by Jean Plaidy
Money! It was the need for it which had driven the Prince of Wales to marry Caroline, and that was a disaster, if ever there was one. The Queen could never think of it without a certain smug satisfaction because George had ignored her advice and taken the King’s niece Caroline of Brunswick instead of her own, Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. At the same time she realized that it was a disaster which she should deplore. Caroline was eccentric to madness – and there would most certainly be more trouble there. As soon as Charlotte was a little older she should be taken from her mother’s care and put under that of the governess and tutors. chosen for her by the King or her father.
‘We are not seen in public enough,’ said the King. ‘We should perhaps go to the theatre now that they’ve opened this new Drury Lane.’
‘Well, you know how you always disliked Mr Sheridan.’
‘I always disliked Mr Sheridan and I always shall,’ said the King. ‘He is a profligate, eh? He is a man who drinks too much, gambles too much, spends too much and is unfaithful to his wife. Do you expect me to admire a man like that, eh, what?’
‘I do not. But George is fond of him and thinks him very clever.’
‘Hand-in-glove,’ said the King. ‘It was that fellow Fox. He was the one. Between him and this Sheridan they made George what he has become. And I say I don’t like Sheridan and you understand that, eh, what? But I shall not go to Drury Lane to see Sheridan. I shall go to see a play. And the people expect us to go. They like to see us. We should all go… you and I and the girls.’
‘That woman of William’s will doubtless be playing.’
‘Well, well, I hear she’s a good actress.’
‘You would sit in a box and watch William’s mistress?’
‘I would watch a good actress in a play and I hear she is that.’
‘But to live as they do.’
‘They live in the only way they can be expected to. I hear they are very respectable there at Bushy, that William does not drink to excess and I have noticed he no longer uses those coarse oaths he came back from sea with. I know he should be married to some German Princess – legitimately married – he should produce a son or two… but not too many to be a drain on the exchequer…’
The King looked worried. Once it had seemed so admirable for Charlotte to produce a child every year or so. And now look at them – all these sons living dangerously on the edge of some scandal that could erupt suddenly like an active volcano, all in debt, all leading irregular lives with women – and the girls no longer young, spending their lives waiting on their mother, fretful because they were not allowed to go out into the world. Too many of them, thought the King; and passed his hand over his brows. Too many worries, eh, what? But where were we. Theatre!
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘We should go to Drury Lane. The people expect it.’
‘To go would be in a way to show our approval of William’s… connection.’
‘You think William should marry?’
‘He’s the third son and George will have no more legitimate children and Frederick will have none. Shouldn’t William have a family… in reserve.’
‘Think of the cost of bringing a German Princess over for him? Our ambassador to go to negotiate… a wedding… And for a third son! No. It’s not as though this actress of his costs him a great deal. She’s a rich woman herself… earns large sums, so they tell me. And some of these have paid William’s debts.’
‘So in Your Majesty’s opinion Mrs Jordan is a good financial proposition?’
‘Has to be considered, eh, what?’ said the King. ‘Seems a good woman… All those children. Never hear of a scandal. As for William, better for him to be living like a husband at Bushy than racketing around with George and Fred.’
‘I see the point of that,’ said the Queen. ‘But it keeps him from court and he scarcely lives like a royal Prince.’
The King looked a little sad. These days his mind took strange journeys into the past which often seemed more real to him than the present. He tried to hide this from the Queen, but there were occasions when he lost track of time and was not sure whether he was in the past or the present. Now he was thinking of the beautiful Quakeress whom he had loved secretly and often it seemed to him that he had been happier then than ever since; and if he could have lived quietly like a country gentleman in a house like Bushy Park with a good woman whom he loved and their children about him he would have been a very happy and contented man. No ceremonies, no state occasions, no pressing responsibilities. Colonies! he thought. Gordon Riots! Mr Pitt and Mr Fox! Addington and Burke, Canning and the rest… all like a lot of wild beasts snarling at him behind the courteous homage they paid to the King. And sons to plague him… with their debts and their gambling and their erotic adventures with women which he had never been able to enjoy and which he might have done… as well as they did. There were the girls, his girls, with whom he would never part. He would keep them all, particularly Amelia, the youngest, the best loved, his darling, affectionate Amelia who sometimes made everything seem worthwhile. But even she added to his anxieties with her delicate health. What had life brought him: a crown that was too heavy for him, a plain German Princess whom he could never love but by whom he must do his duty, a family of fifteen with thirteen now living who plagued him and gave him sleepless nights.
Where were they? The theatre.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we will go to Drury Lane and take the eldest girls with us. They shall send me a programme and I will choose the play.’
William was amused.
‘Dora,’ he said, ‘you are to be honoured, my darling.’
‘What is this?’ she demanded to know.
‘My father is coming to see you play.’
‘Why William… is that really true?’
‘Yes, he has sent for Sheridan and he is choosing the plays. He will pay several visits and every one is to be a play in which you perform.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It means that he does not think badly of us, I suppose.’
