Sweet lass of Richmond Hill

Adventures of a Prince

During the summer of 1783 when the Prince of Wales was approaching his twenty-first birthday he believed that he was the most fortunate man in England, and he was surrounded by men and women who confirmed him in this belief. He was at last escaping from the restraint which his puritanical parents had put on him, and was free to be the companion of the most brilliant men in the country; he could indulge his passion for architecture in Carlton House, that old ruin which his father had flung to him and which he was fast converting into the most elegant residence in Town; he could run his own horses at Newmarket; he could take his place in the House of Lords; and he could, without any attempt at secrecy pursue the greatest diversion of all—women.

Let the King splutter his threats and warnings; let the Queen alternately scold and declare her sentimental fondness for her first born; they could not deter him. He was the idol of the people, the quarry of every fashionable hostess—for no ball was of any significance without him—and almost every woman longed to be his mistress. There were a few exceptions; Georgiana, his dearest Duchess of Devonshire, among them, but this only made this most delightful of all occupations the more piquant, and while he could sigh for the unattainable he could always soothe himself with the eagerly accommodating.

Life was very good that summer for the Prince of Wales.

Some months before he first set eyes on Maria Fitzherbert his Uncle, the Duke of Cumberland, had suggested he come down to visit him at a house he had rented from a certain Dr. Russell and which was situated in a little fishing village called Brighthelmstone.

"What," demanded the Prince of Wales of his equerry, the Earl of Essex, "should I want of a little fishing village called by such a name as Brighthelmstone?"

"I have heard of the place, Your Highness" answered Essex. "It is also known as Bredhemsdon"

"Which is no more pleasant to my ear than the other," retorted the Prince.

"No, sir, but they say the sea bathing there is very beneficial to the health—and it is not so far from London to make the journey tiresome."

Sea bathing! thought the Prince, and touched his silken neckcloth. Recently he had been affected by a slight swelling of the throat and he and Lord Petersham had together designed a neckcloth which would completely hide it. Hence neckcloths in exquisite designs and colourings were the height of fashion now. The Prince's physicians had suggested that sea bathing might be good for his throat; he had not taken the idea very seriously, but Essex's remark reminded him of it.

"I confess it would be amusing to see how my aunt Cumberland amuses herself in a fishing village."

"I am sure, sir, that where the Duchess found herself there would she find amusement."

The Prince laughed aloud. He was fond of the lady who had inveigled his uncle most unsuitably into marrying hep, and being banished from the Court because of her. She was a fascinator—a woman of wide experience; the very manner in which she fluttered her eyelashes which had become a legend since Horace Walpole had referred to them as being a yard long, was in itself a promise. The Prince delighted to call her by what seemed to him such an incongruous title as "Aunt', and as she was constantly urging him to honour Cumberland House with his presence he had seen her and his uncle often since he had been free to do so—much to the chagrin of His Majesty, of course, who believed it was just another trick of his son's to plague him, which in a way perhaps it was.

At least his uncle had had the courage to marry the woman of his choice, thought the Prince, whereas his father, the King, by all accounts had meekly given up Lady Sarah Lennox for the sake of that plain German Princess, Charlotte, who was the mother of that large family of whom he, the Prince, was the eldest son.

Yes, he would go to Brighthelmstone or whatever they called it. Perhaps Essex should be one of those who accompanied him. They were good friends, he and Essex. The Earl had served him faithfully as go-between in the affair of Perdita Robinson—Lord Maiden he had been at that time, having recently inherited his earldom. Maiden it was who had carried those letters between them, arranged those assignations on Eel Pie Island and persuaded the lady to do what she had intended from the first—surrender.

The Prince smiled cynically. He would never again be caught in that way. But it was no fault of Essex that Perdita after promising to be the love of his life had turned out to be nothing but a sentimental bore—and a scheming one too. The Prince flushed with anger even now, remembering the humiliating scene with his father when he had had to confess that his ex-mistress was threatening to publish letters which she had in her possession and which had been written by the flowery but very indiscreet pen of the Prince of Wales.

This was yet another reason for his friendship with his uncle. Cumberland had written indiscreet letters to Lady Grosvenor and Lord Grosvenor had brought an action against him which had cost £13,000. The Prince's had cost £500 a year for as long as Perdita should live and after that £250 for her daughter's lifetime.

To the devil with Perdita! She was ancient history and she had had many successors. No ... not quite. There had never really been another like Perdita, for he genuinely had believed in the early days of their liaison that he would be faithful until death; and he had never seriously believed that of any of the others. But then he had been so young ... only seventeen when he had gone with the Royal party to Drury Lane and seen Mrs. Robinson as Perdita in The Winter's Tale.

But what had Perdita to do with this fishing village with the ridiculous name?

"I shall drive myself down," he said. "It will be good exercise for the horses."

So on a September morning when the countryside was touched with golden sunshine and the weather was as warm as midsummer, the Prince of Wales rode down to Brighthelmstone. He drove his own phaeton with three horses after the manner of a wagon team; and riding with him were only an equerry and one postilion. The rest of his suite would follow.

The phaeton rattled along at a dangerous pace, for the Prince liked speed. He was a man of contrasts, for while he would spend hours with Lord Petersham discussing the shape of shoe buckles, the cut of a coat, the material most suited to a neckcloth, the excellent idea of having one's snuff boxes to match one's ensemble and the season, he could also take a turn in the boxing ring, for he practised fisticuffs regularly under the skilled tuition of a certain Angelo, who also taught him to fence. He could sing pleasantly, dance well, was at ease in the saddle and could write fluently and with grace. He could join in an intellectual discussion and shortly afterwards be indulging in an infantile practical joke. With his gifts he should have been an ideal son; but with his indiscretions and his waywardness he gave his father many a sleepless night.

He was not thinking of this as he rode to Brighton, his mind was on a subject which was never far from his thoughts: Women. The situation at the moment was satisfactory enough; there was always comfort in numbers, he had discovered. The most agreeable time had been when Grace Elliot and Lizzie Armistead shared his attentions. Grace had been something of a romp, never attempting to be faithful and making no pretence about it. He was by nature sentimental, but just having escaped from Perdita at that time Grace with her frank unabashed attitudes had been just what he needed. There had been a daughter which might have been his—or one or two other men's—but Grace had christened the child Georgiana, which was a nice touch since she made no demands. Now she had gone to that Frenchman, the Duc d'Orleans, who was resident in London for a while. Good luck to Grace; she wouldn't need it, for she would always know how to look after herself. He had heard that Orleans made her a handsome allowance. She would deserve it, for Orleans was an ugly fellow who suffered from a horrible skin disease which made his hair fall out and his skin a hideous colour.

