by Jean Plaidy
What would the royal brothers do next? The subject of the Duke and Mary Anne Clarke was discussed in every club and coffee house. The affair could not be hushed up. The truth must be brought to light. The profits may have gone into Mary Anne’s pocket, but how deeply was the Duke of York involved?
The publicity was enormous and when the case was heard in the House of Commons the Duke’s love letters – ill-spelt and naïve but intensely revealing – were read during the hearing. People were talking about the ‘Duke and Darling’ and quoting from letters; and although the Duke was acquitted of having been a party to the sale of commissions and it was judged that he was ignorant of what was going on, he could no longer hold his position of Commander-in-Chief.
George came home for a short leave – full of vitality and eager to talk of his adventures as a soldier. General Stewart, whose aide George had been, called at Bushy and told the proud parents that George was going to be a fine brave soldier and that there was no one he would prefer as his aide de camp. William was delighted, but Dorothy was apprehensive, fearing that George would be leaving them soon; and she was right.
The next fire broke out in Drury Lane itself. It started in the coffee room on the first floor which led directly to the boxes; and as the safety curtain did not work all the highly inflammable material on the back-stage made a mighty conflagration when the walls crashed in and the crowds were in danger of being suffocated by the smoke.
Sheridan was at the House of Commons at the time, where the reflection from the fire could be seen through the windows. On the Surrey side of the river people could see the glow for miles; and from Westminster Bridge the effect was startling.
When it was known that it was the Drury Lane Theatre which was ablaze it was proposed that the House should adjourn since the tragedy so deeply concerned one of the House’s most distinguished members.
Sheridan would not allow this, although he himself left the House with a few friends and made his way to the burning building.
His theatre in flames! But what could he do to save it? He saw his financial difficulties increased, for the theatre was insured only to the extent of £35,000 which could not cover the entire loss.
Sheridan turned into the nearest coffee house and ordered a drink.
‘Mr Sheridan, how can you sit there so calmly?’ asked one of his friends.
To which Sheridan replied: ‘May not a man sit and drink at his own fireside?’
The remark was repeated with the pleasure that was taken in all Sheridan’s witticisms; but no one else could joke about this great calamity.
And when later there was a fire in Kensington Palace, happily soon put out, and the Prince of Wales received anonymous letters that more fires would follow, it was clear that there was some purpose behind these conflagrations.
Almost immediately afterwards there was a rumour that Hampton Court was ablaze. This proved to be false, but this was not the case in the Quadrangle of Christchurch College, where fire did £12,000 worth of damage.
‘There is mischief in the air,’ said the Queen, and it was the Queen who was becoming more and more influential at court. ‘We shall have to consider carefully what should be done.’
The fires stopped suddenly and soon everyone ceased to expect them. In September there was great excitement in the theatrical world because the new Covent Garden was about to be opened with Macbeth, and Kemble was to speak the address.
Carriages blocked the street and people jostled each other to get into the theatre; but when it was discovered that prices had been increased they were indignant; they had paid the prices and gained entry but they had no intention of accepting them for the future.
During the weeks that followed they crowded into the theatre for the purpose of creating what were known as the Old Prices Riots; and the fear that the new theatre would be wrecked if they persisted caused the management to relent and to declare that the boxes should remain at seven shillings and sixpence and the pit three shillings and sixpence and that there should be no more private boxes.
It was an uneasy year for Dorothy. William was ill again, suffering as he did from his periodic gout; he had developed asthma and this grew worse as the Queen harped on the damage he did the royal family by living openly with an actress. She pointed out the comments of that man Cobbett whom William knew wielded great influence.
He should abandon his mistress; or at least he could pension her off; and as for all those children, he would have to make provision for them, but that should not be an insuperable task.
He tried to explain that he regarded Dorothy as his wife.
‘An actress,’ retorted the Queen. ‘A woman who parades stages in men’s clothes for anyone to pay to go to see!’
‘She is the best and most generous woman in the world. I cannot tell you how often she has given me money.’
‘You should have been ashamed to take it. That’s another thing I’ve heard about you. They say you keep her working to keep you. That’s a very unpleasant thing to be said of His Majesty’s son, I must say. You should put an end to that connection as soon as possible… and in view of all that is happening the sooner the better. Your sister Amelia is very ill. If anything should happen to her it would completely turn the King’s mind. And all these fires and that bullet at the theatre. Where do you think all this is leading? And you – making an exhibition of yourself with an actress!’
‘The people love her. They crowd to the theatre to see her.’
‘Yes, to see the actress who is keeping a royal Duke. You should think about this. You should think about us all.’
William went to Brighton for the birthday celebrations of the Prince of Wales while Dorothy, taking a rest from the theatre, was at Bushy with the family.
She was sitting on the lawns with the young children playing about her when Fanny arrived with Thomas Alsop.
They had driven over to see her, they said, because of the news.
‘What news?’ she wanted to know.
Hadn’t she heard that there had been a battle at Talavera?
‘Talavera,’ she cried. ‘That is where George is.’