She was elated. Somewhere at the back of her mind had always been the fear that there would be some royal command to whisk William away from her. She knew that William’s brothers were sympathetic; the Prince of Wales never failed to treat her as a sister; but she could not expect approval from the King and Queen. But now it seemed she was to have, if not that, acceptance.
When she arrived at the theatre it was to find Sheridan in a merry mood, and she guessed the reason.
‘Royal Command performance,’ he told her with a bow.
‘I know. The Duke told me the King and Queen were coming.’
Sheridan nodded. ‘They have chosen three plays – and all in which you appear. Now that seems significant to me. Oh, Mrs Jordan, you are rising in the world! To have won the approbation of a Royal Highness is an achievement, I grant you. But of a Majesty – that is very rare. This is the wish of His rather than Her Majesty, I’ll guess.’
‘It is good news. I confess I shall be a little nervous.’
‘Not you, my dear. Believe me, His Majesty is more easily pleased than any of their Royal Highnesses. He has accepted your situation. I don’t doubt for a moment that he will be enchanted with your person… and your acting, of course.’
‘What has he chosen?’
‘Three plays, if you please. The Wedding Day, Love for Love and She Would and She Would Not.’
‘I should have thought he would have chosen Shakespeare.’
‘On this occasion he has clearly chosen what he likes, not what he thinks he ought to like. Which gives a pleasant family flavour to occasions, do you agree?’
He looked at her sardonically and wondered whether even at this time she was carrying a little grandson or granddaughter for His Majesty.
Playing Lady Contest in The Wedding Day she was conscious of the pair in the royal box. The watery protuberant eyes of the King were on her all the time – kindly and benevolently.
She would have been surpr
ised if she could have read his thoughts. Pretty woman, he was thinking. Lucky fellow, William. Fine figure… a little plump but all the better for that. And they live there at Bushy with those children. I hear little George FitzClarence is a fine young rascal. Like to see him. Shouldn’t send for him, though. The Prince of Wales goes and sees them. Takes presents for the children, Why should he have everything? Making a mess of it, though. Back with that Mrs Fitzherbert now. Wishes he’d never left her. Did he marry her? Good woman. Lovely woman. Catholic, though. What a mess, eh, what? He must remember he was in public. Must think of what was happening on the stage. Must watch William’s woman. Not difficult. Easy to watch. Good actress. Pretty creature. Small and womanly. Charming. Lucky fellow, William.
He glanced at the Queen’s sour face beside him. Why should they have pretty women while he had to remain faithful to Charlotte?
The play was over. Pretty little Mrs Jordan was taking the bow. She curtsied charmingly at the royal box. The King smiled, nodded and clapped; and everyone cheered. They liked him for liking their Mrs Jordan.
The Queen clapped perfunctorily.
But the evening was a success.
‘The King thought you a first-rate actress,’ William told Dorothy delightedly. ‘He sent for me to tell me so. He said: “Pretty woman, charming creature…” and I answered: “The best in the world, Sir.” ’
Yes, that was triumph.
Love for Love went off with equal success and the next month the Command performance of She Would and She Would Not was scheduled to take place.
On the morning of the day an unfortunate incident occurred in Hyde Park. The King was reviewing a battalion of the Guards when one of the spectators who was standing quite close to him was hit by a ball cartridge. After assuring himself that the victim was not fatally wounded and giving orders that he should be attended to without delay, the King continued with the review. But speculation was great. The attempt had evidently been made by one of the soldiers who had fired the volley but it was impossible to discover which one.
The King’s cool courage made it possible for the incident to pass off lightly, but it seemed certain that the cartridge had been intended for him.
That evening there was a full theatre. The people might laugh at Farmer George, the Royal Button Maker, but he had an aura of royalty and that was enough to give glamour to any occasion.
But the fact that he had escaped assassination that very morning made people all the more eager to see him.
Sheridan rubbed his hands together gleefully and remarked that the would-be assassin could not have timed his attempt more to the advantage of the theatre.
Dorothy was playing the role of Hypolita in the play and it was one of those which she had made very popular. In her plumed hat, with her quizzing glass and her breeches she was still attractive, although her increasing weight did worry her and, dressed as she was, she could not help wishing that the King could have seen her in this costume as she had been when she had first made the role popular; but she must console herself with the truth that although her figure might not nowadays fit so well into such a costume she could make up for that by the finesse of her acting.
The King and Queen with the four eldest Princesses were in the foyer. Sheridan was greeting them, bowing, smiling, murmuring that the whole company was honoured.
The King glared at him, his face slightly redder than usual, his eyes seeming as if they would pop out of his head.
The Queen acknowledged Mr Sheridan’s greeting unsmiling. The man who had helped lead George to his downfall – not, she was ready to admit with something between exasperation and admiration, that George needed a great deal of leading. George would always go his own way; and if Mr Sheridan had not been there to lead him someone else would. But she did not like this clever gentleman who was reputed to be the greatest wit in London.
