Goddess of the Green Room: (Georgian Series) (21 page)

The Queen thought that it might relieve the King to see a good play but she hesitated to suggest a visit to the theatre. She was terrified every time the King appeared in public; but some diversion was necessary so she hit on the idea of inviting a few actors and actresses to Windsor Castle to perform for the King.

The leading actress at Drury Lane was Mrs Siddons and she would suggest to Mr Sheridan that a little troupe headed by this lady should come to perform before herself and the King.

Mr Sheridan with his usual grace declared that nothing could be simpler and that Mrs Siddons and her fellow actors and actresses would be overwhelmed by the honour.

The actors came and the play was performed. The King sat through it smiling, applauding, and when it was over he asked that Mrs Siddons be brought to him for he had something to say to her.

Sarah entered the anteroom in which he was to receive her as only Sarah could. She made a drama of the most insignificant happening, but no one could say that being personally thanked by the King – which she was sure this was to be – was insignificant.

She prepared to declaim in her wonderful voice the speech which she had prepared – and rehearsed – when the King began to mumble something she could not understand and thrust a paper into her hand.

‘For you,’ he said. ‘For you. For you. Very good, eh? Gratitude, what? Very good.’

She was dismissed clutching the paper and when she looked at it she found it was blank except that he had signed it.

She stared at it in amazement for some moments and then she
said aloud as though it was the last line of a scene before the curtain fell: ‘The King is mad.’

The Queen sat holding the piece of paper. Mrs Siddons had brought it to her with a display of distress, declaring that she believed it her duty to do so.

‘I have wrestled with myself,’ said the actress, striking her left hand against her breast. ‘I have asked myself what I should do. And my conscience tells me that I should bring this to Your Majesty. His Majesty presented it to me as though it were some insignia of honour. Your Majesty, I greatly fear that the King is ill.’

The Queen thanked Mrs Siddons. She had done right in bringing the paper to her, she said. There was some mistake, of course. At a convenient time she would ask His Majesty what his intentions were.

And when Mrs Siddons had gone she sat down wearily.

Was this the end of her endeavours to hide the state of his health? Was the truth to be betrayed at last?

It seemed so, for events moved quickly after that. The King was acting strangely and the whole royal household knew it. The Princesses whispered together and sat silent in the presence of their mother, working at their embroidery, filling her snuff boxes and taking care of the dogs – which was, they complained bitterly to each other, all their lives consisted of.

But something was about to happen.

Frederick sent urgent messages to the Prince of Wales in Brighton; he should be at hand, for the King was very ill indeed – not only physically ill, although he had high temperature and a chill, but strangely ill.

The Prince came at once, driving his phaeton from Brighton at a great speed; and that night at dinner the King rose suddenly from his seat and approaching his eldest son seized him by the throat and tried to strangle him.

There could be no disguising the fact.

The King was mad. His doctors must be called and the almost certainty of a Regency discussed.

The struggle over the Regency Bill began, with the Queen and the Prince of Wales in opposing camps. The Queen who had doted on her eldest son, who had had a wax image made when he was a baby so that she might remember for ever his perfections and gaze on them every day – for it stood on her dressing table – had been consistently flouted by him and shut out of his life. Because of this her love had changed. If he had given her the slightest consideration she would have been ready to love him; but hurt and humiliated by his neglect she forced herself to hate him. Her emotion towards him – love or hatred – was the strongest in her life.

Pitt, who had stood with the King, found himself in opposition to Fox who stood for the Prince. Fox declared in Parliament that since the King was unable to govern, the heir to the throne must be Regent. Pitt brought all his powers to oppose this, knowing that a Regency in the hands of the Prince of Wales could mean the fall of the Tories and the substitution of the Whigs under Fox.

Pitt sought the help of the Queen by offering her something which all her life she had been denied: Power. The country was split between those who supported the Prince of Wales as Regent and those who wished for a Regency committee. The royal family was divided. The Queen and her daughters (who dared do nothing else) for Mr Pitt and the constitution, and the Prince and his brothers for a single Regent who would be the Prince of Wales.

