by Jean Plaidy
When the children had left he said to Charlotte: ‘I had a notion that perhaps you’re in a very happy condition once more.’
‘I am not certain,’ she told him. ‘But I think …’
He patted her shoulders.
‘Well done,’ he said. ‘What?’
Mr Pitt Falls Upstairs
MR PITTY LAY in his bed, his limbs swathed in bandages, cursing his gout, but for which he would be leading the country now; no man had stopped him doing this; his implacable enemy was this accursed gout.
He longed to be back at the head of affairs but unfortunately it was rarely that he was well enough to go to the House of Commons. He was still a power though; as long as he lived the King and his government would continue to be aware of him.
It had always been so; he remembered a long ago occasion when Newcastle had come to see him in this very room; it had been winter and Newcastle who was always worried about his health had found the room too cold for him. ‘All very well for you in bed,’ he had said. ‘I’ll catch my death in the ice house.’ And he had got fully clad into Hester’s bed and pulled the coverlets about his ears and had stayed there while they talked business. But Newcastle was now out and the Marquis of Rockingham’s ministry was in. And I have no faith in it, thought Mr Pitt.
To be incapacitated, to know that your genius was being thwarted by your wretched body – could there be anything more frustrating?
Pitt knew himself to be the man who could establish the greatness of England and he was forced to lie in his bed for days at a stretch or to go to Bath to take the waters, to live the life of an invalid when he longed to be a Prime Minister. For nothing short of the head of affairs would be of any use to Pitt.
In his bed he railed against government measures; but what use was that when the pain of his gout was too great to allow him to go to the House of Commons. He wanted to be there arguing against the Stamp Act which George Grenville, his own brother-in-law, had brought in when he was Chancellor of the Exchequer. Pitt was against the Stamp Act which was going to raise difficulties with the American Colonies. He had warned the house of this but he was too sick a man to go in and fight for what he believed. Protests had come thick and fast from America and there was considerable dissatisfaction there with the home country.
Pitt understood this. He wanted to get that Stamp Act repealed. If it were not he could see trouble. Why should England make laws for America? Why should the Colonists be expected to pay taxes to the English Government? It was an absurd imposition, said Pitt; and one which he would do all in his power to abolish.
He had talked to Hester about it. His wife was a brilliant woman who being devoted to him made his enthusiasm hers. He was constantly at loggerheads with her brothers now that they had become politicians; but in the early days when he had been a guest at their house they had all been overawed by his grasp of affairs, by his powers of divination which Hester said were supernatural because he could prophesy what would happen if such and such a thing were done. He had laughed at her and told her that it was long-sightedness – one of the most desirable gifts in a politician’s life. It was in fact a complete concentration on the matter at hand. He had these gifts; and that was why she thought he was some sort of soothsayer.
To be with Hester, to talk with Hester, that was the greatest pleasure in life … No, he would be honest. The greatest moments were when he stood up in the House and swayed it the way he wished it to go. But Hester was the balm in his life. She was there not only to dress his painful limbs but to restore his pride and ambition, at moments like this when he believed that he, the greatest politician of his day, was being deprived of his birthright by his enemy, the Gout.
Hester came in to tell him that the Earl of Northington had arrived and was asking if he might see Pitt.
‘Northington!’ Pitt scrambled up in bed. ‘He comes from the King.’
‘So he tells me.’
‘He brings some message … some secret message, doubtless. George is weary of the Rockingham ministry, believe me. Hester, he wants me. He always has wanted me. By God, if he had not been under the influence of that fool Bute …’
‘But Bute need no longer concern you.’
‘No, the only thing that really concerns me, Hester, is this accursed gout. You’d better bring Northington up at once.’
‘I thought I’d prepare you.’
He nodded. ‘But until I know what the King wants of me it’s hard to be ready with my reply. But bring him in, Hester. Bring him in.’
‘You won’t commit yourself to anything rash.’
‘Rash! What’s rash?’
‘You know you are unfit just now to go back there. You must rest your feet. You know that.’
‘Yes, Hester, I know,’ he nodded grimly. ‘But let’s see Northington and hear what it is he has come to say.’
Accompanied by Hester, Robert Henley, first Earl of Northington, came into the bedroom. Of middle height, with florid complexion, he was quite a handsome man, but the signs of hard drinking were apparent. His language was punctuated with blasphemous expressions except when he was in the company of the King who strangely enough had an affection for him, and two years or so before had created him Viscount Henley and Earl of Northington.
Now he looked with sympathy at Pitt and grimaced.
‘My God,’ he said. ‘I know just how you feel, William. Just looking at you brings back the memory.’ He looked down at his legs and shook his head at them. ‘It was the drink in my case they say. Not yours, though, William. Yours was an act of God. But if I’d known that these legs of mine were going to carry a Chancellor I’d have taken better care of them when I was young.’
