Dr. Burney was talking of the King with respectful awe. The King, whatever people might say of him, loved music, so Fanny should hear some good music in the royal household. There were concerts every night.

Yes, I know, thought Fanny. But what conversation will there be?

She thought of the old days when she had listened to dear Dr. Johnson and James Boswell and Mrs. Thrale.

Oh dear, thought Fanny, I feel like a nun about to be incarcerated in a monastery—or a bride who is going to a husband who is a stranger to her. Thus must the poor Queen have felt when she came here from Mecklenburg-Strelitz all those years ago. At least my plight is not as bad as hers. It is not for ever. Fanny giggled to herself. And I shall not be expected to bear the royal children.

Her father smiled at her. Fanny was realizing the honour which was hers.

They came into Windsor and there was the Castle—grand and imposing.

"You will not live in the Castle, of course," her father reminded her, "but in the Upper Lodge."

"Less imposing," said Fanny, and added hopefully: "But perhaps more comfortable."

The carriage had arrived at Mrs. Delaney's house and here they alighted. Mrs. Delaney welcomed them into her house, beaming with pleasure, for she regarded this appointment of Fanny's as her doing.

While the luggage was being taken out Mrs. Delaney sent a message to Upper Lodge to say that Miss Burney had arrived. Then Fanny, Dr. Burney and their hostess sat together in the little drawing room while Mrs. Delaney gave Fanny a grounding in Court etiquette.

" I am certain to do something wrong," declared Fanny. "I know it."

"My dear," said Mrs. Delaney, "you will find Her Majesty very kind."

"She will need to be," said Fanny grimly.

"Remember, my dear, that you are a famous novelist and that the Queen has enjoyed your books. In fact she is hoping that you will read them aloud to her and the Princesses."

"But you know my voice. It is low, and when I raise it it ... it squeaks. Oh, dear Mrs. Delaney, I shall be the most dismal failure." Fanny brightened. "But then I shall be dismissed and go home again. So perhaps that will not be such a bad thing."

"It is a good thing," said Dr. Burney, "that Her Majesty cannot hear you talking in this way."

A message was delivered at Mrs. Delaney's that the Queen had heard of the arrival of Dr. and Miss Burney and was ready to receive them.

"So," said Mrs. Delaney, "you may go and good luck go with you."

Fanny put her arm through her father's and they crossed the short distance between Mrs. Delaney's house and the Upper Lodge.

In the Queen's drawing room Her Majesty was seated, and standing beside her was a large and extremely ugly woman to whom Fanny took an immediate dislike.

Forward, thought Fanny, remembering Mrs. Delaney's instructions. Kneel, look suitably humble, do not speak until spoken to.

"Dr. Burney ... Miss Burney."

The Queen was smiling. "It gives nic great pleasure to sec you. Miss Burney, we hope you are going to be happy with us."

"Your Majesty is very gracious," murmured Fanny.

Dr. Burney, at ease, said something about his daughter's being overcome by the honour done to her.

"It is delightful to have a novelist with us who has given such pleasure with her books," said the Queen. "This is my Keeper of the Robes. She will tell you what your duties will be. Schwellenburg, pray take Miss Burney to her apartments. I daresay she is a little tired and perhaps would like to rest before she begins her duties."

The cue to depart, thought Fanny, her spirits which were never downcast for long, beginning to rise.

She walked out backwards—a necessary procedure, Mrs. Delancy had told her, and a most awkward one, Fanny decided. Oh dear, I'm sure I shall trip and if I have to wear high heels how shall I manage it?

At last the door had shut and she was able to walk naturally.

She smiled up at the grim face of Madam von Schwellenburg and thought it extremely unpleasant.

"This vay com," were the words which came from that excessively ugly mouth.

I do not think, thought Fanny, as she was led to her apartments, that I underestimated the trials of life in the royal household.

Fanny's apartments were on the ground floor of the Queen's Lodge. She had a drawing room, which gave her a view of the Round Tower and a small bedroom which looked out on a garden. Not exactly commodious, she thought, but adequate. Less comforting was the door next to that of her drawing room which led up to the apartments of Madam von Schwellenburg.

She was given a man- and maidservant and momentarily thought that she might be about to enjoy a life of ease, but was quickly disillusioned.

Madam von Schwellenburg took pains to impress on her that, as Keeper of the Robes, she was Fanny's superior since Fanny bore the explanatory title of Assistant Keeper of the Robes.

I make rules," Schwellenburg informed her. "I ... selfs." And did Fanny like toads because to Madam von Schwellenburg they were the most delightful of creatures. Hers were especially clever toads. They croaked when she tapped their cages with her snuff boxes.

Fanny was revolted by the creatures and showed it.

"So ... you do not like?" Schwellenburg was offended. She was not going to have upstart novelists turning their noses up at her precious pets. And from then on she decided to make Fanny's life burdensome to her.

"Novels," she declared to her pet toad, giving Fanny a venomous look over her shoulder. "I von't haf nuddink vat you call novels, vat you call romances, vat you call histories. I might not read vat you call... stuff."

Fanny felt an irrepressible urge to giggle, but restrained it. She had quickly perceived that Madame von Schwellenburg was going to be one of the trials of her Court life.