And Lizzie Armistead? There was a fascinating woman. Lady's maid at one time to none other than Perdita, and it was at the house in Cork Street that he had met her; but others had seen her first. Charles James Fox for one. Trust Fox to pick out a winner among the women. If only he could do as well at the races he would be a rich man. As it was, he was in constant financial trouble. Not that it worried Charles as long as he kept his grip on politics. He'd be Prime Minister one day and he wouldn't have a more faithful friend and supporter than the Prince of Wales. That—and Lizzie. What more could he want?

Lizzie had gone back to Charles and he was living with her now in her house at Chertsey, the house she had managed to acquire through her own skilful management of her affairs. It was funny. There was Charles, the son of Lord Holland, and at one time the possessor of a fortune, several times bankrupt, now living on the bounty of the lady's maid who had saved enough from her generous lovers—the Prince included—to put into a little house in Chertsey where the most brilliant politician of his day should have a refuge.

Lizzie and Charles were two of his best friends. What interesting, amusing and exciting people! How different from the household at Kew, with his sanctimonious father, his dreary mother, his poor sisters who had never had—nor would ever have if his parents had any say in their upbringing—any chance to enjoy life. How could poor Charlotte, Augusta, Elizabeth and the rest know anything about the brilliantly gay, the witty and amusing outside world and people like Charles and Lizzie, Richard Sheridan the playwright, Edmund Burke the philosopher, Georgiana the brilliant leader of fashion, beautiful and witty. Poor little Princesses wilting away at Kew when there was the world to be explored.

He thought of Lady Melbourne with whom he had liked to fancy himself desperately in love. He had always wanted to be seriously in love; and the light affair did not give him the same satisfaction as what he was pleased to believe, while it lasted, was the love of a lifetime. That was why Perdita had been so important. The long wooing, the sighing, the locks of hair, the tender messages engraved on miniatures and lockets, this was what he craved. He took great pleasure in writing of his sufferings and aspirations and even the fate of those letters which he had written to Perdita could not deter him. He recognized the difference between lust and love—and although he was as ready to indulge in the first as any of his companions, he never forgot the worth of the second. He often told himself, and others, that what he wanted was to settle down with the woman of his choice, marry her and live happily—and faithfully—ever after.

For a short time he had deluded himself with Lady Melbourne; she had even borne a child which was said to be his—a boy this time and named George of course.

Actresses had always interested him. There was the fascinating young German actress known as Mrs. Billington who had a house near the Thames at Fulham. She was a pretty and very lively young woman with the most original methods of making love. Most intriguing, and at one time he had been constantly at the theatre—not to see the play, of course, but Mrs. Billington. Ii had been so easy to visit her, she being so near the river; and every night when she was not playing she would have musical evenings, for Mrs. Billington was noted for her singing; it gave him great pleasure to sing duets with the ladies who attracted him. His voice could not of course compare with that of Mrs. Billington, which was of remarkable compass and one of the most melodious he had ever heard.

But although her eccentric methods had excited him in the beginning he had tired of them. Mrs. Billington might have been amusing but she was not romantic. He did not care for her coarse approach, and when he remarked to Fox: "The only pleasure I have in that woman's company is when I shut my eyes and open my ears," Fox knew, and so did the Prince, that the liaison was nearing its end.

What would please him would be to fall deeply in love; he longed to experience all those emotions which he had known in the early stages of his affair with Perdita. He might be the leader of fashion; he might find pleasure in horse-racing and boxing, riding and hunting; he might enjoy dabbling in politics and the friendship of brilliant men—but the overriding need in his life would always be Romance. And whenever he visited any banquet or ball, any place whatsoever, the thought always in his mind was what women would he meet on that occasion.

So it was not surprising that on his first visit to Brighthelmstone, he should be thinking of women.

The inhabitants of the little town were aware of the honour which was about to be done them and they had turned out in strength to welcome him.

How enchanting it was with the shingle beach and the ocean—today deep blue and placid as though on its best behaviour to welcome the Prince of Wales. There were gulls on the brown roofs, and on the three-cornered stretch of grass fishing nets and lobster pots; a salty tang was in the air; and as the phaeton dashed into the town a great cheer went up. His Highness the Prince of Wales had come to Brighthelmstone.

People crowded about the house on the Steyne which had been taken over by the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland. The Prince embraced the Duke to the cheers of the crowd; with even greater fervour he embraced the Duchess.

"How handsome he is!" was the universal comment; and so he was in his exquisitely cut coat of the finest green cloth with the diamond star flashing on his breast. He stood on the balcony between his aunt and uncle and acknowledged the cheers, his beaver hat in his hand. This enabled the crowd to see his abundant hair, which was frizzed and powdered most elegantly; his eyes looked very blue, his smile so friendly.

"God bless the Prince of Wales!" cried the people of Brighthelmstone.

And when they had retired into the drawing room the Duchess lifted her green eyes, so miraculously black-fringed, to his face and echoed: "God bless you, my dearest Prince of Wales. How kind of you to take pity on us and visit us here in our little sea village."

"Dearest Aunt, I could not resist the temptation to see how you amused yourself here."

"This is what you shall discover, gracious nephew. Wait until you have taken a dip in the sea water. I can assure you it is most refreshing. But there is one drawback which I know will cause Your Highness some concern. The ladies and gentlemen do not bathe together. The ladies take possession of the shore west of the Steyne and the gentlemen to the east. In any case the ladies all wear long and hideous flannel gowns and the gentlemen bathe much more charmingly naked."

"I am sure your flannel gown is most becoming."

"But of what use, since there are no gentlemen to see it ... only the fat old fishwife who dips me."

"What a fantastic pastime. Does the sea really benefit you enough to make the performance worth while?"

"I believe it does; and I am certain that once you have tried it you will wish to repeat it."

"And when shall I take my sea bathe, pray?"

"Tomorrow, of course."

"I trust the whole town will not turn out to see me."

