Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  Pitt could scarcely contain himself for his excitement. He whispered to the man seated next to him; ‘I can’t believe Fox could be such a fool. This gives me the opportunity I want. I’ll unwhig the gentleman for the rest of his life.’

  Mr Pitt was on his feet. He could not allow the statement of the honourable gentleman to pass. He had used the word ‘right’. Mr Pitt feared that Mr Fox had put forth a treasonable doctrine. ‘The Prince of Wales,’ Mr Pitt admitted, ‘has a claim, but no more right than any other member of this community.’

  Fox immediately saw his mistake. Oh, God, what a fool. Why did I use that word? All this time away from the House had blunted his wits; the journey across Europe had sapped his strength. Lizzie was right. He should have taken it more leisurely. What would a few more days have mattered … another week. Anything would have been better than that he should make this blunder. And of course Pitt was gleeful. Pitt had leaped into the advantage.

  Fox’s friend Edmund Burke, that brilliant orator, rose to defend him.

  It would seem, he said, that Mr Pitt considered himself as a candidate for the Regency. Were they now in the presence of King William IV. They should be warned lest they be guilty of lèse majesté.

  At which Mr Pitt did what he rarely had done before: he lost his temper. The debate had developed into a farce, he said. But since the question of rights had been introduced it was necessary to set up a committee to inquire into precedents.

  When the debate was resumed Pitt’s equanimity was restored.

  All would admit, he declared, that the Prince of Wales was the most suitable person to take on the role of Regent. The situation was extraordinary; complete power could not for obvious reasons be handed to the Prince for at any moment the King might regain his health. Therefore he suggested that rules should be drawn up and that should the Prince agree to the conditions decided on by the Government the Regency should be his.

  Fox, eager to put right his mistake which he realized had given Pitt time to delay a decision, declared that Pitt intended to impose such restrictions on the Regency that it would be impossible for His Highness to accept with dignity.

  ‘The Honourable Member will realize,’ retorted Pitt maliciously, ‘that since the question of right has been raised there must be this investigation.’

  Meanwhile the care of the King was to be in the hands of the Queen.

  At Kew the Prince chafed against the delay.

  ‘Nothing settled,’ he grumbled to Frederick. ‘If Fox had not raised that question of rights …’

  Frederick sympathized with him.

  ‘I am beginning to think he is of no use to me,’ he said. ‘First he upsets Maria by denying our marriage. Maria won’t have him in her house. Then he makes this absurd statement about rights.’

  ‘But you do have a right,’ Frederick pointed out.

  ‘But Fox shouldn’t have said it. It gave Pitt his opportunity. And Pitt is hand in glove with our mother. The Queen is now coming out in her true colours. She is not so meek as we once believed her to be. I am not sure what she is plotting with Pitt.’

  ‘Can you understand this friendship between them?’

  ‘Only that she is the Queen and that Pitt intends to use her against me. She will scarcely allow me to see the King.’

  ‘Absurd.’

  ‘But they have put her in charge of him.’

  ‘You are the Prince of Wales … soon to become Regent … if you wish to see the King you have every right.’

  ‘His papers and jewels are all locked away. And I am made to feel an outsider.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous, George. Come to the King’s apartments now. He is safely locked away. If you want to examine the jewels and the papers you have every right to do so.’

  The two brothers went to the King’s recently vacated rooms and were examining the contents of drawers when the Queen appeared.

  Her usually impassive face flushed with anger when she saw what they were doing.

  ‘And what,’ she cried indignantly, ‘are you doing here?’

  ‘I will tell you one thing we are not doing, Madam,’ said the Prince of Wales haughtily, ‘and that is explaining our actions to you.’

  ‘These are the King’s apartments; and I am in charge of the King.’

  ‘You forget, Madam, that I am the Regent.’

  ‘Not yet … not yet.’

  ‘When my father is incapable of government it is my right to do so.’

