Queen in Waiting: (Georgian Series) (32 page)

In the circumstances it seemed strange that he should have embarked for Scotland; but he knew that once the Queen was dead an occasion would arise which would force him to take this action. His friend Louis XIV, who fervently hoped, for the sake of Catholicism, that he would become King of England, had expected him to make a bid for his throne; and he had always implied that when the opportunity arose he would do so. It had
come; Mar had set up his standard in Scotland and loyal friends were waiting for him.

In his small craft with only eight guns and six friends, in the uniform of French naval officers, his spirits did lift a little when he saw the land. Scotland should be particularly dear to all Stuarts; it was natural that he should land here and find loyal friends. It was anathema to good Scotsmen to see a German rule them when they had a good Stuart King living.

At Peterhead he was welcomed by a very small company, but the welcome was warm; and, keeping his identity secret, he crossed Aberdeenshire to be met by the Earl of Mar, who welcomed him in the name of Scotland and for his services was awarded a dukedom.

‘Your Majesty,’ said Mar, ‘if it pleases you we shall crown you James VIII of Scotland and III of England at Scone in January.’

‘That will give me pleasure if it comes to pass,’ murmured James.

‘It shall be so, Your Majesty,’ Mar assured him.

And so to the palace of Scone, there to make a court for James III! This must be set up with all the pomp and ceremony of the Court at St James’s that there might be no doubt that this was indeed the palace of the King.

This was pleasant. James allowed himself to be treated as a king; he was gracious and charming. So different, it was said, from the crude George of Hanover.

There must be a ball and a banquet to celebrate the return of the King.

There was little money but that must be found somehow; all those who possessed jewels must give them to make a crown for the King and provide the money for the necessary celebrations.

And so while Mar and James celebrated his arrival in Scotland, while they busied themselves with plans for the coronation at Scone, Argyll was marching north with the Dutch troops who had now arrived in England.

When James heard the news he shook his head sadly.

‘We are lost,’ he said. ‘What hope against Argyll?’

‘Argyll is a Scot, Your Majesty,’ pointed out Mar. ‘I have heard it said that he is delaying his advance in your cause, not that of the German.’

‘Nay,’ murmured James, ‘too many come against us. I shall at least not be surprised if I am unfortunate, for so have I been from the day of my birth. It was doubted then that I was the King’s son; and shortly after my birth my father was driven from his throne. What luck can I expect now?’

‘All fortunes have to change, Your Majesty.’

‘Not mine,’ he mourned. ‘Not mine.’

The Highlanders were restive. They demanded of each other why they had been brought south. Why should there be this dismay because the enemy were approaching, when they had gathered together to meet the enemy. And what of King James? Why did he not show himself? Why did he never mingle with his soldiers? And why when he was seen did he have the look of a man whose cause is hopeless?

There was only one answer to those questions: these things were so because the cause was hopeless.

James and his Council decided they must retreat in the face of the advancing army; and while this marched north, Mar and James made their arrangements for James to return to France.

So the great rebellion known as the 1715 was quashed almost before it started.

What could the Highlanders do when they heard that their leader had left? There was no point in fighting without a cause.

They returned to the Highlands, there to hide until the ’15 was forgotten.

Good luck, not skill, had given the victory to George I.

In London the streets returned to normal; the Jacobites drank their toasts in secret; the camp disappeared from Hyde Park; and the soldiers returned from the north.

Ermengarda settled down happily to discover more opportunities for amassing a fortune; George grunted and was not sure whether he was pleased or sorry. He still thought with deep nostalgia of Hanover. The Prince and Princess of Wales took their walks in the Mall with their band of attendants and friends, talking their German-French-English which never
failed to amuse, telling everyone how much they admired England and the English.

They were secure. James would make no more attempts. They felt safer than ever before. The attempt had been made and failed; it was as though the people had given their verdict.

But the scribblers were still busy and the rhyme which won the most acclaim at that time and which was repeated in every coffee house, tavern, or wherever men and women congregated, was John Byrom’s:

‘God bless the King, God bless our Faith’s Defender!

God bless – no harm in blessing – the Pretender!

