The Regent's Daughter: (Georgian Series) (2 page)

She
must
restrain herself; there was so much she must learn; she was going to be Queen of England one day because it was certain that Papa and Mamma would have no more children.
How could they, when they hated each other and never saw each other? She, young Charlotte, aged ten years, knew that the most important factor in her life was the relationship between her parents.

That was why she was so disturbed by what she had overheard.

It was true that she kept her eyes and ears open. Lady de Clifford would have a shock if she knew what her charge had discovered. She had found a means of reading the newspapers – and one could learn a great deal from them. When she visited Mamma at Blackheath she had a most unusual time; but then Mamma was a most unusual woman. There she was allowed to read the papers and see the cartoons, the lampoons, the prints which could be bought in the shops and the subject of these was very often the affairs of the Prince and Princess of Wales. Dignified Mrs Fitzherbert was not exempt. Charlotte considered that it was not everyone whose father had two wives.

She had adjusted herself to her life: Carlton House where she was the Princess destined for a throne, where she had to be plagued by a bevy of tutors and never forget her great destiny; and Blackheath where life was conducted in the most eccentric manner, where she met strange people and for a brief hour or so every week tasted freedom. There she had enjoyed the passionate devotion of her wild mother (‘Charlotte, my angel, my love, my little baby. Why should they take you away from me?’), and they would weep together, but they mostly laughed and Mamma taught her to be most disrespectful to Grandmamma, whom she hated in any case (and she was one who was more snuffy than Lady de Clifford) and to the spinster aunts who alternately cooed over ‘darling Charlotte’ and criticized her manners, her stammer and the way she leaned to one side.

She looked forward to visits to Blackheath; and at the same time she longed for the approval of that glittering personality who was undoubtedly her father, for people were constantly remarking how alike they were and her own looking glass told her this was true.

Now she wanted to talk to her companions about the change in her life which she was fully aware was due to some development in the relationship between her mother and father; she wanted to learn whether George Keppel had discovered anything, or more likely Minney. For Minney lived here in Tilney
Street where the Prince of Wales was the most constant visitor and it was certain that if something were happening he would discuss it with Mrs Fitzherbert.

‘There are a lot of wicked people in the world,’ said Charlotte, ‘and they are trying to make a mischief.’

Minney’s pretty face was solemn, George’s intent.

‘Yes, and they are trying to punish my Mamma.’

‘Why?’ asked George.

‘Why? Because she is the Princess of Wales, that’s why. And they don’t like her because she is a German and different … and she laughs a lot. Oh, you should come to Montague House. There is no place like Montague House, but because my Mamma is not like other people they hate her and want to harm her.’

‘How will they harm her?’ asked George.

‘That’s what I want to know, silly. I have to find out and save her from them.’

Minney’s face puckered; she hated trouble.

Charlotte turned on her suddenly. Minney was everything that Charlotte was not – pretty, small, dainty and protected by the affection of her dear Mamma who was not her Mamma at all, but Mrs Fitzherbert who had adopted her and might not be able to go on doing so.

‘You might have discovered if you had not been so
deaf
. They must talk about it.’

‘Charlotte, I haven’t heard a word.’

‘No, you silly little thing. You don’t see anything. All you do is listen to your dear Mamma telling you not to worry because she won’t let you go.’

Charlotte glowered and her long light brown hair fell about her face; she was really worried,

‘Minney is not silly, Charlotte,’ said George indignantly.

There! Even George, whom she always made do her bidding, was taking Minney’s side. She felt a sudden anger against the pretty little girl and, seizing her ear, pinched it hard, at which Minney cried out and Charlotte was immediately contrite. ‘It didn’t hurt! Or d … did it? Poor little Minney, that was wicked of me. I’m talking about wicked people and I’m as b … bad.’ She kissed Minney. ‘Oh, I’m a beast, dear dear Minney. Let me look at your ear. Oh, it’s red. I’ll give you my … my … what shall I give you, Minney? What would you like best? Dear Minney, I did not mean to pinch your ear, but you should try
to discover what’s going on around you. It’s important.’

