The Third George: (Georgian Series) (41 page)

It was not possible, naturally, to keep the Prince of Wales at Bower Lodge when he was eighteen, that time when princes were considered to be of age.

He would demand a household of his own and independence – and if he did not demand it, the people would for him.

They had always known that he was wilful; he had shown that in the schoolroom. He lid swaggered before his brothers and sisters; he had bullied his tutors, slyly reminding them that they had better be careful and not forget that one day he would be king.

Boyishness, they had called it.

On his eighteenth birthday he had been given his own establishment in Buckingham House.

Now he showed how really troublesome he could be. He had taste for low company and liked to roam the streets with a band
of friends – as bad as himself – incognito, going into taverns and coffee houses, talking about the politics of the day. He would extricate himself from any difficulty by blatant lying if the King saw fit to reproach him; and perhaps most alarming of all, he drank too much.

The King, abstemious and puritanical, was very shocked.

‘You will grow fat if you drink or eat too much,’ he told his son. ‘It’s a failing in the family.’

The Prince pretended to be impressed and was laughing up his sleeve. Most grievous of all was that he had no respect for his father. He daren’t announce this yet, but it was there between them and the King knew it. And what could he say to the Prince of Wales, his son, who was doubtless eager now to step into his shoes?

Moreover, the King was growing more and more unpopular. Lampoons were circulated about him. There were cartoons representing him in the most ridiculous situations. It was humiliating particularly as the Prince of Wales was so popular. He only had to appear in the streets to have a crowd cheering him.

‘What a handsome fellow!’ cried the people; and they told themselves it would be different when he was king. Gone would be the dull old Court presided over by old George who never did anything to amuse them in his private life except go to bed with old Charlotte and produce more and more children to be an expense on the State.

And here was young George, already indicating how different it was going to be when he came to the throne. It would be like the days of Charles II again. A merry England where there was a brilliant Court and a king who would be up to all sorts of gay adventures to amuse his people.

‘It causes me great concern,’ said the King to Charlotte. ‘What do you think of it, eh? What?’

‘He’ll settle down,’ Charlotte assured her husband. ‘He is so young and after all he is only just experiencing freedom.’

‘Experiencing fiddlesticks!’ retorted the King.

Charlotte was really more concerned about little Octavius who was not as strong as the others. The health of her children had never before been a great cause for anxiety; not only had she been able to breed but to breed strong children. But Octavius
had been a little sickly from birth and though she might have thirteen the thought that she might lose one of them terrified her.

She had learned not to argue with her husband though, so she did not make any more attempt to defend George; fondly she went on believing that he would ‘settle down’.

*

Charlotte was sewing when the King burst into her apartment. His blue eyes looked as though they would pop out of his head and the veins stood out at his temples.

Charlotte dismissed her women hastily. When the King looked like this she was always reminded of that terrible illness of his. Like him she was constantly dreading a return of it.

‘I have some shocking news … most shocking … I could scarce believe my ears. How long has this been going on? I do not know. It is a very degrading thing … yes, that is what I would call it … degrading. I will not have it. I will put a stop to it. This cannot be allowed to go on, eh. What? What? What?’

He was talking so rapidly that she was terrified. It was so like that other occasion.

‘I pray you be seated and tell me what is distressing you.’

‘It’s that son of ours … that George … that Prince of Wales. I don’t know what he thinks he is doing. No sense of place … no sense of dignity, eh? What? What? There is trouble … trouble … everywhere and he has to add to it. What are we going to do about it, eh? eh?’

‘I beg of Your Majesty to tell me what has happened.’

‘He’s been to the play … been to Drury Lane and he’s found a woman there … an actress … What does he think he’s doing at his age, eh, what?’

George paused. He had been about fourteen when he had first seen Hannah Lightfoot; he had not been much older when he had arranged that she should desert her husband immediately after her marriage to him … to come away to that house at Islington to be with him. That was different. That was not flaunting his infatuation. That wasn’t setting the whole town talking. That was secret … very secret. It was different, said George to himself, eh? eh? eh? What?

‘Going to the play …’ echoed Charlotte.

‘Yes, every night to see this, this … creature. And he has fallen in love with her. Calls her his dear Perdita. She’s been playing in
Winter’s Tale
or some such. Shakespeare. Cannot see why there is such a fuss for his plays.’

‘But what of the Prince?’

‘Making a fool of himself over this actress. Setting her up in an establishment. It’s got to stop, I tell you. Can’t go on. People talking. People will talk. He’s the Prince of Wales … The woman’s an actress … an adventuress … laughing at him. Older than he is … making a fine fool of him and everyone laughing at him behind his back. He has to be made to see, eh? What?’

‘Perhaps if I spoke to him.’

George looked at his wife contemptuously. Charlotte speak to that young blade! What a hope that she could make an impression on him. When had Charlotte ever made an impression on anyone? All she could do was be a petty tyrant in her own household where she had the authority to dismiss a maid if she wanted to. A lot of good Charlotte’s speaking to him would do!

