Let us play a game – a memory game. Let us imagine that the recent shots were real shots, intended to harm, and the affair is being investigated by magistrates. They ask you where you were, who you were talking to, and who was around you. How much do you remember? What would be your reply?
Nemo
I was not at all sure, to tell the truth, that the Princess would be deceived by the pretence of this being a game. She was not easily deceived. I was sure, though, that she would be delighted by the business of passing surreptitious notes.
My opportunity occurred soon after I returned to the general company. The Duchess of Kent had decreed that the Princess was not to dine with her elders for a second night running (‘Too much excitement’), and the King in his kindly way was looking, for some means of compensating her and giving her prominence, for all his guests were intensely interested in her, and he had not the slightest feeling of jealousy. His choice of method was not entirely happy. He was insisting to her that she play for the assembled company. The Princess stood out for a while, then seeing me approach she giggled and gave in. When the chatter and din had been stilled by footmen the King stood by the piano.
‘I don’t know if you know, but m’niece is a fine little pianist. She’s very reluctant, but she’s said she’ll play one little piece for us. While I’m on the subject of music, we’ve had some fine musicians playing here at Windsor – this new chap Mendelssohn only last year – but I venture to say her teacher—’ he caught the eye of the Queen – ‘but I mustn’t go on – m’niece.’
His taking notice of the Queen for once suggested to me that he had realised that it was probably better not to give me undue prominence at the moment. Pity – a royal endorsement as the greatest living musician in Europe would have made a nice change, and could have been relayed to the newspapers to impress my creditors. Ah well. I emerged from rummaging through the available music to find that the Princess was standing, diminutive, in front of the piano stool and was about to say something.
‘The King is very kind,’ she announced in her bell-like tones which made such a change from Hanoverian gruffness, ‘but I want to say that I don’t play well at all, and it won’t be very pleasant having to listen. But you must know that it’s not at all Mr Mozart’s fault, because in fact he’s only given me three lessons, and even he can’t work miracles in that time.’
She sat down amid laughter, and as people were looking at each other and smiling indulgently I slipped the note into her hand, and as she arranged her music with her left hand, with her right she popped the note into the neck of her dress.
She played the inevitable Clementi and – stimulated, perhaps, by the little spurt of excitement at receiving the note – managed it better than she ever had before, with quite a show of brilliance from time to time. I saw Sir John Conroy gazing at her with a pride that seemed to announce itself as paternal. Foolish man – just the way to arouse enmities in the circle in which he was mixing. The over-mighty subject was something we had all had quite enough of in the last reign, with the King’s succession of rapacious mistresses. The applause at the end was genuine, and it was with no show of regret that the Princess allowed herself to be packed off upstairs to join the other children in a nursery supper, while we indulged in or endured another formal dinner.
I was placed at table among decidedly better company than I had had the day before, though whether this was by order of the King or due to an error on the part of his household I never found out. Of course ‘good’company, in that sense, can have its drawbacks. On one side of me was Lord Howe, the Queen’s Chamberlain whom I’ve mentioned before – an unpleasant, chilly figure with reactionary opinions. He was so incensed at finding himself sitting next to a common fiddler that he spoke no word to me at all, and was forced to put up some pretence of conversation with Earl Grey on the other side of him – a man whom he obviously regarded as the Robespierre of current British politics. Opposite him was the King’s son-in-law the Earl of Erroll – a boisterous, headstrong Whig whom he found it equally difficult to be polite to, so there was usually a pool of silence and ill-will on my right.
I was luckier on my left hand, where I had the Countess of Erroll. I must not bore you with how lovely her mother Mrs Jordan was. Nothing is more tedious than old men going on about the charms of actresses of their younger days. But – oh! – this woman did remind me of her, with her enchanting laugh, her beauty, with a touch of the elfin and a touch of the hoyden, and the gift – just like her mother’s – of making you think you are the most interesting and fascinating man in the world.
Inevitably we started talking about the Duke of Cumberland’s escapade that afternoon. Everyone else was talking about it, so how could we avoid it?
‘Of course he hates Papa, since he opposed him over Catholic Emancipation,’ she said.
‘I remember,’ I said truthfully, that measure having interested me more than most of the futile Acts passed by Parliament since it concerned my co-religionists. ‘What was it your father called his brother’s opposition to the Bill?’
‘“Factious and infamous”. He’d got up the description beforehand – that’s not his usual sort of language at all.’ She put back her head and laughed. ‘Usually it smacks of the quarterdeck, as everyone knows. But that was the sort of formal language the Duke of Cumberland understands. He’s very vocal on the need to be loyal to Established Authority, but in practice he is only loyal if he agrees with the Established Authority.’
‘There are many such,’ I said.
‘Today was an act of defiance of my father. He was cocking a snook at the new regime. He could bully the old King, but he can’t this one. It’s very unpleasant because Papa and my mother were very kind to the Duke’s son.’ She saw my surprise and added, with a charming smile, ‘His natural son. We had quite a collection of children in a state of nature at Bushey.’