The Prince had strong backing in Fox, Burke and Sheridan, but Fox made the tactical error in the House of Commons of referring to the Prince’s
right
to the Regency which gave Pitt his opportunity to challenge the right of any to such a post in a constitutional government and asked slyly whether Mr Fox had not meant ‘claim’.

Because of this unfortunate choice of a word Pitt had his opportunity to play a game of delaying tactics which infuriated the Prince and his supporters and widened the rift between Fox and George. Twice Fox had offended him; once when he had denied his marriage to Mrs Fitzherbert in the House – and Mrs Fitzherbert had been so incensed that she had broken off her relationship with the Prince and had never forgiven Fox – and now by the use of this word ‘right’.

As Fox said to his mistress Mrs Armistead, perhaps he was getting too old for politics and should retire. He did not blame himself for that denial in the House because in view of the circumstances there had been nothing else he could do, but the use of the word ‘right’, in the hearing of a brilliant politician like Pitt, was a terrible blunder.

So Pitt had his opportunity to present his Regency Bill which restricted the powers of the Prince Regent so that he would be no more than a cipher; but no sooner had it passed through a fevered House of Commons that the King’s doctors declared that he had recovered and the conflict had all been unnecessary.

When William came back to England he found a state of war in the family.

The King – a changed man – nervous, uncertain, often incoherent, clearly relied on the Queen to whom previously he had denied all say in matters outside the domestic circle – and even there he had laid down his laws. The change was obvious. Mr Pitt during the King’s aberration and the conflict over the Regency Bill had allied himself with the Queen and any ally of Mr Pitt was a person to be considered.

The Queen accepted her new role with restrained pleasure but the change in her was as apparent as that in the King.

She had lost no time in acquainting the King of the villainies of their sons, and in particular the Prince of Wales who had sought to get power into his hands and would, of course, as soon as it was possible, have replaced dear Mr Pitt with that villain Fox, while Frederick had been staunchly behind him and the other boys, she regretted to say, had stood firmly with the Prince.

William! Well, William was at sea, but she had no doubt – knowing his devotion to George – that had he been at home he would have been every bit as disloyal to his father as his brothers had been.

William heard the story from George and Frederick.

There was madness in the King, said the Prince. Didn’t they know it! He might have made some semblance of recovery but he would go mad again. The Prince of Wales was twenty-seven years old. Wasn’t that old enough to be a ruler? The King had been King long before he was that age; and surely if their simple
old father was capable, it was an insult to say that the brilliant, erudite Prince of Wales was not.

‘That devil Pitt,’ said the Prince. ‘He’s the real enemy. You can be sure our mother would not have had the wit to stand against us if she had not had his support.’

William joined whole-heartedly with his brothers and declared war on that devil Pitt.

The King sent for William and when he was ushered into his presence and saw the change in him William felt a twinge of pity. The King embraced him and there were tears on his cheeks.

‘You, boy…’ he stammered.

William felt repentant for all the wild adventures, the flouting of discipline; and wished at that moment that he could have been the son his poor old father hoped for.

Kings seemed to be the most unfortunate men on earth as far as their families were concerned. They either longed for sons whom they could not get, or had too many of them who caused so much trouble.

‘Well, William,’ said the King. ‘You’re growing up, eh? Quite a man, what?’

‘Twenty-four, Sir.’

‘H’m. Time you had some title, eh? Clarence… that’s what you’ll be. Duke of Clarence; and they’ve voted you twelve thousand a year. All right, eh, what?’

Twelve thousand a year! It wouldn’t keep the Prince of Wales in shoe buckles and neckerchiefs, but it sounded like a fortune to William.

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘All right, eh, what? And a place, eh… place of your own. Richmond Lodge on the edge of the Old Deer Park, eh?’

‘Well, Sir, I’d like it very much. It’ll be something to come home to after voyages.’

