Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘Tea I vill haf, Miss Berners,’ she said, and Fanny immediately served her.

  The unpleasant woman made a face. ‘Poof. Not goot. Too much time on talks …’ She frowned at Colonel Goldsworthy who emitted a slight snore. ‘Colonel Goldsworthy … he alvays sleeps vith me. Sleeps he vith you too, Miss Berners?’

  Fanny said that the Colonel had been hunting with the King and his party and no doubt that had made him a little tired.

  Madam von Schwellenburg tapped her foot impatiently on the floor and looked delighted when one of the pages appeared to say that His Majesty wished to see Colonel Digby.

  The Colonel sighed, gave Fanny a languishing look and departed.

  ‘Colonel Digby is too fond of talk. He likes too much the vimen. He look alvays for Miss Gunning.’ Schwellenburg shot a mischievous glance at Fanny, but Fanny was pursuing her own thoughts: There is something which is disturbing the Queen, she thought. I know she is terrified.

  Unable to achieve the required effect through her references to Colonel Digby’s attentions to Miss Gunning, Schwellenburg scowled and said: ‘You vill to me bring my snuff box, Miss Berners. I have it left near the first cage.’

  Fanny rose obediently and went to get the snuff box, asking herself as she had a hundred times before, why she had given up a life among interesting people to be a servant to the most disagreeable woman she had ever met.

  She was right when she had imagined that the Queen was disturbed. Charlotte was very worried indeed. Ever since the King’s illness many years ago when his mind had become unbalanced she had been watchful, always afraid that there would be a recurrence of his illness. He had changed after that first bout, which must have been nearly twenty-three years ago, and she had never been able to forget it. She remembered how he had suddenly burst into tears for no reason at all; he had had a fever and the rash; and had believed that the whole world was against him. And after it he had developed that rapid manner of speech which was rambling and incoherent, interspersed with ‘ehs?’ and ‘whats?’ as though he were asking questions and could not wait for the answer.

  Many times she had believed that a return of his illness was not far off. But it had never been so near as it was now. It needed only a little incident, she was sure, to drive him completely mad.

  And if that should happen? She shuddered.

  There were times when she was actually afraid of him, for now and then he looked at her so wildly that she thought he would do her an injury. It was as though he hated her. That was impossible. He was a mild man, a kind good man. Yet that wild look in his eyes was … terrifying.

  Sometimes when he came into her bedchamber she wanted to call to some of her women and command them to remain so that she might not be alone with him.

  Yes, she was afraid of the King.

  Yesterday he had told her that he had a slight rash on his body. She had heard herself say coolly: ‘And have you seen one of the doctors?’ And she was thinking: Oh God, that was how it started on that other occasion.

  ‘I wonder,’ she had said, ‘whether Your Majesty should go to Bath for the waters.’

  ‘Fauconberg was saying that they are better at Cheltenham,’ replied the King. ‘But this is not the time to go to Cheltenham. There is too much to be done. And how do we know what that young rip will be up to next, eh, what? Brighton, eh? Changing the place. Building there. Marine Pavilion! Going round with bad companions. That fellow Sheridan. Rake! Libertine! Drunkard! Gambler! And married to that good woman. They gamble away fortunes on horses. They play practical jokes in the streets. He’s surrounded himself with the worst possible people. Where’s it leading to, eh? what? Won’t obey his father. Gallivanting with people like the Lades … the Barrys … that man Hanger. Ought to be hanged … the lot of ’em eh? what? He won’t obey though. Do you think he gets round Lady Charlotte Finch, eh? Do you think he inveigles her to give him pastry with his fruit. Eh? Eh? Eh, what?’

  The Queen looked at him in dismay. He had thought for a moment that the Prince was in the nursery under the care of Charlotte Finch. The King’s protruding eyes were frightened … and his fear was hers – for he remembered too and the fear which haunted her was always at his side.

  He had recovered. He said ‘Cheltenham … eh, what? Not the time. Another time perhaps, eh? what?’