‘Yes, Mamma,’ said Fanny. ‘There were five thousand killed.’
‘Oh, God!’ she whispered.
‘George will be all right,’ said Fanny. ‘George would always be all right.’
‘I must know.’
‘Where is the Duke?’ Fanny asked.
‘At Brighton. It’s the Prince’s birthday. He has gone to help him celebrate.’
‘He’s with the royal family more than he used to be,’ commented Fanny, a little maliciously. She had always felt that she with Dodee and Lucy were slighted compared with the FitzClarence children – herself especially.
‘I wonder if he has heard,’ said Dorothy. ‘If so he will come at once.’
‘Perhaps the celebrations will be too exciting to miss.’
Dorothy did not answer.
‘Mamma, are you ill?’
‘I feel my old pain… here.’ She touched her chest.
‘You should be resting. Let me help you to your room. Then I’ll stay awhile and play with the babies.’
Dorothy lay in her room. She had been awake all through the night.
They shouldn’t have let him go. He was only a boy. Henry was training to be a sailor. They were too young to be sent from their homes. She should have refused to allow it. After all they were her children.
She rose from her bed and paced up and down and sat at her window looking out across the gardens.
Five thousand dead! So many. And among them one young boy?
It was five o’clock in the morning when she heard the sound of carriage wheels.
Her heart began to beat madly. It was William, she knew. He had driven all the way from Brighton and had come as soon as he had heard the news, for he would know how she was feeling.
She ran down to meet him. He looked tired and haggard, but he was smiling.
Surely he could not
look like that if George were dead?
‘William!’ she cried. ‘I heard…’
‘I knew you would,’ he said. ‘That’s why I came right away. He’s safe, Dora. There’s no need to fret. He’s been slightly wounded – his leg grazed by a shell splinter, but he’s safe. He’ll be home to see you soon and tell you all about it.’
She was sobbing with relief.
‘Oh, William, my good, good William. I knew you would come.’
Another scandal occurred in the royal family – and this was the greatest of all.
The Duke of Cumberland’s valet was found murdered in the Duke’s apartment at St James’s in most mysterious circumstances. The popular theory was that the valet had found the Duke in bed with his wife, had attacked him and then either been murdered by the Duke or committed suicide.
This was the greatest scandal of all. The Prince of Wales might be guilty of profligacy, Frederick of dishonesty – and all of the Princes of immorality; but this was the first one who had been involved in murder. Of course the Duke was exonerated but the general opinion was that there was one law for a duke who committed murder and another for ordinary men.
‘Such terrible scandals,’ groaned the King. ‘I never knew the like. What does it mean, eh, what? What will become of us all?’
The Queen sent for William to discuss the affair.
‘I do urge you to show some sense,’ she said, and added ominously: ‘Before it is too late.’
Dodee had married and an arrangement had been made that William should pay the dowry – borrowed from Dorothy – by instalments. He found the position humiliating but he saw no way out of it. He was deeply in debt – more so than he had ever been. When he confided this to his eldest brother the Prince advised him to forget about it, but it was not easy. William knew the reckoning must come.
Meanwhile Dorothy had undertaken extensive tours to bring in more money. For some time Fanny had been talking wistfully about a chance to go on the stage; she had always wanted to act, and married life, she confided to her mother, was not all she had hoped it would be. She would welcome the opportunity of being separated from Mr Alsop for a while and would Mamma consider taking her with her when she went on tour?
‘Think, dearest Mamma, I should be company for you and it would give me the chance I never had.’
Dorothy considered this and finally agreed to take Fanny with her.
It turned out to be not such a bad arrangement for Fanny proved herself to be a tolerable actress. She would never be great and she was not pretty enough nor was her personality charming enough for her to succeed to any great extent with audiences, but she could manage a small part and Dorothy was delighted to see her momentarily satisfied.
The tour took them to Bath, Bristol, Chester, up to Liverpool and over to Ireland. It was exhausting and she was constantly thinking of Bushy and home and longing to be there. She was terrified that something would befall George and she had five sons with whom to concern herself. Henry had started off in the Navy which had disappointed him and had begged to be transferred to the Army; and even little Molpuss was being sent to a nautical school to prepare him for his future.
She wanted them to stay young and be babies for ever.
In any case, she told herself, they are too young.
When she returned home it was to receive the news that Lucy was engaged to be married.
Pretty, charming and modest Lucy had been the most amiable of the three girls and had consequently been more welcome at Bushy House than the two elder ones. She could not remember the time before her mother had been the mistress of the Duke of Clarence and being nearer to the age of the FitzClarence children she had been more at home with them than Fanny and Dodee.
It was at Bushy House that she had met Colonel Hawker of the 14th Dragoons. He was fifty, married, with a daughter of Lucy’s age, but he had always been fond of her. As aide de camp to the King he was often in the company of the Prince of Wales and was a frequent visitor at Bushy. When his wife had become ill Lucy had comforted him and on Mrs Hawker’s death the Colonel asked Lucy to marry him which she consented to do.
