Caroline the Queen

by Виктория Холт

  Sir Robert turned to her and sighing replaced his sword in its scabbard. Townshend did the same.

  ‘It is impossible for us two to work together,’ said Walpole firmly.

  ‘That is one matter on which I am in complete agreement with you,’ replied Townshend. ‘I shall retire from any ministry in which you serve.’

  Walpole bowed his head.

  He excused himself to his hostess. After such a scene he believed it was for one of the offenders to retire, and he would do so with his apologies.

  He went immediately to the Queen.

  ‘Townshend has resigned,’ he said.

  She was delighted and he explained exactly what had happened at the Selwyns’.

  ‘Can you call this a resignation?’ she asked. ‘He vas not speaking officially.’

  ‘Madam, we must take it that he was speaking officially.’

  Walpole then asked for an audience with the King; the Queen was present, but she said nothing while Walpole explained that Townshend had tendered his resignation.

  Would His Majesty agree to Lord Harrington’s taking Townshend’s place?

  The King had nothing against Harrington. He looked at the Queen who lowered her eyes. She did not want him to know that she and Walpole had long ago decided that as soon as they could rid themselves of Townshend they would set Harrington up in his place.

  ‘Harrington ...’ The King put his head on one side.

  ‘I am of the opinion that he would serve Your Majesty well,’ said Walpole.

  Yes, Harrington would be a good man—a lazy, easygoing man; just the type who would suit Walpole for he would not attempt to frustrate him as Townshend had done.

  ‘Does the Queen think Harrington would be a good man?’ asked the King.

  ‘I know nothing of politics. Your Majesty knows all.’

  Oh, dear, thought Walpole. Was that going a little too far? But no! The conceited little man was swallowing the flattery and savouring it. He really believed it was so. ‘Harrington, I think,’ said the King.

  * * *

  To his surprise Townshend realized that he had retired from the Ministry.

  Well, he was weary of conflict in any case and that there would always be while Walpole was the chief minister. Chief minister! thought Townshend. He had made himself the sole minister. The Queen had helped him in this for he was the Queen’s man. If Townshend had had the foresight to seek his fortune through the Queen instead of through Mrs Howard he might not find himself outside politics now.

  But it was over and done with. And he had a charming estate in Norfolk. It could be more rewarding perhaps developing that than fighting against an old ruffian like his brother-in-law, for any man who engaged in conflict with Walpole must fight a losing battle.

  So to Norfolk went Townshend, and the field was clear for Walpole and the Queen.

  Lord Hervey returned to England from a stay abroad where he had gone to recuperate from his almost perpetual ill health; and the Queen was delighted to welcome back her handsome Chamberlain, who sparkled with the wit she failed to find in the Prince of Wales.

  Mrs Howard kept her place; Townshend was dismissed. And this was very comforting.

  But while the Queen played cards and enjoyed the witticisms of her Chamberlain, while she knotted in the King’s company and led him the way she wanted him to go, Walpole continued to wonder what hold Mrs Clayton could possibly have over the Queen.

  * * *

  There was one whom both Walpole and the Queen seemed to have forgotten. This was the Prince of Wales. Since he had been denied the Regency he had been growing more and more dissatisfied. He himself would have been perfectly content to go on as he had been; he was lazy and good tempered generally, but there were many who resented Walpole’s power and who knew that such power could never be theirs while there was such a strong alliance between Walpole and the Queen. All astute observers of the scene knew that the Queen led the King and that only the King was unaware of this; so therefore if they wished to set up in rivalry against this powerful triumvirate, they must look beyond their Majesties.

  And here was a Prince of Wales—not only neglected by his parents but disliked by them.

  Bolingbroke, Pulteney, Wyndham, and such men were watching the Prince of Wales, and dropping casual hints now and then to remind him of his ill-treatment.

  There was another who was deeply aware of the Prince, but his methods of using that young man would be different from the ambitious politicians. This was Lord Hervey, court beau and wit.