But who Pretender is and who is King?

God bless us all! That’s quite another thing.’

The King’s departure

MARY BELLENDEN WAS
leaning out of the window trying to see the last of a handsome man who had crossed the courtyard and was about to disappear through a door which led to the Prince’s apartments.

As he waved and was gone, she sighed and turning sharply, was aware of two of the maids of honour who had been watching her.

There could not have been two girls less alike than Margaret Meadows and Sophie Howe. Margaret had now folded her arms and was looking extremely disapproving while Sophie was giggling sympathetically.

‘Such unbecoming conduct!’ muttered Margaret.

‘I see nothing unbecoming,’ retorted Mary.

‘Of course you do not. You are so accustomed to such manners that you believe them to be acceptable. It’s more than I do.’

‘Really Margaret,’ protested Sophie. ‘Tell me, what harm can they do by waving to each other from a window?’

‘They’ve made an assignation, no doubt.’

‘There’s nothing wrong in
making
an assignation,’ pointed out Sophie. ‘Of course, it depends on what happens when they
keep it.’ She began to laugh so hilariously that, thought Margaret, she could only be remembering her own indiscretions.

‘Be silent, both of you,’ commanded Mary. ‘I won’t have you say such things about John.’

‘So it’s John?’ cried Sophie.

‘Yes, it’s John and he is an honourable gentleman and I don’t want either of you to start a gossip about him. Do you understand?’

‘Oh, we understand, we understand!’ cried Sophie. ‘We understand our Mary is at last in love.’

‘Don’t shout so,’ reprimanded Margaret. ‘I never saw such behaviour. And you, Sophie Howe, are the worst of the lot. As for you, Mary Bellenden, you should be careful. These men will talk of love until they get what they want and then…’

‘’Tis true, Mary,’ agreed Sophie. ‘Oh, how they talk of love! And afterwards they laugh and tell their friends all about the submissive lady while they advise them to try
their
luck.’

‘You don’t understand… either of you. You’re too much of a prude, Margaret, and Sophie’s too much of a flirt.’

‘And our dear Mary is… just as she should be?’ laughed Sophie.

‘I’m… serious.’

‘But is he?’ laughed Sophie. ‘I could tell you a few things. In fact if you want to know anything about the most fascinating subject in the world come to Sophie.’

‘And what would that be?’ demanded Margaret.

‘Men!’ laughed Sophie.

‘If you know anything about them, Sophie Howe, it’s all you do know,’ retorted Margaret.

‘There’s no need to know anything else, I do assure you, Margaret.’

Mary listened to them dreamily. Colonel John Campbell was the handsomest man in the Prince’s bedchamber; one day they would marry but for the present they must be content to wait for each other. Poor John had little money; and she, as one of the greatest beauties of the court, was expected to make a brilliant match. In fact everyone knew that the Prince had his eye on her. Not, thought Mary scornfully, that that will do him much good. She was not going to take the easy road to honours
by becoming a prince’s – and later perhaps a king’s – mistress.

In fact, thought Mary, she would be a fool to take any notice of the Prince’s insinuations. He was not really very interested in any woman as a woman; his great desire was to prove his manhood and this he thought he could best do by implying that he was the insatiable lover.

How trivial, how foolish these vanities seemed when compared with the love she and John Campbell had for each other.

One day, John, she was thinking, we’ll be married. Perhaps secretly at first… but shall we care about that? John had told her about the great love of his hero the Duke of Marlborough for his Duchess; they had been married secretly in the days before he had become famous; and whatever might be said of the great Duke or his termagant of a Duchess, none doubted their affection for each other. Their love had endured through all their fame and their misfortunes.

‘It shall be so with us,’ John had said.

He would be as great a soldier as Marlborough, she had replied, but she trusted she would never be such a quarrelsome woman as the Duchess.

She would never be anything but the most charming, the most beautiful woman in the world, he told her.

‘You’re one who has made up his mind,’ she had retorted, for the rival charms of herself and Molly Lepel were continually sung in the court and there were continual arguments as to which of the two was the more beautiful.

