But there were new difficulties in the way. Money, for one thing, was lacking now, and she knew only too well how necessary money was. Now, too, she was alone. To whom was she to apply for assistance? Of all her old associates, Peltier alone was accessible, and he was absorbed in his work, as journalist and man of letters.
Why, she asked herself, should she not seek the help of a member of the Royal Family of France? The Comte d’Artois, who had taken in his turn the titles of Monsieur and of Comte de Provence, since his brother’s proclamation as King, was living in England. Why not apply to him? The ingenuous lady did not think of the very weighty reasons why such an appeal must be in vain. Convinced that the Dauphin still lived, she imagined that she could convert the Comte to her way of thinking, and induce him to join her in her search after the truth.
Encouraged by the attitude taken up by the British Government towards her project of inquiring minutely into the matter on the Continent, Lady Atkyns decided before leaving England to approach the Comte, hoping to secure not merely his approval, but also some material assistance. Had she not sacrificed a large portion of her own worldly goods for the benefit of his family? Thus reasoning, she did not conceive the possibility of a refusal. But Monsieur could not regard as anything short of fantastic the supposition upon which her project was based—the supposition that his nephew still survived. To present this hypothesis either to him or to his brother the King was to put one’s self out of court at once.
We can imagine how her application was received. She chose as her intermediary with the Prince the Baron de Suzannet, who had facilitated the purchase of the ships and equipages which were procured in readiness for the rescue of the Queen and the Dauphin.
Having the entrée to the Court, and being one of the most notable of the émigrés in London, he consented to submit his friend’s request to Monsieur. Did he foresee the issue? Apparently not. Here is what he writes to her on August 19, 1797:—
“After the decision M[onsieur] has come to, my dear lady, not to give his countenance to your affair until it has been taken up by others, and after speaking to him so often on the subject, I cannot carry the matter any further, and could not ask him for money. But I see no reason why you should not yourself write to him more or less what you have told me, viz. that you were about to return to France with the consent of the Government, that you ought to be provided with the same amount for returning as you have been for going, but that fifty louis is very scant provision for that—especially considering that you have had to hide yourself away here so long—and that you are afraid you will not have sufficient to enable you to remain long enough in Paris to get together all the particulars required by the Government, and to pay the messenger for bringing them here; and you might point out that you have acted throughout entirely in the interests of the Royal Family, that you do not regret the £1000[76] which your attachment has cost you, or regret them only because you no longer have the money to devote to the cause; and that if M[onsieur] for his part could give you £50, it would free you from anxiety as to ways and means....
“I shall tell M[onsieur] that I am aware you have written to him, and that I shall convey his answer to you. He has been taking medicine to-day and can see no one. To-morrow he is to see some people at the Duc d’Harcourt’s, if well enough. He will not be going away before Wednesday. His address is 55, Welbeck Street. I think you would do well to send your letter to him by hand, sealed and addressed ‘À Monsieur Seul,’ enclosed in an outer envelope with his ordinary address: ‘Son Altesse Royale Monsieur, frère du Roi.’ Send me a line to tell me what you have done. Adieu.”
It was not till after a long delay that Lady Atkyns at last succeeded in meeting the Prince at an inn, only to meet with a point-blank refusal. But she was not to be discouraged. The very next day she wrote again to the Comte asking for an audience. This time it was another member of his suite, the Bishop of Saint-Pol de Léon, who replied to her communication—
“The moment I saw M[onsieur] yesterday, my dear lady, he told me about your letter, which gave him great pleasure, though it is a matter for great regret to him that he is quite unable to do as you wish, and as he himself would wish. Since his recent attack he has been unable to dress or go out; he has not been able to receive any ladies, anxious though he is to welcome those who are here and who were attached to the Princess. He could not receive one without its being known, and then he would be expected to receive a number of others. You know how things get about and what a close watch is kept on Princes, and how careful our Prince must be to do nothing that would lay him open to criticism or even to suspicion. If his stay here were prolonged, and he found he could see other ladies also, the thing might be managed; but there would be difficulties even then, in view of your secret being perhaps of a compromising nature. I am but expressing to you the Prince’s own views. I hope to see you to-morrow between midday and three o’clock.”
The great of this world are never at a loss for pretexts for refusing requests. Monsieur was particularly anxious to evade an interview which he felt to be undesirable, and therefore confined himself to sending her these amiable phrases.