She said quickly: ‘Of course I did not. Charlotte is eagerly awaiting you. Please …’

‘And you will agree?’ he asked eagerly. ‘You will come to the banquet as I ask?’

She thought: We are bargaining. Be nice to your daughter and I will be present so that the woman whom you hope to make your mistress is not compromised.

No, she thought. I won’t do it. Then she thought of that young girl who was eagerly waiting now, listening for his footstep on the stair.

What does it matter? she thought. He has been unfaithful before. But that was what she had told herself when Lady Jersey had appeared on the scene and had brought about their parting. But he had come back to her. He knew he needed her. Very well, let him have his flirtations, his infatuations, his light love affairs. He would always come back to Maria.

She said: ‘I agree. And now come and show your daughter that world-famous charm.’

How impressive he was! Charlotte was proud of him. No one else had a father like him. George Keppel had Lord Albemarle, who was all right; poor Minney had no father at all, though she had Mrs Fitzherbert, who was perhaps a great deal more comforting – but Charlotte had the Prince of Wales.

He looked enormous – tall and fat; his eyes were laughing; he looked as though something had pleased him; he had somewhat pouting lips which gave him a petulant air and his slightly tilted nose made one want to kiss him. His clothes were magnificent; they made Charlotte feel awkward just to look at them, because they fitted him so perfectly. His coat of very fine dark green cloth was single breasted and he wore it buttoned right up to the chin; his breeches were of leather and his boots Hessian; his neckcloth was of white silk with tiny gold embroidered stars on it; it had many folds and came right up to his chin. He wore a wig which was a profusion of honey-coloured curls. A truly magnificent figure.

He sat down on the chair and Minney ran to him. George remained decorously in the background and he said: ‘And Charlotte? Come and tell me what you have been doing.’

Mrs Fitzherbert smiled and nodded to her as though to say: Don’t be nervous. And she felt that with that good fairy standing there nothing could go wrong.

So she spoke up and told him about the Bish-Up and Dr Nott, imitating them – and some of the amusing things that happened in the schoolroom.

To her delight he thought them funny too, and so did Mrs Fitzherbert, who started everyone laughing a great deal, and when Mrs Fitzherbert laughed so did the Prince.

‘Why not a game?’ said Mrs Fitzherbert. ‘A guessing game.’

All the children were delighted at the prospect, and Mrs Fitzherbert suggested one at which Charlotte always shone.

So they played and Charlotte won a great many points at which the Prince was surprised and pleased; and Charlotte thought on more than one occasion that Mrs Fitzherbert chose questions to which Charlotte knew the answer. And looking across the room at her seated on the chair – serene and plump but with her lovely figure and her skin as fresh as a young girl’s and her masses of golden hair untouched by powder, Charlotte loved her; and a wish came to her. If this were my home … if these were my parents … But she would not go on with it because it was unfair to her own mother, who had come down to Windsor especially to see her. It was not her fault if she had been turned away.

When the Prince took his leave he was affectionate to his daughter and Charlotte’s eyes were shining with pleasure. It had been such a happy afternoon – she rarely remembered enjoying herself so much.

The carriage came to take her with George and Lady de Clifford back to Carlton House, and when she took her leave she threw her arms about Mrs Fitzherbert and buried her face in that magnificent bosom.

Maria held her tightly for a few seconds in a special grip which meant that she understood. Charlotte was saying ‘Thank you’ and Maria was implying that this was a beginning. She was going to make everything right between Charlotte and her father.

Out into the street they went – Lady de Clifford leading. A little crowd had gathered about the carriage. Someone said: ‘That’s her. That’s the Princess Charlotte.’

She inclined her head and smiled graciously – like a queen she hoped.

‘It’s a shame. Bringing her up to be a Papist.’

What did they mean? Lady de Clifford had grasped her arm and was hurrying her into the carriage. George leaped in beside her, and the horses started forward.

‘No popery!’ shouted a voice, and the cry was taken up by the crowd.

‘What is the matter with them?’ said Charlotte; and as no one answered she forgot the silly people and went over every incident of the afternoon, dwelling on those delicious moments when she had scored points and startled her father by her intelligence.

It was a lovely cosy feeling to think that she and Mrs Fitzherbert were in league together.

George Keppel said: ‘I shall never do my French and Latin in time. I expect I shall be punished in the morning.’

‘Do it now,’ she commanded.

‘I can’t. I need lots of time.’

‘Here. Give it to me.’

She was in such a benevolent mood that she wanted everyone to feel as happy as she did. George had not done very well in the game. She supposed the Prince had thought what a silly little boy he was and how different from Charlotte. Of course he was younger – but perhaps the Prince did not know that. She hoped he didn’t – and then was ashamed of herself.

‘I’ll do the Latin exercise for you,’ she said, ‘while you do your French. There. Come on, we’ll start now.’

They worked in silence at the table. She was very happy. She loved all the world. She finished the Latin in a very short time and watched George frowning over the French. She would give him a watch. He had no watch. It would teach him to be more aware of the time and then he would not be behind with his Latin and French lessons. She would give him a horse, too.

She would speak about all this to Lady de Clifford at the first opportunity. And in time she would be on such terms with her father that she would implore him to take back her mother; and they would all live together like a happy family – her mother her father and dearest Mrs Fitzherbert.

George had finished his French and picked up the Latin.

‘There are lots of mistakes in it,’ he said.

‘Be thankful it’s done,’ retorted Charlotte severely.

