“If this terrible wrong I have done him…”
“I have told you it is only a wrong if it is found out.”
“I don’t accept your cynical deductions. But if this terrible wrong I have done him can be kept from him, I shall never, never do anything that can hurt him again.”
“It is unwise to make such vows, Claudine.”
I stood up and he was beside me.
“What a beautiful day,” he said. “The river, the quiet of the countryside… and you alone here with me.”
“Let us go back,” I said.
We rode back and when we reached the City the crowds were still in the streets.
There were one or two servants in the house. They told us that they were having time free in the evening when the others returned.
It was about five o’clock.
Jonathan said: “As you have no desire to remain in the house, I suggest we go out again. In an hour, eh? We’ll get a boat and I’ll row you down the river… or up if you prefer. You shall decide.”
I was so happy and the day was not yet over. I wanted so much to be with him. I believed I enjoyed the battle within myself and I was gratified because I was sure of my ability to win.
“Change into something, not too elaborate,” he said. “We don’t want to attract the attention of rogues and pickpockets. We’ll look like a merchant and his wife out to enjoy all the fun.”
It must have been about six o’clock when we left the house. The river was even more crowded and the taverns overflowing. Jonathan put his arm through mine protectively and held me close against him as we made our way down to the river’s edge, where he hired a boat.
There were a lot of craft on the river and. Jonathan said we must get away from the crowds. It was not easy but Jonathan was determined, and as most people did not want to stray too far from the centre of the town where all the fun was, in due course we found ourselves passing through Kew on the way to Richmond.
There was magic in the evening, or perhaps I felt that because Jonathan was beside me. He managed the boat with easy skill. I trailed my hand in the water and thought: I’m happy. I want this to go on and on. There was no harm in being happy, was there?
“This is pleasant isn’t it?” he asked.
“It’s lovely.”
“You look contented. I like to see you thus. This has been a wonderful day for me, Claudine.”
“I have enjoyed it very much.”
“And do you feel you know me a little better now?”
“Yes. I think perhaps I do.”
“And do I improve on closer acquaintance?”
I was silent.
“Do I?” he insisted.
“I could never think as you do, Jonathan. I could not take such a view of life.”
“So you would suffer agonies of remorse when there is no need to.”
“Oh, Jonathan, as I see it, there is every need to.”
“One of these days I will make you see from my point of view.”
“It is too late,” I told him. “I married David and you are going to marry Millicent. Let your consolation—if consolation you need—be that her father’s financial interests will make very sturdy bricks in that great family edifice which it is so important to build. If you had married me, I should have brought you nothing. Think what you would have missed!”
“David would have had Millicent then.”
“David… Millicent. Oh no!”
“I agree he would have been no match for her. Accept life, Claudine. He takes you. I take Millicent. But you and I are caught in love, and if in life one cannot have everything one wants, at least one can take what one can get.”
“I had never before considered how magnanimous it was of your father to agree to the marriage of one of his sons to a penniless girl.”
“The circumstances were unusual. There was your mother’s influence and you were no ordinary penniless girl. As long as one of us took Millicent, the other could have you.”
“I cannot believe it was worked out like that.”
“Not so plainly. These matters are arranged by gentle suggestions. But they are nonetheless firm for all that. But why waste this evening on such sordid matters? Do you like it here, Claudine? The stars will be coming out soon. I know of a very pleasant inn near the Richmond towpath.”
“How knowledgeable you are about the inns of the country!”
“It is quite an art to know where to eat well.”
“More friends of yours?”
“All innkeepers are friends of mine. Yes, I am right. There is the first star. Venus, I think. See how bright she is. The star of love.”
“It could well be Mars,” I told him.
“Oh Claudine, why did you do this? What fun we could have had, you and I together. Your miserable conscience could have gone slumbering on.”
“You promised not to talk of it,” I said.
“So I did… and I think the inn is just along here. There. You can see the lights. I’ll pull in at the privy steps and tie up the boat.”
He lifted me out and held me for a few seconds, smiling up at me. Then he took my hand and we went into the riverside inn. There were several people there and ale was being served which the people were drinking while they ate the whitebait, which was a speciality of the inn.
I was amazed to see how easily Jonathan fitted in with this kind of company. We sat at one of the tables, drank mild ale, and ate the fish which was brought to us.
“There,” he said. “You have never done this before.”
“Never,” I agreed.
“Enjoying it?”
“Very much.”
“Is it the venue or the company? Come, Claudine, you can be honest.”
I said: “I think perhaps it is both.”
He speared a whitebait on the prong of his fork.
“Delicious,” he said. “Small but none the worse for that, eh? No wonder whitebait is becoming more and more popular.”
Someone started to sing. The singer had a good tenor voice but his song was one which could be called controversial on a day such as this. I knew it well, as most people did. It had been written by a Yorkshire man, William Upton, about his lady love; but it fitted another couple so well that this was the very reason why it had become so popular.
The Richmond Hill in the song might be that Richmond in Yorkshire, but there was also a Richmond near London and Mrs. Fitzherbert had lived at Marble Hill close by; moreover there was a rumour that she and the Prince had met on the towpath at Richmond. So that song had become popular throughout the country—made so by the Prince’s romance, without which Mr. Upton’s song would have gone unnoticed.
On Richmond Hill there lives a lass
More bright than May day morn,
Whose charms all other maids’ surpass
A rose without a thorn.
This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet
Has won my right good will.
I’d crowns resign to call thee mine
Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.
The last lines were particularly apt because there had been a time when the Prince of Wales had considered, some said, resigning his crown for the sake of Maria Fitzherbert. However, all that was past now; he had repudiated Maria, and if his new wife was Caroline of Brunswick, his mistress was Lady Jersey.