Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series) (15 page)

Oh, Perdita, why waste time in love scenes on a stage!

And here was Malden. He strode to him holding out his hand.

‘Her letter! Her letter! Where is it?’

‘She did not write, Your Highness.’

‘Did not write! But you took my letter to her?’

‘Yes, Your Highness.’

‘And what said she? What said she?’

‘She was a little inclined to disbelieve.’

‘Disbelieve?’

‘That Your Highness had written it.’

‘But you told her …’

‘I told her, but as it was signed Florizel she said she could not be sure.’

‘Florizel to Perdita. You assured her?’

‘Yes, Your Highness, to the best of my power.’

‘And she did not answer the letter?’

‘She is no ordinary actress, Your Highness, to come quickly when beckoned.’ The Prince’s face had grown scarlet and Malden
hurried on: ‘I think she would wish to be wooed. She is modest, Your Highness, and could not believe she was so honoured. She thought it was some gallant playing a trick.’

‘So she wrote no answer.’

‘She would not do so.’

The Prince was baffled. Malden said: ‘I think if Your Highness wrote again … wooed the lady a little, assured her that it was indeed yourself …’

‘So you think then …’

Malden was silent.

He himself had had hopes of the lady, being half in love with her himself. It was a little hard to have to plead another man’s cause, even if that man were the Prince of Wales.

Malden went on: ‘I think, Your Highness, that Mrs Robinson wishes to imply that she is a lady of high moral character and does not indulge lightly in love affairs.’

The Prince was momentarily exasperated. He had had enough virtue from Mary Hamilton. But almost immediately he was laughing. Why of course. He would not have wished her to give in immediately. She wanted to be wooed. Well, he was capable of doing the wooing. She had had his letter; she had expressed herself honoured … if the letter had in truth come from him.

Very well, he would begin the pursuit, and in time she would be his.

He was smiling, thinking of future bliss.

Oh, Mrs Robinson!

*

The King had come to Kew for a little respite. How much simpler life seemed at Kew. He woke early, looked at the clock and, getting out of bed, lit the fire which had been laid the night before by his servants.

How cold it was! ‘Good for the health,’ he muttered, for he talked to himself when he was alone. ‘Nothing like fresh air, eh?’

He lit the fire and went back to bed to watch it blaze. Soon the room would be warm enough for him to sit in … comfortably.

Lying in bed he started to worry. Even at Kew he worried. Yet when he was with his ministers he felt capable of controlling them and the affairs of the country; sometimes when he was in the
council chamber at St James’s he would hear his mother’s voice admonishing him: ‘George, be a king.’

Yes, he would be a king. He would control them all. Nobody was going to forget who was ruling this country. He would like to see that man Fox banished from the House. There he was … popping up … always ready to make trouble. His father had been a sly one and so was his son. Sarah’s nephew, he thought. And there was Sarah mocking him, laughing at him, as clear in his mind’s eye as she had been that summer’s morning when he had seen her making hay in the gardens of Holland House as he rode by.

His mind went to Charlotte, perpetually pregnant Charlotte. He would lecture her about her health. Not that she needed the lecture, but he wanted her to know that he was concerned for her. And Octavius, the baby; he was fretful. His nurses said that he cried in the night and wouldn’t take his food. He would have to work out a new routine for Octavius.

It was more pleasant thinking of the nursery than state affairs, even though all was not well there. There will always be worries with children, eh, what?

But he must remember that he was the King and he was the last man to shirk his responsibilities. This American affair. If only it could be satisfactorily ended. North wanted to resign, but he would not let North resign. If the Government would stand firm he was sure their troubles would be over. But when had a government made up of ambitious men ever been in unison? Men like Fox … ‘I hate Fox,’ he said aloud. He imagined the fellow – apart from all his political fireworks – was remembering the King’s folly over his aunt Sarah. Perhaps Sarah had confided in the fellow. After all, although she was his aunt there was not so much difference in their ages and Sarah had lived at Holland House with her sister, who was Fox’s mother. Fox was there … to put his mischievous finger in every pie; to laugh and sneer and scatter his wit about so that all wanted to know what Fox’s latest quip was.

