To be consulted on a king’s thoughts!
‘Most certainly,’ I assured him solemnly. ‘And hopeful of getting to know the Princess better, though I have suggested that he and the Queen should go slowly on that matter.’
‘Slowly. That’s right, Mr Mozart. Very slowly indeed.’
He smiled again that smile of self-love, and led the way back to the company, his whole being suggesting that he had found the conversation most satisfactory. I was once again possessed of the conviction that he was not honest, and not intelligent. The latter was easily provable: what intelligent man would so antagonise the child on whom his future and his fortunes depended? His dishonesty was more difficult to prove. And I had to remind myself that it was his relationship with the Duchess of Kent that was the reason why I had become so involved with the household and its affairs. That was the most difficult of all to investigate.
I was disturbed from my reverie by a middle-aged lady with the face of an amiable cart-horse who had come up close to me and was beckoning. I pulled myself together and followed her. As we went towards the door she whispered ‘The Queen’. We slipped through the door, and casting another surreptitious look at the long oval of her face I remembered where I had seen her: she was one of Queen Adelaide’s ladies-in-waiting – Lady Courtney, I thought. We slipped down the length of St George’s Hall – if one can slip down so grand a chamber – and eventually we came to one of the splendid and ornate rooms devoted to the use of the nation’s queens over the centuries. It was a high, gilded chamber, with a grand painted ceiling of gods in various stages of undress, splendid tapestries and formal family portraits from the time of Charles II. In the midst of all this grandeur, not so much dwarfed as crushed by it, sat our plain, nice, ordinary little Queen. As we approached her she assumed an expression of welcome, mixed with one of roguishness, as if it was quite an adventure to summon a man to talk to her.
‘Ah, Mr Mozart, so good of you to come to talk to me.’
It was a nice voice – gentle and musical. It certainly contrasted with her husband’s guttural barks.
‘Oh, Your Majesty, a queen’s summons—’
‘Oh!’ she said, dismissively, ‘Don’t bother with that stuff! I am such a new queen, and who knows how long I will be Queen at all.’
‘His Majesty looks extraordinarily fit for his age.’
Her expression became one of sad foreboding.
‘Oh, I was not meaning the King’s health, I was talking about the revolutionary spirit abroad. The French King has been chased out of his country, and the Dutch King has been chased out of Belgium. In France they have a Citizen King. What nonsense! How can you have a Citizen King?
I forebore to say that in this country we seemed to have got a Citizen King too, and without the bother of a revolution. I stood there trying to look sympathetic without compromising my democratic principles. She went on, ‘What a world! Who knows who will be next? The rabble are crying “Reform” here. Well – if I lose my head I will not be as beautiful as the French Queen who lost hers, but I will try to be as brave!’
I had to repress a smile.
‘The British often ridicule their Royal Family, Ma’am, and on occasion they even throw things, but it is a long time since they executed a king or queen. I cannot see them starting again in the nineteenth century.’
Her eyes widened.
‘But the mob – it is trying its strength … But let us not talk about that.’
I bowed, wondering what we would talk about. She gestured me to a capacious chair, on which I perched, feeling myself very small (I am not a large man), and wondering what manner of man the chair could have been made to contain. Perhaps only the late King could really have filled it.
‘Mr Mozart, the King trusts you.’
‘I am greatly honoured by his good opinion, Ma’am.’
‘You have already had several conferences together since you arrived at the castle.’
I dipped my head.
‘We have indeed talked more than once.’
‘Mr Mozart, the King always talks any domestic matters over with me, anything connected with the family.’ She hesitated and I nodded encouragingly. ‘But matters of state he does not discuss, does not think women are capable of understanding. He is old-fashioned – which is what I prefer. Old fashion is good fashion. However … I wonder if you can tell me, Mr Mozart, if it is a matter of state he has been talking over with you?’
I shook my head vigorously. I wanted no more connection with any matter of state.
