Sweet lass of Richmond Hill

Attack at St. James's

"Dear Haggerdorn," said the Queen, "how I shall miss you when you have gone."

Mrs. Haggerdorn, faithful attendant for twenty-five years, turned away to hide the tears which filled her eyes. For so long now she had dreamed of going home and now that the time had come she felt this reluctance to go—but her only real regret was leaving the Queen.

"Your Majesty has been so good to me," whispered Haggerdorn. "That is why I am sad to go."

"Twenty-five years is a long time," said the Queen.

"Ah, Madam, I shall never forget the day we left. And that dreadful sea journey when Your Majesty set such an example to us all by playing the harpsichord when we were all so sick."

"I happened to be a good sailor, Haggerdorn; and I expect I was a little defiant. It is a terrible anxiety to come to a country one has never seen ... to a husband who is a stranger ..."

"Ah, Your Majesty, I know it. In my small way I too suffered. But Your Majesty has been a blessing to His Majesty and the English people. You have given them so many sons and daughters."

"Too many, perhaps, Haggerdorn. We have had our troubles. But cheer up. You will soon be in Mecklenburg.

Think of that. You will sec my family, my old friends. Do you think they will remember me, Haggerdorn, after twenty-five years?"

"They could never forget you, Madam."

"Perhaps not. They will have heard news of the Queen of England from time to time. I expect they hear of the scandals my son has a talent for creating."

There was a hint of dislike in her voice which startled Haggerdorn. She remembered how at one time the Queen's voice had softened every time she spoke of the Prince of Wales.

Perhaps, thought the mild and peace-loving Haggerdorn, it was indeed a good thing that she was going home. There had always been trouble with the Prince and now that he was growing older those troubles would grow with him; and the other boys were growing into the trouble-making age. Madam von Schwellenburg had always been so arrogant and demanding. Then there was His Majesty the King. Only those close to the Queen realized how anxious she was on his account and how oddly he could behave at times.

He entered the Queen's apartment at that moment, brows furrowed, eyebrows bristling, his face that unhealthy brick red.

The Queen said: "Your Majesty, dear Haggerdorn is saying goodbye to me. You know she is leaving us."

The King looked at Haggerdorn, his eyes softened by sentiment.

"Ah yes, yes, good Haggerdorn. Pleasant journey. Sorry to see you go. Very sorry."

Haggerdorn curtsied as elegantly as creaking knees and rheumatic pains would allow. Oh, yes, it was time she left draughty Windsor Lodge. She needed a little comfort in her old age.

"I shall miss her," said the Queen.

"Yes, we shall miss her." The King was at his best on such an occasion. He was kind and showed an interest in Haggerdorn's plans. No wonder, thought the Queen, that it was said he was more like a country squire than a king.

He made Haggerdorn tell him what she intended to do; and assured her that he would sec that she went off well provided for.

Yes, thought the Queen, a very good squire.

How critical she was becoming—of the King, of her sons, of her life!

Haggerdorn's impending departure had made her think of that day twenty-five years ago when the dazzling prospect of being Queen of England had been revealed to her. And what had it amounted to? She had become a breeder of children. Fifteen children in twenty-five years. There had not been a great deal of time when she had not been either pregnant or giving birth. Two little boys had died—Octavius and Alfred— but thirteen were left to her; and now that they were growing up, they for whom she had lived and suffered were turning against her. Her eldest son despised both her and his father; and never before had she been aware of such friction in the family. She was anxious about the Prince; she was anxious about the King. Lucky Haggerdorn who had no responsibilities, no ties, who would go home to Mecklenburg-Strelitz and enjoy a peaceful old age!

When Haggerdorn had been dismissed the Queen said to the King: "I have been thinking about the replacement of Haggerdorn."

"Yes, yes," said the King, now as always deeply interested in household matters.

"I have an idea. I wonder what Your Majesty will think of it."

The change in him was miraculous. She thought: If he could be shut away from State affairs and his troublesome sons, he could be a happy family man. He should be concerned with only small matters. Poor George, to have been born heir to a crown!

"I am eager to hear," he told her.

"Do you remember the authoress we met at dear Mrs. Delaney's ... the famous Miss Burney? I was thinking of giving the place to her."

The King's face lit up with pleasure. "Dear Mrs. Delaney," he said. "I remember well."

That was a pleasant memory. He had set Mrs. Delaney up in a house close to Windsor Lodge; he had supplied all the furniture himself and had even seen to the stocking of the kitchen cupboards. She remembered his great glee when he brought Mrs. Delaney to see it and tears of pleasure now came into his eyes at the memory.

