by Jean Plaidy
‘Have you come to sail with us?’ called a voice from a berth, and a cloud of evil-smelling tobacco came from the same direction.
‘I have,’ said William.
‘You have, have you,’ was the comment. ‘And what’s your name?’
‘I am entered as Prince William Henry,’ said William, ‘but my father’s name is Guelph.’
‘Guelph, is it? We are not to bow three times every time we see you, you know.’
William laughed. ‘Why should anyone bow three times?’ he asked. ‘You must call me William Guelph, for I am now nothing more than a sailor like you. Which is my berth?’
There had always been something natural about William; his fellow midshipmen sensed it now. They had been expecting a swaggering arrogant young coxcomb whom they had determined to put in his place since the orders had gone round that he was to be treated like the rest of them.
But how could they put William in his place when he had already put himself there?
‘I’ll show you,’ said the young man who had asked the questions, leaping from his berth and coming up to William. ‘What do you think of it, eh? It’s not St James’s Palace, you know, and it’s not Windsor Castle.’
William laughed – a rather fresh innocent laugh. He had always had an ability to make friends which his brothers lacked. His was so natural and at heart modest.
The atmosphere changed suddenly. William’s shipmates had decided that although they had a king’s son among them he was not very different from themselves.
A few days after his arrival the Prince George set sail for Torbay and from there went to join the Channel Fleet, the immediate task of which was to prevent the French fleet joining up with that of Spain. This, however, the British fleet failed to accomplish and the combined ships of France and Spain sailed boldly up the Channel as far as Plymouth causing consternation all along the south-west coast of England. The Spanish and French commanders stood on their decks looking through their binoculars at the land and deciding that it would soon be theirs. When they saw the wooded hills of Devon and the rich red soil their eyes glittered greedily, but when they saw too the guns trained on them and heard that Sir Charles Hardy, who commanded the British fleet, was on his way they lost heart and retreated.
William had believed that he was about to see his first action and was surprised on arriving at Plymouth to find that the enemies had fled. The Prince George docked there and William was given a brief leave of absence. His parents wished him to set out for Windsor without delay.
William was delighted although not as eager as he had thought he would be. After a few weeks at sea he had quickly adjusted himself to a midshipman’s life and he found it not as restricting as the schoolrooms of Kew. He had become a man; he listened to men’s talk; he had already engaged in fisticuffs after an argument with one of the midshipmen.
‘If you were not the King’s son,’ he had been told, ‘I’d teach you better manners.’
‘Don’t let that be a hindrance,’ William had retorted.
But his adversary had said it would not be fair for he was older and stronger; but William would not take that for an answer, and they had fought and William had not come out of the fray too badly. The rest of the company liked him because he did not seek special advantages. They forgot half the time who he was and as they knew him as Guelph he seemed exactly like one of them.
Now he was on his way to Windsor and when he arrived he was told that Their Majesties wished to see him without delay.
There were tears in the King’s eyes as he embraced him.
‘I’ve had good reports,’ he said. ‘Digby tells me you’ve done well. Good lad. Glad to hear it. Must remember to set an example.’
The Queen embraced him in her somewhat detached manner; she never showed much affection for any of them except George, and only to him by the way she looked at him and listened intently when he spoke.
The King wanted to know all about his adventures, how they had sailed up the Channel and put the French and Spanish to flight. He was clearly proud to have had a son involved in such an action and William felt pleased with himself; and decided that after all a sailor’s life was a good one and it was more satisfactory to be a midshipman on board Prince George than a child in the nursery.
He saw his two elder brothers who had come down to Windsor for the express purpose of being with him.
George was horrified at his uniform and the oaths which he had picked up, but also amused.
‘They’ve toughened you, William,’ he said, ‘but by God they’ve made a man of you.’
‘It’s an improvement in a way,’ added Frederick.
And they took him into their confidence and told him of George’s latest conquest and how assignations were made in the gardens at Kew while Frederick kept guard for his brother.
They talked with more frankness than they had ever shown before, and William knew that his brothers considered that in becoming a sailor he had become a man.
When he returned to the Prince George it was to a somewhat chilly reception.
‘His Highness has returned,’ declared one of the midshipmen. ‘But of course he had to go home to see Mamma.’
‘What do you mean?’ demanded William.
The boys continued to talk over his head.
‘No leave for the likes of us. Oh, but it’s different with His Royal Highness. He’s not old enough to leave his Mamma. So he has to run home to her and tell her what a rough lot he’s been put with.’
‘Nothing of the sort,’ cried William angrily. ‘It wasn’t my mother who said I was to go, anyway. It was my father.’
‘Ho! His Majesty’s command, eh?’
‘That’s about it,’ said William.
‘And while Master Guelph was going to balls and banquets, Sam here asked leave to go because his father was dying and did he get it? No. But it’s different with His Royal Highness.’
William turned to Sam, real concern showing on his face. ‘I’m so sorry. I wish I’d known. I’d never have gone. I’d have said you must go in my place. How is your father?’
