Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  Fanny stopped short and looked at the men. She could never think quickly in an emergency. Oh dear, she thought, what have I got myself into? Why did I take this path?

  And for a few seconds she and the King looked at each other; she saw the sunken cheeks, the protruberant eyes, and she thought of all the stories she had heard about the strangeness of the King. She believed there was only one thing to do: Escape. She turned and fled.

  But the King had seen her. ‘Miss Burney! Miss Burney,’ he called. But she ran on. She could not face him. What if he seized her as he had seized Amelia? What if he said strange things to her? She must escape.

  ‘Miss Burney. Wait for me, Miss Burney. Miss Burney.’

  But Fanny ran on. To her horror, glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the King was pursuing her, his doctors and attendants running along behind him. She heard her name called again; she heard the hoarse torrent of words; and she ran on.

  ‘Miss Burney,’ called one of the attendants. ‘Stop. Dr Willis asks you to.’

  ‘I cannot. I cannot,’ she cried.

  ‘Miss Burney, you must. The King will be ill if he runs like this. Stop. Stop, I beg of you.’

  Fanny stopped, and turning, faced the King.

  ‘Why did you run away, Miss Burney?’ he asked.

  What could she say? I feared your madness? So she did not answer and he came close to her and putting his hands on her shoulders kissed her cheek.

  ‘Now, Miss Burney. I wish to talk to you.’ His hot hands were on her arm; he drew her a little to one side; she was thankful to have the doctors and the attendants close at hand.

  ‘Ah, Miss Burney, you think I have been ill, eh, what? Yes, I have been ill … but not as ill as people think. Do you think I have been ill, Miss Burney, eh? what?’

  Fanny answered as best she could but there was no need to be anxious on that account for the King, as Colonel Digby had said, was prepared to do all the talking.

  He began discussing the American Colonies and he went on at great speed with the ehs? and whats? coming thick and fast. And Schwellenburg. He did not think Miss Burney was very happy with that woman. But she was not to be anxious on that account. He would speak to the Queen. And Colonel Digby? He feared that gentleman was a sad flirt … oh yes, he feared that. Fanny must not take that gentleman too seriously. Oh he could be a very serious gentleman … but he was a widower looking for a wife, and a flirt, Miss Burney, a sad flirt, and had she heard the arrangement of The Messiah? Handel was the finest musician in the world. Her father would know that. He could tell her some stories of Handel and she could tell her father. Dr Burney would be very interested in the stories he could tell her of Handel. A fine musician.

  He began to sing, beating time to the music, and his voice which had grown hoarse with all the talking he was doing, seemed to crack suddenly and Dr Willis said: ‘I beg Your Majesty not to strain your voice. Come along, sir. Do you not think we should go in and allow Miss Burney to continue with her walk.’

  ‘No, no, not yet. I have to speak to Miss Burney. I have much to say to her. I have lived so long out of the world, Miss Burney, that I know nothing. You understand, eh? what?’

  Fanny murmured that she understood very well and the King gripped her arm and put his face close to hers so that she trembled at the wildness in his eyes.

  ‘Miss Burney, I pray you tell me how your father fares. Tell your father that I will take care of him. He is a good and honest man. I will take care of him, Miss Burney. Yes, I will do it myself.’

  ‘Your Majesty is most gracious,’ stammered Fanny.

  ‘Your Majesty will get a chill,’ said Dr Willis. ‘Your Majesty is progressing so favourably that it would be folly to start your illness all over again.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the King. ‘Folly, folly, folly …’

  ‘Then Your Majesty …’

  ‘I will say au revoir to Miss Burney.’ And with that he put his hands on her shoulders, drew her to him and kissed her cheek as he had done when at the beginning of the encounter.

  Fanny was overcome with confusion, but the King’s attendants were already drawing him away.

  The King called over his shoulder. ‘Do not fear that dreadful woman, Miss Burney. Take no heed of Schwellenburg. You may depend on me. I am your friend. As long as I live I will be your friend. You understand, eh? what? I pledge myself to be your friend.’

