Sweet lass of Richmond Hill

The Fateful Decision

The Prince drove his phaeton through the Park. People standing about in groups looked at him in silence. There were no cheers. How different it had become. He remembered how they used to jostle each other for a glimpse of him.

"God bless the Prince of Wales!" He had heard it so constantly that he had grown tired of it. How he would like to hear it now!

He heard a shout of "Papist woman ..." and he urged the horses to a greater speed.

It had all changed. The people no longer loved him.

He called on Lady Jersey. When he had embraced her she regarded him with some amusement and asked him what had happened.

Happened?" he cried. "What do you mean?"

"I can see you are disturbed. Pray tell me."

She knelt at his feet and raised her beautiful eyes to his face in a gesture of mock supplication. How different from Maria who would have been truly concerned. But when he tried to imagine Maria in such a position he thought how ridiculous she would look. Frances was so willowy, so graceful.

"It's nothing," he said. "Merely that riding through the Park just now I thought the people looked hostile."

Frances was on her feet and perching on the arm of his chair.

Maria would have soothed him. Frances said: "Of course they are hostile! They're learning to hate Your Highness."

She was indeed a disturbing woman—like a wasp ... no, a beautiful dragonfly whose wings are of the most exquisite colours, who flies and hovers with a fascinating grace and has a sting in the tail.

"Why in God's name?"

"Very, very simple. Because you have displeased them."

"I ... what have I done to them? I have always smiled on them, talked to them whenever possible. I suppose it is my mother's spies who have been circulating stories about me."

Frances smiled. She was, in a manner of speaking, one of those spies, for Lady Harcourt had conveyed to her the Queen's wishes. How clever of her to be the friend of the Queen and the inamorata of the Prince of Wales ... all at the same time.

"You have provided the material for those spies to work on, my dear one."

"I, Frances? By God, you go too far."

"That is why you love me," she told him. "I go that little farther ... in all things. Is it not so?"

"Frances, you are a devil."

"So much more interesting than the angels, do you not agree?"

"Oh, stop this. What can I do? Do you know at one time they only had to see my face to set them cheering."

"I know, I know. But then you had not accumulated a mountain of debts ... or they didn't know of it."

"I had. I have always accumulated debts. It's due to the miserable allowance I'm given."

"The first time they're lenient. Prince Charming ... dear extravagant Prince Charming! But even Princes can bore with repetition."

But she was not eager to talk of his debts because she was an avaricious woman and she believed that the Prince should pay handsomely for the services she gave him.

So she said: "You are growing old.

"I am nine years younger than you are."

"Which is why you lack my experience. But my age is of no importance. I am not the Prince of Wales. When you were young..." She smirked. "When you were younger, your exploits amused the people. Now they are no longer amused by their frivolities which arc so charming in the very young. You could win back your popularity tomorrow if you wished."

"How?"

"By marrying and presenting them with a little prince who in his turn would be their adored Prince of Wales."

"Marrying, but..."

She laughed at him slyly. "I know. You're thinking of that absurd affair with the fat lady."

"Frances, please do not..."

"But you asked that I should. Shall I go on or cannot you bear to hear the truth?"

"There is no point in going on. I could not marry the fat German frau they would choose for me."

"Why object because she is German?"

He was not going to discuss Maria in these terms even with Frances. Maria had grown ... plump, but she was still beautiful. There would never be anyone like Maria ... and he wanted to tell Frances this.

While he sought for words Frances went on: "Face the truth. You're unpopular and you wish to be popular. Kings cannot be ?/u popular too long. You have an example of what can happen to Kings across the Channel. There is one reason why the people of this country are beginning to hate you. I'm going to risk displeasing Your Highness by telling you in two words: Maria Fitzherbert."

The Prince was silent. He wanted to protest, but he was saying to himself: It's true. But Maria had been faithful to him. Maria regarded herself as his wife.

Frances went on reading his thoughts in that diabolically clever way of hers: "Why do you think she clings to you? Why do you think she meekly suffers your infidelities, eh? Why does she receive you back with open arms after all your little adventures? Shall I tell you? But of course you know that it is in the hope of the rank which will one day be hers. Princess of Wales? Queen of England! Well, at least a Duchess. She could expect that, couldn't she?"

"I think you are wrong about Maria."

She looked at him pityingly. "Fall in with the King's wishes. Marry. Give the country an heir. What harm will that do to the friendship of your disinterested friends."

He was silent and she took his hand and looked at him mockingly.

" I would be there," she said, "to comfort you."

On his way back to Carlton House the crowds seemed more sullen than ever.

They really hate me, he thought. They had given their devotion to the King now—the poor old King who had won their sympathy by going mad for a while and then regaining his sanity. Not that he was likely to cling to that for long. The people were fickle. He was well aware of that and they had grown tired of him and his debts and the wild tricks of his friends for which they often unfairly blamed him; but they were most weary of all of his marriage with Maria.

If he announced his betrothal to a German Princess these people would shout for him as they now shouted for the King.