‘It’s nothing, Charlotte,’ said Minney, for the repentant Charlotte was always irresistible, and a moment’s discomfort was worth while to bring the young Princess to this mood. ‘It doesn’t hurt now and I will try to listen … I will really.’

George was looking on in some indignation. He loves Minney, thought Charlotte, faintly jealous. Everybody loves Minney. I suppose because she is good and so pretty.

‘I want to know what is happening, why I am not allowed to go to Montague House now, and what the Prince of Wales says about it.’

‘He wouldn’t tell Minney.’

‘No, stupid. But Minney is
there
and
they
will talk. All she has to
do
is listen and pretend she is not.’

‘That’s deceitful.’

‘Oh, don’t be such a prig, Saint George Keppel.’

The door had opened and two ladies came into the room: Lady de Clifford and Mrs Fitzherbert.

Lady de Clifford’s hazel eyes went at once to her charge and she frowned slightly. I must be looking untidy again, thought Charlotte. Poor Lady de Clifford was a dragon, but a frightened dragon. So must it be when people wait on the future Queen, thought the Princess. She must teach me discipline and at the same time not offend me mortally, or I might remember it against her or her family when I come to power.

Poor Lady de Clifford. Her turban was slightly awry. Why did she wear the ugly old thing? There was too much rouge on her ageing cheeks; it showed up the wrinkles; and she was carrying the all-important snuffbox in her hand. Snuffy old thing! She was almost as fond of her snuff as that old ogre Charlotte’s grandmamma and namesake, the old Begum, as Mamma called her. Only Mamma, whose English was not of the best, said ‘de old Begum’. ‘Old Begum,’ Charlotte would mutter to herself when she was face to face with that old woman whom she supposed she hated more than any other human being.

Charlotte always felt a strange emotion when she was in Mrs Fitzherbert’s company. Mrs Fitzherbert moved regally, like a queen. In Charlotte’s eyes she was beautiful … perhaps the most beautiful woman in the world. The Prince of Wales thought so and he was a connoisseur of beauty and elegance. Her clothes were never flamboyant but always becoming; she
wore no rouge, but then she had the most perfect natural complexion, that pink and white which no artificial adjuncts could quite produce; and her hair was lovely, a mass of gold-coloured waves, unpowdered and completely natural, not puffed out with false pieces. And although she was beautiful she had a look of what Charlotte thought of as a mother. She was comfortably plump with a magnificent bosom – soft and pillowy, thought Charlotte, to cry against, which was perhaps one of the reasons why the Prince of Wales loved her so much; he was always weeping, in the most elegant way of course. Even she had watched his performance occasionally with the utmost admiration. Mrs Fitzherbert was the complete opposite of the Princess of Wales. There could not have been two women less alike – and how strange that they should both be her father’s wives. But were they? Nobody seemed absolutely sure … except Mrs Fitzherbert, of course, who would never have received the Prince so intimately in her house if she did not believe it.

What a strange family I have! thought Charlotte.

Now Mrs Fitzherbert’s eyes had gone to Minney and they were soft and maternal. Charlotte would have liked them to look at her in that way. She had her own mother, but in spite of the fact that the Princess of Wales covered her with kisses, fed her with her favourite sweetmeats, declared that she lived for her darling Charlotte’s visits, she was not as motherly as dignified Mrs Fitzherbert was towards Minney.

There was a change in Minney too. She was no longer the meek one, the one who had to take the most humble part in any game, who was subjected to the bullying of Charlotte and patronizing protection of George Keppel. She was the loved one now.

Mrs Fitzherbert, her eyes still on Minney, said: ‘His Royal Highness will soon be here. You should be ready if he wishes to see you.’

Minney expressed delight, but the main emotion of Charlotte and George was apprehension.

Lady de Clifford’s anxious eyes were on her charge.

‘Your hair is very untidy, Princess Charlotte. And may I see your hands?’

Charlotte held them out and Lady de Clifford tut-tutted in exasperation.

‘The Princess is so energetic,’ said Mrs Fitzherbert with a smile. ‘They should be washed. His Highness would most certainly notice. He is
so
fastidious.’

