Sweet lass of Richmond Hill

The Prince's Dilemma

The loss of blood sustained by the Prince together with all the excitement he had undergone had weakened him considerably and Keate said that a few days rest were needed. Moreover, Maria would not expect him to recover too quickly.

"A few days in the country, sir," said Keate, "and you will be completely recovered."

And then, thought the Prince, Maria.

Southampton said: "Would Your Highness care to come down to my place in the country for those few days?"

"I would indeed, Southampton," replied the Prince.

"We can promise Your Highness fresh air and good nursing. And then in a few days time ..."

"Maria," whispered the Prince.

Pale and certainly a little feeble, the Prince set off for the country in the company of Southampton and Onslow and a few others of his suite. Jogging along in the carriage he made plans. As soon as he was feeling completely well—and that would be in a few days time, for with his youth and good health he was very resilient and had really only suffered from his too violent passions and rather more blood-letting than that to which he was accustomed—he would be with Maria.

She should come to Carlton House. It would be no little love nest such as that he had provided for Perdita in Cork Street.

Maria and he would live together openly. And if the King raised objections—to hell with the King.

In a few days time they would be together. How affected she had been when she had seen him lying there on the couch! He could have no doubt of her feelings then.

At last he was happy. Maria could not hide her love for him. The most happy time of his life was about to begin.

When they arrived at Southampton's place a messenger from London was there.

He had come, he said, with a letter for Lord Southampton and had been instructed by Mrs. Fitzherbert to put it into no hands but his lordship's.

The Prince smiled happily. He thought: She is writing to Southampton to thank him for the part he played in our little ceremony. My dearest Maria is as happy as I am.

"Read it now, Southampton. Read it now" he said, smiling blandly.

As Southampton read he turned pale; as he opened his mouth as though to speak, and yet said nothing, a sudden fear touched the Prince. "What is it? What is it?"

"Sir, she has left the country. She reproaches me for ... for taking advantage of the situation ..."

The Prince snatched the letter. Maria's handwriting danced before his eyes. She had been the victim of a hoax, she had written, but she had not been deceived. She did not admire Lord Southampton for attempting to delude her, nor for imagining she was such a fool that she could be deluded. She was therefore reverting to her original decision to leave the country, and by the time he received this letter she would be on her way.

The letter dropped to the ground. The Prince's face had grown scarlet with anguish; he stalked into the house, past the members of the household who, having been warned of his coming, were waiting to give him an appropriate welcome.

He paced round the hall not seeing anyone. In vain did Southampton try to comfort him. He shouted; he wept.

"Pray remember your weak state, sir ..." murmured Southampton.

But the Prince could only think of one thing: He had believed she was about to be his and she had gone—he did not even know where.

The King in his bedroom at Kew Palace awakened at five in the morning as was his custom and got out of bed to light the fire which his attendants had laid overnight. Then he returned to bed to allow the room to warm up before he rose and attended to the State papers which were on a table awaiting his attention.

Since young Mr. Pitt had taken office he had consoled himself that the Government was in good hands. Mr. Pitt was like his father had been, a trifle arrogant but courteous in his conduct to the King, yet somehow conveying the fact that while he was Prime Minister he intended to manage the country's affairs without royal interference. He might ask for the King's approval, but this was a formality and the King realized it. How different from Lord North was Mr. Pitt! But then if he had been like Lord North the country's affairs could not have been so skilfully managed.

The American Colonies ... The King groaned at the thought of that major disaster. Rarely had Britain suffered such a humiliating setback. It would be remembered against him and North for ever. Any good he had done for his country —and he had given it a lifetime of service—would be weighted against that tragedy.

Never, never shall I forget it, thought the King. Where did we go wrong? At what stage could some action of mine make it turn out differently?

Back went his thoughts over the past. Little incidents chased themselves in and out of his mind, leering at him suddenly, mocking him, laughing at him until he thought they were mischievous pages who had broken into his bedchamber to play a game called Mocking the King.

What ridiculous thoughts came to him nowadays.

But once he had been strong. He had believed that a king should rule. In the days of his youth when he had been greatly in awe of his destiny and had believed that he would never be able to mount the throne without Lord Bute behind him, his mother had continually admonished him: " Be a king, George." Those words had haunted him in his dreams and when he had in fact become a king, when he had begun to take a grasp of State affairs, he had said: "Very well, Mother, I will be a king."

And he had tried to be.

When the country had been against continuing the war with the Colonists and he had wished to go on he had wanted to choose a cabinet and set himself at the head of it. That aroused even docile North to protest.

"Your Majesty is well apprised that in this country the Prince on the Throne cannot, with prudence, oppose the deliberate resolution of the House of Commons. Your Royal predecessors have been obliged to yield to it much against their wishes in more instances than one."

