While the Delicate Investigation had been in progress, Maria had been concerned in a court case of her own. A few years previously she had taken a little girl to live with her while her parents, Lord Hugh and Lady Horatia Seymour, had gone to Maderia because Lady Horatia was suffering from galloping consumption.
Maria, one of whose greatest griefs was that she had no children of her own, doted on the little girl and wished to adopt her legally; but, on the death of the child’s parents, her aunt, Lady Waldegrave, also wanted to adopt her. Maria, who had cared for the child for a few years, was determined to keep her. The Prince of Wales had been fond of little Mary Seymour, ‘Minney’ as she called herself; and seemed much more interested in her than in his own daughter Charlotte. She would clamber all over him and christened him ‘Prinney’ to rhyme with Minney which amused him greatly; and he fit when the three of them were together they were indeed happy family.
He had been very sorry when Lady Waldegrave claimed her; and declared that they must have a legal ruling on the matter, and was so upset to see his dear Maria heartbroken at the prospect of losing Minney that he offered to settle £10,000 if the child if she were left in Maria’s care.
This case had been going on for some months and during it, the Prince became very friendly with the Hertfords because the Marquess of Hertford as head of the Seymour family agreed that he would put an end to the proceedings by declaring that he would adopt the child himself. Since he was the head of the family no one could dispute this; the case was settled and then the Marquess appointed Maria Minney’s guardian.
This was very satisfactory, but during the proceedings the Prince had become infatuated by the Marchioness of Hertford.
It was not that he no longer loved Maria, he was careful to assure himself. He did love her; but Lady Hertford seemed sylphlike in comparison. He could not take his eyes from her when they were in company together; and people were beginning to notice. Miss Pigot tried to comfort Maria. The household had changed since the Prince had come back. They were, according to Miss Pigot, living happily-ever-after. And now they had the adorable Minney.
Maria had not noticed at first the way things were going so immersed had she been in the battle for Minney. Now she was elated because Minney was hers.
But one day she said to Miss Pigot: ‘The Prince is giving a dinner party for the Marchioness of Hertford. It’s not the first time.’
‘Well, I expect he’s grateful to them for giving you darling Minney.’
‘I don’t think it’s that,’ said Maria slowly. ‘And he wants me there— to make it seem— respectable. Isn’t that just like him?’
‘Nonsense!’ said Miss Pigot. ‘Of course he wants you there. Doesn’t he always want you there?’
But Miss Pigot was beginning to be worried. It would tragic if anything went wrong now that they had gain little Minney.
Caroline was settling into her new life. She gave wild parties at Montague House to which were invited all kind of people from politicians to poets. Lord Byron was constant visitor and a great favourite with the Princess.
‘A strange moody man,’ she confided in Lady Charlotte Campbell who had come to serve her. ‘Yet he can be the gayest I ever met. And so amusing. Such fun. He is two men. He is one for the people he loathes and another for those he loves— and I think I am one of those he loves. He is so good at my parties. I sometimes declare he shall come to all of them.’
Lady Charlotte listened attentively. She had been a great beauty when she was young and she had married Colonel John Campbell by whom she had had nine children. The Princess of Wales had taken to her at once, for anyone who had had nine children excited her admiration and envy. When Lady Charlotte’s husband died Caroline had asked her to join her household and they had become great friends, What the Princess did not know was that Lady Charlotte kept a diary and recorded every little incident. Lady Charlotte fancied herself as a writer and had decided that when she had time she would devote herself to the art.
In the meantime she could enjoy her diary which would remind her of the Princess if ever she should cease to serve her.
Caroline had found her the perfect confidante because she listened so intently to everything that was told her and remembered too. More and more she began to confide in her while Lady Charlotte diligently wrote of the Princess’s penchant for people whose conduct was somewhat scandalous, like Lord Byron. She was so unconventional. When she was at Kensington she would walk in the gardens and talk to strangers as though she were an ordinary member of the public. Nor was she content to stay in the gardens but would wander out into the streets and enjoy what she called the ‘dear people’, forgetting that at any moment she might be recognized. She liked to wander about incognito; and if she saw a poor child she must immediately stop and give it money. Once she looked over a house in Bayswater which was to let and pretended that she was considering renting it. She did the maddest things.
She had taken a great interest in a family of Italian musicians, the Sapios— father, mother and son— all excellent in their profession; but Caroline became so enraptured by their talents and their company that she treated them as friends and had them to dine and walk with her and call upon her at any hour of the day.
And in addition to this eccentric behaviour there was Willikin, growing into a most objectionable boy. He was hideously spoilt, refused to learn his lessons and wanted the Princess’s perpetual attention.
He was generally disliked in the household; the only one who could see no wrong in him was the Princess Caroline.
There were letters from Brunswick. The Duchess, now that she had no husband, was thinking of returning to her native land. Moreover, Napoleon had overrun practically the whole of Europe and exile was necessary. The Duchess felt that she should be in England, for there she could be near her daughter and see something of her little granddaughter, the Princess Charlotte.