  So while the Queen and Walpole concerned themselves with the waywardness of Mrs Howard, the secretiveness of Mrs Clayton, and the intolerable conduct of Lord Townshend, Lord Hervey was seeking to become the intimate friend of the Prince of Wales.

  Lord Fanny

  LORD HERVEY lay back languidly as the carriage rattled along the road to Ickworth. He had been long away from home and was pleased to be back; he would not, of course, stay long at Ickworth. A few weeks would suffice with his wife and children; then he and Stephen Fox would go to Court. That was where the excitement lay nowadays.

  He gazed across at Stephen—his beautiful beloved companion. All the Fox family were noted for their beauty, but Stephen was surely the most beautiful of them all. Stephen caught his eyes and gave him a look of adoration. Theirs was a relationship on which some might frown. Let them! thought Hervey. What did he care? He was glad to provide gossip, for when a man ceased to be gossiped about, that man might as well be dead. That was his philosophy.

  He studied the tips of his elegant shoes with the diamond studded buckles. Everything about Hervey was elegant. The frilly front of his muslin shirt rippled over his brocade waistcoat; his almost—though not quite—knee length velvet coat with the turn back embroidered cuffs, his exquisite lace cravat were all in the latest fashion and his three-cornered hat perched on top of his flowing wig was a masterpiece of millinery. From his person there rose a delicate but none the less pronounced scent and his cheeks were delicately touched with rouge. Stephen said he was as beautiful as he had been in those days ten years ago when he had first appeared to dazzle the Court of the Prince and Princess of Wales who had now become the King and the Queen.

  Those days seemed far back in time. Much had happened since. Hervey had fallen in love with beautiful Molly Lepel and married her, for he was proud to be both a lover of men and women. He imagined it gave him a two-edged personality which was interesting.

  Molly had suited him. For one thing she had been the most beautiful, most written about, woman of the Court. At least she had shared that honour with Mary Bellenden and there had been a constant controversy in those days as to which of the girls were more beautiful. Molly had beauty and charm. Moreover her personality fitted his. She was a strange woman, his Molly. She had shared his life for those first years without intruding on it. It had appeared to be a perfect marriage—and a fruitful one. Sons and daughters had been born to them and there would doubtless be more for they were both young. He was in his early thirties and Molly was four years younger than he was. She stayed with the children at Ickworth and had no desire to return to Court. She had lived her early life in Courts and had had enough of them. In the country she entertained a great deal, looked after her children, and her life was complete in the world she had made for herself. Hervey visited her now and then as a close friend might; she never questioned the scandals which surrounded him; she never criticized his friends. The fact was that Molly did not care.

  Molly was a cold woman without jealousy. Hervey could have his lovers—male and female—and Molly implied it was no concern of hers. When he came to Ickworth he was welcome. It was his home; she bore his name and his children. His preference for others was no slur on her because she had been recognized as one of the most beautiful and attractive women of her day; she could have had lovers by the score; but Molly did not want lovers. She wanted her life to go on as she had arranged that it should; that did not include any emotional disturbance, for
Molly had no time in her life for emotion.

  A strange ménage, some people thought. But it satisfied Molly and John Hervey. What man, he was asking himself now as the carriage was coming into Ickworth, could have gone off travelling abroad with a beloved friend, and return with that friend to his wife and be received with a cool cordiality which was more comforting in the circumstances than any warmth could have been.

  His thoughts were going on ahead of Ickworth, for he had decided that it should be a short stay. And then ... to Court. It would be amusing to renew his acquaintance with the Prince of Wales. He and Frederick had become good friends when he had visited Hanover before the Prince had come to England; in fact Frederick had been quite overwhelmed by the polished manners and elegant charm of Lord Hervey. Later they had resumed that friendship and if Hervey had not had to travel abroad for the sake of his health, it would have progressed still farther.

  The thought of his health made Hervey feel a little wan and Stephen immediately noticed this.

  ‘You are feeling ill?’

  ‘A little faint.’

  ‘My dear soul, lie back and close your eyes. I fear the jolting of the coach ...’

  The jolting of the coach,’ said Hervey quietly, enjoying his friend’s concern. ‘Nothing more.’