That was the situation. In this country one was a king but no King. One was governed by a body of men called the Parliament and the King could be plagued by them. There were men like the Pitts. Old Pitt had been a brilliant statesman; to him could be accredited the founding of the Empire. Looking back that was plain enough; and his son Pitt the Younger was such another.

Poor old fool that some would think me, mused the King, I have sense enough to see that.

But these men of integrity such as the Pitts made up for their honesty with their arrogance. Young Pitt was an able man; he knew it; and lie was determined to govern with concessions to none. Pitt blamed North's subservience to the King for the loss of the Colonies, and would have no interference with his Ministry.

"Young puppy," thought the King and was immediately sorry. Mr. Pitt was no puppy: he was a brilliant statesman. Age had nothing to do with it. He had inherited that touch of genius from his father and he, the King, should be glad of it.

Moreover, Mr. Pitt was in opposition to Fox and any one who was in opposition to that man was a friend of the King's. Fox! The King's eyes bulged at the thought of that man. He more than any other was responsible for the sins of the Prince of Wales. He had heard that wherever the Prince was, there was Fox. The Prince doted on Fox; he confided in Fox; he treated Fox like a father; and there was that arch villain always at his sons elbow, teaching him to drink, to gamble and to live an immoral life with women. Mr. Fox thought this was the way a gentleman should live and the Prince was eager to learn.

Merely thinking of the Prince of Wales made the King's brain whirl. "What next, I wonder," he said aloud. "What next, eh, what?"

He rose from his bed. The room was warm enough and he would start brooding on the activities of the Prince of Wales if he stayed there in bed. Better dress and look through the papers on his desk and be in time to take a dish of tea with the Queen.

He dressed thoughtfully. There were no ceremonies of the bedchamber at Kew. He was glad to escape from all that and it was the reason why he so enjoyed being at "dear little Kew' as Charlotte called it.

Here he lived like a squire in a country village, and at the same time like a king of a little German Court whose law was absolute. Neither the determination of Mr. Pitt nor the villainies of Mr. Fox could interfere with life at Kew. If the King made some regulation then the household must obey, and no carping politicians could remind him that the King must submit to the rule of Parliament.

So at Kew he would make his rules.

He was horrified when he looked at himself nowadays. In spite of all the exercise he took and the careful manner in which he watched what he ate, he was growing fat. It was a curse no members of the family seemed to be able to avoid. It was unfair. After all his efforts to keep his body supple and agile, there was that disgusting paunch. His eyebrows had turned white and they were the more conspicuous because of his high colour. He was always depicted in the cartoons as being fatter than he was and he would be seated at a table laden with such foods as he had denied himself all through his life.

"It's the family tendency to grow fat," he said; and he made more rigorous rules in the nursery.

And while the people sneered at him and lampoons and cartoons were circulated in the streets about him they admired the Prince and cheered him. That gambler, that drinker, that frequenter of prizefights, that puppy who was always chasing some woman or other—and in the most public manner—was admired.

And here he was back at the Prince of Wales.

But, he reminded himself, here at Kew it is different. Although he was not able to control the Prince of Wales he would see that those members of the family who were still under his control should toe the line. Frederick was in Hanover, learning to be a soldier; William was at sea; Edward would soon be going to Germany to study soldiering. That left only Ernest, Augustus and Adolphus among the boys at home —and the girls, of course, from Charlotte the Princess Royal who was eighteen to the adorable baby Amelia who was one, six girls in all. Quite a family, and he was going to see that they did not go the way of their eldest brother.

Though where I went wrong I fail to see. Perhaps I should abdicate. I lost the Colonies. Am I fit to be King? I sired the Prince of Wales. Am I fit to be a father? Well, the Princesses were a credit to him; they always sat so meekly in a little row and spoke when spoken to. They would be his comfort, and particularly his adored Baby Amelia. They must take care of her, he had told the Queen; the deaths of little Alfred and Octavius had been a terrible blow to them both. But there were thirteen left to them. Charlotte had been a good mother and a good wife, so he must not think of other more beautiful women. He wished he could get Elizabeth Pembroke out of his head. She was a beautiful woman, and she was at Court, which made it rather more important not to think of her.

He came to Kew for rest and relaxation. He liked being at Kew; he liked Windsor too; both places were a refuge. At Kew and Windsor the people came out to see him when he rode past their houses. They dropped curtsies to him as though he were a country squire; and he would stop and ask how the crops were this year, and he could talk knowledgeably about the land, too. He ought to have been a farmer, some said.

But what was the use of trying not to think of the Prince of Wales. His son was in debt, and now there was some talk of his infatuation for a widow. The whole town was talking about it, singing songs about it.

It was no use trying to think of State papers. He would go and see the Queen.

The Queen was at breakfast with her daughters.