  Fanny stood watching the King as he was drawn away, smiling and nodding to him as he turned to shout over his shoulder to her.

  She made her way hastily to her apartments and when she was with the Queen repeated the conversation to her, although she said nothing of the reference to Madam von Schwellenburg.

  ‘His Majesty still acts a little strangely, Miss Burney,’ said the Queen, ‘but I do believe he is going to get well.’

  The Queen was right.

  In the Lords the Lord Chancellor rose to declare that in view of the improved state of the King’s health it would be indecent to discuss the Regency Bill further.

  The King’s health improved rapidly; at the beginning of April the Prince of Wales with his brother Frederick received a summons to wait on the King at Kew in order that they might congratulate him on his recovery.

  The Prince of Wales behaved with absolute decorum and was more cordial to his father than he had ever been before.

  The improvement went on apace. The King looked old; his speech was quick and incoherent, but his mind was lucid again.

  All the royal family attended the service which was held at St Paul’s as a thanksgiving for the King’s recovery. It was April and the clement weather brought the crowds into the streets. As the King’s carriage rode by the people cheered wildly.

  ‘God save the King,’ they cried, throwing hats into the air and waving flags. ‘Long life to Your Majesty.’

  The King was touched by this devotion. The tears came to his eyes and this show of emotion only made the people cheer the more.

  But for the Prince of Wales – silence.

  He could not understand it. He was the popular member of the household. He was Prince Charming. Yet the people were greeting him with a sullen silence. It was the first time his presence had failed to rouse cheers.

  He was angry. Why? What had he done but ask for that which was his right? Why should they suddenly turn against him?

  It was because the people believed – in spite of the denial in Parliament – that he was married to a Papist. Maria … and her religion … were responsible for this.

  My dear love, he thought, what I have given up for you!

  The Queen was elated by the Prince’s reception. She had made sure that whenever possible people should be made aware of his callous behaviour during his father’s illness. She had arranged that stories should be circulated of his treatment of herself and her daughters; how he had tried to separate a wife from a sick husband, how he had sought for power at all costs, how it was the anxiety over his eldest son that had driven the King mad. Mr Pitt and the Queen were friends; and the Prince was supporting the unpopular Whigs with Fox at their head. But most heinous of all his sins was that he lived in sin with a Papist or was married to her; and neither situation was one to commend him to the people.

  Ah, Prince of Wales, thought the Queen malevolently, you would not accept my love so now you have my hate.

  Strange that a mother could hate the son on whom she had once doted. But Queen Charlotte had been kept so long under restraint – treated as a woman of no importance, simply a breeder of royal children – and when such prisoners were free their actions often surprised even themselves.

  The cartoonists were busy. The one which attracted the most attention was The Funeral of Miss Regency. This portrayed a coffin on which instead of wreaths was a coronet – the Princes – dice, and an empty purse. The chief mourner was Mrs Fitzherbert.

  When the Prince saw the cartoon he thought: ‘Yes, Maria is the chief mourner. She believed that when I became Regent I would have recognized
her. And if I had what would have happened? He remembered those sullen crowds at the thanksgiving service and was alarmed.

  Maria could ruin me, he thought.

  Somewhere from the past came the echo of an old song:

  ‘I’d crowns resign,

  To call thee mine.’

  Coming so near to the Regency had made him realize what the Crown would mean to him. He knew in his heart that he would never resign it. And if it came to the point of choosing between it and Maria …

  A few years ago he would have said unthinkingly: Maria.

  And now?

  I have already given up a great deal for her, he thought resentfully.

  The Duke’s Duel

  THE QUEEN WAS savouring her newly found power. The King’s illness had shattered his confidence and he lived in constant terror of his malady returning. He had become an old man – a frightened old man – and the Queen, after years of submission, was now the ruler of the Court.

