Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series) (43 page)

His doctors believed that there was a very good prospect of his being restored to health.

The King’s periods of lucidity had been gradually increasing during January and the early part of February, and because of his passion for fresh air his doctors agreed that he might take little walks in the gardens as long as he was accompanied by one of them and certain attendants.

The King was aware of his illness and very sad because of it; he still talked rapidly until his voice grew hoarse, and although
his mind was clear, on certain occasions no one could be sure when he would act with the utmost strangeness.

When his favourite daughter, Amelia, was brought to him he embraced the little girl so fiercely that she protested and made as though to escape, but he would not allow her to do this and clung to her straining her to him until she began to scream to be released. She was forcibly removed by some of the King’s attendants and ran crying from the room, leaving the King bewildered and unhappy, wondering why his beloved daughter ran away from him.

But there was no doubt that his health was improving all the time the Regency Bill was being debated.

Fanny Burney who had been suffering herself from the rigours of court life – draughty corridors, long hours of attendance on the never-satisfied Schwellenburg, and the general air of melancholy which pervaded the royal apartments these days – had been advised by her doctor to take exercise in the gardens at Kew and regularly she followed this excellent advice.

She confessed to Colonel Digby that she was terrified of meeting the King on these occasions, so if he should be walking at the same time as she was she always took the precaution of inquiring which way he had gone.

‘For, Colonel Digby,’ she declared, ‘I do not know what I should do if I came face to face with His Majesty. What should I say?’

‘You would not have to speak at all, Miss Burney. The King would do all the talking that was necessary.’

‘But His Majesty would expect some answers. Moreover, I dare not think in what state His Majesty might be.’

‘He is much better that he was. At times quite himself.’

‘So I hear … but …’

‘If my duties do not prevent me perhaps I could have the pleasure of protecting you, Miss Burney, in the gardens of Kew.’

Fanny fluttered her eyelashes. Indeed, the Colonel was a gallant gentleman. Only a little while ago he had brought a carpet for her room, for there was nothing but the bare boards and the wind blowing through the ill-fitting windows was enough to chill one to the bone.

It would be pleasant to walk with Colonel Digby; but of course he had his duties. Schwellenburg had already mentioned to the Queen that Colonel Digby was constantly waiting on Miss Burney though he never waited on her; and the Queen had asked Fanny – half to her delight, half to her chagrin – why the Colonel was so frequently in her rooms. Fanny had wanted to complain then bitterly about Schwellenburg’s treatment of her, but how could one complain to a poor woman who was beside herself with anxieties? If the Queen could put up with a mad husband, surely Fanny could suffer a disagreeable old woman. So she replied that Colonel Digby was a friend and they had much in common – literature for one thing. The Queen was always ready to accept an explanation of Fanny’s that concerned literature. After all, was not Fanny a famous novelist?

And now Colonel Digby was unable to accompany her. She was not sure whether it was due to his duty or for some other reason. Colonel Digby had a way of avoiding duty if he wished to; and Schwellenburg had told Fanny quite frankly that Colonel Digby was as often in the company of Miss Gunning as he was in that of Miss Burney.

Fanny asked the guards at the door which way the King had gone walking, if he were in fact walking at all, and she was told that His Majesty, with his doctors and some attendants, had not long ago gone off in the direction of Richmond.

Very well, thought Fanny, then I will walk in the opposite direction. Walking, she mused on the strange behaviour of the King, the courage of the Queen, the motives of Colonel Digby – and she was thinking that it was only this last which gave her days some interest, for life at Court was not very exciting. Suddenly she was aware of some figures under a tree, and peered in their direction for she was very shortsighted. Gardeners, she thought. There were always plenty of them working in the gardens. But as she came nearer, to her great consternation, she saw that the men she had mistakenly thought were gardeners were the King and two of his doctors and some attendants.

Fanny stopped short and looked at the men. She could never think quickly in an emergency. Oh dear, she thought, what have I got myself into? Why did I take this path?