Charlotte, the eldest and Princess Royal, looked healthy enough; the others were a trifle pale. He looked at them anxiously for some sign of the family plumpness. He supervised their nursery diet in person; it was the same which had been in force when the Prince of Wales was lord of the nursery. Meat only on certain days and then all the fat was pared off; and if a fruit pie was cooked the pastry was not served to the children—only the fruit; but they could have as many greens as they wished. And they must take fresh air in plenty; they must walk, for exercise was good for them.

He was fond of them, but they were wary of him. It seemed he had gone wrong with his children as well as with his ministers.

"Good morning," said the Queen and the girls stood up and curtsied.

He smiled at them. "Having breakfast, eh, what? Eh? And not over eating, I hope. Don't want to be fat. Family tendency."

The Queen said that it was not a tendency of her side of the family to be fat, and it might well be that the girls would take after her. "Will Your Majesty take some breakfast?"

"Nothing but a dish of tea for me," said the King.

"It is not enough," scolded the Queen as she scolded regularly each morning and no one took the remark seriously.

The King drank his dish of tea and the Princess Royal thought how boring it all was and wondered when they would find a husband for her and she could escape.

She knew that outside the family circle people laughed at the King and Queen. They called them dull and boring; and to listen to their conversation one must agree.

"How time flies," the King was saying.

"I am always quarrelling with time," replied the Queen. "It is so short to do something and so long to do nothing."

"It is long when we are young and short when we grow old."

The Queen was looking pointedly at her daughters: "Nothing angers me so much as to hear people not know what to do. For me I have never half enough time to do things. What makes me more angry still..." A sterner look at Princess Charlotte this time—'is to see people go up to a window and say "What a bad day it is! What shall we do on such a day as this?"

"Do?" I reply. "Employ yourselves and then what signifies a bad day?"

"How dreary it all is! thought Princess Charlotte. No wonder George went wild when he escaped. Who wouldn't? And now he's chasing that widow and everyone is talking about him. Lucky George! I wish he would come here more often. I wish he would talk to us. The only time he ever came to see us was when he imagined himself in love with Mary Hamilton and that was because she happened to be one of our attendants.

What was the latest news of George? Perhaps the King and Queen would talk of him and forget their daughters were present.

But they did not, of course. They were talking of the festivals which the King had started this very year and which meant that everyone must be as enthusiastic about music as their Majesties. And I am not, thought the Princess. She was still a little resentful because the King had said she must have a concert for her birthday celebrations when she would rather have had a ball. "Not like music," the King had said. "Well, Papa," she had replied boldly, "I do not think I have an ear for it."

"No ear for it! What's that mean, eh? what? You'll have to grow ears for it. Music is something you have to learn to like." And the Queen: "His Majesty is quite right, Princess Royal. He expects every member in the family to love music"

How wonderful to be married! As soon as they find a bridegroom for me, she thought, I will start making my wedding dress. I will put every stitch into it myself and all the time I sew I shall be telling myself: I shall soon be free.

She looked at her sister Augusta, who talked too much when their parents were not present and was impatient with the ceremonies of dressing; she allowed her women to dress her exactly as they wished and indeed were it not for them would look a positive scarecrow. As for Elizabeth she did not feel so irked by their restricted lives as the others; she could shut herself away in her room and write poetry. Mary and Sophia were too young to know very much about what they were missing.

The King was talking about the concerts in the Abbey which had been such a success and the box he had had set up there for himself and the Queen and another for the rest of the family. He mentioned Mr. Bates who had played the organ so admirably; and he personally had made arrangements that those who attended the concert should be able to see the organist.

He is so interested in little things, thought the Princess. No wonder everyone says he's an old bore.

"I've been speaking to Dr. Burney about the new arrangement of the Messiah. Dr. Burney is a most excellent man ..."

How many times had she heard of the excellencies of Dr. Burney? How many times had she heard the arrangements for the concerts discussed? And Handel's name was constantly on his lips.

Well, I am eighteen, thought Charlotte, so surely they will find a husband for me soon. Six girls for whom to find husbands. It's quite a number.

"I should like to take a walk," said the King to the Queen, which, thought the Princess, meant that they were going to discuss the latest pranks of George, for clearly the King wished to speak to the Queen alone and as he never discussed State matters with her—considering women unable to understand such weighty problems—quite obviously they were going to discuss that most fascinating of topics: the sins of George.

Oh, why could she not be there! Had he really gone through a mock marriage with The Widow? How exciting! And how typical of George! He was promising to give them as much fun over The Widow as he had over the actress Perdita.

"Princess Royal," said the Queen, tapping her fingers on the table, "my snuff box."

Princess Charlotte rose hastily; she had forgotten this most important duty: to see that Mamma's snuff box was filled and ready for use. The King looked pained; the Queen continued to tap her fingers.

Really, thought the Princess, they care more about silly details like filling a snuff box than the loss of the Colonies.

They were now ready to go out.

