‘Find excuses for him, Piggy. You know that’s what I want you to do.’
She looked so forlorn, so tragic sitting there that Miss Pigot went over and kissed her.
‘Dear Pig, at least I have you. That is something to be grateful for.’
‘I’ll be faithful till death.’
‘Those were exactly his words.’
‘And he meant them— in his way.’
‘In his way?’ said Maria bitterly. ‘I know what that means. Words— words and no meaning behind them.’
She was silent for a while and Miss Pigot did not attempt to break that silence; then Maria began to talk of that ceremony in her drawing room in Park Street.
‘I would tell no one but you. I promised it should be a secret and I have kept my word. I should have known what to expect shouldn’t I, when Fox stood up in the House of Commons and denied that we had ever been married? And the Prince let it pass.’
‘You left him then. Remember how unhappy you were? But you went back to him, didn’t you?’
‘He was my husband, whatever Mr. Fox said. I didn’t forget that.’
‘If he was then, he is now. So you shouldn’t forget that either.’
‘ He has chosen to forget, and I shall not remind him. What use would it be?
But I can’t stop thinking of those happy days. I think the happiest were when we were most poor. Poor! What he thought of as poor. Do you remember when there were bailiffs at Carlton House and the King would not help and so the Prince sold his horses and shut up the state apartments at Carlton House and we went down to Brighton? But we were determined to economize; we determined to settle his debts gradually— and so we took that place in Hampshire. I think those days at Kempshott were the happiest of my life, Piggy. If he had been simply a country gentleman like my first and second husbands, I think we should have been happy.
I understand him as no one else does. I could make him happy— but he does not think so.’
‘Of course he does. This Jersey affair will pass like the others, Maria. He’s a boy— rather a spoilt boy I admit— but we love him for what he is. He’ll be back.’
‘I see that you have not heard the rumours.’
‘Rumours? What rumours?’
‘He’s in debt again. His creditors have to be appeased. The King and Mr. Pitt have put their heads together and are offering him a condition.’
‘Them and their conditions! They always make conditions!’
‘This time it is marriage.’
‘Marriage. How can he marry? He’s married already.’
‘The State would not say so.’
‘Then the State would be lying. Have you and he not made your vows before a priest?’
‘We have, but if the State does not recognize them— Remember the case of the Duke of Sussex. He had made his vows but the courts decided he was not married.’
‘I know. It’s wicked.’
‘But it’s fact. I am only the Prince’s wife while he acknowledges me as such.’
‘That’s nonsense.’
‘I know that in the eyes of God and my church, I am the Prince’s wife. But he does not accept that. That is why he has agreed to marry.’
‘Agreed to marry. It’s lies.’
‘So I told myself, but rumour persists.’
‘There’ll always be rumours.’
‘But this rumour is on very firm foundation. I even know the name of the Princess of Wales elect.’
‘What?’
‘Caroline of Brunswick. Niece of the King.’
‘It’s all a pack of nonsense,’ said Miss Pigot.
But Maria only shook her head. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘And it’s the end. I have really lost him now.’
In the Queen’s Lodge at Kew the Queen was having her hair curled and reading the papers at the same time. She supposed now there would be a spate of lampoons and cartoons about the Prince’s proposed marriage once it was announced. At the time it was, of course, a secret; but it would not be so much longer.
She sighed. She did hope that nothing would happen to upset the King; since that last illness of his— she shuddered. One could scarcely call it an ordinary illness. All those months when his mind had been deranged and she had suddenly come into power had been most uneasy. It was not that she did not wish for power; she did. She was beginning to grasp it, and she had the King’s condition to thank for it— if thank was the right word in such circumstances. But she faced the fact that the King terrified her. Whenever she heard him begin to gabble; when she saw those veins projecting at his temples; she was afraid that he was going to break out into madness— and violent madness at that.
Dear little Kew, as she always thought of it, had lost its serenity. She had been delighted with it from the first day when she had gone to live in the Queen’s Lodge which was really one of the houses on the Green. The Dutch House was close by and there the Prince of Wales had lived before he had his own establishment— first apartments in Buckingham House and then with greater freedom in Carlton House. There across the bridge along Strand-on-the-Green many of the members of the household lodged. Certainly Kew was not like living at Court; it was even not like a King’s residence. Perhaps that was why she and the King had always been so fond of it.
But Kew had changed; it was full of memories. She remembered how they had brought the King from Windsor when it had first been known that he was mad, and sometimes at night in her sleep she was disturbed by the sounds of that rambling voice going on and on, growing more and more hoarse; she thought of that occasion when the King had seized the Prince of Wales by the neck and tried to strangle him and how the hatred shone in those mad eyes of his; she remembered a time when he had embraced their youngest daughter Amelia until the child had screamed aloud in terror because she thought he was going to suffocate her. And that was love!
She would never forget the agonized look in those poor mad eyes when his beloved child had been dragged from him and they had tried to force him into a strait-jacket.