  ‘Your right!’ She laughed. That unfortunate word. If Fox had not used it everything would be settled now. He would undoubtedly be Regent. A curse on Fox!

  ‘Madam, I command you to go to your apartment.’

  ‘My apartment! The servants’ rooms which you have allotted to me here? Writing our names over the doors! I never heard such arrogance! You are not king yet, Prince of Wales, I should remember that.’

  ‘Madam,’ said the Duke of York, ‘I believe you to be as deranged as the King. Come, George.’

  The brothers left her and she stood staring after them. When they had gone she put her hands over her eyes. She wanted to shut out this room, shut out the scene which had just taken place.

  What is happening to the family? she thought. It seems that we are all going mad.

  Fox called at Carlton House in answer to a summons from the Prince who said he would ride from Kew to meet him there.

  As soon as he saw the Prince, Fox was aware of the change of his manner. It lacked the cordiality to which he was accustomed.

  ‘A weary business, Charles,’ he said. ‘What is Pitt up to?’

  ‘I think, Your Highness, that he means to offer you a Regency with such restricted powers that it will be beneath your dignity to accept it.’

  ‘And then?’ asked the Prince.

  ‘It may well be that the Queen will take it.’

  ‘That’s something I shall not allow. But this man Pitt …’

  ‘He is determined to make you nothing but a figurehead.’

  The Prince’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Fox – very different from the Fox of a few years ago. Where was the sparkle of Mr Fox, that irrepressible genius with words, that quick incisive mind that would have dealt peremptorily with Pitt. Gone! Left behind in Italy … lost in disillusion and frustration. Fox was a disappointed politician.

  The Prince said: ‘What if the question of Maria should be brought up?’

  ‘We must do all in our power to prevent that.’

  ‘And if it should be raised?’

  Fox was silent. Then he said: ‘It could have grave consequences. Your Highness, may I be frank?’

  The Prince wanted to shout: No, you may not if you are going to tell me truths about Maria. Yet he said: ‘But of course.’

  ‘Your association with Mrs Fitzherbert can bring nothing but harm to Your Highness. I fear that during the debate on the Regency that man Rolle … or someone like him … might bring up the point once more.’

  The Prince’s expression had hardened, but this was no time for prevarication and Fox went on: ‘If the lady received the rank of Duchess; if she were given an income of £20,000 a year …’

  ‘To desert me?’ said the Prince.

  Fox sighed unhappily. ‘It is her religion Your Highness. If she were not a Catholic …’

  ‘I am sure Maria would decline the offer you suggest, Charles.’

  ‘Then …’ But Fox did not finish, nor did the Prince ask him to.

  The Prince walked to the window and looked out and with his back to his old friend he said: ‘Charles, there was a letter I wrote to you before … Some years back. The one in which I said I had no intention of marrying. Do you remember it?’

  Did he remember it? It was the letter on which he had based his denial.

  ‘Charles, I should like you to bring that letter to me. I should like to have it back.’

  Fox thought quickly. While he had that letter in his possession he had every excuse for his conduct in denying the Prince’s marriage. He h
ad only to produce it and there would be evidence of how the Prince had deceived him, the letter would provide vindication for the denial.

  He lied: ‘Your Highness, I no longer have the letter.’

  ‘You … have lost it?’

  ‘It is no longer among my papers. It may have been burned with others. I saw no significance in it … at the time.’

  The Prince was silent for a few seconds but his manner had grown more frigid.

  When Fox took his leave he knew that their friendship had suffered a severe blow.

  Back to Chertsey, to consult with Lizzie.

  ‘You see, Liz, I need not have come back post haste. Perhaps it would be better if I had stayed in Italy.’

  Lizzie was inclined to agree.

  ‘Can you imagine my making such a blunder? A right to the Regency. Of course he has, but it’s unethical to say so.’

  ‘It’s said that you should not put your faith in princes.’

  ‘I’m a fool to put my faith in anyone but you, Liz.’

  ‘Well, where do we go from here? Back to Italy.’

