Sweet lass of Richmond Hill

Mrs.Fitzherbert

It was not until the will was read that Maria realized what had happened and that she alone was responsible for her position. The new will had lain unsigned and forgotten in the bureau during Edward's illness and in the old one there was no mention of Maria. How could there have been? Edward had been unaware of her existence when he had written it. The Castle and Edward's fortune therefore had all gone to his brother Thomas and there was not a penny for Maria.

Thomas—Edward's brother—arrived at the castle. He was sorry for Maria and assured her that she would not be left without means of support.

"You should not concern yourself with me," she told him. "I shall return to my parents."

Thomas thought that would be the wisest plan; he would however insist on making her a small allowance which he was sure was what his brother would have wished.

Maria knew that what her husband had wished was to leave her the castle and the bulk of his fortune, but she did not remind Thomas of this. She herself was to blame. Who would have thought on that sunny morning when she had persuaded Edward to postpone the signing of his will that such an act could have the effect of making her a poor widow instead of a rich one?

But she was young and she could not regret the loss of a fortune. She was still mourning for Edward whom she had loved, if not passionately, with devotion and gratitude.

She was delighted when Papa arrived to take her back to Brambridge.

Mary Smythe was glad to have her daughter at home, but she did deplore what she called her lack of worldliness. Edward had been ready to sign his will and what had stopped him was Maria ... the chief beneficiary!

"My goodness!" cried Mary. "What irony! A fortune handed to you and you calmly say, "Later, please. Let us ride first." Really, Maria!"

"Oh, Mamma, how was I to know ...?"

"No, no, my dearest, of course you did not. But I think you should try and take a slightly more practical view in future"

"Mamma, it is over. Dear Edward is dead and I am not rich, though I have enough. I must be content with that."

Mary Smythe sighed. Her daughter grew more beautiful every day. Would a young widow have as much chance of finding a husband as an unmarried girl? She was not sure, for the widow was very little better off than the young girl had been.

Maria stayed at her parents' house for some months and then decided to take a cottage nearby on Colden Common, which was not a bad idea. "It makes her status clear" said Mary to Walter, "and after a year of mourning there is no reason why Maria should not go into society again. She will then be under twenty which, Walter, you must admit is very young. And I begin to think that our Maria is beautiful enough to do without a dowry"

"No one is beautiful enough for that, Mary."

"You are a cynic, Walter. Maria married Edward did she not? She would have been rich but for her own folly ... well, hardly that—heedlessness. But I doubt not that she has now learned that financial affairs should be settled at the earliest possible moment—and that is a very valuable lesson learned."

"At the price of a fortune, yes."

"Perhaps my brother will help again. He was very useful before. But Maria must have her year to mourn poor Edward. Then we shall see."

So Maria settled quietly in her cottage.

Henry Errington was very interested in his sister's family, having none of his own, and he made up his mind that having succeeded in finding Maria a husband once he would do so again; but like his sister and her husband he agreed that the year of mourning must first be lived through.

Maria found life in her little cottage with the one servant she could afford, suited to her mood. She thought a great deal of that short period when she had been mistress of Lulworth Castle and was sad mourning poor Edward who had loved her so devotedly and had doubtless shortened his life in trying to keep up with her youth. There had been no need. She had not wished him to.

But she was sensible enough to know that her feeling for him had been no deep-rooted emotion. She had tried to please him because she enjoyed pleasing people; and after a few months she began to find the quiet life at the cottage very much to her taste. She read a great deal; she studied politics, for she quickly realized that she was living in momentous times. The conflict with the American colonies was certainly one of vital importance; she followed the activities of Pitt— now Lord Chatham; and she thought often of affairs in France and was a little sad because the King who had presented her with a dish of sugar plums had died and on the throne was now that gauche young Dauphin and his dainty Austrian-born wife.

Well, nothing remained the same and she wondered how long she would stay in her little cottage on Colden Common. She knew that Uncle Henry had his eye on her. They would soon start matchmaking again. But at the moment there was respite, and she could enjoy it.

As her brother Walter came breathlessly into the cottage, one glance was enough to show her that something was very wrong.

"Maria," he said, "come home at once. Papa has been taken very ill."

She snatched up her cloak and climbed into the trap. She had never seen Walter so serious.

"Tell me what happened" she demanded.

"Mamma went to see what had happened to him and found him in his chair unable to move"

Through the avenue of limes they went as fast as the pony would take them and as soon as they stopped by the door Maria leaped down and ran indoors.

Her mother, white faced and silent, embraced her. The doctors were with Walter Smythe; and it did not take them long to give their verdict. He had had a stroke which had paralysed him.

