The Regent's Daughter: (Georgian Series) (31 page)

He closed his eyes, indicating that he wished to speak to no one; he felt languid and bored and sorry for himself.

Charlotte, dismissed, wandered out of the room and sat alone in a window seat. When one of the dogs came and thrust his damp nose into her hand, she caressed him absently, feeling depressed. How different it would have been if they were all together – herself, her mother and her father. She imagined herself making a posset for him and taking it to him and when he drank it he declared he felt so much better because she had made it.

‘The Princess unattended!’ It was Mr Adam smiling, bowing, very much the courtier.

‘I don’t think my presence is really required in the sick-room.’

‘Good. We can be much more at ease here.’

‘
You
are at ease in any place.’

‘It’s a state that comes with age.’

‘Then I shall not regret growing old.’

‘I am sure you will be far too wise to do that, for with age comes experience – which is perhaps a more valuable asset even than youth.’

‘Yes,’ said Charlotte quickly. ‘I believe it is. I’d much rather be sixteen than ten.’

‘Then you have begun to make the discovery too.’

It was very pleasant talking to Mr Adam, whose eyes so admired her. She told him about the dreariness of life at Warwick House and the odd quirks of the members of her household. Her laughter rose immediately and she found she was really enjoying herself.

But when she went back to Warwick House she was sad again thinking of the conflict between her mother and father, which now she was growing older she was beginning to realize was too great ever to change.

The rumours were rife. The Regent was ill. What was the matter with him? He had been dancing the Highland Fling and had hurt his ankle!

Hurt his ankle! said the lampoonists. That was just a tale. More likely the Yarmouth Bloater had lost his temper and attacked his benefactor. And the reason? Because His Highness was far too interested in the Bloater’s wife.

That was a great joke. The son of the Prince’s latest flame to attack him for casting eyes on his wife! What lives Royalty led! It was too good a story not to exploit. After all, was the comment, it was a mild echo of the Sellis affair when it was widely believed Cumberland had come close to being murdered because he had been found in bed with his valet’s wife.

Charlotte heard of these rumours and was deeply disturbed by them. At the same time stories were still circulating about her mother and her supposed lovers. There were many who believed that Willie Austin was the son of the Princess of Wales.

Hurt and bewildered she longed to know the truth and yet dreaded it.

‘My word,’ said the informative Mrs Udney one day, ‘there are rumours about the Regent. Not that I believe them. They’ll say the maddest things.’

‘What things?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Not that I’d repeat …’ began Mrs Udney, but Charlotte was not deluded; she knew that those words were the preliminary to a confidence. ‘You must not mention that I told. You must never repeat …’ Charlotte gave the promise which she knew she would wish afterwards that she had not allowed to be extracted because when she heard these vile slanders she would want to trace them to their sources; she would want to demand that the lies be retracted. Lies! How she wished she could believe they were lies!

It came out after a certain amount of wheedling.

‘They are saying that the Regent has inherited his father’s illness and that he is
mad
.’

Charlotte stared at Mrs Udney for a few seconds in silence, then she cried: ‘Don’t dare say that again!’

Mrs Udney was alarmed. ‘Of course not. I only told you because you got it out of me.’

‘Who … who dared say it?’

‘Well, don’t tell a soul, but they are saying the rumour started with Cumberland.’

His own brother, her Uncle Cumberland whom she had never liked! In fact she had found him a little sinister with his one glittering eye (he had lost the other before she was born, at the battle of Tournay) and she had always felt that he resented her.

But what a wicked thing to say about her father!

She turned on Mrs Udney and would have struck her if the woman had not hastily retreated.

‘I’m only telling you what you asked,’ began Mrs Udney.

‘Don’t ever say that again,’ cried Charlotte. ‘Don’t ever say it. I … I’ll kill anyone who says it.’

She ran to her bedroom and threw herself on to her bed.

She kept thinking of her mother and her father and how they hated each other and how so many people seemed to hate them.

In her apartments at Kensington Palace the Princess of Wales embraced her daughter.

‘If you only knew how I long for these hours, my little Charlotte. Oh, if you only knew,’ she cooed. ‘But I am allowed so little. It’s a scandal. Of all the scandals in this family this is the greatest. To be allowed to see my own daughter for an hour
now and then. I tell you I will not endure it. I will make such a big noise one day that they’ll be sorry. Oh, yes, they will.’