"My beloved nephew, since so many people turn out to see Your Highness in his clothes, how many more would arrive to see you without them. But have no fear. It is all very discreet and the old fellow who dips you knows his job perfectly."

The Prince was amused; and since the Duke and Duchess had naturally brought with them many of their most entertaining friends, his first evening in Brighthelmstone was most pleasantly spent.

The Prince stayed for eleven exciting and interesting days. He took to the sea bathing and found it most invigorating, and every day went into his bathing machine and undressed. It was then taken down to the edge of the sea by the bathing machine attendant and his horse, when the Prince would emerge and enjoy immersing himself. He hunted on the downs beyond Rottingdean, danced in the Assembly Rooms, strolled about the town meeting the people and accepting their loyal greetings with affable smiles and comments—changing the place in those eleven days from a little fishing village to a fashionable seaside resort, for naturally after the Prince's visit it was fashionable to visit Brighthelmstone; sea bathing became a craze; bathing machines lined the shingle; the strong men and women dippers made a fortune it was said; owners of the little houses in Black Lion, Ship, East, West, Middle and North Streets let lodgings, and there was a steady stream of carriages and other conveyances on the road from London.

"Nothing will ever be the same," said the sages of Brighthelmstone.

They were right. Even the name was changed—to Brighton.

In Carlton House the Prince was entertaining. He was proud of Carlton House; and he had every reason to be when he considered the ruin it had been when it had come into his hands. It had not been lived in since the death of his grandmother, Augusta, the Dowager Princess of Wales, and he imagined that it was because his father had believed it to be uninhabitable that he had given it to him. Oh yes, the old man would have liked him to continue in his rooms at Buckingham House. But Carlton House had offered a challenge; it had given him a chance to show what he could make of a house, dilapidated though it might be.

And he had succeeded. It was by no means finished; he doubted it would be for years for he would always be thinking of some new improvement, but it was certainly very different from the Carlton House he had inherited. The architect, Henry Holland, had made an excellent job of the rebuilding, and that clever Frenchman, Gaubert, had decorated the interior with exquisite taste, superintended, of course, by the Prince himself. It was now beginning to look like a royal residence. His drawing room was hung with yellow Chinese silk; the dining room had been considerably extended; the ceilings heightened, the walls panelled and gilded, and columns of yellow and red granite added to give dignity. The ballroom in which he was now entertaining his guests was the most grand of all the rooms. Twelve lustres hung from the ceiling and the same number of branched chandeliers projected from the walls at intervals. There was an orchestra at either end of the room set up on platforms hung with crimson silk.

Members of the highest families of the nobility were present, including the Prince's special friends—Charles James Fox, Richard Sheridan, Edmund Burke, Mrs. Crewe and the Duchess of Devonshire. The Prince led his aunt, the Duchess of Cumberland, in the minuet and talked with her about his recent visit to Brighton.

"I vow" he said, "that as soon as the weather permits me I shall be there again."

"Then I am delighted that I introduced Your Highness to sea bathing. Has it proved beneficial?"

"Undoubtedly. I find it invigorating. The place is small however. There is scarcely one building in it that is not a hovel. But I like the sea. Now if we could have the sea here in London..."

"Alas, even princes cannot divert the sea"

"No, but they might divert the town. Why not?"

"A possibility"

"I like that place. I like it even more now that it has changed its name."

"Brighton. Charming. Well, if Your Highness decides to take advantage of the sea next summer, all the ton will do the same."

The Prince danced with other ladies—including Lady Melbourne who was such a favourite at this time. He paid the usual compliments, but he was thinking of next year's sea bathing, and how amusing it would be to have a house in Brighton where he could entertain his friends. He talked to her of Brighton and she was as enthusiastic as he was.

He danced with Georgiana. How beautiful she was on that night, always so different from all the other women, the true leader of fashion.

"My dearest Georgiana," sighed the Prince, "how can you persist in being cruel to me?"

"My dearest Highness, I am in truth being kind to us both."

How could that be when you know that my most urgent wish is to have you love me as I love you."

"I intend to be Your Highness's friend through life. It is so much easier to be a constant friend than a constant mistress."

"I would be constant for ever."

"Your Highness, I think Lady Melbourne is regarding you a little anxiously."

"You have but to say the word and there should be no one but you."

Georgiana laughed and did not take him seriously. Her husband the Duke was not interested in her, nor she in him; but Georgiana had no intention of becoming the mistress of the Prince of Wales. It was a position which she did not think any woman could hold for any length of time; and it was surely better not to set oneself on such a slippery perch. Their relationship was far more satisfactory as it was.

"I see Charles is there with Sherry and Amoret. What a beautiful creature she is. I'm not surprised that Sherry adores her."

"All beauties pale before your own," said the Prince.

And Georgiana laughed. "Exactly what I would have expected my gallant Prince to say. Sherry would not agree with you."

"He adores you, too."

"Dear Sherry, he is my very good friend. And Charles ... I do declare his frock-coat is threadbare. How dare he come to Carlton House dressed in such a slovenly manner."

"Charles knows that he may dare what he will as far as I am concerned. It is not his coat I welcome here but the man inside it."

"Right royally spoken. Fortunate Charles! I should have thought Lizzie Armistead would have taken better care of him."

"You must admit that he looks a little cleaner since being in her care."

"Let us come and talk to them. It is always such fun to talk to Charles. His great merit is his amazing quickness in seizing any subject. He seems to have a talent for knowing more of what he is talking about than anyone else. His conversation is like a brilliant player at billiards—the strokes follow one another— piff-paft"

"And you suggest I should frown on his coat!"

"No, no, I do not. I merely wonder that he should wrap so much that is charming in such a disreputable package."

The Prince and Georgiana had paused at the little group who bowed ceremoniously in recognition of royalty; and then immediately relaxed.

Sheridan, Georgiana noticed, had been drinking heavily. It saddened her; he was not as capable of carrying his drink as Charles.

"Sherry," she admonished, "if you drink so much you will destroy the coat of your stomach."

"Then my stomach must just digest in its waistcoat," retorted Sheridan.

Oh, yes, it was pleasant to be with these people who so amused him and flattered him with their attention. They talked politics, for they were all Whigs together, until it was time for supper. Five rooms were used for this purpose and the Prince with his special guests was accommodated in the grand escaglio room. He had Georgiana on his right and had arranged that Fox and Sheridan were not far away so that they could enjoy some enlivening conversation.