The Princesses stood in a row, dropping curtsies, all remembering that they must not forget their dignity and behave as it was called in the household en princesse, which meant that one must never forget that one was a King's daughter and curtsey to some and uphold one's dignity with others.

Lucky George, to have escaped this constant parental surveillance.

In the gardens the King walked with the Queen and for some few minutes discussed the flowers, the paths, the planting of shrubs and trees; then he came to the subject uppermost in his mind.

"You have heard no doubt of the latest scandals created by our eldest son."

"I have," answered the Queen. "It is impossible not to hear. Everyone speaks of it. Schwellenburg tells me that they are singing a song about him."

"A ballad ... not untuneful," said the King, "but it should not have been written about a Prince of Wales."

"I fear that he causes Your Majesty many sleepless nights."

"I have had ten in a row."

"Is there no way of curbing him?" The Queen spoke severely. She had loved George best of all her children. She had been the proudest woman on Earth, she had believed, on the day he had been born; and when she had first seen the bawling lusty male child that she had brought into the world that had been the happiest moment of her life. And she had doted on him. She still looked at the wax image she had had made of him and which she had kept on her dressing table for years. But this arrogant dazzling young dandy was very different from that naked baby; and because George had shown so clearly that he had little time to give to his mother she turned against him now and then. Sometimes she longed for him to come and confide in her, and if he had she would have done all in her power to please him; but since he did not, she gave way to her resentment in little bouts of anger against him.

"Curb that young puppy? How, eh? How curb him, what?"

The Queen bit her lips nervously. She was terrified when the King grew too excited because she remembered an illness he had had some years ago when he had behaved in a very peculiar manner, and she had realized then that he was not quite sound in his mind. Ever since she had been terrified that that illness would recur.

When the King was worried, and she recognized this state of mind by the rapid nature of his speech, her anxieties grew. One subject which could bring the King to this state more than any other was the Prince of Wales.

"No, I suppose it is difficult," she said soothingly.

"He's past twenty-one. He's got the people behind him. He's got that fellow Fox ..."

Fox! Another dangerous subject.

"That man has something to answer for. I'd like to see him in the Tower."

"If only you could order him to be put there."

The King said testily: "Kings in this country have no real power. They have to do what the Parliament says. How could I have Fox put away, eh? Tell me that? How? How? For what? For influencing the Prince of Wales in his drinking, gambling and fornicating habits, eh, what? Imagine them all getting up and screaming about that. Even Pitt would stand against it—much as he hates the fellow. No, we have to put up with Mr. Fox. The fellow is the biggest evil this country has ever known. He runs a gambling house, did you know that, eh, what?"

"I did not know," murmured the Queen.

"Yes, Madam, a gambling house, and he is the boon companion of our son. He's living in sin I happen to know with a woman ... a woman who was once our son's mistress, and they still visit and God knows what they do..." The King's eyes bulged as thoughts of the riotous living of his son, Mr. Fox and Mr. Fox's mistress came into his mind, and he imagined himself indulging in such practices with ... women like Elizabeth Pembroke. "Disgusting!" he cried. "Eh, what?"

"Disgusting," echoed the Queen.

"And he is in debt."

"But you paid his debts."

"That was some time ago. It does not take this ... this ... puppy long ... to run up more debts. He gambles ... gambles all the time. And Carlton House. Why, Madam, that is far more grand than anything you or I have, I do assure you. There is not a man or woman at this Court, I'll swear, who would not consider it a greater honour to be invited to Carlton House than to Buckingham House, St. James's, Kew, Hampton or Windsor."

"Can it be so?"

"It is so, Madam. It is so. And now we have this Widow."

"I have heard of her. They tell me she is a virtuous woman and has repulsed his advances."

"A virtuous woman," said the King; and wondered about her. He had heard that she was beautiful without being brazen, that she wore her hair unpowdered and her face unrouged and unleaded. She sounded a good woman—and she had refused the Prince. "H'm," he continued. "She is a good woman and I rejoice to hear it—but that young jackanapes is making a fool of himself by chasing her all over the place and telling everyone of his passion for her—talking of marriage, if you please."

"That is sheer nonsense."

"Everything he does is sheer nonsense. But I have asked to see his debts and I'll have a detailed account of everything he's spent before I see that they're settled."

"Oh dear, what a trial he is. How could he have become like this?"

The King had the answer to that. It was: "Fox." He went on: "Women chatter. If you hear anything about this affair you should let me know without fail."

"Women chatter far too much."

"That's true, and talk much nonsense, but this is an important matter. Nothing that comes to light should be ignored. I don't like these rumours of marriage. That's what makes me anxious."

"It would be impossible for him to marry her. The Marriage Act would prevent its being legal."

"I should not like him to go through a form of marriage with a virtuous lady."

"He would never dare. He knows the law. Whatever madness he is capable of he knows that as Prince of Wales he dare not marry without the consent of you and the Parliament."

