The Pretender's Lady

by Alan Gold

  Dr. Johnson, Mr. Boswell, Mrs. MacPherson, and Flora said “God Save the King.”

  The minister continued, “Sir, is Your Majesty willing to take the oath?”

  Jamie said, “I am willing.”

  “Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Scotland and of your possessions and other territories, according to their respective laws and customs?

  “I solemnly promise so to do.”

  “Will you to your power cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?”

  “I will.”

  “Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of God and the true profession of the gospel? Will you to the utmost of your power maintain in the kingdom of Scotland the true religion established by God through his only begotten son, Jesus Christ the messiah? Will you maintain and preserve inviolably the church and the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in Scotland? And will you preserve unto the bishops and clergy of Scotland, and to the churches there committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges, as by law do or shall appertain to them or any of them?”

  Jamie looked at his mother, who smiled back and nodded. “All this I promise to do.”

  “My gracious king, to keep Your Majesty ever mindful of the law and the gospel of God as the rule for the whole life and government of Christian princes, I present you with this book, the most valuable thing that this world affords. Here is wisdom; this is the royal law; these are the lively oracles of God. By accepting them and all these precepts, I hereby crown you King James IX of Scotland. God save the King.”

  The minister gave the bible to Jamie, who received it. He then took a newly created brass crown from underneath his cloak and placed it on the new king’s head. He took a small vial of holy oil and anointed the king’s forehead. He kissed Jamie on the forehead, shook his hand, and whispered, “God save King James IX of Scotland. Now, friends, before we’re caught and executed, for the sake of God Almighty, let’s leave this place and return to our homes.

  10 DOWNING STREET, LONDON

  JANUARY 22, 1775

  The intervention of Christmas and the New Year, the absence of the king in Hanover and Prime Minister Lord North at his home in Wroxton Abbey in Banbury, forced Flora and Jamie to remain in their lodgings in London far longer than they had originally intended. They had spent the time in writing numerous letters to trusted relatives and clan members in Scotland informing them of their visit, as well as telling them the entire truth about Jamie’s parentage and his crowning as heir to the House of Stuart, kings of Scotland. Flora had wanted to keep Jamie’s parentage and coronation a secret until the time was right, but Dr. Johnson had made the point quite strenuously that for Jamie to be accepted by the Scottish people, his claim on the throne had to be made public. And so the letters had been sent to all and sundry.

  Yet in all the time that they had been in London since the coronation in Westminster Abbey, they had only received one letter back. It was from Lady Margaret Macdonald, Flora’s elderly aunt for whom she had worked in her youth as friend and companion. Lady Margaret was unusually harsh and told Flora that regardless of the “nonsense” of her son’s “so-called” coronation, the fact that the boy was fathered by someone other than Alan was an admission that should have brought shame to the parties of the disgrace, rather than the tone of joyous exultation that she perceived from Flora’s letter. She continued by saying that rather than being spoken about freely, such an admission of immorality and sin should be hidden from the public eye and buried in the ignominy that such an event deserved.

  No other letters had been received, despite her writing to prominent leaders of the church in Scotland, politicians, city councilmen in Edinburgh, famous members of the faculties of Edinburgh University, and friends of Dr. Johnson and the Reverend Mr. MacPherson. She had also written to the chieftains of the most important clans.

  She had expected some opposition, even some ridicule, but at least some support, just as Jamie’s father had received when he’d sent letters to the clan leaders all those years ago. What she hadn’t expected was an eerie and unnerving silence. Perhaps the problem lay in the fact that it was still January, when people might continue to be involved in, or recovering from, first footing and Hogmanay and the ceilidhs, which seemed to go on forever in January as the Scots welcomed in the New Year. Often they were away from their homes and sometimes took the entire month to slowly return while spending days visiting relations and friends. But to have sent so many letters and to have received only one reply, that being condemnatory, was worrisome.

  Her growing depression was lifted somewhat when Dr. Johnson sent round a messenger saying that the prime minister would receive the famous Mistress Macdonald and her son in his residence at 10 Downing Street in Whitehall. At the appointed hour, two sedans carried by chairmen were sent to collect mother and son. They were carried from their lodgings in Great Portland Street to Downing Street where they were met by Dr. Johnson. For the first time in their acquaintance, Mr. Boswell didn’t accompany him.

  “Good day, ma’am,” he said shaking Flora’s hand. “Good day, Your Majesty,” he said to Jamie. Neither could get used to the appellation and smiled at each other.

  “I have no idea what to say to the prime minister,” admitted Flora.

  “Then simply address him as you addressed me when we first met. But I would desist from mentioning the changed status of your son until you judge his reaction to the concept of the Commonwealth. Lord North is your route to the king, and if North feels that either his position or that of the king will be undermined by a threat to the monarchy, then he’ll block you. On the other hand, he’s a reasonable man and desperately concerned about the situation in America. The king is another matter and continues to try to interfere in the government of England, to Parliament’s growing fury. Poor Lord North is like a juggler at a market fair, trying to keep half a dozen balls in the air and under his control but in grave danger of seeing them slip from his grasp and falling to the ground.”