He would like a watch, she thought fondly. And he shall have it.

Mrs Udney was secretly amused.

‘Pray, Mrs Udney, what do you find so funny?’ demanded Charlotte.

She saw then that Mrs Udney was holding a paper behind her back.

‘Something in the paper, is it?’ said Charlotte. ‘Let me see it.’

‘I don’t think it would be my duty to allow Your Highness to see it.’

‘Mrs Udney, I command you to show me that paper.’

Mrs Udney raised her eyebrows and continued to hold the paper behind her back, but with a quick movement Charlotte snatched it and ran to the window with it.

‘Your Highness!’

‘You may report to Lady de Clifford that I have no manners if you wish. I shall report that you are most … d … disobedient.’

‘I am only concerned for Your Highness’s good and I am not sure whether it is good for you to see that paper. I beg of you … most humbly … to give it back to me.’

‘I shall see first what it is you are trying to hide from me.’

‘It is on the second page, Your Highness.’

‘Oh,’ said Charlotte, ‘and it is about my mother I daresay.’

‘Oh no, Your Highness. It is you this time.’

There was no doubt that Mrs Udney was pleased … the horrid creature.

‘Would Your Highness like me to find it for you?’

Charlotte looked at her through narrowed eyes. Perhaps it was as well to let her do so. There might often be pieces in the paper which she ought to see and therefore if she made it clear that she expected Mrs Udney to show her, the woman might do so – for clearly she enjoyed these pieces.

Charlotte handed her the paper and Mrs Udney opened it and laid it on the table.

‘There, Your Highness.’

‘But what is it supposed to be? That’s meant for Mrs Fitzherbert I suppose. It is not much like her.’

‘Yet Your Highness recognized her.’

‘It’s Mrs Fitzherbert all right, but it makes her nose longer and it is just not beautiful enough.’

‘The object of these cartoons is not to show off beauty but to make the point.’

‘Point? What point? And who is the child she is carrying in her arms? Minney Seymour, I suppose.’

‘Oh, no no. See, the diadem she is wearing. That proclaims her to be royal.’

‘You … you mean … my … myself?’

‘Who else, Your Highness? You have been visiting the lady a great deal lately and the point is that the people don’t like it.’

‘The … p … people! What has it to do with the people?’

‘Everything the royal family does is the concern of the people.’

‘But …’

‘You see, Your Highness, she has been given a pair of wings and she is flying up to heaven with you in her arms. Look what you are holding. A rosary … and images of the saints. You see, it means that she is making a Catholic of you.’

‘But it’s nonsense.’

‘She is a Catholic and she does seem to be a very special friend.’

‘She has never talked to me about religion.’

‘The people won’t believe that.’

‘It’s just n … nonsense,’ said Charlotte angrily and picking up the paper she threw it on to the floor before walking haughtily out of the room.

Lady de Clifford never took her to Tilney Street now; this meant that not only was she cut off from Mrs Fitzherbert but from the Prince of Wales.

‘Why do I never go with you to see Mrs Fitzherbert and Minney nowadays?’ she demanded in her forthright way.

Lady de Clifford looked embarrassed.

‘My dear Princess, it is really better not.’

‘Why not? I liked visiting Mrs Fitzherbert. She is my good friend.’

‘In view of the circumstances …’

‘What circumstances?’

‘You don’t understand these things.’

‘Nothing makes me more angry than to be told I don’t understand. If I don’t understand, then explain.’

‘Mrs Fitzherbert is … scarcely a lady you should visit.’

‘Why not? Nobody could be kinder. She is like a queen. I often think Queen Elizabeth must have been a little like her only not so kind. Come along, my lady, do not try to change the subject. Why must I not visit Mrs Fitzherbert?’

‘Your mother …’

‘My mother always spoke most kindly of her – and in any case I am not allowed to see her either.’

Oh dear, thought Lady de Clifford, I shall be saying something most indiscreet soon. I really think the task of looking after such a princess is too much for me. It was better to tell the truth otherwise she might say something more shocking.

‘You know that Mrs Fitzherbert is a Catholic and that you may well one day be Queen of England.’

‘I shall be Queen of England one day, my lady.’

‘Therefore the people do not wish you to become a Catholic.’

Charlotte stamped her foot. ‘Am I not receiving my religious instruction from the Bish-Up and do you think he would make a Catholic of me?’

Lady de Clifford put her fingers to her ears and begged Charlotte not to utter such heresy.

‘Then tell me how I am in danger of becoming a Catholic.’

‘You are in no danger of course, but the people remember that Mrs Fitzherbert is a Catholic and it is possible that, if you see her very often, she might persuade you to become one.’

‘It’s nonsense … nonsense.’

‘The people are often mistaken, but princes and princesses have to behave in a way which pleases them.’

‘So the people have decided that I am not to see my dear Mrs Fitzherbert.’

‘They have made this quite clear.’

‘I suppose the old Begum has given her orders.’

‘Her Majesty has said nothing as yet, but she will as soon as she reads the spate of comments in the newspapers.’

Charlotte felt an impulse to cry – loudly and angrily. But she did not. There was too much weeping in the family and it had made it a rather ridiculous habit. Real tears should be for real tragedy; and this was one she felt; but she must not cry.

‘Cliffy,’ she said, ‘dear Cliffy, could I see Mrs Fitzherbert once … just once more? Could we ride there … with me dressed like an ordinary young lady … just once … so that I could talk to her? I promise it would be just that once.’