"Miss Burney," said the King. "A very clever young lady, so they tell me."

"There can be no doubt that she is clever. I should like to hear her read her own books. We are in need of a reader and it seems to me an excellent plan to have a famous authoress in the household."

The King was nodding. Such a pleasant encounter. Miss Burney had been so overcome by royal condescension and both he and the Queen had talked to her of her books.

"Yes, yes, yes," went on the King. "I think you should give the place to Miss Burney."

It was ten o'clock on a hot July morning when the carriage containing Miss Burney and her father left St. Martin's Street for Windsor. Dr. Burney was delighted with this honour bestowed on his daughter; Fanny herself was less certain.

What was she, a famous novelist, the darling of London literary society, accustomed to enlightened conversation, going to do in what she knew must be the stultified atmosphere of the royal household?

Perhaps it was not such a fortunate day when she had gone to stay with Mrs. Delaney and had made the acquaintance of the King and Queen. Who would have thought from that meeting that this would have happened?

But one did not apparently decline what was undoubtedly looked upon as an honour.

Oh dear, thought Fanny, there is nothing to be done but submit.

And she thought of the Queen—the squat ugly little woman with the German accent; and the big alarming King with those fierce eyebrows and that disconcerting habit of shooting questions at one which perhaps did not need an answer. "Eh, eh? What, what?" And speaking so quickly that if one were a little nervous—and who would not be speaking to the King?—one just could not understand what he was talking about.

But Father, dear Father, was delighted; and so were the family. She could imagine them all boasting: "Fanny, you know our famous Fanny, is now in the royal household, on terms—but the most familiar terms—with Her Majesty the Queen."

Dr. Burney was now looking as pleased as though he were taking his bow on a concert platform after the most successful performance of his career.

How, Fanny asked herself, in these circumstances, can I reveal my true feelings?

Her eyes rested on her bag. In that were her clothes which she was sure would be most unsuitable. She had no feeling for clothes and never would have. But in that bag was her diary and that should be her comfort, her solace, and in it she would write frankly of her feelings and impressions; she would also write to her sister Susan. Yes, whatever alarms and discomforts, she would always be able to write.

Dr. Burney was talking of the King with respectful awe. The King, whatever people might say of him, loved music, so Fanny should hear some good music in the royal household. There were concerts every night.

Yes, I know, thought Fanny. But what conversation will there be?

She thought of the old days when she had listened to dear Dr. Johnson and James Boswell and Mrs. Thrale.

Oh dear, thought Fanny, I feel like a nun about to be incarcerated in a monastery—or a bride who is going to a husband who is a stranger to her. Thus must the poor Queen have felt when she came here from Mecklenburg-Strelitz all those years ago. At least my plight is not as bad as hers. It is not for ever. Fanny giggled to herself. And I shall not be expected to bear the royal children.

Her father smiled at her. Fanny was realizing the honour which was hers.

They came into Windsor and there was the Castle—grand and imposing.

"You will not live in the Castle, of course," her father reminded her, "but in the Upper Lodge."

"Less imposing," said Fanny, and added hopefully: "But perhaps more comfortable."

The carriage had arrived at Mrs. Delaney's house and here they alighted. Mrs. Delaney welcomed them into her house, beaming with pleasure, for she regarded this appointment of Fanny's as her doing.

While the luggage was being taken out Mrs. Delaney sent a message to Upper Lodge to say that Miss Burney had arrived. Then Fanny, Dr. Burney and their hostess sat together in the little drawing room while Mrs. Delaney gave Fanny a grounding in Court etiquette.

" I am certain to do something wrong," declared Fanny. "I know it."

"My dear," said Mrs. Delaney, "you will find Her Majesty very kind."

"She will need to be," said Fanny grimly.

"Remember, my dear, that you are a famous novelist and that the Queen has enjoyed your books. In fact she is hoping that you will read them aloud to her and the Princesses."

"But you know my voice. It is low, and when I raise it it ... it squeaks. Oh, dear Mrs. Delaney, I shall be the most dismal failure." Fanny brightened. "But then I shall be dismissed and go home again. So perhaps that will not be such a bad thing."

"It is a good thing," said Dr. Burney, "that Her Majesty cannot hear you talking in this way."

A message was delivered at Mrs. Delaney's that the Queen had heard of the arrival of Dr. and Miss Burney and was ready to receive them.