  They walked toward the black lacquered door above which a large brass lamp hung; below it was the number of the house and a large brass mouth for letters surrounded by a gleaming mounting saying First Lord of the Treasury. Dr. Johnson, who had been to the house several times in the past, rapped the large iron knocker shaped like a lion. A few moments later, a liveried servant came to the door and invited them inside. The house was much larger than it seemed from the outside. The floor of the entrance hall was covered in black and white checkerboard of marble, and beyond the alcoves and architraves leading into other rooms lay a large ornately sweeping staircase. At the top of the stairs stood Lord North with two of his children.

  “Dr. Johnson, come up, come up,” he shouted. “And you too, Mistress Macdonald. And your son.”

  He disappeared and Dr. Johnson led the way upstairs into a series of large private rooms filled with paintings and sculptures and large tables around which were twenty or more chairs. It wasn’t so much a home as a very large office. Johnson led Flora and Jamie along a corridor and into a large sitting room with green silk wallpaper and jade ornaments on buffets and sideboards. On the floor were ottomans and footstools. Lord North was standing by the fireplace, warming himself. As they entered the room, he came over and shook their hands warmly, telling them it was a pleasure to make their acquaintance, especially as Mistress Macdonald was so well known in England as the heroine of the ’46.

  They sat and were served tea by the servant. As they drank, Lord North talked to Dr. Johnson about issues of London life and asked how Mistress Macdonald and her son were enjoying London.

  “A change from the life in America, isn’t it,” he said.

  She nodded and said, “America has much to offer in its vitality and richness, but London is and always will be London. The capital has been here for nigh on two thousand years, whereas the town in which I live in North Carolina has been in existence for a f
raction of that time. But in two thousand years hence, Lord North, I invite you to come to Halifax and look at our wondrous buildings and monuments.”

  He burst out laughing, and raised his cup of tea in appreciation of her geniality. “Tell me, Mistress Macdonald, what is the mood of the Americans today? It has been the source of much consternation in Parliament. Indeed, one of my predecessors, George Grenville retained his prime ministership for only two years and was sacked by His Majesty because of the Stamp Tax he introduced and . . .”

  “Yes,” said Flora, “but he lost his job because he tried to reduce the taxes paid by Englishmen at the expense of raising the damnable Stamp Tax in the colonies. Naturally, we in America were infuriated and rioted. Why should we assist England at the expense of a nation we’re trying to build?” she demanded. “And your predecessor as prime minister, the Duke of Grafton, urged King George to remove all taxes from the colonies, because he’d seen the damage that imposing such taxes could do to our relationship without our being represented in Parliament. As I recall, he wanted to remove all taxes except the tax on tea, which is causing much grievance in my adopted country, Prime Minister.”

  Johnson looked at her in horror. The very last thing he wanted was a heated exchange before the prime minister had become comfortable with her. Why didn’t these Americans understand the subtlety of polite discourse, he wondered. But to his surprise, North reacted in quite an unusual way.

  “You’re right, of course. We should be very careful as to how we raise taxes from our colonies if they are to prosper. Since Mr. Pitt increased the number of our colonies to include India, Canada, the West Indies, and Africa and now we have the islands of New South Wales and New Zealand in the Pacific Ocean, our merchants have been doing very well, but wars with France and Spain have emptied our treasury, and I am treading a fine line, balanced only by the demands of King George on one hand and the demands of my political opponents on the other. And yes, I’m the first to admit that Mr. Grenville was grievously wrong in raising taxes in America to finance our problems here, but you must understand that we were threatened with riots by the dreadful weavers because of their concerns that we were importing silk and putting them out of business. We had to quell their anger, and lowering their taxes was one way. Don’t you see?”

  Flora shook her head and said, “I see that you caused great alarm and consternation to the colonists of America by your action.”

  Johnson coughed and tried to pacify the interview by saying, “My dear Lord North, Mistress Macdonald has come here to seek an interview with you because she has developed a remarkable idea which may be an answer to all of our problems. She has done me the great honor of expounding this idea to me, and while I can see the many problems of implementing it, I do believe that it has great merit and that any problems can be overcome by goodwill and negotiations. Ma’am, perhaps you’ll explain yourself to the prime minister.”

  And for the next fifteen minutes, Flora explained her idea of the transition of the British Empire with subservient colonies into the British Commonwealth with England as the primus inter pares, the first among equals.

  “This would see America, Canada, India, Africa, and these new colonies you mentioned and all the other nations that you must use your armies to control, as independent nations under the protective shield of King George of England. You would spend a fraction of what your army is currently costing you; when you go to war against Spain or France, you can call on commonwealth countries to send troops to support you; while you won’t enjoy such a wealthy revenue in taxes, you will have far less expenditure on arms and munitions and soldiers; and best of all, you can trade freely with those member nations in the Commonwealth and import into England all the commodities which your people covet. Understand, Lord North, that Americans don’t dislike King George or the idea of being ruled by an English monarch; what they dislike is an English Parliament which rules our land without allowing its American citizens any representation. If you adopt my philosophy, Mr. Prime Minister, you will create a new world which has merit in all ways.”