‘It must have been a good childhood.’
‘It was. Mama was always in the family way, but it never seemed to make any difference – it was like a stage role she could do without thinking any time a manager asked her to. She and my father doted on children, and just wanted us to have a carefree and happy time as we grew up. They knew things would become difficult later on. I think Papa had through us the childhood he had never had when young.’
‘So it never made any difference that you were … natural children?’
She thought.
‘Not when we were very young. I remember wondering why everyone always talked very respectfully of Grandmama Queen and Grandpapa King, but we never actually saw them. I decided they must live a long, long way away. I never ever met, never was received by, either of them.’
‘When did you really understand?’
‘When I was about ten, Mama gradually … disappeared. Wasn’t there. I was at a stage – I think we all went through it – of having fantasies that Papa and Mama had really been married, that we would be found to be little princes and princesses. I wasn’t of an age to understand the Royal Marriages Act. And then, suddenly, the ground was taken away from under me. Mama was no longer there, but we knew she was still alive – we visited her from time to time, and she tried to explain what had happened. But our governess was in effect our mother, and there was talk of Papa marrying – not again, but marrying. I was not a little princess, and we were just a brood of natural children who were generally something of an embarrassment.’
‘And-your mother died alone in France.’
There was a moment’s silence. She shot me a look.
‘You knew my mother, didn’t you?’
I felt greatly daring, speaking out.
‘Of course. I was working in the theatre, and she was the greatest comic actress of the time. The greatest I have ever seen. To meet she was one of the most delightful women I have ever known. To think of her end is almost unbearable.’
‘Yes.’ We were silent for a moment. ‘I was very young, you know, Mr Mozart. Only fifteen. One is not mistress
of oneself at fifteen.’
‘Lady Erroll, I am not accusing you—’
‘But people do. People who knew and loved her. And perhaps they are right. When she and my father separated I suppose unconsciously we children knew that our future had to be with Papa. If you like, we knew which side our bread was buttered. My sister Sophia was rather cruel, I’m afraid. She was just entering the world, and was at an age when you are ruthless, are desperate to preserve what you’ve got, and get more. George was better – but George may have had his reasons … I think we were all more or less selfish, and more or less ruthless, as children and young men and women usually are.’
‘And now you have another mother, who seems a very good one, in a different way.’
She looked down the table to where the Queen sat, placid and dowdy as usual.
‘Oh yes. Too good for us. We bully her. William, my husband bullies her because her opinions are so dyed-in-the-wool. She seems to have been born old, with old opinions … My mother was Papa’s young wife. My stepmother is his old wife, even though she’s half his age. Oh dear, I do hope Papa is not going to speak again.’
But he was merely getting up to bow to the Queen as she led the ladies from the Waterloo Chamber. Barbarous habit. I dislike port because I associate it with all-male company. I endured it for as short a time as was decent, frozen by Lord Howe on my right and subject to good-humoured banter from Lord Erroll opposite, and then escaped. Before rejoining the ladies I decided to go up to my room, to adjust my toilette after the exigencies of a long, royal meal (I am by some accounted vain of my appearance, though I merely have a proper respect for social appearances and the requirements of the ladies). When I got to my chamber I was surprised to find a note on my little table, and could not think who it was from. Even the name on it, ‘Mr Mosart’did not give it away (misspelling, ignorance and childish handwriting being endemic among the upper classes). When I opened the note I could not forebear chuckling.
At the time of the schocking events this after noon I was standing near to the fireplace. The Queen was beside me conversing grashously, and the King was just departing, having given me a glass of clarret which I did not want and meerly pretended to drink. Near me was George FitzClarence who is one of the most handsomest men I have ever seen though not I think a happy one, and he was talking to the Queen’s ladie in waiting. There were other people around, but you forget Mr Mosart that I have not been in Society and know nobody. When the first shot rang out (he should be consined to a dunjon for the rest of his life, the horrible beast!) Mama ran over and you more sloly, Mama stood in front of me, and then we both sank to the flore. After a few shots we realized there was no danger and we both got up and went causously to the window and watched the ridickulous specktacle my uncle was making of himself.
Have I not done well? It was one of the most schockingly exciting things that ever happened to me, so I should remember.
Your freind and Princess V.
I snuffed the candle and stood there smiling. I folded the note and put it in an inside pocket. This note from the Princess Victoria should be willed to my children or grandchildren. It would be a family treasure that could be turned into real treasure in the sort of emergency to which everyone in the musical profession – even a humble teacher in a girls’school – from time to time falls victim. Then I thought again. There must be no danger of anyone, but expecially her mother or Sir John, finding out about our agreement,
and our special relationship. Regretfully I took the note from my
pocket and consigned it to the ashes of the fire.
