The Regent's Daughter: (Georgian Series) (19 page)

‘Your Highness!’ whispered Lady de Clifford.

Charlotte spun round on the stool and burst out laughing.

‘My dear friends,’ she said to the girls, ‘I hope I have given you enough royal dignity. It is necessary I am told for me to use it now and then. But I’m heartily sick of it and so must you be,
so now that it’s done, I will be myself and we’ll play one of the games I used to play with a very dear friend. It tests your wits.’

The young ladies looked alarmed at first at the prospect of having their wits tested by a princess, but very soon she had put them at their ease and Lady de Clifford looked on with some admiration and a great deal of dismay while the Princess took charge of the situation.

When the wife of the labourer who had worked for her was brought to bed Charlotte insisted that clothes for the baby should be taken to her cottage with bed linen and anything that she might like and need in the circumstances.

The woman was overcome with gratitude and when Charlotte called to see the newborn child she thanked her and said she had always known that Her Royal Highness was the most generous of ladies and had never believed for one moment she was not.

‘Why should you have been expected to doubt it?’ demanded Charlotte.

‘Because my husband and his friend received no payment for the work they did for Your Highness. But this, Madam, is payment enough. Your goodness came to us at a time when we most needed it.’

‘No payment!’ cried Charlotte, a little colour coming into her pale cheeks. ‘Why, I paid them two guineas for the work they did.’

‘Two guineas, Your Highness? Why, they never set eyes on it.’

Charlotte was in a rage. She went straight back to the house and demanded an inquiry, and it was not long before she discovered the page who had pocketed the two guineas.

‘You wicked dishonest boy!’ she cried. ‘You are no longer my servant. You … you shall be beaten. Take him away. I n … never want to see him again. And send two guineas to those men at once.’

Her fury was intense; but in a short while it had subsided and she began to wonder what had made the page do it. He was young but it was a wicked thing to do. She would not have him beaten, however; he should simply be dismissed.

But the affair made her very unhappy.

‘In future,’ she declared to Mrs Udney, ‘I shall see that these debts are paid myself. Even if it does mean a little familiarity
with those my lady does not think fit to mix with me.’

Mrs Udney told Lady de Clifford what she had said and Lady de Clifford sighed and remarked that Charlotte was a wild creature and it was no use anyone’s thinking they could instil discipline into such a girl.

‘But her heart is good,’ said Lady de Clifford, ‘that is one thing which keeps me from despair.’

‘My word,’ said Mrs Udney. ‘Wait till the time comes to get her mated. Then the sparks will fly.’

‘That time will come all too soon,’ murmured Lady de Clifford. ‘I pray God I am not in charge of her household when it does.’

Mrs Udney licked her lips, contemplating Charlotte’s fiery future, while Lady de Clifford continued her silent prayer.

So passed those summer weeks by the sea. Charlotte enjoyed them and was sad to see the shortening of the days. But autumn was fast approaching and the chilly winds were springing up.

‘It is time Charlotte left Bognor,’ said the Queen to the Prince of Wales, who agreed, with some reluctance, that this was so.

So Charlotte left the sea and comparative freedom to return to the restricted life of an heiress to the throne.

The arrival of Mercer

THE CARRIAGE RATTLED
along through the streets. In it sat Charlotte, simply dressed in a dark-green cloak and straw hat trimmed with rosebuds; she might have been any well-bred young lady taking a drive.

Beside her was Lady de Clifford, whose lips were a little pursed. She heartily disliked these excursions and believed they were bad for the Princess. But she agreed that something had to be done and perhaps it was better for Charlotte to go to Spring Gardens than to Blackheath. However, the King had given his permission, so there was no more to be said. Charlotte was going to pay her weekly visit to her grandmother, the Duchess of Brunswick; she would spend two hours there and during those two hours she would meet her mother.

The Princess herself looked forward to the visits; although she felt little affection for her grandmother, a silly old woman who chattered incessantly, she was excited by her mother. As for the Princess Caroline, she was in a state of hysterical joy to be reunited with her daughter.

It’s all a little unhealthy, thought Lady de Clifford.

New Street, Spring Gardens! What a residence for a princess. And one must remember that the Duchess of Brunswick had once been the Princess Royal of England.

