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must immediately stop and give it money. Once she looked over a house in

Bayswater which was to let and pretended that she was considering renting it. She did the maddest things.

She had taken a great interest in a family of Italian musicians, the Sapios—

father, mother and son— all excellent in their profession; but Caroline became so enraptured by their talents and their company that she treated them as friends and had them to dine and walk with her and call upon her at any hour of the day.

And in addition to this eccentric behaviour there was Willikin, growing into a

most objectionable boy. He was hideously spoilt, refused to learn his lessons and wanted the Princess’s perpetual attention.

He was generally disliked in the household; the only one who could see no

wrong in him was the Princess Caroline.

————————

There were letters from Brunswick. The Duchess, now that she had no

husband, was thinking of returning to her native land. Moreover, Napoleon had

overrun practically the whole of Europe and exile was necessary. The Duchess

felt that she should be in England, for there she could be near her daughter and

see something of her little granddaughter, the Princess Charlotte.

Caroline was not very pleased at the thought of having her mother living in

England but she saw that she must receive her graciously. Her brother also was in exile since he had been driven from his country by the invader, so he too just

come to England.

It was a dreary prospect, but there was nothing to be done but bow to it. The

royal family made no effort to welcome their relations so Caroline put Montague

House at her mother’s disposal while she herself remained in Kensington Palace.

This was a hardship because the unconventional life she could lead in Blackheath

was more to her taste than that in Kensington.

The King, though, was a family man, and he was sorry rot, his sister who

chattered incessantly and talked of the changes in England since she had left and all that she had suffered in Brunswick. And eventually he took pity on Caroline

and gave the Duchess a house in Spring Gardens.

It was by no means grand but the Duchess contrived to make it so; and she

would sit in the dingy rooms as though in a palace and receive, for now she had

returned to England she was very conscious of her royalty and wished everyone

else to be so too.

————————

Caroline ran through Montague House declaring how good it was to be back.

‘Poor Mamma!’ she said to that diligent recorder Lady Charlotte. ‘I believe

she is so happy to be here. It reminds her of the old days when she was Princess

Royal. And her little Court there in Spring Gardens— it is sad, don’t you think

Lady Charlotte? Court! I call it a Dullification. I have rarely been so bored as at dear Mamma’s Spring Garden Court. Ah, you are thinking how sad it is that she

has been driven from her home but perhaps it is not so sad as you think. She

always had to take second place, you know, when my father was alive. Madame

de Hertzfeldt, his mistress, was the power in the land. Dear Lady Charlotte, you

always tempt me to shock you because you are so easily shocked. Never mind. I

like you. You are my dear friend, my angel, and we shall entertain now. I confess I am eager to fill this place with people who make me laugh.’

So she planned parties with amusing people and ran shrieking among her

guests playing Blind Man’s Buff, a game which had always been a favourite of

hers.

One day the King called. As soon as she saw him, Caroline thought he looked

strange. He kept telling her how pleased he was to see her, that she was a

beautiful woman and constantly in his thoughts.

It was pleasant to be back on the old terms of affection which had been

interrupted by the Delicate Investigation; and she told him how happy she was.

‘Ah,’ he said almost roguishly. ‘I believe you love your old uncle.’

But indeed I do. No one has been kinder to me. Why I do not know what I

should have done without your friendship, for I have had little from the rest of the family.’

‘Let us sit down,’ he said and drew her on to a sofa.

She was alarmed, for his manner had become stranger and he called her

Elizabeth. Then he talked incoherently of his love for her and what he would do

for her and how she was in fact his Queen.

Caroline realized that his mind was wandering and when he fell on her she

rolled off the sofa and ran out of the room. She stood at the door listening and

peeping in she saw him sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands.

Poor Uncle George!
she thought.
He mistook me for someone else. He is truly
going mad.

She went back into the room and when he looked up she realized that he had

no remembrance of what had happened. ‘It is good of Your Majesty to call on

me,’ she said.

He stood up and as he approached, she curtsied.

He said: ‘I should like to see a reconciliation. It’s not good, eh, what? The

Prince of Wales and his wife living apart— not together. It’s wrong. You

understand that, eh, what?’

She said she did understand but it was the wish of the Prince of Wales and

nothing could alter that.

When he had left she was depressed thinking of him.

He is close to the brink now, she thought. And if I lost him I wouldn’t have a
friend at Court.

————————

There was always scandal circulating round the royal family and the King

lived in perpetual fear of some fresh exposure. He could not understand why his

sons should have this habit for creating trouble. It made him all the more

determined to see that his daughters had no chance of doing so. He was glad there were no marriages for them. Only the Princess Royal had achieved it and she

appeared to be living quietly with her husband.
No husbands for the others
, he had told himself grimly.
They shall be kept here— under my eye and that of their
mother.

The Prince of Wales was creating fresh scandal with Lady Hertford— another

of his famous grandmothers. Not content with refusing to live with the Princess of Wales he had returned to Mrs. Fitzherbert— a good woman and a beautiful one

who should have been enough for anyone. But no, now it was Lady Hertford and

God alone knew what fresh trouble was in store there.

And he was so anxious about Amelia, his youngest, his favourite, his darling.

He used to tell himself that no matter what trouble the others caused him there

was always Amelia.

But even she caused him anxiety for she grew more wan every day. She had

developed a lameness in her knee which he knew gave her great pain.

He would weep when he saw her and embrace her covering her face with

kisses.