Memories of Kew! The King walking the grounds with his doctors, shouting himself hoarse, beating in time to imaginary music, shaking hands with an oak tree which he thought was the Emperor of Prussia. This had changed the face of dear little Kew.
And, thought the Queen — how can we know when it will break out again, and if it does and there should be a Regency— the Prince will do everything he can to curb my power. But she would not let him because Mr. Pitt was on her side and Mr. ‘Pitt was Prime Minister and cared little for the Prince of Wales. The Prince had allied himself with Fox and the Whigs and that was enough to make Pitt stand against him.
Mr. Pitt and I will rule between us, thought Queen Charlotte; and she wondered how she could have come to hate her eldest son so much, he, whom when he was a baby and a young boy, she had idolized. The others altogether had not meant half so much to her as her first-born; and now she hated him.
Strong feelings for a mother— and such a plain little woman. Ah, but then it was everyone. had thought her plain and insignificant for so many years that now she saw the chance of exerting her power she seized it.
The King who had determined to keep her in her place— which meant constantly bearing children— had had his way since their marriage. She had given him fifteen children. Surely, she had done her duty? But now he was a poor shambling than his living in creature— older than his years, living in constant fear that his madness would return.
And this had given the Queen her chance.
But the Prince was determined to flout her. He must marry, and he had chosen Caroline of Brunswick when her brother’s charming daughter was available.
Was it possible even yet to get him to change his mind?
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. They had now placed the triangular cushion on. the crown of her head, and started to frizz her hair and build it up round the cushion.
How ugly it is! she thought. And nothing they can ever do to me will beautify me.
And what does it matter if they did. I am an old woman in any case. ‘Your Majesty, we are ready for the powdering—’
The powdering robe was wrapped about her and they began.
The powder seemed to get up her nose and into her throat today. It was all so tiresome.
But now she was ready and she would go to her drawing room where the Princesses were waiting for her.
The Princesses were there— all six of them. They curtsied and her sharp eyes took in every detail to see that they did so in the approved manner. Twelve-year- old Amelia was not as graceful as she should be; but one did not reproach Amelia; she was her father’s favourite and he could not bear her to be scolded. And considering the soothing effect she had on him, thought the Queen, I suppose we should all be grateful to the child and forgive Amelia her small weaknesses.
The Princess Royal was looking discontented. Poor Princess Royal, she was a disappointed young woman. Young woman— well, she would not be that much longer. She was twenty-nine and still no husband had been found for her. And where could they find a husband for her when there was such a dearth of Protestant Princes? The great difficulty was that any husband for the Princesses must be both Royal and Protestant. It was a grave handicap. And when one considered that there were five others all waiting hopefully for husbands— Oh dear, how depressing! What a fearful problem marriage was. The sons did it where they should not and the daughters looked for it in vain.
Perhaps it was not so clever to have had quite so many of them.
The Queen looked along the line of faces. Her little girls. She loved them.
They were so much more amenable than their brothers. They did not defy her and the King. But perhaps they would if they had the opportunity, ‘My snuff box,’ she said sternly, looking at her eldest daughter, for it was Princess Royal’s duty to present her with her snuff box on occasions like this and to see that it had been adequately replenished.
The Princess Royal presented it with a curtsey and the Queen took a pinch.
Ah, that was better! There was nothing like a pinch of snuff to revive the spirits.
‘Who is going to read to us this morning?’ asked the Queen, looking round.
‘Is it going to be you, Gouly?’
Miss Goldsworthy— Gouly, to the royal family— replied that since it was Her Majesty’s wish she would be happy to begin the reading; and the work was brought out, the Princesses and their ladies seated and the reading began.
How utterly boring! thought Charlotte, the Princess Royal. And this is how it goes on day after dreary day. And it will never change— unless the miracle happens and I escape there was only one way in which a princess could escape— through marriage, and who knew what that would bring Well, let it come whatever it was. Anything was better than this complete and utter monotony.
She was twenty-nine years old and she had been twenty-six before she had been allowed to meet anyone who had not been presented by the Queen. Now having exceeded that ripe age she was allowed what they called a little freedom.
She might speak to people without Mamma’s consent. What freedom! It was enough to make a young woman take the first lover that came along. And, thought Princess Royal, soon I shall become so desperate that that is what I shall do. At twenty-six she had been permitted to select the books she wished to read; before that she had been allowed only those which had been chosen by her mother She had never forgotten how humiliated she had felt when she had discovered Fanny Burney, the novelist who had for a time been a member of her mother’s household, censoring Swift’s John Bull for her. And meanwhile her brothers— Oh, her brothers! George most of all with his women and all the country asking, is he married or is he not? And whispering the name of that woman, Maria Fitzherbert And before that he had had that affair with the actress known as Perdita Robinson who had threatened to publish his letters and had had to be bought off with a pension for life. And all this before he was twenty-one.
Now there was this scandal about Augustus; and there was William not caring for the disapproval of his parents setting up house with a play actress. All this for the boys, while the girls were treated like nuns in a convent.