"Your Highness must be living beyond your means," whispered Fox.

"I hadn't given the matter a thought," admitted the Prince.

"Ah, what will be the end of this riotous living? Methinks we should see that the means fit the end."

The Prince laughed. He could trust Fox. It was Fox who had tried to get £100,000 a year for him and no fault of his that he had had to be content with a miserable £62,000; it was Fox who had extricated him from that affair with Perdita when she had demanded he honour the bond he had given her and wanted £5,000 for those revealing letters.

Oh, yes, he could trust Fox.

Over supper the conversation turned to the eccentric conduct of Major Hanger at one of the balls at St. James's Palace a few evenings earlier. The Prince was telling Charles Fox about it.

"Stab me, but he came in the uniform of an officer of the Hessian service—and mighty strange he looked among all the satins and brocades. His short blue coat was ornamented with gold frogs and there was a band across his shoulders from which his sword hung. What a spectacle! Even the King could not suppress a smile ... and it is no mean achievement, I do assure you, to make my father smile. But the Major did it when he put on his Kevenhiiller hat with two huge feathers—black and white—and invited Miss Gunning to join him in a minuet. Poor lady! Such a graceful, beautiful creature, but what could she do? She simply gave up. We laughed. I was convulsed ... and as I said the King smiled and my mother came as near to it as she's able. But that wasn't the end. You should have seen the gallant Major in a country dance."

The Prince continued to laugh at the memory of it and stopped suddenly. "Why should we not write a letter of congratulations to the Major. Say it was written in the name of the whole company who saw him perform. I will compile it and it shall be written in a handwriting the Major will not know."

The Prince gazed round the table. "You, Sherry. He does not know you. You shall be the writer of our letter."

"It has always been my aim to write for Your Majesty's pleasure."

"This will be as good as a play, I promise you."

"Other men's plays, perhaps Highness. Not mine."

"But other men's plays can be highly diverting sometimes, Sherry. And as you will have a hand in this affair you may lend us a touch of your genius."

"How can I repay your graciousness, sir, but by complying with Your Highness's desires."

"It shall be done after supper and delivered to the Major first thing tomorrow morning." The Prince laughed, thinking of the Major's reactions when he received the note.

He talked of the Major through supper and as soon as it was over left his guests and taking Fox, Sheridan and a few favourite companions with him retired to an ante-room to write the letter.

Writing had always given him great pleasure and he could never see a pen without wanting to pick it up and compose flowery sentences. It was this habit which had proved so disastrous in the Perdita affair.

Now he sat down and with his friends looking over his shoulder wrote:

"St. James's, Sunday morning "The company who attended the ball on Friday last at St. James's present their compliments to Major Hanger and return him their unfeigned thanks for the variety with which he enlivened the insipidity of the evening's entertainment. The gentlemen want words to describe their admiration of the truly grotesque and humorous figure which he exhibited; and the ladies beg leave to express their acknowledgments for the lively and animated emotions that his stately, erect and perpendicular form could not fail to excite in their delicate and susceptible bosoms. His gesticulations and martial deportment were truly admirable and have raised an impression which will not soon be effaced at St. James's."

The Prince ended with a flourish.

"Now, Sherry, Hanger does not know your handwriting, and I flatter myself there is a touch of style about that letter which could be attributed to you. So, I pray you, copy it out and tomorrow it shall be despatched to our entertaining Major and I am sure from such a character we can expect some fun."

Sheridan sat down and copied the letter.

"First thing in the morning," chuckled the Prince, "it shall be delivered; and soon afterwards I shall send him an invitation to dine with me. You, my dear Sherry, will not I trust take it amiss if for once you are not included in the invitation."

Sheridan bowed: "Always ready to forego my greatest pleasures in the service of Your Highness."

The Prince could scarcely wait until morning for the delivery of the letter and its results.

Fox, watching the affair with a cynical amusement, thought: He must have his diversions, but he is young yet.

Dinner was a less glittering occasion than it had been on the previous evening and took place in the silver-walled dining room among the red and yellow granite pillars. The Prince had invited Major Hanger to sit near him and lost little time in bringing the conversation to the ball at St. James's.

"What an effect your appearance had on the ladies, Major. There we were all dressed like popinjays and you ... in your uniform. You were indeed a man"

The Major swallowed the bait; his eyes bulged and his face grew scarlet.

"Your Highness, I have had a most insulting letter. I have been held up to ridicule, it is more than mortal man can endure. Your Highness must forgive my anger.but, Sir, I have been insulted."

The Prince expressed concern. But how was this?

The Major brought the letter from his pocket. "If Your Highness would cast your eye over this you would see what I mean."

The Prince read the letter with exclamations of sympathy. "No doubt whatever," he agreed, "the writer of this letter means to insult you."

At this corroboration the Major's anger increased. "Blitz und Holle" he shouted. "I swear that if I could discover the writer of this letter I would demand satisfaction."

The Prince agreed that in the Major's position he would feel exactly the same. "How do you feel, Charles?"

Fox, playing up as was expected, replied that he considered it an insult to turn the Major's stately, erect and perpendicular figure to ridicule.

"I am determined to discover the writer," cried the Major.

"I think we should try to help to bring this fellow to his deserts," said the Prince. He picked up the letter. "By God, this handwriting! I swear it is familiar to me. What say you, Charles? Does it not remind you of that mischievous fellow Sheridan. Come, Charles, you know his writing well"

Fox took the letter and nodded. "No doubt of it," he said.

The Major's eyes bulged with indignation. "Playwrights I' he said. "They fancy themselves with a pen in the hand! By God, he shall regret this day." He turned to Captain Morris who was sitting nearby. "Sir, I wish you to take a challenge from me to Mr. Sheridan."

"Major," said the Prince, "I know it is my duty to attempt to persuade you against the action and this I do, but I am bound to say were I in your position nothing would deter me. But do consider, Sheridan has written this in one of his mad mischievous moods and he is a mad and mischievous fellow."

"Sir, I beg of Your Highness not to command me to forgo this duty. I have every wish to obey every command of Your Highness..."

The Prince bowed his head. "My sympathies are with you, Major. I will keep silent and may luck go with you."