"So," said Mrs. Delaney, "you may go and good luck go with you."

Fanny put her arm through her father's and they crossed the short distance between Mrs. Delaney's house and the Upper Lodge.

In the Queen's drawing room Her Majesty was seated, and standing beside her was a large and extremely ugly woman to whom Fanny took an immediate dislike.

Forward, thought Fanny, remembering Mrs. Delaney's instructions. Kneel, look suitably humble, do not speak until spoken to.

"Dr. Burney ... Miss Burney."

The Queen was smiling. "It gives nic great pleasure to sec you. Miss Burney, we hope you are going to be happy with us."

"Your Majesty is very gracious," murmured Fanny.

Dr. Burney, at ease, said something about his daughter's being overcome by the honour done to her.

"It is delightful to have a novelist with us who has given such pleasure with her books," said the Queen. "This is my Keeper of the Robes. She will tell you what your duties will be. Schwellenburg, pray take Miss Burney to her apartments. I daresay she is a little tired and perhaps would like to rest before she begins her duties."

The cue to depart, thought Fanny, her spirits which were never downcast for long, beginning to rise.

She walked out backwards—a necessary procedure, Mrs. Delancy had told her, and a most awkward one, Fanny decided. Oh dear, I'm sure I shall trip and if I have to wear high heels how shall I manage it?

At last the door had shut and she was able to walk naturally.

She smiled up at the grim face of Madam von Schwellenburg and thought it extremely unpleasant.

"This vay com," were the words which came from that excessively ugly mouth.

I do not think, thought Fanny, as she was led to her apartments, that I underestimated the trials of life in the royal household.

Fanny's apartments were on the ground floor of the Queen's Lodge. She had a drawing room, which gave her a view of the Round Tower and a small bedroom which looked out on a garden. Not exactly commodious, she thought, but adequate. Less comforting was the door next to that of her drawing room which led up to the apartments of Madam von Schwellenburg.

She was given a man- and maidservant and momentarily thought that she might be about to enjoy a life of ease, but was quickly disillusioned.

Madam von Schwellenburg took pains to impress on her that, as Keeper of the Robes, she was Fanny's superior since Fanny bore the explanatory title of Assistant Keeper of the Robes.

I make rules," Schwellenburg informed her. "I ... selfs." And did Fanny like toads because to Madam von Schwellenburg they were the most delightful of creatures. Hers were especially clever toads. They croaked when she tapped their cages with her snuff boxes.

Fanny was revolted by the creatures and showed it.

"So ... you do not like?" Schwellenburg was offended. She was not going to have upstart novelists turning their noses up at her precious pets. And from then on she decided to make Fanny's life burdensome to her.

"Novels," she declared to her pet toad, giving Fanny a venomous look over her shoulder. "I von't haf nuddink vat you call novels, vat you call romances, vat you call histories. I might not read vat you call... stuff."

Fanny felt an irrepressible urge to giggle, but restrained it. She had quickly perceived that Madame von Schwellenburg was going to be one of the trials of her Court life.

There were others—rising at six every morning and putting on a cap and gown so as to be ready to fly to the royal apartments as soon as the summons came from the Queen, which could be at any time between seven and eight. The Queen rose earlier but never sent for Fanny until her hair had been dressed by Mrs. Thielky, who was a German, but who spoke English as well as the Queen and with less of an accent.

Schwellenburg, Fanny had heard, stayed in bed until midday. Soon after her arrival in England she had proclaimed herself to be too important to take part in any work; her post was to superintend the maids. This she insisted on, which pleased Fanny, since one did not have to see so much of the disagreeable old woman if she were absent during the morning. When summoned, Fanny and Mrs. Thielky between them dressed the Queen—Mrs. Thielky as the more experienced handing the garments to Fanny who put them on.

Fanny could not help smiling to herself and imagining the disaster that would have occurred if she had had to decide which went on first.

She would tell Susan that she would run a prodigious risk of picking up the gown before the hoop and the fan before the neck kerchief.

Soon after eight there were prayers in the Castle Chapel at which all the royal family in residence attended. Then back to breakfast—the most pleasant time of the day when she could sit over the meal for an hour with a book. There followed what could be a leisurely morning if it was not one of the Queen's curling and crimping days which she discovered occurred twice a week and at which ceremony she would be required to assist.