‘Be careful of the Prince,’ John had fearfully said; and she had laughingly assured him he had no need to warn her.

Sophie Howe was saying: ‘I told the man I could not pay him yet. I told him it should be payment enough for him to serve a maid of honour.’

‘If he complains to the Princess you will be reprimanded, I can tell you.’

‘Oh, Margaret, how tiresome
good
people can be! I tell you I owe such a lot that I dare not try to calculate how much. In fact when a bill is sent to me I hide it… quickly.’

‘Which is just what I should expect of you. Don’t forget you were one of the chief offenders in church and it’s due to you
that the maids have to be boarded up. You will be getting a bad reputation, Sophie Howe. I’m surprised that Her Highness keeps you in her service.’

‘She can hardly dismiss the granddaughter of Grandpapa Prince Rupert… even though there is a slight blot on the family escutcheon.’

‘You are a frivolous creature and you’ll come to a bad end one day.’

‘Well I shall have lots of fun on the way there, you can be sure. Oh how I wish I were rich! How I wish I had a nice kind friend who would pay all my bills so that I need not be bothered to hide them.’

‘That’s what we should all like,’ said Mary, coming out of her day-dream. ‘When I think of all I owe, I shudder.’

‘Goot day to you, ladies!’ The door had been opened and the Prince of Wales, accompanied by the Duke of Argyll, and his brother Lord Islay, and a few of his gentlemen, came into the room.

The three girls immediately curtsied and the Prince smiled benignly on them all, but his eyes rested on Mary Bellenden.

‘And very pretty you look,’ he commented.

‘Your Royal Highness is gracious,’ answered Margaret Meadows.

‘Always ready to be gracious to pretty young ladies.’

His eyes were almost pleading, but Mary refused to look at him.

He rocked on his heels and put his hands into his pockets. He brought out some coins which he jingled in his hands.

‘Alvays ready to be gracious,’ he went on; and this time Mary could not avoid his eye. ‘Very ready,’ he added.

She bowed her head.

‘Your Highness would wish us to acquaint the Princess of your presence?’ she asked boldly.

‘The Princess, yes. Ve are come to accompany her to the theatre. You like the theatre?’

‘Very much, Your Highness.’

‘It is goot.’

Little eyes, alight with desire, implied that, like John
Campbell, he thought Mary Bellenden the prettiest girl at court; and it was fitting, surely, that the Prince should choose the prettiest to be his mistress.

‘We must not detain Your Highnesses,’ said Mary.

And she hurried from the ante-chamber to the Princess’s apartment.

Caroline enjoyed riding through the streets to Drury Lane. Since the rebellion she had become so popular – more so, she believed, than her husband; and she was secretly pleased that this should be so.

When the Prince became the King she would be Queen and she had no intention of being a background figure. She meant to choose the ministers who would serve them; and she was determined that everyone should realize the importance of the Queen, for, she often wondered, when George Augustus betrayed some foolish vanity, what would become of royalty if she did not take the lead. George Augustus was a fool; he must be to grow angry when he remembered how short he was, and keep a mistress like Henrietta Howard for whom he had no great fancy, merely because he wanted it to be known that he had a mistress. George Augustus was a fool; but his wife was a wise woman.

Therefore it was a pleasure to know that she was becoming known to these people and that they liked what they heard.

She was not only wiser than the Prince, but wiser than the King also, for George I cared nothing for his unpopularity, which showed he was a fool. He clearly betrayed his preference for Hanover – and that was almost as great an offence in the eyes of the English as his refusal to speak their language. The Prince, though not unpopular like the King, missed opportunities – and the scribblers saw through him and did not hesitate to make their vitriolic pen-portraits of him.

Caroline learned that the English enjoyed treating their rulers with derision, and decided she would give them no opportunity to treat her so if she could help it.

‘Long live the Princess! Long live the Prince!’

She gazed at him uneasily. Did he notice that the cheers for the Princess were a little more prolonged than those for the
Prince? She hoped not, or he would be angry with her. How well she was beginning to know this little husband of hers! That was all to the good. The more she understood, the easier it would be to handle him.