Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series) Read online

  ‘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 major-domo, 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 major-domo.

  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 major-domo 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 he 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 come 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 intri
gue 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.’