Charlotte gave herself up to the warm, almost suffocating hug. Mamma’s wig as usual was a little awry and strands of her own grey hair were visible beneath it. It was so black that her heavily painted cheeks made her look like a grotesque doll. The dress she was wearing – mauve satin trimmed with ribbons and lace – was very low-cut and none too clean, being stained with food, and Charlotte could quite understand how the immaculate and fastidious Regent was disgusted.

But she loves me, thought Charlotte; she is warmhearted to me and he is so cold. Yet it was his love she wanted. Why could she not be satisfied with her mother’s love which, whenever they met, seemed to be so intense?

‘Well, tell me all your news, my angel. How is de old Begum? Pestering you, I know. Interfering old crocodile, saying “This shall be done” and “That shall be done” and making my little Charlotte’s life a burden. I know de old Begum.’

‘When I’m at Warwick House I don’t have to see her often. It’s at Windsor.’

‘Ah, Windsor … gloomy old place! Cold and draughty … ugh! I was saying to darling Willie only the other day, “Willie,” I said, “they can keep their castle. We’re much better at Blackheath.” ’

‘And how is Willie?’ A purely rhetorical question, for she had no wish to know how the obnoxious child fared.

‘Willie!’ called the Princess. ‘Come here, Willie. Charlotte wants to see you. Oh, the naughty boy. He does not come.’

‘Never mind, Mamma. I want you to myself for the little time I have with you.’

‘My sweet, sweet Charlotte.’ More damp kisses and displays of affection which set the wig more awry and the gown slipping farther off the shoulders.

‘So what are they doing to you, eh? What is Madam de Clifford saying now? Trying to stop you having a little fun, eh? It is time you are done with governesses. Governesses! Dey are for children. And my Lottie is a young woman now, eh? And she has her little flirtations. Oh, I know. George Fitzclarence … Captain Hesse. Now there is a young man I have one big fancy for. Captain Hesse – he is not very tall but he is a very attractive man.’ Caroline burst out laughing. ‘You find him so … and so does your Mamma.’

‘Captain … Hesse has visited you?’

‘Often he comes. He is a very great favourite here. “You are very welcome, Captain Hesse,” I say to him. “Come whenever you care to. We are always happy to see you.” And he comes often. Sometimes I think he comes hoping to have a word with you. He thinks how much more
comfortable
here than in the forest where you may be seen and spied on … Oh, yes, my Charlotte, you are surrounded by spies.’

Charlotte was taken aback that so much should be known of her friendship with Captain Hesse – those secret meetings in the forest, the letters which Mrs Udney helped to smuggle in to her. The occasional kiss when they thought no one was watching them.

Had they been seen and reported to her mother? She was horrified at the thought of such conduct coming to her father’s ears. He would despise her and dislike her more than ever.

‘Mamma,’ she began, but the Princess of Wales was not listening.

‘You are treated like a child,’ she went on. ‘It is time you are free. My poor little Charlotte who is watched over and spied on by these stern old women. They are all under the rule of de old Begum. Charlotte, my love, you must not let them crush you. Get rid of that silly snuffling de Clifford. Tell her she’s an old idiot and tell your father too. Does he visit you? Ha! What a spectacle he is making of himself, running after that lump of ice. He’ll never get into her bed. He would have done better to stay with the Fitzherbert. I’ve always said it and I say it now. She was the one for him and the people would have thought a lot more of him if he’d stuck to her.’

A lady at the door was announcing an arrival. Charlotte looked up eagerly. One never knew what kind of people one was going to meet in her mother’s apartments. The most colourful characters mingled with the most disreputable and there was a sprinkling of politicians, all of whom Charlotte suspected were endeavouring to stir up strife between her mother and father.

But here was a surprise which sent the blood to her cheeks. Captain Hesse came into the room. He bowed from the waist, German fashion.

Charlotte cried inelegantly: ‘Oh, so it’s you.’

‘Always at Your Highness’s service,’ he responded gallantly. He looked very handsome in his uniform of an officer of the
Light Dragoons, and although he was short there was a look of the Duke of York about him.

‘A surprise for you both, you naughty children!’ cried Caroline archly.