  ‘Did you take your spa water before we set out?’ ‘I did, I swear.’

  ‘It should raise the spirits.’

  ‘My spirits are high enough, dear boy. It is the flesh that is weak. I think I will try that mixture of crabs’ eyes, asses milk, and oyster shells. I have reports that it sweetens the blood.’

  ‘I will see that you have it.’

  ‘My dear Stephen! ‘

  Such devotion was pleasant; it was for its sake that he had taken Stephen with him on his travels. Dear Stephen! Quite his favourite person at the moment. Stephen had cosseted him, remembered his medicines, listened to his poetry, adored everything he did. He was so much warmer than Molly. Not that he would criticize Molly one little bit. Molly was just the wife for a man such as he was.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ commanded Stephen. The only time the dear boy commanded was when he was acting the nurse. ‘You should rest for the remainder of the journey.’

  Hervey obeyed, and allowed himself to drift into a pleasant state of semi-consciousness when the impressions of Venice and Florence became slightly jumbled together and he was not sure whether he was walking beside the Arno or the Grand Canal. The sun had been so welcome, and he had written a great deal of poetry which he so enjoyed reading to the appreciative Stephen. Sometimes he felt he would ask nothing more but to stay at Ickworth with his family—and Stephen—and spend his days writing.

  That would never suit him for long though. He was a mischievous sprite; he must be at the core of life; he must be at Court, stirring up trouble, seeking a high place in the confidence of people through whom he could make himself important—important in politics which played their part in history.

  He was too egotistical, too vain, too mischievous to spend his days in retirement.

  There would be fun to be had at Court now. Walpole was supreme some said and Pulteney was determined to pull him down. It would be fun to live close to such a battle, to work in the shadows, to use his pen as some men used their swords. Oh, yes, there was a great deal of amusement to be had at Court.

  Therefore it would be just a short respite at Ickworth and then away to adventure.

  He himself was no politician of fixed ideas. He had been returned as a Member of the House of Commons for Bury St Edmunds some years before and since he had in those days belonged to the Court of the Prince and Princess of Wales and Walpole had at that time been the King’s minister—and that King was George I—he had joined Pulteney’s Opposition.

  But George I had died and the Prince of Wales had become George II and although George II had at first rejected Walpole he had afterwards reinstated him. This meant that Walpole was the confidant of the Queen; and as Pulteney was still in opposition against Walpole, there was only one thing Hervey could do and that was change sides. He had become a Walpole man.

  He was evidently not a man to be despised. His pen could be vitriolic, his tongue sharp; and Walpole was so pleased to have him on his side that he had asked the Queen to receive him in her household as Chamberlain. This was a source of great pleasure to Hervey; it meant he could be constantly near the Queen, and as he had his duties at Court he could keep in close touch with the Prince of Wales.

  Very satisfactory, he was telling himself now. So, after a little respite, to Court he would go.

  The carriage was approaching the Ickworth mansion. Hervey opened his eyes. Stephen looked at him anxiously to make sure he was not going to faint and with a little sigh Hervey sat up straight, adjusted his cravat, and smiled at his friend.

  ‘I feel better,’ he said, ‘but I should like to try the blood sweetener.’

  They left the carriage and went into the big hall. Lady Hervey, looking very cool and outstandingly beautiful, was calmly waiting to greet him, her children about her and beside her to Lord Hervey’s astonishment, and some chagrin, William Pulteney.

  * * *

  Hervey patted the heads of his eldest son, George William, and his eldest daughter whom they had named Lepel. The children had been well trained by their mother and received him as coolly as she did. He was pleased with his family.

  ‘William guessed that you would be arriving today, and he and Anna Maria are staying here. William is anxious to have talks with you.’

  ‘Is that so?’ replied Hervey languidly. ‘Stephen will be staying until I return to Court.’

  Mary gave Stephen her beautiful smile which meant that she allowed her lips to curl a little and her eyes to open wider.

  ‘That will indeed be a pleasure,’ she said.