‘Oh, Your Majesy, I have nothing to do with matters of state, loathe politics of any kind’ (not quite true, though I certainly distrust politicians). ‘If the King has not talked the matter over with you I am sure it is because he doesn’t want to alarm you, or because he has not had the opportunity, with so many people at the castle at the moment.’
‘Then it is a matter of family?’
‘Naturally the incident this afternoon with the Duke of Cumberland—’
‘Ah! Then it is not his children, but his brother?’
That, I thought, was an interesting assumption of hers. I tried to soothe her.
‘The King was naturally concerned after such a … display.’
‘Alas, poor Ernest,’ said the Queen sorrowfully. Her face was naturally tuned in to sorrow. ‘He has excellent principles – strong, true, well-tried principles. But his behaviour! It is atrocious!’ She shook her head. ‘I am afraid he gives good Conservative principles a bad name.’
I was pleased to think he probably did.
‘That is decidedly so, Your Majesty. And the Royal Family as well, unless he is kept in check.’
‘And where do you come in, Mr Mozart?’
‘I … have had experience with the Duke in the past, Ma’am. I know him extremely well.’
‘Of course! I have heard whispers.’
‘And I am very much concerned with my pupil, the Princess Victoria. That is where the King’s worry lies.’ I pulled out my lie again. ‘Probably it was only a madcap prank that we saw earlier, but the King was concerned by the possibility that it might have been designed to distract attention from something else, something more serious.’
‘I see,’ said the Queen thoughtfully. She smiled a watery smile. ‘He is very wise, William. People do not understand how wise he is. They underestimate him. People who try to take advantage are in for a shock.’
‘Lady Erroll was saying at table what an excellent father he was to her and her brothers and sisters.’
The Queen displayed some agitation.
‘When I talk about taking advantage I do not mean his children. We are a heppy family, very heppy. The boys of course are not heppy about their position. It is difficult for them. George in particular, as the eldest. George feels it very much. But I was thinking of … others.’
I nodded and waited, but nothing came.
‘I was noticing today, during the performance of my little play,’ I murmured, to keep the conversation going, ‘and then again later on—’
‘Yes?’
‘I noticed a man. A man who looked … somewhat out of place here. He was sitting during the performance with the Princess Sophia, or at least next to her. And later they were walking in the grounds when …’
I suddenly realised that the lady-in-waiting, behind the sofa, was vigorously shaking her head. It was too late. The Queen had reddened with embarrassment.
‘Ah! What shall I say? You should ask the King. Or perhaps Princess Sophia. What do you think, Courtney? No, perhaps not the Princess. Though … At any rate I cannot be the one who talks about him.’
I stood up.
‘I am afraid I have distressed Your Majesty.’
‘No, no, Mr Mozart – not at all. But dear Sophia – so graceful, so charming, so much fun.’ She said it wistfully, as if she would have given anything to be a bit of fun herself. ‘I would not want her to be distressed, you understand? Ask the King. It is not important.’
At a nod from the lady-in-waiting I bowed myself out, wondering why, if it was not a matter of importance, the good lady had become so agitated. And as I walked through the ornate spaces of the castle I thought over the new Queen’s conversation and reactions and could only come to the conclusion that she was suppressing anxieties about the King’s natural children, and overlaying them with concern about his being taken advantage of by someone else. The most natural candidate would surely be the Duchess of Kent – of whom the Queen might naturally feel somewhat jealous, since she was the mother of the heir – had provided an heir to the throne where she had failed. In view of the suspicions about her and Sir John, her jealousy could be augmented by moral disapproval.
Back in the Drawing Rooms the company had thinned out. The Duchess and her party were certainly among those who had gone to their (separate, I had no doubt) beds, and so were many more. The King however still had an audience for whatever he wanted to say, as Kings do, and it was quite difficult to get him on his own. I talked for a time to Lord Melbourne, who is agreeable for a politician, and easy with all ranks and callings. He was utterly delighted by my pupil, her charm and her prospects.