He remembered Fox at the time of the Royal Marriage Bill which he had felt it urgent to bring in after the disastrous marriages of his brothers Gloucester and Cumberland. Fox had been
one of those who had opposed it. ‘The Bill to propagate immorality in the descendants of George I,’ they had called it. Fox had resigned because of it. ‘Good riddance, eh, what?’ As if the Bill was not necessary – with the Prince of Wales and young Frederick showing themselves as a couple of young fools with their minds always on women. There’d be disaster from that direction if steps weren’t taken. Why even he … as a young man …

There was Hannah coming out of the past to regard him with mournful and reproachful eyes. But Hannah had never been reproachful. She had been too fond of him. Mournful, yes. She blamed herself. He was but a child, she said, when he had first seen her sitting in the window of her uncle’s linen-draper’s shop. The follies of youth! And yet at the time they seemed inevitable. But he had lived
respectably
with Hannah … as respectably as an irregular union could be. And then for her sake and for the sake of his conscience he had committed that act which had haunted him for the rest of his life. The marriage ceremony … that was no true ceremony of course … and yet …

This was dangerous thinking; this could set the voices chattering in his head even more insistently than thoughts of rebellious colonists, the slyness of Mr Fox, the pleading of Lord North to be released from office.

He guided his thoughts to North – a safer subject. He had always been fond of him; they had played together in the nursery when they were both young children, acted in plays together – for George’s father, Frederick, Prince of Wales, had been fond of amateur theatricals – and he and North had been so much alike that his father had remarked to North’s father that one of their wives must have deceived them and either he or Lord North must be the father of both of them. Now of course they were not so much alike – or George hoped not; North was fat as the King knew he himself would be – for it was a family failing – if he did not take exercise and watch his diet; North had bulging short-sighted eyes which he appeared to be unable to control so that they rolled about aimlessly; he had a tiny nose, but a mouth too small for his tongue, and when he spoke his speech was slurred and he spat unbecomingly. His appearance was almost ridiculous, yet he was a likeable man and because they had been friends for
so long the King was fond of him. Poor North, he was extravagant and could never live within his means. As Prime Minister, of course, he had great expenses, and it had been necessary for the King to help him out of financial difficulties now and then. North on the other hand would come to the King’s assistance when he needed money and would prod the Treasury into supplying it. That unfortunate matter of the Grosvenor case … Thirteen thousand pounds for those letters Cumberland had written to the woman … And now there he was sporting with a different one; the woman with the eyelashes. Mr Fox, who had raged against the Royal Marriage Act; Hannah and Sarah; Elizabeth Pembroke, who did not belong to the past but who was at Court now; she was a woman to whom his attention kept straying; American Colonies; little Octavius who wasn’t strong; the Prince of Wales. All these subjects raced round and round in the King’s mind like trapped animals in a cage.

‘Careful,’ said the King aloud. ‘Eh, what?’

But how could he stop his thoughts?

Now his mind had switched to the riots which had broken out in Scotland and had been going on all during the year. A protest against the Catholic Relief Bill to which he had given his assent the year before. He had been glad to do it; he felt that people should be free to worship in the way they wished – as long as they worshipped; he had little patience with those atheists and agnostics or whatever they called themselves. People should go to church; they should obey the commandments; but high church, low church … that was a matter for individual conscience. But up in Scotland the low church didn’t like it at all. ‘No Popery,’ they shouted. Troublemakers. Mob mostly. Serious-minded people
discussed
their differences. They didn’t go about burning people’s houses because they thought differently on certain matters. Ever since he was a young man he had believed in religious tolerance. He had been lenient to all denominations. Quakers, for instance. And there he was back at Hannah.

No, no, go away, Hannah. I must not think of you … dare not, eh, what?

‘Pray God the riots don’t spread below the Border,’ he said.

Time to get up. Yes, the room was warm now … or warmer.
He would devote himself to going through the state papers and then he would go to the Queen’s apartment to take breakfast with her.

