Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  Frederick had heard of the charms of Maria Fitzherbert and of his brother’s devotion and how nothing would satisfy him but marriage with this lady; and he, who had been at his brother’s side during the affair with Perdita, who had attended those clandestine meetings on Eel Pie Island to be at hand to give a warning if needed, now declared himself entirely at his brother’s service over the matter of Maria Fitzherbert.

  If necessary, wrote the Prince, he would give up the Crown, which would mean that Frederick would inherit it. Was Frederick agreeable to make this sacrifice?

  Frederick replied that he would make any sacrifices for his brother.

  Dear, dear brother, how cruel to keep them apart! Frederick must realize, the Prince reminded him, that at some time he himself might want to marry someone who was not acceptable as a future Queen of England.

  Frederick’s reply was characteristic of him. In that event there was William, Edward, Ernest, Augustus or Adolphus to step into the breach. There was one thing for which they must be grateful to their parents; they had been generous in providing substitutes should they feel unable to accept the Crown.

  They could always laugh together. The Prince was a little more hopeful and the people in the streets were singing more than ever, with sympathy and interest in their emotional, lovesick, but never boring Prince of Wales:

  ‘I’d crowns resign

  To call thee mine …’

  Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.’

  Maria wrote to him. He must forget her, she told him. It was no use his talking wildly of marrying her and giving up the Crown. This she appreciated but even if he disobeyed his father and was so imprudent as to follow her abroad, she could never marry him. She implored him to try to forget her.

  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 it.

  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 Geat Seal? Pitt was at the head of the country and there he intended to remain. He had no fears for 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 forty-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 he 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 Jam
es 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 Fitzherbert.

  She revolted against the idea.

  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 state 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 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 practice 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?’

  ‘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 em
barrassment. 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. ‘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. ‘Papa 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 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?