Sweet lass of Richmond Hill

Drama at Carlton House

The Prince had always lived publicly; his affairs could not be hidden, so he made no attempt to hide them. He was passionately in love with Maria Fitzherbert and he could not have kept that secret had he wished to. He made it clear that if any of his friends wished to please him, they must invite Maria Fitzherbert to their houses and him at the same time; they must make sure that at their dinner tables he was seated next to her; he wanted to talk to Maria Fitzherbert, dance with her, be with her every moment that was possible, and he wished no one to attempt to prevent this.

His friends reminded each other of Perdita Robinson. So it had been in the early days of that affair; and that hadn't lasted very long. Of course Maria was different from Perdita, Maria was socially acceptable; she had been twice married and she was a poised society woman; she was not very rich, but on the other hand she was by no means poor. She had a house at Richmond and a house in Town; she did not entertain a great deal, but then she had no need to. Every fashionable hostess knew that unless she invited Maria Fitzherbert she would not have the Prince of Wales.

And Maria herself? She was not honoured; she was not delighted. She could not see how any good could come from the Prince's infatuation. Maria was sensible; she knew that she go Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill was no beauty but that she was a great deal more attractive than many who were; there was about her a dignity, an almost maternal air; she was not even very young, being twenty-eight; and she did not see how there could be any honourable relationship between herself and the Prince of Wales, and she was not the sort of woman to indulge in any other.

The Prince was very soon declaring his admiration.

"Never in my life have I met anyone who had moved me so deeply," he told her. "I could be perfectly happy in a world which contained no one else but you."

She smiled serenely and said he was very charming to her, and she knew that she owed her welcome into society to him.

He tried to explain. He wanted her to owe everything to him; he wanted her to know that it was his greatest desire to serve her ... not only now, but for the rest of his life.

She smiled her placid smile, which really meant that she believed he had made similar declarations many times before; and although she found him charming and it was pleasant to know that he enjoyed making them to her, she did not take them at all seriously.

"I don't doubt you have heard stories of my adventures with women," he said ruefully.

"The affairs of a Prince of Wales must always attract interest, of course."

"But you don't understand, Maria ... Oh what a beautiful name. Everything about you is perfect. What I feel now is something entirely new. I realize now that I was never seriously involved with anyone before."

But she did not believe him. She was gracious and charming, completely unruffled; she liked him; she thought him amusing, charming, a delightful companion; but she refused to consider him as a lover. She had been twice most honourably married, and she did not consider it an honour to be any man's mistress—even that of a Prince of Wales.

He was frustrated. He did what he always did in moments of stress. He took to his pen. He wrote to Maria, pouring out his feelings for her. She did not always answer the letters, but when she did she did so in the manner of a friend and he could not break through the barrier she had set up.

He was interested in nothing. In vain did his friends try to tempt him. The Duchess of Cumberland would give an entertainment to outshine any she had ever given before. He was not interested. Georgiana would invite all the most interesting people in London—all those who had most delighted him. Was that going to make Maria consider him seriously? Major Hanger would think up some delicious practical jokes. Maria thought them childish, said the Prince; and so they were. He was finished with such amusements.

"Mrs. Fitzherbert is a Tory and a Catholic," Fox reminded him.

"I'd be a Tory and a Catholic if that would give me any headway with her," was the Prince's retort.

That was an alarming statement. "For God's sake," said Fox to Sheridan, "let the woman give in before real damage is done."

The Prince could not eat; he lost his good humour; he wanted Maria, but Maria, while ready to be his friend, would not become his mistress.

Lady Sefton called on Maria. Maria received her in the drawing room at Park Street and Isabella Sefton studied her as people were studying Maria now, which made her smile.

"I know what you're thinking," said Maria. "It's what everyone thinks when they look at me nowadays. What does he see in her?"

"Well, Maria, you are very attractive."

"That may be, but surely not attractive enough for so much fuss."

"Too modest, Maria. You could have accepted Bedford. Then you would have been a Duchess."

"A title for which I have no great desire, Isabella."

"No more than you have a desire to become the first lady of London society."

Maria laughed. "For how long? Remember poor Perdita Robinson. Her reign was of very short duration."

"You're no Perdita. Yours could be for ever, perhaps."

"I can see no honour in it, Isabella."

