by Jean Plaidy
‘Leave it to me,’ said Walpole. ‘I will do it immediately and it shall be in your hands in good time.’
‘I am indeed grateful,’ Sir Spencer told him.
When he had gone Walpole went to work on the speech, amused and gratified that his services should be so quickly needed; but there was a desolation in his heart, for he was already realizing how much power meant to him and he felt deeply depressed because it seemed that he had lost it forever.
Even in the streets they would already be talking of his fall. He was not so clever as he had thought he was. He had been so sure of himself that he had neglected to fawn on the Prince of Wales and the Prince of Wales was now King. He was not sure of the new Queen; he had displeased her now and then, but she was too clever a woman to bear long grudges and in the last years they had appreciated each other.
But the King had dismissed him. And even though the new favourite had to ask his help the cry had gone up; it was echoing throughout the Court and the city: Walpole is dismissed.
* * *
There were so many things to be done, thought the Queen, as she sat before her Mirror and Charlotte Clayton with Henrietta Howard loosened her hair and unbuttoned her gown, to give her greater comfort.
The girls must be brought into the family again, and Frederick must come home. She used to think of him as Fritzchen, but that was long ago. It must be years since she had ceased to think of him at all. Indeed since young William was growing into such a charmer she had almost wished that her firstborn had never existed. What would he be like after all these years? He would be like a stranger . . . a German stranger.
But that could wait. Even the girls could wait awhile. There were more pressing problems.
‘How I hate this bombazine!’ she sighed.
‘It is quite becoming to Your Majesty,’ Henrietta told her.
Caroline eyed herself. Yes, Henrietta was right. The black showed up the fairness of her skin and the magnificence of her shoulders and bust—that bosom which George Augustus declared was the most beautiful in the world.
But this was no time to be thinking of what she looked like. There were important matters to be dealt with and the most important was that the King should not act foolishly now that he had ceased to be the Prince who was of no account because it was his father’s wish that he should not be.
She could see fearful pits yawning at their feet. The situation in Europe was very tricky; and there was one man who was so well versed in foreign affairs that they would need him; that was Sir Robert Walpole. There was one man who could keep the government steady; and that was Walpole.
In fact, thought Caroline, he is crude and uncultured, his morals are questionable; he is ugly and too fat; he drinks too much; he is not exactly a charming man; but he is the man we need.
She thought of the King’s delight when he had come to tell her how he had dismissed Walpole. ‘I have said to him: “Your orders you vill take from Spencer Compton.” He vas scarcely off his knees ven this I tell him.’
And she was expected to applaud such promptitude, such sly action, such a neat way of paying off old scores, when she wanted to shout: But we need this man. He is the only one clever enough to help us. If he does not work for us he will work against us.
But one did not presume to advise the King; she never had done that to the Prince of Wales. And yet how often had she persuaded him—in such a manner that he was unaware of it, of course—to decide on what she had already decided.
Tonight he would preside over his Accession Council; he must not make it known during the meeting that he had dismissed Walpole. But Henrietta had told her that Sir Spencer Compton was already being treated with homage and that Walpole was being ignored.
Something would have to be done. She wondered how she could do it.
Her woman, used to her pensive moods, worked silently; they were doing her hair when the King came in. He was dressed for the Accession Council meeting and he sat down heavily in the chair which Henrietta hurried to place for him.
‘Ha, my tear,’ he said, looking affectionately at his wife, ‘I see you are looking very beautiful ... as beautiful as a queen, eh?’
‘And you look like a king.’
‘Ve must grow accustomed to looking so.’
He smiled at the two women and his gaze lingered on Henrietta. She is getting old, he thought; now that I am King perhaps I should choose new mistresses. I should not continue with a woman who is no longer young.
He scowled. ‘Vy haf you covered the Queen’s neck?’ he demanded. ‘Is it because you haf not a beautiful neck that you must cover the Queen’s?’
He snatched the scarf which was about Caroline’s shoulders.
‘There. That is better. Now ve see this beautiful neck.’
Caroline nodded dismissal to the two women and they went quietly out.
‘This is a most important meeting,’ said Caroline. ‘The Council vill be assembled to hear your speech. You vill have it by now.’
‘No, I have it not.’
‘But ...’
‘It vill come. It vill come. Compton is von good man.’ ‘I hope he can write as good a speech as Valpole.’
‘That fat old fox. I tell you he is von scoundrel. You should have seen his face. It came out so neatly. You vould haf laughed.’
No, thought Caroline. I should have groaned.
‘Veil, the speech should be here.’
‘You should not vorry, my dear. Ah, I think it comes now.’
The King’s page had appeared to say that Sir Spencer Compton was in the King’s antechamber.
‘Bring him here,’ commanded George.
Sir Spencer came in with the speech which Walpole had just brought to him.
The King read it aloud.
‘It is vith great sorrow that I hear of the death of the King, my dearest father ...’
