Goddess of the Green Room: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  Dorothy knew she had a winner here. Nor was she mistaken. The whole town was talking of Little Pickle. ‘Have you seen Pickle? You must see Pickle. It’s the most utter farce, but it makes you ache with laughing. You must see the Jordan’s Pickle.’

  She was referred to in the press as Little Pickle. When the audience came to see a play they would shout for Pickle afterwards. Dorothy was at the height of her fame, and well might Mrs Siddons shudder and the whole Kemble family ask each other and their supporters what the theatre was coming to. The fact remained that the majority of London theatregoers wanted Pickle and were determined to take no other.

  One night when Dorothy was to play in The Spoiled Child George came to her dressing room in a state of some excitement.

  ‘The Duke of Clarence is in the house,’ he said.

  ‘What! Come to see Pickle!’

  ‘It’s going to be a good night. It always helps with a bit of royalty.’

  A good night. She often thought of that afterwards. She was to remember that night vividly for the rest of her life.

  William, Duke of Clarence

  The royal nursery

  WHEN THE DUKE of Clarence fell in love with Dorothy Jordan he was by no means an inexperienced young man. A few years younger than Dorothy – he was twenty-five, she twenty-eight – he had been at sea for eleven years.

  When he was born in August 1765 he already had two brothers: George, Prince of Wales, aged three, and Frederick, Bishop of Osnaburgh and Duke of York-to-be, aged two. Horace Walpole had cynically remarked that if it were not for the Queen’s supplying the country with dukes the peerage might well become extinct, though he had not known then that there would be more to follow.

  So William entered a nursery which was dominated by his brother George, already something of a despot, being not only the eldest but the cleverest, most handsome and most charming of the children. George, who was adored by his mother and idolized by the servants, knew exactly how to wheedle concessions or to demand them, and how to wriggle out of trouble if the need arose. There was only one person whom George could not charm, and that was the King, their father. It was natural that a young brother should admire George, and George liked admiration more than almost anything else. Frederick was already his devoted henchman and young William immediately fell into line. George was the kindest of brothers and although William was younger he was never allowed to feel an outsider. George was always there to explain, advise and collect admiration. George was the god of the nursery and his younger brother accepted the situation as naturally as the sunrise. If they were in difficulties they went to George – large for his age, pink-cheeked, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed George, the little Prince of Wales, whom people cheered whenever he was seen driving out with their nurses, who already knew how to smile and wave in a manner which was both cordial and royal and made watchers smile and marvel at his precocity.

  When their mother came to the nursery and took William on her knee because he was the youngest and talked to him, her eyes would be on George the magnificent. William had seen the wax figure of a baby on her dressing table. She had had it put there so that she could gaze at it while her women did her hair. It was George as a baby – the bonniest, healthiest, most beautiful baby in the world. There was no jealousy in the nursery. George was George and his benign dictatorship was acceptable to all – except the King, who would often come in with a cane to correct arrogance, disobedience or greed.

  Yet, as Frederick once remarked to William, if it were not for Papa there would be no one for George to fight against. It would be like having St George without the dragon.

  William had slowly grasped the point. He was not so quick as his brothers and often did not understand what they were talking about, particularly George, though when George realized this he would always explain with the utmost patience.

  The royal nurseries at Kew were presided over by Lady Charlotte Finch and the King had laid down very rigid rules on diet and discipline; the children were to eat no fat with their meat and meat was not to be eaten every day. They were not to eat pastry and if there was fruit pie they had only the fruit, but they might have as many greens as they cared to eat. ‘But who wants greens?’ cried the Prince of Wales. ‘I want pastry. I want fat.’

  William remembered the day of the rebellion when George had demanded meat instead of fish and had picked up the fish and thrown it at the wall; and Frederick who always did what George did picked up his and did likewise, while Lady Charlotte was speechless with horror as a chuckling William did the same.

  Lady Charlotte did not punish them herself; she must always report their bad conduct to their Majesties and this of course brought a red-faced bulging-eyed parent to the nursery to mete out justice. They were all to be caned by His Majesty himself, this being a serious offence. William watched George’s face grow as red as his father’s because there was one thing George hated more than anything and that was to be caned. It was not the pain, though this was considerable, but the loss of dignity which worried George.

  ‘Discipline,’ said the King. ‘I will have discipline. I will beat discipline into you boys. You will not eat meat for a week and you will all be caned by me.’

  The Queen was there too; and she tried to protest but the King looked at her in amazed surprise that she dared. She hated the boys to be beaten – particularly George.

  George said: ‘But I was the one who started it. Your Majesty should not blame Frederick and William.’

  St George and the dragon!

