poor Mamma, she had changed a great deal since Papa’s stroke and Maria feared she sighed nostalgically for the past. Walter had gone into the Austrian Army since his religious opinions debarred him from joining that in his own country; and Uncle Henry was often at Brambridge. But he was too indulgent and the boys, Maria feared, sadly missed a father.
She was growing closer and closer to Thomas whose activities were of the utmost interest to her; and for him it was a great pleasure to have a well-informed wife with whom he could discuss those issues which were of such importance to him.
There was only one disappointment in their marriage; there was no sign of any children. But Maria was very young and they had their whole lives before them. Thomas was certain that such a paragon as Maria could not fail to give him all he wanted.
He delighted in those occasions when they could dine alone together. These were rare because there seemed to be a continual round of entertaining, for he had always been a jovial man who liked to surround himself with friends; he was wealthy; he had fine houses in which to entertain, and as there were three of them in different parts of the country and he had so many friends in each part, naturally there was a constant round of visits.
But there were rare occasions when he and Maria could dine intimately together and this was one of them. How beautiful she looked with her golden hair falling about her shoulders, so simply dressed and so charming. He thought that in her muslin gown with the blue ribbons she was more beautiful than in a satin silk velvet or brocade evening gown.
Driving home through the Mall they had passed a young woman in a carriage – a flamboyant, overdressed young woman in pale pink satin and big straw hat decorated with pink and green feathers. An undoubted beauty but, in Maria’s opinion, decidedly a little vulgar. Thomas had told her that the woman was Mrs Robinson, the actress who was known as Perdita because she had been playing Perdita in The Winter’s Tale when the Prince of Wales had first noticed her.
While they dined they discussed the woman and the scandal she was causing.
‘I am sorry for His Majesty,’ said Thomas. ‘The Prince is a great trial to him.’
‘He is young yet,’ replied Maria. ‘Doubtless he will grow wiser as he grows older.’
‘But when the heir to the throne lives openly with an actress it is certain to cause distress to all good subjects of the King who, I have heard, spends many a sleepless night worrying about what the Prince is doing.’
‘I am surprised that he should have become enamoured of such a woman.’
‘Actresses have a great appeal for the very young and she is reckoned a beauty.’
‘She is undoubtedly that,’ agreed Maria.
‘And clearly well aware of it. I give her another three months. They say His Highness is already wavering.’
‘Poor woman! What will she do then?’
‘Find another protector, I dareswear. That is usually the way of such women.’
‘I am sorry for her. She is pretty, too.’
‘You waste your pity on such a woman, my love. I wonder what influence the Prince will have on political issues. I have heard that he is seen often in the company of men like Burke and Charles James Fox.’
‘So it would appear,’ said Maria, ‘that he does not spend all his time with the actress. He must be interested in politics to have such men as his friends.’
‘This could be so.’
‘And do you think he will be on our side?’
Her husband smiled. ‘The Prince will always take sides against his father. But the King gave his assent to our Bill nearly two years ago, so doubtless His Highness would not have given his if he had an opportunity of doing so, which fortunately he has not. He will have to wait until he is twenty-one before he can have an influence on politics … and that is three years away.’
‘Is he so young then?’ said Maria.
‘Very young. Six years younger than you, Maria.’
‘Six years.’ That was about the time she had married Edward Weld! She had seemed very young then. She was silent, thinking of the Prince who caused such distress to his father and who was very wild and gay and, so it was said, extremely charming and undeniably handsome.
Poor woman, she thought again, as a vision of the woman in the Mall rose before her, over-dressed, her hair heavily powdered, her face a mask of rouge and white lead.
The subject was distasteful so she changed it.
‘How gratifying it is that that cruel law has been changed. I remember my parents talking about it long before I went to France. One of the most cruel aspects was that which enabled the son of a Catholic turned Protestant to take over his father’s possessions. Just imagine if Walter, John or Charles had done that. What a dreadful law!’
‘All laws against minorities are monstrous. But we are fortunate in our King, Maria. He has always stood for tolerance and he is a good man. I know many people laugh at him … call him “Farmer George” because he is fond of the land, and “The Button Maker” because he is interested in handcrafts. They call him dull because he is a faithful husband – but I think he is a good man.’