Life had indeed changed in the house in Brambridge. Maria gave up the cottage and went home to console her mother, but with poor Papa an invalid who would never walk again, nothing was the same.

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 have 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, Tm 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 country. 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 Bram-bridge. 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 so 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 of 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 Parliament 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.

Trances I 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."

"Then why do they not? What do they let this go on for? The mob has freed the prisoners from Newgate; they have set the prison on fire. Felons are walking the streets. What will become of us."

"That's something we never know from day to day—Gordon riots or not. It is no use agitating yourself, Frances. It does no good. At any moment we may be called upon to play our part and we have to be ready for that."

"Where is Thomas?"

"He is out ... helping our friends. He is trying to get some of the priests out of London. It is their only hope."

"They would have no compunction in murdering them," said Frances. "Listen."

The shouts seemed to be coming nearer, the red glow in the fire more fierce.

Maria prayed silently that no harm should befall her friends, her sister and herself. If the riots spread to the country ... she thought of the house in Brambridge and her father, that poor helpless invalid, and the boys. What of Uncle Henry who would, like Thomas, not stand idle? And men like Thomas who were taking an active part in all this were the ones who were in most danger.

Thomas must be safe. How she wished he would come in.

The shouting had become more muted.

"They are not coming this way" said Frances.

Maria sighed with relief. But where was Thomas?

It was midnight when he returned; his clothes were singed and blackened by smoke and he was exhausted.

Maria cried: "Thank God you are home." She did not ask questions; it was imperative to get him to bed. She would not allow the servants to wait on him, for how did one know whom one could trust?

"I must wash this grime from me, Maria" he said.

"I will prepare you a hot cordial while you do so"

Bathing exhausted Thomas and before he could drink the cordial he was asleep.

In the morning Maria was alarmed by his looks; he had lost his usually healthy colour and he coughed incessantly. She wanted to call a physician, but Thomas said it was only a chill and would pass. There was work to be done. More of the priests were in acute danger and it was the duty of men such as himself to bring them out of it.

But when he tried to rise from his bed he could not do so and Maria decided that whatever he said she was going to call a doctor.

She was scarcely aware of what was going on outside because Thomas was very ill, through an inflammation of the lungs; Maria was at his bedside day and night listening to his delirium.

Meanwhile the rioters were threatening St. James's Palace and the Bank of England, and the King, realizing drastic action was necessary, called in martial law. The troops fired on the mob and after several hundred rioters had been killed, order was at last restored.

The Gordon Riots were over.

But Thomas Fitzherbert was very ill indeed: and even though the fever subsided, he did not regain his former good health.

With the coming of that winter as his health did not improve, Maria decided to take him to the South of France where a warmer climate might be beneficial. They took a villa near the sea where Maria devoted herself assiduously to his comfort. But it was no use. Thomas's lungs seemed permanently affected.

Never before had Thomas realized what a blessing his marriage had been. In Maria he had the perfect nurse. Every hour of the day she devoted to him; she would sit with him at the open window looking out over the sea and talk about events in England, for which Thomas was homesick. Not so Maria. Those early years in France had given her a love of this country and she would not have objected to settling there altogether.

But as the winter wore on it became apparent that Thomas was no better in France than in England and that far from improving he was growing steadily more feeble.

He grew anxious about Maria's future, knowing what had happened in the case of her first marriage, how the will which would have left her very comfortably off had never been signed, he was determined that nothing like that should happen again.

He told Maria that he had made a will and that if he died she would be a comparatively rich woman.

Maria said that she did not wish to talk of such an unlikely eventuality, but he insisted that she did.

"The estates at Swynnerton and Norbury will have to go to my brother Basil. They were left to me with that provision. It is always a male heir who must inherit ... and if we should have no son ..."

Maria nodded. The hope of children was one which she had been obliged to subdue, for it was almost certain now that Thomas would never father a child.

"But that will not prevent my looking after you, Maria. The lease of the house in Park Street is not part of the family inheritance. That shall be yours, with all the furniture in it, also my horses and carriages, and in addition there will be an income of two thousand pounds a year—so, my dear, although you will not be as rich as I should like to make you, you will be well provided for."

"Oh, Thomas, do not speak of these things."

"Nor will I again. This is settled. I can now have the consolation of knowing that if I should die, you will be comfortably placed."

"Nonsense," she said sharply. "You are not going to die. When the spring comes..."

But the spring came and there was no change in Thomas's condition. His cough grew worse and when she saw the blood on his pillow she knew.

That May he died. He was only thirty-seven; she was twenty-five years old—and once more a widow.