He suited actions to words and made up for it in liquid form at my expense.
‘And what do you tell these gentlemen?’
He leaned back on his bench, replete with self-approval.
‘Nuffink. Precisely nuffink. At great length. I say she’s “sweet”, “ever so bright”, that there’s “no side to’er” – things like that. Also “devoted to’er muvver”, which as I suspect you’ve realised, Mr Mozart, is not strictly true, but then troof is what those gentlemen wouldn’t appreciate if it took their pencils and wrote their pieces for them.’
‘Do they use your information, such as it is?’
‘Oh yers,’ said Dorkle complacently. ‘I’m a “source close to Kensington Palace”, or “a friend of the Duchess’s” as often as not. Oh yes, they goes away and prints it all, and the magazines in Paris prints a hengravin’of a little girl, which could be any little girl and is probably the heditor’s daughter, and everybody’s’appy. Now, you’re different, Mr Mozart – I can tell that.’
‘I should think so.’
‘I can see you’re not going to be rushing into print. I’m not going to ask why you’re after information, because I know you wouldn’t tell me. So just fetch me another and tell me what it is you wants to know.’
So there I was, waiter to a footman! I fetched two more pints from the counter and sat down again.
‘How long have you been at the palace?’ I began.
‘Six mumfs. It’s not a bad billet, if you can keep cheerful. The Princess is the best thing there. We play’opscotch in the back yard now and then.’
‘What are your impressions of the Princess? Her character, I mean.’
Something like enthusiasm animated his whole body.
‘She’s a corker! Sharp as a bowie-knife, clever wiv it, and funny into the bargain if she chooses. Oh, she’s a spanker! We’d all do anything for Wicky!’
I suspected that if the Duchess had heard him he’d have got his dismissal on the spot.
‘You say “sharp”. Do you think that if she gets an idea she’s probably right?’
He looked more dubious.
‘Oh, well, I wouldn’t say that, quite. I mean, she’s a little girl, i’n’t she? Findin’ ’er way, like. She’ll find it, but she isn’t there yet. Couldn’t be. See’ow they’ve protected’er. Built a bleedin’ great wall around’er. ’Ardly knows any nippers ’er own age – apart from Sir John’s family, wot she can’t abide. No, I wouldn’t go so far as to say she’s always right. It’s only natural she gets things wrong now and then.’
‘And what’s your opinion of the Duchess?’
He screwed up his face, decidedly less enthusiastic.
‘Our of’er depth, if you ask me,’ he said, for all the world like an elder statesman. ‘Oh, nice enough woman in’er way. Everyone says she made a good wife to the dead Dook, whatever that may mean – probably that she asked no questions about’is past so’s she was told no lies. You needed to’ear no hevil and see no hevil if you married one o’that lot. Ask the present Queen. But I’d say the Duchess is out of’er depth.’
‘In what way?’
‘Bringin’up the heir to the throne. She’s got a hobsession about it, like it was different to bringin’up any uvver sort o’ nipper. Wicky’s a bright child, but she’s still a child like any uvver. She needs company, she needs to play and’ave a good time. But she don’t. If you ask me, the Duchess’as gone wrong wiv Vicky, and she won’t never go right.’
‘And Sir John, and her relations with him?’
His face was suddenly wreathed with a cunning smile, which had lasciviousness mixed in.
‘You know, I fort you was going to ask me that, Mr Mozart. Not even the gentlemen from the Paris magazines’ave come straight out and asked about that: they know about Sir John, but they aren’t game to ask. Well, here’s what we in the servants’quarters think. If they do it in the palace they’re so clever about it that they’ve never been caught out nor left any hevidence.’
‘Elsewhere, then? Sir John’s quarters?’
‘Sir John ’as a family. Wouldn’t’ave been easy. Elsewhere in London? ’Ired rooms, maybe? An ’otel? It’s possible. Opinion is divided in the servants’quarters.’