George grimaced. But of course it was what was expected of him. He must pretend to mourn; although the gaiety of his expression would surely belie that.
‘My love and affection is for England and I shall preserve the laws and liberties of this kingdom. I shall uphold the Constitution ...’ Yes, this was what they wanted to hear.
Caroline came and looked over the King’s shoulder as he read; Compton watched them with relief. He was very uneasy; he knew he was unfitted for the task; he was no Walpole. It was only due to the latter’s help that he had extricated himself from a difficult situation in the first hours of his new office. Suppose Walpole had refused to write the speech!
The King was saying, ‘No, this vill not do ...’
Compton started. ‘Your Majesty does not like the speech?’
‘It is yell enough. It is vell enough. But this must be changed. Change it now.’
‘What ... what does Your Majesty wish to say?’
‘I do not know. It is for you. Do it now. The women vill give you a table and chair ...’
‘Your Majesty, it would be a great mistake to change the speech.’
‘Vat is this?’
‘Your Majesty, the speech should remain as it is.’
‘But I say this is not goot. This paragraph ... he must be changed.’
‘It would be better to leave it as it is.’
‘Better. But I say this vill not do.’
Compton was bewildered. How could he change the speech? It was Walpole’s work and he could not imagine what might be substituted for the offending paragraph.
‘I ... I will take it away, Your Majesty,’ said Compton. ‘I will need to do this.’
‘Then do not be long. I must haf it ... soon.’
When he had bowed himself out, the offending speech under his arm, the King looked at the Queen. She was examining the stuff of her gown; she dared not look at the King for fear she betray a certain triumph. It had occurred to her that the King was going to see that he had acted rashly.
It was only a short time later when they heard that Walpole was asking for an audience.
�
��This I vill not give,’ said the King. ‘I haf not the time. Vere is this speech. Vat has happen to Compton?’
‘It may be that Valpole hav come about the speech ...’ began the Queen, an idea occurring to her.
‘How is this?’
‘If you thought fit you might permit him to come. There could be no harm.’
The King looked at her in a puzzled fashion and then said he would see Walpole. Caroline was inwardly exultant when she saw that Walpole was carrying the speech.
‘Vat the ...’ began the King.
‘Your Majesty. Sir Spencer Compton has asked me to adjust the paragraph of which you do not approve.’
‘But vy ...?’
‘Your Majesty, I had written so many speeches. Sir Spencer so few. And so ...’
‘You wrote this von, Sir Robert?’ asked the Queen. Their eyes met. It’s not too late, thought Walpole. She is with me.
‘I wrote it, Your Majesty. The need for haste ...’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the King testily. ‘Let us see this paragraph.’
The Queen read it with him. am sure the King vill say that is vat vas needed,’ she said.
‘It is vat vas needed,’ said the King gruffly.
Walpole bowed his head; he stood before the King and said: ‘Your Majesty, if I can serve you in any way ... in or out of office, you may depend upon me.’
‘I shall remember,’ said the King, and turned away. Again a look was exchanged between the Queen and the minister. Walpole bowed and went out.
The King was annoyed.
‘I do not like this man,’ he said.
‘He drinks too much,’ agreed the Queen.
‘He is von big fat ox.’
‘His conversation at table is most coarse.’
‘It is yell he is dismissed.’
‘It is ell if ve can find better men than he.’
‘Vat you mean?’
‘There is much to be done. Perhaps you vill not vant to hurry to make a new ministry.’
‘I am tired of this man. He takes bribes. He is von greedy old rogue.’
‘There will be other greedy rogues. He must be rich by now. Perhaps Your Majesty will say that others less rich might be more open to bribes.’
‘Vat is this?’
‘Old leeches are not so hungry as young ones . . . it is often so.’
The King looked at his wife for a few moments and she said quickly: ‘It may be that Your Majesty vill think so. May I look at your speech?’
She read it through and he continued to watch her.
‘It is good,’ she said. ‘That sly old Valpole wrote it. I know his style.’
‘He is von fat old leech,’ said the King; and the Queen laughed immoderately.
He was pleased; but he was also thoughtful. Perhaps, he was thinking, he should not be too hasty.
The Late King’s Will
THE new King, his speech in his hand, entered the council chamber where his ministers were assembled.
George noted with pleasure the new deference they accorded him. They were wary too, a little apprehensive, wondering whether in the past they had sided too openly with his father against him.
I shall not forget! George gleefully told himself. They shall regret their mistakes.
Already Walpole was regretting. He had heard the fellow only had to enter a room and all backs would be turned on him. Now he must be wishing that he had remembered that a Prince of Wales, however out of favour with the reigning monarch, in turn becomes the King.
He acknowledged their homage and read his speech of regret for his father, and if any of them felt like tittering they made no sign but composed their faces into attitudes of respectful melancholy.
He went on to say how he loved England and how he intended to devote himself to the service of his country.
It was the speech of tradition—no better, no worse than its predecessors, but it had the virtue of being what was expected and was greeted with applause.
The Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Wake, was a timid man who was a little unsure of his position, having been completely submissive to the previous king, and anyone who had been so must almost inevitably be on bad terms with the new one. But Dr Wake had contrived not to offend the new King while being on good terms with his father. In any case such a man made little trouble and George’s feeling for him were neutral.
He now approached the King and put a document into his hands.
‘Your Majesty, this is your father’s will which he entrusted with me, asking that I would present it to you on the event of his death. This I now do.’
George looked at the document. A will! The old scoundrel had decided to outwit him at the end. Who knew ‘what was in that document. He could be certain though that it would be something to cause embarrassment to the son he had hated.
His ministers were watching him expectantly. The Archbishop was holding the will. Clearly he was awaiting the formal command to open it and make its contents known.
Everything was according to the tradition which had been followed through centuries. Now was the moment to read the late King’s will.
But his son held out his hand for the document, scarcely glanced at it, and thrust it into his pocket.
‘Now,’ he said gruffly, ‘ye have some business to discuss.’
The Archbishop was astounded; the members of the Council could scarcely believe what they had actually seen; but the King was testily waiting to continue with the meeting, as though the will was of no importance to him.
* * *
The King made his way to the Queen’s apartment, and as soon as he entered she recognized that he was deeply disturbed, so she dismissed her attendants and waited patiently for the outburst.
He was not as choleric as usual, which might be a bad sign, for it could mean he was too disturbed for an outward display of anger.
He stood for some seconds rocking on his heels, his face which had been pink when he entered growing red; his blue eyes seeming to bulge more with every passing moment.
Still she did not speak.
Then slowly he took a document from his pocket and held it before her eyes.
‘The old scoundrel’s vill,’ he said.
He saw her catch her breath; he saw the faint colour touch her face and neck. There was no need to explain to Caroline the importance of this paper.
‘Vat does it contain?’ she whispered. Wild thoughts were running through her mind. He would pursue them even after death. Did they think that they were rid of him? That document could deprive them of their inheritance. But could it? George Augustus had already become George II; would it be possible for the old man to have his grandson Frederick substituted for his son? Frederick! The son for whom in the past she had so longed and had now almost forgotten—because the old scoundrel had decreed that they should live apart. No, not that. But it was certain there would be something to plague them in that will. Money they needed would be directed elsewhere. The Duchess of Kendal would be given a large part of the wealth which by right belonged to the King and Queen of England.
She was watching her husband anxiously, and he shook his head while a slow smile of triumph spread across his features.
‘No one living knows. Let him keep his secret. He is dead now.’
‘But ... surely it was read at the Council?’
There was pride in his face. He was the King now; he would know how to rule and no one should be allowed to forget that.
‘I did not ask it to be read. I took it when Vake gave it to me and put it into my pocket.’
Now she was smiling—approval, admiration. How he loved her! They would stand together against all their enemies.
‘And they said nothing?’
‘To the King!’
Then she laughed. ‘No, of course, they vould not dare ... not to the King. And now?’
‘You know vat he did to my mother’s vill?’ demanded the King. ‘Do you think she vould have left all she had to him ... her enemy? Do y
ou think she vould have forgotten me and my sister? She loved us alvays. Ven my Grandmother Celle visited her the first thing she wanted to know was “How is my son George Augustus? How is my daughter Sophia Dorothea? Are they yell, are they happy?” And she was rich. Vat did he do vith her vill? He destroyed it. Vat did he do vith the vill of my Grandfather Celle which you can depend left much to me and none to him? He destroyed it. And now vat shall I do vith his vill, eh? I tell you this. I shall treat him as he treated others.’
The King went to a lighted candle and held the document in the flame.
For a few seconds it seemed as though it refused to burn; then the thick paper suddenly leaped into flame.
The King smilingly watched it until he could hold it no more; then he threw it into the fireplace and together he and the Queen watched it blacken and writhe until there was nothing left but the charred remains.
* * *
The King was peevish. The Queen understood why and was not displeased. Secretly she was determined to set Walpole back in his place for she realized that the imperative need of a king such as her husband was a strong government. There was one man she wanted to see at the head of that government and that was Walpole.
‘Walpole, that fat old ox!’ cried the King every time his name was mentioned. Then she would laugh and agree that he was a fat old ox; she would admit that he had not fulfilled his promises to either of them; but in her heart she knew that they must not harp on old grievances; they needed the most able statesman in the land to head their government and that man was Walpole.
She came to her husband’s apartment and when they were alone she asked him how Compton was acting with regard to some of thc important matters which needed prompt settlement.
George scowled. ‘It is delay ... delay ...’
‘The Civil List is the most important. Perhaps he does not delay with that.’
George’s face grew red; his hands went to his wig. He did not snatch it from his head, she noticed, which had been a favourite habit in the days when he was Prince of ‘Wales, stamp on it, and kick it round the room; kingship had given him some dignity.