And if he did not they would grow to hate him. He went to his drawing room in Carlton House and gazed unseeingly at the Chinese yellow silk on the walls. He thought of money. Debts, mounting debts. Why could he never keep within his allowance? The position was growing desperate. Something would have to be done.

So Maria tolerated him for the sake of the rank she would one day have? How many times had he told her what he would do for her when he was King ... or Regent? All this time he had thought she cared for him. But of course she cared for him. Maria was not a seeker after that sort of advantage. She had been happiest when they had been poor ... well, when he had sold his horses and shut Carlton House and they had attempted to economize ! And yet ... her temper was almost unendurable these days. She suppressed her feelings for weeks and then gave vent to a violent outburst. She did not mince her words then.

Oh, Maria! He wanted to go to her now. He wanted to plain to her: You see, my Dear Love, I have to marry. It is my duty. The people expect it. They are sullen now because I don't marry. Frederick will never have children. He doesn't live with that woman of his—and I don't blame him. William is chortling with glee because he is the third son and can enjoy married bliss with Mrs. Jordan without the benefit of clergy. Even young Augustus has his matrimonial difficulties. It is my duty. I am the eldest. I must marry, Maria. I must give the country the heir it needs. Then my debts will be settled and if they are not, they will be putting me into a debtors' prison.

The Prince of Wales in a debtors' prison. The idea was absurd. His father and the Parliament would never allow that.

Yet if he did not fall into line, if he did not do his duty ...

A prince ... a future king ... is in the hands of his people...

He thought of that king across the water who had fallen into the hands of his people and the stories he had heard of that Terror haunted him.

You see, Maria. You see, it has to be.

If he went along and explained to Maria. But it was one subject which could never be explained to Maria. She saw it only through her own eyes; she could see no other point of view. Her religion insisted.

Maria, it is selfish of you. You must see my point of view too. You may have your religion, but I have my duty to the State.

It was no use talking to Maria. She would lose her temper. He would not discuss his affairs with her. He would act first and she would accept what he did as a fait accompli.

He was meeting her that evening at the house of the Duke of Clarence at Bushey.

He had almost made up his mind how he must act.

Maria was waiting for her carriage to take her to Bushey. Miss Pigot sat with her, watching her anxiously.

Dear Maria, thought Miss Pigot, how sad she was because of the Prince's behaviour! This Lady Jersey was a wicked woman and no one was going to convince Miss Pigot that she was not.

"All will be well, Maria," she said wistfully.

Maria laughed without pleasure. "My dear Pig, it's the old pattern which I have learned to know so well. He becomes enamoured of some woman; he makes a public scandal with her; and then when it is over he comes back full of repentance. It will never happen again ... until the next time."

"He always comes back," said Miss Pigot.

"To find me patiently waiting."

"He trusts you, Maria. He relies on you."

"He relies on me to respect my vows although he breaks his constantly."

"He is young. He is a prince. Perhaps in time he will settle down. Give him time, Maria. It will all come well in the end."

"You're a romantic optimist, Piggy. And here's the carriage."

"Perhaps he will come back with you tonight."

"I doubt it, Pig. The moment has not yet come."

"And you will be gentle with him."

Maria's face flamed in sudden anger. "You ask too much. I shall be cool, I hope. I shall try to show him that he has no power to hurt me."

Ah, sighed Miss Pigot to herself. If only that were true.

William, Duke of Clarence, received her with the deference he would show to the Princess of Wales. All the Prince's brothers were her friends; and even though there was a coldness between Frederick and the Prince of Wales—because of Frederick's wife's treatment of her—that had not prevented Frederick's remaining her very good friend.

The company was awaiting the arrival of the Prince of Wales, none more eagerly than Maria. She was always excited at that moment when he entered a room—so graceful, and in spite of the fact that he was putting on weight alarmingly, so elegant. A prince—every inch of him, she thought with pride.

Oh, this affair will be over like the others and then the reconciliation.

But they must stop. They impair his dignity no less than mine. I shall be firm. I shall tell him that they must stop and that this is the last time I will tolerate his infidelities. If he does not remain my faithful husband I shall leave him. I shall go abroad again. Where? To France? Oh, not that pitiable country! To Switzerland, perhaps.

Where was the Prince? William was puzzled. He had promised to come most definitely.

Something must have happened to detain him. And here was a messenger with letters. One for William and one for Maria. So he has remembered to send a message to his wife, thought Maria with satisfaction.

She opened hers. The words in that familiar handwriting would not make sense. Such words were impossible. They could not be true, for they told her that he would never enter her house again.

She smiled faintly. They must not guess ... not yet, though of course they would soon know.

So ... she was dismissed. She was treated as a mistress of whom he had tired. His vows were to be discarded.

It wasn't true. It was a phase inspired by that wicked Jersey woman.

William was looking at her in some consternation. She smiled.

"So the Prince is unable to attend," she said. "Shall we go into dinner?" replied the Duke.

Sensing calamity, Miss Pigot was waiting for her when she returned.

"Maria ... Maria ... my dearest Maria what has happened?"

"It is the end. He is never coming here again."

