He summoned Pitt to ask his advice.

Pitt read the letters and did not like the tone of them.

"It would not be good," he said, "for the Prince to become a martyr."

"I agree," replied the King; "I will write to him without delay and let him know that I have not given him an absolute refusal."

"I think that an excellent idea, Your Majesty," said Pitt. "I suppose these debts should be paid, but at the same time His Highness should be made to realize that Your Majesty's Government does not look with pleasure on his extravagant way of life."

"He shall be made to understand that, Mr. Pitt, I promise you."

When Pitt had left the King immediately wrote to the Prince. He had not made a complete refusal, he explained, but if the Prince proposed taking any rash steps he should remember that he himself would be the one who would be obliged to take the consequences of them.

On receiving his father's letter the Prince cried: "Very well. I'll show him."

Maria was with him. She was delighted by his resolution and that made him all the more determined.

"You are right," she cried. "I know you are right."

She did not realize, dear Maria, that nothing could have put the King into a more unfortunate position; to her it was just a matter of economy.

"I shall sell all my horses," he told her. "I shall shut up Carlton House, except a few rooms. You and I will go down to Brighton. It is cheaper living there. By God, I can imagine my father's pique when he hears I have put up my horses and carriages for sale. And I shall do so ... publicly. It is time everyone knew how I am treated."

Fox was gleeful.

"This," he declared to Sheridan, "will be a defeat for the King and Pitt. We must see that everyone views it in that light. If the Prince suggested going abroad for a spell for the sake of economy it would do no harm. My God, this is going to make old George wish he had paid young George's debts. Depend upon it, he will try to do so now. But we don't really want him to ... not yet."

Fox was very merry. Oh, clever Mr. Pitt, who had prevaricated a little too long. Oh, stupid old George, who did not realize that the people were asking themselves and each other why it was that he quarrelled with all his family.

Fox set his writers working on their pamphlets and cartoons. "We must make the most of the situation, Sherry," he said. "A little discomfort won't hurt young George. In fact, I believe he is enjoying it."

And so it seemed. The Prince of Wales, like other members of the royal family, was finding the game of baiting the King highly diverting.

In the coffee houses people talked about the quarrel between the Prince and the King; it had taken the place of the Fitzherbert affair. What an amusing and fascinating personality they had in the Prince of Wales! There was always some excitement going on about him. God bless the Prince of Wales, cried the people. As for the King, he was an old bore, he and his fertile Charlotte. The Prince and his Maria Fitzherbert were more pleasant to look at and their story was so romantic.

Fox and his friends talked of the impossibility of the King to get along with any member of the royal family. He had quarrelled with his brothers, Gloucester and Cumberland, because of their marriages. Was it not time the bones of those old skeletons stopped rattling? Gloucester was forced to live in Florence because he found it undignified that his wife, a royal duchess, should not be received at Court; the Cumberlands were not received cither because they had married without the King's consent. Prince Frederick, Duke of York, was in Hanover learning to be a soldier (the King did not think the English Army good enough for his sons), William was at sea, Edward was in Geneva, and the younger Princes were to be sent to Gottingen because the King did not consider the standard of Oxford and Cambridge as high as that of the German university.

What a ridiculous old man this king of theirs was! No wonder his family quarrelled with him. And now he had treated the Prince of Wales so badly that he had to give up Carlton House and had been forced to sell all his horses and carriages in order to pay his debts.

Was it not a disgrace to the nation that the Prince of Wales did not possess his own carriage?

When the Prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert drove down to Brighton they went by hired post-chaise. This was the first time Royalty had ever had to travel in a hired conveyance and the Prince took a delight in allowing Mrs. Fitzherbert to pay whenever they hired a conveyance.

The nation was shocked, and at Windsor the King was sadly aware of his growing unpopularity.

The Prince had successfully turned the tables. He was clearly enjoying his spell of penury, whereas the King was finding it most embarrassing.

Attack at St. James's

"Dear Haggerdorn," said the Queen, "how I shall miss you when you have gone."

Mrs. Haggerdorn, faithful attendant for twenty-five years, turned away to hide the tears which filled her eyes. For so long now she had dreamed of going home and now that the time had come she felt this reluctance to go—but her only real regret was leaving the Queen.

"Your Majesty has been so good to me," whispered Haggerdorn. "That is why I am sad to go."

"Twenty-five years is a long time," said the Queen.

"Ah, Madam, I shall never forget the day we left. And that dreadful sea journey when Your Majesty set such an example to us all by playing the harpsichord when we were all so sick."

"I happened to be a good sailor, Haggerdorn; and I expect I was a little defiant. It is a terrible anxiety to come to a country one has never seen ... to a husband who is a stranger ..."

"Ah, Your Majesty, I know it. In my small way I too suffered. But Your Majesty has been a blessing to His Majesty and the English people. You have given them so many sons and daughters."

"Too many, perhaps, Haggerdorn. We have had our troubles. But cheer up. You will soon be in Mecklenburg.

Think of that. You will sec my family, my old friends. Do you think they will remember me, Haggerdorn, after twenty-five years?"

"They could never forget you, Madam."

"Perhaps not. They will have heard news of the Queen of England from time to time. I expect they hear of the scandals my son has a talent for creating."