  Her great enemy was the Prince of Wales and she was ready to do battle against him. She had her spies everywhere. How exciting life had become! How different this was from suffering the discomforts of pregnancy, being continuously concerned with nursery affairs, dealing with the accounts and managing her own household. Mr Pitt was her great friend. He did not despise her influence; and everyone would agree that Mr Pitt was the greatest politician of the age. Moreover, he was Prime Minister and head of the Tory Party, and the Court was Tory. When she gave a ball to celebrate the King’s recovery all the ladies were in blue – the Tory colour – and the tables were decorated with devices complimentary to the Tory party; and there were even mottoes inscribed on the sweetmeats.

  ‘The entertainment is for ministers and those persons who have voted for the King and me,’ she announced, ‘and those who have proved themselves my friends.’

  A new tone, everyone noticed. Queen Charlotte could never have made such an announcement before the King’s illness.

  The Prince of Wales and his brothers had attended, although the Queen had shown quite clearly that she had no wish for them to come. The King, however, appeared to be pleased to see his sons and was anxious that all should be peaceful within the family.

  But it was obvious from that evening – if it were not before – that there was open warfare between the Queen and the Prince of Wales and, since the Duke of York supported his brother in all things, that meant that the enmity extended to him as well.

  The Queen was determined that no one but herself should have charge of the King. She knew as well as his doctors the precarious state of his health. He had at the moment recovered to some extent, but she was aware that at any moment his reason could again desert him. He was a poor, sick old man.

  If he should again become insane she must be ready. In the meantime she was determined not to relinquish the smallest part of that power which she had just begun to relish.

  When she was alone with the King she dwelt on the wickedness of the Prince of Wales, how he had cared only to grasp power; how he had revelled in his father’s incapacity, how he had been unable to hide his dismay at his father’s recovery.

  ‘We have a rogue for a son,’ she said. ‘A profligate who longs to snatch the Crown from your head. I regret the day I ever bore him.’

  The King wept. ‘He has caused us such anxiety, but we must try to come to terms with him, eh, what?’

  ‘Terms with him? We never shall. His terms are … the Regency. That’s what he wants. And Frederick is almost as bad.’

  The King shook his head. Not Frederick, his favourite son, the hope of the House. ‘No, no … not Frederick …’

  The King was looking at her appealingly and she feared he would have a relapse.

  ‘Well, perhaps not Frederick,’ she conceded, ‘but he is under the influence of George and I think we should be watchful.’

  ‘Trouble, trouble,’ wailed the King. ‘Eh, what, trouble!’

  The tears began to fall down his cheeks and the Queen warned herself that she must be careful.

  The battle between the Queen and the Prince went on and her allies saw that stories were circulated about the Prince’s behaviour. Because of the King’s recently pathetic condition he had the sympathy of the people.

  Each day the Prince grew more and more disturbed – not by the animosity of his family but by that of the people.

  Once on the way to the opera his carriage was surrounded by the mob who threatened to drag him from it. The Prince disliked violence and was alarmed and astonished that it should be directed against himself, but his greatest emotion was anger that the partisans of the Queen should have spread such stories about him that the people who had once admired him should have turned against him.

  He looked through the window of his carriage at those jeering faces.

  ‘Pitt for ever!’ came the shout.

  ‘Damn Pitt!’ retorted the Prince. ‘Fox for ever.’

  The crowd was startled by this reply and the driver seized the opportunity to drive on. As they passed through the shouting crowd the Prince began to think of what might have happened. It was very unpleasant.

  But one thing was clear to him. He was no longer the popular idol.

  One early May morning the Prince, who was at Carlton House, was awakened by his brother’s coming into his bedroom and flinging himself on to a chair by his bed.

  The Prince started up, crying: ‘Why, Fred, what on earth has happened to you? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘It might well have been you who was seeing a ghost at this moment, George. My ghost! Less than half an hour ago I faced death.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘My dear George, I have just come from Wimbledon Common where I faced Colonel Lennox in a duel.’

  ‘Frederick, you fool.’