‘H’m,’ said the King. ‘Can’t have you away all the time, eh? King’s son. Duke of Clarence. Two elder brothers… yes… knaves! George always was. But Fred… I thought Fred would be different. Hope of House. Don’t like it. What are they coming to, eh, what?’

William said: ‘Richmond Lodge will be much appreciated, Sir. Thank you.’

‘H’m. Not often I get thanks from my sons. You’ve got to take care, boy. Keep away from women… and drink… and gambling… understand, eh? Mostly women. They can cause trouble… great trouble. Might be a good woman. That woman of George’s… Good woman, beautiful, nice woman. But they cause trouble. Could be Quakers…’ The King’s eyes filled with tears. What am I saying? he asked himself. All long ago. All over now.

William left his father thinking: The old man may have recovered but madness is still lurking there. And then: Richmond Lodge and twelve thousand a year!

Settling into a new house was a great pleasure. He was satisfied to be home and have a rest from the sea.

Twelve thousand pounds was a great deal of money but not when George and Frederick showed him how to spend it.

He enjoyed being a householder; he took great pride in his new possession; he engaged the servants himself and laid down the rules and made sure that he locked up every night to ensure that they did not stay out late. He took an interest in them; he was discovering that the quiet life appealed to him. He would have liked to be a landowner – if he were not a sailor – looking after his tenants, living in conjugal bliss with the wife of his choice and rearing a family. He fancied that the Prince of Wales felt the same for he was very happy with Maria Fitzherbert – if occasionally unfaithful – and liked to know that cosy domesticity was awaiting him when he cared to return to it.

In spite of all William’s care Richmond Lodge, which had been renamed Clarence Lodge, was damaged by fire one night and while the damage was being repaired William took another house close by called Ivy House and himself superintended the repairs to Clarence Lodge.

He was restive. He thought nostalgically of life at sea; he was already tired of being the country squire and nothing could compensate him for the feel of decks beneath his feet and the rock of a ship, the arrival at strange exotic places, the adventure of the sea. They had made a sailor of him. They could scarcely expect him to settle on land.

But apparently they did.

‘Not fitting,’ said the King. ‘Go to the Admiralty. On the
Board, give advice… Yes… still in the Navy. But a King’s son should be at home. Besides, you broke discipline. That sort of thing, frowned on. Favouritism. Not right. Bad feeling. Stay where you are… for a while.’

So he must stay. He found a very pretty and diverting young woman named Polly Finch of very obscure origin who delighted him and made few demands and agreed to come along and share Ivy House with him.

It was in a way the domesticity he hoped for. Polly never let the fact that he was a royal Duke affect her. She abused him in the manner of the streets and made love with a careless abandon. He was delighted, never having known anyone quite like Polly.

She was interested in the repairs to Clarence Lodge, for she thought they would live there. William dreamed of their living in obscurity and raising a family and himself going away to sea for periods and coming home to find Polly waiting for him.

It was a sentimental dream. Polly was not that sort of girl.

He talked to her about the sea. The rank of Rear-Admiral had been conferred on him and he would soon be an Admiral. It was inevitable. One could not be a royal Duke and not in the highest position.

‘But don’t imagine, Polly,’ he explained, ‘that I shall not deserve my promotion. But I must be ready for it.’

He wanted her to stay at home in the evenings while he read to her from the
Lives of the Admirals
which he regarded as a most fascinating document. Polly would sit at his feet yawning and nodding while he read of the decisions of these great seamen and their adventures at sea.

It might have been enthralling to him but it was more than Polly could endure.

Before Clarence Lodge was ready for occupation she had left him for a more congenial companion.

There was an uneasy tension throughout the country. Mr Pitt and his Tories did everything in their power to vilify the Prince of Wales and his brothers. It was not difficult. It was true that the Princes indulged in wild living, their gambling debts were enormous and their amours the main theme of court and town gossip. The cartoonists and lampoonists delighted in these and
exaggerated and ridiculed them to public pleasure and their own good profit.

Every little indiscretion was exaggerated. Every prominent person was pilloried it was true, but the most profitable cartoons were those which libelled the royal brothers and in particular the Prince of Wales.