by Jean Plaidy
Moreover, he was thinking of Hannah. How could he help it when he was to be guest of Quakers?
Perhaps he should have refused the Barclays' offer of their home. But that would have aroused more comment than accepting it. The shadow of Hannah Lightfoot hung over him. Sometimes he remembered the biblical admonition: The sins ye do by two and two ye pay for one by one.
He glanced sideways at Charlotte. She had no idea of his feelings. She must remain in ignorance.
He was fond of her; he had forced himself to be fond of her because it was right and proper that he should be; he had forced himself to forget Sarah Lennox; but he could not shut Hannah Lightfoot out of his mind, and today he could not stop himself thinking of that ceremony of marriage through which he had gone when he and Hannah had stood before Dr. Wilmot. It was a mock marriage. Hannah was already married to Isaac Axford. But Axford had no longer considered himself married to her because they had not seen each other for years and in any case they had been married at Dr. Keith's Marriage Mill which had since been declared illegal.
At that time he and Hannah had believed their marriage to have been legal, and he could not get the thought of that marriage out of his head. It was going round and round, refusing to be dismissed; peeping out at him at odd moments like a mischievous sprite determined to ruin his peace of mind. Sometimes his head ached with thinking of it.
Charlotte must not know. Charlotte would do as she was told. He was glad she could not speak English; that necessarily kept her apart. It was the wish of his mother and Lord Bute that she should not have any friends without their knowledge. They wanted to keep Charlotte in the background. And so did he.
How slow was the journey! It was nearly four o'clock and they were only just turning into Cheapside. Nearly four hours since they had left the Palace.
"I'm hungry," Charlotte was saying.
The first of the coaches in which George's uncle, the old Duke of Cumberland, was sitting must by now have reached the Barclays' home; and after that was George's Aunt Amelia and his brother the Duke of York, both with their separate coaches and servants. So many carriages and their retinues and after that there were George's brothers William, Henry and Frederick before the Princess Dowager and her daughters.
Charlotte said: "What a lot of food the Lord Mayor will need to provide for us all.”
"It will do them good," replied the King. "They were eager enough to sit down at our expense at the coronation.”
One of the Barclays had spread a red carpet on the pavement before the house, so that the King and Queen need not step on the cobbles. Charlotte, handed from the coach by the chamberlain, entered the house where one of the counting houses had been transformed into a parlour. On the stairs leading from this room the Barclay family was assembled to greet their Majesties. They looked very sombre in their grey Quaker costumes, for although palace servants had been sent to the house to show the family how to conduct themselves in the presence of royalty, Mr. Barclay had said that it would be against his principles to change his dress or manners. He respected the King but the only one he could bow down to was God.
Charlotte murmured in German that she could not reply in English to Mr. Barclay's loyal speech of welcome but the King was immediately behind her and he expressed their joint pleasure; he seemed very moved by the reception he received from these good people.
In the streets the crowd was calling for a glimpse of the King and the Queen and George said they should show themselves without delay, for the people had been waiting long enough. Tumultuous cheers filled the street when their Majesties appeared on the balconies; and after some minutes they went back into the house to receive the members of the family.
The girls of the family looked charming in their austere garments and the King seemed deeply moved by the sight of them. There were seven daughters of the house and the King insisted on kissing them all as well as their mother. His emotion was noted by all who beheld him; and when one of the very young members of the household, a little girl of five, came forward, it was clear that the whole royal family was enchanted with her. The child was grave but not shy, and she stood before the King regarding him solemnly.
"Tell me what you think of me," said George, who loved children.
"I am thinking that thou art the King," said the child.
"I hope I meet with your approval.”
"I love the King," she said; then she lowered her eyes and added: "Though I am not allowed to love fine things.”
"I am sure you are a good girl and do as you are told.”
"My grandpa forbids me to curtsey to thee.”
There were tears in the King's eyes as he replied: "Then, my sweet child, I should not ask it of thee.”
Everyone was moved and the Princess Dowager picked up the child and kissed her.
"What an enchanting little creature!" said the Duke of York, and looked as though he were about to bestow his kisses on the child.
But her mother had taken her hand and was leading her away, as she feared too much adulation might turn the little girl's head. There was a shout of applause as she left.
Mrs. Barclay was whispering to some of the ladies that there was a buffet in one of the counting rooms which had been turned into a dining room; and if the company could be prevailed upon to follow her she would lead them to it, for she was sure they must be very hungry. The King said he would not eat but would talk with Mr. Barclay as there were many points about his doctrines that he would like to discuss with him; so the Queen with the rest of the company went into the counting-house dining room and partook of the refreshment.
Meanwhile the King was deep in discussion with Mr. Barclay and to the latter's astonishment showed some considerable understanding of Mr. Barclay's faith.