  ‘You say that, George, but something had to be done about these rumours and slanders … all directed at you.’

  ‘Good God, Fred, what if …’

  Frederick laughed at his brother’s dismay.

  ‘Well, you see me here safe and sound.’

  ‘Thank God for that. And Lennox?’

  ‘Equally unharmed. But at least we have had satisfaction though no blood was drawn.’

  ‘Fred … this is going too far.’

  ‘I tell you something had to be done. You know how friendly the Lennoxes are at Court. Lennox’s mother is hand in glove with the Queen and the Colonel is a great favourite of our old toad of a mother, too. He has been abusing us right and left for months. Of course we know who is behind all this. I let it be known what I thought of Lennox and he challenged me … so what could I do? We met on Wimbledon Common. I refused to fire. But Lennox’s ball grazed my ear. Oh, nothing to be startled about. It singed one of my curls. No other damage, I do assure you, brother.’

  ‘Fred, do you think our mother asked Lennox to challenge you?’

  ‘It could be so.’

  ‘The woman’s nothing less than a monster. I shall see the King about this.’

  ‘There’s no need. The matter is over, except that the Queen will know that at least her sons are not afraid to face her friends in duels.’

  ‘The wicked creature! Leave this to me.’

  Frederick sat back in his chair, laughing at his brother’s concern for his safety. The affection between them was as strong as it had been all through their lives.

  The Prince called at Kew and demanded to see his father, but although he was respectfully conducted into the King’s apartments it was the Queen he found there.

  ‘Madam,’ said the Prince, ‘I wish to speak to the King.’

  ‘His Majesty is not well enough to receive visitors.’

  ‘Then his son should be with him.’

  ‘Not if his wife decides the meeting might upset His Majesty.’

  ‘Madam, have done with this overbearing attitude. I have come to tell you that you are responsible for what has happened at Wimbledon this morning.’

 
‘What … has happened?’

  ‘Your son, the Duke of York, fought a duel with your favourite Colonel Lennox. Madam, are you a mother or a monster? What pleasure do you find in sending your sons … to death.’

  The Queen turned pale, and the Prince went on: ‘I demand to see His Majesty.’

  ‘Frederick is …’ The woman was shaken, thought the Prince. She is really frightened now. Let her be.

  ‘What I have to say I will say to His Majesty.’

  ‘I did not ask Colonel Lennox to fight a duel. I …’

  ‘Madam, the blame for what has happened lies at your door. You have slandered your sons and the Duke of York has fought a duel with one of Your Majesty’s servants who has been most active in spreading lies about us. I hope you are satisfied and I intend to give a full account of the matter to the King … and to make sure that he is aware of the part you have played in it.’

  The Queen was truly frightened. She thought of Frederick, the rash young adventurer, who was capable of any foolish act. He was her son, and her only complaint about him was that he had placed himself on the side of his brother. If he were dead … Oh God, she thought, I will be in a way responsible for his death. But he is not dead. George would not be so calm if he were. He is enjoying this. He could not be if Frederick were dead. Selfish and careless as he is, at least he loves his brother.

  The Prince saw his advantage and pushing the Queen aside went through to the King’s bedchamber.

  The King was resting, but he started up when he saw the Prince and cried: ‘What’s this, eh, what?’

  ‘Your Majesty, I have come to tell you that the Duke of York, unable to endure any longer the ridiculous and wicked slanders which have been circulated about myself and himself has today faced, with pistols, Colonel Lennox – a creature of the Queen’s – to demand satisfaction.’

  The King gasped. ‘What? What’s this? Frederick … in a duel. He can’t. Royal Dukes can’t … But he has, eh? what? Frederick? Oh, my son …’

  The Queen had hurried to the King’s side and was trying to soothe him and the Prince said quickly: ‘It is all right, Father. He is unharmed. Lennox’s bullet grazed his ear and that’s an end of the matter. The Duke did not fire. He just wished Lennox to know that he would accept his challenge and that was that. He did not wish to take life … only to defend his honour.’