Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill - Plaidy Jean - Страница 50

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'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.

7 make rules,' Schwellenburg informed her. 'I ... selfs.' And did Fanny like toads because to Madam von Schwellenburg tltey 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 offendect. 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 Schwel-lenburg 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 pro-

gress, 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.

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