"Now, Your Highness, having despatched this challenge to the fellow I will, with your permission, go to my lodgings and await the blackguard's answer."

"I understand your concern. You should lose no time. If he accepts your challenge you will have preparations to make."

As soon as the Major left a messenger was despatched to Sheridan asking him to report at Carlton House without delay so that the conspirators could plan the next move in what was to the Prince one of the most highly diverting practical jokes he had ever played.

It was daybreak in Battersea Fields. Captain Morris was with the Major, and Sheridan had chosen Fox as his second. In a carriage muffled up, hat well over his eyes, his face made up to resemble an older man, sat the Prince of Wales in the role of the surgeon who, Fox and Morris had agreed, must be in attendance.

The opponents faced each other; their seconds loaded the pistols; the signal to fire was given. The Major, a crack shot, aimed at the playwright but failed to hit him. The pistols were loaded a second time with the same result.

"God damn the fellow!" cried the Major. "What's wrong? Should have got him first time."

"The third time generally is effective," said Captain Morris and glanced towards the carriage in which the "surgeon' was seated trying to muffle his laughter.

Hie order was given to fire and Sheridan fell.

"By God, you have killed him, Major," cried Captain Morris. "Quick. We must get away while there is time."

Before the Major could protest he was hustled into a carriage and ordered the coachman to lose no time. Away rattled the carriage and the Prince alighted and reeling with laughter went over to the fallen playwright.

"Well played, Sherry," he said. "Get up. By God, I'll swear you never had a better scene in any of your plays."

The Prince drove back to Carlton House laughing hilariously with Fox and Sheridan; but suddenly he was serious.

"What can it feel like to have killed a man?"

"The first emotion would be gratification for having avenged an insult," said Fox.

"Then remorse for having taken life, perhaps," added Sheridan. "But perhaps fear of the law would come first."

"Remorse," mused the Prince. "I like the fellow in a way. He's grotesque but he amuses me. I shall let him know at once that you are not dead, Sherry."

"Won't that spoil Your Highness's little joke?" asked Fox.

"My dear Charles, I have had my joke. I have rarely laughed so much. I have rarely been so diverted. But I am sure that when the Major recovers a little from his gratification remorse will set in. Also he might decide to flee the country. I shall send for him immediately and tell him that Sherry is not fatally wounded."

"Your Highness has not only a sense of the ridiculous but a sensitive heart," said Fox.

As soon as he saw the Major's remorseful manner the Prince hastened to reassure him.

"This is a bad business, Major, but I have some good news for you. Sheridan is not dead. I have had it from the ... er surgeon. He will live."

"Your Highness, I am indeed glad to hear that."

"I thought you would be, Major. Alas our passions get the better of us and lead us to rash actions."

"It's true, but it is a terrible thing to kill a man outside of war."

"Well, you can assure yourself that the fellow will live. Come here to dine tonight and I will have here a gentleman who will give you the fullest information as to his condition."

"I don't know how to thank Your Highness."

"Believe me, Major, I have understood your actions all along."

The Prince had the satisfaction of seeing the Major retire in a happier mood than that one in which he had arrived.

The Prince received Major Hanger yet again at Carlton House.

"Now," he said, "I shall send for the gentleman who can give you the information you need."

He signed to a page and Sheridan came into the room.

"But..." stammered the Major, blinking at the playwright. "What means this? I thought I had killed you!"

"Oh," cried Sheridan, "I am not quite good enough for the world above. I am not yet fully qualified for this one below. So I thought it better to postpone my departure a little longer."

"But ... I saw you fall. How could I have fired straight at you and you not..."

Sheridan turned to the Prince and said: "I have no doubt His Highness will explain."

"Major," said the Prince, beginning to laugh, "you have been the victim of a little plot of mine. It was I who conceived the idea and knowing you for the good sport you are I am sure you'll enjoy the joke." He explained it all; how he had selected Sheridan to write the letter, how no balls had been put into the pistols, how both seconds were in the plot, and how the surgeon had been the Prince himself.

The Major listened in silence and then burst out laughing. His body shook with his guffaws and the Prince and Sheridan joined in.

"You sec, we'll have this situation turning up in one of Sherry's plays. If so, Sherry, I claim credit."

"If it should, Your Highness shall have it. It would bring people crowding to the theatre. Co-author—His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales ..."

"Major, if you could have seen your face. I trust when you do fight a duel you will allow me to be present."

"Your Highness shall certainly be there."

"We'll drink to it. Come."

They sat and drank and the Prince grew very friendly as the evening progressed. Major Hanger had provided him with the most amusing diversion of his lifetime; Sherry had made it all work out like a play; they were his good friends; they would have many a laugh together in the future.

The Prince sang songs from Sheridan's plays and it was a very convivial evening.

After that Major Hanger was admitted into that very intimate circle of the Prince's friends which included Fox, Burke, Sheridan and Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire.

With the coming of spring the Prince, thought of the pleasures of sea bathing and how amusing it would be to repeat his visit to the little Sussex fishing village.

He sent for his majordomo, Louis Weltje—an odd little German who came from Hanover and was of a most unprepossessing appearance.

The Prince liked Weltje; he trusted the little German, and as he had picked him up himself, liked to feel he had made a discovery and found himself an excellent servant. He had come across Weltje during one of his adventures when he had roamed the streets incognito. Weltje had kept a gingerbread stall at which the Prince and his friends had paused to buy.

The gingerbread had proved to be excellent and the Prince declared it was the best he had ever eaten, and conversation with the owner of the stall disclosed him to be a native of Hanover.

"The place where the King comes from," said the little man with a grin. "What could be better than that? I thought to make a fortune but people over here don't know how to eat."

"You mean you're a cook, do you?" asked the Prince.

Louis Weltje had nodded his great fishlike face and said:

"You liked my gingerbread didn't you, sir. I'm wasting my talents on gingerbread."

"What else can you cook besides gingerbread?"

"You name it, sir, and I'll cook it as I'd be ready to wager you had never tasted it before."

"Sauerkraut and sausages?" asked the Prince sceptically.

"If you'd a fancy for it, sir. But to my mind you don't look a sauerkraut man. Fond of fine delicacies, that's you, sir."

"You may call at my house tomorrow and you'll be given an opportunity to cook, if you wish."

"I've been waiting for an opportunity since I came here."