  ‘What a pleasant prospect! I have no desire to go to the House and be questioned by that man Rolle. You can depend upon it he’ll attempt to bring up the Prince’s marriage again.’

  ‘Well, your health has suffered in the last few weeks, so what about staying at home and being sick for a while. I am an excellent nurse.’

  ‘Excellent in all things, Liz. I have blundered and have no desire to take part in this debate. Yes, Liz, I think I’ll be ill for a while.’

  ‘A wise decision,’ said Lizzie. ‘I will immediately begin to nurse you.’

  During the early part of the year there was little talk of anything at Court but the Regency Bill.

  Society divided itself into two camps – those for the Prince and those for the King. The Duchess of Devonshire was wholeheartedly on the side of the Whigs and the Prince of Wales; everyone who came to her parties wore Regency caps. The Duchess of Gordon, a staunch Tory, gave parties at which the ladies wore ribbons inscribed with the words ‘God Save the King’. Maria entertained more lavishly than ever before – the chief of the Prince’s supporters.

  When the Regency Bill was brought up for discussion in the House it was inevitable that the Prince’s marriage should be referred to.

  One of the clauses in the Bill stated that if the Prince resided outside Great Britain or should at any time marry a Papist the powers invested in him should cease.

  Mr Rolle moved an amendment to change the wording of this clause.

  He wanted to add: ‘Or should at any time be proved to be married in fact or in law to a Papist.’

  Mr Pitt, however, declared that the amendment was unacceptable as the clause was the same as that he had found in other Regency Bills and he believed it offered sufficient security.

  Sheridan and Grey both rose to attack Mr Rolle. The absence of Mr Fox was commented on by their opponents and, as Fox had feared, the question of the Prince’s marriage was again brought forward.

  Grey stated that had Mr Fox not been fully satisfied that his statement on a previous occasion had been true he would have risked his life – however ill he might be – to come to the House on this day.

  It was an uneasy situation.

  The Prince heard accounts of the debates and wondered what was going to happen next.

  Maria was his great anxiety now, as she had been on that previous occasion. But for Maria he would have nothing to fear. It was entirely due to Maria that he must feel this uneasiness now. What big sacrifices he made for Maria!

  He entertained guests at Carlton House or in Pall Mall every night. He went to see Fox, and finding him indeed looking in poor health his conscience smote him. Charles had been a good friend to him and when he was with him he remembered this. The ever ready tears came into his eyes as he talked to Fox of the old days. And there was Lizzie, as lovely as ever, to add a discreet word now and then to the conversation.

  ‘When this miserable business is settled, Charles,’ he said, ‘you shall be my Prime Minister.’

  Prime Minister, thought Charles, after the Prince had gone. It had been the dream of a lifetime.

  Then he fell to wondering whether the Prince would keep his word. And he remembered the letter which he had not given up and which should be a warning if ever anything was.

  For a man of his genius he had not had very much success. He had been very little in office. But Prime Minister! That would make it all worth while.

  Yet he felt tired and disillusioned; he kept thinking of the olive groves of Italy and Lizzie beside him reading to him or talking of the pictures they had seen that day in one of the galleries.

  The Prince was surrounded by friends.

  Each day they waited for news from Kew. The Duke of Cumberland had his spies there to report on his brother’s progress further along the road to madness. The Prince had promised his uncle the Garter when he came to power. And then of course there would be no more of this absurd banishment from Court, he told the Duchess.

  Sheridan should be Treasurer for the Navy. A good post, thought Sheridan, but not Prime Minister of course. Fox was still hoping for that. But it was very likely that in due course …

  He would not relinquish his dream.

  So in the House the debates continued. The parties went on; the Prince made lavish promises; and while the Queen’s friends prayed for a return of His Majesty to health those of the Prince talked of the Regency and looked forward to the day when it should come into force.

  Then came news which was disturbing to the Prince of Wales and so pleasing to the King’s supporters. His Majesty’s health had shown some signs of improvement; he was now enjoying periods of lucidity.