Caroline was not very pleased at the thought of having her mother living in England but she saw that she must receive her graciously. Her brother also was in exile since he had been driven from his country by the invader, so he too just come to England.
It was a dreary prospect, but there was nothing to be done but bow to it. The royal family made no effort to welcome their relations so Caroline put Montague House at her mother’s disposal while she herself remained in Kensington Palace.
This was a hardship because the unconventional life she could lead in Blackheath was more to her taste than that in Kensington.
The King, though, was a family man, and he was sorry rot, his sister who chattered incessantly and talked of the changes in England since she had left and all that she had suffered in Brunswick. And eventually he took pity on Caroline and gave the Duchess a house in Spring Gardens.
It was by no means grand but the Duchess contrived to make it so; and she would sit in the dingy rooms as though in a palace and receive, for now she had returned to England she was very conscious of her royalty and wished everyone else to be so too.
Caroline ran through Montague House declaring how good it was to be back.
‘Poor Mamma!’ she said to that diligent recorder Lady Charlotte. ‘I believe she is so happy to be here. It reminds her of the old days when she was Princess Royal. And her little Court there in Spring Gardens— it is sad, don’t you think Lady Charlotte? Court! I call it a Dullification. I have rarely been so bored as at dear Mamma’s Spring Garden Court. Ah, you are thinking how sad it is that she has been driven from her home but perhaps it is not so sad as you think. She always had to take second place, you know, when my father was alive. Madame de Hertzfeldt, his mistress, was the power in the land. Dear Lady Charlotte, you always tempt me to shock you because you are so easily shocked. Never mind. I like you. You are my dear friend, my angel, and we shall entertain now. I confess I am eager to fill this place with people who make me laugh.’
So she planned parties with amusing people and ran shrieking among her guests playing Blind Man’s Buff, a game
which had always been a favourite of hers.
One day the King called. As soon as she saw him, Caroline thought he looked strange. He kept telling her how pleased he was to see her, that she was a beautiful woman and constantly in his thoughts.
It was pleasant to be back on the old terms of affection which had been interrupted by the Delicate Investigation; and she told him how happy she was.
‘Ah,’ he said almost roguishly. ‘I believe you love your old uncle.’
But indeed I do. No one has been kinder to me. Why I do not know what I should have done without your friendship, for I have had little from the rest of the family.’
‘Let us sit down,’ he said and drew her on to a sofa.
She was alarmed, for his manner had become stranger and he called her Elizabeth. Then he talked incoherently of his love for her and what he would do for her and how she was in fact his Queen.
Caroline realized that his mind was wandering and when he fell on her she rolled off the sofa and ran out of the room. She stood at the door listening and peeping in she saw him sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands.
Poor Uncle George! she thought. He mistook me for someone else. He is truly going mad. She went back into the room and when he looked up she realized that he had no remembrance of what had happened. ‘It is good of Your Majesty to call on me,’ she said.
He stood up and as he approached, she curtsied.
He said: ‘I should like to see a reconciliation. It’s not good, eh, what? The Prince of Wales and his wife living apart— not together. It’s wrong. You understand that, eh, what?’
She said she did understand but it was the wish of the Prince of Wales and nothing could alter that.
When he had left she was depressed thinking of him.
He is close to the brink now, she thought. And if I lost him I wouldn’t have a friend at Court.
There was always scandal circulating round the royal family and the King lived in perpetual fear of some fresh exposure. He could not understand why his sons should have this habit for creating trouble. It made him all the more determined to see that his daughters had no chance of doing so. He was glad there were no marriages for them. Only the Princess Royal had achieved it and she appeared to be living quietly with her husband. No husbands for the others, he had told himself grimly. They shall be kept here— under my eye and that of their mother. The Prince of Wales was creating fresh scandal with Lady Hertford— another of his famous grandmothers. Not content with refusing to live with the Princess of Wales he had returned to Mrs. Fitzherbert— a good woman and a beautiful one who should have been enough for anyone. But no, now it was Lady Hertford and God alone knew what fresh trouble was in store there.
And he was so anxious about Amelia, his youngest, his favourite, his darling.
He used to tell himself that no matter what trouble the others caused him there was always Amelia.
But even she caused him anxiety for she grew more wan every day. She had developed a lameness in her knee which he knew gave her great pain.
He would weep when he saw her and embrace her covering her face with kisses.
‘Your Papa feels the pain with you, my darling. You, understand that, eh, what?’
And she would nod and tell him: ‘But it is not such had pain, Papa,’ just for the sake of comforting him. His angel, his darling! How different from his sons.
The sea bathing at Worthing had done her good but only for a time. And he had to face the fact that as the months passed she grew no better.
She was his little invalid. He asked after her continually. ‘She is better today, Your Majesty,’ they would tell him; and he believed that they told him so on the Queen’s orders, for the Queen was determined that the King must not be upset.
