Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘Charlotte, how can you say such things!’

  ‘I will say what is true, Augusta.’

  ‘I’d like to do a portrait of George,’ sighed Elizabeth. ‘He would be a most interesting subject.’

  ‘He’s very good looking,’ sighed Charlotte. ‘And he does such exciting things. Oh, Miss Burney, wouldn’t you like to put him into a novel?’

  Miss Burney laughed. ‘Well, one doesn’t write novels about real people, Your Highness. I think it would be lèse majesté or something like that.’

  ‘Your Highness is embarrassing Miss Burney,’ said Gooley reprovingly.

  ‘Dear old Gooley, you’re as bad as Papa and Mamma. I believe you approve of the way we’re treated.’

  ‘Now,’ retorted Miss Gooley, ‘we must obey His Majesty’s orders and there’s an end to it, as Your Highnesses all know well.’

  Three-year-old Amelia had escaped from her nurses and run into the room. ‘I am here. I am here.’

  ‘Where you have no right to be,’ said the Princess Royal affectionately reproving.

  Amelia laughed and began running round the room. ‘I’m a horse. I’m Papa’s horse.’

  There was the sound of carriage wheels in the courtyard, and all the Princesses ran to the window.

  ‘He’s going. He’s going already. Oh, look. Is he not handsome?’

  ‘He looks angry.’

  ‘Oh dear, there must have been another quarrel.’

  ‘But why … why? He only came to see how Papa was.’

  ‘To see if it would soon be his turn to wear the Crown.’

  ‘Oh, he is wicked, our dear brother. Charlotte, move over, I can’t see his shoe buckles.’

  ‘Melia wants to see George.’ The child turned imperiously to Fanny. ‘Miss Burney lift me up. I want to see George.’

  Nothing loth, and wanting to see George as eagerly as Amelia did, Miss Burney lifted the youngest Princess into her arms and stood at the window watching an angry Prince drive off in his phaeton.

  During his angry ride to London from Windsor the Prince decided that he would report exactly what had happened. He had gone down to Windsor full of good intentions; he had heard that his father had been shot at; he had gone to assure himself that the rumours were false and if they should not be, to offer what help he could. And the King had refused to see him.

  How the old fellow must hate him!

  He must talk to Fox and Sheridan immediately; moreover, something must be done about his debts. He could not go on living in this state for ever.

  As soon as he returned to Carlton House he sent for Fox and Sheridan.

  ‘I have been most ignobly treated at Windsor,’ he told them. ‘Naturally I went down as soon as I heard the news.’

  ‘It was the only thing Your Highness could do,’ replied Sheridan.

  ‘In the event of the King’s death Your Highness should be at hand,’ agreed Fox.

  ‘This turned out to be the attack of a mad woman with a dessert knife. I can tell you, gentlemen, the Queen received me very coldly.’

  ‘On orders from the King, no doubt.’

  ‘And he was in the next room. I even heard his silly old voice at one point. “Eh, what? Eh, what?” He was well … and he knew I was there. I said to my mother: “I wish to see the King that I may assure myself he has suffered no ill effects from this unfortunate affair.” And do you know what she replied? “That may be, but His Majesty does not wish to see you. And I can assure you that your visit here is having more ill effect than the attack by this mad woman.” My own parents! Is it not time the people knew how I am treated?’

  Fox was silent for a few seconds, then he said: ‘Yes, it is time … time to bring this matter into the open. I think we should now make our plans.’

  ‘Plans for what?’

  ‘For having the matter of Your Highness’s finances discussed in Parliament whether Pitt is agreeable or not.’

  The Prince looked delighted. He could trust Fox. Sheridan was in agreement. Fox had brought him into politics, he owed his advancement to Fox. So naturally whatever Fox suggested seemed to him the wise thing to do.

  ‘We need time,’ said Fox. ‘We must make sure of our support. But the time has come for us to take the initiative.’