  ‘Stephen will unpack for me,’ murmured Hervey. ‘I do not trust the servants with some of my precious things.’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Molly.

  As he went to his rooms Hervey was wondering what proposition Pulteney had to put before him. He no longer felt so friendly towards Pulteney as he once had; his friendships did wane quickly. And Pulteney could scarcely feel so kindly towards him now that he had made it clear that he was a Walpole man. Still, it was gratifying that Pulteney should seek to bring him back to the fold. And Molly was evidently eager to help in the change.

  Oh, no, thought Hervey. If I am going to Court I must be a Walpole man, for Walpole has managed to become the friend of the King and the Queen.

  He turned to smile at Stephen.

  ‘I do wonder why Pulteney has come here,’ he said. ‘And, oh dear, he has that vixen of his with him! She’s a good looking woman but has nothing to recommend her but her looks. I should like to know the purpose of his visit.’

  ‘You will soon discover, however he tries to hide it from you.’

  Hervey sat down on the bed as though exhausted. ‘You are feeling ill?’

  ‘A touch of the vertigo; I think I may have to go back to the seed and vegetable diet.’

  ‘Oh dear, it has such a weakening effect. Perhaps you should rest here at Ickworth for a while.’

  ‘The diet works wonders,’ replied Hervey. ‘I shall be well in a few days. Put out my pomade and my powder, dear boy. Then you can help me repair the ravages of the journey.’

  * * *

  Dinner was over and they sat in the drawing room—an intimate family party. There was Molly in flowered silk gathered up at the sides to show her very elaborate blue satin petticoat, the sleeves of her gown billowing at the elbows and ending in frills of soft lace; a patch near her eyes called attention to their beauty; she was now sitting with the utmost grace with which she performed every duty of the hostess. Anna Maria Pulteney was less elaborately dressed. She and Pulteney were very wealthy but Anna Maria did not like spending money and not only was very careful in her own expenditure but saw that her husband was too.

  Pulteney was soberly dressed, but Lo
rd Hervey looked like a gorgeous dragon fly in lavender lace and satin; and Stephen, more simply dressed but very handsome, sat back in the shadows ready to show his devotion whenever his dearest friend demanded it.

  Pulteney was wondering how far he could trust Hervey. He would have to trust him because he needed him. A man with a pen like Hervey’s should be on one’s side; and the fact that Walpole had been so eager to welcome him into his fold and had secured him the post of Chamberlain to the Queen was an indication of how his services were regarded.

  During Hervey’s absence abroad Pulteney had been bringing Lady Hervey to his point of view and as she disliked Sir Robert Walpole intensely she was delighted to help him.

  Together, thought Pulteney, we will persuade him.

  Conversation was desultory—all knew, except perhaps Stephen, that they were skirting about the subject they wished to discuss. They talked of Venice and Florence. Pulteney was a great talker, one of the most eloquent of men; and he liked to air his knowledge of the classics and throw in a latin tag here and there. Hervey was not surprised that he could not endure coarse Sir Robert. He was highly amused, waiting for Pulteney to come into the attack while he skilfully hedged him off with the beauties of the sunset on the Grand Canal and a discussion of the merits of Michelangelo and Tintoretto.

  Pulteney represented Heydon, a borough in Yorkshire, and was one of the leading Whigs. When he had married Anna Maria Gumley, of low birth and high fortune, he became one of the richest men in the country; but Anna Maria had turned out to be a vixen who kept a tight hold on their income and invested it in such a manner that it increased rapidly. At the beginning of his career he had worked with Walpole until Sir Robert had offended him in the year 1721 by not offering him a post in his Ministry. He refused the peerage which was offered him and very soon afterwards became one of Walpole’s deadly enemies. He joined forces with Bolingbroke and that was indeed a formidable alliance, for between them they set up a journal which they calledThe Craftsmanand with this they began their attack. In it they wrote of a certain Robin (Sir Robert) and the object of the journal was to discredit him and to expose his sly ways to readers. Pulteney was a brilliant writer and Bolingbroke had years before discovered the power of the written word.