"He should know that." The King was silent; he was thinking of a youthful folly of his own. He wished he could forget it, but he doubted he ever would. Hannah Lightfoot, the beautiful Quakeress, with whom he had been in love when he was a younger man than the Prince was now, and with whom he had gone through a form of marriage, often came out of the past to remind him.

He dared not think of her. When he did he heard voices in his head. And he was as much afraid of those voices as the Queen was.

The Prince returned to Carlton House in a distracted state.

"What can I do?" he w r ailed. He summoned Georgiana and Charles James Fox. He demanded that they help him; they must advise him. Maria had fled. What was he going to do? He declared he could not live without her.

They sought to advise. Charles suggested a little patience. Something would happen. Perhaps she would write. Georgiana offered comfort; but nothing could appease him.

"There is only one thing I can do," he said. "I must find her. I must cross to the Continent without delay."

"You have forgotten," Charles reminded him, "that as Prince of Wales you cannot leave the country without the King's consent."

"Then I must get that consent."

"His Majesty will never give it that you may follow a woman you are hoping to make your mistress."

"My wife," cried the Prince. "My wife."

"Terms which, in this case, His Majesty would find synonymous."

"I care nothing for His Majesty's opinion," cried the Prince recklessly; which made Mr. Fox shake his head sadly, a gesture intended to remind the Prince, most tactfully, that His Majesty's opinion in this case was one which could not be ignored.

The Prince asked his father for an audience, and when the King received him the latter was pleased to notice that there was a new humility in his manner.

"Your Majesty, I have come to ask permission to go abroad."

"Abroad. What for? The people won't have that. The Prince of Wales's place is in this country. Don't you know that, eh, what?"

"I have incurred many debts."

"Natural enough ... when you consider the way you live. Dashing all over the place ... down to Brighton ... Carlton House. And gambling too. What are your gambling debts, eh, what? And the money you spend on women. It does not surprise me that you have debts."

"My expenses are great."

"Must be ... Must be ... Gambling ... women ... they are very expensive pastimes."

"Your Majesty cannot realize how expensive."

There he was, the young rip. Sneering. What do you know of these things? No, thought the King, I have occupied my time with State matters. He wanted to shout that at the fellow, but he knew the sort of retort that would bring to those insolent lips. Perhaps it would have been better for the country if you had occupied yourself with gambling and women instead of politics. It might have been slightly less expensive than the loss of the Colonies.

They were always at the back of his mind—those Colonies. They and the Prince of Wales were the biggest anxieties of his life.

"And so," said the King, "you are in difficulties."

"I owe money in all directions."

"So you think you can run away and escape your creditors, eh?"

"I think it would be well to get away for a while."

"And this is your reason for wanting to go?"

"Yes, sir."

Liar, thought the King. You want to go in search of the widow who has run away and left you. Good sensible woman. To think that his subjects had to run away to escape the importunings of the Prince of Wales! A pleasant state of affairs!

"I could not give my consent to your going abroad," said the King flatly. "And I should like to have further details of your debts. I want an explanation of all details. And then we will see what can be done about settling them. And if this should be possible, I hope you will let this be a lesson to you."

The Prince was not listening. He was frantic. Any other man could have been free to leave the country if he wished, but he was a prisoner.

He rode out to Chertsey. Fox was not at home but Lizzie was there to comfort him ... if it had been possible to give him any comfort.

"Lizzie, Lizzie, what can I do?"

"There must be something," she comforted. "I will talk it over with Charles. There must be a way out."

"I don't even know where she is. I've been to see the old buffoon and he talks about details of debts. How do I know how the money is spent? But he is determined I shan't go abroad. He knows why I want to go. Everyone gossips. And the sanctimonious old humbug preaches to me. "Gambling and women," he says, and licks his lips because he's never had either."

"Your Highness should plan calmly, I think."

He seized her hands. "How, Lizzie? How?"

"Well, let us think. If we could find out where she was, you could perhaps write to her."

Letters! Soothing balm always! And he had a way with a pen which might move her. When she had thought he was dying she had relented so far as to allow him to put that ring on her finger, to sign the documents. If he could move her with his pen.

He looked hopefully at Lizzie.

"But where ... where is she?"

"We shall have to find out."

"And then I shall not be able to go to her. Then there are only letters. Oh, Lizzie, if you knew the depth of my feelings."

"I do," she said gently.

"You can't, I have never experienced this passion before during the whole of my life. I will never know another moment's peace until she comes back to me." He threw himself on to a couch and covering his face with his hands, wept.

Lizzie Armistead told Charles Fox afterwards that although she had heard him express himself somewhat emotionally before she had never seen him act so violently. He was half laughing, half crying; he lay on the floor and rolled backwards and forwards; he struck his forehead and frightened Lizzie because she thought he was going mad.

"Your Highness," she begged, "I pray you get up and sit down. Nothing can be solved by rolling on the floor"

"What can be solved standing up?" he demanded.