  Fox radiated energy. Nothing pleased him more than a parliamentary conflict. This was a gamble of sorts. The public was naturally a little shocked that a prince could spend so much money he did not possess; but he had sold his horses and carriages; he had even paid off some of his debts and had lived economically, even riding in hired chaises – so he did repent of his follies. Whereas the King was determined not to help his son. He was an unnatural father; the people were beginning to realize that the King really hated the Prince of Wales. Besides, he was an unattractive old man, a boring old man, who preferred living in the country like a squire than in St James’s and Buckingham House like a king.

  Fox said: ‘I do not think the King has ever been so unpopular. This is clearly the time to take action. Now we must plan carefully how best we can outwit the King and clever young Mr Pitt.’

  Parliament would not reassemble until the autumn and then there were the formidable forces of Pitt to consider. Fox was eager not to go into battle until he was absolutely sure of victory and he believed that the Prince should make some bigger show of paying off some of the debts through his economical way of living. If he were not in Town – and how could he entertain there if he had shut up his reception rooms – the people would grow restive. They enjoyed watching the junketings that went on in his mansion, the fine carriages lining the Mall, the stories of his romance with Mrs Fitzherbert. But that winter London must lose its Prince. The royal family must be content with the dreary King and Queen and occasional glimpses of the Princesses who were kept so shut away that they had no opportunity of bringing their personalities to the notice of cartoonists and the people.

  ‘Then,’ said Fox, ‘in the spring we should be ready to go in and confound Mr Pitt and His Most Ungracious Majesty.’

  Marine Pavilion

  LOUIS WELTJE WAS a man of ideas and he had long been turning over in his mind a plan which he felt was a good one. On his trips to and from Brighton in the service of the Prince of Wales he had had time to survey the possibilities of that fishing village and found them exciting.

  Sea bathing he believed had come to stay. More and more of the fashionable world were spending long periods of the summer there. Old Smoker was a character; so was Martha Gunn; and stories of their salty conversation were repeated in the ballrooms of the great houses. Everyone must go to Brighton. The sea bathing was so beneficial to the health that it set one up for the winter; there was as much elegance in Brighton as in London because the Prince of Wales was there, and everyone knew that where the Prince of Wales was there was the ton, the high society, the only place where the fashionable could possibly exist.

  So Herr Weltje began to make plans.

  For three years the Prince had rented Grove House, but no one was going to say that Grove House was a worthy residence for the heir to the throne. Yet, reasoned Weltje, where else could the Prince stay? Quite obviously if there was no house in Brighton worthy of him, one must be provided.

  No one could be unaware of Herr Weltje; he was as outstanding in his way as the Prince was in his. But whereas the Prince was remarkable for his good looks and his glittering elegance, Weltje stood out in his ugliness.

  He had a face like a cod fish, some said, his short nose had an exaggerated tilt; his head was too big for his short fat body and he waddled like a duck.

  To make up for his unprepossessing appearance Weltje had an alert mind. One did not rise from gingerbread peddler to major-domo in a royal household without intelligence; one was not known as the best cook in London without reason; one did not own a confectioner’s shop in Piccadilly, which, it was true, was managed by one’s wife, and a club which was patronized by the Prince and his friends if one was not a very clever business man.


  The gingerbread seller was determined to make a fortune before he retired from business and then perhaps return to his native Hanover to spend it … or perhaps by then he would be content merely to remain in England.

  But now … Brighton. Herr Weltje saw possibilities in old Kemp’s Farm which stood on the west side of the Steyne. At this time few would give it a second glance, but that was all to the good. Its position was excellent; the name could be changed to Marine Pavilion; and with such a name and certain renovations it could be a more worthy dwelling for a Prince than Grove House.

  Herr Weltje believed he had another winner. He would take a lease of the place, and when it was ready let it to his royal master.