  His doctors believed that there was a very good prospect of his being restored to health.

  The King’s periods of lucidity had been gradually increasing during January and the early part of February, and because of his passion for fresh air his doctors agreed that he might take little walks in the gardens as long as he was accompanied by one of them and certain attendants.

  The King was aware of his illness and very sad because of it; he still talked rapidly until his voice grew hoarse, and although his mind was clear, on certain occasions no one could be sure when he would act with the utmost strangeness.

  When his favourite daughter, Amelia, was brought to him he embraced the little girl so fiercely that she protested and made as though to escape, but he would not allow her to do this and clung to her straining her to him until she began to scream to be released. She was forcibly removed by some of the King’s attendants and ran crying from the room, leaving the King bewildered and unhappy, wondering why his beloved daughter ran away from him.

  But there was no doubt that his health was improving all the time the Regency Bill was being debated.

  Fanny Burney who had been suffering herself from the rigours of court life – draughty corridors, long hours of attendance on the never-satisfied Schwellenburg, and the general air of melancholy which pervaded the royal apartments these days – had been advised by her doctor to take exercise in the gardens at Kew and regularly she followed this excellent advice.

  She confessed to Colonel Digby that she was terrified of meeting the King on these occasions, so if he should be walking at the same time as she was she always took the precaution of inquiring which way he had gone.

  ‘For, Colonel Digby,’ she declared, ‘I do not know what I should do if I came face to face with His Majesty. What should I say?’

  ‘You would not have to speak at all, Miss Burney. The King would do all the talking that was necessary.’

  ‘But His Majesty would expect some answers. Moreover, I dare not think in what state His Majesty might be.’

  ‘He is much better that he was. At times quite himself.’

  ‘So I hear … but …’

  ‘If my duties do not prevent me perhaps I could have the pleasure of protecting you, Miss Burney, in th
e gardens of Kew.’

  Fanny fluttered her eyelashes. Indeed, the Colonel was a gallant gentleman. Only a little while ago he had brought a carpet for her room, for there was nothing but the bare boards and the wind blowing through the ill-fitting windows was enough to chill one to the bone.

  It would be pleasant to walk with Colonel Digby; but of course he had his duties. Schwellenburg had already mentioned to the Queen that Colonel Digby was constantly waiting on Miss Burney though he never waited on her; and the Queen had asked Fanny – half to her delight, half to her chagrin – why the Colonel was so frequently in her rooms. Fanny had wanted to complain then bitterly about Schwellenburg’s treatment of her, but how could one complain to a poor woman who was beside herself with anxieties? If the Queen could put up with a mad husband, surely Fanny could suffer a disagreeable old woman. So she replied that Colonel Digby was a friend and they had much in common – literature for one thing. The Queen was always ready to accept an explanation of Fanny’s that concerned literature. After all, was not Fanny a famous novelist?

  And now Colonel Digby was unable to accompany her. She was not sure whether it was due to his duty or for some other reason. Colonel Digby had a way of avoiding duty if he wished to; and Schwellenburg had told Fanny quite frankly that Colonel Digby was as often in the company of Miss Gunning as he was in that of Miss Burney.

  Fanny asked the guards at the door which way the King had gone walking, if he were in fact walking at all, and she was told that His Majesty, with his doctors and some attendants, had not long ago gone off in the direction of Richmond.

  Very well, thought Fanny, then I will walk in the opposite direction. Walking, she mused on the strange behaviour of the King, the courage of the Queen, the motives of Colonel Digby – and she was thinking that it was only this last which gave her days some interest, for life at Court was not very exciting. Suddenly she was aware of some figures under a tree, and peered in their direction for she was very shortsighted. Gardeners, she thought. There were always plenty of them working in the gardens. But as she came nearer, to her great consternation, she saw that the men she had mistakenly thought were gardeners were the King and two of his doctors and some attendants.