Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  Yet on this day when he had gone to Sheridan for help, he felt as affectionate towards him as he ever had.

  Sheridan looked into his glass and said: ‘It must be ended … with all speed.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Does Your Highness know the extent of your debts?’

  ‘I have no idea, Sherry, and the calculation of them would so depress me that I have put off making it.’

  ‘Parliament should settle them.’

  ‘Is it possible?’

  ‘It would not be the first time.’

  ‘No, and I am really kept very short.’

  ‘I think it should be talked over with Fox.’

  The Prince nodded gloomily. It seemed now as always that he could not manage without Fox’s help.

  When Maria heard that the bailiffs had been to Carlton House she was aghast.

  ‘My darling, what are you going to do?’ she demanded.

  ‘Oh, it will be settled, never fear.’

  ‘But, dearest, we will have to consider in future. You spend far too much on me.’

  ‘I could never spend too much on you.’

  ‘I should be most unhappy to be an encumbrance.’

  ‘The most delightful encumbrance in the world,’ he assured her.

  ‘But, my dearest, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Fox is coming to see me. You can trust that wily old fellow to come up with the answer.’

  ‘Fox.’ Her long aquiline nose wrinkled in disgust.

  ‘Dearest, I know you don’t like him but he’ll know what should be done.’

  ‘May I be there when you speak to him?’

  The Prince hesitated, but she looked so appealing that he agreed.

  Thus when Fox came with Sheridan to discuss the Prince’s debts he found Maria present.

  ‘Maria is fully aware of the situation,’ explained the Prince.

  Fox bowed and Maria returned his greeting coolly. Sheridan she accepted more graciously. She thought he was a bad influence for the Prince because he was a drinker and a gambler and had numerous affairs with women, but he was at least clean and so more tolerable.

  ‘Maria thinks the debts must be paid at once,’ said the Prince, looking at her fondly. ‘She has been lecturing me on my extravagance and says that at the earliest possible moment my creditors must be paid and economies made.’

  ‘A view,’ said Fox, ‘with which I am in entire agreement.’

  The Prince smiled from one to the other rather wistfully. He would have liked them to be good friends – these two whom he loved more than any other human beings.

  ‘The question,’ put in Sherian, ‘is how?’

  ‘Has Your Highness a rough estimate of the amount?’ asked Fox.

  The Prince thought that somewhere in the neighbourhood of £250,000 might see him through.

  Fox was taken aback. It was a very large sum.

  ‘There are two alternatives,’ he said. ‘Your Highness can either approach the King or the Parliament.’

  ‘Neither appeals,’ replied the Prince. ‘The Parliament means Pitt – and he has never been a friend of mine. And the idea of going to my father and asking him for money is completely repulsive to me.’

  ‘It may be the only answer,’ warned Fox.

  ‘He’ll crow. He’ll jeer. Eh, what? What? You’ve no idea what an old fool he has become in the heart of his family. I would do a great deal to avoid going to him and begging for his help.

  ‘That leaves Parliament.’

  ‘And Mr Pitt.’

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ said Sheridan.

  And so it was agreed.

  When Pitt received the request to settle the Prince’s debts, he decided that he would do nothing about it.

  Why should his Ministry help support a young man who was clearly the tool of the Opposition? The Prince was extravagant. Very well, let the public know how extravagant he was, but that was no concern of Mr Pitt and his Ministry.

  To tell the Prince of Wales – who might very well be King at any time – that he would do nothing to help him would have been a foolish and reckless act; and Mr Pitt though a young man could not be accused of folly or recklessness.

  He prevaricated; he asked for details; he shelved the matter for a few days, a few weeks. It was a large sum of money, he pointed out. It was a matter which could not be settled overnight.

  Meanwhile the creditors were growing impatient, and the Prince, fearing that the bailiffs might return to Carlton House, went again to Fox.

  ‘There is no help for it,’ said Fox. ‘Your Highness will have to ask the King. After all, it is your due. Your allowance is not large enough. As Prince of Wales you are not expected to live like a pauper.’

