by Jean Plaidy
All these troubles were blamed on the royal family and a rather ugly incident occurred one day when Caroline was riding by coach from St James’s to Kensington. Outside a tavern from which hung a huge sign ‘In Mourning for Mother Gin’ a crowd was standing and as the royal coach approached they recognized it. People stood across the road barring the way so that the coach was forced to stop.
The Queen put her head out of the window and asked what was wrong.
An ugly face was thrust close to hers while a pair of bleary drunken eyes glared at her. Fists were shaken.
‘You took our comfort away from us,’ they shouted. ‘You ride in your coaches but you take our comfort from us.
‘This is a matter for the Parliament,’ began the Queen.
But they shouted: ‘Where is the King? In Hanover with his whore. Is he allowed to drink gin there, think you?’
‘The King will not be drinking gin.’
‘No time,’ shouted someone. ‘Too busy with his whore.’
The cry was taken up and Caroline sat mortified, more disturbed because of the manner in which this scandal had seeped out, than the fact that she herself might be in danger.
‘No gin, no King!’ someone shouted.
It was an implication that if they were deprived of their gin the King could stay in Hanover forever.
‘Be patient,’ cried Caroline. ‘Next session you will have them back again.’
‘Which?’ shouted a voice close to her.
‘Both she answered.
‘You can keep George, but give us our gin.’
‘Next session,’ she answered, and the coachman seeing his chance whipped up the horses and they galloped on to Kensington. It had been an unpleasant experience.
* * *
But the internal family strife still remained her greatest anxiety. Even her daughter, Caroline, usually of a mild temper, was beginning to hate her brother. There was great enmity between Amelia and Frederick, because at one time Amelia had thought she might work with her brother. He had soon discovered she was no true friend to him and this had made them dislike each other more than the others did. William of course disliked Frederick with the great passion of a younger for an elder brother who knows that but for him he would be heir to the crown. It was hard for the ambitious young man William was becoming to take second place to a brother whom his parents Wished they had never had, and whom they all wished dead a hundred times a day.
‘Fred is our thorn in the flesh,’ said the Queen.
Breakfasts were very peaceful occasions now that the King could not descend on them and reprove them for taking too much chocolate. And oh, the comfort of a dish of chocolate! sighed the Queen.
Of course she was anxious about Amelia who was flirting openly with the Dukes of Grafton and Newcastle. She believed that affair with Grafton was quite serious and she was afraid to enquire too closely into it. Amelia was no longer a young girl; she was very much the eldest daughter now that Anne was in Holland, and determined to receive the homage due to her. She was very proud and haughty and this did not endear her to the public, nor to her immediate circle; and her preoccupation with hunting and animals made her appear rather masculine. Caroline was her comfort. Dear Caroline, who was so virtuous and truthful and could be relied upon; but even she was a cause for anxiety, for lately she had been complaining of rheumatic pains and the doctors could do little for them. Caroline was her comfort and William her pride. As for the two little girls they were young yet, but already showing signs of their personalities. Mary was meek, rather like Caroline, but Louisa the youngest was vivacious and impulsive, traits which might well have to be watched as time passed.
The peace of this breakfast was, however, shattered by Caroline of all people, when she announced that she really was most ashamed of her silly little sister-in-law.
‘Mamma, what do you think she does? She walks in Kensington Gardens with a page holding up her train! A train, Mamma, in the informality of the gardens! And that is not all. Two gentleman ushers and her chamberlain have to lead the way, and her maids of honour have to walk behind.’
‘But this is ... ridiculous. Why does she do it?’
‘Because, Mamma, the silly girl is not accustomed to being the Princess of Wales.’
‘Fred will have to learn how easily people can be laughed at in this country.’
‘Fred, Mamma, will never learn anything, I fear. He has put Lady Archibald Hamilton among her ladies and the poor little simpleton does not know why.’
‘Do not blame her for her simplicity, Caroline,’ said the Queen. ‘Remember she knows nothing but what Fred teaches her; and after all it is no bad thing to be a docile wife.’
‘Let her go on being a docile wife and doing what Fred tells her. That is the quickest way to upset the people.’
The Queen was thoughtful. ‘I wonder who allowed her to walk out in that way. Perhaps Lady Archibald Hamilton takes a pleasure in making a fool of her. Caroline, tell her that she should not walk in the gardens like a Queen at her coronation. Explain that it would be better if she walked informally as we all do.’
Caroline said rather tartly for her that she would take an early opportunity of telling her sister-in-law what a fool she was making of herself.
Poor Caroline, thought the Queen. I suppose her pains are bad today. She suffers even as I do; and of course, even though her pains came from a less humiliating cause the custom in the royal family was to keep silent about one’s ailments.
And here was Lord Hervey come to cheer them. The Princess Caroline’s face lit up with pleasure and she looked a different girl from the one who had talked so slightingly of her young sister-in-law.
* * *
The most serious disaster of that unhappy summer occurred in Edinburgh. Scotland had always stood behind the Stuarts and had never accepted the Hanoverian rules, so that it was regarded in the South as a spot where trouble could quickly flare up. And it seemed it was about to do so.
