Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series) (40 page)

‘You think too far ahead, my love,’ said Maria gently; but she was pleased. He knew that the dearest wish of her life was not for fine titles and riches but to be acknowledged as his wife – though of course that acknowledgement could only mean that she had a right to the second highest title a woman could attain.

Sheridan said: ‘We must act with care at this stage, Your
Highness. It is to discuss our moves that I thought we three should meet.’

They sat down and talked.

Fox must come back as soon as possible, said Sheridan.

The Prince looked anxiously at Maria who was naturally not at all pleased at the thought of the return of the man who had, she had said, treated her as though she were a street walker, but she knew of his brilliance; she knew he was the natural leader of the Whigs and she knew too how important the Whigs were to the Prince. Yes, she reluctantly agreed, Fox must be brought back.

Both Sheridan and the Prince were relieved. But one could trust Maria’s good sense and her greatest concern really was for her husband’s well-being even if this should be brought about at her own discomfiture.

‘So we will pursue the hunt for Fox without delay,’ said Sheridan, not mentioning to Maria that the hunt had already been in progress for days and that he – and the Prince – were disturbed because the statesman seemed difficult to find. He had been traced to Geneva but had left a week or so before the messenger arrived and none there knew of his next destination.

Sheridan, whose ambition was great, realized that the task before him was one for a practised politician; he was scarcely that, and to take a false step at such an important stage could ruin his political future. He loved the excitement of politics; he was deeply in debt all round, partly because he neglected the business of earning a living in the theatre for the sake of the excitement politics offered – and he was a drinker, a gambler and spendthrift. So he dared not take a wrong step; he needed Fox.

‘There are two alternatives,’ he said. ‘Your Highness could in a few weeks’ time be King of England …’

‘The King seemed strong enough when he seized me,’ replied the Prince. ‘I don’t think the trouble is his
physical
health.’

Sheridan replied: ‘If the King were mad and still continued to live, there would be a Regency.’

‘A Regent should have the power of a king,’ said the Prince.

‘It would depend, Your Highness, on what power the Parliament gave him. Your Highness should not forget that we shall have Mr Pitt to deal with.’

The Prince’s eyes narrowed. Mr Pitt, the enemy! The man who had forced the denial of the marriage out of Fox!

‘We can be sure,’ he said grimly, ‘that Mr Pitt will do his utmost to deny me my rights.’

Sheridan nodded. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is why we need Charles James Fox who, while he will serve Your Highness with all his power, will be mightily diverted to discountenance Mr Pitt.’

Oh yes, even Maria had to agree that they needed Mr Fox.

In an easy chair in his lodgings in the town of Bologna Mr Fox stretched himself with ease. In a few moments Lizzie would come in with a dish of tea to revive him after his afternoon’s nap. It was a pleasure to watch Lizzie move across the room. What a graceful creature she was! Italy suited her; and so did this wandering existence. She was never ruffled, and such an intelligent companion. Lizzie had all the qualities he looked for in a woman. Now if he had known Lizzie when he was a young man, and if at that time he had had the wisdom to recognize her qualities, he would never have led the life he had. But then it was due to his adventures with so many members of her sex that he was able to appreciate her. Perhaps, he thought, he would marry her one day. Why not?

This was the life. Politics? Well, yes, he had to admit that his greatest ambition had been to be Prime Minister; but that affair of the marriage and the Prince’s deception had made him want to turn his back on Westminster. And so here he was in Italy – and what treasures of art, architecture and music he, and Lizzie with him, had discovered there! He believed this period of travel might well be the happiest of his life.

Where should they go from here? When Lizzie came in with the tea they would discuss the next move.

He yawned pleasurably and here was Lizzie although it was not quite time and she was holding letters in her hand.

Letters? he thought. But he had left no address in England, his sole purpose being to get away. He had not even wanted to know what was happening there so he had asked that no news sheets or papers should be sent to him. So what could Lizzie be doing with letters?

She was as unhurried as usual as she said to him: ‘They have tracked you down.’

‘London?’ he said.