  So the Prince wrote to the King telling him that he had debts and that a sum of £250,000 would cover them.

  The King replied that he was considering the matter. Nothing happened for a few weeks; then the Prince wrote again.

  The Prince must understand, replied the King, that before the money could be advanced to him, it must be known how it was spent. There was one item for £54,000. What could have been the reason for spending such a large, unspecified sum?

  The money had been spent on furniture, plate and jewellery which the Prince had insisted on giving Maria and he was not going to give the King details of that.

  The King wrote a curt note that he would not pay the Prince’s debts nor would he give his sanction to an increase in his son’s allowance.

  When the Prince received this letter he was so angry, realizing now that all the time neither the King nor Pitt had any intention of paying his debts, that he declared he would make his own arrangements. He would shut up Carlton House; he would live like a private gentleman and he would pay £40,000 a year out of his allowance to his creditors. And the country should know how he was treated by his father and his father’s Government.

  When the King received this letter from the Prince he was disturbed. If the Prince shut up Carlton House the people would soon know it. It was not becoming for a Prince of Wales to live like a private gentleman. The people had always been on the Prince’s side; they would be so now; particularly as the King himself had had debts which the Parliament had had to settle.

  He summoned Pitt to ask his advice.

  Pitt read the letters and did not like the tone of them.

  ‘It would not be good,’ he said, ‘for the Prince to become a martyr.’

  ‘I agree,’ replied the King; ‘I will write to him without delay and let him know that I have not given him an absolute refusal.’

  ‘I think that an excellent idea, Your Majesty,’ said Pitt. ‘I suppose these debts should be paid, but at the same time His Highness should be made to realize that Your Majesty’s Government does not look with pleasure on his extravagant way of life.’

  ‘He shall be made to understand that, Mr Pitt, I promise you.’

  When Pitt had left the King immediately wrote to the Prince. He had not made a complete refusal, he explained, but if the Prince proposed taking any rash steps he should remember that he himself would be the one who would be obliged to take the consequences of them.

  On receiving his father’s letter the Prince cried: ‘Very well. I’ll show him.’

  Maria was with him. She was delighted by his resolution and that made him all the more determined.

  ‘You are right,’ she cried. ‘I know you are right.’

  She did not realize, dear Maria, that nothing could have put the King into a more unfortunate position; to her it was just a matter of economy.

  ‘I shall sell all my horses,’ he told her. ‘I shall shut up Carlton House, except a few rooms. You and I will go down to Brighton. It is cheaper living there. By God, I can imagine my father’s pique when he hears I have put up my horses and carriages for sale. And I shall do so … publicly. It is time everyone knew how I am treated.’

  Fox was gleeful.

  ‘This,’ he declared to Sheridan, ‘will be a defea
t for the King and Pitt. We must see that everyone views it in that light. If the Prince suggested going abroad for a spell for the sake of economy it would do no harm. My God, this is going to make old George wish he had paid young George’s debts. Depend upon it, he will try to do so now. But we don’t really want him to … not yet.’

  Fox was very merry. Oh, clever Mr Pitt, who had prevaricated a little too long. Oh, stupid old George, who did not realize that the people were asking themselves and each other why it was that he quarrelled with all his family.

  Fox set his writers working on their pamphlets and cartoons. ‘We must make the most of the situation, Sherry,’ he said. ‘A little discomfort won’t hurt young George. In fact, I believe he is enjoying it.’

  And so it seemed. The Prince of Wales, like other members of the royal family, was finding the game of baiting the King highly diverting.

  In the coffee houses people talked about the quarrel between the Prince and the King; it had taken the place of the Fitzherbert affair. What an amusing and fascinating personality they had in the Prince of Wales! There was always some excitement going on about him. God bless the Prince of Wales, cried the people. As for the King, he was an old bore, he and his fertile Charlotte. The Prince and his Maria Fitzherbert were more pleasant to look at and their story was so romantic.