"You must be fond of him. He is charming, is he not?"

"Charming yes ... and modest for one in his position. He is interesting too when he is not talking in the most exaggerated terms of his feelings for me which, I am fully aware, are aimed at one object. No, Isabella, your charming Prince is not going to succeed."

"Not mine, Maria. You mean yours."

"Our Prince, then. He will soon be tired—have no doubt of that. He is far too young and impressionable not to discover someone more willing than I who will be the most beautiful woman in the world, who will embody all he looks for in women and so on."

"He is gallant," admitted Isabella. "He has always been fond of women; but I ... and others tell me the same ... have never seen him in this state before. He is interested in nothing but you; he talks of nothing but you. He makes no secret of his passion. You cannot deny, Maria, that the young man is in love with you."

"Oh, Isabella, I am too old, too experienced of life ..."

"With two old husbands?"

"Thomas was not so old. He was only twelve years older than I"

"But you were little more than a nurse to both of your husbands, Maria; is it not time that you began to enjoy life?"

"I enjoy it well enough, Isabella; and I certainly should not if I were doing something of which I was ashamed."

"Other women ..."

"I am not other women, Isabella. How could I go to confession if I were living in sin ... which is clearly what he wishes. No, the best news you could give me would be that someone else has caught his fancy and that he is no longer interested in me."

"I don't believe he will be satisfied until you give in."

"Then he will have to prepare himself for a life of ^-satisfaction. I have decided to leave London. The less he sees of me the better. Pray do not mention the fact that I am going. I am leaving early tomorrow for Marble Hill."

Isabella smiled sardonically. Did Maria think that by removing herself to Richmond she would escape from the Prince of Wales?

Isabella was right. Within a few hours the Prince had discovered where she had gone. He immediately called for his phaeton and rode out to Marble Hill.

She must receive him. She must listen to an account of his sufferings when he had heard she had left Park Street; he had thought at first that she might have hidden herself somewhere. It was a great joy to find that she had only removed her bright presence to Marble Hill.

She felt the need of a little country air, she told him. She lived very simply.

There was nothing like the simple life, he agreed. He too longed to get away from balls and banquets and everything that went with them. The glitter of society had no charm for him ... since it had none for her.

Tm afraid the simple life I prefer would have no charms for Your Highness."

"There is only one life that has any charms for me, Maria— and that is life with you."

She sighed; she begged him to change the subject and talk of other matters. Anything in the world she wished, he said; so they talked lightly of politics, of her gardens, of people they knew, and she laughed gaily and he was enchanted with all her views, with her quick spontaneous laughter, with everything she said and did; and when he left, reluctantly, for it was she who suggested that he should go, he was more in love than ever.

Every day he drove out to Marble Hill. He declared that he would not let a day pass without a glimpse of Maria. She would understand in time how much he loved her; she would realize that she could not go on being so cruel... and so on.

He was determined to become her lover; and she was equally determined that he should not. But she could not turn him away when he came to Marble Hill; she could not help being fond of him; but her answer was always the same.

Everyone was talking about the Prince's passion for Mrs. Fitzherbert and a new ballad had been written and was sung all over the town:

"On Richmond Hill there lives a lass

More bright than May day morn,

Whose charms all other maids' surpass

A rose without a thorn.

This lass so neat, with smile so sweet,

Has won my right good will,

I'd crowns resign to call thee mine,

Sweet lass of Richmond Hill"

In desperation the Prince rode out to Chertsey. Charles fames Fox had helped him over the Perdita affair; he had known how to act when she threatened to present the bond he had given her and publish his letters. Very satisfactorily Charles had dealt with that matter—and had rounded it up in a characteristically cynical way by becoming Perdita's lover. Charles would help him with Maria. He was certain of it.

Charles received him with pleasure and so did Lizzie Armistead. A delightful woman, Lizzie; she reminded him in some ways of Maria—a pale shadow of Maria, of course; but that serenity, that poise! And Charles had changed since they lived together in an almost respectable manner. It showed what the right kind of woman could do for a man. Charles, he believed, was more or less faithful to Lizzie; he still drank too much and gambled heavily—but he had changed. He had mellowed; it was as though he had found something well worth while in life.