Charlotte forgot that she had been about to protest – a gesture of defiance to show George and Minney that she did not care. Because Mrs Fitzherbert had spoken one had to obey. She thought fleetingly how different it would have been if Mrs Fitzherbert had been her father’s only wife and she had been that lady’s daughter. To wish this were so would be disloyal to dear Mamma who loved her so violently, yet how much happier – how much more
tidy
– it would have been. But, thought Charlotte, immediately ashamed of disloyalty to Mamma, not so exciting. And Charlotte liked excitement.

‘I should go at once, dear, and then you will be ready when His Highness comes.’

So Charlotte was led away by Lady de Clifford, leaving Minney and George – those little paragons who had managed to keep clean – alone with Mrs Fitzherbert.

Charlotte washed her hands in the water which was brought and Lady de Clifford began a long monologue to which Charlotte did not listen entirely, just enough to know that it consisted of the usual entreaties to remember this and not forget that when in the presence of His Royal Highness, so that she did not shame herself or her governess.

The long light brown hair had to be combed and made tidy. ‘Princess Charlotte, do stand straight. His Highness has noticed …’ ‘Princess Charlotte, when you begin to stutter, speak slowly. It should help to correct the fault.’

Lady de Clifford took an extra pinch of snuff – always so useful in moments of tension. Charlotte’s gown was a little grubby. His Highness, that arbiter of elegance, would notice. He would be reminded of the distressing fact that although the Princess Charlotte looked like him she had inherited the habits of her mother. It was to be hoped that any unfortunate characteristics she had inherited from the Princess of Wales would be suppressed.

She looked critically at her charge. A pity the Princess had not remembered that visits to Tilney Street could often mean that she might meet her father, and that on those occasions she should not indulge in the rough horseplay for which she seemed to have such a fancy. But there was nothing further to
be done. At least Her Highness was clean.

‘We should now go to Mrs Fitzherbert’s drawing room,’ said Lady de Clifford. ‘Come, Your Highness.’

When he comes, thought Charlotte, I will sweep such a curtsey that will astonish him. Not like last time when I almost fell over doing it. She giggled at the thought, but it was a nervous giggle; it had been most shaming. She knew why she so often caught a certain expression in his eyes when they were on her; it was as though he had to force himself to look, force himself to speak affectionately. It was because she was reminding him of someone whose existence he preferred to forget: her mother.

She walked sedately to Mrs Fitzherbert’s drawing room with Lady de Clifford and told herself: This time I will try to please him.

Lady de Clifford opened the door and stood aside for the Princess to enter. Charlotte took a step into the room and then stopped. The scene which faced her was unexpected. Minney’s high-pitched laughter was mingled with deep chuckles of pleasure and the occupants of the room were so absorbed in each other that they had not heard the opening of the door.

Seated on an ornate chair which Charlotte knew was kept for one person only was a large figure, sparkling, handsome, elegant, scented. The Prince of Wales had arrived while Lady de Clifford was tidying her charge. On his knee was seated Minney, one arm about his neck, her face close to his, far more at ease than she was in the company of his daughter. She was pulling the curls of his wig and saying in a very loud voice: ‘Why, you are a very
curly
Prinney today.’ How dared timid Minney whom
she
could reduce to terror by a sharp word or a pinch of the ear, behave so … so familiarly towards the Prince of Wales! And there was that bold George Keppel leaning against the Prince of Wales with his hand resting on one elegant white buckskinned thigh and laughing as though the great figure in the chair was of no more importance than his snuffy old grandmother.

Charlotte’s impulse was to stride towards them, send George Keppel flying and pull Minney off her father’s knee. Surely if that were anyone’s place it was Charlotte’s? But when had she ever sat on his knee? Vague memories came back of days long, long ago when she was a baby and had been taken to see
Grandpapa, and her father had been there and had set himself out to amuse her. But the memories were so vague that she might have dreamed them.

She did not move; she knew she dared not. And a great pride came to her. If he preferred silly Minney Seymour to his own daughter, let him.

Mrs Fitzherbert, aware of her standing there, came over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. Charlotte wanted to turn and bury her face against that delicately perfumed plumply elegant figure.

‘And here is the Princess Charlotte herself.’ As though, thought Charlotte, she was the one he had come to see. But it was not true. Mrs Fitzherbert was merely pretending because she understood.