But the Queen's dressing for the day did not take place until a quarter to one and this was the real ceremony with Schwellenburg in command. Fanny was grateful for the consideration of the Queen who never commented on her little mistakes, but looked at the newspapers while the operation was in progress and often read out little paragraphs. After she had done so she would glance at Fanny to see if she had liked that little piece, and Fanny was touched by this little attention to her literary tastes and felt that, but for the nature of her immediate superior, she could have settled in to her new life happily enough.

Being at Court Fanny had her own toilette to attend to— something to which previously she had not given a great deal of thought. But at five o'clock the biggest trial of all—she must dine with Madam von Schwellenburg—a horrible ordeal with the old German woman showing with every gesture and almost every word she spoke her disapproval of her new assistant. Coffee was taken in Schwellenburg's drawing room while the King and his family paraded on the terraces; the Princesses liked to make quite a ceremony of this and, dressed elaborately, they walked up and down twirling their fans and bowing and smiling at the people who had come to look at them.

Poor creatures, thought Fanny, they are like birds in cages, and these terrace parades are their only chance to spread their wings a little ... but very little.

At eight o'clock it was one of her duties to make tea for the equerries or any gentlemen who had received a royal invitation to attend one of the nightly concerts.

Between nine and eleven, while the concert was in progress, Fanny must sit with Schwellenburg; then there was supper and the last attendance on the Queen. After that Fanny would fall into her bed and be asleep almost immediately.

It was a tiring day and, as each day was very like those which had preceded it, very monotonous.

But Fanny had her diary and she looked forward to her encounters with the Princesses—who being young and eager to escape the monotony interested her more than anyone else at Court, and she was sorry for them because although etiquette would forbid her renouncing a post which so many had coveted and which had been bestowed upon her by the Queen, she knew that in due course she would escape—whereas the poor little Princesses had endured this state all their lives and would continue to do so until they married.

During her leisure hours she wrote in her diary and letters home. This was her greatest pleasure.

The King had had a word or two with Miss Burney when he passed through the Queen's apartments. His eyes twinkled every time they alighted on her; he evidently thought it most odd that she should have written a novel. But he always spoke to her kindly and if he had not spoken so quickly and she could have understood what he meant she would not have been in the least afraid of him.

As he came out of the Lodge on an August morning he was thinking of the Prince of Wales and the spectacle he made of himself pretending to economize. Something would have to be done about that sooner or later. He would have to speak to Pitt again.

As his carriage drove from Windsor to St. James's he was aware of the sullen looks which came his way; there was silence too. No loyal shouts. Quite a number of people passed the carriage without a glance. There was one cry of "Long live the Prince of Wales'.

Sad, thought the King, when a loyal shout for the son meant a disloyal thought directed against the father.

He was tired. There were occasions when he felt ill, when he wished that he could shut himself away if not at Windsor at Kew and never have to see a politician again and to forget that he had ever begotten a son named George.

As soon as the levee was over he would return to Windsor. He would hunt, for exercise was so good for one of his ever-increasing weight; and on horseback he could forget his trouble.

His carriage was approaching St. James's Palace where a little knot of people—not more than half a dozen—had paused to watch him. He stepped out of the carriage and as he did so a woman disengaged herself from that little crowd and ran towards him waving a paper in her right hand.

Oh dear, thought the King, a petition. Still he must pay attention when his people wished to call attention to some imagined injustice.

He put out a hand to take the paper and as he did so the woman's left hand shot up; in the same second he saw the gleam of the knife and felt the dull thud in his chest.

There was a scream from the crowd. The King's attendants had seized the woman.

"Let me go," she cried. "I am the true Queen. The Crown is mine."

The poor creature is mad, thought the King, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Treat her gently," he commanded. "I am unharmed. But tell me is my waistcoat cut?"

"Your Majesty ... you are feeling..."

"I am unhurt," said the King. "Take the poor creature away. Come, we have a levee waiting for us."

The Queen with the Princesses and some of the ladies were sitting at their needlework. Miss Burney was present with Miss Planta and Gooley, and the three of them were taking it in turns to read.

The Queen listened while she watched the Princesses and hoped that they were taking advantage of having a novelist as a companion. She was a little disappointed in Miss Burney's reading. It seemed strange that one who could write so admirably should not be able to read equally so. But no, Planta and Goolcy were really so much more audible than Miss Burney; but Miss Burney was very popular with the Princesses, particularly baby Amelia who had really taken to her; and as Amelia was the King's delight and the darling of the household, for the little girl could by an imperious demand lure His Majesty's mind from bothering State matters, Amelia's approval was of great importance.