The Prince sighed. It would be the same with him and Maria. He had sown enough wild oats; he wanted now to reap the contentment which should be the right of any man who was capable of enjoying it.

"We are honoured, Your Highness," said Lizzie, sweeping a graceful curtsey. She gave no hint that they had once been very intimate indeed. Admirable Lizzie!

He embraced her with tears in his eyes.

"I am happy to see you well, my dear. And Charles?"

Charles had heard his arrival and was coming out to greet him.

"My dear, dear friend"

Tears, thought Charles. This means he wants me to do some thing. How can I induce the woman to throw aside her principles and jump into bed with him?

"Your Highness, you honour us."

"And envy you, you fortunate pair! I would give up everything to know contentment such as you enjoy in this little cottage."

Cottage! thought Lizzie. It was scarcely that. It was a com fortably sized house and she was very proud of it. Compared with Carlton House, of course ...

"We are astonished that Your Highness should deign to visit such a humble dwelling," she replied.

"My sweet Liz, it's not the dwelling I come to see but you two dear friends."

"Your Highness will come into our humble drawing room doubtless," said Fox, "and perhaps partake of a little humble refreshment which will be served by our humble servants."

The Prince laughed through his tears. Then he said appealingly: "The humility is all on my side, Charles. I come to beg of you to help me."

He sat in the drawing room, diminishing it by his dazzling presence. His large plump form weighing heavily on the chair he had selected—feet stretched before him, glittering shoe buckles almost vying with the magnificent diamond star on the left side of his elegant green coat.

When wine had been brought he looked helplessly from Charles to Lizzie. "What am I going to do?" he demanded. "She receives me. She is kind; she laughs; she is gracious; but she will not allow me to as much as kiss her cheek."

"Mrs. Robinson held off for a very long time," said Lizzie. "I remember how she used to pace up and down her room and declaim: "His wife I cannot be. His mistress I will never be." It is a quotation, from some play most likely. She was full of such quotations. But all the time she had a firm intention to give in. She was being reluctant in order to make you more eager."

"You cannot compare Mrs. Robinson with Mrs. Fitzherbert."

"Except that they are both women. Mrs. Robinson had one husband and Mrs. Fitzherbert has had two."

Perdita's husband was living. He was somewhere in the background. Maria has been twice widowed."

Lizzie knew when to be silent. Charles said: "Has Your Highness tried offering her estates ... er .. "

The Prince laughed bitterly. "You don't know Maria. She does not want money. She had made it clear to me that she is perfectly happy with her income. Moreover, she knows how to live within it which is more than we do within ours."

"If she were not such an admirable woman," said Charles, "we should not be confronted by this impasse. Virtue can have its drawbacks. A little sin is very convenient now and then."

It was Lizzie's turn to flash a warning at Charles.

"We must try to find some solution to His Highness's problem," she said. "He knows we would do anything ... just anything ..."

"My dear, dear Lizzie, I know it well." The tears were in his eyes; he covered his face with his hands. "But what ... what ... what"

"Has Your Highness explored every approach? Is there anything that would make the lady relent?"

The Prince looked hopeful. "She is fond of me. I am certain that the objection has nothing to do with my person. But she is a strict Catholic and this is at the heart of the matter. How lucky those of you are who are not born royal. You can marry where you will. You do not have to be dictated to. You are not at the beck and call of an old tyrant. The State does not decide with whom you shall spend your life, who shall bear your children. Oh, you most fortunate people. They will soon be trying to marry me to some hideous German woman. I know it. I shall be expected to fawn on her and pretend to be in love with her. I tell you there is no one I want but Maria ... Maria ... Maria!"

Charles said: "There must be a way. We will find it, Your Highness."

The Prince's smile was immediately sunny. "You will, Charles, I know you will, my dear good friend. I don't know what I should do without you, and you too, Lizzie. God bless you both."

The Prince rode away from Chertsey in a happier state of mind from that in which he had come, but Charles was grave.

"The Guelphs," he said, "have always been able to turn on the tears at the least provocation; but this is a perpetual flow. I don't like it, Liz. He's getting desperate. God knows what he will do. He's capable of the utmost folly. Why can't he have the sense to fall in love with a nice sensible whore. Why does he have to choose this respectable, deeply religious, highly virtuous matron?"