"You can present yourself to the kitchens at Carlton House tomorrow, I'll see that you are well received."

The Prince passed on, leaving Weltje staring after him. It was the sort of encounter which he enjoyed; and this had proved to be a worthwhile one. Not only Was Weltje a first-class cook but he had other talents; he could manage the servants' hall, for in spite of his short broad body and his remarkably fishlike face, he had an undeniable authority and the Prince had soon made him his majordomo.

Now he told Weltje that he had a liking for a certain fishing village on the Sussex coast and would not object to spending the summer there.

"It will be difficult to find a suitable house for me to rent," he explained. "From what I saw of it the only possible one was that of Dr. Russell on the Steyne which the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland were using."

"I will find a suitable residence for Your Highness," promised Weltje.

"You will be a wizard if you do."

"Your Highness," said Weltje, with a clumsy bow, "I am a wizard."

That very day he was driven to Brighton, put up at the Ship Inn and in his usually efficient way took stock of the town. He examined all available houses; his progress was discussed in the streets and the lanes; this was going to make all the difference to the town. Royalty was going to adopt it. Louis Weltje at length found a residence which although not suitable would be adequate he thought for a short duration.

He went back to London to report.

"I have found a house for us, Your Highness, although it is not the residence I should wish."

"I did not expect you to find a palace, Weltje."

"No, sir. Nor have I. But I think when we have furnished it suitably and have the servants there it will suffice until we can build our own."

"Build our own," cried the Prince; and laughed, for the idea of building his own house in Brighton had been fermenting in his mind for a long time.

That summer the Prince was up and down from Brighton. The people on the route would hear his horses galloping by and rush out for a glimpse of him, a glorious sight in his fine blue or green coat, the diamond star flashing on his left breast; his beaver hat set at a jaunty angle on his frizzed hair.

They called a greeting as he passed which he never failed to return.

Of course his coming completely changed Brighton. It could no longer be called a little fishing village. Prices shot up; the inhabitants went on complaining that things weren't what they used to be and secretly they all agreed that it was good for the town to have the Prince interested in them. Now that the Prince had shown that his liking for the place was more than a passing fancy came the fashionable world of London; the price of property was doubled and every little tradesman from the crab and lobster seller to the old cobbler seated in his window overlooking the Steyne put up his prices.

"We're fashionable Brighton now," they said to each other. "Brighthelmstone is gone. It's Brighton. Royal Brighton."

There was an air of expectancy in every street. The local people grew accustomed to seeing fine ladies and gentlemen strolling about Brighton. Once a week there was a grand ball at the Castle Rooms and the people would stand outside to see the glittering jewels and the fine gowns of the ladies and the magnificence of the gentlemen, under the Prince's leadership, rivalled them. The Prince loved the play so therefore he visited the play house; but the local show, once he had become accustomed to its rural flavour, was not good enough for him, so companies had to come down from London. There was cockfighting in the Hove Ring; and boxing matches too, for the Prince greatly favoured this sport; and of course there were constant expeditions to the races.

Adventurers crowded into Brighton. Cardsharpers, strolling musicians, gipsies ... they all believed they could make their fortunes in the town which the Prince had made his own.

Each day during the summer the bathing machines could be seen being pulled up and down the shingly beach; and the shouts of the bathers as they were seized and dipped by the stalwart attendants could be heard all along the front. Each morning when he was in Brighton the Prince went into the sea.

His friends were always thinking of some new practical joke, which might amuse him, some new form of gambling. They wagered on every conceivable occasion. They would command the local people to run races that they might wager together who would be the winner; they performed wild mad exploits if someone bet them they could not do them.

Brighton had certainly changed with the coming of the Prince.

But as he told Weltje, Grove House was all very well and his majordomo had undoubtedly found him the best available house in Brighton, yet still it was not quite a royal residence.

"We'll never get that, sir, till we build our own," Weltje told him.

The Prince agreed it was true and began to think about a house of his own more seriously than ever.

Sometimes at dusk the Prince liked to take off his fine coat on which he wore the dazzling diamond star and, changing into an ordinary buff-coloured jacket such as might be worn by any noble gentleman, take a solitary stroll alone along the beach.

He was not sure whether on these occasions people did not recognize him or respected his privacy; but it was pleasant to escape now and then from the perpetually watchful eyes of subjects, however loving.

It was during one of his lonely walks that he saw a young woman sitting on the beach, her back against a groin, engrossed in the aimless pastime of throwing stones into the sea.

She wore a cloak, but the manner in which she lifted her arm to throw the stone was graceful and the Prince ever ready to investigate feminine charms, approached her.

"Good evening," he said, "Are you alone then?"

"Until this moment, sir" she answered with a pertness which assured him that his identity was certainly unknown; even strange young women do not speak to the Prince of Wales in that manner.

"You are too pretty to be alone."

"La, sir, and I see you are too forward to be."

The Prince was amused. "A very good reason why you should allow me to exchange a few words with you."

"I could scarcely prevent it," she retorted.

He sat down beside her and was delighted, for the hood had fallen back a little to disclose an extremely pretty face.

"Should you be out alone at this hour?"

"Clearly not, sir, since it enables strangers to believe that they can ... accost me."

She made as though to rise but he held out a hand and laid it gently on her arm. "Please do not go ... just yet. Stay and chat awhile. There is no harm done."

She hesitated. "If my guardian knew that I was out..."

"So you have escaped?"

"I cannot bear to be caged. I ran away ... but only for an hour or so. I shall have to go back."

"You live in Brighton?"

She shook her head. "We are here because it is so fashionable to be here ... now that the Prince of Wales favours it."

"So your family is here because he is here."

She nodded. He saw that she was very young. That was piquant; he had never been in love with a woman younger than himself before.

She grimaced. "Oh yes, we must go to Brighton because His Royal Highness is at Brighton. I wish His Highness anywhere than at Brighton, I can tell you."

"Thank you for the information. But why are you so set against His Highness's coming here?"

"Because if he weren't here I shouldn't be here, and if I weren't here I shouldn't have met..." She stopped.

"A chance stranger on a beach?"

She burst out laughing; she had very pretty teeth. "Oh, I wasn't thinking of you."

"How cruel of you!"

"Why should it be cruel? I don't know you."

"We are going to change that, are we not?"