The four Princesses could not take their eyes from him. The wicked author of The School for Scandal, the man who created scandals of his own, who had eloped with his beautiful wife and then betrayed her a hundred times with other women, and above all was the friend and confidant of their fascinating brother the Prince of Wales – who was even more startling in his adventures than Mr Sheridan.
‘If Your Majesties will allow me to conduct you to the royal box…’
‘Lead the way,’ said the King.
When Sheridan threw open the door of the box, bowed and stood aside for the family to enter, shouts and cheers rang through the theatre.
The King, always moved by a show of affection from his people, went to the front of the box and stood there bowing and smiling.
Then suddenly a man stood up and pointed a horse-pistol straight at the King.
There were shouts of: ‘Stop him!’ And at that moment the shot was fired.
The Princesses screamed; the people in the theatre shouted and leaped to their feet; the man with the pistol was seized by some members of the audience and the orchestra. Everyone was crowding round him.
The King stood erect.
‘I am unhurt,’ he said.
Pandemonium had broken out in the theatre. The man who had tried to kill the King was hustled away but the noise continued until Mrs Jordan came on to the stage.
‘Your Majesties,’ she said, holding up her hand for silence. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen. The man who fired the shot has been taken away. There is nothing more to fear.’
The Queen said: ‘Perhaps we should leave.’
‘Nonsense,’ said the King, ‘we came to hear the play and we shall stay to hear it.’
Mrs Jordan was looking at the royal box. No doubt waiting for the royal assent for the play to continue.
He nodded to her smiling; she curtsied and cried: ‘Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, ladies and gentlemen, we shall now play for your enjoyment She Would and She Would Not.’
It was an evening to be remembered. No one could help but admire the cool courage of the King. He looked younger and in better health after the shooting than he had been before. In such a situation he had full confidence for he knew how to act. Courage was a quality he had never lacked; it was statecraft that baffled him.
Dorothy played as well as she ever had. She held the audience which was not easy after such a scare. Everyone wanted to talk about it, to ask who the man was, why he had shot at the King, how near he had come to killing him. It all seemed so much more interesting than the fate of characters in a play.
Behind the scenes the Duke of Clarence was waiting for Dorothy when she came in between playing. It was a man called John Hadfield, he told her. He was obviously another of those madmen who got it into their heads from time to time that they should kill the King.
‘His Majesty is magnificent,’ said Dorothy emotionally. ‘I feel tonight that I have indeed played before a King.’
Sheridan said that such an event in his theatre must not go un-noted. When the last curtain calls had been taken he came on the stage to say how happy everyone present was that there had been no tragic outcome of that unfortunate affray. No one need be alarmed. The culprit was under arrest. But they were a happy house tonight because they had His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen with them and what might have been a tragedy had turned out to be merely an incident. His Majesty’s cool courage was an example to them all and he believed that they should all stand up and sing the national anthem with special fervour.
Because they would all wish to show their loyalty and devotion to His Majesty he had this very evening composed an extra verse which he was sure every man and woman present tonight would feel, and want His Majesty to know they felt, so he had had the new verse printed and it would now be handed round that they might all rise and sing another verse to the national anthem.
They rose and sang and the King stood up, tears falling from his eyes while his loyal subjects expressed their delight in his escape by singing from the bottom of their hearts the national anthem with Sheridan’s additional verse:
‘From eve
ry latent foe,
From the assassin’s blow,
God save the King!
O’er him thine arm extend,
For Britain’s sake defend,
Our father, prince and friend,
God save the King!’
People were weeping openly, embracing each other and smiling up at the royal box.
The King had not been so happy for many years. His people loved him. A madman had tried to shoot at him and because he had failed his dear people were rejoicing. Pretty little Mrs Jordan – William’s woman – was on the stage leading the singing in her enchanting voice; even the Queen was touched.
It was an inspiring evening and he would not let them be too hard on the man who had shot at him. A madman, they said; he had a great desire to be kind to madmen.
And when he returned to St James’s it was to hear that the Princess Amelia when she had heard that he had been shot at had fallen into a fit and could not be comforted until she saw for herself that her dear father was safe.
He went to her at once. He embraced her – his darling, the best loved of them all.
‘I’m safe,’ he said. ‘No need to fret. I’m back. All went well. Mrs Jordan is a delightful woman. Plump and pretty. Acts well, sings even better. And even that villain Sheridan composed a very nice addition to the national anthem and they all sang it most loyally. Nothing to fret about, eh, what?’
So in spite of what might have been tragedy the night the King saw Dorothy in She Would and She Would Not was a great success for all except poor John Hadfield.
After that incident the relations between the King and his sons improved. They had all called at Buckingham House the following morning to take breakfast with their parents and to congratulate them on their lucky escape.
‘We don’t see enough of you, William,’ said his mother. ‘You must not forget your position entirely, you know.’
William thanked her for her kindness. He wanted to say that it was difficult for him to appear as much as he would wish when the lady whom he considered his wife could not be received at court as such.