  The Queen had looked fondly at her first-born but if the King approved of the sentiment he pushed it aside and the canings began. George yelled so they all yelled and the Queen stopped her ears and tried not to look and the King’s face grew redder as he said between strokes: ‘I… will… have… discipline in the nursery.’

  When he had gone George told them that he had not cried because it hurt but because he wanted to shame Papa. He hated Papa and when he was King – which he would be one day – he would not be a bit like Papa, who (whispered low and with great daring) was a silly old fool and a lot of people thought so too – people in Parliament, for George had heard the servants talking. And because he hated Papa they must do so too and find ways of plaguing him and having disobedience in the nursery which should be ruled over by the Prince of Wales not the King of England. Thus the friction between George and his father began at an early age; and William and Frederick were staunchly behind George.

  They were all high-spirited and while the King was busy preparing to lose the American Colonies and the Queen bearing children they managed to have a great deal of their own way. But always they stood together – the band of brothers – and it was the same when the other children joined the nursery.

  William often remembered the occasion when George had jumped on a drum and broken it and they had thought what fun it would be to turn it into a carriage, and they wanted one of the young women attendants to sit in the drum that they might drag her round the floor.

  ‘Nothing of the sort, Your Highness,’ she said to George. ‘You had no right to jump on the drum.’

  ‘I have every right to do as I will here, Madam,’ said George, regally arrogant as he well knew how to be. ‘And now you will be seated in your carriage so that your three fine steeds can do their duty.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing.’ William who had not yet learned that his brother did not approve of violence to ladies tried to push the attendant into the drum. In her efforts to evade him she threw him off with the result that he slid across the floor and cut his head open.

  Lady Charlotte Finch hurried to the scene, demanding an immediate explanation. Prince William had attempted to strike her, the woman said, and she had merely tried to protect herself. She had not struck Prince William and he had only himself to blame for the cut on his head.

  ‘She did strike him,’ said George.

  ‘I did not, my lady,’ said the attendant. ‘He fell of his own accord after attempting to pus
h me into the drum.’

  But George knew that this incident could very likely result in a caning for William, but if the women struck him – which was forbidden – he could not be blamed for showing resentment.

  Lady Charlotte Finch called another servant who had been a witness and who declared that the attendant did not strike Prince William; he had pushed her and in doing so had fallen and cut himself.

  ‘This is nonsense,’ cried George rushing in to protect William. ‘You did strike my brother. I say so. These maids will say anything to favour one another.’

  What could Lady Charlotte do? She could only warn all concerned that there must be no more such trouble. It was said at Kew that if an attendant offended one brother he had offended them all; and it was clear that they would lie to defend each other if necessary. The point was that trouble for one was trouble for the others, and although Prince Frederick and Prince William might be dealt with, the Prince of Wales, with his charm, his quick wits and his ability to twist the truth to suit his own ends, was a formidable adversary.

  Therefore many misdemeanours of the nursery were overlooked.

  William had always been fascinated by the sea, just as George and Frederick were by the army. When his two elder brothers played with soldiers, William wanted ships.

  The Queen reported this love of ships to the King who approved for once and said that when the time came William should go into the Navy and Frederick into the Army; as for George he would have to learn to be a king.

  The Queen often doubted that the manner in which the boys were being brought up was most suited to a future monarch. The discipline the King insisted on was surely certain to produce rebellion in a character like that of the Prince of Wales. He grew more headstrong every day; and it was clear that when he at last broke free he would be like a frisky young horse who is determined to gallop anywhere… as long as he could revel in his freedom.

  The Queen saw this, but the King could not, and ever since she had arrived in England – a plain little German princess in her teens who could scarcely speak a word of English – she had been made to realize that her duty was to bear the children; everything else might be left to the King, his mother and her lover Lord Bute. A frustrating state of affairs, but what could a humble princess do but bide her time. She lacked beauty, brilliance and all the graces it seemed, her only asset being her fecundity.

  There was no doubt of that. The children had continued to arrive at regular intervals – in time fifteen of them, two of whom died in their infancy; but thirteen was a good number.

  Both the King and Queen would have been happier in a less exalted position; and they tried to turn Kew – their favourite place of residence – into the home of a country gentleman rather than a royal palace. The King often wished he had been a farmer, for farming interested him more than state affairs. They were very depressing at this time in any case, with the colonists raising their voices against the mother country and half the House of Commons calling for stern methods to bring them to order and the other half advising placation. The King, with his firm ideas of the divine rights of Kings – and teaching his sons to have the same – could not understand why there should be any need to give the colonists what they asked. They were attempting to be disloyal to the crown, said the King. Let them feel the full weight of England’s displeasure.

  There had been trouble with John Wilkes who had fought for free speech and whose actions the King had deplored. ‘Wilkes for ever!’ was a cry which made his eyes bulge with anger; yet it had been heard very frequently in the streets – and in the nursery too.