"What are you going to suggest to him?"

"God knows. I saw marriage in his eye. You heard what he said about the hideous German. It shows which way his thoughts are turning. This will give Papa a hundred sleepless nights where he suffered but twenty before"

"He can't marry Maria Fitzherbert. What about the Marriage Act? It wouldn't be a legal marriage."

"No, and the woman's not only a Catholic. She's a Tory."

"He surely would never go over to them. It would mean being on the side of the King."

"I think his desire for Maria is greater than his hatred of his father. Most definitely we are up against a tricky situation. Action will have to be taken in a very short time."

"At least," said Lizzie, "sorrow does not affect his weight. I thought he was going to break my chair when he sat there creaking on it."

"Your very humble chair, Liz."

"At least," said Lizzie with an air of pride, "it is paid for."

"Oh, admirable Lizzie. If only H.R.H. were as lucky in love as I!"

Charles was going to help him and that was something; but this was a devilishly tricky situation and he decided to call in the help of his dearest Duchess.

Georgiana received him with great sympathy and when he had wept a little in her beautiful drawing room at Devonshire House, which was very different from that in Chertsey, he demanded of Georgiana what he was going to do.

Georgiana shook her head. "Maria seems adamant."

He covered his face with his hands.

"Dearest Highness, there must be a way out of this."

"What, Georgiana, what?"

Georgiana was silent. Why had the woman come to Court? Why had she not married another old husband and stayed in the country nursing him? That was the life which would suit her. She was beautiful in her way, thought Georgiana, but there was nothing especially wonderful about her. Her nose was too long and prominent anyway ... quite an aggressive nose. Georgiana wondered that the Prince couldn't see it. When she thought of her own rather pert and pretty nose, her own beauty ... she could not understand it. Why should he have to be so enamoured of this ... matron? There was no other word for her. She had not born children but she was like a mother. She would be fat in a few years time, Georgiana prophesied. And she must be nearly twenty-nine. Thirty, possibly, and he was twenty-two! It was a ridiculous situation. It was not that Georgiana disliked Maria Fitzherbert. Far from it. She was an interesting and pleasant creature. But she was a little tiresome in her vinue. After all, a love affair with the Prince of Wales would not have impaired it all that much, and what she lost in virtue she would have gained in prestige.

Poor dear Prince, he was so distrait and he was such a darling spoilt boy who was bewildered because here was a woman who did not fall to his grasp as soon as he held up his pleading hands.

She, Georgiana, had refused him, and that had kept him eager for her; but this was different; he was obsessed with Maria Fitzherbert as he never had been for the Duchess of Devonshire.

Still, she must not allow her pique to interfere with her friendship because she was discovering that she really was genuinely fond of him.

"I have an idea."

"Yes, yes..."

"I am fond of Maria ..."

The Prince seized her hands and covered them with kisses. His dearest Georgiana! Such good sense ...I So clever...!

Besides being beautiful she was the wisest, best woman in the world ... next to Maria.

" I think I could talk to her. I could discover if there is any thing that can be done. If there is a way out... I could perhaps speak more frankly on this rather delicate matter than you ... and if you would give me your permission .. "

"My dearest, dearest Georgiana, you will be my saviour, ] know it."

"You know that I will do everything in my power to help you."

"I know it. God bless you."

He was in tears again.

The Duchess's carriage had taken her to Richmond.

Now, she thought, to talk with the Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill. Not such a lass. It would be easier if she were.

"My dear Maria!"

"Welcome, Duchess."

The Duchess surveyed her appraisingly. It is because she is different, she thought. That must be the answer. Those eyes are good and her hair is lovely, of course; her complexion clear and fresh and the bosom ... well it's very fine. Marble hills indeed. But soft and billowy. He'll be able to weep on that in comfort.

"Maria, you know what I have come about. The Prince has been to see me."

Maria sighed. One had to admire her. She is genuine, thought Georgiana. She really means she will not become his mistress.

"His Highness is in a very sad state."

Maria had taken the Duchess to her drawing room, which was very elegant though of course very small and by no means to be compared with Devonshire and Carlton Houses.

"I have been thinking of what will be best for me to do and I have come to the conclusion that if I went away for a while he would turn his attention to someone else."

She spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. What a calm and sensible woman! How different from that dreadful actress who had imagined herself on a stage all the time. Georgiana remembered how that vulgar little upstart had tried to wrest from her—Georgiana—the title of leader of fashion. The thought infuriated her even now, to think of that woman parading herself in the Mall or at the Pantheon and the Rotunda in her outrageous costumes ... all in an endeavour to make people look at her instead of at the Duchess of Devonshire.

Georgiana smoothed the velvet of her skirts made specially to her own design. No fear of Maria Fitzherbert being so foolish. She was really what one would call a very nice, sensible woman. No airs—complete sincerity. Georgiana had seen that her mission would be in vain; she had had a lurking suspicion that if Maria were offered a large enough reward she would have succumbed and she would have been the one to discover it and so bring happiness to the Prince. But no. Maria was sincere in her determination not to enter into an irregular relationship with the Prince.

"Wherever you went he would follow" said the Duchess.

"Not if I went abroad. He cannot leave the country without the King's consent. I have lived a great many years of my life in France. I was educated there and when my second husband was ill I took him to Nice. We lived there for almost a year. I have friends in France. I speak French as well as I speak English. So ... it seems a natural choice."

"And when do you propose to go?"

"Within the next few days. I have in fact made all my arrangements."

"Heaven knows what the Prince will do."

Maria smiled, a little sadly Georgiana noticed, and she said quickly: "You are fond of him?"

"How could I help it?" Maria was by nature frank. "This has all been so ... flattering. And he has been charming to me. I have been surprised that one in his position could be so ... so humble ... so modest... and so kind."

"You sound as though you are a little in love with him."

"If circumstances were different..."

"Ah" said the Duchess promptly. "If he were in the position Mr. Weld or Mr. Fitzherbert had been in ... you would not hesitate."

"No," said Maria, "I would not hesitate. Yes, I am fond of him. It is impossible not to be. He has great charm. He is so young ... and I..."

"And your husbands have been so old. Oh, Maria, how cruel is fate. If only he were Mr. Guelph with a pleasant estate in the country all could end happily."

"My dear Duchess, how kind you are to concern yourself with our affairs."

"Is there nothing that can be done?"

"Nothing. The Prince is pressing me to become his mistress. I could never agree to that. It is against my beliefs ... my religion. I could never be happy in such a position and therefore nor would he be. I have thought a great deal of this. It saddens me. I shall miss him sorely, but I know that my best plan is to leave the country. In time he will turn his attentions to someone else ... and then I shall return."

"My dear Maria, what a noble creature you are! How I wish that you were a Protestant German Princess. Then I think His Highness would be the happiest man alive."

Georgiana went straight to the Prince.

"I have seen Maria. I have very bad news for Your Highness. I had better tell you at once. Maria is planning to leave the country."

The Prince wailed in his anguish.

"She is leaving in two days' time. That gives us a very short space for some action."

"Georgiana, she must not be allowed to go. She must not."

"We'll have to think of something. Never fear, we shall. Charles and I will put our heads together. But one thing I have discovered; she will never be your mistress. You'll have to have some sort of marriage."

"I'd marry her tomorrow."

Oh dear, thought Georgiana, I'd better see Charles at once.

"Don't go to her today" pleaded Georgiana. "You might drive her into leaving earlier. We have a day or so to think of something." He looked so desperate that she said: "But she is in love with you. That much she has admitted."

"Georgiana!"

" Oh yes. She couldn't hide it from me. She is very unhappy to leave you. But it's this religion of hers. She can't live in sin. She'd rather be miserable for the rest of her life than that. That's the situation."

"But she loves me! She loves me! She has told you this, Georgiana, dear, dear Georgiana. What did she say?"

"That you were charming and modest and irresistible. In fact I suspect that is why she is running away ... because she is afraid that her reserves might break down."

"But this is the best news I have heard for weeks."

"She is leaving, remember, for France."

"She must be stopped."

"How? You cannot stop one of His Majesty's subjects from leaving the country unless you have a very good reason for doing so."

"A very good reason! I shall die if she goes."

"His Majesty would not consider that a valid reason," said Georgiana tersely, "because Your Highness would not die. You would only be brokenhearted."

"And you think that is not a good reason?"

"I ... I would change the laws of this country to make you happy. I was talking of the King."

