By the King's Design (44 page)

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Authors: Christine Trent

BOOK: By the King's Design
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“Your Majesty, we just gave the cartoonist a handsome financial settlement in return for his pledge
not
to print any further caricatures of you.”
“I don't want him to satirize
me,
but to skewer my wife. See to it!”
Liverpool drained his glass. The king was working himself into a state of apoplexy, for certain.
Mercifully, Lady Conyngham interjected an opinion, deflecting the king's poisonous attentions away from the prime minister.
“Dearest Majesty, you are rightfully angry about the wrong done to you, but I wonder if you might benefit, both in your person and in public opinion, by incorporating a spiritual aspect to your daily life. Might I suggest that we invite a priest to attend to your royal needs? He might be able to offer comfort in these trying times, and the people would view such an act as one of great devotion to the good of the nation.”
“Are you mad, dear lady? I am the king, not a penitent. It is Parliament that requires forgiveness and solace, not I.”
Lady Congynham's face was a bland mask, but Liverpool noted hints of wearied irritation around her eyes. The look was gone in an instant as she replaced the mask with a cheerful, toothy smile. “No, of course you aren't, Your Majesty. You must forgive the dithering of someone who merely adores you above all others and is stretching her simple, yet devoted, mind to its limits to find ways to comfort you.”
The king's disposition altered as swiftly as his mistress changed facial expressions. “And this you do quite admirably. I need no man of the cloth to attend to me, I just need my dear Lady Conyngham.”
Lady Conyngham artfully simpered and bent her head in modesty.
Lord Liverpool had to give the woman credit. She was a master politician, and better able to placate the king's irrational moods than any of his advisors. Himself included.
If only the whole nasty business could be concluded. But there was one more issue to be addressed.
“Ahem, Your Majesty, I took the queen aside and informed her that under no circumstances should she attend your coronation services, that she would be neither welcome nor permitted inside Westminster Abbey.”
“Quite right she won't be allowed in. In fact, I want pugilists to stand guard outside and forcibly remove her if she dares present herself. If that woman defies me over my coronation, I'll ... I'll ... I'll see that she pays for it in the most hideous way possible, Parliament be damned.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“On the other hand, there are certain people I must have in my presence during my coronation. I believe I've already mentioned to you that Lady Conyngham must have a place of honor.”
“Yes, but, Your Majesty, the people might—”
“If they think I'll give up my sweet and precious heart at my coronation, well, they have something to learn about their sovereign. I must have her nearby, else I can't possibly be happy for this most momentous course of events. You'll see to it, won't you, Liverpool?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Liverpool simply wanted this tiresome meeting done. But Lady Conyngham had one more card to play.
“I can hardly think how grand Your Majesty's ceremony will be, and how gracious he is to include me. And although my family is the unworthy recipient of so many of your favors, may I recommend that my son, Francis, already a groom of the bedchamber, be permitted some role in Your Majesty's august day?”
The favor was bestowed without a second thought. “Of course, my lady. Hmm, how about if I make him master of the robes for the day? He can oversee the pages who carry my robe, and I'll see to it that he has specially marked vestments to set him apart.”
Lady Conyngham's face changed again, into a melting gleam of self-satisfaction.
 
Because society loves a scandal, Belle was once again the focus of attention following Darcey's death. Belle and Put were completely exonerated, not only officially but in the court of public opinion. In fact, the public was once again fascinated with the draper turned conspirator turned draper once again. Even Lady Derby sent a servant to express great desire to have the first look at next season's newest fabrics.
Belle's infamy as the sister of a Cato Street conspirator was now tempered by her newfound fame as the survivor of an attempted murder—by a parliamentarian's daughter, no less.
The newspapers reported accounts from Lord Harrowby, reprinted articles from the Cato Street Conspiracy, and wrote their own dramatic versions of what happened that day inside the Stirling Drapers shop. They also lurked around Mr. White's home for several weeks, hoping for more gossip, but the grieving family shut itself completely away, and eventually the reporters grew bored with them.
Belle was inundated with a constant stream of visitors, who were only too disappointed to learn that the floors had been scrubbed clean by Lady Greycliffe's staff, then revarnished by Putnam Boyce. Nevertheless, it became fashionable to order fabrics from the lady shopkeeper who actually dispatched a crazed female assassin.
As the orders continued to pour in, Belle realized she needed to hire someone to help her. She asked Lady Greycliffe for advice, and the dollmaker recommended one of her own household staff's daughter, who didn't want to follow her mother into service but wanted to learn a trade. Molly proved to be capable and enthusiastic, and once more Belle was grateful for Lady Greycliffe's friendship.
Even more gratifying was the letter Belle received from John Nash, congratulating her on her marriage and achieving such great fame. The letter went on to tell her that the king once again viewed her favorably, and asked that she consider returning to work on the Pavilion.
She discussed it with Put and together they decided that however badly the king had treated her, it was, after all, his prerogative as king and there was great benefit to be had in working on a royal palace.
Besides, the official plans for the king's coronation were announced for July, improving Belle's fortunes as never before, so in an odd way she had King George IV to thank for her revival. A steady stream of customers and seamstresses trailed in and out of her shop each day, with extensive lists of velvets, furs, silks, tassels, and gold trims that they needed for robes and other vestments worthy of attendance at the king's coronation.
July 19, 1821
London
 