‘Sympathy from a fellow sufferer,’ murmured Pitt, glancing at the letter which Northington was carrying and which he had not yet handed to him. ‘Very welcome. But you are not afflicted at the moment.’
‘That old devil gout has given me a little respite, William. I hope to God it’ll be the same with you. When you read this letter you’ll feel better I’ll warrant.’
‘From …’
‘You’ve guessed, William. From George himself. He’s got no faith in Rockingham’s crew and by God, nor have I.’
Pitt held out his hand for the letter.
Richmond, Monday
7 July 1766
Mr Pitt, Your very dutiful and handsome conduct the last summer makes me desirous of having your thoughts on how an able and dignified ministry may be formed. I desire therefore you will come for this salutory purpose to Town.
I cannot conclude without expressing how entirely my ideas concerning the basis on hich a new Administration should be erected, are consonant to the opinion you gave on that subject in Parliament a few days before you set out for Somersetshire.
I am conveying this through the channel of the Earl of Northington as there is no man in my service on whom I so thoroughly rely, and who I know agrees with me so perfectly in the contents of this letter.
George R.
Pitt looked at Northington significantly. Hester, watching, saw the look and knew what it meant. William looked five years younger; the lines of pain seemed to have been miraculously removed from his face.
‘You can guess what this means,’ said William.
Hester cried: ‘The King is asking you to form a government.’
Her husband handed her the letter. ‘That’s what it means, would you not agree?’
‘George knows he can’t do without you, William,’ put in Northington.
‘And you know you are not well enough,’ said Hester.
‘My dear, I know only one thing. This is an opportunity I can’t resist.’
‘But …’
‘Listen. He has come eating out of my hand. A government on my terms. This is what I wanted. And now George is asking for it.’
‘George is growing up!’ said Northington.
But Hester continued to look worried.
‘Never fear,’ said her husband, ‘that is
the best pick-me-up I could have had.’
‘So you will write to the King?’ said Hester.
‘Without delay.’
*
Pitt was up; hobbling, it was true, but his improvement was miraculous.
This was the life. This was what he wanted. Now particularly he explained to Hester. Did she remember how he had given England her Empire? Had he not stopped that ridiculous frittering away of men and money in Europe and turned his attention to the world beyond the seas? Well, now they were going to lose the American colonies if he were not there to prevent it. ‘Your brother’s – my dear Hester – I regret to say it – but your brother’s iniquitous Stamp Duty will be the beginning of it all. I didn’t bring America into our Empire to lose it. But we have fools for rulers, Hester, and that’s the truth of it.’
He sat down at his desk and wrote to the King; his style was fulsome; at this moment he admired the King.
Sir,
Penetrated with the deep sense of Your Majesty’s boundless goodness to me, and with a heart overflowing with duty and zeal for the honour and happiness of the most gracious and benign Sovereign, I shall hasten to London as fast as I possibly can; happy could I change infirmity into the wings of expedition, the sooner to be permitted the high honour to lay at Your Majesty’s feet the poor but sincere offering of the small services of Your Majesty’s most dutiful subject and most devoted servant.
William Pitt
*
George read William Pitt’s letter with great pleasure. Pitt was the greatest politician in the country, but he never forgot the respect due to the King.
There were times when George faced a terrible possibility and because of this he wished to form a strong government in case it should be necessary to impose a Regency.
His perusal of state papers, his complete dedication to his role in life, his awareness that he had an ever-increasing knowledge of state affairs and that so many of his ministers had failed the country, gave him an impression that he knew as much as they did, that he was as capable of government. The shyness which had been due to his modesty in his youth disappeared; he had become stubborn and once he had made up his mind to a view he forced himself to believe it and cling to it at all costs. He was certain now that with Mr Pitt, and Mr Pitt’s chosen henchmen, he and they could govern the country in the best possible manner.
So he was delighted to receive Mr Pitt’s letter.
Mr Pitt would soon be with him and in discussing the new ministry he would forget that vague nagging fear which so far he had been unable to dismiss entirely. It had given him such a sense of insecurity to know that when that illness had beset him he had for some weeks failed to be himself. He could remember little of them but they had existed. He, George the King, had been a poor creature who could not control his own mind. A terrifying thought. But he had arranged for the Regency and the best way of ensuring that it did not happen again was to prepare in case it did.
Hannah was dead; and he need never think of her again. Charlotte was his wife and she was a good woman. She was expecting another child in September and during her pregnancies she hardly ever thought of anything else but the coming child.
Charlotte was a good wife – all that he wanted in a wife and he had nothing to complain of there. She accepted the fact that she must live quietly and not meddle.
‘I’ll not have women meddling,’ said the King aloud; and then he thought of his mother who had meddled for as long as he could remember.
‘It shall stop,’ said George aloud.
