Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series) (23 page)

‘That is good. Ah, Gardner, my dear friend, we are moving at last. It will not be long now.’

On the evening of the 15th December the little party was gathered in Park Street.

The Reverend Robert Burt walking slowly down Oxford Street and turning into Park Street was stopped by a man who greeted him as he had expected, and together they walked down Park Street to the house of Mrs Fitzherbert which they unostentatiously entered. Assembled in the drawing room was Mrs Fitzherbert with her brother John and her uncle Henry.

As soon as the clergyman had been ushered into the drawing room the Prince arrived. He had come very quietly on foot from Carlton House and with him was his friend Orlando Bridgeman. He had chosen Orlando who was about the same age as he was himself and had been a friend of his for some time; he was the Member of Parliament for Wigan and therefore one of the Prince’s more serious friends. Moreover, being a Shropshire man he was acquainted with the Smythes, and Maria knew him well, so he seemed an admirable choice.

The Prince had explained to him that it was a friendly act to take part in this ceremony and that he was not allowing Colonel Gardner to be present because if it were discovered later that he had been party to it, it could jeopardize the Colonel’s relationship with the King.

‘As for you, my dear Orlando, I shall ask you to wait outside the house while the ceremony is performed, then you will not be directly involved. Also, we must be warned if anyone attempts to come into the house. It is a possibility, for if this should reach Pitt’s ears, as Prime Minister he would have the right to stop the ceremony. I have waited so long, my dear friend, that I should go mad, I am sure, if anything happened to prevent my marriage now.’

Bridgeman replied that nothing should if he could help it. He would take up his stand in the shadows at the door of the house and would immediately report if any stranger came near and sought to enter.

‘Then let us waste no more time,’ said the Prince.

He went into the house declaring that he was there and the ceremony should proceed without delay.

In that drawing room of the House in Park Street the Prince and Maria made their vows; and after the ceremony the Prince wrote the certificate which confirmed that on the 15th day of
December of the year 1785 Maria Fitzherbert was married to George Augustus Prince of Wales.

He embraced his Maria with rapture. He had decided where the honeymoon should be spent.

Marble Hill, of course. Was she not his sweet lass of Richmond Hill? Had he not been ready to renounce a crown for her sake?

This was going to be the beginning of such happiness as she had never known. Maria believed him. This romantic marriage was so different from the others she had experienced. As the coach took them out of Park Street to Oxford Street and along the road to Richmond he told her what he would do for her. Every hostess would have to receive her if they wished to see him. She was the Princess of Wales and he would know how to deal with anyone who attempted to deny this. All that she wanted should be hers. He would give her a carriage with the royal arms on it; he would give her priceless jewels. None of which she wanted, she told him; all she wanted was his love.

An enchanting reply which delighted him. But then when did his Maria not enchant him?

He was happy; he was in love; he was married to the most beautiful woman on earth; he had eluded the fat German Princess they would have chosen for him. He had his sweet lass.

How slow the coach was! But he did not greatly care; she was there beside him, with her perfect complexion, her cloud of curly fair hair and that pure white bosom to be caressed and wept on.

The coach stopped. He looked out. Where were they?

‘Hammersmith, I believe, my dearest.’

‘Why have we stopped?’

The coachman was at the door.

‘Begging Your Highness’s pardon, the roads are so blocked with snow, the horses have broken down. It will be necessary to rest here for a while, sir. There is an inn here, sir, where you could stay while we see what can be done.’

So they alighted and by candlelight they supped at Hammersmith.

It mattered not where they were, said Maria, since they were together.

And fervently the Prince agreed.