The king's coronation was rumored to be costing more than a hundred thousand pounds from the treasury. If the canopied walking platforms stretching from Carlton House to Westminster Abbey, specially erected just for the coronation procession, were any indication of the great lengths the Crown was going to for its new king, Belle figured the estimates were probably true.
Brimming with curiosity over what a coronation ceremony was like, she insisted that Put and Frances join her in attendance. Although regular citizens wouldn't be permitted inside Westminster Abbey for the actual crowning, they could line up anywhere along the route to watch the new monarch pass by.
It was a blistering hot day. Belle wore her best gown of creamy white Indian sari silk, shot through with a gold-thread pattern, thankful that she'd chosen something light and weightless for the day. How the king and his attendants would manage in their robes was beyond imagination.
Rather than trying to join the crowds along the long parade route, Belle determined that they should purchase seats on a platform next to the west door of Westminster Abbey, thinking they'd be among the first of London's citizens to see the king emerge in his crown. Rumor had it that the king had acquired a large blue diamond looted from the French crown jewels during the Revolution and had it set in the crown. Would she be able to see it twinkling in the sun, even at this distance?
The press of people on the tiered seating platform, as well as on the ground as far as the eye could see, made the day even more oppressive. At least everyone was good-natured about it. Thus far.
The roars and cheers of spectators far off announced the king's impending arrival, and from her place Belle caught a glimpse of his procession as it arrived, led by the king's herb woman and six young attendants dressed in white strewing the way with herbs and flowers. The entourage entered the abbey, finely dressed in Tudor-inspired breeches, neck ruffs, and crimson robes.
Too bad Belle's regained favor with the Crown had not extended to the provision of cloth for the coronation itself.
As the great doors to the old Gothic cathedral slammed shut behind the procession, a group of burly liveried men spread themselves out in the street across from the entry, as though daring anyone else to approach.
Yet someone did approach. A finely wrought closed carriage pulled by two magnificent plumed horses came barreling down the street to the abbey, its driver shouting at dawdling spectators to remove themselves. He pulled up in front of the guard line, and the carriage had barely stopped rolling when the door facing the crowds was flung open from the inside. The driver and a footman scrambled down to assist the occupant out, but a corpulent woman in a feathered headdress, her face mottled scarlet, stumbled out on her own.
Caroline, the queen.
As if just now realizing that she was on a parade route, the woman looked up at the spectators in the stands. She waved a pudgy hand at the Londoners, who were too shocked to do anything other than collectively gasp. Everyone knew about the queen's show trial, and although she had enjoyed immense popularity throughout it all, the people had since grown weary of the queen's antics. Parliament had agreed to pay her a fifty-thousand-pound annuity if she would simply go away. She'd agreed to it, but here she was today.
Belle looked at Put, who shook his head in amazement.
“She shouldn't be here,” Belle whispered.
“No, and this might prove her undoing. The people want to witness a coronation, not a fishwife's waspish demands.”
“But she
is
still the queen.”
“Only in her own mind.”
What became clear was that Caroline was out of her mind.
After waving and blowing kisses to the crowd, she lifted her skirts and ran on her stocky, jiggling legs past the ferocious-looking guards, who were initially too shocked to react. She spoke to the liveried man posted in front of the door, gesticulating wildly.
He shook his head at her.
Caroline waved even more passionately and shouted incoherently.
The man put his hand on his sword hilt.
She shoved the man aside and began beating on the abbey's door, screaming volubly so that London's citizens were treated to an unexpected circus event.
“Let me in! I am the queen! Open this door immediately!”
Everyone outside was hushed as Caroline continued her rampage.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
She beat her fists repeatedly against the door.
“I will be permitted entrance! I am the queen! I will be crowned today, too! I am Her Majesty, Queen Caroline!”
Thump! Thump! Thump!
“I demand that the king open this door to his wife!”
By now, the guards had sufficiently recovered their wits to surround Caroline and nudge her away from the door. She struggled against them, shrieking about her right to be part of the coronation ceremony. But the burly men encircled her and led her back to the carriage, unceremoniously pushing her back inside.
Even where Belle sat, she could see that the driver and footman were white as sheets and anxious to be gone. The moment the door was shut again, the driver snapped his whip and the carriage drove off wildly, with the queen's voice still at an ear-shattering volume, screeching about her rights and privileges as Queen of England.
When the king himself reappeared later after his ceremony for the walk to his coronation banquet at nearby Westminster Hall, the crowds had sufficiently recovered themselves to remember to cheer for their newly crowned monarch.
“God save the king!”
 
“God save me from that woman! May He strike her dead!”
Lady Elizabeth Conyngham murmured soothingly as she cut a piece of bread and held it between her fingers, “May He indeed, Your Majesty.”
“I tell you, dearest lady, I tolerated much from her, when I was in no manner obligated to do so. So many arrows have I had in my quiver, and so few have I let fly.”
“Of course, my love, of course. You must try this cheese brioche.” She popped it in his mouth, and allowed him to nibble the crumbs from her hand.
“Yes, most excellent. Where was I?”
“Your full quiver.”
“Yes. And Liverpool warned her that she wouldn't be welcome at my coronation, yet she defied me again. Again! At least she wasn't able to interfere with my dearest Lady Elizabeth's presence inside the abbey, but no matter, no matter.

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