by Jean Plaidy
‘I am sure she would,’ said the Queen. ‘I will speak to your father on condition that you return immediately to Portsmouth.’
The Prince stared at her in dismay.
‘I will see that you hear the King’s decision there. But if you stay here I can do nothing. For one thing His Majesty will be so enraged when he sees that you have deserted your post that he will not listen to you. Go back as quickly and quietly as you can to Portsmouth and I will take the first opportunity of speaking to your father.’
He took her hands and looked earnestly in her face.
‘You will speak for me.’
‘Yes, my son, I will speak for you.’
He kissed her hands fervently.
She thought: If only George would ask me to do something for him. But George was different from William. He went his way without needing any help from his mother. He was after all Prince of Wales.
‘Thank you, Mamma. I will return to Portsmouth at once … and you will speak to the King.’
‘At the first opportunity,’ the Queen promised.
The King came in from hunting the stag in Windsor Forest, looking tired; but then he almost always did nowadays. The Queen thought: He takes too much exercise. He forces himself to, because he thinks it is good for his health and will reduce his weight. But he was growing fatter in spite of all his efforts; his face was a deeper shade of red and there was a tinge of purple in it, but perhaps that was due to those white eyebrows. His eyes seemed to bulge more than they used to.
I watch him too critically, she thought. I am too anxious.
She asked him if she could have a word alone with him. He looked surprised. ‘Eh, what?’
‘At Your Majesty’s convenience.’ She did not wish to make it sound too important. She had no wish to worry him in advance.
In due course they were alone and she said to him: ‘A disturbing thing happened today. William came here.’
‘William.’ The white brows shot up; the blue eyes bulged; the colour in the too colourful face deepened. ‘William! Left Portsmouth! Eh? What for? What did he do that for? Why did he leave Portsmouth, eh, what?’
Oh dear. The rapid speech, the repetitions. Always a bad sign.
‘He has one of these notions which young people get. He’s fallen in love with the Commissioner’s daughter and wants to marry her.’
‘Marry her. Is he mad, eh?’
The Queen shivered. She hated that word.
She said quickly: ‘He is young. Your Majesty knows what young men are. I think some action will have to be taken and Your Majesty will know what.’
‘Action, eh, I should think so. What is this? How far has it gone? What is the girl? Commissioner’s daughter? He lodges in the Commissioner’s house. So that’s it! Well, it will have to be stopped, of course. Young fool. Will have to stop being a … a young fool. And he came here. How dare he? Desertion, that’s what it was. Does he think because he’s my son he can flout the rules of the Navy? We’ll have to teach that young puppy a lesson or two.’
The Queen thought of the ‘lessons’ which had been taught the boys when they were younger. This had been the application of the cane – often by the King himself. He had declared to the Queen, ‘Only way … only way you can train young puppies.’ And she had hated to hear the screams of the boys and had been a little frightened by the fury and resentment she had seen in their eyes towards their father … and this applied particularly to the Prince of Wales. Of course William could not be allowed to marry this Sarah Martin, but she was sorry for William – and she hoped the King would not be too severe.
‘He is in love with this Sarah …’ began the Queen.
‘Sarah!’ cried the King; and his thoughts immediately went to another Sarah. Lady Sarah Lennox, with whom he had been in love, whom he had given up to marry Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg Strelitz, this plain old woman who was sitting there now and was the mother of the troublesome William and that other even more troublesome one, George, who had given him so many sleepless nights. He wondered what his life would have been like if he had married beautiful Sarah Lennox – and he could have married her, for there was no Marriage Act in those days to prevent him and in any case, as the King, he could have given his own consent to whatever marriage he had wanted to make. Yet he had done his duty – a fact of which he had been proud all those years but which nevertheless continued to rankle.
‘Sarah?’ he repeated.
‘Her name is Sarah Martin … this Commissioner’s daughter.’
‘He must be mad.’
The Queen flinched.
‘He is only twenty.’
‘Old enough to know better. Where is he now?’
‘He has gone back to Portsmouth. He will stay there until he hears Your Majesty’s decision.’
The King grunted.
‘What is Your Majesty going to do?’
The King hesitated and looked at her cautiously. Usually he kept her in the dark. He had always said that he would not have women interfering in State matters. But this was scarcely a State matter. It was a family matter – and he was going to see that that was what it remained. In this case he could take Charlotte into his confidence.
‘I will order the Commissioner of Portsmouth to transfer Prince William to Plymouth without delay.’
The Queen sighed.
‘And there this … this … young woman will not accompany him. I doubt not that in Plymouth he will find someone else to take her place … but this, this little adventure will have taught the young rip that he should not take these ladies too seriously.’
The Queen nodded and the King said angrily, ‘Sarah … Sarah … what was it?’
‘Martin,’ answered the Queen a trifle sadly, for she knew what memories the name recalled. There had been plenty to let her know when she had arrived in England that the King had been deeply enamoured of Sarah Lennox and reluctantly was taking Charlotte to be his Queen. That, thought the Queen, was the fate of princesses – and of princes too. This William would discover.