  The Queen took an opportunity of speaking to Lord Fauconberg, summoning him to her side during the soirée.

  ‘I think the King is working too hard and a change of air would be beneficial to His Majesty. I believe you mentioned Cheltenham.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty, an excellent spot. Not yet appreciated; I believe. The air there is as pure as you will find anywhere in England, including … this new fashionable Brighton.’

  ‘His Majesty would, I am sure, have no wish to go to Brighton.’

  ‘Cheltenham would, Madam, be more to His Majesty’s taste I feel sure. And if you would honour me by using my place for your stay I should be delighted.’

  ‘So you have a place there?’

  ‘Bay’s Hill Lodge, Madam – scarcely a palace, but if Your Majesties needed a quiet time and took but a few attendants it might suffice. There are good views across the Malvern Hills and the Pump Room is near by.’

  ‘It sounds inviting,’ said the Queen. ‘I will speak with His Majesty and if it is possible to persuade him to accept your kind offer I will do so.’

  ‘Why, Madam, the people of Cheltenham would consider themselves most honoured. Though I should warn Your Majesty of the smallness of the place.’

  ‘It is such a place I am sure which would most appeal to the King.’ She hesitated. ‘Lord Fauconberg, perhaps you would speak to His Majesty. Make this offer to him. I think he might accept it.’

  Lord Fauconberg replied that he would obey Her Majesty’s instruction and gave no sign that he knew it was because the suggestion was more likely to be acceptable if it came through him than through the Queen. But Charlotte knew that he was aware of this and resentment flaring up in her, she felt a sudden anger against the King. Why should she have been constantly thrust aside? Why should her opinion always have been considered of no importance? How unfairly she had been treated since her arrival in England. She felt a wave of dislike for the man who had consistently shown her that he considered her advice worthless.

  Why then did she live in this constant fear of a dreadful disability overtaking him?

  It is not love, she thought calmly. Oh, no, not love.

  When the Royal party set out for Cheltenham Miss Burney and Colonel Digby were in attendance.

  The King was pleased with the place which was small and offered a peaceful existence. He was delighted to discover that there was a small theatre and declared he would visit this and perhaps hear some concerts.

  The Queen, carefully watching him, believed that his health had improved a little. The quiet of Cheltenham was restoring his calm. Each morning he went to the Pump Room to drink the waters and later for walks in the company of the Queen and a few attendants; he was amused because the town was so small and that the same plump middle-aged woman known as Nanny the Bellman was postmistress, town-crier and tax-collector. He was amused too to learn that there were no carriages of any sort in the town and that the people had to rely on two very ancient Sedan chairs. It was a peaceful existence and by eleven o’clock at night the King liked everyone to be in bed.

  Thus was life in Cheltenham; and there was no doubt in the Queen’s mind that it agreed with the King.

  But the respite was temporary. The King would come to the Queen and talk excitedly, his words spilling over each other as though they could not wait to get out; his eyes would bulge and his speech grow more and more rapid; and he would talk until his voice grew hoarse. The rash had broken out again; and the Queen grew more and more fearful with every day. This was the realization of the fears which had haunted her for so long.

  She strove to keep the King’s condition from those about him. Gossip would be unendurable; and she
pictured the distortions of the newspapers. But it was impossible to keep the King’s condition from his attendants; he embarrassed them; they did not know how to act when faced with one of his tirades.

  One day Colonel Digby excused himself from attendance on the King. He was, he said, confined to his rooms with gout.

  The King strode off without him for his ‘exercise’. The Queen heard him talking to Colonel Goldsworthy, for the apartments were so close to each other in Bay’s Hill Lodge that it was like living in a small house.

  ‘Fresh air, Goldsworthy. Must have it, eh, what? Get fat without it. Tendency in the family. Plenty of exercise and attention to diet. I’ve always watched it. All the children … Cut out drink, Goldsworthy. No good to you, eh, what? Healthy life in the country. Peace … Not often a king can enjoy that. Matters of State … ministers … his family … Children become an anxiety, Goldsworthy. They run up debts, get involved with women …’

  The Queen put her fingers into her ears.