"Calm thinking might bring us to a solution"

"Lizzie, I will tell you this: I shall forgo the Crown. If I cannot as heir to it marry where I will then I shall abandon my claim to it. I have my brothers. I shall sell everything I have— jewels, plate, everything. I shall find Maria and fly with her to America"

America, thought Lizzie. A rather unfortunate choice. She wondered how the Americans would greet the son of the King who had been their greatest enemy.

But this was not the occasion to point it out to the Prince.

She had an idea. "Your Highness cannot go abroad, that is certain since the King forbids it, but why should others not go and at least find out where she is. If you traced her you could write to her and I believe your letters would be most persuasive"

"Lizzie" he said. "God bless you. You were always my good friend"

There was one man who could find Maria if anyone could. That was the Duc d'Orteans, who was at this time in England. The Prince was certain that Maria had gone to France, because she knew the country well and it would be a second home to her. Orleans was living in London with Grace Elliott who, not very long ago, had been the mistress of the Prince of Wales.

Theirs had been a comfortable love affair—no protestations of devotion on either side. Grace—known as Dally the Tall, because she had a tall and willowy figure and before her marriage to a Dr. Elliott she had been a Dalrymple—was a gay young woman who had had a host of lovers and she and the Prince had parted without regrets and therefore as the best of friends.

When the Prince invited Orleans to Carlton House and confided his troubles, the Frenchman was full of sympathy.

"She is in your country, I am sure of it," cried the Prince. "But I do not know where."

"It should not be impossible to find out," replied Orleans. "Such a beautiful Englishwoman would create talk wherever she went."

The Prince clenched his hands together at the thought of his infinitely desirable Maria in that country where men were noted for their gallantry. What if someone were able to offer her what the Prince was not ... honourable marriage?

"I must find her," he cried. "I want to tell her that I will give up everything ... simply everything in order to marry her."

The Duc nodded sympathetically. He thought the Prince a fool who did not know what he was talking about. Give up a crown for this plump matron? Orleans had his eyes on another crown and from the reports he heard from his spies all over his country, and particularly those who prowled about the Palais Royale, affairs in France were working towards some sort of climax which could be very beneficial to the Duc d'Orleans.

He was a very ambitious man and although not yet forty, owing to the life he had led he had developed that revolting skin disease which made his hair fall out and his complexion hideous to behold; but these disabilities affected him little in society because they were offset by his fortune and his connection with the royal family of France.

It suddenly occurred to him that this might be a very propitious time to return to France, for if interesting events were about to take place it was as well to be on the spot.

He could go back to Paris, setting new fashions in his pink coat, top boots and leather breeches; he would have his English style carriage over there, introduce horse-racing; and at the same time let the people know how much better affairs were run in England than in France.

Here was an excellent excuse for returning. Not because affairs were taking an interesting turn; not because fche news he heard from his spies was setting him on the alert; not because he wished to be at hand to help disconcert his cousin, the King, and the woman he hated most in the world, the Queen of France—but to help his friend and kinsman, the Prince of Wales, to find a woman who had run away from him.

"I doubt not that I could have her whereabouts discovered in a week or so."

"Is that possible?"

"If I went to France and saw to this matter myself."

"But... you do not wish to leave England."

"In the service of my dear friend I would do anything."

"You mean that you would..."

The Duc bowed gracefully. "For you, my dear friend and Prince, I would do much."

The Prince fell on to the Due's neck and embraced him, forgetting for once that horrible skin disease.

And the Duc, full of plans, left with Grace for France where he set about introducing English fashions, undermining the throne of France and finding Maria Fitzherbert.

As he had predicted, this last was simple.

He discovered that Mrs. Fitzherbert had gone first to Aix-la-Chapelle, but because she did not wish to stay too long in one place and believed that it would be suspected that, in view of the fact that she knew that country well, she would have gone to France, had crossed the frontiers and was visiting the Hague.

So now he knew and he was all impatience to visit Holland. First, though, his debts must be paid before he could leave the country. The King had been brooding over those debts for weeks and had made no announcement. So he went to see him again.

The Prince had changed, and the King was quick to notice this. A little of the arrogance had disappeared; he looked pale—and, yes, he had grown a little thinner.

Some good has come out of this then, thought the King.

"Sir, you have promised to settle my debts."

"I must first have a full account of how they were incurred. There is this item."

Oh God, thought the Prince. What is he talking about?

"I want a full account of how this £25,000 is made up."

"I have no idea."

"But you must have an idea ... a sum like this. How could you run up debts for that amount without knowing how, eh, what?"

"I tell you I have no idea."

"Then you go away and think about it. I don't believe you can't know how such a large sum of money was spent. If it's a debt you're ashamed to explain then I ought not to pay it."

"Sir, I wish to go abroad."

