Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill - Plaidy Jean (книги онлайн полные версии .TXT) 📗

The girl was smiling ecstatically. 4 I was sure it was true. Now I know. The fact is, Mrs. Fitzherbert, I am going to marry him.'

'Your Highness is...'

The Princess nodded. Tapa is determined on it. It's so important to him. He needs a strong alliance and he is determined that it shall be with England. So if the Prince of Wales will have me ...'

She looked charmingly shy and Maria thought of phrases in those passionate letters with which he had bombarded her. 'I shall never marry anyone but you.' 'From now onward to the end of my life there shall be no one for me but my Maria.'

And yet, she thought looking sadly at the young girl, it was not impossible. It was far more likely that he should be this girl's bridegroom than her own.

Oh, how foolish she had been to come here! This was more embarrassing than Aix-la-Chapelle.

'I want you to come here often,' the Princess was saying, 'and then you can tell me all you know of the English Court and most of all of the Prince of Wales.'

When Maria left she was very disturbed. How could she tell this young girl that she was only here because she was eluding the pursuit of that same Prince? She felt so sly listening to these confidences; and yet how could she tell the truth?

She was not made any happier by the fact that as she left she noticed a man standing near her carriage. She had seen this same man loitering close to her house, and she had fancied that he was watching it. It seemed strange that he should be waiting near her carriage. Her coachman looked a little uncomfort-

able. It occurred to her that the man might have been asking questions about her.

Could it be that rumour had followed her as far as the Hague?

During the next few days she was summoned to the Palace on several occasions and there the Princess again plied her with questions.

'I have talked often/ said the Princess, 'to Sir James Harris. He is a very charming man and I believe very much in favour of the marriage. I want to discover whether he has given the Prince of Wales a good account of me. But of course I have to be very careful. Everything must be so diplomatic. But I am sure my father would have suggested he find out whether I would be welcome as the future Queen of England. Queen of England! What a grand title! Do you not think so, Mrs. Fitzherbert?'

Mrs. Fitzherbert thought it a very fine title.

'And married to the most charming Prince in the world as well. It seems a great deal, does it not, Mrs. Fitzherbert?'

'Indeed it is a great deal.' Maria spoke wistfully. She thought: Yes, doubtless he will marry this girl ... Or someone like her. And although at first he will think regretfully of me he will grow away from his sorrow. In a few years he will have forgotten how once he longed for Maria Fitzherbert. He is more suited to this girl. He a royal prince, she a royal princess —they are distantly related to each other, and both young. It is so suitable. Yes, it will undoubtedly be arranged; and when it is, I can safely return to England.

She felt a great sadness in her heart; she wanted in fact to talk of the Prince of Wales and his virtues. Surely the greatest of these was his fidelity.

'Sir James Harris will be arriving very soon,' said the Princess. 'I cannot wait for him to come. He may bring news. Who can say?'

Maria went back to her house and felt very lonely. How sad it was to be exiled from one's home! She was longing for the bustle of London and the charm of Richmond. What would

she not give to be in her house at Park Street? She thought of the Prince standing there as he had that night when he had followed her home from the Opera. What outrageous adorably mad things he did! The idea of a Prince of Wales following a woman home and standing there in the road pleading for admittance, and then when it was refused feeling no rancour, only a great and abiding love.

She thought of Marble Hill—that wonderful view of Richmond Hill—and of the Prince driving up in his phaeton, having come with dashing speed from Carlton House.

I want to go home, she thought. I want to see him again. It was cruel to go away as I did.

Someone had ridden up to the house. She heard her servants talking; a great excitement possessed her and she went to the door of her room to listen.

The servant came to her. A courier had arrived from England. He had letters for her. She knew from whom those letters came; she seized them eagerly. He had discovered where she was. He had good friends on the Continent. He wanted her to know that he was steadfast unto death, that he would marry no one else but her, that he was exploring all possibilities; he might meet her in Hanover where they would live quietly together for the rest of their lives; he might fly with her to America; he wanted her to come back because he could not live without her; but whatever happened of one thing she could be sure: he would be faithful unto death.

She read through the letters. She felt alive again. Had she been obliged to travel so far to learn the true state of her feelings?

She shut herself in her room and kneeling by her bed she took her rosary in her hand and prayed for courage.

She knew what she must do. She must not answer those letters. She must leave The Hague. Not only could she no longer listen to the confidences of a young girl who herself hoped to marry him, but she must hide herself afresh, for the English Ambassador, Sir James Harris, would soon be arriving in The Hague and she did not want him to find her here.

Maria left Holland and a few weeks later arrived in Paris. There she stayed for a while in the convent in the Faubourg St. Antoine with the English 'Blew Nuns' of the Conceptionist Order with whom she had been educated. For a short while she was at peace there, living the days of her childhood over again, her life regulated by the ringing of bells. She confessed that she had fled from England to escape the Prince and was applauded for having taken the only step possible to a good Catholic.

Then she began to feel restive and would heave the convent and wander into the streets of Paris. She liked to watch the city come to life in the mornings when the streets were full of noise and commotion; she found pleasure in watching the barbers covered from head to foot in powder, the practitioners of the law, black clad like so many crows making their way to the Chatelet, and the lemonade sellers and the coffee women who stood at the street corners with their tin urns on their backs. And in the afternoons when the din in the city was intensified and vehicles of all kinds jammed the narrow streets, people crowded into the caf?s to chatter of inequalities, of differences between rich and poor, the price of bread and of the new ideas which were being circulated. All men are equal; why should the rich live in luxury while the poor man could not find the price of a loaf of bread? Liberty and Equality were the watchwords of the day. In the carriages the quality rode by, splashing pedestrians with the mud of the Paris streets—the worst mud in the world, Maria remembered, for if it touched a garment it would certainly in time burn a hole there. It was foul smelling and sulphurous and people cursed as it splashed them. But the ladies, rouged and patched, their hair dressed fantastically high in the fashion set by the Queen of France, did not notice the murderous glances which followed them.

When she returned to the convent Maria discovered that the peace which she had at first found there was missing. She was not meant for the secluded life. It was not that she wished for the luxury of a court; if the Prince had been a country gentleman such as Mr. Weld or Mr. Fitzherbert she would have been delighted. She pictured their living in the country, entertaining their friends. Would he be content? How many times had he said that all he needed for contentment was to be