There were others—rising at six every morning and putting on a cap and gown so as to be ready to fly to the royal apartments as soon as the summons came from the Queen, which could be at any time between seven and eight. The Queen rose earlier but never sent for Fanny until her hair had been dressed by Mrs. Thielky, who was a German, but who spoke English as well as the Queen and with less of an accent.

Schwellenburg, Fanny had heard, stayed in bed until midday. Soon after her arrival in England she had proclaimed herself to be too important to take part in any work; her post was to superintend the maids. This she insisted on, which pleased Fanny, since one did not have to see so much of the disagreeable old woman if she were absent during the morning. When summoned, Fanny and Mrs. Thielky between them dressed the Queen—Mrs. Thielky as the more experienced handing the garments to Fanny who put them on.

Fanny could not help smiling to herself and imagining the disaster that would have occurred if she had had to decide which went on first.

She would tell Susan that she would run a prodigious risk of picking up the gown before the hoop and the fan before the neck kerchief.

Soon after eight there were prayers in the Castle Chapel at which all the royal family in residence attended. Then back to breakfast—the most pleasant time of the day when she could sit over the meal for an hour with a book. There followed what could be a leisurely morning if it was not one of the Queen's curling and crimping days which she discovered occurred twice a week and at which ceremony she would be required to assist.

But the Queen's dressing for the day did not take place until a quarter to one and this was the real ceremony with Schwellenburg in command. Fanny was grateful for the consideration of the Queen who never commented on her little mistakes, but looked at the newspapers while the operation was in progress and often read out little paragraphs. After she had done so she would glance at Fanny to see if she had liked that little piece, and Fanny was touched by this little attention to her literary tastes and felt that, but for the nature of her immediate superior, she could have settled in to her new life happily enough.

Being at Court Fanny had her own toilette to attend to— something to which previously she had not given a great deal of thought. But at five o'clock the biggest trial of all—she must dine with Madam von Schwellenburg—a horrible ordeal with the old German woman showing with every gesture and almost every word she spoke her disapproval of her new assistant. Coffee was taken in Schwellenburg's drawing room while the King and his family paraded on the terraces; the Princesses liked to make quite a ceremony of this and, dressed elaborately, they walked up and down twirling their fans and bowing and smiling at the people who had come to look at them.

Poor creatures, thought Fanny, they are like birds in cages, and these terrace parades are their only chance to spread their wings a little ... but very little.

At eight o'clock it was one of her duties to make tea for the equerries or any gentlemen who had received a royal invitation to attend one of the nightly concerts.

Between nine and eleven, while the concert was in progress, Fanny must sit with Schwellenburg; then there was supper and the last attendance on the Queen. After that Fanny would fall into her bed and be asleep almost immediately.

It was a tiring day and, as each day was very like those which had preceded it, very monotonous.

But Fanny had her diary and she looked forward to her encounters with the Princesses—who being young and eager to escape the monotony interested her more than anyone else at Court, and she was sorry for them because although etiquette would forbid her renouncing a post which so many had coveted and which had been bestowed upon her by the Queen, she knew that in due course she would escape—whereas the poor little Princesses had endured this state all their lives and would continue to do so until they married.

During her leisure hours she wrote in her diary and letters home. This was her greatest pleasure.

The King had had a word or two with Miss Burney when he passed through the Queen's apartments. His eyes twinkled every time they alighted on her; he evidently thought it most odd that she should have written a novel. But he always spoke to her kindly and if he had not spoken so quickly and she could have understood what he meant she would not have been in the least afraid of him.

As he came out of the Lodge on an August morning he was thinking of the Prince of Wales and the spectacle he made of himself pretending to economize. Something would have to be done about that sooner or later. He would have to speak to Pitt again.

As his carriage drove from Windsor to St. James's he was aware of the sullen looks which came his way; there was silence too. No loyal shouts. Quite a number of people passed the carriage without a glance. There was one cry of "Long live the Prince of Wales'.

Sad, thought the King, when a loyal shout for the son meant a disloyal thought directed against the father.

He was tired. There were occasions when he felt ill, when he wished that he could shut himself away if not at Windsor at Kew and never have to see a politician again and to forget that he had ever begotten a son named George.

As soon as the levee was over he would return to Windsor. He would hunt, for exercise was so good for one of his ever-increasing weight; and on horseback he could forget his trouble.

His carriage was approaching St. James's Palace where a little knot of people—not more than half a dozen—had paused to watch him. He stepped out of the carriage and as he did so a woman disengaged herself from that little crowd and ran towards him waving a paper in her right hand.

Oh dear, thought the King, a petition. Still he must pay attention when his people wished to call attention to some imagined injustice.

He put out a hand to take the paper and as he did so the woman's left hand shot up; in the same second he saw the gleam of the knife and felt the dull thud in his chest.

There was a scream from the crowd. The King's attendants had seized the woman.

"Let me go," she cried. "I am the true Queen. The Crown is mine."

The poor creature is mad, thought the King, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Treat her gently," he commanded. "I am unharmed. But tell me is my waistcoat cut?"

"Your Majesty ... you are feeling..."

"I am unhurt," said the King. "Take the poor creature away. Come, we have a levee waiting for us."