But her dignity turned the dingy old house into a palace. She received there and expected all the homage due to her rank. Poor thing, thought Lady de Clifford, I doubt she had much of that in Brunswick, by all accounts.

The carriage drew up and Charlotte and her governess alighted. Few people noticed them, but of course once the papers began letting the people know that Charlotte visited her grandmother once a week and there met her mother, there might be crowds to see her. Lady de Clifford shuddered. The mob was so crude. They shouted such things … not fit for the ears of a young girl.

Charlotte’s heart beat fast as she entered the gloomy house. Poor Grandmamma Brunswick had few servants but she made the most of what she had. And her footman bowed as low and with as much dignity as if he were ushering her into Carlton House or St James’s.

But the Princess of Wales was noted for her contempt of ceremony. She was waiting in the lower room for her daughter and as soon as she saw her she flew at her.

Charlotte was aware of a highly coloured face, rouged and daubed with white lead; the Princess’s heavy brows owed their existence to paint and her enormous black curly wig always became a little awry in these emotional encounters. Her low-cut gown exposed a large white bosom which seemed to overbalance her short body and give her a pear-shaped look. She never appeared to be freshly clean, but the great charm about her was the warmth of her love for her daughter.

‘My darling, darling, darling!’ she cried. ‘My little Charlotte! Let me look at you.’ Charlotte was strained to that great bosom which was not exactly the best position for being seen. ‘It has seemed so long. And they give us two hours … It is wicked and it is cruel. Torture designed by de old Begum, I’ll swear.’

She laughed wildly.

‘Oh, Mamma,’ said Charlotte, ‘I am so happy to see you again. I’ve missed you so much.’

‘My angel! My blessed love! My Lottie love!’ The embrace was suffocating. ‘And what do you think I have suffered, eh? Kept from my own baby … my little Lottie girl. Ah, I always longed for a child and when I had one they took her away from me.’

‘We’re together now, Mamma, for two hours.’

Caroline grimaced and put up a hand. Charlotte noticed the flashing rings, which looked incongruous because of the grime under the nails. Her mother was the strangest and most eccentric person she had ever known.

‘They had to agree to this. Oh, the wicked old things! They tried to prove Willie was my boy and they couldn’t … they couldn’t!’

Nobody had ever been so frank with Charlotte as her mother was. Caroline did not believe in hiding facts and Charlotte was nearly twelve years old … old enough to know what went on in the world.

‘And how is Willie?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Willikins is adorable. What I should do without that angel I can’t tell you. Do you know this, my love, if I could have you with me and Willikins too, I’d ask nothing more.’

‘If only that were possible!’ sighed Charlotte.

‘But you are going to be a queen one day. Nothing is going to alter that. My little Charlotte … Queen of England. Then
you
won’t keep your poor old Mamma in the background, will you?’

‘I would always have you with me.’

‘My blessed angel! And soon we shall have done with this two hours a week. It is ridiculous. Why only two hours a week? I shall not accept it. One of these days I shall come and carry you away by force and we will live at Montague House happy ever after.’

But in spite of these protestations of affection Charlotte did feel unsure about her mother. What had really happened about that horrid little brat Willikins? She remembered him, from the days when she had been allowed to visit Montague House, as a hideously spoiled child whom her mother doted on and who kicked with rage when he couldn’t have his own way.

She would not have wanted to live at Montague House; one was never quite sure what was going to happen there. There were so many strange people coming and going and the wild games they played at parties, while exciting for a time, left one bewildered. Perhaps she had been too young in the old days when she used to visit Blackheath to understand what it was all about. Now it would be different. She was almost grown up. And it seemed to her now that although she was fascinated by Montague House she would not all the time have wanted the kind of life which was lived there.

In her heart she longed for a quiet dignified household like that in Tilney Street.

‘I suppose,’ said the Princess of Wales, with a grimace, ‘that we shall have to present ourselves to Madam the Duchess.’

She spoke ironically. Was that the way in which one should speak of one’s mother?

So they went to the dingy room where the Duchess of Brunswick held her Drawing Room. It was pathetic. This was no palace – just a room in a dingy old house. She had two attendants but she behaved as though she had a retinue.