  One day the King and Queen had been together – the Queen at her tatting, the King making buttons, a pastime from which he derived great pleasure and which his people derided as an unsuitable occupation for a King – when the door was thrust open by a very bold young Prince of Wales, with Frederick beside him and little William bringing up the rear.

  It was rebellion against the lack of freedom in the royal nursery; it was the Prince of Wales, heedless of consequences, in revolt.

  ‘Wilkes for ever!’ cried the young childish voices.

  And as the King hurried to the door he was just in time to see William being dragged out of sight by his brothers.

  It was difficult to know how to punish such an action, said the King. It showed an interest in affairs which was commendable; it showed certain spirit; but it showed disrespect to their parents, which was disrespect to the crown.

  The Queen said she thought that as the incident had made His Majesty smile perhaps this was an occasion when he might consider being lenient.

  Leniency was not always advisable, said the King ponderously, and went on to deliver a lecture on the bringing up of children.

  The only time he ever explained his actions to her was when it concerned the household; if she dared mention state affairs he was displeased and Wilkes, with all the trouble he was making, was a state affair.

  He said he would tell one of the tutors to do the caning. It would give it less weight than if delivered by the King himself.

  He gives more thought to caning his children, thought the Queen resentfully, than he does to state affairs. And one of these days they’ll grow up to hate him.

  It was not all punishment at Kew. The King was fond of his children and, it had to be admitted, proud of them. It was his pride in his eldest son which made him stern. The boy was too handsome, too clever, too spoiled by those who surrounded him – and his mother would be included in this if the King did not keep a firm hold on her – and for this reason he must be periodically caned, watched over and kept in constant restraint.

  Both he and his brother Frederick were allowed to have their little patch on which they were to grow wheat because the King wished to instil in them his own love of growing things. That they loathed it, particularly George who could not bear getting his hands soiled, was of no consequence. The wheat must be taken through its various processes and, when ready, made into bread which the King sampled with great discrimination, passing judgement on the boys’ skill as wheat growers.

  William remembered George’s fury. ‘Are we farmers, then? What do people think of a king who believes that part of the training of kings is tilling the soil!’

  Frederick agreed and so did William and Edward, Ernest, Augustus and Adolphus. The nursery was fast filling at that time.

  There were happy occasions. William enjoyed those times when the public came to Kew. The King had made it a rule that sightseers should be admitted every Thursday; and the band used to play on the Green. The people loved to see the royal family, but in particular the children, and George bowed and smiled and received their admiration with such pleasure that he was the most popular member of the family.

  Frederick, William and the other brothers looked on, content that this should be so. In fact they would have been astonished if anyone had not been delighted with George and would have thought there was something wrong with any person who could not appreciate their brilliant and flamboyant brother.

  There was always plenty of music, for the King was eager that his sons should understand and love it. George had a quick ear and could sing well but William had little understanding of it and could not appreciate the genius of Handel of whom the family was particularly fond. The King would sit beating time while the musicians played and the children were all expected to remain in awed silence and to be able to talk knowledgeably with their father on the subject of oratorios and operas – which George could do with ease. William feared he was not very musical. In fact he was beginning to fear that he was not nearly as clever as his brothers. Fred was of course a pale shadow of George but he could joke with his elder brother and they could be quite witty together. William was too slow. Never mind. He knew he could never compete and so did they and they accepted this.

  In any case he did not have to attend the Queen’s Drawing Rooms every Thursday which the two elder boys did because he was not considered old enough. George grimaced whe
n he talked of these.

  ‘Lucky William,’ he said. ‘At least you escape that.’

  And William grinned sheepishly but wished that he went all the same, because nothing seemed right unless he shared it with his brothers.

  Cards were played but not by the Princes, of course, who must stand beside the Queen and receive the guests and then listen to the music which was played in the next room, with the King sending out instructions as to what was to be next on the programme.

  It was all very dull, said George, and when he was King he would have everything very different.

  William did enjoy some of the parties which their parents arranged for them. There were birthday entertainments when the most magnificent firework displays were given. William would stand beside his mother and be unable to suppress his excitement, especially when, because it was his birthday, there was to be a cake in the shape of a ship.

  ‘Where is our Sailor William, eh?’ the King would say, his eyes protruding, trying to be gay and jolly; but William was never sure of his father and he could not forget the canings – not his own, oddly enough, but those which had been administered to the Prince of Wales.

  In those early days of his life Kew was like a little village with its houses scattered about the Green. There was the royal farm where the butter, milk and eggs for the royal household were produced. This was personally supervised by the King, who liked to take his children round to watch the butter being made – and to give a hand now and then – and to tickle the pigs with a long stick until they grunted and fell down in a state of bliss, little guessing that in a short time they would be served up as pork or bacon on the royal table.