"It can't be true."

"He has given me my ... dismissal."

"No, no. I can't believe it."

"Read this, then."

Miss Pigot read it; then she threw herself on to a couch and covered her face with her hands.

"Be calm, Pig," said Maria. "We should have seen this coming."

"That woman ..."

"Is no ordinary woman."

"He'll come back. There have been quarrels before."

"Too many quarrels."

"Oh, Maria, Maria ... What shall you do?"

"I have to think. I have to think very clearly."

Quickly, thought the Prince. Before I change my mind. I dare not pause to think. I dare not look back now.

He went to see the King and naturally the Queen was present.

"I have made up my mind to marry," he said.

The King smiled. "That is good ... sound good sense, eh, what? The people will be pleased. We shouldn't delay."

"Fortunately," said the Queen, "there is a charming Princess available—talented, beautiful and a Protestant. I refer to my niece, Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz."

Her niece! thought the Prince. Never. One woman from Mecklenburg-Strelitz is enough!

"You are very fortunate indeed," said the King. "You have a choice. My niece or the Queen's. Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, daughter of the Queen's brother, or Caroline of Brunswick, daughter of my sister. And once your promise has been given officially to accept one of these ladies there will be no hesitation in the settlement of those debts."

A choice, thought the Prince. And one German frau was as good as another.

The Queen was looking eager. Oh, how much she wanted him to take her niece I No, Madam, you should have behaved differently if you had wanted concessions from me. Certainly I'll not take your niece. It will have to be this other. Caroline of Brunswick. He was beginning to hate her already!

The King was patting him on the shoulder. Everything was going to be all right now. The Prince had come to his senses.

All sow wild oats when we're young, thought the King. No longer a boy. People will be pleased. Debts paid, settle down, produce an heir. Rather late but better late than never. All that talk of marriage with that woman ... good woman, but of course no marriage ... all that over and done with.

"Good, good, eh, what?" said the King. "Mustn't lose any time. Go ahead now ... Summon Pitt ... Country will be pleased."

The Prince sought comfort with Frances. He had been wise, she told him. So had she. The Queen was delighted with her. She would be very well received at Court; and her position as Prince's mistress would be unimpaired by the marriage. Madame Caroline would have to accept Lady Jersey.

He would see the change in the attitude of the people when his betrothal was announced, she assured him. And soon he would be married, for they would lose no time in bringing Caroline over.

The Queen was furious because he had not chosen her niece so that gave him some satisfaction. But all the time he was thinking of Maria. He rehearsed what he would say to her.

"It had to be. The people expected it. A Prince of Wales must constantly consider the people. You understand, Maria. You must understand." That note about not entering her house again. Of course he hadn't meant it. She should have known he hadn't meant it. She was his true wife. He would never forget it. This was just a State affair. She must understand. He could never be completely happy unless she did.

Maria heard the news. The Prince of Wales was to marry Caroline of Brunswick.

She did not rage against him; she was very calm, but this frightened Miss Pigot more than her rage would have done. She was broken-hearted, poor Maria, because whatever she said of him, however much she quarrelled with him, she loved him.

And he had told her publicly as clearly as he could that he did not consider her his wife.

"I should have known, Piggy" she said. "It was clear, wasn't it, when Fox denied the marriage in the House of Commons? He accepted that then. He never meant to acknowledge me. Oh, Piggy, I have been so foolish ... so fond and foolish."

"It will be all right, Maria. He'll come back. He will come back. I know it."

"I shan't be here. We're going away. We're going at once."

"But where?"

"What does it matter? It only matters that we are gone ... should he come back. But he won't, Pig. He will never enter this house again. He has said it."

"He will," said Miss Pigot firmly. "He will."

The Prince came to the house in Pall Mall. The furniture was covered with dust sheets; the blinds drawn.

"Mrs. Fitzherbert has left, Your Highness."

"Where has she gone? Where? Where?"

"She left no information, sir"

So she had gone, deserted him, and he was left alone to face this situation.

How could she have treated him so. Tears filled his eyes. Maria ... his wife.

He went back to Carlton House. They were showing him portraits of a pretty girl, the German Princess who was to be his wife.

I have never been so wretched in my life, he said. No one could comfort him. Lady Jersey? He was only fascinated by her. Maria should have known that. It was the comfort Maria alone could give him that he wanted. Why couldn't she understand?

But he was a prince, and a Prince of Wales, and he had given his word to marry.

Soon his bride would be here and he must do his duty.

In Switzerland Maria heard that the Princess Caroline of Brunswick was coming to England to be married to the Prince of Wales.

"This is the end, Piggy" she said. "This is the final repudiation"

But Miss Pigot shook her head. "That is not true," she said. "It is not the end. Something tells me it is not. I know in my heart that whatever happens he will always come back to you"

Maria shook her head and, smiling, tried to hide her unhappiness, trying foolishly—for how could she hide her feelings from the faithful Pig?—to pretend she did not care.

But in her heart she believed it, too. She was his wife. The bond between them would never be severed while they lived.

It was not the end. He would come back to her.