Small wonder that she was exasperated.
Soon I shall be thirty, she mourned. Thirty— forty— fifty. Who would be a princess at the dismal Court of George III? The Princess Royal glanced at her sisters. Augusta was less conscious of their plight. She was in any case two years younger; she was careless too of the manner in which she dressed— a little bit of a hoyden. She did not care so much for the restrictions as Princess Royal did but shrugged her shoulders and accepted.
Twenty-five-year-old Elizabeth had a drawing block on a little table beside her; she was sketching the group and was oblivious of Charlotte’s dissatisfaction Elizabeth wanted to be an artist, and although this was not taken seriously by the King and Queen, they saw no harm in her pursuing her little hobby. The King kindly often asked to see her drawings and congratulated her on them.
Mary and Sophia— nineteen and eighteen— were just beginning to fret under restraint; and Amelia at twelve had not begun to be aware of it. Papa’s darling, she felt herself to be a very special member of the household and seemed quite content with her fate. She had not yet discovered the boring routine to be so tiresome walking with the dogs, bringing them into the Queen’s drawing room, taking them out, making sure that Mamma’s snuff box was always filled each day and that it was placed on the table beside her.
Oh the inanity of it all! The parade on the terrace in the evening when the public came to look at them. There they were specially dressed for the occasion, fluttering their fans and smiling and bowing to the occasional expressions of approval.
All eyes were on Amelia, of course. That child would become quite conceited And she furled and unfurled her fan and went through her special antics for their benefit, and if Papa were there he would be unable to take his eyes from her. She was never subjected to the harsh criticism which had come the way of the others.
One almost longed for Thursdays which was Court Day when the King and the Queen had to be at St James’s. Not that there was anything exciting about that, it’s only virtue was that it was different.
Then Mamma would be dressed with special ceremony and travel to London with her tippet and ruffles in a paper bag, as she said, to prevent their getting on the way. She behaved like some humble squire’s lady instead of a queen. And we are expected to endure this just because it is their way of living. If the Prince of Wales were king, what a different Court that would be! She had heard Frederick say that George had once told him that one of the first things he would do when he came to the throne would be to find husbands for his sisters.
She believed he would. For at heart, in spite of the gay and romantic life he led, George was kind; and while he wanted to enjoy his own life to the full and that was doubtless the main purpose in it, he did like to see those around him enjoying theirs. Whereas with Papa— boredom was synonymous with goodness.
Oh dear, what a life we lead! And I am nearly thirty and see no hope of escape. ‘Princess Royal, take the dog out.’ The Queen’s voice sounded severe. She should have noticed, of course. ‘And Gouly, your voice sounds tired. I think Miss Planta might care to read now. You may take over her sewing.’
When the Princess Royal returned to the apartment it was to find that a paroxysm of coughing had seized Amelia.
‘Pat her back,’ commanded the Queen, which Sophia who was nearest immediately did. ‘There, is that better?’
Amelia said it was. But a little later she began to cough again. She had got that nasty cough and it was a mild source of anxiety to the Queen. She would grow out of it, she told herself; but what did terrify her was that if the King should hear the child’s coughing, it would upset him so.
Amelia was now herself— small and dainty and very pretty. The word frail came into her mother’s mind. Oh, no, Amelia was well enough. If she could throw off that wretched cough— But she would and
the most important thing of all was that the King should not hear it. If he did he would begin to fret; he would make something out of it. Nothing must touch his darling Amelia and he would remember that Octavius and Alfred had had unpleasant little coughs before they died.
‘Are you better now, Amelia?’ asked the Queen sternly.
‘Yes, Mamma.’
‘Don’t cough when you are with Papa. He does not like coughs.’
Amelia would do her best. It was a breach of etiquette in any case to cough or sneeze in the presence of royalty. The lady-in-waiting grew quite hilarious explaining the methods employed to stop a sneeze. The favourite one was to place the finger horizontally beneath the nose. That was if one felt it coming in time.
Coughing could be restrained more easily.
What silly rules! thought Princess Royal. How happy I should be if some prince offered for my hand. I should not let them refuse for me— not in any circumstances. Anything would be better than this boring life at Kew. It was time now for the Queen to retire to her apartments so she rose. The Princesses rose too and dropped their bows and curtsies as their mother passed out of the room.
She went to the King’s apartments and found him seated at his table poring over State papers. This was something she would not have dared do before his illness. Now she was in command for he recognized himself as a feeble old man who had once suffered a bout of madness; and the fear of its return was never far away.
He consulted her now. She and Pitt were the powerful ones. Although some would like to see the Prince and Fox in that position.
‘The Prince is now eager for the negotiations to go forward,’ said the King.
‘That is a good sign, eh; what?’
‘To Brunswick?’ said the Queen hastily.
‘To Brunswick. My sister will be pleased, I am sure.’
‘She should be. The daughter from an obscure little Court to become the wife of the heir to the Throne of England. Very pleased indeed.’
Indiscretions of the Queen Page 7