They were always at the back of his mind—those Colonies. They and the Prince of Wales were the biggest anxieties of his life.

'And so,' said the King, 'you are in difficulties.'

'I owe money in all directions.'

'So you think you can run away and escape your creditors, eh?'

'I think it would be well to get away for a while.'

'And this is your reason for wanting to go?'

'Yes, sir.'

Liar, thought the King. You want to go in search of the widow who has run away and left you. Good sensible woman. To think that his subjects had to run away to escape the importunings of the Prince of Wales! A pleasant state of affairs!

'I could not give my consent to your going abroad,' said the King flatly. 'And I should like to have further details of your debts. I want an explanation of all details. And then we will see what can be done about settling them. And if this should be possible, I hope you will let this be a lesson to you.'

The Prince was not listening. He was frantic. Any other man could have been free to leave the country if he wished, but he was a prisoner.

He rode out to Chcrtsey. Fox was not at home but Lizzie was there to comfort him ... if it had been possible to give him any comfort.

'Lizzie, Lizzie, what can I do?'

'There must be something,' she comforted. 'I will talk it over with Charles. There must be a way out.'

'I don't even know where she is. I've been to see the old buffoon and he talks about details of debts. How do I know how the money is spent? But he is determined I shan't go abroad. He knows why I want to go. Everyone gossips. And the sanctimonious old humbug preaches to me. "Gambling and women," he says, and licks his lips because he's never had either.'

'Your Highness should plan calmly, I think.'

He seized her hands. 'How, Lizzie? How?'

'Well, let us think. If we could find out where she was, you could perhaps write to her.'

Letters! Soothing balm always! And he had a way with a pen which might move her. When she had thought he was dying she had relented so far as to allow him to put that ring on her finger, to sign the document*. If he could move her with his pen

He looked hopefully at Lizzie.

'But where ... where is she?'

'We shall have to find out.'

'And then I shall not be able to go to her. Then there are only letters. Oh, Lizzie, if you knew the depth of my feelings.'

'I do,' she said gently.

'You can't, I have never experienced this passion before

during the whole of my life. I will never know another moment's peace until she comes back to me.' He threw himself on to a couch and covering his face with his hands, wept.

Lizzie Armistead told Charles Fox afterwards that although she had heard him express himself somewhat emotionally before she had never seen him act so violently. He was half laughing, half crying; he lay on the floor and rolled backwards and forwards; he struck his forehead and frightened Lizzie because she thought he was going mad.

'Your Highness,' she begged, 'I pray you get up and sit down. Nothing can be solved by rolling on the floor/

'What can be solved standing up?' he demanded.

'Calm thinking might bring us to a solution/

'Lizzie, I will tell you this: I shall forgo the Crown. If I cannot as heir to it marry where I will then I shall abandon my claim to it. I have my brothers. I shall sell everything I have— jewels, plate, everything. I shall find Maria and fly with her to America/

America, thought Lizzie. A rather unfortunate choice. She wondered how the Americans would greet the son of the King who had been their greatest enemy.

But this was not the occasion to point it out to the Prince.

She had an idea. 'Your Highness cannot go abroad, that is certain since the King forbids it, but why should others not go and at least find out where she is. If you traced her you could write to her and I believe your letters would be most persuasive/

'Lizzie/ he said. 'God bless you. You were always my good friend/

There was one man who could find Maria if anyone could. That was the Due d'Orteans, who was at this time in England. The Prince was certain that Maria had gone to France, because she knew the country well and it would be a second home to her. Orleans was living in London with Grace Elliott who, not very long ago, had been the mistress of the Prince of Wales.

Theirs had been a comfortable love affair—no protestations of devotion on either side. Grace—known as Dally the Tall,

because she had a tall and willowy figure and before her marriage to a Dr. Elliott she had been a Dalrymple—was a gay young woman who had had a host of lovers and she and the Prince had parted without regrets and therefore as the best of friends.

When the Prince invited Orleans to Carlton House and confided his troubles, the Frenchman was full of sympathy.

'She is in your country, I am sure of it,' cried the Prince. 'But I do not know where.'

'It should not be impossible to find out,' replied Orleans. 'Such a beautiful Englishwoman would create talk wherever she went.'

The Prince clenched his hands together at the thought of his infinitely desirable Maria in that country where men were noted for their gallantry. What if someone were able to offer her what the Prince was not ... honourable marriage?

'I must find her,' he cried. 'I want to tell her that I will give up everything ... simply everything in order to marry her.'

The Due nodded sympathetically. He thought the Prince a fool who did not know what he was talking about. Give up a crown for this plump matron? Orleans had his eyes on another crown and from the reports he heard from his spies all ovei his country, and particularly those who prowled about the Palais Royale, affairs in France were working towards some sort of climax which could be very beneficial to the Due d'Orl£ans.

He was a very ambitious man and although not yet forty, owing to the life he had led he had developed that revolting skin disease which made his hair fall out and his complexion hideous to behold; but these disabilities affected him little in society because they were offset by his fortune and his connection with the royal family of France.

It suddenly occurred to him that this might be a very propitious time to return to France, for if interesting events were about to take place it was as well to be on the spot.

He could go back to Paris, setting new fashions in his pink coat, top boots and leather breeches; he would have his English style carriage over there, introduce horse-racing; and at the same time let the people know how much better affairs were run in England than in France.

Here was an excellent excuse for returning. Not because affairs were taking an interesting turn; not because fche news he heard from his spies was setting him on the alert; not because he wished to be at hand to help disconcert his cousin, the King, and the woman he hated most in the world, the Queen of France—but to help his friend and kinsman, the Prince of Wales, to find a woman who had run away from him.

'I doubt not that I could have her whereabouts discovered in a week or so.'

'Is that possible?'

'If I went to France and saw to this matter myself.'

'But... you do not wish to leave England.'

'In the service of my dear friend I would do anything.'

'You mean that you would...'

The Due bowed gracefully. 'For you, my dear friend and Prince, I would do much.'

The Prince fell on to the Due's neck and embraced him, forgetting for once that horrible skin disease.

And the Due, full of plans, left with Grace for France where he set about introducing English fashions, undermining the throne of France and finding Maria Fitzherbert.

As he had predicted, this last was simple.