“I hope we shall see the King,” I said. “I wonder what he looks like now.”

David shook his head rather sadly: “Very different from that bright and earnest young man who came to the throne thirty-five years ago.”

“Well, people must change in thirty-five years—even kings.”

“He has had his trials. His family, for one thing. The Prince of Wales has caused him great anxiety.”

“Yes, of course. The morganatic marriage with Mrs. Fitzherbert, and now his strained relations with Princess Caroline.”

“And not only that. He has never got over the loss of the American Colonies, for which he blames himself.”

“And rightly so.”

“Well, that makes it all the more a burden on his mind.”

Indeed it did, I thought, and wondered why I turned everything back to my own case.

“He says over and over again, ‘I shall never lay on my last pillow in quiet as long as I remember my American Colonies.’ He does repeat himself. It’s a feature of that mental illness he had about seven years ago. I am sorry for him. He tried so hard to be a good king.”

“He’s recovered now though.”

“They say so, but I think he is a little strange at times.”

“Poor King. It is all very sad.”

“And more so because he is a good man… a family man… a man who has tried to do his duty.”

“Well, I shall look forward to seeing him. What do you propose we do?”

“Go out. Take little money, wear no jewellery of value and join the sightseers.”

“It sounds interesting.”

“We’ll get out early then.”

When we did go out the people were already lining the streets, but there was something about certain elements in the crowd which was rather disturbing.

One or two seemed to be talking in raised voices. I caught their words as we passed along. High taxes… low wages… unemployment… the price of bread.

I called David’s attention to this and he said: “There are always people like that in the crowds. They find it a little dull and are trying to bring about what they think of as excitement.”

We went into a coffee house and drank hot chocolate while we listened to the talk. It was mainly about the relationship of the Prince of Wales and his wife. He was reputed to have said: “Praise be to Heaven, I do not have to sleep with that disgusting woman any more.”

They were all laughing and speculating as to the sex of the child and whether it would resemble its father or mother. The Prince of Wales was not exactly popular but there was no doubt that the people were deeply interested in his affairs.

When the King’s carriage was due to arrive we were out in the streets. The crowd along the roadside was deep and David drew me a little apart from it. We were standing there when the King rode by, too far to see him clearly, and as I was straining to get a glimpse of him in his splendid robes, suddenly a shot rang out. There was half a second of deep silence. The bullet had struck the window of the King’s carriage. Pandemonium broke out then. People were shouting. They were pointing at the window of an empty house. We were all gazing at a window from which the shot must have been fired.

The King’s coachmen whipped up the horses and the carriage trundled on. Some men were running into the empty house. David put an arm round me. Neither of us spoke.

There was noise everywhere. People seemed to be shouting at each other.

“The King… do you think they shot him?” I stammered.

“I don’t know. Come on. Let’s go in here.”

It was the coffee house which we had previously visited. People were crowding in, talking all the time.

“Did you see? Is this the end of George? Is the Prince now the King?”

“What happened? What happened?”

The trouble was that nobody was sure, and being unsure, they provided their own stories. Rumour was wild. We were in revolt. It was Paris all over again. The revolution had started.

“Not here,” said someone. “Not here. We’ve seen enough of revolution from the other side of the water.”

“He’s not dead. He went straight on to Parliament.”

“He’s got courage, I will say that for him. He may be bumbling old Farmer George, but he’s got courage.”

“Who was it?”

“One of those anarchists, they say. They didn’t get him. He fired from an empty house and got away.”

“We shall hear the truth in due course,” said David.

When we left the coffee house the King was returning from opening Parliament. I saw him in his carriage and felt a great relief that he was unharmed. The mob seemed a little downcast—disappointed perhaps that he had survived. Why do people always relish disaster? I wondered.

He sat there, old and resolute. I felt sorry for him, for I knew it was true that he had tried hard to do his duty. It was not his fault that he had been thrust into a position for which his mental capabilities and his state of mind made him unfit.

I hated to see the cruel faces in the mob. It was distressing to see how they threw stones at the carriage. One hit the King on his cheek. He caught it in his hands and sat there impassive, as though he was quite indifferent to the abuse.

The carriage passed on and David said to me: “Would you like to go home?”

I said I would, and we walked back to Albemarle Street in silence.

The next day we heard that the King had returned safely to his palace and that when the bullet had struck his carriage he had been less agitated than his companions. He was reputed to have said: “My lords, there is One who disposes of all things, and in Him I trust.”

He kept the stone which had hit him—as a memento, he said, of the civilities he had received that day.

“David,” I asked, “what does this mean? Is what happened in France going to happen here?”

David shook his head. “No. I feel sure it won’t. There are not the same reasons. But we have to find these agitators. We have to stop them. I’d be ready to swear that many of these people who were throwing stones at the King’s carriage had become caught up in the excitement of the moment and ordinarily would have been the King’s docile subjects. They are egged on by the agitators. Mob frenzy is a madness, and the agitators know this. They start haranguing the people, telling them of their wrongs, and before long there is a riot… as we saw today.”