"I have always admired the Society of Friends," said the King, which delighted Mr. Barclay, for there was always a certain danger in belonging to a minority; one could never be sure when those who did not share one's views were going to make it an issue for complaint. So it was comforting to know that the King was in sympathy with them. Mr. Barclay begged the honour of presenting the King with a copy of Apology, a book which set out clearly all the tenets of the Quaker faith.
The King thanked him and accepted the book. "I assure you," he said, with emotion, "that I have always felt strong respect for your friendly society.”
It was time to watch the Lord Mayor's procession from one of the balconies, the purpose for which the King and Queen had come to the house; and they were conducted out by Mr. and Mrs.
Barclay to the pleasure of the people who were waiting in the streets to cheer them.
The Lord Mayor's procession was long and colourful and considerably enlivened by the Lady Mayoress. When she put her head out of the mayoral coach to pay homage to their Majesties her enormous headdress was caught in the window sash and she remained, her head stuck out uncomfortably as the coach rattled on. There were shouts of delight from the crowd and protests from the lady; and the whole procession had to be stopped while the footman extricated the lady and made it possible for her to put her head back in the carriage.
Everyone was laughing, except the Lady Mayoress; and Charlotte recalled the coronation and a similar series of accidents. She was reminded how serious George had been on that occasion. It was indeed a solemn one. But he was even more serious today, which was strange. It occurred to Charlotte then that there might be some strange connection between George and the Quakers. She must try to discover what it was, for as a good wife she must be interested in what concerned her husband.
Lord Bute sat well back in his coach. He had consoled the Princess, but he was not feeling very secure. He knew the mood of the people and that they blamed him for Pitt's retirement from the cabinet. He heard the shouts.
"Pitt. God bless him. We want Pitt." It was coming. He sat back in his coach. He heard the hurrahs and the shouts of approval. It was some seconds before he realized that they had mistaken him for Pitt. He kept well back. If only th
e coachman could whip up the horses. This slow trundling along through a mob that could be murderous if it recognized the true occupant of the coach, was alarming. The coach jerked forward and he with it. A face stared in at him; for a few seconds Bute stared back. Then the face became almost demoniacal in its delight.
"He's no Pitt. It's the Scotch Stallion himself.”
The crowd was round his coach, preventing its moving backwards or forwards. Someone threw a stone through the window. Bute narrowly avoided it. "Go back to your heathen land beyond the Border," cried a voice. They were trying to cut the traces of the horse.
"We'll hang him on a tree where he belongs.”
Oh, God, this is the end, thought Bute. On a day such as this the taverns would have been crowded while the people waited for the procession; they were inflamed by liquor and in such a mood they were capable of anything. Where were the 'bruisers' whom he had hired to follow him, for he had suspected something like this might happen. They were in fact battling their way through the mob to reach his coach. Suddenly he saw one on either side of the coach. The others would be doing their work.
"Get back," shouted one of them. "You're breaking the law.”
"Whose law? Bute's law? We take no account of that. We want the Scotch Boy. He won't sleep in my lady's bed again. We're going to hang him high ...”
The door of the coach was opened suddenly. Bute saw that another coach had drawn up close. In it was Lord Hardwicke. One of the bruisers held off the mob while Lord Bute leapt from his own coach to that of Lord Hardwicke. Lord Hardwicke's driver shouted to the mob to stand aside unless they wished to be run over and because of the urgency of the moment he drove through them. They scattered from right and left; and they satisfied their fury by destroying Lord Bute's fine carriage while his lordship, beside his rescuer Lord Hardwicke, rode on to Guildhall. He was safe, but it was a depressing indication of popular feeling.
Charlotte and George drove from the Barclays' house to Guildhall where various ceremonies had to be endured; and it was nine o'clock before they sat down to the banquet. Although they were received warmly by the Mayor and his Aldermen and the City merchants, when Pitt and Lord Temple entered the Guildhall the rafters shook with the cheers; and the hosts made no secret of who were the honoured guests.
The King was out of favour. He had allowed Mr. Pitt to be dismissed and the City of London which stood for Trade stood for Mr. Pitt. It would not be forgotten in a hurry what Mr. Pitt had done for the prosperity of London in the years when he had been at the helm. The City heartily disapproved of the King's treatment of their Great Commoner and the City of London was a law unto itself; it would not hesitate to express its disapproval of the King's action, for it considered that the prosperity of London was more important to England than all the kings and queens put together.
Still George was not as unpopular as he might have been had he been older. He was young, a new king, and everyone knew that he did not rule. He was told what he must do and he did it. England was ruled by Jackboot and Petticoat and the City had shown what it thought of them.
The King and Queen sat at a table in the front of the hall which had been set especially for them.
Over it was a canopy and they could not complain of their reception for the Lord Mayor himself served the King and the Lady Mayoress the Queen, even though, when the King proposed the health of the City of London, there were some murmurs about government policy not being conducive to its health; and this compared ill with the wild enthusiasm accorded to Pitt.