When he arrived there he found the Queen already seated at the table with Madam von Schwellenburg in attendance. The King did not like that woman. He remembered how his mother, when she was alive, had tried to get her dismissed because she felt she had too great an influence on the Queen; but Charlotte had showed herself remarkably stubborn and refused to let the woman go. It was not that she wanted her; it was simply that she clung to the right to choose her own servants. He had decided then that although Charlotte might have some sway over her own household she should have none in political affairs. No, said George, I have seen what havoc women can play in politics. Look at the late King of France, how he had allowed his women to rule him. Madame de Pompadour. Madame du Barry. And look at the state of that country! ‘Not very happy,’ murmured the King. ‘Not very happy. Would not like to see my country like that. Women ruin a country. They shall never lead me by the nose.’

Charlotte dismissed Schwellenburg. The arrogant German woman was quite capable of remaining if she had not done so.

‘Your Majesty looks a little tired,’ said the Queen solicitously.

‘Eh? What? Not a good night.’

‘You have been worrying about something?’

He did not answer that question. She was not going to worm state matters out of him that way.

‘Your Majesty should take more than a dish of tea.’

‘A dish of tea is all I want.’

‘But …’

‘A dish of tea is all I want,’ he repeated. ‘People eat too much. They get fat. All the family have a tendency to fat. Young George is too fat, eh, what?’

Charlotte’s doting look illuminated her plain face. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He is well formed and because he is so handsome and fairly tall he can carry a little weight gracefully.’

‘No one can carry too much weight with grace,’ declared the King. ‘I shall have to make sure that he is not eating too much
fat on his meat. Pie crust, I’ll swear … in spite of my orders that they were not to have it.’

‘George is nearly eighteen now …’ began the Queen timorously.

‘Not yet. Not yet. He’s a minor. He’ll have to remember that, eh, what?’

‘But of course, of course,’ said the Queen hastily.

‘Seems to have settled down, eh? Not so much chasing the maids of honour. There hasn’t been one to take the place of that Harriot Vernon, has there?’

‘Schwellenburg told me that he was very, friendly with Mary Hamilton, but I discovered that it was a very
good
friendship. Mary is a good girl and he regarded her as his sister.’

‘Sister. He’s got sisters … five of them. What’s he want with another sister?’

‘It was a pleasant friendship, that was all. Mary Hamilton is one of the girls’ attendants and he saw her when he visited them. It meant he was visiting his sisters quite frequently and I’m sure Your Majesty will agree that is a good thing.’

‘Should have gone to see his own sisters … not this young woman.’

‘They were just friends.’

‘You’re keeping your eye on him?’

‘I wish I saw more of him.’ The Queen sighed.

‘Send for him then. Send for him.’

‘I would like him to come of his own accord. But when he does come, all the time he seems to be thinking of getting away.’ The King frowned and the Queen went on hastily: ‘Of course he is so young and full of high spirits. I hear that he only has to appear to set the people cheering. In Hyde Park the people nearly went wild with joy when your brother stopped his coach to speak to them. They were cheering George … not Cumberland.’

‘Cumberland had no right …’ The King’s eyes bulged. ‘I’ve forbidden him to the Court.’

‘This wasn’t the Court. It was the Park. After all they are uncle and nephew. They could scarcely pass by.’

‘Family quarrels,’ said the King. ‘I hate them. They’ve always been. I thought we’d avoid them. But I never could get along
with Cumberland. It was different with Gloucester. I’m sorry he had to make a fool of himself. But Cumberland … I don’t want the fellow at Court, brother of mine though he may be.’

‘I must say he lives … scandalous …’

The King spoke bitterly: ‘So even eyelashes a yard long can’t satisfy him.’

‘I’ve heard some of the women talking about the house he keeps … the people who go there. Fox is a frequent visitor. Do you think because you won’t have him at Court he’s trying to build up a little court of his own?’

The King looked at his wife sharply. This sounded remarkably like interference. Any conversation which brought in Mr Fox could be highly political. He was not going to have Charlotte interfering. He’d tell her so; he’d make it plain to her. But for a few moments he gave himself up to imagining the sort of ‘court’ there would be at the Cumberlands. Men like Fox … Fox was a lecher … Fox had all the vices and none of the virtues; but he was a brilliant politician, and if he was a habitué of Cumberland’s court that could be very dangerous. For where Fox was other men of affairs gathered.