‘Your Papa feels the pain with you, my darling. You, understand that, eh,

what?’

And she would nod and tell him: ‘But it is not such had pain, Papa,’ just for

the sake of comforting him. His angel, his darling! How different from his sons.

The sea bathing at Worthing had done her good but only for a time. And he had to

face the fact that as the months passed she grew no better.

She was his little invalid. He asked after her continually. ‘She is better today, Your Majesty,’ they would tell him; and he believed that they told him so on the

Queen’s orders, for the Queen was determined that the King must not be upset.

His eyes were failing and he would put his face close to hers trying to tell

himself that she looked a little better than when he last saw her; and whenever he asked her, she would always say, ‘Much better, Papa. Much, much better.’ And

perhaps add: ‘I took a little walk in the gardens today.’

So even the best of his children gave him cause to worry. In spite of his

expectations, trouble came from an unsuspected quarter.

The Prime Minister, Lord Portland, came to see him on a grave matter.

‘It concerns the Duke of York, Your Majesty, and a certain Mary Anne

Clarke.’

‘Mary Anne Clarke!’ He had never heard of the woman. And Frederick

couldn’t have made one of those marriages his sons were fond of making because

he was married already. ‘Who is this woman?’

‘A woman, Your Majesty, of dubious character.’

‘
H’m
. And what is the trouble, eh, what?’

‘A question has been raised in the House of Commons, sir, by a Colonel

Wardle. He brings a charge against the Duke for wrong use of military patronage

which as Commander in Chief of the Army he has been in a position to carry out.’

‘And what has this— woman to do with it?’

‘She is the Duke’s mistress, Your Majesty, and has been selling promotions

which she has persuaded the Duke to give.’

‘Oh, God,’ cried the King. ‘What next?’

The Prime Minister said that he feared a great scandal as the House was

insisting on an enquiry which would of course expose the Duke’s intrigue with

this not very reputable young woman and would— if the charges were proved—

result in his being expelled from the Army.

‘And so— there is to be this— enquiry.’

‘I fear so, sir.’

So this is the next disaster,
thought the King.
Can so much happen in one
family? Am I dreaming it? Am I going mad?

————————

The great topic for the time was the scandal of the Duke of York and Mary

Anne Clarke.

Mary Anne was an extremely handsome woman in her early thirties who had

begun her life in Ball and Pin Alley near Chancery Lane. Her mother was

widowed when Mary Anne was a child and later married a compositor, the son of

whose master was attracted by the pretty child and had her educated. Mary Anne

in due course married a stone mason named Clarke and later went on the stage

where she played Portia at the Haymarket Theatre. Here she was noticed and

became the mistress of several members of the peerage. At the house of one of

these she made the acquaintance of the Duke of York who was immediately

infatuated, and set her up in a mansion in Gloucester Place.

The doting Duke had promised her a large income but was constantly in debt

and not always able to pay it; Mary Anne’s expenses were enormous and so to

provide the large sums she needed she had the idea of selling promotions in the

Army.

This was the sordid story which became the gossip of London. The Duke was

in despair, but when Mary Anne was called upon to give evidence at the bar of the House of Commons she did so with jaunty abandon.

The Duke’s letters to her were read aloud in the House and these caused great

merriment. All over London they were quoted— and embellished. This was the

cause célèbre
of the day.

The King shut himself into his apartments and the Queen could hear him

talking to himself, talking, talking, until he was hoarse. He was praying too. And it was clear that he did not know for whom he prayed.

Amelia was sent to comfort him; and this she did by telling him how well she

felt— never so well in her life.

And that did ease him considerably.

It emerged from the Select Committee which tried the case, that the Duke was

not guilty of nefarious practices however much his mistress might have been; but

all the same he had to resign his post in the Army.

He broke with Mary Anne, but he had not finished with her because she

threatened to publish the letters he had written to her. These were bought for

£7,000 down and a Pension of £400 a year.

But people went on talking of Mary Anne Clarke; and it was noticed that the

King’s health was even worse than it had been before.

————————

The Mary Anne Clarke scandal had scarcely died down when another and far

more dramatic one burst on London, This concerned Ernest, Duke of Cumberland

— the King’s fifth son.

Ernest was the last son the King would have expected to bring trouble. He had

been sent to Germany to learn his soldiering where he had acquitted himself with

honour; and when he had come back to England in 1796 he was made a

lieutenant-general. Not only was he an excellent military leader but he had shown some skill in the House of Lords; he was an able debater and was regarded with

respect by the Prince of Wales. The most likeable quality of the brothers was their loyalty to each other; and Ernest was determined that when George became King

he would be beside him.

It was the night of May 10th. Duke Ernest had been to a concert and

according to himself, retired to bed in his apartments in St. James’s Palace. Soon after midnight his screams awoke his servants who rushing in found him in his

bed with a wound at the side of his head. One of the servants had fallen over the Duke’s sword which lay, on the floor and was spattered with fresh blood.

The Palace was soon aroused; doctors were sent for; and it was noticed that

the Prince’s valet, an Italian named Sellis, was missing. One of the servants went to call him and ran screaming from the room. Sellis was lying on the floor, a razor beside him, his throat cut.

What happened in the Duke of Cumberland’s apartments on that fateful last

night in May no one could be quite sure but there was rumour enough. The

Duke’s story was that a noise in his room had awakened him and before he had

time to light a candle, he had received a blow on the side of his head. He had

started up, and as his eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness he received