by Jean Plaidy
It was the custom on such an occasion for the Queen to invite any who cared to call at the Palace to partake of cake and caudle at her expense. The caudle was a warm concoction of wine and eggs which was supposed to be good for invalids and children; and as was to be expected crowds gathered in the waiting rooms to partake of the Queen’s hospitality. The Yeomen of the Guard had to be summoned to keep order; and even so, people were caught stuffing their pockets with cake, and these had to be severely reprimanded and warned of dire punishment if the offence was repeated. During the cake and caudle week 500 pounds of cake and eight gallons of caudle were used up every day.
But the people enjoyed it and wished there was a royal birth every week.
And then came the day of baptism – a quiet ceremony in the Queen’s drawing room. It was half past six in the evening and the Queen lay on her bed of state there.
She had lost a great deal of her plainness, for her eyes were alight with a serene pleasure. She was dressed in a white and silver gown as she had been at her wedding, and was wearing her stomacher of diamonds, the King’s wedding gift. Against the background of the state bed – crimson velvet and gold braid, white satin and Brussels lace – she made a magnificent picture. The bloom of her ugliness had indeed worn off.
Little George carried by his governess on his white satin pillow decorated with gold, screamed lustily in protest.
His grandmother, the Princess Dowager, took him from his governess which did not please him and his screams grew louder, but this only made everyone smile. ‘He’s a self-willed little rogue,’ said the King fondly and prophetically. The sponsors came forward – the Duke of Cumberland and the nobleman who had come from Mecklenburg to stand proxy for the Duke of that land, Charlotte’s brother.
The Archbishop of York baptized the child; the King wept with emotion; and the Queen looked on, feeling that there was no happiness in the world greater than this she was now experiencing.
The ceremony over, Charlotte took her child in her arms and held him for a few minutes. Then she gave him to the governess that he might be put in his cradle. There he lay protected by a ‘Chinese Fence’ which had been erected round the cradle so that no one could touch him.
Those who had attended the ceremony crowded about the cradle admiringly.
*
Charlotte thought of little but her baby. He was her life. She had no intention of passing him over to his governess and nurses. George agreed with her. He was all for simple living. They had a beautiful baby. Why should they not enjoy him?
Charlotte had a wax model made of him which was exactly like the child.
‘Now,’ she said. ‘I shall always remember him as a baby.’
A glass case was made to fit over it and she had placed it on her dressing table so that she could gaze at it whenever the original was not with her.
For three months this child was constantly in her thoughts; and soon after that she discovered that she was once more pregnant.
Wilkes and Liberty
WHILE CHARLOTTE WAS occupied with one baby and awaiting the arrival of another, the King was finding himself more and more unpleasantly involved in state affairs.
He had always believed that when Lord Bute achieved his ambition, which was to hold the highest post in the Government, all his troubles would be at an end. He had looked on Bute as a kind of god, omniscient, omnipotent; but it was not turning out that way.
Pitt had resigned and they had needed Pitt. And it seemed that everyone in the country was against Bute.
The King had said: ‘Those who are against Lord Bute are against me.’ That had been his doctrine; and now it followed, therefore, that the attacks on Bute were in a way attacks on the King.
This worried George; he would dream of disasters; and always in these he, personally, was being persecuted. He began to look for slights in all those who came near him and to imagine that he heard them tittering behind his back.
When he was with Charlotte and the baby, when he saw her growing more and more obviously pregnant with the second, he could forget this. He could revel in the quiet country life of Richmond whither Charlotte had gone so that the baby could enjoy the air; and there he felt at peace; but as soon as he was obliged to return to St James’s, which in the present uncertain state of affairs was very often, the uneasiness, the feeling of persecution returned.
It was difficult to speak of it to anyone. In the old days he would have consulted Lord Bute. But Bute had troubles of his own and in his inability to master them had made George realize that his idol had feet of clay.
*
Lord Bute was indeed uneasy. His big bite of success had given him acute indigestion. He was beginning to wonder whether it was not more exciting to plan and to strive towards a goal than to reach it. He was haunted by an uneasy fear that he might not be enough of a politician to handle the intricate state craft.
His great plan had been to secure peace. He believed in peace. He had been for Pitt’s war policy in the beginning; but the country had had enough of war. In secret he had been entering into negotiations with the Court of Versailles through the Sardinian ambassador and to act alone and secretly was a dangerous manoeuvre. Charles II had managed it expertly and amorally while bringing good to his country, but John Stuart, Earl of Bute, was no Charles Stuart, King of England. He lacked the power for one thing as well as that careless genius. He was a worried man. He was at odds with George Grenville whose support he had relied on; and he was beginning to wonder whom he could trust to stand beside him.
His thoughts suddenly hit on Henry Fox; and this seemed a brilliant idea.
Fox would have to be lured from the Opposition to their side, but Bute believed that Fox was ambitious enough to accept the offer.
He sought an audience with the King and told him that he could not trust Grenville to support the new peace treaty and that he needed a strong man as leader of the House of Commons and it must be someone who was clever enough to carry it through.
‘I see you have someone in mind,’ said George.
‘Fox,’ answered Bute.