Prince William’s Indiscretion

THE COURT WAS
at Windsor where it was housed most uncomfortably. The Castle itself was in a state of deterioration and as repairs were done now and then the King and Queen with their elder children stayed in what was known as the Upper or Queen’s Lodge while the younger ones were housed in the Lower Lodge. These Lodges were gloomy and cold, the rooms small and old fashioned; there were numerous cupboards and small alcoves; the staircases were steep and dangerous; and there were so many pairs of stairs and so many passages that attendants new to the place were constantly losing their way. The fires in the small rooms during winter overheated them but the blast through the corridors was icy. Most of the household suffered from colds; and every morning during the coldest weather they were expected to attend a service in the unheated Castle chapel which was colder even than the corridors.

Still the King and Queen preferred Windsor to St James’s, and Buckingham House which had, not so long ago, been made into a home for them at great cost. ‘Dear little Kew’ was of course the favourite residence, but as both the King and Queen liked living in the country they were often at Windsor.

One knew exactly what was going to happen each day, said some of the bored members of the Court. No one would believe this was a royal household for it was conducted as many houses were in remote districts throughout the country. There was no
ton,
no excitement, nothing royal. The Queen examined her household accounts with a fervour she showed for nothing else except her habit of taking snuff; the King walked about the neighbourhood like a squire, interesting himself in what crops his tenants were growing and had even been known to take a
hand at the butter-making. They were parsimonious both of them, and no one was ever allowed to be late for meals or the King wanted to know the reason why. Every evening there was music – and even this varied very little. There was always some composition by Handel and all the Princesses had to be present – even baby Amelia who must, said the King, be brought up to appreciate the
right
kind of music – which was of course the kind which appealed to him.

The Royal Court was in the greatest contrast to the Prince’s entourage at Carlton House. Often the King and Queen heard their son’s establishment spoken of almost reverently.
There
was the centre of gaiety;
there
the fashionable, the erudite and the witty gathered. The Princesses listened eagerly for news of their brother; they envied him; they wished he would come to Windsor or Kew or wherever they were. But he rarely did; he was too busy living his exciting life.

The King thought about him constantly and disliked him more intensely every day. The Queen fretted about him. Why had he made this gulf between them? Why could he not be the dutiful son she longed for him to be? She was torn between her love and pride in him and her resentment towards him, and she thought of him more than she did the rest of her children put together. There were very disturbing rumours about him and the Catholic widow, Mrs Fitzherbert. The only pleasant thing about those rumours was the good opinion everyone seemed to have of the lady.

The Queen discussed him with Lady Harcourt, one of her closest friends as well as one of her Ladies of her Bedchamber.

‘I think it is a very good friendship … nothing more,’ she said. ‘I remember he had such a friendship with one of the Princess’s attendants – Mary Hamilton. She was a pure girl and I hear that this Mrs Fitzherbert is the same.’

‘I’ve heard it too, Your Majesty,’ agreed Lady Harcourt, ‘but …’

Yet how could she disturb the Queen who had so much to disturb her? Lady Harcourt knew how anxiously the Queen watched the King for a return of that strange malady which had attacked him once and in which he had rambled so incoherently that both he and the Queen had thought he was going mad.

Lady Harcourt – who was devoted to the King as well as to the Queen – sincerely hoped that the Prince would not provoke his father so much that he made him ill.

On one cold morning early in the year 1786 the Queen arose as usual, and when she had undergone the ceremony of the early toilette, which took about an hour, had been to the service in the icy chapel and had taken breakfast in the company of the King and her elder daughters she returned to her apartments for the morning toilette, a lengthy matter for her hair had to be dressed and powdered and this was one of the two days in the week when it had to be curled, and this took an hour longer than usual.

She sighed because no matter what attention was paid to her appearance it made little difference. She wished these ridiculous hair styles were not fashionable. They had come from France where Marie Antoinette had so exaggerated them as to make them ridiculous.

She sat watching her women as they set the triangular cushion on the crown of her head and, frizzing her hair, built it up over the cushion. Now they would curl it and set it into waves one either side of her head before they wrapped her in her powdering robe and the business of powdering began.