She gave him two letters. ‘There is a messenger outside. He has been chasing all over Europe looking for you, he tells me. He has lately come from Geneva and somehow traced you to this place.’

‘Good God!’ cried Fox. ‘What can this mean?’

He was opening one of the letters. ‘Burke,’ he said. He read it through and handed it to her. The other letter was from Sheridan.

There was a brief silence and then he said: ‘The King is ill … seriously ill. So our young Prince will soon be King. You know what this is going to mean for the Whigs.’

‘That Mr Fox will lead them to power?’

He was grinning at her.

‘But Mr Fox said only yesterday that he was done with politics.’

‘Mr Fox, Madam, can now and then talk nonsense.’

‘So I thought at the time,’ said Lizzie. ‘When do you wish to leave?’

‘I shall answer these letters to tell them I am returning with all speed, then go, while you make the necessary preparations to follow me to London as soon as possible. There must be nothing to detain me.’

‘Nothing at all,’ said Lizzie, and left him.

The messenger departed with all speed and shortly afterwards Fox set out on his journey, leaving Lizzie to settle their affairs and follow. He was travelling through France when the news reached him that the King was mad.

This, he thought, will mean a Regency.

His eyes were already sparkling with the light of battle. He must press on with all speed. Lizzie would have been concerned for his health had she been here, for he was too impatient to be back to pause long enough to rest adequately. He arrived in London on November 24th, which meant that the journey had taken only nine days. Remarkable speed – but when Lizzie arrived she would see the effect it had had on him. But that was nothing. Once let him get to the House and he would show Pitt that he could not have all his own way while Fox was there to prevent him.

Mr Pitt travelled down to Windsor. The Prince, who had returned from Bagshot, declined to see him, and Mr Pitt therefore asked for an audience with the Queen.

Charlotte received him gratefully. It was the first time she had been included in any State matter and she was appreciative of Mr Pitt’s obvious respect for her.

He asked her questions about the King’s condition and she answered as frankly as she could, for there was no possibility now of hiding the fact that the King was mad.

‘Your Majesty,’ said Mr Pitt, ‘the possibilities are that Parliament will decide that a Regency is necessary and the Prince of Wales will expect to be the Regent.’

‘That, Mr Pitt,’ said the Queen firmly, ‘is scarcely a state of affairs which would please me …’ She amended that immediately to, ‘which would please us.’

Mr Pitt admitted this. ‘I doubt that I should remain long in office.’

‘And it is essential that you should, Mr Pitt.’

The Prime Minister bowed his head. It was an acknowledgement that he and the Queen were allies and he decided to take the Queen into his confidence. ‘If His Highness
should
attain the Regency,’ he said, ‘it will be necessary to restrict his power wherever possible.’

The Queen agreed that this was so.

‘I had been thinking of a joint Regency … with perhaps Your Majesty as one of its members.’

The Queen’s sallow face flushed a little. This was triumph such as she had never dreamed of. But she was not a fool. She did not believe for one moment that she would be allowed by Mr Pitt or the Prince of Wales to exert her power over Parliament. But there was one way in which she could have perhaps as much influence as any; that was if she had the care of the King. Suppose this bout was like that other – as temporary as that. Why not! It was not impossible.

‘I believe, Mr Pitt,’ she said, ‘that it is better for me to take no part in politics but to devote myself to His Majesty. If I were his sole guardian for as long as this unhappy malady continues, I believe I could be of the greatest service.’

Mr Pitt was pleased. The Queen was a woman of sound good sense. They could indeed be allies.