There was a hint of dislike in her voice which startled Haggerdorn. She remembered how at one time the Queen's voice had softened every time she spoke of the Prince of Wales.

Perhaps, thought the mild and peace-loving Haggerdorn, it was indeed a good thing that she was going home. There had always been trouble with the Prince and now that he was growing older those troubles would grow with him; and the other boys were growing into the trouble-making age. Madam von Schwellenburg had always been so arrogant and demanding. Then there was His Majesty the King. Only those close to the Queen realized how anxious she was on his account and how oddly he could behave at times.

He entered the Queen's apartment at that moment, brows furrowed, eyebrows bristling, his face that unhealthy brick red.

The Queen said: "Your Majesty, dear Haggerdorn is saying goodbye to me. You know she is leaving us."

The King looked at Haggerdorn, his eyes softened by sentiment.

"Ah yes, yes, good Haggerdorn. Pleasant journey. Sorry to see you go. Very sorry."

Haggerdorn curtsied as elegantly as creaking knees and rheumatic pains would allow. Oh, yes, it was time she left draughty Windsor Lodge. She needed a little comfort in her old age.

"I shall miss her," said the Queen.

"Yes, we shall miss her." The King was at his best on such an occasion. He was kind and showed an interest in Haggerdorn's plans. No wonder, thought the Queen, that it was said he was more like a country squire than a king.

He made Haggerdorn tell him what she intended to do; and assured her that he would sec that she went off well provided for.

Yes, thought the Queen, a very good squire.

How critical she was becoming—of the King, of her sons, of her life!

Haggerdorn's impending departure had made her think of that day twenty-five years ago when the dazzling prospect of being Queen of England had been revealed to her. And what had it amounted to? She had become a breeder of children. Fifteen children in twenty-five years. There had not been a great deal of time when she had not been either pregnant or giving birth. Two little boys had died—Octavius and Alfred— but thirteen were left to her; and now that they were growing up, they for whom she had lived and suffered were turning against her. Her eldest son despised both her and his father; and never before had she been aware of such friction in the family. She was anxious about the Prince; she was anxious about the King. Lucky Haggerdorn who had no responsibilities, no ties, who would go home to Mecklenburg-Strelitz and enjoy a peaceful old age!

When Haggerdorn had been dismissed the Queen said to the King: "I have been thinking about the replacement of Haggerdorn."

"Yes, yes," said the King, now as always deeply interested in household matters.

"I have an idea. I wonder what Your Majesty will think of it."

The change in him was miraculous. She thought: If he could be shut away from State affairs and his troublesome sons, he could be a happy family man. He should be concerned with only small matters. Poor George, to have been born heir to a crown!

"I am eager to hear," he told her.

"Do you remember the authoress we met at dear Mrs. Delaney's ... the famous Miss Burney? I was thinking of giving the place to her."

The King's face lit up with pleasure. "Dear Mrs. Delaney," he said. "I remember well."

That was a pleasant memory. He had set Mrs. Delaney up in a house close to Windsor Lodge; he had supplied all the furniture himself and had even seen to the stocking of the kitchen cupboards. She remembered his great glee when he brought Mrs. Delaney to see it and tears of pleasure now came into his eyes at the memory.

"Miss Burney," said the King. "A very clever young lady, so they tell me."

"There can be no doubt that she is clever. I should like to hear her read her own books. We are in need of a reader and it seems to me an excellent plan to have a famous authoress in the household."

The King was nodding. Such a pleasant encounter. Miss Burney had been so overcome by royal condescension and both he and the Queen had talked to her of her books.

"Yes, yes, yes," went on the King. "I think you should give the place to Miss Burney."

It was ten o'clock on a hot July morning when the carriage containing Miss Burney and her father left St. Martin's Street for Windsor. Dr. Burney was delighted with this honour bestowed on his daughter; Fanny herself was less certain.

What was she, a famous novelist, the darling of London literary society, accustomed to enlightened conversation, going to do in what she knew must be the stultified atmosphere of the royal household?

Perhaps it was not such a fortunate day when she had gone to stay with Mrs. Delaney and had made the acquaintance of the King and Queen. Who would have thought from that meeting that this would have happened?

But one did not apparently decline what was undoubtedly looked upon as an honour.

Oh dear, thought Fanny, there is nothing to be done but submit.

And she thought of the Queen—the squat ugly little woman with the German accent; and the big alarming King with those fierce eyebrows and that disconcerting habit of shooting questions at one which perhaps did not need an answer. "Eh, eh? What, what?" And speaking so quickly that if one were a little nervous—and who would not be speaking to the King?—one just could not understand what he was talking about.

But Father, dear Father, was delighted; and so were the family. She could imagine them all boasting: "Fanny, you know our famous Fanny, is now in the royal household, on terms—but the most familiar terms—with Her Majesty the Queen."

Dr. Burney was now looking as pleased as though he were taking his bow on a concert platform after the most successful performance of his career.

How, Fanny asked herself, in these circumstances, can I reveal my true feelings?

Her eyes rested on her bag. In that were her clothes which she was sure would be most unsuitable. She had no feeling for clothes and never would have. But in that bag was her diary and that should be her comfort, her solace, and in it she would write frankly of her feelings and impressions; she would also write to her sister Susan. Yes, whatever alarms and discomforts, she would always be able to write.