"Well, sir, I should remind you that that is something you cannot do without my consent. And I do not give that consent. You understand me, eh? You understand, what?"

Miserably, his heart full of hatred towards his father, the Prince left.

But at least he knew where she was, and there was the comfort of pen and ink-pot. He wrote pages to her which gave him some pleasure. He would shut himself in his apartments and cover sheet after sheet. Although the Prince had been deeply affected by women since his adolescence he had never before been in love like this. The most surprising thing of all was that he remained faithful. No other woman could be of the slightest interest to him. All through the winter his only comfort was talking to his friends about his devotion to Maria, writing impassioned letters to her, keeping couriers running back and forth across Europe. These were often arrested as spies and only the help of the Duc d'Orleans saved them from imprisonment. When he explained that the mission of these men was love and not espionage they were immediately freed and given every facility to reach Maria.

But she stubbornly remained out of the country in spite of his appeals and everyone now understood that Maria Fitzherbert was not playing a waiting game in the hope of luring the Prince to indiscretion; she really was the deeply religious woman she had made herself out to be and she would not consider living with the Prince on any terms but marriage.

Sir James Harris, the English Ambassador to the Hague, came to London to report and the Prince seized the opportunity of sending for him.

Harris had been a friend of the Prince; and as ambassador in a country such as Holland over which the French and the English were fighting for control, he was often in the depths of intrigue. He was therefore in close touch with the King and his ministers, and understood many of the problems not only of State but of the royal family.

Like all those who wished the family well, he deplored the Prince's absorbing passion for a woman whom he could not marry and who had refused to live with him on any other terms. If Mrs. Fitzherbert had given in, the problem would have been immediately solved; it was ironical, but it was Mrs. Fitzherbert's virtue which was causing such concern.

The Prince greeted Harris warmly at Carlton House and immediately came to the reason for his visit.

"I want to know whether it would be possible for me to go to The Hague as a private person, and if I did how would you, as the King's representative there, receive me?"

Harris was alarmed. So much depended on his answer, but he hesitated only briefly and said: "I should be very sorry to see Your Highness in Holland otherwise than in a character which would allow me to receive you in a manner conformable with the respect and affection I bear Your Highness. Your coming abroad, however, without the King's consent, would imply that you came after having been refused it. You may rest assured that in this case I should have received orders as to how I should act on your arrival and however much these orders were in contradiction to my feelings, as the King's servant, I should be obliged to obey them."

"I should be the last person to ask you to do otherwise. But what can I do? Am I refused the right of every other individual? Cannot I travel legally as a private person, without the King's consent?"

"It seems immaterial to know whether Your Highness can or not, since it is evident that you cannot with any propriety to the public or satisfaction to yourself, cross the seas without it."

"Why not? I wish to travel economically, to be unknown and to live in retirement."

"I confess that no event would give me so much pain as an Englishman to see a Prince of Wales abroad under such a description."

"But what can I do? The King suggests I put aside £10,000 a year to pay my debts at a time when, with the strictest economies, my expenses are twice my income. I am ruined if I stay in England."

"Your Royal Highness will find no relief in travelling in the way in which you propose. You will be slighted or the object of intrigue."

"What can I do? The King hates me. He has hated me since I was seven years old."

"His Majesty may be dissatisfied with Your Highness but surely he cannot hate you. I am convinced that nothing would make him and the Queen so happy as to restore their affections to you. This would be the greatest blessing to the nation and comfort to the royal family."

"That may be so but it cannot be. We are too wide asunder."

"I do believe Your Highness should try every possible means before you carry into execution your plan of travelling."

The Prince sighed. "I see I shall have to think it over."

Couriers were leaving Carlton House for Germany as well as Holland, for the Prince was now writing not only to Maria but also to his brother Frederick. Frederick had been his close companion in youth and the affection between them had been great; they had helped each other out of many a scrape and the fact that they had been parted was an added grievance against the King. When the Prince had heard that his brother was to be sent to Germany to train for the Army, he himself had begged for a commission that they might continue to be together. Why could they not both serve in the English Army? Why must Frederick go to Hanover? All the objections had been ignored and the brothers parted. But they had declared they would be friends for ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'd crowns resign To call thee mine, Sweet lass of Richmond Hill."

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

She would always remember his devotion to her and be grateful for it; the memory of his fidelity and devotion sustained her in her exile; but he must not think of leaving England. It would be a fatal mistake which he would regret for the rest of his life—and she would never forgive herself if she allowed him to do this.

She thought of him often; she would not deny that she loved him. Yet if he came abroad she would never stay with him, but would make sure that he could not find her. This she meant and she begged him to be calmer, to wait a while, to see if his feelings changed in the next months.

He read and re-read that letter. It seemed to hold a gleam of hope; and at last he began to see that it would be impossible for him to leave the country and that no good could come of.

That brilliant young man who had the appearance of having been born old, called on the King: William Pitt, the younger, whose great claim to the King's loyalty was that he was in opposition to Charles James Fox.