His eyes were failing and he would put his face close to hers trying to tell himself that she looked a little better than when he last saw her; and whenever he asked her, she would always say, ‘Much better, Papa. Much, much better.’ And perhaps add: ‘I took a little walk in the gardens today.’
So even the best of his children gave him cause to worry. In spite of his expectations, trouble came from an unsuspected quarter.
The Prime Minister, Lord Portland, came to see him on a grave matter.
‘It concerns the Duke of York, Your Majesty, and a certain Mary Anne Clarke.’
‘Mary Anne Clarke!’ He had never heard of the woman. And Frederick couldn’t have made one of those marriages his sons were fond of making because he was married already. ‘Who is this woman?’
‘A woman, Your Majesty, of dubious character.’
‘ H’m. And what is the trouble, eh, what?’
‘A question has been raised in the House of Commons, sir, by a Colonel Wardle. He brings a charge against the Duke for wrong use of military patronage which as Commander in Chief of the Army he has been in a position to carry out.’
‘And what has this— woman to do with it?’
‘She is the Duke’s mistress, Your Majesty, and has been selling promotions which she has persuaded the Duke to give.’
‘Oh, God,’ cried the King. ‘What next?’
The Prime Minister said that he feared a great scandal as the House was insisting on an enquiry which would of course expose the Duke’s intrigue with this not very reputable young woman and would— if the charges were proved— result in his being expelled from the Army.
‘And so— there is to be this— enquiry.’
‘I fear so, sir.’
So this is the next disaster, thought the King. Can so much happen in one family? Am I dreaming it? Am I going mad? The great topic for the time was the scandal of the Duke of York and Mary Anne Clarke.
Mary Anne was an extremely handsome woman in her early thirties who had begun her life in Ball and Pin Alley near Chancery Lane. Her mother was widowed when Mary Anne was a child and later married a compositor, the son of whose master was attracted by the pretty child and had her educated. Mary Anne in due course married a stone mason named Clarke and later went on the stage where she played Portia at the Haymarket Theatre. Here she was noticed and became the mistress of several members of the peerage. At the house of one of these she made the acquaintance of the Duke of York who was immediately infatuated, and set her up in a mansion in Gloucester Place.
The doting Duke had promised her a large income but was constantly in debt and not always able to pay it; Mary Anne’s expenses were enormous and so to provide the large sums she needed she had the idea of selling promotions in the Army.
This was the sordid story which became the gossip of London. The Duke was in despair, but when Mary Anne was called upon to give evidence at the bar of the House of Commons she did so with jaunty abandon.
The Duke’s letters to her were read aloud in the House and these caused great merriment. All over London they were quoted— and embellished. This was the cause célèbre of the day.
The King shut himself into his apartments and the Queen could hear him talking to himself, talking, talking, until he was hoarse. He was praying too. And it was clear that he did not know for whom he prayed.
Amelia was sent to comfort him; and this she did by telling him how well she felt— never so well in her life.
And that did ease him considerably.
It emerged from the Select Committee which tried the case, that the Duke was not guilty of nefarious practices however much his mistress might have been; but all the same he had to resign his post in the Army.
He broke with Mary Anne, but he had not finished with her because she threatened to publish the letters he had written to her. These were bought for £7,000 down and a Pension of £400 a year.
But people went on talking of Mary Anne Clarke; and it was noticed that the King’s health was even worse than it had been before.
The Mary Anne Clarke scandal had scarcely died down when another and far more dramatic one burst on London, This concerned Ernest, Duke of Cumberland — the King’s fifth son.
Ernes
t was the last son the King would have expected to bring trouble. He had been sent to Germany to learn his soldiering where he had acquitted himself with honour; and when he had come back to England in 1796 he was made a lieutenant-general. Not only was he an excellent military leader but he had shown some skill in the House of Lords; he was an able debater and was regarded with respect by the Prince of Wales. The most likeable quality of the brothers was their loyalty to each other; and Ernest was determined that when George became King he would be beside him.
It was the night of May 10th. Duke Ernest had been to a concert and according to himself, retired to bed in his apartments in St. James’s Palace. Soon after midnight his screams awoke his servants who rushing in found him in his bed with a wound at the side of his head. One of the servants had fallen over the Duke’s sword which lay, on the floor and was spattered with fresh blood.
The Palace was soon aroused; doctors were sent for; and it was noticed that the Prince’s valet, an Italian named Sellis, was missing. One of the servants went to call him and ran screaming from the room. Sellis was lying on the floor, a razor beside him, his throat cut.
What happened in the Duke of Cumberland’s apartments on that fateful last night in May no one could be quite sure but there was rumour enough. The Duke’s story was that a noise in his room had awakened him and before he had time to light a candle, he had received a blow on the side of his head. He had started up, and as his eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness he received another and more violent blow; he had felt the blood streaming down his face as he fell back on his pillows screaming for help.
That was all he could tell them.
Indiscretions of the Queen Page 27
