The Third George: (Georgian Series) (20 page)

‘And the Queen?’ asked George with tears in his eyes.

‘That I did not discover,’ Huntingdon told him.

George replied: ‘I am but little anxious as to the sex of the child as long as the Queen is safe.’

He waited for no more but went with all haste to the lying-in chamber where Charlotte’s
accoucheur
Mr Hunter (for she had insisted that she be attended by this man instead of an ordinary midwife) greeted the King with the news that he was the father of a strong, large and pretty boy.

‘Boy! But I was told a girl.’

‘Your Majesty may see for yourself. You cannot doubt the sex of the child.’

And there he was, a screaming healthy boy – perfect in every way.

The King wept unashamedly and so did everyone else in the bedchamber; then he went to the bed where Charlotte smiled up at him.

‘We have a son,’ she said.

And he knelt, and taking her hand kissed it.

*

London was wild with joy. Married less than a year and already a healthy son. This was a good augury.

Now there would be a christening – balls,
fêtes
, thanksgiving services. After all wasn’t the child the Prince of Wales? All
over the City the bells were ringing and guns were firing the salute.

‘It’s a boy,’ people called to each other from their windows, in the streets, to the craft on the river. ‘A good strong healthy boy.’

They were always on the look out for omens and it so happened that a captured ship, the
Hermione
, had been brought up the Thames that day; it contained gold which was being taken to the vaults of the Bank of England, and through the crowds of people – rejoicing in the birth of the heir to the throne – trundled the bullion-laden carts.

‘Gold!’ cried the people. ‘Captured gold to enrich the nation! On the day he is born, it is taken to the bank. If there was ever a sign this is it.’

They said the baby had been born with a golden spoon in his mouth.

*

The baby was to be named George Augustus Frederick, and the ceremonial baptism was fixed to take place a fortnight after his birth. There were no qualms about this child; he screamed lustily, demanded his food with an arrogance which his doting mother called royal, and showed everyone that he had a firm footing on life.

When so many royal infants were delicate this was a blessing Charlotte never ceased to be grateful for. In fact she thought of nothing but her little prince.

The people clustered round St James’s demanding news of his progress; when he was carried on to the balcony they went wild with joy. The most popular person in the kingdom was the little Prince of Wales and next to him his parents for producing him.

Now, thought Charlotte, I know what it is to be completely happy. All the weary months of waiting were forgotten when she held this child in her arms. Her first thoughts on waking were for him. She could not wait for his nurses to bring him to her. She must go to him; she must look into that pink face and assure herself that all was well with him.

George shared her delight. This little boy was constantly in his thoughts. This pink bawling infant would one day be the
King. George solemnly vowed that he would do all in his power to leave him a kingdom of which he could be truly proud.

The discontent which had been raging through the City since the dismissal of Pitt was overshadowed by the joy in the royal birth. When the Prince of Wales was taken into Hyde Park for an airing crowds followed him and his nurses, and they laughed with pleasure when he showed them what a fine pair of lungs he had or lay smiling complacently on his satin pillows.

‘God bless him,’ they cried. ‘He’s a lusty, jolly young dog and no mistake.’

It was the custom on such an occasion for the Queen to invite any who cared to call at the Palace to partake of cake and caudle at her expense. The caudle was a warm concoction of wine and eggs which was supposed to be good for invalids and children; and as was to be expected crowds gathered in the waiting rooms to partake of the Queen’s hospitality. The Yeomen of the Guard had to be summoned to keep order; and even so, people were caught stuffing their pockets with cake, and these had to be severely reprimanded and warned of dire punishment if the offence was repeated. During the cake and caudle week 500 pounds of cake and eight gallons of caudle were used up every day.

But the people enjoyed it and wished there was a royal birth every week.

And then came the day of baptism – a quiet ceremony in the Queen’s drawing room. It was half past six in the evening and the Queen lay on her bed of state there.