  Fox and his friends talked of the impossibility of the King to get along with any member of the royal family. He had quarrelled with his brothers, Gloucester and Cumberland, because of their marriages. Was it not time the bones of those old skeletons stopped rattling? Gloucester was forced to live in Florence because he found it undignified that his wife, a royal duchess, should not be received at Court; the Cumberlands were not received either because they had married without the King’s consent. Prince Frederick, Duke of York, was in Hanover learning to be a soldier (the King did not think the English Army good enough for his sons), William was at sea, Edward was in Geneva, and the younger Princes were to be sent to Gottingen because the King did not consider the standard of Oxford and Cambridge as high as that of the German university.

  What a ridiculous old man this Kings of theirs was! No wonder his family quarrelled with him. And now he had treated the Prince of Wales so badly that he had to give up Carlton House and had been forced to sell all his horses and carriages in order to pay his debts.

  Was it not a disgrace to the nation that the Prince of Wales did not possess his own carriage?

  When the Prince and Mrs Fitzherbert drove down to Brighton they went by hired post-chaise. This was the first time Royalty had ever had to travel in a hired conveyance and the Prince took a delight in allowing Mrs Fitzherbert to pay whenever they hired a conveyance.

  The nation was shocked, and at Windsor the King was sadly aware of his growing unpopularity.

  The Prince had successfully turned the tables. He was clearly enjoying his spell of penury, whereas the King was finding it most embarrassing.

  Attack at St James’s

  ‘DEAR HAGGERDORN,’ SAID the Queen, ‘how I shall miss you when you have gone.’

  Mrs Haggerdorn, faithful attendant for twenty-five years, turned away to hide the tears which filled her eyes. For so long now she had dreamed of going home and now that the time had come she felt this reluctance to go – but her only real regret was leaving the Queen.

  ‘Your Majesty has been so good to me,’ whispered Haggerdorn. ‘That is why I am sad to go.’

  ‘Twenty-five years is a long time,’ said the Queen.

  ‘Ah, Madam, I shall never forget the day we left. And that dreadful sea journey when Your Majesty set such an example to us all by playing the harpsichord when we were all so sick.’

  ‘I happened to be a good sailor, Haggerdorn; and I expect I was a little defiant. It is a terrible anxiety to come to a country one has never seen … to a husband who is a stranger …’

  ‘Ah, Your Majesty, I know it. In my small way I too suffered. But Your Majesty has been a blessing to His Majesty and the English people. You have given them so many sons and daughters.’

  ‘Too many, perhaps, Haggerdorn. We have had our troubles. But cheer up. You will soon be in Mecklenburg. Think of that. You will see my family, my old friends. Do you think they will remember me, Haggerdorn, after twenty-five years?’

  ‘They could never forget you, Madam.’

  ‘Perhaps not. They will have heard news of the Queen of England from time to time. I expect they hear of the scandals my son has a talent for creating.’

  There was a hint of dislike in her voice which startled Haggerdorn. She remembered how at one time the Queen’s voice had softened every time she spoke of the Prince of Wales.

  Perhaps, thought the mild and peace-loving Haggerdorn, it was indeed a good thing that she was going home. There had always been trouble with the Prince and now that he was growing older those troubles would grow with him; and the other boys were growing into the trouble-making age. Madam von Schwellenburg had always been so arrogant and demanding. Then there was His Majesty the King. Only those close to the Queen realized how anxious she was on his account and how oddly he could behave at times.

  He entered the Queen’s apartment at that moment, brows furrowed, eyebrows bristling, his face that unhealthy brick red.

  The Queen said: ‘Your Majesty, dear Haggerdorn is saying goodbye to me. You know she is leaving us.’

  The King looked at Haggerdorn, his eyes softened by sentiment.

  ‘Ah yes, yes, good Haggerdorn. Pleasant journey. Sorry to see you go. Very sorry.’