While her hair was dressed her women read to her; she liked to hear what was being written in the papers; and when they had finished those she enjoyed a novel. The readers were constantly passing over little items about the Prince and Mrs Fitzherbert which could make an awkward pause now and then and the Queen knew the cause of it, and while she wanted to know what was being said of her son was afraid to ask unless it should be something vulgar, ridiculing or informative – something which her sense of duty would tell her she ought to pass on to the King.

Her hair dressed, her toilette completed, she would send for the elder Princesses and spend a quiet hour with them, sewing or knotting while one of the ladies read aloud to them. The Queen always listened attentively to what was read; she had made a habit of this and it was one of the main reasons why she had mastered the English language so well and spoke it fluently with only a trace of a German accent.

She was pleased to see the girls waiting for her, and that the
Princess Royal had remembered to fill her snuff box.

She took a pinch and called for her work; and set them all their duties. The Princess Royal should thread her mother’s needles; Augusta should be responsible for bringing in the dogs and taking them out again when the sessions were over; Sophia should hand her her snuff box when she needed it. In the meantime they should sew of course. The others should continue with their sewing or knotting
all
the time and Miss Planta, the governess, who was a good reader, should read aloud to them, and Miss Goldsworthy who was the sub-governess and who was affectionately known as Gooley by the royal family should take over from Miss Planta when the latter was tired.

The party were busy with their tasks as they had been so many times before when suddenly the door was flung open and a young man burst into the room without ceremony and, looking wildly about him, dashed to the Queen and flung himself on his knees before her.

The Princess Royal jumped to her feet, treading on one of the dogs which had been nestling there so that he gave a loud yelp and went on yelping.

Princess Augusta cried: ‘William! Brother William.’

‘William?’ stammered the Queen.

‘Yes, Mamma,’ said the young man. ‘It is I, William. I have to see you. I have made up my mind. Nothing will deter me. I have come to tell you that I want to marry Sarah and you must make my father agree to the match. I have given my word … I …’

‘One moment,’ said the Queen, seeking for her dignity, staring with dismay at her son. What was he talking about? It was George and Mrs Fitzherbert who had been on her mind … not William and this … Sarah.

‘Pray get up, William,’ she said.

But he would not do so. He continued to kneel, catching her knees.

‘You must help me, Mamma,’ he said. ‘I have made up my mind. No one is going to stop me.’

William was shouting; the Princesses and their governesses were looking on with round inquisitive eyes. This was very extraordinary. They were all expecting they knew not what
concerning the Prince of Wales – and here was William … also in love and wanted to marry someone of whom the King and Queen would not approve. Sarah … who was Sarah and where had William who had been stationed at Portsmouth met her?

The dogs were barking; one of them had become entangled in Augusta’s knotting string; Sophia had let the snuff box fall to the floor; and William went on shouting.

‘Stop!’ cried the Queen. ‘Miss La Planta, Gooley, conduct the Princesses to their apartments. They may take their work with them and you may read to them.’

The governesses curtsied and the Princesses did the same, leaving the Queen alone with her son.

William seemed a little sobered now, and the Queen said to him: ‘Now, William, you had better tell me exactly what all this is about.’

It was amazing what the effect of a little regal authority had on William; he had grown considerably calmer.

‘I have come to ask you to speak to the King about my engagement,’ he said.

‘Pray sit down and tell me what this is all about.’

William meekly obeyed.

‘Now,’ said the Queen, ‘what was it that so induced you to forget your duty as to leave Portsmouth, and your manners as to burst in upon me and make such a scene before your sisters and their governesses?’

‘This is a very serious matter.’

‘It is indeed. Desertion is punishable in the Navy by … I know not what. But I am certain that it will be severe. But let me hear what this
engagement
is.’

‘Mamma, I am in love.’

‘My dear William, have you not yet learned that love and marriage do not always go together in the lives of princes?’

‘Are you suggesting that I should indulge in an immoral relationship with Sarah?’