"Damn the King!"

"Treason! And His Majesty's damnation has nothing to do with our problem. We have two days in which to think up a plot. And I believe we are going to succeed. There is one indisputable fact which brightens the whole situation to my mind."

"Georgiana, dearest friend, what is it?"

"Mrs. Maria Fitzherbert is in love with His Highness the Prince of Wales."

"Oh, Charles," cried the Duchess, "how good of you to come so soon. I am distracted. I fear that the Prince is capable of anything ... simply anything."

"By which, dear Duchess, you mean marriage?"

"That is exactly what I mean."

"It would have no meaning. You've forgotten the Marriage Act. Besides, the woman's a Catholic. That in itself is enough to lose him the throne."

"I know. And so does he. But he does not care."

"He behaves like a child."

"Or a very romantic lover" said the Duchess softly.

Fox burst out laughing. "You know, do you not, that the woman is a Tory."

"I know it," said the Duchess sadly.

"A Tory and a Catholic. My God! It might be a plot of His Majesty's to plague us if it wasn't even more plaguing to him."

"Do you think he knows what is happening?"

"He successfully manages to shut himself away in his Palace of Purity at Kew, and is more interested in how his farmers make butter than how his son makes love. The Fitzherbert must become his mistress by some means. Then in the natural course of events the affair will come to its logical conclusion."

"But she holds out for marriage."

"That's the point. We've got to make her give in."

"She is adamant, Charles. I've spoken to her. It's her religion, I really think he is capable of following her to France."

"He can't do it. It's impossible for the Prince of Wales to leave the country without the King's consent."

"He's capable of anything. He has never been so mad about any woman before, Charles. Let's face it. Perdita was the nearest, but he never talked of marrying Perdita."

"She didn't hold out long enough. Perdita was a fool."

"Well, Maria Fitzherbert is not. And the fact that she really means what she says enslaves him more than ever. He senses her inherent virtue, Charles. It confirms his belief that she is the only woman with whom he can be happy. You know the Prince. Gambling, jokes, racing, prizefighting ... he enjoys them all; but his dominating passion is for women."

Charles nodded gloomily. "What about a marriage ... a marriage that was not really a marriage. Some sort of ceremony to soothe the lady's scruples."

"A mock marriage?" murmured Georgiana.

"You could call it that." Charles began to laugh. "My God," he cried, "this is demanding as much of our time as the Declaration of Independence."

"I'm sure the Prince feels it to be a matter of far greater importance."

Charles shrugged his shoulders. "Let us lose the North American Colonies. Let France and Spain come against us. Let the throne tremble and let the Whigs go to hell. What matters it as long as George, Prince of Wales, goes to bed with Maria Fitzherbert."

" I am sure, Charles," said the Duchess, "that you are voicing His Highness's own sentiments."

"I think I will go and see some of the Gentlemen of His Household. Something could be arranged perhaps. Who are they? Southampton, Bouverie and ..."

"There is also Onslow. You could rely on him."

"I will have a talk with them. I have a faint idea beginning to form. It seems wild but perhaps it will fit the situation. I will keep you in the picture."

Maria was ready to leave her house in Park Street. In a few hours' time she would be making her way down to the coast; her bags were already packed. She had been rather surprised to receive letters from her Uncle Henry and her brothers Walter and John and while they did not actually advise her to give way to the Prince they managed to hint that they thought there was nothing dishonourable in doing so. How could they be so deluded, so blinded by the dazzle of royalty! The boys were young, of course, and they had missed a father's steadying influence, but Uncle Henry should have known better. Dear Uncle Henry had always been kind to her but she had always known him for a worldly man.

It was a good plan to go to France. There she would be able to confide in her dear nuns and to talk frankly of her feelings. The more she saw of the Prince the stronger her feelings grew, and she was realizing how painful it was for her to leave him. It would be so easy to love him—far easier than it had been in the case of Edward and Thomas—although she had believed herself to be happily married to both of them. It was as well that she was leaving, not only to elude the Prince but so that she might not become the victim of her own feelings. She must face the truth. She would be very sad without him. But she had made up her mind. In less than an hour she would leave.