The trouble began absurdly when two smugglers named Wilson and Robertson were arrested and put into the Tolbooth to await execution, the penalty for smuggling. This was an unpopular punishment for taxation was never popular and it was believed that if a man was clever enough to outwit the tax men what he gained was a just reward. These two prisoners, however, attempted to escape and their method was to file off their chains and cut through one bar of their window. This they managed, and Wilson who was older than Robertson and considerably fatter insisted on going first. He did, but he became jammed in the window and thus not only did he prevent his own escape but that of Robertson also.
The people of Edinburgh were intrigued with the story and all sympathy was on the side of the prisoners. The day of their execution was fixed and, in accordance with the custom, they were taken to church the Sunday before. Wilson, smitten with remorse because his selfishness had prevented the escape of his fellow prisoner, attacked the guards in church and shouted to Robertson to escape, which he did. This exploit delighted the people who did all they could to help Robertson, but Wilson remained and the Captain of the guard, John Porteous, declared that such a dangerous man should be hanged without delay and the sentence should be carried out the next day.
Wilson was duly hanged, but crowds turned out to see the execution and several tried to get the body from the gibbet to give it a decent burial. John Porteous, who was hated by the mob, ordered the soldiers to fire on the crowd and several people were killed.
Porteous managed to reach the guard house but so unpopular was he that because of public insistence he was arrested and sentenced to death. He appealed to the Queen who reprieved him.
It was this reprieve which enraged the people of Edinburgh. What right had the German woman in London to interfere in a purely Scottish affair?
They would not have it. ‘Let the usurper go back to Hanover!’ they shouted. ‘And long live James III.’
They stormed the jail where Porteous was celebrating with his friends because of the re
prieve. The friends managed to escape but Porteous, afraid to be seen by the mob, hid himself in the chimney. There he was discovered, dragged out of the prison and hanged in sight of the mob.
‘So much for Germans! ‘ cried the people of Edinburgh. ‘Let them keep their rule for the English. Scotland rules herself.’
When this news was brought to Caroline she was angry. This was a direct flouting of her order; it would have happened if the King had given the reprieve, but it would be said that she had failed, and the Prince of Wales would make much of the failure.
In her anger she began to consider taking punitive measures; but she was quick to realize the tone of the Scottish peers who defended their fellow countrymen in the Lords.
Walpole discussed the matter with her and advised against action. A nominal gesture, perhaps. A fine of two thousand pounds on the city of Edinburgh.
Caroline saw the point of this; and when a young girl walked to London from Edinburgh to see her to beg for a reprieve for her sister who had been condemned to death because of the suspected murder of her illegitimate child, the Queen saw the girl and granted a pardon which the sister triumphantly took back to Edinburgh with an account of the Queen’s mercy.
But the Edinburgh affair while it lasted had threatened to be an even bigger disaster than the Spitalfields riots or the resistance to the Gin Act; and this was the most troubled of her Regencies.
And as these affairs seemed to settle themselves she was conscious of the real brooding shadow which threatened her peace now and in the future: Frederick.
* * *
Frederick did everything he possibly could to upset his mother and show his contempt for her Regency. He would talk openly of the scandal of the Gin Act and the state of Spitalfields workers; he sided with the Scots in the Porteous controversy; he spread the scandal about Madame de Walmoden and the ladder affair; he was constantly reminding his companions of his father’s dislike for England, of his long stay in Hanover. It was clear that he was trying to make a royal court just as, Caroline reflected bitterly, she and his father had done when they had quarrelled with his grandfather.
There was one thing above all others which aroused the Prince’s fury and that was the knowledge that his parents so deeply regretted his birth, that they wished him dead so that William might be the Prince of Wales. Everywhere the Queen went, William was with her. He was treated as though he were the Prince of Wales.
‘Let them give him all honours,’ said the Prince to his wife, ‘it makes no difference. I am the Prince of Wales and nothing can alter that. You wait till we have a son. That will be an end to Master William’s hopes for ever.’
‘We will have a son,’ cried Augusta.
‘Many of them,’ replied Frederick, ‘just to make sure of it.’
The Queen was certain that the Prince would never have a child; she did not think him capable of begetting one. The rumour was that he was impotent and that wise people were paying court to William because he was certainly going to be the next king.
Then the Prince began treating the Princess with that very special care which indicated that she was already pregnant. Nothing official was said about this but the Princess, acting on her husband’s orders, played up to the story.
The Queen was anxious and there were endless discussions between her, the Princess Caroline, and Lord Hervey.
The Queen was tormented by the thought of Frederick’s having a child and one day she summoned Lord Hervey to her and told him that she wanted to speak to him very privately.
When they were alone she said: ‘The Prince is putting it about that the Princess is pregnant. I do not believe this to be possible. I believe that the marriage has never been consummated.’
‘Why should Your Majesty believe this?’ asked Hervey, always curious to discover such secrets which were just the kind which appealed to his nature.
‘Because I know something of my son. And I believe you know a great deal, too. You know, do you not, that little FitzFrederick was not Frederick’s son. He was yours. Oh, come along now, my lord, put aside all affectation and answer me, for I am very anxious to be satisfied.’