She sat in an old chair as though it were a throne and she glanced haughtily about her as the attendant at the door called: ‘Her Highness the Princess of Wales and the Princess Charlotte.’

The Duchess of Brunswick peered at her granddaughter.

‘Come and sit near me, Charlotte,’ she said. She added, waving a hand: ‘Chairs for the Princesses.’

These were brought. The Princess of Wales sat down, legs apart, a hand on either knee, in exactly the manner Charlotte had often been told princesses should not sit.

Charlotte looked round the room. She thought it was one of the dirtiest she had ever seen and there was scarcely any furniture. She felt sorry for the old lady who was trying to cling to her royalty in such surroundings and she was angry too when she thought of all the apartments which could have been put at her disposal. There was Kensington Palace, Windsor, Buckingham House, Kew, even St James’s. It was a shame.

‘Grandmamma,’ she said impulsively, ‘You should not be here. You should have a fine apartment.’

‘My dear Charlotte, I am an exile. I must perforce take what is given me.’

‘But it’s a … shame.’

‘It’s de old Begum’s doing,’ said Caroline with a short laugh. ‘She hates us all, and she’s glad to think of an old enemy living in such a place.’

What a wicked old woman the Queen was! thought Charlotte. How could she behave so to her own sister-in-law?

The Duchess suddenly became rather tearful. ‘I had expected something different, Charlotte, my dear, I will confess. Once I was a very important lady of this land. The Princess Royal, and my brother doted on me. That’s the King, you know. This is not his fault. Poor man, I always said he had a kind heart though an addled head. He would have done better than this. But he’s in a sad state, poor George. It was a shock to me when I saw him. He goes on and on and on … and one has no idea what he’s talking about.’

‘“Eh, what?”’ mimicked the Princess of Wales. ‘But he’s a kind man and when I first came over I wished I’d come to marry him instead of the Prince of Wales. Then it would have been a different story,
I
can tell you. He had rather a fancy for me. Charlotte, my pet, you would have had six or seven brothers and sisters by now if I’d married dear addle-headed George!’

‘You were always so indiscreet,’ said the Duchess, becoming suddenly haughty. ‘Restrain yourself, Caroline.’ She turned to her granddaughter. ‘Your mother caused us great anxiety in her childhood. She was so wild. I could tell you things. Perhaps I will one day. They used to say
I
was indiscreet. Madam de Hertzfeldt … she was my husband’s mistress … was installed when I arrived. “I have no intention of giving up my mistress because I have acquired a wife,” he told me. How would you have liked that?’

‘Charlotte would have loved him,’ said the Princess of Wales. ‘He was a great man … a great soldier.’

‘He fell at Jena. That wicked Napoleon! When shall we again sleep soundly in our beds? To think of his soldiers now … in our beautiful country … but I never thought much of it. England was my home … and it was consolation when I returned here. But I did not expect to return to this … squalor. How can I keep up the state due to my rank here? That is what I should like to know. But that wicked old woman … she always hated me. It was clear from the moment she arrived. Mecklenburg-Strelitz! She ought to have been humble. And so she appeared
to be. Sly as a fox … though she looks more like a crocodile.
Queen
Charlotte! Oh, she would have liked to show her authority. “Oh no, no,” I said … and my mother was alive then and George was in leading strings, you might say. It was our Mamma who said which way he should go, not little Charlotte.’

‘De old Begum,’ chuckled the Princess of Wales.

Charlotte was astonished by the freedom with which they both expressed their dislike of the Queen, and while she was a little repelled, she was fascinated. From the gossip of these two she could learn more than she could through the chatter of servants and even the cartoons and snippets from the papers which the sly Mrs Udney brought to her notice.

‘Someone called Jerome Bonaparte now rules in our palace … some relation of that man. He’s splitting up Europe between them and we … the true rulers … are exiled wanderers on the face of the earth. My dear child, I can’t tell you what difficulty I had to escape. I came through Sweden … and so to England. I thought I should never arrive. What adventures … at my time of life! And when I came – what a welcome! George was kind, of course. A kind heart … though an addled head … but Charlotte … It’s a pity they named you after her, but don’t forget you have another name: Augusta. And that’s mine … so although you were named for her you were named for me too. Is that not strange? You bear both our names.’