The Princess Royal had filled the snuff box and Augusta had threaded the Queen's needle and handed it to her; and it was Miss Burncy's turn to read.

"Mary," said the Queen, glancing severely at the youngest of her daughters present who had just dropped her thimble, "pray do not fidget so, for Miss Burney has the misfortune of reading rather low at first."

Fanny blushed and tried to speak more loudly and the Queen plied her needle, listening attentively, sewing and keeping her eyes on the company at the same time.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside the room and everyone was alert. They could hear one of the ladies shouting at the top of her voice and all recognized that voice as belonging to Madame la Fite, the Frenchwoman, one of whose duties was to read in French to the Queen and Princesses.

"I must see Her Majesty. It is necessaire. I tell you. It is ties important"

French phrases always crept into Madame la Fite's English when she was excited and quite clearly she was excited now.

"Gooley, pray go and see what is happening," said the Queen.

Miss Goldsworthy rose at once, but before she could reach the door it was flung open and Madame la Fite came in; she ran to the Queen and threw herself at Her Majesty's feet.

"Oh, mon Dieu. Have you heard. What an horrcur."

"Madame la Fite, pray calm yourself," said the Queen. "What is it? What have you heard?"

"Oh ... I cannot say. It is the King ... I cannot..."

A not unfamiliar sick fear gripped the Queen. In her imagination she had lived through scenes like this. He had done something which would make them say he was mad. So often he seemed to be clinging with all his might to his sanity and she always feared to hear that he had let go.

She heard herself saying very quietly: "What has happened, Madame la Fite?"

She was aware of the round awestricken faces of her daughters. She would like to send them away, but it was too late now. If what she feared had happened, it was no use attempting to keep it from them; they would know sooner or later.

"He has been stabbed. Twice!" Madame la Fite threw up her hands in a dramatic gesture. "Twice the assassin has struck. This is what I have heard."

The Queen stood up. Odd that she should have felt relieved. Now she could take charge of the situation.

"I have no doubt that His Majesty is safe," she said.

The news that His Majesty was safe was brought to the Queen almost immediately. He was quite unharmed. He had been attacked by a table knife which was quite blunt and had not even cut his waistcoat. His Majesty had behaved with the utmost calm and had gone on to his levee. He would be returning soon to Windsor.

Rumours were of course flying round, but there was no need to take any notice of them. The Queen could be assured that the King was safe.

In the streets the people were saying that the woman who had attempted to take his life was one of the maidservants from Carlton House who had lost her job because the King refused to pay the Prince of Wales's debts. Another rumour was that she loved the Prince and was determined to make the King pay for treating his son so badly. Others said that it was a general discontent with the King and the longing for a new one.

The woman, however, had been proved to be a lunatic, for she kept declaring that the Crown was hers.

When the King arrived at Windsor the Queen greeted him with obvious relief.

"It was nothing," he said. "The poor creature was mad. I told them to treat her with gentleness."

The Queen nodded.

"Poor soul" she said.

And the King solemnly echoed those words.

The news was brought to Grove House in its exaggerated form.

The King had been twice stabbed outside St. James's Palace. He was dying, but they were trying to make light of it.

"I must go to Windsor with all speed," said the Prince of Wales.

His phaeton was brought and he drove it himself, and in record time arrived at Windsor.

There was a flutter in the Princesses' apartments at the Upper Lodge.

"George is here," cried the Princess Royal, clasping her hands in an ecstasy of excitement.

"He's come because there has been an attempt on Papa's life," replied Augusta.

"Perhaps," said her sister, "he's hoping it has proved fatal, because then he would be the master of us all." Her eyes grew dreamy. "I'll swear everything would be different then. George would let us mix in society. This dull life would be over."

"Charlotte, how can you say such things!"

"I will say what is true, Augusta."

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

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

Miss Burney laughed. "Well, one doesn't write novels about real people, Your Highness. I think it would be lese majestc or something like that."

"Your Highness is embarrassing Miss Burney," said Gooley reprovingly.

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

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

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

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

Amelia laughed and began running round the room. "I'm a horse. I'm Papa's horse."

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

"He's going. He's going already. Oh, look. Is he not handsome?"

"He looks angry."

"Oh dear, there must have been another quarrel."

"But why ... why} He only came to see how Papa was."

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

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

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

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

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

How the old fellow must hate him!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"On orders from the King, no doubt."

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

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

"Plans for what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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