In a few days he was transferred from Portsmouth to Plymouth.
Family Conflict
THE PRINCE WAS happy. He was seen everywhere with Mrs Fitzherbert. Whispers circulated throughout the Court and the Town – Are they married? Or is she his mistress? It was obvious from the Prince’s manner that either one or the other of these conditions were true. If anyone wished to entertain the Prince of Wales they must entertain Mrs Fitzherbert also. If there was no invitation for the lady, then the Prince of Wales regretfully declined. He would dance with no other but Mrs Fitzherbert; he must be placed next to her at table; and after each ball, banquet or evening engagement he could be heard saying to her with the utmost gallantry: ‘Madam, may I have the honour of seeing you home in my carriage?’
She did not take up her residence in Carlton House, but continued to live at Richmond and in Park Street. She was, however, constantly in the company of the Prince of Wales, and the change in him was remarkable. He was extremely affable to everyone; he was constantly bursting into song; he moderated his language and rarely used a coarse expression; he drank less; he liked to retire early on some evenings. He was undoubtedly a newly married husband deeply in love with his wife and domesticity.
He took a box at the Opera for her and was frequently seen with her in it; they rode together in the Park. His habits had changed considerably; he no longer sought the company of others. Mrs Fitzherbert was all he asked.
The friendship with Charles James Fox had clearly weakened. There had been a time when he had been constantly in that man’s company, had accepted his news, laughed heartily at his wit and called him his greatest friend. But Mrs Fitzherbert was inclined to view the politician with disfavour.
‘He is both coarse and unclean,’ she commented; and there was a distinct coolness between them.
‘He is a brilliant fellow,’ the Prince told her. ‘My loye, I think you would enjoy his conversation.’
‘He is undoubt
edly very witty and a brilliant conversationalist, and I am sure a very clever politician,’ agreed Maria, ‘but he certainly does not change his linen often enough and his wit is inclined to be cruel.’
‘Everyone cannot be like my angel,’ commented the Prince.
‘Who likes only those who are worthy to be the friends of hers.’
The Prince was enchanted by that reply and began to feel less friendly towards Fox from that moment, and when he remembered that Fox had tried to prevent the marriage he felt some resentment. How dare Fox preach to him! Fox who had led just about the most immoral life any man could lead! But Fox had not preached. He had only pointed out the facts – and they were true enough. All the same, much as he respected Fox, he did not want to see him. To tell the truth he wanted no one but Maria.
He walked into Maria’s drawing room where she received him with open arms and a demeanour which was almost regal. What a queen she would make! If he could make her so. Why not? When the old man died he would alter that Marriage Act with a stroke of the pen. He would have powerful ministers behind him. Fox! There he was back at Fox. No matter! His Maria was beautiful, worthy in every way to be a queen. He told her so.
‘But this place is not good enough for my dearest.’
‘My darling, it is ideal for me.’
‘No, no, Maria. I want to see you in a setting worthy of you.’
‘Settings are unimportant.’
‘Of course. What setting does the brightest jewel in the kingdom need? You don’t need it, my precious love; but you should have it. I see you in a white and gilded drawing room with Chinese silk lining the walls.’
‘It sounds like Carlton House,’ she said with a laugh.
‘But this shall be yours. And there we shall entertain. You must admit, my dearest Maria, that this place is a trifle small.’
‘It is big enough for the two of us. I care only to entertain you.’
He embraced her and wept on that wonderful bosom, so soft, so voluptuous yet so maternal. Oh, Maria, perfect woman, with all the attributes, everything that he needed to make him happy!
‘Why … real tears,’ she said, stroking his frizzed hair.
‘Tears of joy,’ he cried. ‘Tears of wonder and gratitude. What have I done to deserve you, Maria? Tell me that.’
‘You have been good and kind to me, faithful to me, you have sacrificed much for me …’
He lay against her listening. It was true.
‘I’d crowns resign
To call thee mine,’
But it had not been necessary to resign the Crown. This sort of marriage did not interfere with the succession in the least. It was a secret marriage, a morganatic marriage, if one cared to call it that. And it was secret; therefore what harm could come of it? As soon as he was the King he would get the Act repealed and marry Maria; and any children they might have before that happy event would be legitimized. It was really very simple. He could not imagine why there had had to be the fuss.
So now listening to Maria enumerating his virtues he was very happy indeed.
But she must entertain now and then, and since whenever she entertained he would be present, she must have a worthy establishment in which to do it.
‘Lord Uxbridge’s place in St James’s Square is to let,’ he told her.
‘My dear, dear George, you cannot mean that I should take such a place?’
‘But why not. It’s reasonably habitable.’
She threw back her head and laughed. The most musical laugh in the world, he thought, raising his head to kiss her throat before settling down once more on that magnificent bosom.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘Far, far too expensive for me. It would cost all of three thousand a year to maintain it.’
‘That does not sound a very large sum.’
‘Not to you, my extravagant Prince. To me it is one thousand more than my income.’
‘Your Prince is not without intelligence, you know.’
‘Indeed I know that he possesses that very useful asset in abundance.’