The King’s face grew pink. Fox! Sarah’s brother-in-law! He had hated Fox ever since he had given up Sarah, for he was sure that the man was jeering at him for allowing himself to be persuaded by his mother.
‘He is the only man wily enough to do it.’
‘He never would. It would mean deserting his party, being disloyal to Pitt.’
‘All Fox would care about was being loyal to himself.’
‘But you really believe …’
‘I am convinced it is the only course left to us.’
Left to us! thought the King. So Bute was including him in his failure. He was shocked to find that for the first time in his life he was critical of his dear friend.
‘We cannot afford to be squeamish,’ said Bute.
The King recoiled. This was shocking. Nothing seemed as it had in the past. Everything was turning against him. He could have wept.
‘So Your Majesty gives your consent to my approaching Fox.’
The King nodded, turning away.
*
Mr Fox returned to Holland House cynically amused after his interview with Lord Bute. He would, he had said, consider the noble lord’s proposals, but they did not fill him with any great enthusiasm. Lord Bute was almost pathetic in his desire to include Mr Fox in his confidence. So my Lord Bute was learning sense after all.
And His Majesty? Mr Fox had asked. How did he feel about having Mr Fox as the leader of the House of Commons?
His Majesty was as eager as Lord Bute, so said the lord.
Well, thought Mr Fox, they must be anxious. George had not been able to look him in the face after jilting Sarah. Perhaps now that Sarah had married Bunbury he felt that little matter was settled. Bunbury in place of a king! Mr Bunbury – who would become Sir Charles one day. Not much of a match to set beside that with a king. But Sarah had chosen him and seemed happy – although how long that would last Mr Fox
was not sure and his feelings were sceptical.
However, the important matter of the moment was not Sarah but the future of Henry Fox.
He found his wife in the drawing room and told her that he had just come from St James’s.
Lady Caroline raised her eyebrows.
‘Bute is asking me to take over the leadership of the House of Commons.’
‘No!’
‘Yes, my dear, yes. They are most eager to have me. Even His Majesty raises no objections.’
‘They are in trouble,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘Best leave them to it.’
‘H’m.’
‘You can’t be considering this proposal?’
Fox nodded slowly. ‘For a while … perhaps it would not be such a bad thing.’
‘You know you promised you were going to give up politics.’
‘I haven’t forgotten.’
‘But you are considering taking up this offer?’
He slipped his arm through hers. ‘For a while,’ he said. ‘I promise to make a fortune from it and retire with a high sounding title in a blaze of glory.’
She laughed at him; they understood each other. He was a cynic; he loved money even more than power; he was only vulnerable where Lady Caroline was concerned. Ever since their romantic elopement they had been lovers.
So Caroline understood. It would be the finale; and when it was over they would live as she had planned they should – away from the anxieties of state … enjoying life.
*
Mr Fox was granted an audience in the King’s chamber at St James’s. As he expected, Bute was with George.
Mr Fox’s expression was a little sardonic. He was not the handsomest of men with his bulky figure and dark face; it was when he talked – not with Mr Pitt’s brilliant oratory, but with those sudden flashes of spontaneous wit – that he could even triumph over Mr Pitt.
George looked at him with mild distaste.
Never would trust that fellow, he thought; but it was no use; they would have to have him. Lord Bute had explained that they were lost without a strong man to lead the Commons and make sure that the signing of the Peace of Paris was brought to a successful conclusion.
‘So Mr Fox, sir,’ said George, ‘Lord Bute tells me that you are ready to take on the leadership of the House of Commons.’
‘Reluctantly, Sire, but since it is the wish of Your Majesty …’
Fox smiled ironically, as though, thought George, the sly creature – so rightly named – knew how he hated to be forced into this position and was reminding him of it.
‘Lord Bute feels that your services could be invaluable.’
‘And since Your Majesty is in agreement with him I offer them with all my heart.’
‘His Majesty and I agree that it is necessary to get these essential matters passed through the Commons and the Lords. At the moment there is great opposition. This must be wiped out. We must have a majority vote in favour of the peace.’
‘It is not an impossible achievement.’
‘We have powerful enemies.’
Mr Fox smiled what George thought of as the foxy smile.
‘We can secure their support in the time-honoured way.’
‘And, that?’
‘Bribes, Your Majesty. Bribes.’
‘Bribes! But this is something I cannot countenance.’
‘Then the measures will be defeated, and I can be of no use to you. But if Your Majesty and you, my lord, ask me to bring these measures safely through I tell you I can do it. And I give you the blunt remedy. Bribes!’
The King had turned away; Bute was watching him uneasily. Fox shrugged his shoulders.
‘Your Majesty and you, my lord, cannot consider bribes? Then I can only say that I can be of no use to you. You will understand that in coming to your side I shall be in opposition to my old friends.’
‘Unpopularity is the price we must all pay for parliamentary services,’ said Bute bitterly.
‘Not all, my lord. Consider Mr Pitt. He cannot move through the City without a crowd of worshippers following his coach. They are ready to kneel and kiss the hem of his garment.’
George frowned. He did not like blasphemy.