‘Dead,’ was the laconic reply.
There was silence. William turned away. George would have wept and said something moving; but William could say nothing; yet his silence was more effective than words would have been.
Then someone shouted, ‘Wasn’t your fault, Guelph.’
William answered: ‘I have to do what they tell me. I get more freedom here on board than I ever did at home.’
The tension was broken. Someone laughed. ‘Who’d be a Highness? Never mind, Guelph, you can forget all about that here.’
They had realized once more that they really did like their young princeling.
It took only a day or so to adjust himself to life in the cockpit of Prince George. His brief stay with his family had made him forget how coarse the language could be – half of which he did not understand – how airless the cramped quarters, how nauseating the mingling odours and what it was like to live in the semi-darkness with only the constantly burning lamp swinging from the ceiling to relieve the gloom.
His fellow midshipmen were still ready to pounce on the slightest show of royalty; they laughed when he was relieved of duties to study with Mr Majendie. They watched him, when they remembered, for what they called airs and graces.
‘Avast there, my hearty!’ was a constant cry. ‘The son of a whore is as good a man here as the son of a king.’
‘I’d agree with that,’ was William’s good-humoured comment. ‘It’s the man himself we have to work with, not his father.’
Although he could be hot-tempered his anger died quickly; he was more likely to resort to fisticuffs – at which he was quite accomplished – than words. He was not quick-witted but he was good-natured; and if he could help anyone he would.
Resentment grew into an amused tolerance. Willie Guelph was not a bad sort and as long as he kept his royalty to himself they would not complain.
He lear
ned to swear like the rest of them. When they went ashore he would go off in the company of his friends and like theirs his greatest interest was in the girls of the town.
He was a regular fellow, this Guelph; he was accepted; he was an example of the truth of the saying that one man was as good as another.
The Prince George was at Spithead once more and Christmas was approaching. A message was sent to Admiral Digby that Prince William was to return to Windsor where he would pass a few days with his family.
Some opposition had been expressed to the Prince’s absences of duty – there had been several of them since he had joined the Navy – and the Earl of Sandwich had actually spoken to the Queen on the subject. Such favouritism could not add to the popularity of His Royal Highness, he pointed out; at which the Queen looked at him very coldly and replied that she thought his son’s career was a matter for His Majesty to decide. Sandwich, who prided himself on his bluntness, retaliated with ‘If Your Majesty does not know your duty, I know mine!’ which made the Queen very angry but because her word carried no weight with the King she allowed the insult to pass. However, William still continued to enjoy frequent leaves from duty.
This was a sad occasion, for during this one he was to say good-bye to Frederick who was to be sent to Germany to learn how to be a soldier.
The Prince of Wales was in despair. He and Frederick were inseparable. What was he going to do without Frederick? Who was going to help him to meet the ladies of his choice? In whom was he going to confide? And if Frederick was to become a soldier why could he not do so in England? Why did the King believe that only the Germans knew how to train soldiers? The Prince of Wales wanted to be a soldier too. If Frederick had to go he would like to go with him. ‘A Prince of Wales cannot leave the country,’ said the King. ‘Then let us train in England,’ retorted the Prince, which so shocked the King that his eyes bulged and he called his son a young jackanapes whose insolence was growing beyond endurance.
So it was not a very happy occasion.
The King was very solemn, full of advice and maudlinly sentimental, for since the Prince of Wales had started to cause so many scandals Frederick had become his favourite son.
His Majesty made all the arrangements in detail just as he had with William and the last day arrived and the family gathered for the last evening as they had for William.
William was unhappy because of George’s grief. George had been sorry to lose William but he knew that William would be frequently returning to England and have his spells of leave. It would not be so with Frederick. He would stay in Germany perhaps for years.
George wept and embraced Frederick; they mingled their tears. It was most affecting.
‘And to think,’ said George to William, ‘that the old fool could have let him train in England – then we need not have been separated.’
‘William must stay with us for my birthday celebrations,’ declared the Queen. ‘Frederick has gone, so William must stay.’
William was delighted. Although he had now grown used to life at sea he found the complete change stimulating. The contrast between his exquisite brother George and his shipmates was overwhelming. They seemed rougher when he returned to them, and George seemed to grow more and more elegant. But perhaps this was the truth for George was becoming increasingly interested in his clothes and had even invented a new style of shoe buckle which was being worn everywhere and known as ‘the Prince of Wales’s Buckle’. The young women – William’s prevailing passion – were different too. He liked the girls he met in taverns but he liked fine ladies too; and now that he was a man he could discuss his adventures with George which was interesting. George’s approach was entirely romantic – very different from that of the sailors. George had to adore the object of his passion; she had to be perfect, angelic, an ideal of womanhood. It was a new outlook and a fascinating one; and was more satisfying to William’s nature – which was not unlike that of George in this respect. To be in love was an ecstatic experience. Without it, to George’s fastidious mind, there was no great pleasure to be found in associating with women.