10. Families
When I went down to rejoin the fine company they were reviving from a post-prandial somnolence and becoming quite lively. Lord Melbourne, in particular, was surrounded by younger ladies, a condition that seemed to please him mightily: he was entertaining them with stories that periodically aroused gales of soprano laughter. I was looking around me to choose who next to attach myself to when the choice was made for me. I felt a presence at my shoulder.
‘Mr Mozart—’
‘Ah, Sir John.’
‘Might I have a word in your ear – in private?’
I surveyed the scene and nodded towards a dim and unoccupied comer of the Crimson Drawing Room where we were. Sir John Conroy nodded, and I followed his imposing military back through the laughing, drinking crowd until we gained the relative peace and privacy of the comer. He cleared his throat.
‘Mr Mozart, I think we have the same objectives as far as the Princess Victoria’s future is concerned.’
Up to a point, Sir John, I thought. But I nodded. He was a man it was advisable to agree with.
‘I’m sure we do, Sir John. It is hardly my business, of course –’ he gestured, as if to dismiss my disclaimer – ‘but I would certainly hope to see, arid soon, the Princess properly supported by the Country she will one day rule over, and accorded all the state due to her position. With respect, I feel that the Duchess’s desire to keep her far from the corruptions and contaminations of Society, though admirable in itself, will hardly prove practical in the long run. It would be unfortunate if the Princess suddenly became Queen of a country she knew little of, and a leader of Society which she had never been into.’
Sir John nodded.
‘Moderation in all things, I agree. But as we told you we – that is, the Duchess has plans for progresses around the country, where the Princess would stay in the best houses. That will introduce her into Society, selected parts of Society.’ He paused and looked at me. I didn’t argue. ‘On the subject of the Princess’s financial position—’
‘Yes?’
He leaned forward.
‘I think I may tell you that I have had talks since we arrived, and the position may well be altered substantially for the better. There are one or two conditions attached to the offer which the Duchess would not accept, but which I am sure, through negotiations, we can get rid of.’
Ah ha! I thought. They’re using the bait of increased money to try and loosen his hold on the purse strings, as I suggested. And he’s resisting. He hasn’t yet realised, I suspect, what he is up against.
‘That is most satisfactory,’ I said.
‘It is very important, therefore, that nothing is done, nothing happens, to make the Duchess fly the castle, with the Princess. She is, you will have noticed, very much inclined to do just that, in spite of the better position that is in prospect for her.’
‘It would be unfortunate, in the circumstances,’ I agreed.
‘Very unfortunate indeed … You seem, Mr Mozart, to be close to the King.’
He fixed me with the sort of eye a commander on the field of battle uses on a junior officer who has failed in his duty. I was ready for him.
‘I have in the past done some service to the King’s family,’ I said, an expression of unusual modesty on my face.
‘Ah yes, I have heard rumours,’ he said suavely. ‘The matter of the Duke of Cumberland and—’
‘I think we should say no more.’ I said it as a rebuke, though I don’t think Sir John recognised it as such. He was not easily put down. ‘I should add, though, that, given the choice, the Duke is not the member of the family I would have chosen to perform a service for.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘And there is in fact another service to the King’s family which is not generally known –’ my expression grew quite seraphically modest – ‘and of which I certainly cannot speak.’
‘Really?’ His tongue flicked over his lips.
‘I cannot speak of it, even though most of the principals in the matter are dead.’
He hid his disappointment.
‘Your discretion does you credit, Mr Mozart,’ he said insincerely, ‘and explains why the King has such confidence in you. But it is the fact of your known services to the family, Mr Mozart, that made the Duchess a little uneasy earlier, when you seemed to be exceptionally interested in who was near the Princess at the time of t
he … shooting incident.’
Light dawned. Never underestimate people. Especially women. Luckily by now I had my explanation ready.
‘She need not be uneasy. Quite the reverse. The King is merely being especially cautious.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. He is quite sure that the incident you refer to is merely one of his brother’s foolish and offensive pranks. There have of course been others.’
‘Indeed.’
‘This one was clearly intended to “cock a snook” at himself and his new dignity as King. He has, as you know, refused to invite his brother to this gathering at Windsor at your – at the Duchess’s insistence.’
‘Yes – but I don’t yet follow you, Mr Mozart.’
‘The King just wants to be doubly certain that there might not have been the aim of distracting attention while someone else attempted to harm the Princess – an aim which was foiled by the Duchess’s prompt action in going to her side.’
‘Ah, I see!’ His face lit up. ‘I must say I would not have thought that the King—’
‘Never underestimate people,’ I said virtuously. He smiled his fat-cat smile, and I decided this was a lesson he was too self-satisfied to learn.
‘That is very satisfactory, at any rate. I think I will give the explanation to the Duchess in toned-down, more general terms, so as not to agitate her.’ He spoke of her as if he were her proprietor – or as if she were a pampered lap-dog and he her owner. ‘I think it would be fair to say, would it not, that the King is very keen to accord the Princess the position which her status as Heiress Presumptive demands?’
Too Many Notes, Mr Mozart Page 10