‘Then …’
‘Then what, my dearest?’
‘Supposing you to have an income of six thousand a year, that intelligence tells me that you would not then find Uxbridge’s place too expensive.’
‘The logical answer to that is that I have not an income of six thousand a year.’
‘And the logical answer to that is that you shall have.’
‘Listen to me. I have no intention of taking an income from you.’
‘Why not?’
‘It is unnecessary. I have considered myself very comfortably placed. I have two fine houses … well, fine enough for me … but then I do not judge them by royal standards.’
‘But you now have raised your standards, my love … my queen …’
She smiled tenderly. ‘Fine houses … jewellery … these gifts which you are constantly trying to bestow on me are of no importance. What matters is that we are together, not where.
‘I know it. I know it. But I wish you to have everything that is worthy of you and that is the best in the world. I want you to have Uxbridge’s House. I will pay the rent and with your six thousand a year you will, I know, keep the creditors at bay.’
‘Six thousand!’ she cried. ‘But my dearest, what of your creditors.’
‘Money! Other things are far more important. Don’t you agree?’
‘Yes, that is why I suggest that I continue as I am here in Park Street and that no new expenses are incurred on my account.’
But the Prince was determined. ‘This house,’ he said, ‘was Mr Fitzherbert’s. Is he to be allowed to present you with a house and I not?’
That was a different argument and Maria was perplexed. After that it took very little persuasion to make her agree.
‘The truth is,’ said the Prince roguishly, ‘I have already told Uxbridge that we are taking it.’
‘Of course the Prince married her,’ said some of the gossips. ‘She would never have succumbed otherwise.’
‘He can’t have married her,’ said others. ‘It would be illegal. What of the Marriage Act? She is his mistress. She was only holding out to make him the more eager.’
Whichever theory was supported there was no doubt that the Prince and Mrs Fitzherbert were lovers; and everyone watched them with interest.
The gossip reached Windsor. Madam von Schwellenburg who considered herself head of the Queen’s household – and was in fact the most disliked member of it – muttered to herself as she went about her apartments feeding the toads which she kept in cages about her room. Her little pets she called them; and she was far more gracious to them than she was to the maids of honour who were under her sway.
‘Herr Prince vos up to no goot,’ she told the toads. She had come to England with the Queen twenty-six years before but had never bothered to learn English properly. She despised the English, hated their country, so she said; and was furious when attempts had been made to send her back to Germany. ‘Dis is vere I lifs,’ she had said, ‘and dis is vere I stays. Novon villen me move.’ But she showed her dislike for the country, to which she clung, in every way and it was apparent in her atrocious rendering of the language.
She disliked everyone except the Queen, whom she looked upon as her charge. Charlotte herself did not like the woman but kept her with her from habit. In the first place, when her mother-in-law, Augusta the Dowager Princess of Wales, had tried to get rid of Schwellenburg soon after Charlotte’s arrival, she had clung to the woman on a matter of principle. But there were times when she wished her back in Germany.
So Schwellenburg had grown old in the Queen’s service and none the more attractive for that. She disliked the King and the Queen’s children; she disliked everyone and everything except herself, the Queen and her toads. She delighted in the misdeeds of the Princes and the gossip concerning the Prince of Wales was in particular a great joy to her.
‘Herr Prince von bad vicked,’ she told her fa
vourite toad, the one who croaked the loudest when she tapped his cage with her snuff box. ‘Has vedded von bad voman.’
She had seen that the cartoons in the papers were brought to the Queen’s attention by setting them out with the appropriate pages in evidence on the royal dressing table. She had tried to tell the Queen about the rumours, but the Queen had shrugged them aside.
‘There are always these stories about royal people, Schwellenburg.’
‘Of veddings?’ asked Schwellenburg maliciously. ‘Dis vomen ist von Catholic. Von bad ding.’
‘It is of no importance, Schwellenburg. I have heard that the lady whose name is being coupled with the Prince’s is a very virtuous one. I am sure it is quite a pleasant relationship.’
‘Like Vilhelm vis Portsmod Sarah.’
Really the woman was intolerable. ‘Go and attend to your toads, Schwellenburg. I no longer need your services.’
The very mention of her toads made Schwellenburg forget everything else, and the Queen was delighted to be alone.
It was a different matter when Lady Harcourt spoke to her. Lady Harcourt was a trusted friend. Charlotte was very fond of the Harcourt family, for it was Lord Harcourt, the present Lady Harcourt’s father-in-law, who had come to Strelitz all those years ago to arrange for her marriage to George, who was then the Prince of Wales. She could trust Lady Harcourt and had only a year or so before appointed her a Lady of the Bedchamber. To Lady Harcourt as to no other could she confide her innermost thoughts; it was a great comfort to have such a friend.
Lady Harcourt said, when they were sitting together with their knotting in their hands: ‘Your Majesty, I am distressed about the rumours … and I have hesitated whether or not I should speak to you about them.’
‘My dear, you know you may speak to me on any subject you think fit.’
‘But I did not wish to add to your anxieties.’
‘Have you heard something dreadful?’
‘It is alarming.’