However, unlike the coronation banquet, this was expertly organized and there were four hundred and fourteen dishes with the accompanying wines ample for the entire company of noblemen, ministers, aldermen and all city dignitaries. The ball that followed was equally successful; but at midnight the King made clear his wish to depart.
The coaches were sent for, but it was discovered that the footmen and coachmen had been having a party on their own and that many of them were in such a state of drunkenness that they were unable to drive.
The Princess Dowager, extremely anxious as to what had happened to Lord Bute, for she had heard rumours of his ride through the City, was very angry. She longed to be in her apartments, her lover beside her, so that she could assure herself that all was well with him. She paced up and down giving vent to her fury while George tried to soothe her by telling her that they must expect their servants to want a little entertainment when so much was being lavished on themselves.
The King's geniality was noted with approval; the Princess Dowager's impatience with dislike.
Tomorrow the shouts against Jackboot and Petticoat would be intensified; but the Princess Dowager was too worried and too exhausted to give that a thought.
At length coachmen were found to drive the coaches and the royal party was able to set off for St.
James's. Even the coachman who drove them was not entirely sober and this was evident when the royal coach turned into the gateway of St. James Palace, for he did not judge his distance sufficiently well, and the coach came into collision with one of the posts. The King and the Queen were thrown from their seats and the roof caved in; the glass windows were broken; but to their astonishment neither George nor Charlotte was hurt. George descended from the coach and helped Charlotte out.
"Your Majesty ..." stammered the coachman.
But George only waved him aside.
"We will walk to our own apartments," he said.
What a strange day, thought Charlotte, in the royal bed while George lay beside her. She felt as though she were jolting in the coach; she could still hear the shouts of the people; could see the splendour of the Guildhall; but most clearly of all, the Quaker household. How friendly George had been to them! She had never seen him quite like that before. She must ask him to explain to her this affinity he had for Quakers.
When she fell asleep it was to dream of people in austere grey robes looking like nuns in the brilliant assembly. But in the weeks that followed she forgot George's strangeness on that day, for an exciting probability had become a fact. The Queen was pregnant.
The birth of a child
When George heard that Charlotte could expect a child during the following summer he was overcome by joy. But for the conflict prevailing among the members of his government this, he believed, could have been the happiest time of his life. He longed for a large family and Charlotte had shown, by becoming so quickly pregnant, that she was fertile.
He was growing more and more devoted to Charlotte who was a good and loving wife, and he scarcely ever thought of Sarah Lennox. But he could not help remembering those other occasions similar in a way when Hannah had told him that she was expecting a baby. This was different. No need for subterfuge here only rejoicing.
If only Pitt had been content to accept the ruling of his cabinet how easy everything would have been. But with the weeks which followed the Lord Mayor's banquet the people grew more and more restive. It did not help when in January it was necessary to declare war on Spain and Pitt's policy was vindicated. People stood about in groups in the streets and demanded of each other: "Was this not the very issue on which Pitt resigned? And here they are declaring war after all. So Pitt was right... and they were wrong. And who rules now? Lord Bute. Newcastle may call himself First Lord of the Treasury, but it is Bute who controls affairs.”
Bute! They hated him. It was unsafe for him to venture in the streets. "Jackboot!" they shouted after his carriage; and he could never be sure whether he was going to be attacked by the mob.
Bute had been working towards this position of power over many years, but now it was his he was beginning to wonder if it had been worth while. He loved power; but he was fond of the King and truly wished to bring good to the country; and although he was aware of being overshadowed by the greatness of Pitt, he deeply regretted his departure. Perhaps this was not really what he had worked for after all. What he had desired was to be in control, yes, but with Pitt beside him or a little behind hi
m to advise out of his great wisdom. If Pitt had been prepared to take second place ... But Pitt was a man of great pride and dignity: He would have everything his way or he would have nothing.
Bute still had the affection of the King and the Princess, and they both still regarded him with admiration as well as affection, which gave him great encouragement, and his speeches in Parliament were often so eloquent that many revised their opinion of him. Lacking the genius of men like Pitt and Fox, he was none the less something more than a man who had come to power because he had had the good fortune to attract the right mistress.
Newcastle was an encumbrance and he felt he would be well rid of him. George did not like the man either, so he did hot have to prepare the King to dislike him. Bute felt that if he could rid the Government of Newcastle he could perhaps make some headway. The opportunity came over the subsidy which England had been paying to Frederick of Prussia so that he might prosecute the war in Europe. Bute was against continuing with this, whereas Newcastle was of the opposite opinion.
Newcastle threatened to resign and went to the King who had been prepared by Bute.
"I fear Your Majesty," said Newcastle, 'that I disagree with Lord Bute over this matter of aid to Prussia. The time may have come when I should retire into private life.”
"Then, my lord, I must fill your place as best I can," retorted the King.
Newcastle was taken aback; after all the years he had served he House of Hanover he had expected some protestation; but even he was quick enough to see that the King was welcoming his resignation and had no intention of persuading him to rescind it.