‘As for myself,’ went on Fox, ‘I am ready to face unpopularity if I can do His Majesty essential service.’
Bute said quickly: ‘His Majesty and I are eager to see this peace treaty carried through, no matter at what cost.’
He waited with great apprehension for the King to speak, but George said nothing.
The King was depressed and disillusioned. His head ached; he wanted to get rid of Mr Fox. He was certain that that odious man was laughing at him, jeering at him for having lost Sarah; he would go away and whisper about him to that wife of his, Sarah’s sister, who was a little like Sarah.
Bute was watching him anxiously, thinking: He has such strange moods nowadays. One can never be sure what he is thinking.
But Fox was preparing to take his leave and to throw himself into his new task as leader of the House of Commons who knew exactly how to administer those bribes which would get unpopular measures passed through Parliament.
*
Mr Fox was true to his word. He set about his new duties with alacrity. Bribes were offered in cash and in the form of titles; and places in the Government were given in order to form one which would be solidly behind Fox and obey his commands to vote as performing dogs at the crack of the whip.
The Dukes of Devonshire, Newcastle and Grafton were expelled from their offices to make way for complacent men; and by December Fox was ready to go into the attack. Crowds surrounded the Houses of Parliament knowing what issues were at stake. Pitt was still the hero of the piece; Bute the black-hearted villain.
In the Lords Bute had to defend Fox’s policy; and in the Commons Fox had to face Pitt, who had arrived, swathed in bandages, wrapped in flannel, suffering hideously from his old complaint of gout.
Pitt harangued the Government for three hours; he pointed out that their enemies had not yet been beaten; that if peace were made now they would recover and get to their feet again. Peace was a danger to England. Pitt’s eloquence was, as ever, spellbinding, but his gout got the better of him and before he had delivered the final summing up he was obliged to retire to his seat. Then Fox rose and with reasoning, cold against Pitt’s heat, logical against emotionalism, he defended the Government’s policy for peace. France and Spain had agreed to great concessions, and England was suffering from acute taxation.
Listening, Pitt seemed to sense defeat; in any case he was in agony. While Fox was speaking he got up and hobbled from the House, thus leaving his supporters without a leader.
The motion was carried for the Government – 319 to 65.
A triumph for the Government, for Fox’s policy and for peace.
*
It was hardly to be expected that Pitt’s supporters would quietly accept this state of affairs. It was known how the Government majority had been achieved. Bribery! was whispered throughout the streets; and the mob marched carrying a jackboot and petticoat which they ceremoniously hung on a gibbet.
The feeling against Bute was rising. He was the arch enemy, the Scot who had dared to try to rule England, the lover of the Princess Dowager who with her ruled the King, and therefore ruled England.
Even the King came in for his share of criticism and his popularity waned alarmingly.
When he went to call on his mother, crowds following his carriage shouted. ‘Going to have your napkins changed, George?’ And: ‘When are you going to be weaned?’
George did not like it. It wounded him deeply; when he came back to his apartments he would weep and his headaches would begin; he felt that everyone was against him.
When he could escape to Richmond, to the quiet life with Charlotte, he felt better. But he could not be a King and live the quiet life of a country gentleman.
Bute was feeling ill; he had lost his swagger. It was an uncomfortable feeling, every time he went out
, wondering whether the mob were going to set on him and murder him.
Power such as this had been his goal; now it was his it was very different from the dream.
And then John Wilkes went into the attack.
*
John Wilkes was the son of a malt distiller of Clerkenwell, who had started a paper, in conjunction with a friend named Charles Churchill, in which he determined to attack the anomalies of the day. He had a seat in Parliament and was an ardent supporter of Pitt. As a man who must be in the thick of any controversy, the conflict between Pitt and the Government, under Fox’s leadership, was irresistible to him.
Wilkes was an extremely ugly man; his features were irregular and his squint diabolical; to counterbalance this he had developed a very keen wit and courtly manners, and with these he endeavoured to bring down what he called the unworthy mighty from their seats. The first of these was of course Lord Bute.
As a young man Wilkes had been sent on the Grand Tour; on his return his parents had wished him to marry Mary Mead the daughter of a London grocer – a very rich one – and he had obliged. The marriage was a failure. Poor Mary could not keep pace with her husband’s wit and brilliance. Wilkes came well out of the affair for he acquired not only a large slice of his wife’s fortune but the custody of his daughter, Mary, who was the one person in his life for whom he cared.
His great energy had had to find an outlet and he joined societies of ill repute such as the Hell Fire Club and Sir Francis Dashwood’s club, the latter known as the Order of St Francis. The motive of these clubs was profligacy and obscenity, all to be conducted in the most witty manner. The members of the Order of St Francis met in a ruined Cistercian Abbey at Medmenham and there indulged in practices with which they tried to shock each other, by mocking the Church, and they were said on one occasion to have given the sacrament to a monkey.
Membership of this society had brought Wilkes influential friends, among whom were Pitt’s supporters, Sir Francis Dashwood and Lord Sandwich, and through them Wilkes became the High Sheriff of Buckinghamshire; and after an unsuccessful attempt to enter Parliament for Berwick-on-Tweed he was elected for Aylesbury.