‘What a delightful child,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘How you must enjoy giving her lessons.’
‘I have seldom had a pupil I’ve had more pleasure from,’ I said truthfully. ‘Though the pleasure is seldom musical.’
‘Don’t be an old sourpuss, Mr Mozart. What a queen she will make, eh?’
‘I don’t suppose I will be around to see it, but it should certainly be interesting.’
His face lit up and became almost roguish.
‘Interesting? It will be amusing. It will be the jolliest court since Charles II.’ His face fell. ‘But there – I don’t suppose I’ll be around to see it either.’
‘Will you excuse me, My Lord?’
The King’s actions had caught my eye. He had an endearing habit of going over to the waiters when he wanted a drink, rather than summoning them. It enabled him to change the group he was talking to, to share himself around, a trait that was most appreciated. This time I intercepted him.
‘Your Majesty.’
‘Ah, Mr Mozart.’ He turned to me most agreeably. ‘How are you going, eh? Things becoming a little clearer?’
‘Not a great deal, sir. But I am trying to fill in details. There was something the Queen said I ought to ask you about.’
‘Oh?’ he said cagily.
‘The man who sat beside the Princess Sophia at the play, the one she was later walking with in the gardens – who is he?’
He drew his finger along under his nose, and wiped it on his breeches. It seemed like a ruse to avoid answering immediately.
‘Ah! What do you want to know that for?’
‘It’s one of the details I need to fill in, sir.’
He got truculent.
‘Don’t see why. He was in the garden. Nowhere near the Princess.’
‘I nevertheless need to know what is going on, Your Majesty – everything that is going on. I could ask the Princess—’
‘And she would tell you. Oh, very well. I thought it would give her pleasure, inviting him. Hasn’t had a great deal of pleasure in her life, poor Sophy. Damned awful life, to tell you the truth. And I do like to bring people together after misunderstandings. I knew the Duchess wouldn’t know who he was, so she couldn’t make any trouble. I thought if they could meet again, they could talk, get to know each other better.’
He bumbled into silence.
‘And he is?’
‘He’s her son, Mr Mozart. I thought everyone knew she’d had a son.’
11. Out of the Mouths of Drunkards
I stood for a few seconds in shocked silence. I was remembering something the Princess Victoria had said during our first lesson. When we’d talked about the pressures on princes that led to liaisons rather than marriages, natural rather than legal children, she had said, ‘And not just princes.’ Her aunt’s case was obviously what she’d been thinking of (and it was a safe bet that her knowledge of the matter had been gained from below-stairs rather than above, and would have been an unpleasant surprise to her mother, Sir John, and Lehzen). And dredging still further back in my memory I recalled that there had been stories – so long ago I had little idea when – of the Princess giving birth to a son at Weymouth. Eventually I realised I had to say something.
‘So Your Majesty asked this young man – whatever his name is—’
‘Tom Garth.’
‘—Tom Garth, so that he and his mother could get to know each other better.’
‘That’s right,’ said the King, with a sort of nervous complacency, as if he had convinced himself he had done the right thing, but was slightly nervous that he had done a very foolish one. ‘Met him in the street. Seemed a nice enough fellow. Very anxious to get to know his mother better. Natural, ah?’
I began to see the point of kings not pottering around the streets chatting to their subjects.
‘Your Majesty didn’t ask any other children?’ I asked, hardly able to keep the irony out of my voice. ‘There was mention at dinner of a natural son of the Duke of Cumberland.’
His face fell at once.
‘Dead. Poor FitzErnest. We did our best for him, Dora and I. Never came to anything.’
‘And the Princess and her son had met before?’
‘Oh yes. But not often. Awkward, y’know.’
Another memory, much more recent, stirred in my mind.
‘Wasn’t there talk, a year or two ago, of some attempt to blackmail the Princess Sophia?’
The King’s nervousness increased, but he dismissed the matter with a wave.