  I can’t bear it, she thought. It will be useless to try and hide it much longer.

  Colonel Digby scratched lightly on Miss Burney’s door.

  ‘Is there any hope of a dish of tea, Miss Burney?’

  Fanny smiled a little coquettishly. There was no doubt in her mind that Colonel Digby was courting her. She thought of writing to Susan about the situation. Susan would be so amused and interested.

  ‘Colonel Digby! And I heard you were laid low with the gout.’

  ‘Say rather a surfeit of His Majesty’s conversation.’

  Fanny raised her eyebrows. ‘I must say the King can be most … alarming. I confess I am at a complete loss for words when he speaks to me.’

  ‘That need not worry you, Miss Burney. He has enough and to spare.’

  ‘Yes but …’ Fanny sighed. She was fond of the Queen and she did sense her anxiety. ‘His Majesty is a little strange.’

  The Colonel looked solemn and remarked that no doubt the King was contemplating the inevitable misery of mankind, which made Fanny laugh, while she disputed the fact that mankind was inevitably miserable.

  The conversation grew animated when Miss Planta looked in and expressed some surprise to see Colonel Digby there alone with Fanny.

  ‘Oh, do come in, Miss Planta. We are having such an interesting discussion.’

  Miss Planta joined them for a while and then excused herself rather pointedly and the discussion continued between Fanny and the Colonel until Madam von Schwellenburg bustled in and throwing up her hands in horror cried: ‘Wot this? Tea drinking again. Giv me von dish, Miss Berners. Ach … not goot … not goot.’

  And she sat there with baleful expression until the Colonel took his leave.

  She often said that Fanny must come with her to feed the toads – a task Fanny lothed. Horrid creatures, and their mistress was only one degree less ugly!

  ‘Ladies come to serve Queen,’ Schwellenburg audibly remarked to her pet toad, ‘not to flirt wiz chentlemens.’

  But Fanny was still thinking of the pleasant hour with Colonel Digby and as soon as the opportunity arose wrote to Susan:

  ‘There is something singular in the perfect trust he seems to have in my discretion, for he speaks to me when we are alone with a frankness unequalled; and there is something very flattering in the apparent relief he seems to find in dedicating what time he has to dispose of to me in my little parlour.’

  The Queen looked at her maid of honour.

  ‘Colonel Digby took tea with you yesterday, Miss Burney.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty, that was so.’

  ‘But pray how did it happen? I understood he was confined to his room with the gout.’

  ‘He grew better, Madam, and hoped by a little exercise to prevent a serious fit.’

  So, thought the Queen, they were avoiding him. They found his conduct embarrassing. They risked royal displeasure rather than face those long diatribes. How can I blame them?

  She could not attend to the reading. She realized that she had been sitting with her needle poised in her hand for some minutes.

  They must not notice that she was acting oddly too.

  It will be almost a relief, she thought, when it is known.

  The King came out of the house laughing to himself. It was a pleasure not to be surrounded by equerries and attendants. Out into the lanes. The land looked good.

  ‘How pleasant to be a farmer,’ he said to himself. ‘Growing the crops, making the butter. Should have enjoyed it. Nothing like fresh country air. Fresh air. Good for everybody. Fresh air … simple food … no drink … no fat … have to be careful. Tendency in the family.’

  He had forgotten that it was impossible for the King to wander out and be unrecognized. He had come to a few houses round a village green and some children playing there had seen him and hastened to carry the news that the King had come. In a short time he was being followed by a group of villagers and, seeing them, he turned and greeted them.

  ‘Pleasant, eh? Pretty country. Nothing like the country. Good clean country air. Not like London? Give me the country. Healthy, eh, what?’

  The villagers did not know what to do; they looked at each other and giggled and the King went on talking about farms and the country and the peace of the quiet life – but so rapidly that they could scarcely hear what he was saying.

  He came to a bridge.

  ‘Hey,’ he cried. ‘What’s this, eh? A bridge, eh, what?’