After that, whenever Charlotte visited her mother Captain Hesse would be there also.

It was a shame, declared Caroline, that Charlotte was treated like a child by her father and his mother. She had no fun at all. Her Mamma was going to make sure that when she came to her she should enjoy herself.

She was soon conveying letters from the Captain to her daughter and Charlotte, always ready to take up her pen, responded.

This was romantic adventure and it gave a spice to life. The monotony of Warwick House was considerably relieved; she would laugh to herself when she listened to the Queen’s lectures. They might treat her like a child and she was amused thinking of what they would say if they could read those letters which were passing between her and Captain Hesse.

It was all so simple, with her mother acting as the go-between and making it possible for them to meet.

Charlotte often wondered what her father would say if he knew of this. Serve him right, she thought.
He
takes no interest in me.

There came a day when even Charlotte began to feel some alarm. Her mother behaved in such an odd way but perhaps never so dangerously odd as she did on this occasion.

Charlotte had paid the prescribed visit to find Captain Hesse in her mother’s drawing room where Caroline made them sit together on a sofa very close while she talked of the manner in which Charlotte was treated by her father and grandmother.

‘Like a child, you understand,
mon capitaine.
And she is not a child. But they would lock her up and say No to this and No to that … No to everything that is nice and pleasant, and Yes, Yes, Yes to everything that is a tiresome bore. She has de old fool de Clifford always at her elbow. Is it not a shame,
mon capitaine
? But when she comes to see her mother … which is not often enough because her wicked father keeps her from me … she is going to enjoy herself. Someone must be kind to my darling Charlotte.’

The Captain said he believed everyone would want to be kind to the Princess Charlotte.

That made the Princess Caroline laugh; she fell back in her chair and her short legs, which did not reach the floor unless she sat forward, shot up rather indecorously showing grubby lace petticoats.

The Captain pretended not to see and asked Charlotte whether she had ridden lately. The Princess of Wales sat listening to them for a while, sly amusement on her face. Then she went to the window where she stood fingering the heavy curtains.

‘New ones I have in some parts of this place, Charlotte, I want your opinion.’ Charlotte rose and her mother said: ‘You too, Captain. Your opinion is sought also.’

Charlotte was surprised when her mother led them to her bedroom.

‘Come in, come in,’ she said. ‘Oh, that wicked Willie. He has been playing with my paint and lead. Naughty boy!’ She left them standing in the middle of the room and suddenly she was at the door crying: ‘Amuse yourselves!’

They were alone, for the door had shut on them and with something like panic Charlotte heard the key turn in the lock.

The Captain’s panic was as great as Charlotte’s. Here he was locked in a bedroom with the heiress to the throne of England. He could be accused of treason. Suppose Charlotte had been in similar circumstances before. Suppose …

He grew faint with apprehension at the thought.

Charlotte herself spoke: ‘We … we must get out of here … at … atonce …’

The Captain nodded.

He went to the door and rapped on it.

‘Open this door. Your Highness, I beg of you open this door at once.’

They heard Caroline chuckling.

Had they said her father was mad? thought Charlotte. They could say that of her mother and perhaps it would be true.

‘Mamma,’ she cried. ‘I am frightened. I beg of you open this door at once.’

There was a pause before the key was turned in the lock. There was the Princess of Wales laughing immoderately.

‘Well, my children,’ she cried, ‘all I say is that you did not make the most of your chances.’

‘It is time for me to leave,’ said Charlotte.

‘Not yet. We have a little longer.’

They went back to the Princess’s drawing room and sat uneasily and very soon the Captain was making his excuses and begging leave to retire.

When he had left Caroline embraced her daughter.

‘My love, you shouldn’t have been frightened. I should not have left you there … unless you had wanted to stay. I wanted to think what Madam de Clifford or de old Begum would have said if they had known you were locked in a bedroom with the dear little Captain. Oh, I am a wicked one you think. But no, you do not. You know your poor Mamma too well. You know she loves her darling Charlotte as she loves no one else and she cannot bear this separation and she wants most of all for us to be together. She is wild and foolish and does mad, mad things … but she loves too. Here is a warm heart, dearest Charlotte, a heart that wants to give love all the time and is kept from her treasure. Oh Charlotte, my little girl, tell me you understand.’