‘But a good man is not necessarily a good king. What of the Colonies? I fancy King George has played an important part in that disastrous affair.’
‘You have a point there, my dear,’ Thomas admitted. ‘But I was referring to his tolerance. He has protected Methodists and Quakers in the past – and I believe he has always been sympathetic towards us.’
A servant came in at that moment to announce that Sir Carnaby Haggerston had called.
Maria rose to greet her brother-in-law and drew back in dismay when she saw how agitated he was.
‘Lord George Gordon is mustering the Protestant Association and I’ve heard that he is inciting them to rise up against the Catholics of London. My God, I pray we are not going to have riots here … as they’ve been having in Scotland.’
‘Impossible,’ said Thomas. ‘The Protestant Association is a worthy body. I’m sure of this.’
‘But,’ said Haggerston, ‘I hear that Gordon is a madman.’
Maria sat at an upper window in the house in Park Street. Terror had struck London and she knew that at any moment the mob might come running into this very street, stop at this very house, break down the doors and destroy or burn their possessions.
Thomas had urged her to leave London, but that she would not do. It was his duty, Thomas said, to stay here. The houses of his friends had been looted and some of their priests were in danger. He must do all he could to get them removed to places of safety. He would not be true to his Faith if he ran away to the country to hide himself there. Besides, who knew when these riots would spread even into the country. But he deplored the fact that Maria was in the centre of the trouble.
Maria for once was in disagreement with her husband. Her mouth set into firm lines, for Maria could be very firm when she considered it necessary to be, and she said: ‘If you stay in London, Thomas, I shall stay too. You may need my help.’
And Thomas found it impossible to persuade her.
The trouble had seemed to break out suddenly. At the heart of it was mad Lord George Gordon, an insignificant younger son of a noble house, good looking, a bon viveur, a Member of Parliament who could not get himself taken seriously.
That, Maria had said to Thomas, was at the root of the trouble. Lord George was determined to call attention to himself no matter if he laid waste half London to do so. He was a Protestant, and when he had been elected President of the Protestant Association of England he believed he had that chance. He announced his intention of bringing about the repeal of the Catholic Act, that Act which had given the rights to Catholic subjects in England which had so long been denied them. He had spoken in Parliament where his diatribes had not been given serious attention; he had had an audience with the King which had brought no success.
To a man such as Gordon, obsessed by the need to call attention to himself, these rebuffs only strengthened his resolution. The P
arliament and King rejected him; very well there was the mob.
The nightmare days followed. Members of the Protestant Association collected in St George’s Fields; they marched round the fields singing hymns and holding banners aloft; but it was not the orderly members of the Association who would be of use to Lord George; it was the mob he collected on his march to the Houses of Parliament. Beggars, criminals, prostitutes, all looking for sport and chiefly gain, joined the throng which had grown to over twenty thousand.
‘No Popery!’ they shouted. They flung mud at the carriages of Members of Parliament; they waited outside the House while Gordon entered it; but they were not interested in talk; they wanted action. Many did not know what the point at issue was but they screamed the parrot cry of ‘No Popery’; and the pillage began.
Maria shivered; looking out she could see the red glow in the sky. They were burning Catholic chapels and the houses of well-known Catholics. The Fitzherberts were not unknown. When would their turn come?
A carriage drew up at the door and Frances stepped out and hurried into the house. Maria ran down to greet her.
‘Frances! To come through the streets!’
‘But Maria, Carnaby is out … I know not where … and I could not stay in the house alone. I had to be with you. So I took a chance. Oh, Maria, it was terrible. I saw houses ablaze … the houses of our friends … What will happen next?’
‘How can we know? Sit down and have a glass of wine.’
The servant brought it. Was she watching them furtively? The girl was a good Catholic – she would not have been employed in the household if she were not – but what were the servants thinking? It was the rich Catholics who were the targets for the mob.
Frances drank the wine and looked at her sister, asking for comfort.
‘It cannot go on,’ said Maria.
‘Why not!’ demanded Frances. ‘They could burn the whole of London. They have attacked the house of a magistrate who attempted to warn them that they were breaking the law. On my way here I saw seven big fires. Oh, Maria, Maria what next?’
‘They will have to stop it. They will have to call out the Army.’