  She stopped talking and looked at him. He was thinking deeply and had not said a single word of interruption in the entire time that her discourse took.

  “Is there an historical precedent for this?” he asked softly. “I can see precedent for empire and colonies but not for this idea of a commonwealth. The Roman Empire held colonies and client states and ruled the world . . .”

  “And lost them all because it was unsustainable,” interjected Dr. Johnson. “The more it grew, the more force it needed to sustain it at its extremities, and the more those extremities fought for their independence. Gaul, Germania, and Judea were constant thorns in the flesh of Rome. My friend, Mr. Edward Gibbon, is in the process of writing a monumental tome on the decline and fall of the Roman Empire which proves this point very convincingly.”

  “The Empire of the Ottomans?” the prime minister continued.

  “Is showing signs of stagnation and retreat,” continued Dr. Johnson. “Since the adventure against Vienna, it has become an old lady fussed over by sycophantic servants. In fifty years, it will have crumbled and will become nothing more than the sand of Araby.”

  Johnson looked at the prime minister who was trying to think of an example of a successful empire but couldn’t. So Dr. Johnson continued, “The problem is, Prime Minister, that when an empire grows, it thinks it can control the world, only to see its expansion eaten away at its margins by those who resist the imperial mantle. Look at the crusades and the conquest of Palestine. Look at the glories of the Spanish and Portuguese Empires that initially enriched but have subsequently ruined their nations. Or look back to the ancient world at Egypt and Assyria and the Persians. The common folk in these great imperial powers would have laughed if, during their expansionary period, someone had said that within a hundred or a thousand years, they would be mere notations in the annals of history. Yet who today remembers the Egyptians or the Persians? Where today is the glory of Greece or the grandeur of Rome? No, Prime Minister, you only have to look at history in order to see the future of our British Empire. Mistress Macdonald is right. You would do well to heed her words. Why does England have to follow the certain history of other past empires and look forward to decay and rot? Why can’t England forge a pathway to a new way of creating history for mankind and be the first great empire which unshackles its colonies and teaches the world a new way of relating to areas which we have brought to civilization?”

  Lord North listened carefully to Dr. Johnson, but instead of responding, he thought longer, poured himself and his guests another cup of tea, and sipped it. The only sound in the room was the large floor clock in the corner of the room, which ticked away the time and became increasingly loud as the silence deepened.

  “But the king has already given up all of his income from the royal estates. All the money that he earns is paid to Parliament, and Parliament gives to His Majesty sufficient money for him to live in the civil list. Yet you want to take away everything, even his possessions overseas?”

  Flora shook her head and said, “My lord, these are only his possessions because of conquest. These lands belong to those who live there.”

  He looked at her strangely. “Are you saying, Mistress Macdonald, that the conqueror has no rights over the land which he conquers?”

  She shook her head. “No, of course not. But following the conquest, the settlement must take on a partnership rather than a master and servant role. Otherwise, as the servant grows stronger, he’ll reject the dictates of the master.”

  Lord North breathed heavily, wrestling with the huge concepts that were flooding his mind. And then, as though a light had been lit, he said in a strong and determined voice, “You said that your experiment had merit in all ways, Mistress Macdonald,” the prime minister said, turning to her as though she was an accused in a court of law.

  She didn’t know whether to respond. She didn’t, and Lord North continued, almost to himself, “
Merit certainly, ma’am, but will the king see the merit in it? You expect me to approach the king and suggest to him that he gives away everything he owns in return for filial loyalty—in return for little more than international friendship? And in the state which His Majesty currently finds himself, I feel that such an approach would drive him again into the mad house.”

  “The mad house?” she said in surprise.

  The prime minister nodded. “Four years after His Majesty married Queen Charlotte, he became touched by madness. He was treated by his royal physicians with an emetic tartar. His illness lasted some time, and during that time, he was incapable of governing. He recovered, but all of his ministers fear a repetition of a problem that could see him forced to abdicate.

  “God forbid that I should bring such a scheme to him which might drive him again into the arms of the Devil and make his mind wander aimlessly, for then his wastrel son would succeed, and God help us all. No, madam, I shall not approach His Majesty with your experiment, and neither shall you. For fear of you driving His Majesty back into the arms of lunacy, I regret that you will be barred from entry into the palace. My predecessor, George Grenville, tried to make the king into little more than a puppet, and he lost his job as a result. I have no intention of following in Grenville’s footsteps. I commend you for thinking about it, and I pay you my most sincere respects, but that is where your idea for a commonwealth shall stay . . . as a hypothesis in social policy.”

  THE COURT BAILIFF’S HOUSE BLACKFRIARS PASSAGE, LONDON

  JANUARY 25, 1775

  Mrs. Angelica Macpherson, wife of the Very Reverend Daniel MacPherson, Dean of St. Clair’s Church in Cricklegate, ate another Bath bun to the bemusement of her hostess, Mrs. Josiah Clarke. Mrs. Macpherson was seated on a leather chair in the front parlor of the Clarke’s cottage. The front parlor was used only on occasions when important visitors came to the house. Dressed in an intense concoction of fabric and feathers, Mrs. Macpherson was deemed by Mrs. Clarke to be of sufficient import.