But there was Lord Bute whom he had had to give up for a while but who had crept back after a time; and that was all due to the Princess Dowager whose lover he was. It was – as such relationships go – a respectable liaison; but George would never approve of it. And another thing that rankled was that for so long he had believed it to be a platonic friendship, and everyone had been aware of the true nature of that liaison, except George.
Bute had been kind to him in the past, but for what reason? In the hope of power when George came to the throne.
In that moment George made up his mind. He would never take Lord Bute’s advice again. George’s mouth was set in the familiar stubborn lines when he sat down and wrote to Lord Bute to tell him of his decision.
*
When he received the King’s communication Lord Bute was astonished that George could write to him in such a way. When he thought of all the friendship of the past, the protestations of appreciation, the renewed affirmations that he would never happily ascend the throne unless Bute was beside him, it was unthinkable.
Bute was ambitious, George had written, and he wanted to form a party with himself at the head of it. Moreover his advice in the past had been singularly unsuccessful.
Oh, no. It could not be true! But it was; and when Bute tried to see the King he was told an audience was not at the time possible.
George had changed; the amenable eager young boy had disappeared completely; and in his place was a king – a simpleton, for he would always be that, but a man who was unaware of his own inadequacies.
I protest [wrote Bute to the King] I could scarcely believe my eyes when I read your letter. It is possible that you cannot see the difference between men setting up to be leaders of a party for seditious or ambitious purposes and me. I shall never be in politics in any way, and I should not ask any man to follow me since I have lost your royal favour. But I must insist that I am everlastingly devoted to Your Majesty. And I end by entreating my dear Prince to forgive me for troubling him with so tedious a letter. But I trust and pray Your Majesty will believe that I am more devoted to you than any man in this country ever was before.
Having sealed the letter and sent a messenger off with it, Lord Bute sat down heavily in his chair and leaned his elbows on his table. His mind went back to days long ago, when that other Prince of Wales, George’s father, had been alive, and one rainy day at the races he had been brought into the royal tent to play whist while they waited for the rain to stop. That had been the beginning; then he had been persona grata with the family; even the Prince of Wales had been fond of him; and when he had died it was true Bute had seen possibilities of ingratiating himself with the simple young boy who was destined to be king when his ageing grandfather died. Then of course the boy’s mother, the Dowager Princess of Wales, had fallen in love with him.
What a happy situation for a Scottish peer, debarred in so many ways from promotion simply because he was Scottish and not English, to find such favour in high places! And it had continued for so many years; there was a cosy domesticity about his relationship with the Princess, who was as devoted – perhaps even more so – to him as he was to her; and George had treated him as a father. And now … it had all changed.
He must report at once to the Princess for she might throw some light on the matter. As he rode through the streets he sat well back in his carriage. The people were slightly less hostile now, but they still talked of the jackboot and petticoat and could become offensive. If they made a riot, as they were constantly threatening to do, and it reached the King’s ears, he would be more against him than ever. He might even forbid him to see the Princess Dowager. Oh, no, she would never allow that; and she still had some influence with the King.
The Princess received him as warmly as ever.
‘Why are you disturbed?’ she said. ‘Please tell me what is wrong. Come and sit here, beside me, my dear. I do not like to see you look so worried.’
The Princess’s servants had all discreetly disappeared as they had been doing for years on the arrival of her lover; and they could be sure of privacy.
‘A most disturbing letter from the King. He does not wish to see me any more.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘It is true. Here it is.’
The Princess read it and made clucking noises. ‘George is a fool!’ she said. ‘He was always and always will be. He has no idea how to be a King.’
‘He is developing those ideas,’
retorted Bute. ‘He now believes he knows how to be a certain kind of king and, by God, he is going to be that kind of king. He has grown very stubborn. He makes up his mind and once it has been made up nothing on earth will shift him. And … he has turned against me.’
‘Something happened to George during that illness of his,’ mused the Princess. ‘He has grown very odd. That abrupt way of speaking … It’s almost irascible. He was never like that before. He was rather slow and even stuttered now and then. The illness has changed his personality, I fear. But perhaps he will change again and become more like his old self.’
Bute shook his head. ‘I do not think he will. He seems to have taken a great dislike to me and when I think of the affection he once had for me …’
‘My dear, he is ungrateful; but we have each other.’
‘I was afraid that he might attempt to stop my visiting you.’
‘That is something I would never allow.’
Bute smiled and turning to her embraced her warmly.
But he was thinking, a great deal of the excitement had gone out of the relationship. Now they were almost like a staid old married couple.
*
When he left the Princess Dowager Lord Bute called on Miss Vansittart, a young lady of good family who had been extremely pretty and still was, although she was no longer young. But she was still much younger than Lord Bute, who was over fifty.
She received him with pleasure and without surprise for in fact he had been calling on her for some time, finding her company a change after that of the Princess Dowager.