She had lost a great deal of her plainness, for her eyes were alight with a serene pleasure. She was dressed in a white and silver gown as she had been at her wedding, and was wearing her stomacher of diamonds, the King’s wedding gift. Against the background of the state bed – crimson velvet and gold braid, white satin and Brussels lace – she made a magnificent picture. The bloom of her ugliness had indeed worn off.

Little George carried by his governess on his white satin pillow decorated with gold, screamed lustily in protest.

His grandmother, the Princess Dowager, took him from his governess which did not please him and his screams grew louder, but this only made everyone smile. ‘He’s a self-willed little
rogue,’ said the King fondly and prophetically. The sponsors came forward – the Duke of Cumberland and the nobleman who had come from Mecklenburg to stand proxy for the Duke of that land, Charlotte’s brother.

The Archbishop of York baptized the child; the King wept with emotion; and the Queen looked on, feeling that there was no happiness in the world greater than this she was now experiencing.

The ceremony over, Charlotte took her child in her arms and held him for a few minutes. Then she gave him to the governess that he might be put in his cradle. There he lay protected by a ‘Chinese Fence’ which had been erected round the cradle so that no one could touch him.

Those who had attended the ceremony crowded about the cradle admiringly.

*

Charlotte thought of little but her baby. He was her life. She had no intention of passing him over to his governess and nurses. George agreed with her. He was all for simple living. They had a beautiful baby. Why should they not enjoy him?

Charlotte had a wax model made of him which was exactly like the child.

‘Now,’ she said. ‘I shall always remember him as a baby.’

A glass case was made to fit over it and she had placed it on her dressing table so that she could gaze at it whenever the original was not with her.

For three months this child was constantly in her thoughts; and soon after that she discovered that she was once more pregnant.

Wilkes and Liberty

WHILE CHARLOTTE WAS
occupied with one baby and awaiting the arrival of another, the King was finding himself more and more unpleasantly involved in state affairs.

He had always believed that when Lord Bute achieved his ambition, which was to hold the highest post in the Government, all his troubles would be at an end. He had looked on Bute as a kind of god, omniscient, omnipotent; but it was not turning out that way.

Pitt had resigned and they had needed Pitt. And it seemed that everyone in the country was against Bute.

The King had said: ‘Those who are against Lord Bute are against me.’ That had been his doctrine; and now it followed, therefore, that the attacks on Bute were in a way attacks on the King.

This worried George; he would dream of disasters; and always in these he, personally, was being persecuted. He began to look for slights in all those who came near him and to imagine that he heard them tittering behind his back.

When he was with Charlotte and the baby, when he saw her growing more and more obviously pregnant with the second, he
could forget this. He could revel in the quiet country life of Richmond whither Charlotte had gone so that the baby could enjoy the air; and there he felt at peace; but as soon as he was obliged to return to St James’s, which in the present uncertain state of affairs was very often, the uneasiness, the feeling of persecution returned.

It was difficult to speak of it to anyone. In the old days he would have consulted Lord Bute. But Bute had troubles of his own and in his inability to master them had made George realize that his idol had feet of clay.

*

Lord Bute was indeed uneasy. His big bite of success had given him acute indigestion. He was beginning to wonder whether it was not more exciting to plan and to strive towards a goal than to reach it. He was haunted by an uneasy fear that he might not be enough of a politician to handle the intricate state craft.

His great plan had been to secure peace. He believed in peace. He had been for Pitt’s war policy in the beginning; but the country had had enough of war. In secret he had been entering into negotiations with the Court of Versailles through the Sardinian ambassador and to act alone and secretly was a dangerous manoeuvre. Charles II had managed it expertly and amorally while bringing good to his country, but John Stuart, Earl of Bute, was no Charles Stuart, King of England. He lacked the power for one thing as well as that careless genius. He was a worried man. He was at odds with George Grenville whose support he had relied on; and he was beginning to wonder whom he could trust to stand beside him.

His thoughts suddenly hit on Henry Fox; and this seemed a brilliant idea.

Fox would have to be lured from the Opposition to their side, but Bute believed that Fox was ambitious enough to accept the offer.