Dorothy was not sure whether to be pleased or not. She liked Colonel Hawker; he was a man of good family, but he was so much older than Lucy. Still, Fanny’s marriage was far from successful and she had married a young man. Dodee, however, seemed happy and was expecting a child. As for Lucy and Colonel Hawker they had made up their minds and Lucy seemed contented.
So that April Lucy was married to her Colonel in the parish church at Hampton and Henry and Sophia with their mother were witnesses to the ceremony.
The three girls were now settled, but once more there was the tiresome problem of the dowry with its resultant scenes and humiliations.
Dodee’s daughter was born in May and Dorothy was delighted to become a grandmother; Dodee and Lucy were happy; it was only Fanny who was disgruntled. But then had she not always been?
Money was the predominant need, so she must undertake more tours. She was growing more easily exhausted and longed for the peace of Bushy.
I will retire definitely next year, she promised herself.
William was suffering from his periodic attacks of gout and asthma; he was very often at Windsor and St James’s because the King’s health was giving the family great cause for anxiety. The alarms over the fires had subsided but one of the Queen’s favourite themes was the need for reform throughout the family.
She took every opportunity of pointing out to William that he was living a most unsatisfactory life.
‘You are no longer a boy,’ she would tell him. ‘Mounting fifty!’
William protested at that. He was only forty-five.
‘There is not much time left for you to get a legitimate heir,’ the Queen warned him. ‘When I think that the only heir all my children have been able to give to the country is Charlotte I despair.’
‘Charlotte is a very lively heir,’ William reminded her.
‘The child is not as strong as I would wish.’ The Queen’s lips tightened. Charlotte was a wayward child who more than once had expressed her dislike for Grandmamma. Her famous remark which had been bandied about the court was, ‘There are two things in the world I dislike – apple pie and my Grandmother.’
‘Only this child… and a girl.’
William liked his niece, who had a somewhat difficult time because she was denied the company of her father and mother; her mother was often forbidden to see her and her father could never look at her without remembering that she was her mother’s child. He was sorry for her. She was a hoyden but bright, intelligent and an interesting child. She was rather fond of his own young Fred and was always glad when Fred paid visits. They went riding together and she would order Fred about, telling him that she was his future sovereign, which Fred seemed to enjoy.
He wondered what the Queen would say if she knew of Charlotte’s friendship with her cousin, the son of an actress.
‘I always hope,’ said the Queen, ‘that you will see reason one day… and it will have to be soon. I think you should consider this… very seriously.’
Dorothy had no idea of the Queen’s determination, for William never mentioned it to her.
She continued with her tours, going from one provincial city to another, earning money, trying to ease the financial situation; but she had no idea how deeply in debt William was.
It was a momentous year.
That November, the King’s best-loved daughter, the Princess Amelia, died. The King was overcome with grief, and this loss, with the fears and scandals of the last years, sent him tottering to insanity.
The King was mad, and incapable of ruling. The Prince of Wales became the Prince Regent.
‘For the last time’
WILLIAM WAS ON his way to Carlton House where the Prince Regent was giving a fête. This was his first as Regent and although he could not say it was to celebrate his accession to the Regency, for to do so might seem that he was rejoicing in his fath
er’s misfortune, that was in fact what it was.
Everything would be different now, William mused. The tiresome restrictions which the King had imposed on the court would be swept away. The court would be gay and carefree. That ridiculous Marriage Act would be annulled. George had always sworn that one of the first things he would do would be to abolish that, Their sisters would be allowed to marry, if they could find husbands. Poor things, it was a bit late. He was sure that George would see that they had allowances of their own which would give them some measure of independence from the Queen. What lives they had led! The men had been the fortunate ones, although the King would have liked to restrict even them.
And now the poor old man, who for years had been on the edge of madness, was a raving lunatic.
He would be well looked after so there was no need to waste sympathy on him. The fact was that George, his dear friend and brother, was now in all but name ruler of the realm.
The Queen had realized this and had decided to ally herself with her eldest son this time – not work against him as she had before.
The Queen was wise.
Dorothy could not accompany him to the fête – it was a very different affair from the birthday party when the Prince had led her in to dine and sat at her right hand. This was an official occasion, and the Regent would have to be more careful than the Prince of Wales had been. Perhaps that was why he had broken with Mrs Fitzherbert, and Lady Hertford was the reigning mistress now. It was sad in a way when one considered what Mrs Fitzherbert had meant to George; their relationship had been like that of himself and Dorothy, but his and Dorothy’s had been on a firmer basis; all those years, all those children. Twenty years with one woman! It was as good as a marriage. But it was not a marriage. Royal princes could not marry actresses and there was only one legitimate heiress, the Princess Charlotte – the only one they had produced between them.
He was reasoning like the Queen.
Carlton House in all its splendour! No one could design a house like George! The Pavilion was different from any residence anyone had ever seen before and there wasn’t a house in Europe which was more magnificent than Carlton House – as there was no prince more courtly, more elegant, than the Regent.