He converted William to this point of view.
And thus it was when the brothers attended the ball at St James’s which was held to celebrate the Queen’s birthday, William fell in love for the first time.
She was the Hon. Julia Fortescue and when William saw her he understood fully the doctrines of the Prince of Wales. He danced with her; they talked. He was no longer shy but in her presence he felt a little tongue-tied. He was not yet sixteen – very young, of course, but then so was she and he had been living like a man. They could not make a man of him one minute, he thought, and expect him to be a boy the next.
He danced again with Miss Fortescue. He told her that he had had many adventures during his life at sea but he had never met anyone like her before. She thought he was charming, because he was so modest and humble in spite of being the son of the King.
The Queen was aware that he was dancing with Miss Fortescue more than he should. He ought to remember his duty. There were other ladies – not such young ladies – with whom he should be stepping out. But Her Majesty was not so concerned with him as she was with the Prince of Wales who was showing marked attention to Lady Sarah Campbell.
After the ball he and George talked of their divinities and it was George who suggested that they should marry.
‘Marry!’ cried William ecstatically. ‘It is what I wish for beyond all things.’
He called on her. Her family lived in Piccadilly in a big house facing Green Park, and naturally the son of the King was welcome there.
Every day he visited the Fortescues; people were talking and Julia and he began to make plans.
‘We will marry,’ declared William.
‘Could we?’ she asked. ‘Is it possible?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘There is the Marriage Act.’
William wrinkled his brows; he had not concerned himself much with Acts.
‘The King and Queen would never consent.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’d want a princess for you.’
‘You’re better than any princess. They must see that.’
But of course the King did not think so; and when he heard that William was dancing attendance on Miss Fortescue, calling on her at her home and was talking of marriage, he sent for his son.
‘What’s this, eh? Courting a young woman. What are you thinking of, eh?’
‘Marriage, Sir,’ said William.
‘Are you mad?’
‘Only in love, Sir.’
The King’s eyes bulged and his face grew red but he was momentarily silent. He couldn’t help thinking of his own youth. He had been only William’s age when he had been so wholeheartedly in love with a young Quakeress that he had acted in the most foolish way. And he had been Prince of Wales.
He softened a little. Mustn’t be too hard on William.
‘Look here, my son, you cannot marry this young woman. You must know that.’
‘Why not? She is of good family. I met her at the St James’s ball. You speak as though she were some innkeeper’s daughter.’
The King shuddered. An innkeeper’s daughter was not very different from a linen-draper’s niece; and he would be haunted for ever by his love affair with Hannah Lightfoot. Just William’s age… he was thinking. It’s not easy to be a young man.
‘My boy,’ he said gently, ‘you are a prince, a king’s son, and as such you owe your duty to the State. It is the Parliament which decides whom you marry. You have to obey the Parliament, my boy. It’s something all your family have to learn sooner or later. Make no mistake about it.’
‘Why should Parliament decide whom I marry?’
‘Because, my dear boy, you are in the line of succession for one thing. You have two elder brothers it is true, but you could one day be King of this realm – that is not an impossibility and because of this you must marry the bride who is chosen for you.’
‘I could refuse.’
‘You are wrong, my son. You could not refuse. And you must have my consent to marry. If you married without it your marriage would not be legal.’
‘A marriage is a marriage…’ began William stubbornly, amazed that he should for the first time in his life dare to contradict his father. It was his love for Julia Fortescue which was driving him on to do so.
‘When legal,’ interrupted the King. ‘Now listen, William. Have you ever heard of the Royal Marriage Act, eh? I’ll tell you. It was my Act so none could tell you better, eh! You know how your uncles Gloucester and Cumberland displeased me. Not received at court. You know that. Well, they married without my consent… unsuitably. But they are married. It was after their marriages that I brought in my Act. And in that Act, my boy – and it will be well for you and your brothers to remember this – no member of the royal family under the age of twenty-five may marry without my consent. They can go through a ceremony of marriage, yes, but it is no marriage – because that is what it says in my Marriage Act.’
William’s face had grown red; he was angry; but the King was surprisingly lenient.
He laid his hand on his shoulder.
‘Young women,’ he said. ‘Very attractive. Want to protect ’em… marry ’em. Yes, yes. I understand. But king’s sons have their duties, eh? It doesn’t do for kings’ sons to make promises of marriage.’
William went to Julia and told her what his father had said. They wept together but they knew they would have to obey the King.
‘We’ll wait,’ said William. ‘You must write to me when I go to sea.’
And he did go to sea very quickly.
‘Mischief they get into at home,’ said the King to the Queen. ‘Boys – always trouble with them. Different from the girls. William’s not a bad boy, though. Now George…’
And while the King gave himself up to his major irritation and preoccupation – his son George – William returned to sea to dream of dancing at St James’s and riding out in the park with Julia Fortescue.