‘I see. What is below-stairs opinion of Sir John?’
He answered without hesitation.
‘Below-stairs opinion of Sir John is not divided. He is a shifty indiwiddle. Plausible, smooth, clever in the short term.’
‘But not the long?’
‘If’e was clever in the long term’e’d keep in with’er nibs the Princess, wouldn’t’e? Instead’e gets right up’er nose. Pinning’is’opes on a Regency for the Duchess. That begs a lot of questions, as anyone ’oo’s seen the King and knows he’s a pretty healthy indiwiddle could tell’im.’
‘I take your point. It had occurred to me. And what about his honesty?’
He wiped his mouth and drained his tankard.
‘I’d trust’im about as far as I’d trust your average Member o’ Parliament. Wenial, that’s what they are, and wenial that’s what’e is. Mind you, I’ve no hevidence. But ask yourself this: where does the money go? Does it go on servants’ wages? Don’t make me laugh! On furnishings for the palace? You’ve seen it. Clothes for the little girl or ’er muvver? They could be a country squire’s womenfolk. And the same goes for the poor silly Princess Sophia. He ’as the’andling of’er financial affairs too. And a great deal too much’andling goes on, if you ask me. I wouldn’t give’im the ’andling of my spare change.’
‘It was something I’d asked myself about,’ I admitted. ‘By the way, the King wants to ask the Princess and her mother to Windsor in the near future.’
The footman whistled.
‘I fort’e might. They’ve fort about it too.’
‘What will their reaction be?’
‘They’ll resist till they’re black and blue. Fink up all sorts of hexcuses.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, the FitzClarences for a start. You don’t’ave to look far for a good hexcuse, if that’s what you’re after.’
‘She can hardly refuse to meet the King’s daughters, who are all married into good families.’
‘Don’t you believe it. It’s their berf she objects to, and a good marriage doesn’t alter that. “‘Ow can I teach my dear daughter the difference between wice an’wirtue if she is forced to mix wiv the Hillegitimate Hoffspring of the present King?” – you can guess the kind of thing she’ll say.’
He jiggled his tankard on the rough table between us, and I went to fetch him another pint, together with something small and stronger for myself. I was in any case humming and hahing to myself, because I suspected that the man was right.
‘What, I wonder,’ I said as I set the mug and glass down on the table, ‘might tip the balance in favour of their going?’
‘’Ave you thought of money?’ he asked, supping deep. I stared at him. It was so obvious I hadn’t thought of it. Me, for whom money is so constant and pressing a need.
‘Of course. What a fool I’ve been.’
‘The King says he’s hanxious to up their Civil List pension, to take account of the fact that Wicky is now heir to the throne. Carriages ordered quicker than blinking.’
He had all the right terms off pat. Probably they talked about little else in the servants’quarters.
‘I think you’re right … Mind you, it’s a pity: it would probably be money straight into Sir John’s pocket.’
‘Maybe,’ he said shrugging. ‘Mind you, women’ave been known to get over their hinfatuations. If they’ave a bit more she might be inclined to ask where it’s going … Mr Mozart.’
He was leaning forward, a worried expression on his face.
‘Yes?’
‘Is this wise?’
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Is this wise, getting Wicky over to Windsor?’
He seemed genuinely worried, and I liked him much more for it.
‘I meant company of’er own age, not elderly huncles and the breeding cattle they married when they thought there was a chance of providing the heir to the throne.’
‘True. Some of them are not company anyone would choose. But it will be a bit of excitement for her.’
‘Maybe a sight too much.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Have you met Anne Hattersley, Wicky’s maid?’
‘No. I’d like to.’
‘Maybe I can arrange it. She’s worked for royals most of’er life. Says there’s a strain of madness there.’
‘Well, the old King being as he was, that’s not a particularly original observation.’
‘Running right through … Think of the Duke of Cumberland. Suddenly goes raving mad and takes a razor to’is own valet.’
