she fully deserved, and as she was quite unaware of their suppressed amusement—there was no harm done.

But this was a happy evening, with the gentlemen all paying attention to Fanny—and in particular Colonel Digby—and the conversation running on the Prince's imminent visit.

Colonel Goldsworthy of course knew all the gossip, and Colonel Manners told some amusing stories about the Prince's exploits and Colonel Digby was flirting to such an extent with Fanny that she really thought that he might be considering making a proposal of marriage.

It was all most diverting.

Colonel Goldsworthy was warning Fanny what she must expect when winter came to Windsor.

'Ah, you are well enough now, Miss Burney, in your lilac tabby and your little jacket, but wait until the autumn. There is enough wind in these passages to carry a man o' war. So on no account attend early prayers after October. You'll see Her Majesty and the Princesses and all their attendants soon start to cough and sniffle and then ... one by one they disappear. You'll find that after November not a soul goes to the chapel but the King and the parson and myself. And I only go because I have to. I'll swear it's the same with the parson.'

'So His Majesty is the-stoic, Miss Burney,' Colonel Manners added.

'I am sure His Majesty would always do his duty.'

'Even to letting the whole family perish with the cold.'

'They seem to have survived a great many winters, Colonel Manners. But I do declare it must be most trying if one wished to sneeze in the royal presence.'

'That one must never do, Miss Burney. It is forbidden.'

'What happens if one does sneeze? A sneeze will on occasions creep on one unawares.'

'Is that so, Miss Burney? Is there not a slight tickle in the nose ... a few warnings? They do say that if the forefinger is placed under the nose, so, and the breath held, the sneeze can be suppressed.'

'Oh dear, I do hope that if I ever feel a need to sneeze I shall remember that.'

Colonel Digby said that if he were at hand she need only ask

The Prince in Despair 265

him. His finger was always available to be applied beneath Miss Burney's charming nose.

Fanny giggled. 'But Colonel Digby, how could I warn you in time?'

'Never mind. Should you commit this most serious ofrience I should take the blame.'

'Colonel Digby, you are too good.'

His eyes were fervent. Oh dear, thought Fanny, what a good thing we are not alone ... or is it?

Then Colonel Digby asked Fanny what she was reading and the conversation turned to literary matters which did not please the others; so Colonel Manners talked of the King and the coming visit of the Prince in order to lure Miss Burney and Colonel Digby from the subject which interested them both so much. If he did not, he knew that in a short time they would be talking about Dr. Johnson and James Boswell and the literary set of which Fanny had been a member until she came to Court.

'They'll never understand each other,' Colonel Manners was saying. 'You wait. H.R.H. won't be in the Lodge more than an hour or so before the fur starts to fly. Like to take a bet on it, Digby? What about you, Manners?'

'Make your bets,' said Digby. 'I'll give them a few weeks. But both of them will be on their best behaviour for a while, at any rate.'

'Is it possible?' asked Manners.

'Mr. Pitt's orders,' added Goldsworthy. 'His Highness has to be grateful for his windfall; somewhere in the region of £200,000, I've heard. Wouldn't you expect affability for that? As for His Majesty, well as I said, he has had his instructions. Family devotions is the order of the day.'

'Can they keep it up?' asked Manners.

'They'll manage ... for a while. The King is a stoic'

Goldsworthy cut in: 'You've no idea. Why, yesterday I was hunting with His Majesty. He doesn't spare himself ... nor his attendants. There we were trotting ... riding ... galloping. The er ... I beg your pardon, I fear, Miss Burney, but I was going to say a strange word. The er ... perspiration ... was pouring from us so that we were wet through, popping over

•ditches and jerking over gates from eight in the morning till five or six in the afternoon. Then back to the Lodge, looking like so many drowned rats with not a dry thread among us, nor a morsel within us, sore to the bone and ... forced to smile all the time. And then His Majesty offered me refreshment. "Here, Goldsworthy," he said, "have a little barley water, eh, what?" And there was His Majesty taking his barley water from a jug fit for a sick room ... the sort of thing, Miss Burney, you would find on a hob in a chimney for some poor miserable soul who keeps his bed.'

They were all laughing, visualizing Goldsworthy's discomfiture.

'And what do you think,' went on the garrulous Colonel, 'the Prince of Wales will say if he is offered barley water}'

They were all laughing. And that was how it was on those evenings when Fanny was mistress of the tea table and Schwel-lenburg delighted them all by her absence.

And soon they, like everyone else at Windsor, were back to the subject of the Prince of Wales.

All the way to Windsor the Prince was thinking of Maria as he drove his phaeton at frantic speed to relieve his feelings. With any other woman he would not have worried. Well, with any other woman it would not have been of vital importance. But he had not seen Maria since she had closed her doors on him and he was getting desperate.

Now he had to go through this silly farce of reunion. As if there ever could be a true reunion? As if he and his father could ever agree, or see anything from the same point of view. The King was an old bigot, a silly old despot without even the strength and the power to be one. He had no taste for art; and the only culture he possessed was for music; and even that was mainly confined to Handel.

God help me! thought the Prince. What will it be? Evenings of Handel; lectures on the duty of princes; a game or two of backgammon; the dullest conversation in the world; services in that freezing chapel; more lectures on princes who must not act so as to be talked about; diatribes about Mr. Fox, Mr.

Sheridan and the Whigs; more on the virtues of Mr. Pitt and the Tories.

And Maria? Where was Maria? What if she attempted to leave the country? He had given orders that he was to be told at once if she proposed any moves like that. He had given instructions that close watch was to be kept on her.

How happy he would be if he were driving out to Richmond instead of Windsor ... if only Maria, beautiful, desirable Maria were waiting for him instead of his doddering old father, his stupid mother and his simpering sisters. Well, perhaps he was wrong to condemn the Princesses. He had nothing against them. They, poor creatures, were what they were because they were forced to live like nuns in a convent. Poor Charlotte—twenty-one, she must be. His Maria had had two husbands before she was that age. Not that he cared to think about Maria's previous husbands, except of course that it was her experiences which had made her the mature and fascinating creature she was—and of course they had both been older than she was and must have been dull creatures compared with her third—the Prince of Wales.

Her third husband ... that was the point!

Would she ever forgive him? What could he do? Sherry must help him. It was no use calling on Fox. She hated Fox more than ever and who could wonder at it? Really Charles had gone too far!

And here was Windsor and why was it not Marble Hill and how could he live without Maria? She must come back to him. Something must be done ... or he would have no wish to live.

The King received him formally, the Queen beside him. The Princesses were lined up and presented to him as though he had never met them before.