"Are we?" She was on her feet, for as he had spoken he had made an effort to take her hand. But she was too quick for him. She turned gracefully on her toes—not easy on the shingle, and poised for flight looked over her shoulder at him. He was on his feet.

"You are not going?"

"But I am. Goodbye ... stranger."

"But"

"But I may be here tomorrow ... at the same time ...if I can get away."

She ran off swiftly.

A rather amusing adventure, he thought, as he walked back to Grove House.

Her name was Lottie, she told him; but she would tell him no more. Where was she staying? Where did she live?

"Women" she answered pertly, "should be mysterious. I'm not very old, but I know that."

"You succeed in being very mysterious."

"Tell me, do you know the Prince of Wales?"

"I would say I was on reasonably good terms with that gentleman."

"Then doubtless you know my guardian."

"Tell me his name."

She shook her head. "Oh, no, I daren't do that."

"Dare not? Why?"

She was mischievous suddenly. "It would spoil the mystery." Then she was suddenly in tears. She was afraid they were going to marry her to an old man ... a rich old man. He was a suitable match and she hated him and what was she going to do about it? What could she do?

"You could run away" said the Prince.

"How?" She was all excitement; and suddenly, so was he.

Why not? Her guardian was at Brighton. Someone in his entourage? Suppose he set her up in a little house. There should be no obstacle. He knew enough of her to realize that she was not of the nobility; perhaps her guardian as she called him—or her, perhaps—had a post in his household. In that case the aforesaid guardian could be made to realize that the patronage of the Prince of Wales could be as comforting as marriage with a rich old man.

"We could elope" suggested the Prince.

"Oh, how, when?"

It would not be impossible. Suppose he had a post-chaise waiting for her? All she would have to do was slip away as she did when she came to the beach and into the chaise where her lover would be waiting for her. He would give the order to drive and they would go away ... together. She would be out of danger.

She was excited about the plan; but, she declared mournfully, her guardian would be watchful of her; she would never escape.

He would have a footman's uniform procured for her; she could put it on and leave her guardian's residence disguised in it.

She was enchanted with the idea and clasped her hands with excitement. She agreed to meet him the following night and complete their plans.

But the next night she did not appear; and the Prince then realized how diverted he had been by this adventure, and how depressed it would be if it came to nothing. He was growing a little weary of Lady Melbourne; Mrs. Billington had long since begun to pall; Mrs. Crouch, another actress, was a real beauty but she drank to such excess that she smelled like a wine shop and the Prince did find this repulsive, particularly after Major Hanger had said that her throat smelt like a smoking chimney.

But his little nymph of the beach was fresh and lovely, and he would be wretched if he lost her.

For two nights she did not come, but on the third she was there. She sobbed against him and told him that she had been forbidden to leave the house. Her guardian was so suspicious, and she dreaded that she would not be allowed to make the escape.

They would arrange it, he said, for the very next night; she had the footman's uniform; she must put this on and slip out to where the carriage would be waiting; he would be inside and they would go to London together.

"I will be there," he said, and embraced her tenderly.

Soon, of course, he would have to confess who he was; but that would only add to her delight, he was sure.

He was excited and absentminded the next day; he had decided that he would dine early and alone, and let it be known that he was leaving for London immediately after dinner.

He was dressing when Major Hanger was announced. As he received his intimate friends without formality, and since the affair of the duel Major Hanger had been one of them, the Prince ordered that he be brought to him.

The Major came and while the Prince explained the new method of wearing the neckcloth to him the Major listened with absentmindedness.

"I can see, my friend," said the Prince, "that you are somewhat distraught."

The Major admitted that this was so and that he had come to ask the Prince's advice.

"Talk to me over dinner," said the Prince, "for I have business in London which means I must leave early."

"Knowing Your Highness's success and experience with the fair sex, I believe you to be the one to advise me."

"I am interested to hear what has gone wrong for you."

"Everything ... everything..." groaned the Major.

And when they were seated at the dinner table he told the story.

I met the girl, Your Highness, in London. She wanted to conic to Brighton. All of "em want it. They want to have a chance of seeing Your Highness, I swear. So I brought her here ... set the lady up in a pleasant little apartment, and what does she do? She starts an intrigue with a fellow of Brighton."

"This is sad news, Major. You mean she prefers this fellow to you?"

"Stab me, if I could lay hands on him I'd douse him in the sea. He'd have had enough of sea bathing by the time I'd done with him."

"You don't know who he is?"

"No, but I shall find out. I'm determined on that. I've had her followed ... meets a fellow on the beach, .and is planning to go off with him."

"What's this?" said the Prince.

"She goes to the beach. I've had her followed. Some fellow ... from the household, I believe ... meets her there. Oh, yes, I've had her watched; I've had her spied on. And she's eloping with the fellow, I hear. Not sure when but I'll find out. I'll let her know that I'm not paying for apartments for her to use while she goes out to meet this fellow."

"What sort of a ... woman is she?"

"Damned pretty. And up to tricks. Not so young as she looks and she knows a thing or two, my Charlotte does."

"Charlotte?"

"Little Charlotte Fortescue ... Blue eyes ... black hair and the prettiest little figure ..."

"One moment," said the Prince. "Describe her to me ... in detail."

The Major did describe her and before he had finished the Prince knew. His Lottie and the Major's Charlotte Fortescue were one and the same woman. So she had pretended she was an innocent girl, when all the time she was kept ... yes kept ... by the Major.

"Major," said the Prince, "I am your fellow."

"What's that sir? What's that?"

The Prince explained.

"Well, stab me!" cried the Major. "So she's been playing us both. And Your Highness is the, the ..."

"The fellow you are going to douse in the sea."

"Why, sir ... The wicked creature! No wonder she's been looking so smug lately."

"You mean ... she knew who I was?"

"There's little Charlotte doesn't know."

"When I think of her sitting in my carriage ... in my footman's uniform ... waiting for me..."

"Very pleased with herself, Highness, having hooked the Prince of Wales."

The Prince was irritated. It was not pleasant to have been so duped by a slip of a girl. He had only been mildly involved. She was not really his type; she was far too young. And the fact that she had deceived him had completely changed his feelings towards her.

But she should not be allowed to get the better of him. He had an idea. It would be almost as good a joke as the duel.