He sought an audience with the King and told him that he could not trust Grenville to support the new peace treaty and that he needed a strong man as leader of the House of Commons and it must be someone who was clever enough to carry it through.

‘I see you have someone in mind,’ said George.

‘Fox,’ answered Bute.

The King’s face grew pink. Fox! Sarah’s brother-in-law! He had hated Fox ever since he had given up Sarah, for he was sure that the man was jeering at him for allowing himself to be persuaded by his mother.

‘He is the only man wily enough to do it.’

‘He never would. It would mean deserting his party, being disloyal to Pitt.’

‘All Fox would care about was being loyal to himself.’

‘But you really believe …’

‘I am convinced it is the only course left to us.’

Left to
us
! thought the King. So Bute was including him in his failure. He was shocked to find that for the first time in his life he was critical of his dear friend.

‘We cannot afford to be squeamish,’ said Bute.

The King recoiled. This was shocking. Nothing seemed as it had in the past. Everything was turning against him. He could have wept.

‘So Your Majesty gives your consent to my approaching Fox.’

The King nodded, turning away.

*

Mr Fox returned to Holland House cynically amused after his interview with Lord Bute. He would, he had said, consider the noble lord’s proposals, but they did not fill him with any great enthusiasm. Lord Bute was almost pathetic in his desire to include Mr Fox in his confidence. So my Lord Bute was learning sense after all.

And His Majesty? Mr Fox had asked. How did he feel about having Mr Fox as the leader of the House of Commons?

His Majesty was as eager as Lord Bute, so said the lord.

Well, thought Mr Fox, they must be anxious. George had not been able to look him in the face after jilting Sarah. Perhaps now that Sarah had married Bunbury he felt that little matter was settled. Bunbury in place of a king!
Mr
Bunbury – who would become Sir Charles one day. Not much of a match to set beside that with a king. But Sarah had chosen him and seemed happy – although how long that would last Mr Fox was not sure and his feelings were sceptical.

However, the important matter of the moment was not Sarah but the future of Henry Fox.

He found his wife in the drawing room and told her that he had just come from St James’s.

Lady Caroline raised her eyebrows.

‘Bute is asking me to take over the leadership of the House of Commons.’

‘No!’

‘Yes, my dear, yes. They are most eager to have me. Even His Majesty raises no objections.’

‘They are in trouble,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘Best leave them to it.’

‘H’m.’

‘You can’t be considering this proposal?’

Fox nodded slowly. ‘For a while … perhaps it would not be such a bad thing.’

‘You know you promised you were going to give up politics.’

‘I haven’t forgotten.’

‘But you are considering taking up this offer?’

He slipped his arm through hers. ‘For a while,’ he said. ‘I promise to make a fortune from it and retire with a high sounding title in a blaze of glory.’

She laughed at him; they understood each other. He was a cynic; he loved money even more than power; he was only vulnerable where Lady Caroline was concerned. Ever since their romantic elopement they had been lovers.

So Caroline understood. It would be the finale; and when it was over they would live as she had planned they should – away from the anxieties of state … enjoying life.

*

Mr Fox was granted an audience in the King’s chamber at St James’s. As he expected, Bute was with George.

Mr Fox’s expression was a little sardonic. He was not the handsomest of men with his bulky figure and dark face; it was when he talked – not with Mr Pitt’s brilliant oratory, but with those sudden flashes of spontaneous wit – that he could even triumph over Mr Pitt.

George looked at him with mild distaste.

Never would trust that fellow, he thought; but it was no use; they would have to have him. Lord Bute had explained that they were lost without a strong man to lead the Commons and
make sure that the signing of the Peace of Paris was brought to a successful conclusion.

‘So Mr Fox, sir,’ said George, ‘Lord Bute tells me that you are ready to take on the leadership of the House of Commons.’

‘Reluctantly, Sire, but since it is the wish of Your Majesty …’

Fox smiled ironically, as though, thought George, the sly creature – so rightly named – knew how he hated to be forced into this position and was reminding him of it.