The Queen was frightened. She was never quite sure what the King would do. He terrified her because he called for her constantly. She had moved into a bedroom which was next to his and he seemed to have an obsession that his enemies were trying to separate him from her. All night long she would hear his rambling conversations, shouting at first, and then as his voice began to fail him growing hoarser and hoarser until just a vague whispering came from the other side of the wall. She would not forget that dreadful night when he had attempted to murder the Prince of Wales. He had always been a kindly man but there had been murder in his face that night, and after witnessing that violent scene she could no longer feel safe. What if he were to turn against
her
? That very night he had escaped from his equerries and come into the room she occupied and, holding a lighted candle in his hand, had drawn the bed curtains and stood there looking down at her. She had feared that he had come to set the curtains alight as he cried: ‘Yes, you are still here. I see you are still here. I thought the Queen would be here. I know she would not desert me.’ And then seeing the frightened face of Miss Goldsworthy who had come hurrying in from the adjoining chamber: ‘Ah, my honest Gooley, you will take care of the Queen.’ And he had taken Gooley’s arm and paced up and down the room talking, talking, talking, until she had thought he would drive her mad too. It had seemed so frighteningly long before they took him away.

Now his illness was accepted and the Prince was trying to take over his father’s authority.

She could not understand her emotions. She
hated
the Prince. It was incredible. This was her son, the boy whom she had loved more than all the rest of the children put together. What had come over her?

It was because I longed for his love, she told herself, and all he has done is to despise me.

But she would not allow herself to think such a thing. She was against him because he wished to usurp his father’s power.

Miss Burney came in and, standing before her, burst into tears. The Queen stared at this unusual maid of honour, and suddenly they were crying together.

‘Your pardon, Madam.’

‘There is no need to ask it, Miss Burney. I thank you. You have made me weep … and I think it is what I needed.’

So they sat side by side and wiped their eyes and the Queen felt comforted.

‘Mamma,’ said the Princess Royal, ‘Dr Warren is here.’

‘Dr Warren. I have not sent for him.’

‘So I thought, Mamma. But he has come and he is being most arrogant and Sir George Baker is not very pleased for he says that he is in charge of His Majesty.’

‘Pray send someone to this Dr Warren and tell him that I wish to see him without delay.’

The Princess Royal did as he was bid and came back to the Queen to present Her Majesty with her snuff box. Absent-mindedly the Queen took a pinch; but there was no comfort in anything these days.

One of the pages scratched at the door and the Princess Royal bade him enter.

‘Your Majesty,’ said the boy, bowing low, ‘Dr Warren sends his compliments but regrets he is too busily engaged with his duties at this moment to wait on Your Majesty. He will do so at his earliest convenience.’

The page bowed low and obviously after having delivered such a message was glad to escape. The Queen’s mouth tightened and she said: ‘I can scarcely believe that I have heard aright.’

‘Oh, Mamma,’ cried the Princess, ‘they are saying that Dr Warren is the choice of the Prince of Wales and that he is here to serve the Prince … that he has the Prince’s authority for all he does …’

‘Insulting the Queen, I daresay,’ said the Queen grimly.

The Princess Royal sat on the footstool at her mother’s feet and looked up at her anxiously. She too was remembering that dreadful scene at the dinner table when her father had attempted to murder her brother.

‘What will become of us all?’ she asked.

‘God alone knows,’ answered the Queen.

Dr Warren and the Prince had decided that the King should go to Kew.

‘There,’ said the Prince, ‘he will be restful. He was always fond of Kew. As for my mother,’ he went on, ‘I believe she
should go to Buckingham House or perhaps stay at Windsor. The King is so clouded in his mind that he will be much better alone with the doctors.’

His brother Frederick agreed with him, and when his uncles Gloucester and Cumberland called they made it clear that they already regarded the Prince of Wales as the ruler.

He was gratified. No more would that mad old man dictate to him.
No one
should dictate to him; that was why he was going to teach the Queen a lesson for he was sure she still saw him as a little boy to be guided by his parents.

It was the Princess Royal once more who brought the news to her mother.

‘I have heard them discussing it, Mamma,’ she said. ‘They are going to take the King away from us.’

‘Indeed they are not.’

‘Oh yes, Mamma, they are. George has given orders that they are to prepare for the journey to Kew.’

‘I will see the Prince of Wales,’ said the Queen.

She went to his apartments where he received her coldly.

‘What is this I hear about His Majesty’s going to Kew?’ she demanded.

‘I and his doctors think it best.’

‘And I am not to be consulted?’