She heard the sound of carriage wheels in the street below. It was early yet. She went to the window. The royal carriage was pulling up outside the house. She drew back, shielding herself by the curtains. It was not the Prince who alighted but four members of his household. She knew three of them by sight; they were Lord Southampton, Lord Onslow and Mr. Bouverie; she did not recognize the fourth man.

She heard their voices addressing her footman.

Tray conduct us to your mistress without delay. The matter is of the utmost urgency."

She faced them resolutely. "I am just about to leave ..."

"Madam, the life of the Prince of Wales is in the greatest danger."

"Danger...?"

"He has attempted suicide. He is asking for you."

She looked at them suspiciously and Lord Southampton said: "This is Mr. Keate, His Highness's surgeon. He will tell you that the Prince is on the point of death. He is calling for you, Madam. We fear the consequences if you do not go at once to him at Carlton House."

Maria was alarmed, but a hideous suspicion had come to her. What plan was this? She was to be taken to Carlton House. What would happen when she arrived there? Was it a trick? How could she be sure? And what if he really had attempted to take his life?

She stammered: "I cannot come alone. I must have a ... a lady whom I could trust to accompany me. If you will call at Lady Sefton's house I am sure she will agree to come with me."

Southampton and Onslow exchanged glances.

"I feel the Duchess of Devonshire would come. She is a great friend of the Prince and of you too, Madam. Would you agree to come if she was with you?"

"Why ... yes," said Maria.

"Then we beg of you to lose no time. The Prince's condition is serious."

The Duchess hastily joined Maria in the coach, her face grave.

"But my dear Maria, this is terrible. What can have happened?"

"I know very little. They tell me that he has attempted to take his life."

"How fearful! How dreadful I It can't be true."

"It is true," said Southampton. "The Prince in desperation has stabbed himself."

"Then he is ..."

"His physicians are with him. Mr. Keate came along to urge the importance of bringing Mrs. Fitzherbert to his bedside."

"Are you telling us that he is ... dying?" gasped the Duchess.

"Your Grace," said Keate, "we may yet be in time."

When they reached Carlton House the women were hurried into the Prince's apartments on the ground floor where he was lying on a couch, his face very pale and his clothes bloodstained.

"Maria!" he cried when he saw her; and she ran to him and knelt by his side. She took his hand which he grasped with fervour; and then he lay back, his eyes closed.

"Oh, my God," whispered Maria, "what have you done?"

"Maria..."

"Yes ... yes..."

"Come closer." He spoke in a whisper, his breath laboured.

"Please do not exert yourself."

"I... am better ... now you are here."

Maria looked helplessly at the doctors.

"Comfort him, Madam," said Keate, "He is in a very low state."

Maria put her lips to his forehead and a slow smile touched his lips. She heard him murmuring her name once more.

The Duchess of Devonshire said: "He ... will live?"

The Prince heard her for he murmured: "Of what use to live ... without Maria?"

"Please do not talk in that way," said Maria, deeply agitated.

"How else can I talk when you ... reject me."

"Perhaps," she said to the doctors, "I disturb him. Perhaps it would be better if I went."

The grip on her hand tightened and the doctors shook their heads gravely.

"I wish to die," murmured the Prince.

"You see," whispered Keate to the Duchess. "He has no will to live."

"There is only one thing that would make me want to live ..." went on the Prince. "Maria ... Maria ..."

"I am here" said Maria.

"But you go away ..."

"I am here beside you."

"Nothing will induce me to live unless you promise to l>e my wife."

"But..."

"No, it is useless. Goodbye Maria. There is no reason for living ... no hope ..."

"Maria cannot refuse Your Highness," said the Duchess, coming to the couch. "Whatever she says I can see how deeply disturbed she is. Your Highness must get well. Maria, you will marry the Prince."

"I will pledge my word with a ring ... and she shall pledge hers to me," said the Prince.

The Duchess took a ring from her finger and pressed it into the Prince's hand. She nodded to Maria. "You cannot refuse a dying man."

Maria thought: How he loves me! He has done this because he cannot live without me. Such passion was something she had never discovered in either of her husbands before. Lying back on the couch, so pale, he looked very handsome. It would be cruel to refuse to allow a dying man to put a ring on her finger.

"You will promise, Maria ..."

She bowed her head and held out her hand, and the Prince slipped the Duchess's ring on her finger.