‘Oh, that was never proved.’
‘Doesn’t go down well in the servants’quarters, I can tell you.’
‘I suppose not. But what are you trying to say, Ned?’
‘I’m saying I think she might be in danger.’
5. That Is The Question
I wrote to the new King at Windsor, asking for a meeting to discuss how to persuade the Duchess of Kent to let her daughter attend the family gathering there. I could of course have committed my thoughts to paper, but I wished to make my importance to royalty as open and visible as possible. Already on the news of the favour shown me by the new King there had been performances of several of my old works and promises of more, as well as enquiries about new ones. Bradford – dear Bradford! – had written suggesting a commission for an oratorio. I wasn’t very keen on an oratorio. Haydn had done the Creation, Handel had done Jesus Christ – I didn’t think there was much left that was commensurate with my talents. The Ten Commandments are so negative. I wrote suggesting a Mass, but they replied saying it smacked of Popery.
Anyway, the King came up trumps (I was beginning to like him already). One of his many grandchildren was having a birthday, and he wondered whether I could put together a little play with music for her. It was the work of half an hour, and I was down to the Queen’s Theatre to engage three or four singers for the entertainment. Unfortunately the dreadful old Popper (who is showing his years, and many more) insisted on coming with us, but in spite of this the little piece went capitally. We did it in one of the Drawing Rooms, without any stage or curtain, but I think the children liked us being so close. It was very childish, as it should be, and I think the King enjoyed it even more than his grandchildren. When the birthday party was well under way we withdrew and discussed the gathering of family and friends that he had set his heart on.
The King thought it a capital idea that, along with the invitation to the Duchess her daughter there should go a letter suggesting that during the two or three days he or one of the court officials would discuss with her a substantial increase in her civil list pension (‘if Parliament approves,’ he put in: ‘we have to say that. They’re the masters now.’) He even agreed that success would be more likely if Sir John Conroy was also invited (‘Damned scoundrel though he is’). We thought that if her pension was substantially increased the Duchess might agree to have a separate adviser appointed to run her finances. At the very least Sir John, I suggested, could be subjected to a searching discussion with the Lord Chamberlain about his present conduct of the Duchess’s and the Princess Sophia’s financial affairs. It might make him more wary of robbing them in the future.
‘Damned good idea!’ said the King. ‘You’ve got a head for money matters, Mr Mozart.’
‘I have had to have, Your Majesty,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never had enough of it.’
‘I know the feeling. I’ve never had enough of it either.’
It showed one of the nice sides of the King’s nature that after the performance he had invited the actors and actresses (and even Mr Popper) to join the party and partake of all the good things on offer along with the children and their parents. As we rejoined the party he surveyed the jollity with satisfaction.
‘Always liked actors and actresses,’ he said happily.
The latter preference was hardly news. It was at that point that I should have raised the Duchess’s likely objections to the FitzClarences meeting her daughter. But my heart failed me. There the FitzClarences all were around us, and the King was so happy, and would probably have gone apoplectic and said, quite justifiably, that he’d invite who he damned well pleased to his own castle. In any case, at that point he turned to me and said, ‘We’ll do it again!’
‘I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?’
‘We’ll do it again, for little Victoria. Have a play of some kind – something that an older child would like. I’d wager she doesn’t get taken often to the theatre.’
‘My impression is, sir, that she’s never been taken at all.’
‘Good Lord! What a terrible thing! We didn’t have much of a childhood, but we did often get taken to the theatre.’
So there we were, with another Royal Command Performance in prospect. Reluctantly I took His Majesty over to Mr Popper, who was pop-eyed, and we began to go into details. We fixed on a scaled-down version of an old piece, Victor and Victoria, to be done with an orchestra of six or seven, and with five singers. Ideal. Providing employment for musicians and good publicity for Popper’s theatre which, when all was said and done, was my theatre too. Popper was in his seventh heaven, and on the way home, inflamed by good wines and rich food, he treated me with something like respect. That had happened before, and it had always ended in tears. One had to savour the moment and build no hopes on it.