The Prime Minister had come to talk to the King about that disturbing subject the Prince of Wales, a subject equally distasteful to both of them.

"His Highness," said Mr. Pitt, "has incurred many debts which Your Majesty feels should be discharged."

The King grumbled about the follies of youth. Not that Mr. Pitt was very old, but being of an entirely different temperament from that of the Prince of Wales he would understand the King's meaning. There had been little time for youthful follies in the life of a young man who had become Prime Minister of England at the age of twenty-four: and to Mr. Pitt the so-called pleasures of the Prince were childish pastimes; how could the pursuit of a woman compare with his own quest for the Great Seal? Pitt was at the head of the country and there he intended to remain. He had no fears of the Prince's animosity; but he did fear Fox. There was a man brilliant enough to unseat him, one of whom he must be ever watchful. And the Prince had made it perfectly clear that Fox was his friend and Fox's politics his.

"Yes," said the King. "I feel these debts should be discharged.

The Prince is living beyond his income and there are some members of the Government who feel that the income he receives is not adequate for a Prince of Wales."

"Sentiments most forcefully expressed in the House by Mr. Charles James Fox," said Pitt grimly. "Has it occurred to Your Majesty that if we gave the Prince of Wales a sum of money with which to discharge his debts, a large amount of this might possibly be used for the advancement of the Whigs?"

The King looked startled. His brows bristled and looked whiter than ever because his face had flushed scarlet with rage. His eyes bulged and he cried: "Eh, what?" three times while Mr. Pitt regarded him coldly. The King was rather incoherent sometimes and this made Mr. Pitt very uneasy, for what if he were to become incapable and it was necessary to appoint a Regency? He saw the figure of the Prince grown powerful and beside him the shadow of a wily Fox.

No, the King must keep his place. He was after all a young man yet. He could not be more than forty-seven. Yet he had seemed to grow old during the last years.

Pitt went on: "I think that the Prince's debts should be discharged on one condition."

"Condition, eh? What condition?"

"That he breaks with the Whigs and Mr. Charles James Fox."

The King smiled slowly. Nothing would please him more than to see that break. It was a good idea. Trust young Mr. Pitt to come up with the right answer.

The King decided to use Sir James Harris in his negotiations with the Prince and, sending for him, told of his conversation with his Prime Minister.

"Now, my dear Harris, you will go to the Prince and acquaint him with the conditions with which he must comply before his debts are settled."

When Harris arrived the Prince burst out before lie could say anything: "If you have come to dissuade me from travelling, let me anticipate your kind intentions by telling you that I have put that idea out of my mind. My friends, as well as yourself, are against it, and I subscribe to their opinion."

Harris expressed his satisfaction and told him that he had in fact come to speak about the Prince's debts.

The Prince listened horrified. "Abandon my friends! How could I do that? Give up my opinions for the sake of money!"

"It would, Your Highness, bring about a reconciliation between you and your father. His Majesty is more distressed by your connection with the Whigs and Mr. Fox, than by anything else; and I believe that if you were no longer devoted to them there would be a basis for building up strong family affection."

"No, no, my dear Harris, even if I would do this, there would never be a reconciliation. The King hates me. I will show you our correspondence over the last six months when I first asked his permission to go to Holland. You will see how I have attempted to be friendly with him and how he rebuffs me."

"Sir, do you think it wise for me to see this correspondence?"

"Yes, I do, so that you may know how the King treats me. I wish the people knew what I have to endure."

"I should be sorry indeed, sir, if the enmity between the King and yourself were public knowledge."

"Read those letters," commanded the Prince; and when Harris had done so he had to admit to the harsh uncompromising attitude of the King.

"If you would only marry," sighed Harris, "then I think there would be a happier relationship between you and your father."

"I will never marry ... as my father wishes. I have taken my resolution on that. Moreover, I have settled this with my brother Frederick."

"Give me leave to say, sir, that you must marry. You owe it to the country, to the King and yourself."

"I owe nothing to the King. Frederick will marry and the Crown will descend to his children. As for myself I do not see how that affects me."

"Until you are married, sir, and have children, you have no solid hold on the affections of the people even while you are Prince of Wales; but if you come to the throne a bachelor and His Royal Highness the Duke of York is married and has sons to succeed you, your situation when King will be more painful than it is at the moment."

The Prince turned away in anger, but hastened to assure Harris that it was not directed at him.

Sir James Harris could see that it was no use trying to persuade the Prince of Wales. He was bemused by his affection for this woman. In time, thought Harris, it will pass. It must, for she is abroad and he is here ... and she seems to mean that she will not go to him.

But the Prince of Wales retired to his apartments to write to Maria, to swear eternal fidelity and to reiterate the words of the ballad. He would his crown resign to call her his. It was true. He wanted nothing but Maria.