And for a few seconds she and the King looked at each other;
she saw the sunken cheeks, the protruberant eyes, and she thought of all the stories she had heard about the strangeness of the King. She believed there was only one thing to do: Escape. She turned and fled.

But the King had seen her. ‘Miss Burney! Miss Burney,’ he called. But she ran on. She could not face him. What if he seized her as he had seized Amelia? What if he said strange things to her? She must escape.

‘Miss Burney. Wait for me, Miss Burney. Miss Burney.’

But Fanny ran on. To her horror, glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the King was pursuing her, his doctors and attendants running along behind him. She heard her name called again; she heard the hoarse torrent of words; and she ran on.

‘Miss Burney,’ called one of the attendants. ‘Stop. Dr Willis asks you to.’

‘I cannot. I cannot,’ she cried.

‘Miss Burney, you must. The King will be ill if he runs like this. Stop. Stop, I beg of you.’

Fanny stopped, and turning, faced the King.

‘Why did you run away, Miss Burney?’ he asked.

What could she say? I feared your madness? So she did not answer and he came close to her and putting his hands on her shoulders kissed her cheek.

‘Now, Miss Burney. I wish to talk to you.’ His hot hands were on her arm; he drew her a little to one side; she was thankful to have the doctors and the attendants close at hand.

‘Ah, Miss Burney, you think I have been ill, eh, what? Yes, I have been ill … but not as ill as people think. Do you think I have been ill, Miss Burney, eh? what?’

Fanny answered as best she could but there was no need to be anxious on that account for the King, as Colonel Digby had said, was prepared to do all the talking.

He began discussing the American Colonies and he went on at great speed with the ehs? and whats? coming thick and fast. And Schwellenburg. He did not think Miss Burney was very happy with that woman. But she was not to be anxious on that account. He would speak to the Queen. And Colonel Digby? He feared that gentleman was a sad flirt … oh yes, he feared that. Fanny must not take that gentleman too seriously. Oh
he could be a very serious gentleman … but he was a widower looking for a wife, and a flirt, Miss Burney, a sad flirt, and had she heard the arrangement of
The Messiah
? Handel was the finest musician in the world. Her father would know that. He could tell her some stories of Handel and she could tell her father. Dr Burney would be very interested in the stories he could tell her of Handel. A fine musician.

He began to sing, beating time to the music, and his voice which had grown hoarse with all the talking he was doing, seemed to crack suddenly and Dr Willis said: ‘I beg Your Majesty not to strain your voice. Come along, sir. Do you not think we should go in and allow Miss Burney to continue with her walk.’

‘No, no, not yet. I have to speak to Miss Burney. I have much to say to her. I have lived so long out of the world, Miss Burney, that I know nothing. You understand, eh? what?’

Fanny murmured that she understood very well and the King gripped her arm and put his face close to hers so that she trembled at the wildness in his eyes.

‘Miss Burney, I pray you tell me how your father fares. Tell your father that I will take care of him. He is a good and honest man. I will take care of him, Miss Burney. Yes, I will do it myself.’

‘Your Majesty is most gracious,’ stammered Fanny.

‘Your Majesty will get a chill,’ said Dr Willis. ‘Your Majesty is progressing so favourably that it would be folly to start your illness all over again.’

‘Yes,’ said the King. ‘Folly, folly, folly …’

‘Then Your Majesty …’

‘I will say
au revoir
to Miss Burney.’ And with that he put his hands on her shoulders, drew her to him and kissed her cheek as he had done when at the beginning of the encounter.

Fanny was overcome with confusion, but the King’s attendants were already drawing him away.

The King called over his shoulder. ‘Do not fear that dreadful woman, Miss Burney. Take no heed of Schwellenburg. You may depend on me. I am your friend. As long as I live I will be your friend. You understand, eh? what? I pledge myself to be your friend.’

Fanny stood watching the King as he was drawn away,
smiling and nodding to him as he turned to shout over his shoulder to her.

She made her way hastily to her apartments and when she was with the Queen repeated the conversation to her, although she said nothing of the reference to Madam von Schwellenburg.

‘His Majesty still acts a little strangely, Miss Burney,’ said the Queen, ‘but I do believe he is going to get well.’