I was surprised to receive a few days later, a letter from Kensington Palace, from Sir John Conroy himself in fact, asking if I could make it convenient to come to the palace an hour early for my next lesson with the Princess, as there was a matter of some moment that they wished to discuss with me. ‘We’, he said – injudiciously I considered. Thinking it over I decided it was unlikely that they wanted to chew over with me the Princess’s command of legato, or the unevenness of her scale passages. They had received the letter of invitation from the King and – odd as it might seem – they wished to discuss the matter with me. That could only mean that they had heard of my two visits to the new court at Windsor. I would have become immensely swollen with pride at my new position as confidant and advisor to royalty if I had thought they would genuinely confide in me or even consider my advice. However I didn’t.
I was shown by Ned Dorkle into the same shabby sitting room as on my first visit to the Princess, and was met by the same line-up: Sir John, the Duchess, and the Princess Sophia. They were all remarkably friendly, as if we had known each other all our lives. Coffee and delicate little cakes were brought in, and in no time we were all sitting down and looking at each other. Someone had to start the business discussion going, and apparently it had been agreed it should be the Duchess.
‘Mr Mozart,’ she began, ’ve believe you have the best interests of the Princess Victoria at heart.’
‘No one – no one not of her immediate family – could have them more so,’ I said, my enthusiasm sincere (and not the less so for being somewhat intermingled with financial considerations).
‘That is very gratifying,’ said the Duchess, but in a cold voice that did not convey much gratification. ‘The fact is that ve have received an invitation from the King – an invitation vich … vich …’
‘Which for a variety of reasons that we need not go into it would be politic and beneficial to the Princess if the Duchess were to accept,’ put in Sir John smoothly.
Money, I thought. Sir John’s in favour of accepting. He smells cash. I bowed.
‘Ve have talked about this before, Mr Mozart,’ the Duchess resumed, ‘and I made clear my reservations about contacts between the new King and a fresh, innocent young girl like the Princess. These reservations have not gone av
ay. But there are … prudential considerations as Sir John says. I believe, Mr Mozart, you have been tvice to the court since King William succeeded, have played for them?’
‘I have indeed, Ma’am.’
‘Do tell us!’ said the Princess Sophia, almost bouncing in her eagerness. ‘I can just imagine what William is like. Pleased as Punch at being King, chattering endlessly to all and sundry, making appallingly tactless remarks and treading on any corns there are to be trodden on, and generally being as unregal as it is possible to be. And Adelaide is sitting around being dreary, I suppose.’ A thought struck her, in mid-flow. ‘Well, my mother was always thought a dreary little thing when she came to this country, so I’m told. By the time she died she was generally feared as a formidable old dragon. I was afraid of her myself. Not that Adelaide will have time for that. She seems to have been born to be Queen Dowager.’
I had the impression that Sir John would have stopped her rattling on if there had been no stranger present – that even with me there he had to hold himself back. When she came to a stop I left a moment or two’s silence, as I considered my reply.
‘I think everyone is pleased to have a queen again, and a quiet, kind, respectable one is all to the good. It is generally agreed that her effect on the new King’s behaviour, as well as his finances, has been beneficial.’
‘Oh, everyone would agree about that,’ said the Duchess, but I thought there was an undercurrent of sourness.
‘The new King does talk a lot, is friendly to everyone, possibly might be thought unkingly,’ I resumed slowly.
‘They said the same about Papa,’ said Princess Sophia. ‘I think kingliness is what the King does.’
I bowed again.
‘I have to say that the King’s friendliness and approachability seem to be generally liked. The late King – for good medical reasons, no doubt – had been more or less invisible to his people for some years—’
Too Many Notes, Mr Mozart Page 5