  When the Prince heard of the project he was delighted. Building was one of his passions and he threw himself wholeheartedly into turning Kemp’s Farm into Marine Pavilion. They must have, he told Weltje, the best of architects and he would have Henry Holland brought down to Brighton. The house must be ready for occupation by Easter as he had no intention of taking Grove House again and as Carlton House was shut up he intended to come down to Brighton as soon as the weather was warm.

  Work started immediately. The Prince would never suffer delay and in a few weeks there was not a sign of Kemp’s Farm. In its place an elegant mansion began to take shape. It was dominated by a rotunda in its centre, with a shallow cupola. Ionic collonnades connected this with the two wings on either side; and a gallery, on which forbidding-looking statues had been placed at intervals, surrounded the rotunda. The north wing, with the rotunda, had been added to what had been Kemp’s Farm, and which formed the basis of the south wing, so that Holland had more than doubled the size of the place and had arranged that almost every window should have a view of the sea. He had made it a very pleasant residence with verandas and balconies; and the gardens before the Pavilion were delightful. The front lawns were surrounded by a low wall and some trellis so that it was easy for people to see over and watch the Prince and his guests enjoying the sunshine in the gardens.

  It was a pleasant summer villa, the Prince decided; not ostentatious, but suited to his present mode of living. His passion for building made him dream of what alterations might one day be made to the Pavilion – but for the time being, with its two wings on either side of the rotunda, it must be adequate.

  Maria, who had refused to live openly with him, took a little house very near Marine Pavilion – just a small villa, made charming by its green shutters, and it was particularly convenient because only a narrow strip of garden separated it from the Prince’s house.

  During that winter while Fox was urging loyal Whigs to support the Prince’s request that his debts be considered a State matter and he be enabled to maintain an establishment suitable to his rank, he lived as simply as he could. Since living at Carlton House was too expensive he accepted the loan of several country houses. Lord North lent him his at Bushey and his uncle the Duke of Gloucester wrote from abroad that his mansion at Bagshot was at His Highness’s service.

  Maria was delighted with his economies and he delighted in pleasing Maria. Brighton took to her; she never gave herself airs, but at the same time had such a regal presence that she won immediate respect. All the well-known hostesses received her as though she were indeed the Princess of Wales. The Duchesses of Cumberland, Devonshire and Rutland, Ladies Clare, Clermont and Melbourne, were all at Brighton – they must be if they would be fashionable; there they entertained and unless they could induce the Prince and Mrs Fitzherbert to head their guests they were most despondent. The Prince was seen going everywhere with Maria. Martha Gunn openly called her Mrs Prince; and people took up the name. It was clear that they accepted Maria as the wife of the Prince of Wales, and the stories that a marriage had taken place between them as true.

  The good people of Brighton would not have had it otherwise. The building of Marine Pavilion had brought prosperity to Brighton builders. Everyone was wanting villas put up – and grand ones too.

  The people of Brighton cheered the Prince wherever he went. They did not forget what they owed to him – and of cours to Mrs Prince.

  The popularity of the Prince was never so high as it was during that summer. His extreme affability and his free and easy manners won the hearts of the people of Brighton. He was sorry he had run up such debts, they said; and how had he? On setting up home for Mrs Fitzherbert. A reasonable and romantic reason. What right had the King to be so hard on his son? They remembered that the Parliament had paid the King’s debts before this. And why was that? How did he run up debts with his cheeseparing. They knew. It was because the Queen was spending money abroad on her needy family, that was what it was! And in the meantime the charming Prince of Wales – who it was admitted had lived extravagantly but understandably so – had to live in penury.

  Penury was scarcely the word to describe the way of life at Marine Pavilion – but the Prince was undoubtedly economizing.

  Under the influence of Maria, he drank less and that made him more affable still. He was interested in his servants; when a boy was dismissed for dishonesty the Prince found him weeping bitterly and asking the cause, and discovering it, said to the boy: ‘If I give you another chance would you promise me never to steal again and be my good and faithful servant?’ The boy swore it and the chance was given and ever after no one dared say a word against the Prince of Wales in his hearing. Thus he was popular with the townsfolk and particularly in his own household. It was said of him that no one was ever adored so wholeheartedly by his servants as he was. He could always be relied on to help anyone in financial difficulties. It was true that he had no notion of money but quite a proportion of his debts had been incurred through his generous help to those in distress.