The Queen was right.

In the Lords the Lord Chancellor rose to declare that in view of the improved state of the King’s health it would be indecent to discuss the Regency Bill further.

The King’s health improved rapidly; at the beginning of April the Prince of Wales with his brother Frederick received a summons to wait on the King at Kew in order that they might congratulate him on his recovery.

The Prince of Wales behaved with absolute decorum and was more cordial to his father than he had ever been before.

The improvement went on apace. The King looked old; his speech was quick and incoherent, but his mind was lucid again.

All the royal family attended the service which was held at St Paul’s as a thanksgiving for the King’s recovery. It was April and the clement weather brought the crowds into the streets. As the King’s carriage rode by the people cheered wildly.

‘God save the King,’ they cried, throwing hats into the air and waving flags. ‘Long life to Your Majesty.’

The King was touched by this devotion. The tears came to his eyes and this show of emotion only made the people cheer the more.

But for the Prince of Wales – silence.

He could not understand it.
He
was the popular member of the household. He was Prince Charming. Yet the people were greeting him with a sullen silence. It was the first time his presence had failed to rouse cheers.

He was angry. Why? What had he done but ask for that which was his right? Why should they suddenly turn against him?

It was because the people believed – in spite of the denial in
Parliament – that he was married to a Papist. Maria … and her religion … were responsible for this.

My dear love, he thought, what I have given up for you!

The Queen was elated by the Prince’s reception. She had made sure that whenever possible people should be made aware of his callous behaviour during his father’s illness. She had arranged that stories should be circulated of his treatment of herself and her daughters; how he had tried to separate a wife from a sick husband, how he had sought for power at all costs, how it was the anxiety over his eldest son that had driven the King mad. Mr Pitt and the Queen were friends; and the Prince was supporting the unpopular Whigs with Fox at their head. But most heinous of all his sins was that he lived in sin with a Papist or was married to her; and neither situation was one to commend him to the people.

Ah, Prince of Wales, thought the Queen malevolently, you would not accept my love so now you have my hate.

Strange that a mother could hate the son on whom she had once doted. But Queen Charlotte had been kept so long under restraint – treated as a woman of no importance, simply a breeder of royal children – and when such prisoners were free their actions often surprised even themselves.

The cartoonists were busy. The one which attracted the most attention was
The Funeral of Miss Regency.
This portrayed a coffin on which instead of wreaths was a coronet – the Princes – dice, and an empty purse. The chief mourner was Mrs Fitzherbert.

When the Prince saw the cartoon he thought: ‘Yes, Maria
is
the chief mourner. She believed that when I became Regent I would have recognized her. And if I had what would have happened? He remembered those sullen crowds at the thanksgiving service and was alarmed.

Maria could ruin me, he thought.

Somewhere from the past came the echo of an old song:

‘I’d crowns resign,

To call thee mine.’

Coming so near to the Regency had made him realize what the Crown would mean to him. He knew in his heart that he
would never resign it. And if it came to the point of choosing between it and Maria …

A few years ago he would have said unthinkingly: Maria.

And now?

I have already given up a great deal for her, he thought resentfully.

The Duke’s Duel

THE QUEEN WAS
savouring her newly found power. The King’s illness had shattered his confidence and he lived in constant terror of his malady returning. He had become an old man – a frightened old man – and the Queen, after years of submission, was now the ruler of the Court.

Her great enemy was the Prince of Wales and she was ready to do battle against him. She had her spies everywhere. How exciting life had become! How different this was from suffering the discomforts of pregnancy, being continuously concerned with nursery affairs, dealing with the accounts and managing her own household. Mr Pitt was her great friend.
He
did not despise her influence; and everyone would agree that Mr Pitt was the greatest politician of the age. Moreover, he was Prime Minister and head of the Tory Party, and the Court was Tory. When she gave a ball to celebrate the King’s recovery all the ladies were in blue – the Tory colour – and the tables were decorated with devices complimentary to the Tory party; and there were even mottoes inscribed on the sweetmeats.