"Listen, Major. The carriage will be waiting to pick her up. She will be expecting me inside it. You shall put on the coat and hat I wore for my meetings with her and be there in my place. Madame Lottie will trip along, enter the coach ... See how long you can keep up the deception. Then you can take her to London and enjoy the little jaunt which was to have been mine."

The Major slapped his thigh.

"By God, Sir, trust you to think up a first-class joke. I'm ready to choke with laughter in anticipation"

They started to laugh together; then the Prince was sober. It was rather an anti-climax to what was to have been a pleasant adventure.

After the Major had gone, he started to think how pleasant it would be if he could meet a woman who was good and beautiful, who was his ideal, who loved him tenderly and whom he could love.

There is no satisfaction in light love affairs, he told himself.

In due course the Major reported the consternation of Charlotte Fortescue when she discovered that her deceived lover had taken the place of the Prince of Wales; and the incident made the two men even closer friends. The Major's eccentricities were very diverting and he could always be relied on to think up some original trick to amuse.

On one occasion over dinner at Carlton House the Major became involved in an argument with Mr. Berkeley over the merits of turkeys and geese and which could travel the faster. Major Hanger was sure the turkeys would; Mr. Berkeley was equally certain that it would be the geese. Other conversation around the dinner table ceased and all attention was concentrated on the argument between Hanger and Berkeley.

The Prince joined in and said there was only one way of settling the matter. They must have a race. Because this was the Prince's idea it was taken up with enthusiasm. It was in any case another opportunity for a gamble.

Bets were taken and the stakes rose high.

The Prince was on the Major's side and backed the turkeys, declaring that he would be in charge of the turkeys and Mr. Berkeley should be the gooseman. The preparations were in the Prince's mind, hilarious.

"Now, George," he said to Hanger, "you must select twenty of the very best turkeys to be found in the land."

Hanger said he could safely be trusted to do that.

Mr. Berkeley was equally determined to find twenty of the finest geese.

It was not possible for the Prince to do anything without a great many people knowing of it; and the proposed match between turkeys and geese was no exception.

What will they be up to next? people asked themselves; and they came out to watch the race which Berkeley had artfully decided should take place in the late afternoon.

There was great hilarity when the birds were set on the road leading out of London for the ten-mile race. The Prince and Major Hanger were with their turkeys carrying the long poles on which pieces of red cloth had been tied with w r hich to guide the birds if they decided to stray; and Mr. Berkeley and his supporters were similarly equipped to deal with the geese.

The turkeys got off to a good start and the betting was in their favour; in the first three hours they were two miles ahead of the geese; and then as dusk fell the turkeys looked for roosting places in the trees and finding them would not be dislodged; in vain did the Prince and the Major endeavour to do so; they were engaged in this when the geese came waddling into sight prodded by their supporters and went on past the roosting places of the turkeys to win the contest.

This was all very childish apart from the fact that enormous sums of money had changed hands and the Prince's debts were thereby increased because of it.

But although he spent lavishly on gambling, clothes, entertaining and improvements to Carlton House—in fact anything that took his fancy—he was not without generosity. He could never pass a beggar without throwing a handful of coins; he liked to scatter them among the children in the Brighton streets; and on one occasion borrowed eight hundred pounds from the moneylenders to give to a soldier just returned from the American wars whom he discovered living in penury; and not only did he give money but made it his personal duty to see that the soldier was reinstated in the Army.

In fact he wanted to enjoy life and others to enjoy it with him; he had not yet lost the pleasure he found in freedom; the shadow of the restricted life he had led at Kew under his parents' supervision was not far enough behind him for him to have forgotten it. But he was becoming a little palled. Light love affairs, ridiculous practical jokes, absurd gambling projects—they were lightly diverting for the moment; and that was all.

He longed for a stable relationship.

He was in this frame of mind when during a visit to Kew he strolled along the river bank with a little group of friends and met Maria Fitzherbert.

The encounter was so brief; she was there; he bowed and she was gone; but the memory of her lingered on.

"By God," he said, "what a beauty!"

His friends agreed with him; but they had no idea who she was.

And there she was in Lady Sefton's box in Covent Garden. What a goddess! She was different from everyone else. It was not only due to the manner in which she wore her hair—and what glorious hair! It was all her own, not frizzed nor powdered, but dressed naturally with a thick curl hanging over one shoulder; and her bosom—full, white as marble, was almost matronly. Her complexion—and it was untouched by art—was clear and dazzling. And how delightful it was compared with the uniform red and white of rouge and white lead.

" I never saw a face I liked better," he said to his companions. "Who is she? For God's sake tell me. I shall not have a moment's peace until I know."

"She is a Mrs. Fitzherbert, Your Highness. A cousin or some distant relation of the Seftons. A widow ..."

"Adorable creature!"

"Your Highness wishes her to be presented?"

He was thoughtful. There was something about her manner which warned him. She was no Charlotte Fortescue—not even a Perdita. She was unique; and he knew from the start that he would have to go carefully.

"Leave this to me," he said.

He had decided that for the duration of the opera he would content himself with looking. By God, he thought, there is plenty to look at.

She seemed unaware of him. That was what was so strange. Everyone else in the house was conscious of him—except Maria Fitzherbert.

"Maria Fitzherbert." He repeated the name to himself. He wanted to know everything about Maria Fitzherbert. Just to look at her gave him infinite pleasure. No silly young girl this—a glorious goddess of a woman. No coy creature, no giggling companion. A mature woman, already a widow; a woman who was serious and in her lovely way mature. After the opera he would send someone to her box; he would say that the Prince of Wales desired to be allowed to visit her there. Impatiently he waited for the curtain to fall—and then it was too late. She had slipped away.

But it was not too late. He would follow her. He would take a chair as any ordinary gentleman might and he would follow her to her home.

How flattered she would be at this honour! She would invite him in for a delightful tete-a-tete; he would express his admiration; he would tell her that he knew something had happened to him tonight which had never happened before.

So to Park Street by chair in the most exciting manner.

But she had arrived there before him; and although she looked from the window and saw him standing in the street, she did not ask him in.

He was not seriously disturbed. Of course she was not that sort of woman. Nor, he told himself sternly, would he wish her to be; nor had he expected her to be.

He went home and all night he dreamed of Maria Fitzherbert.

In the morning he said to himself: I have fallen in love at first sight with Maria Fitzherbert.