‘Madam, it is difficult to know who was the father of Miss Vane’s son.’
‘Perhaps she knew.’
‘She did not always speak the truth.’
‘No, I’ll warrant she told you FitzFrederick was yours, and Frederick he was his. Frederick pretended to believe her. He was so proud of having fathered that boy. A little too proud perhaps. What did Miss Vane tell you of the Prince?’
Hervey hesitated and the Queen said impatiently, ‘Pray, do not be coy. You and I have talked of such matters often enough.’
‘She would describe the Prince as being inexperienced and ignorant, but she did not say he was impotent.’
‘It is very important to me to know,’ said the Queen. ‘If I thought he were impotent I should be very easy in my mind, for then the way would be clear ahead for William. Could you ask Lady Dudley? She was his mistress and as she has been to bed with half the men in town she would know whether Fred is like others or not.’
‘There is one way to find out all Lady Dudley knows of course, but I do not think my curiosity is strong enough to make me risk my nose to satisfy it.’
‘I know of his great desire to have children and I believe him capable of anything to get the Princess with child. He was so anxious to be thought the father of Miss Vane’s child—over anxious—and although you have perjured yourself by assuring me it was not so, yet I am sure that had he asked you to get a child for him.... Pray, hold your tongue. I do not want to listen to any more lies on this subject.’
‘I was not going to comment on that,’ said Lord Hervey, boldly interrupting her. ‘But suppose it were true. There is a difference between asking a man to lie with one’s mistress and asking him to lie with one’s wife. The Princess would have to be in the secret in order to reach a satisfactory conclusion.’
‘I am sure if you undertook it you could contrive it, though I don’t know how you could bring it about without her knowledge.’
Such a possibility delighted the devious imagination of Hervey. ‘If the Prince had consummated his marriage it would be possible,’ he said. ‘But if he hadn’t, that would be very difficult ... nay, impossible.’
‘Now suppose you were both willing, how could you, without her knowledge, go to bed with her in his place?’
‘It would be simple.’
‘My God, tell me how.’
‘Well, for a month before the time I would advise the Prince to go to bed several hours after his wife and to pretend to get up several times during the night and then to scent himself with some powerful scent. He would have to accustom her to his silences in bed and then the man who would be same size as the Prince would go into her in his place.’
The Queen laughed. ‘You are ingenious, Lord Hervey, and I love you mightily, but if I thought you would get a little Hervey by the Princess of Saxe-Gotha to disinherit my dear William, I could not bear it, nor do I know what I should be capable of doing.’
‘Your Majesty need have no fear. I am the last man with whom the Prince would enter into such a compact. And my dear great good Queen, you must cease to fear on this score. The Prince would never make such a request to any man.’
‘I think he is capable of it,’ replied the Queen. ‘He would hate to be thought impotent and I think he would go to any lengths to foist a child on us.’
‘No man would enter into such a bargain, Your Majesty. The risks would be too great. No sum of money would be large enough to compensate a man for taking such a risk, for who knows, with such a secret he might easily be found too dangerous to be allowed to live.’
‘He would have the honour of being the father of a King.’
‘In secret, Madam. Vanity has little to feed on in private. It is only in public that it shines. Suppose I had the honour to be born Your Majesty’s son.’
‘I wish to God you had,’ said the Queen
with vehement affection.
‘Your Majesty is very kind, but if it were so and I believed any man other than the King was my father I should never act as though I believed it. But, Madam, this is a little play we are making. It may be that the Prince is impotent, in which case the way is clear for His Highness of Cumberland. But if he is not, then the Princess Augusta, even if she is not now with child, may well be one day—and we must make the best of it.’
‘You are right,’ said the Queen; ‘but I fret on this point; and I pray you, if you should hear any rumour as to the Prince’s capabilities or the true state of the Princess, tell me without delay.’
‘My dear Majesty may rely on me now as ever.’
‘I know, I know,’ said the Queen. ‘You are my comfort in this troublous realm.’
* * *
When the King wrote that he would not be back for his birthday, Walpole was seriously disturbed.
He came to see the Queen immediately.
‘This is the first time he has failed to come home for his birthday,’ he said. ‘He knows the seriousness of this. There will be comment and he does not care. This is significant.’
The Queen agreed that it was.
‘It means, of course, that he will not leave Madame de Walmoden.’
‘Then ...’ The Queen spoke almost sharply. ‘He must stay with her.’
‘Madam, if he does he will not stay King of England.’ ‘Then what ...’
‘There is murmuring in the streets already. He was never so unpopular as he is now. More and more people are looking to the Prince. I tell you this can be disastrous ... not only for the King, but for the House of Hanover.’
‘I know it,’ said the Queen.
‘There is a way out.’
‘Pray what?’ asked Caroline.
‘You must invite Madame de Walmoden to the Court.’
‘Invite her ... here?’
‘It is the only way. Here she will be to the King what Lady Suffolk was. It is the only way.’
‘I refuse,’ cried the Queen.