Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  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 uncomfortable. 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 leave 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 Châtelet, 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 cafés 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 ‘pots-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 Duc d’Orléans 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 step.

  ‘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 are 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 cafés 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 and 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 thé; they were going to the horse-racing; all customs which the Due d’Orléans 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.

  The Prince had once again discovered her whereabouts. What a good espionage service he had! she thought indulgently. She should come back to him. There should be an honourable marriage. All that she was holding out against could be dispensed with. If he were no longer the heir to the crown he could marry the woman of his choice.

  But what of the Royal Marriage Act which stated categorically that a member of the royal family under twenty-five could not marry without the Sovereign’s consent? And this was not just an ordinary member of the family. This was the Prince of Wales.

  The Dukes of Gloucester and Cumberland had married without the King’s consent, and their Duchesses were not received at Court – but they were recognized as Duchesses. Yes, but they had married before the Bill was made law.

  He could marry her (just as she wished, with a priest, he had said) but the State would not consider it a marriage. It was not the State that she was thinking of. It was the Church. If she and the Prince made their vows before a priest in the eyes of the Church they would be married.

  It was, in fact, the laws of the Church that concerned her, not those of the State.

  The Prince believed, he wrote, that his father would not frown on the arrangement. He had always hated him and Frederick was his favourite son – doubtless because he had not seen him for a long time; but the fact remained that the King would rather see Frederick the heir. Frederick had always been his brother’s great friend and would make any sacrifice for his sake. He would marry the woman chosen for him, produce children and even live amicably with the King and Queen, which could be the greatest trial of all.

  What was Maria waiting for? She only had to return and the life of bliss would begin.

  She was thinking of it perpetually. For a whole year she had lived in exile; and all that time he had never wavered. Surely that was proof enough of his devotion?

  And if marriage could be arranged that would not offend the laws of the Holy Church …

  But it would, of course it would.

  Two voices argued within her. She knew that one was prompted by her head, one by her heart; and it was the first to which she should listen.

  But she was lonely; she was homesick; and this year away from him had taught her one thing: she loved the Prince of Wales.

  It was winter in Paris and the slushy mud of the streets had turned to snow. The air of tension in the streets w
as growing; there were rumours about the trial of the Cardinal de Rohan and his accomplices which would take place next spring.

  Maria wanted to go home. She wanted the comfort of her house in Park Street, the rural beauties of Richmond Hill. She wanted the excitement of Carlton House.

  Then she read in a Court Circular that the Marquis de Bellois was in Paris.

  She wrote to the Prince of Wales. She was coming home. She could no longer live in exile and … without him.

  The jubilant reply to this sent her into such ecstasies that she could no longer listen to the voice of reason.

  She was going home; she was going to her lover – the man who was known throughout the country as the irresistible Prince Charming.

  How could she – the woman who loved him more deeply than anyone else – refuse him?

  Fox’s Warning

  CHARLES JAMES FOX was very anxious. He discussed the new turn of affairs with Lizzie Armistead in their home at St Anne’s Hill, Chertsey; and she had rarely seen him so disturbed.

  ‘It can only mean one thing, Liz,’ he said. ‘The lady would not have come home without a definite offer of marriage.’

  ‘That’s impossible. How can he marry her?’

  ‘Knowing His Royal Highness I’ll swear he has put up a good case to the lady. There is no one who can fit the case to suit his own personal needs like H.R.H.’

  ‘Mrs Fitz is no fool. He would have to offer a real marriage. No ring slipped on the finger at the point of death would suffice. He has tried that once and she wouldn’t have it.’

  ‘That’s true; and it is what worries me. And there is something else, Liz. He did not tell me that she was coming home. He has kept the matter secret, it is true; but previously I have shared his secrets. He is planning marriage and he knows I can only dissuade him from it … so, characteristically, he doesn’t tell me.’

  ‘Perhaps it is not a real marriage he is offering her.’

  ‘It cannot be a real marriage, but it is something she – and no doubt he – are deceiving themselves is. I see the most fearful disaster ahead, Liz. If he goes far enough he could lose the Crown.’