  Maria, knowing this, rejoiced in her Prince and she declared more than once that economizing in Brighton was no real hardship. In fact she had never been so happy in her life.

  The Due d’Orléans, that lover of Grace Elliott and all things English, was naturally at Brighton. He was known to be out of sympathy with his cousin the King of France and the enemy of the Queen of that country; he loved the English way of life. He was always to the fore at any race meeting; he gambled extravagantly; and he declared himself to be one of the best friends of the Prince of Wales.

  One day when he found himself alone with the Prince he broached the subject of the Prince’s financial difficulties and told him that it grieved him very much to see such an elegant gentleman, such a natural leader of fashion, forced to submit himself to such a bourgeois state as economy.

  The Prince laughed. ‘Oh, I am not so extravagant as I believed myself to be.’

  ‘I don’t like it, cousin. In fact I feel ashamed to have so much and to see you with so little.’

  ‘Monsieur le Due, you have a kind heart, I see.’

  ‘I should have a happy one if you would allow me to offer you a loan which would wipe out a good proportion of your debts.’

  The Prince thought how pleasant it would be to snap his fingers at his father and Mr Pitt and avail himself of this offer.

  He hesitated and Orléans was quick to see this.

  ‘Come! What is a little money, between cousins?’

  ‘I would not wish to inconvenience you in the least.’

  ‘Inconvenience! It would give me the greatest pleasure.’

  Sheridan came riding down to Brighton to call on Maria.

  ‘Did you know that the Prince is about to accept a loan from the Due d’Orléans?’

  ‘Why, no!’ cried Maria.

  ‘I see that you realize the importance of this. He must be persuaded not to accept this. It’s a political move on the part of Orléans.’

  ‘The Prince will be calling shortly. Wait here and see him with me.’

  When the Prince arrived he was pleased to see his dear friend Sherry and glad that he got on better with Maria than Fox did.

  ‘Sherry is anxious about this money you are proposing to borrow from the Due d’Orléans,’ said
Maria.

  The Prince laughed. ‘Is it not an excellent idea to allow the Frenchman to help me out of my difficulties? Imagine my father’s rage when he knows that I have not to beg to him any more.’

  ‘Your Highness,’ said Sheridan, ‘this is a member of the French royal family. I have already heard of the money he is now raising in France. This would be taken to amount to a loan from France. Your Highness will see that it would be quite impossible for you to take it.’

  The Prince was startled and Maria, watching, thought he looked like a child who has had a promised toy suddenly snatched from him.

  ‘Why?’ he demanded.

  ‘Because, sir, the Due of Orléans is a political figure. He does not offer you this money entirely out of friendship. There is a great deal of unrest in France at this time and it would seem that there is trouble ahead. It may be that the Due has plans … plans which might involve this country. Your Highness is apt to forget, if I may be so bold as to say so, the importance of your position. I must tell Your Highness that both Fox and Portland consider it most unwise of you to accept this loan.’

  ‘So it is being discussed already?’

  ‘In France, Your Highness, as well as in this country. I know now that with your sound good sense you will see the danger of putting yourself so deeply in debt to France through the Duc d’Orléans.’

  Maria said: ‘Sherry is right, I feel sure.’

  The Prince smiled and nodded. ‘Of course. I see it all. But …’

  ‘Your Highness,’ said Sheridan hastily, ‘Charles has sent a message to you. Be patient for a little longer. He plans to bring your affairs up in Parliament very shortly. He is ready for the attack and he says the signs are good. There is victory ahead.’

  ‘I will write at once to Orléans and thank him for his generosity while I tell him that I shall be unable to take advantage of his goodness.’