  Haggerdorn curtsied as elegantly as creaking knees and rheumatic pains would allow. Oh, yes, it was time she left draughty Windsor Lodge. She needed a little comfort in her old age.

  ‘I shall miss her,’ said the Queen.

  ‘Yes, we shall miss her.’ The King was at his best on such an occasion. He was kind and showed an interest in Haggerdorn’s plans. No wonder, thought the Queen, that it was said he was more like a country squire than a king.

  He made Haggerdorn tell him what she intended to do; and assured her that he would see that she went off well provided for.

  Yes, thought the Queen, a very good squire.

  How critical she was becoming – of the King, of her sons, of her life!

  Haggerdorn’s impending departure had made her think of that day twenty-five years ago when the dazzling prospect of being Queen of England had been revealed to her. And what had it amounted to? She had become a breeder of children. Fifteen children in twenty-five years. There had not been a great deal of time when she had not been either pregnant or giving birth. Two little boys had died – Octavius and Alfred – but thirteen were left to her; and now that they were growing up, they for whom she had lived and suffered were turning against her. Her eldest son despised both her and his father; and never before had she been aware of such friction in the family. She was anxious about the Prince; she was anxious about the King. Lucky Haggerdorn who had no responsibilities, no ties, who would go home to Mecklenburg-Strelitz and enjoy a peaceful old age!

  When Haggerdorn had been dismissed the Queen said to the King: ‘I have been thinking about the replacement of Haggerdorn.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said the King, now as always deeply interested in household matters.

  ‘I have an idea. I wonder what Your Majesty will think of it.’

  The change in him was miraculous. She thought: If he could be shut away from State affairs and troublesome sons, he could be a happy family man. He should be concerned with only small matters. Poor George, to have been born heir to a crown!

  ‘I am eager to hear,’ he told her.

  ‘Do you remember the authoress we met at dear Mrs Delaney’s … the famous Miss Burney? I was thinking of giving the place to her.’

  The King’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘Dear Mrs Delaney,’ he said. ‘I remember well.’

  That was a pleasant memory. He had set Mrs Delaney up in a house close to Windsor Lodge; he had supplied all the furniture himself an
d had even seen to the stocking of the kitchen cupboards. She remembered his great glee when he brought Mrs Delaney to see it and tears of pleasure now came into his eyes at the memory.

  ‘Miss Burney,’ said the King. ‘A very clever young lady, so they tell me.’

  ‘There can be no doubt that she is clever. I should like to hear her read her own books. We are in need of a reader and it seems to me an excellent plan to have a famous authoress in the household.’

  The King was nodding. Such a pleasant encounter. Miss Burney had been so overcome by royal condescension and both he and the Queen had talked to her of her books.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ went on the King. ‘I think you should give the place to Miss Burney.’

  It was ten o’clock on a hot July morning when the carriage containing Miss Burney and her father left St Martin’s Street for Windsor. Dr Burney was delighted with this honour bestowed on his daughter; Fanny herself was less certain.

  What was she, a famous novelist, the darling of London literary society, accustomed to enlightened conversation, going to do in what she knew must be the stultified atmosphere of the royal household?

  Perhaps it was not such a fortunate day when she had gone to stay with Mrs Delaney and had made the acquaintance of the King and Queen. Who would have thought from that meeting that this would have happened?

  But one did not apparently decline what was undoubtedly looked upon as an honour.

  Oh dear, thought Fanny, there is nothing to be done but submit.

  And she thought of the Queen – the squat ugly little woman with the German accent; and the big alarming King with those fierce eyebrows and that disconcerting habit of shooting questions at one which perhaps did not need an answer. ‘Eh, eh? What, what?’ And speaking so quickly that if one were a little nervous – and who would not be speaking to the King? – one just could not understand what he was talking about.

  But Father, dear Father, was delighted; and so were the family. She could imagine them all boasting: ‘Fanny, you know our famous Fanny, is now in the royal household, on terms – the most familiar terms – with Her Majesty the Queen.’