  A man who was standing close to the King received the full glare of those protuberant eyes.

  ‘If it please, Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘it is a bridge.’

  ‘A bridge, eh, my boys? Then let us give it a huzza, eh, what?’

  At which he took off his hat, waved it in the air and gave three lusty cheers.

  It was while he was doing this that Colonels Digby and Goldsworthy found him and discreetly managed to conduct him back to the house.

  The villagers looked after him, murmuring to each other that the ways of royalty were very strange.

  Colonel Digby mentioned the King’s odd behaviour to the Queen who listened intently.

  ‘His Majesty,’ she said, ‘has always been interested in the country.’

  And she thought: It can’t be long now. He is very close to complete breakdown.

  It was the very next morning when the King awoke in the early hours and chuckling with pleasure rose and went to the Colonel’s quarters.

  He banged on their doors and ran up and down the stairs shouting ‘Tallyho!’ and waking everyone in the near vicinity.

  Once again Colonel Digby dealt with the situation and courteously conducted His Majesty back to his room.

  Miss Burney was reading to the Queen. It was not a very affecting passage, but suddenly the tears began to fall down the Queen’s cheeks.

  Fanny stopped reading in dismay and the Queen vainly sought to repose her features. It was not possible. The tears flowed over, and the Queen put her hand to her face and wept.

  It was over in a few minutes.

  ‘How nervous I am,’ she said. ‘I am … quite a fool, don’t you think so?’

  ‘No, Madam,’ replied Fanny quietly.

  The Queen smiled at her gratefully, for she knew in that moment that Miss Burney understood the reason for her emotion.

  ‘I think,’ said the Queen, ‘that we have had enough of Cheltenham. I will speak to the King.’

  ‘Yes, Madam,’ replied Fanny; and she went on talking which was not quite correct in the presence of the Queen but on this occasion Fanny believed it was what Her Majesty desired. ‘Cheltenham, Madam, is now on the map because of Your Majesty’s visit. The Morning Post says that all the fashions are completely Cheltenhamized throughout Great Britain.’

  The Queen nodded. ‘The people of Cheltenham will be very pleased.’

  ‘Cheltenham will now rival Brighton,’ said the irrepressible Fanny.

  Brighton was synonymous in the Queen’s mind with trouble. Trouble, thought the Queen. Tro
uble all around.

  ‘Yes,’ she said aloud, ‘it is indeed time we left Cheltenham.’

  Back at St James’s the King’s strange behaviour continued. His ministers noticed it; there were whispers about it. It was not long before it was mentioned in the papers.

  The Queen asked to see all the papers and Miss Burney took them to her and anxiously watched her pursue them.

  With one comment she was extremely angry. Miss Burney did not dare ask what it was, but the Queen said: ‘They should be sued for this. I shall not allow it to pass.’

  Fanny listened quietly, thinking that since her arrival at Court Her Majesty had changed. She was not so aloof from affairs, nor so resigned.

  The Queen shrugged her shoulders suddenly.

  ‘Light the candle, Miss Burney,’ she said.

  Fanny obeyed and the Queen held the paper in the flame.

  The King’s conduct became stranger and stranger. At Kew he went out riding in the rain and came back so wet that when his boots were taken off water poured out of them. This gave him a chill and brought the rash out again. He liked to go out alone and would pace up and down talking to himself and beating time to music which no one else could hear.

  One day out riding with the Queen he called for the carriage to stop that he might seize one of the lower branches of an oak and shake it as though it were a hand. When the postilion approached him he ordered him away because, he said, he was conversing with the King of Prussia.

  When about to drive with the Princess Royal he got into the chaise and then got out again to give orders to the postilions; once more he got in and out again and continued to do this, all the time talking so rapidly that his voice was growing more and more hoarse and finally the Princess Royal burst into tears, alighted and ran back to her apartments.

  This conduct could not be ignored.

  The King was ill; many believed that he had not long to live. News of this reached the Prince in Brighton and brought him with all speed to Windsor.