“Is it known who these agitators are?”

“They would not exist for long if it were. They are clever. The ringleaders get others to do the task for them, and I’d be ready to swear that they are moving about the country so that they don’t become too well known in one place.”

I was sure he was right and the following day a proclamation was issued offering a reward of a thousand pounds for information about those who had attempted to assassinate the King.

“Do you think there will be a response?” I asked.

“It’s a great deal of money,” mused David, “but I doubt it. These people are well organized. They are professional revolutionaries. It must have been well planned; the assassin was in his place at the precise moment the carriage passed along.”

“Many would know it was due to pass this way.”

“That is more than likely.”

Later we heard that Lord Grenville was introducing a bill into the Lords “for the safety of His Majesty’s person,” and more important, Mr. Pitt in the Commons was making his plans for the prevention of seditious meetings.

Later that day Jonathan and Millicent came to London and the peaceful domesticity was shattered.

Because of the disturbances David said it was necessary for us to stay in London rather longer than we had originally intended, for in view of the attempt on the King’s life, people were less inclined to discuss business. The attempt had been made on the twenty-ninth of October and we were still in London on the fifth of November.

I knew that Jonathan had hastily come to London because of what had happened. I guessed that more disturbances were expected and there was a secret state of emergency.

Jonathan looked alert, keen-eyed, as he did when he was in the throes of an adventure. Clearly he had come to London because he had work to do.

Millicent was serene. I believed that she did not care whether she was in London or the country as long as she was with Jonathan.

She told me that she believed she was to have a child. It was early days yet but she was sure… or almost. It was clear that the possibility made her very happy indeed.

It was the fifth of November, a very significant date in English history, because it was the anniversary of that day when Guy Fawkes had tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament and had been discovered just in time. It was a date which had been celebrated ever since, and even though it had happened long ago, in the year 1605 to be precise, people were still as zealous in their determination to remember the day as they ever had been.

Jonathan and David had gone out. I was not sure whether they had gone together, but I knew David had some business deals to conclude and I had decided not to accompany him. Millicent was in her room: she had declared that she was feeling a little delicate and would stay in bed for a while.

I was alone… thinking of the difference which had come over the house since Jonathan had come and telling myself that perhaps it was just as well that David and I would soon be setting out for Eversleigh.

I heard someone come in.

I thought it was David and went to see, but it was Jonathan who stood smiling at me.

“At last,” he said. “Alone.”

I laughed at him and said uneasily: “You are ridiculous.”

“I am sure of it. But is it not exciting to be by ourselves at last? David is like a watchdog; Millicent is like a shadow; but shadow and watchdog are no longer beside us.”

“The shadow could well appear at any moment.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m getting ready to leave. I think we shall probably start out tomorrow.”

“Just as I have come!”

“That seems as good a reason to go as any.”

“Still afraid of me?”

I turned away.

“I am going out,” he said. “Come with me.”

“I have so much to do here.”

“Nonsense. One of the servants can do it. Do you remember that lovely day we had in London? The time of the royal wedding?”

“It is not very long ago.”

“And they say our Princess is fruitful. I am glad for the Prince’s sake. Poor fellow. It was hard on him to have to do his duty.”

“I think he is able to take care of himself.”

“Like the rest of us he needs the solace of congenial feminine company. Listen to me, Claudine, I want to go out… just to mingle with the crowd and watch. Come with me.”

“Is it people like Léon Blanchard and Alberic you are looking for?”

He came closer to me and looked at me intently. “You’re caught up in this, Claudine,” he said. “I’d rather you weren’t, but you are. From the moment you saw Alberic and recognized the man he was meeting, you became involved.”

“Yes, I see that.”

“It will be easier for me if I am escorting a lady. I want to look like an ordinary sightseer—looking at the guys which are being paraded through the streets. I want to see what is going on. You can help me, Claudine.”

An excitement was gripping me. I told myself it was because of the nature of the exercise rather than because I should be with him.

“Oh come on,” he said. “You are not doing anything important, are you? No business with your husband. A little jaunt can do no harm and I’ll be perfectly harmless on the streets, won’t I? What tricks could I get up to there?”

“I’ll come,” I said.

“Brave lady!” he said ironically. “Go and get your cloak. I’ll be here. I shall just slip up and tell Millicent that I have to go out.”

“Tell her that I shall be with you,” I said.

He smiled at me slyly and said nothing.

There was excitement in the streets of London—and not only because I was with Jonathan.

“The best time is at night,” he said, “when the bonfires are lighted. We must come out tonight.”

“Do you think the others would want to?”

“David… perhaps… Millicent… perhaps too. It would be more fun if you and I were alone.”

I said: “Look at that extraordinary guy. What is it supposed to be?”

“I could not begin to guess. Perhaps just Master Fawkes himself.”

Six ragged little boys carried the straw-packed figure, singing as they went:

Guy, guy, guy, stick him up in high,