Виктория Холт - Sweet lass of Richmond Hill

"Are people wise when they are in love?"

Maria was thoughtful. She had married what was considered wisely twice. Yet she hesitated to answer that question. A thought came into her head. Had she ever been in love? She was fond of Thomas, of course; she had been fond of Edward, but...

Frances was looking at her intently.

"I think" said Frances steadily, "that I could feel the same for Carnaby Haggerston as you do for Thomas Fitzherbert."

Maria was excited. "Frances. He has..."

Frances nodded.

"And you have accepted?"

"Not exactly. I wanted to talk to you first."

"But you are fond of him, Frances? I have seen you together. I know."

"Yes," said Frances, Tm fond of him."

"I'm delighted." Maria rose and embraced her sister. "Mamma will be so pleased and so will Papa ... poor dear Papa ... if he is able to grasp what this means. Uncle Henry and Thomas will both be so ... gratified. It is just what we should all have wished."

Frances nodded and kept her eyes on her face. Maria was happy; and her happiness had come through wisdom. No one could deny that Sir Carnaby Haggerston of the Northumberland Catholic Haggerstons was not an excellent match.

With Frances safely married and the chance of helping the boys which marriage with Thomas gave her, Maria was at peace. Occasionally she invited her mother to spend a little time with her in the country. Poor Mamma, she had changed a great deal since Papa's stroke and Maria feared she sighed nostalgically for the past. Walter had gone into the Austrian Army since his religious opinions debarred him from joining that in his own country; and Uncle Henry was often at Bram-bridge. But he was too indulgent and the boys, Maria feared, sadly missed a father.

She was growing closer and closer to Thomas whose activities were of the utmost interest to her; and for him it was a great pleasure to have a well-informed wife with whom he could discuss those issues which were of such importance to him.

There was only one disappointment in their marriage; there was no sign of any children. But Maria was very young and they had their whole lives before them. Thomas was certain that such a paragon as Maria could not fail to give him all he wanted.

He delighted in those occasions when they could dine alone together. These were rare because there seemed to be a continual round of entertaining, for he had always been a jovial man who liked to surround himself with friends; he was wealthy; he had fine houses in which to entertain, and as there were three of them in different parts of the country and he had so many friends in each part, naturally there was a constant round of visits.

But there were rare occasions when he and Maria could dine intimately together and this was one of them. How beautiful she looked with her golden hair falling about her shoulders, so simply dressed and so charming. He thought that in her muslin gown with the blue ribbons she was more beautiful than in a satin silk velvet or brocade evening gown.

Driving home through the Mall they had passed a young woman in a carriage—a flamboyant, overdressed young woman in pale pink satin and big straw hat decorated with pink and green feathers. An undoubted beauty but, in Maria's opinion, decidedly a little vulgar. Thomas had told her that the woman was Mrs. Robinson, the actress who was known as Perdita because she had been playing Perdita in The Winter's Tale when the Prince of Wales had first noticed her.

While they dined they discussed the woman and the scandal she was causing.

"I am sorry for His Majesty," said Thomas. "The Prince is a great trial to him."

"He is young yet," replied Maria. "Doubtless he will grow wiser as he grows older."

"But when the heir to the throne lives openly with an actress it is certain to cause distress to all good subjects of the King who, I have heard, spends many a sleepless night worrying about what the Prince is doing."

"I am surprised that he should have become enamoured of such a woman."

"Actresses have a great appeal for the very young and she is reckoned a beauty."

"She is undoubtedly that" agreed Maria.

"And clearly well aware of it. I give her another three months. They say His Highness is already wavering."

"Poor woman! What will she do then?"

"Find another protector, I dareswear. That is usually the way of such women."

"I am sorry for her. She is so pretty, too."

"You waste your pity on such a woman, my love. I wonder what influence the Prince will have on political issues. I have heard that he is seen often in the company of men like Burke and Charles James Fox."

"So it would appear," said Maria, "that he does not spend all his time with the actress. He must be interested in politics to have such men as his friends."

"This could be so."

"And do you think he will be on our side?"

Her husband smiled. "The Prince will always take sides against his father. But the King gave his assent to our Bill nearly two years ago, so doubtless His Highness would not have given his if he had an opportunity of doing so, which fortunately he has not. He will have to wait until he is twenty-one before he can have an influence on politics ... and that is three years away."

"Is he so young then?" said Maria.

"Very young. Six years younger than you, Maria."

"Six years." That was about the time she had married Edward Weld! She had seemed very young then. She was silent, thinking of the Prince who caused such distress to his father and who was very wild and gay and, so it was said, extremely charming and undeniably handsome.

Poor woman, she thought again, as a vision of the woman in the Mall rose before her, over-dressed, her hair heavily powdered, her face a mask of rouge and white lead.

The subject was distasteful so she changed it.

"How gratifying it is that that cruel law has been changed. I remember my parents talking about it long before I went to France. One of the most cruel aspects was that which enabled the son of a Catholic turned Protestant to take over his father's possessions. Just imagine if Walter, John or Charles had done that. What a dreadful law!"

"All laws against minorities are monstrous. But we are fortunate in our king, Maria. He has always stood for tolerance and he is a good man. I know many people laugh at him ... call him "Farmer George" because he is fond of the land, and "The Button Maker" because he is interested in handcrafts. They call him dull because he is a faithful husband—but I think he is a good man."

"But a good man is not necessarily a good king. What of the Colonies? I fancy King George has played an important part in that disastrous affair."

"You have a point there, my dear," Thomas admitted. "But I was referring to his tolerance. He has protected Methodists and Quakers in the past—and I believe he has always been sympathetic towards us."

A servant came in at that moment to announce that Sir Carnaby Haggerston had called.

Maria rose to greet her brother-in-law and drew back in dismay when she saw how agitated he was.

"Lord George Gordon is mustering the Protestant Association and I've heard that he is inciting them to rise up against the Catholics of London. My God, I pray we are not going to have riots here ... as they've been having in Scotland."

"Impossible," said Thomas. "The Protestant Association is a worthy body. I'm sure of this.

"But," said Haggerston, "I hear that Gordon is a madman."

Maria sat at an upper window in the house in Park Street. Terror had struck London and she knew that at any moment the mob might come running into this very street, stop at this very house, break down the doors and destroy or burn their possessions.

Thomas had urged her to leave London, but that she would not do. It was his duty, Thomas said, to stay here. The houses of his friends had been looted and some of their priests were in danger. He must do all he could to get them removed to places of safety. He would not be true to his Faith if he ran away to the country to hide himself there. Besides, who knew when these riots would spread even into the country. But he deplored the fact that Maria was in the centre of the trouble.