"Now," said Keate, "His Highness should rest. He has lost a great deal of blood but I believe that he is at peace."

The Prince nodded but kept Maria's hand in his.

"Maria," he murmured. "You are my wife, Maria."

Once more Maria bent over and kissed his forehead and a smile of triumph curved his lips.

As she was leaving Carlton House with the Duchess, Southampton came hurrying after them. "His Highness demands to see a deposition drawn up and signed by Onslow, Bouverie, Keate and myself."

"What deposition?" asked Maria.

"What has happened is tantamount to a marriage ceremony. It must be recorded and signed by witnesses. It is the only thing that will satisfy him. We daren't cross him and he is demanding it."

"Let us go to Devonshire House," said the Duchess, "and there we will draw up a document and all sign it. That should satisfy him. You will do this, I know, Maria, for we have seen what a state His Highness is in. We must give him every opportunity to recover."

So with the four men and the Duchess, Maria returned to Devonshire House where the deposition was drawn up and signed.

It was then taken to the Prince at Carlton House while Maria went back to Park Street.

When his friends returned with the deposition the Prince had discarded his bloodstained clothes and was drinking a whiskey and soda.

"You have it?" he cried.

"Here, Your Highness."

"Let me see. Let me see. Ah ... yes. She will not go back on her word. We have it here in writing."

"Your Highness, if I may say so, played the part to perfection."

"I should have done well on the boards, Keate, if I had been born into a different station. My dear Maria, she was deeply distressed."

"And small wonder!" said Southampton. "The idea of a Prince's falling on his sword because she had rejected him must have been alarming."

"I would have done it," said the Prince. "Yes, I would have done it for Maria. So it is not really a great deception."

He smiled complacently. The ceremony would satisfy Maria, and in no way inconvenience him. Not that he would not have gone through a true marriage ceremony with her if that had been possible. Most willingly would he have given up everything for her; but since it could be done this way and Charles thought so—and Charles was invariably right—how much more satisfactory it was than making the great upheaval through the country which an ordinary marriage would have done.

He was madly in love with her, enough to fall on his sword. He had brandished his pistols and declared he would shoot himself. And when he had been blooded because the doctors said the violence of his passions could give him a stroke and there had been so much rich red blood and he had splashed it all over his beautiful coat ... he had really felt as though he had—in a sudden access of despair—fallen on his sword.

And the effect had been to bring her to his bedside, chastened, loving, tender, ready to give way as she had never been before.

Maria would soon be his.

Back in Park Street Maria considered the strange events of the last hours and the more she thought of them the stranger they appeared.

The Duchess of Devonshire had been waiting in Devonshire House when they called. Well, she might easily have been at home at that hour. She had handed over the ring as though she had brought it with her for the purpose. Maria twisted it round and round on her finger. It was a symbol. It meant she had promised to be the Prince's wife. But how could she be the Prince's wife? It was not possible. Their marriage, even if it were valid, would be forbidden. It was simply not possible for the heir to the throne to marry a commoner; and even if she were a Princess the marriage would not be allowed because of her religion. Sovereigns of Britain were simply not allowed to many anyone of the Catholic Faith.

Why had she been so foolish as to sign the deposition?

Because one could not oppose the wish of a dying man.

A dying man. He had been very prompt with his answers.

And the deposition? She had been too agitated to read it properly, but it was, she realized now, a document which declared that she was the wife of George, Prince of Wales. But how could there be a marriage without a priest? The whole thing was a mockery.

She did not blame the Prince. He had declared many times that he would willingly forgo everything to marry her. No, he genuinely loved her and she loved him—the more because of what he had done today. He had tried to kill himself for love of her. It was a gesture that she would remember with tenderness all her life. If he were free to marry her ... if there were no obstacles between them willingly would she give her promise to love and cherish him for the rest of her life.

But she would not accept a mock marriage.

Her bags were packed. She could leave the next day, for if she left the country she would make it clear that she was determined not to be trapped into dishonour by any mock ceremony.

She wrote a note to Lord Southampton telling him that she realized she had been the victim of a trap and that she blamed him and his friends. They had prevailed on her to sign a document which had no meaning. She therefore did not consider herself to be in any way committed, and she had decided to carry out her original intention and leave the country.

Early next morning she set out on her journey.