‘All a misunderstanding. He told me all about it. The poor lad had confided the story of his background to an unscrupulous fellow who took advantage of it without his knowing. Silly matter, all blown up. I’m sure he and his mother will have sorted it all out today. Clears the air, eh?’
Muddies the water more like, I thought. This was just the sort of good-hearted but dangerous gesture that should not have been made when the Duchess of Kent and her daughter were on a visit that was likely to be at best ticklish. But I took one look at him, at his naive air of wanting approval, of willing me to share his desire to think well of people, and I merely said, ‘I’m sure there’s no harm done, Your Majesty,’ and bowed my withdrawal.
I was going to have to revise my opinion of the King yet again. Yes, he was sharper than people thought, more able to think things through. But there was an exception: not where his own family were concerned. That applied most forcefully to his wife and his natural brood, of course. But it also applied to other family members he was fond of – the Princess Victoria, his sisters. All the children of George III and Queen Charlotte had had pretty grim childhoods. The girls had had grim womanhoods as well. The instinct to make it up to them had apparently existed even in George IV’s selfish bosom. It clearly was vigorously alive in King William’s more generous one.
But if the King had no eye for an obvious scamp, what chance was there of his recognising a more subtle one?
I was standing, as it happened, in the shadow of a large footman who was immobile but ready to minister condescendingly to the thinning throng. Most had had more than enough, but there were always some for whom more than enough is insufficient. As I stood there, thoughtful, there approached two of our most eminent statesmen, on their way out of the assembly and towards their bedrooms. They were making no effort to keep their voices down, so I felt it no shame to listen to what they were saying. The two were Lord Melbourne and the Duke of Wellington, talking with the surface amiability which concealed deep-rooted political antagonism.
‘I’ve just had the most extraordinary conversation with FitzClarence,’ said Lord Melbourne.
‘I’m not surprised,’ said the Duke, gloomily. ‘He’s getting out of hand.’
‘Worse than that, I’d have said.’ ‘Mad?’
‘On the verge of, or so i
t seemed to me. The King is going to have to put his foot down.’
The Duke scratched his chin.
‘The King is sterling and loyal – you’ll find that if you ever come in. But put his foot down with his own family? I would say it’s out of the question.’
And they disappeared through the door towards the staircase. They had unwittingly confirmed the conclusions I had just come to. I was about to seek my bed too, with more than enough already to think over, when out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a figure lurching towards the door that led to the staircase down to the terrace and the gardens. It was a tall, saturnine figure, well-set-up, but in a terrible state. I couldn’t see his face, but I felt sure it was George FitzClarence.
I took a glass of claret from one of the attendent sneerers, dallied for a minute or two, then followed him.
It took some time for my eyes to accustom themselves to the gloom. There were little shreds of light from the castle, otherwise only a harvest moon to lessen the pitch blackness. As I stood there getting my bearings I heard a retching sound from the far parapet looking over into the great park. I held myself back once more: no man likes to be interrupted in his drunken vomiting. After a tactful interval, and when the sounds had stopped, I began picking my way along the geometrical paths which that very afternoon had witnessed the Duke of Cumberland’s remarkable feat of horsemanship. When I finally arrived in the vicinity of the figure which was hardly more than a shape, it was standing against the parapet, glass in hand, staring into the still greater darkness of the park.
‘Good to get some fresh air,’ I said inanely. He was not in a condition to object to the banality of the remark, or question why a complete stranger should approach him on a pitch-black terrace at the end of a long day.
‘Fresh air, peash and quiet,’ he said thickly. ‘Peash from all those dishgushting hypocrites in there. I know the value of their politenesh. I know how long it will lasht.’
‘Courts do seem to produce hypocrisy,’ I agreed conversationally. ‘I suppose it’s natural really. The favour of the monarch is valuable in any number of ways. It’s lucky for us that your father has kept away from courts for most of his life. His coming to the throne has opened a few doors and windows.’
Too Many Notes, Mr Mozart Page 11