‘
I
shall speak to him,’ declared George.

*

The Prince could not ignore his father’s summons. He swaggered in looking very handsome in his elaborate embroidered waistcoat and buckskin breeches.

Extravagant! thought the King. How much in debt is he? That’ll be the next thing. Cards, tailors and women. Why should my son be like this?

George smiled insolently at his father.

‘Your Majesty requested a visit from me.’

‘Requested, eh? What? I know nothing of requests. I
commanded
you to come here. Do you understand, eh? What?’

The King was heated, the Prince incredibly cool. He did not care. There was nothing the King could do to him. He even had his friends in the House, ambitious politicians who were ready to form a Prince’s party when the opportunity arose. It was Hanoverian history repeating itself. Princes of Wales always quarrelled with the Kings and if that King was their father all the fiercer was the quarrel. It was amusing in politics to have an Opposition led by the King-to-be while the King-that-was supported his Government. The Prince enjoyed the situation
immensely, particularly as that most amusing, witty and brilliant of statesmen, Charles James Fox, was making overtures to him. The fact was the King was an ignorant old bore, an old fool and apart from a love of music he had no feelings for culture whatsoever.

The Prince felt very superior to the King and was certainly not going to attempt to hide something which in any case he felt to be obvious.

The Prince bowed his head and waited with studied indifference for the storm to break.

‘You’re being talked about, young man.’

‘Your Majesty will know that I have always been talked about.’

‘I want no insolence,’ said the King. ‘You understand that, eh? What?’

The Prince raised his eyebrows.

‘It’s this woman … this actress … You know who I mean, eh?’

‘I believe Your Majesty to be referring to Mrs Mary Robinson.’

‘Ah, so you’ve no doubt of that. It’s got to stop. You understand me? It’s got to stop, eh? It’s got to stop.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Pray, sir, none of your insolence. I do not think you grasp the extent of your duty to … er … to the state. You must lead a more sober life. You must be … er … more …’

‘Like Your Majesty?’ said the Prince with the faintest sneer in his voice.

‘You must remember that one day you
may
be King of this realm.’

‘I have yet to learn that there is any doubt of that.’

‘You be silent and listen to me. You will give up that actress. You will go to her and explain that your duties as Prince of Wales make it impossible for you to continue this er … this er …’

‘Liaison,’ prompted the Prince.

‘This disgusting association,’ cried the King. ‘You understand me, eh? what? You stand there smiling. Take that grin off your face. You will go to this woman and tell her. You will do it at once, eh? what? Answer me. I tell you to take that grin off your face.’

‘I thought Your Majesty’s questions merely rhetorical and that in accordance with those habitually asked by Your Majesty required no answer.’

‘You insolent … puppy.’

George advanced, his hand raised. He remembered suddenly an occasion when his grandfather had struck him. It was in Hampton Court and he had never liked the place since. But he had not been insolent like this young fellow. He had merely stammered.

He was increasingly remembering scenes from the past.

The Prince stolidly stood his ground, amused by his father’s vehemence.

‘I’ll cut your allowance,’ cried the King.

‘That is a matter for the Government.’

Too clever, thought the King. And too much grace. He made his father feel clumsy. He was a social success whereas his father had been shy and gauche at his age. There was a world of difference between them. This George had all the airs and graces to make him popular. He was educated; he played the violin-cello with skill; he could chat in French and Italian and had a better command of the English language than his father could ever have; and his clothes! The King thought them outrageous but he supposed those who liked fashion would admire them. Oh, this son of his, of whom he had once been so proud, had grown too far from him. George realized with a start that he no longer had any control over him.

‘And,’ he said angrily, ‘you see too much of your uncle Cumberland. I daresay he thinks this is all very fine, eh, what? I daresay he thinks it’s all very well to set actresses up in houses, eh? what?’

‘We were discussing only one actress and one establishment, Your Majesty.’

‘I’ll have no more of your insolence. You learn your ways from Cumberland and his wife, I’ll swear. That woman, eh? Very experienced before your uncle was such a fool as to marry her. Eyelashes a yard long, I heard. Artful as Cleopatra and succeeded in making a fool of your uncle, eh? What?’

‘My uncle seems very content to be made a fool of, Your Majesty.’

‘Don’t answer me back.’

‘Ah, I understand. Another of those questions which require no answer. Your Majesty’s pardon.’

What could he say to such a one? He was too quick for him. He was the Prince of Wales; people were on his side. He himself was growing old, he supposed; although he was not really old in years. But he felt tired and incapable of handling this young man.

‘You will see less of your uncle Cumberland and his wife. You will stop seeing this actress altogether, eh? What? I want no scandal. We cannot afford more scandals in the family. You understand me?’

‘A question Your Majesty? Or a prophecy?’

Oh the insolence of the boy!

‘You get out of my sight before I … before I …’

He needed no second order to do that. He bowed and pretending to stifle a yawn sauntered from the apartment.

Insolent puppy! What could he do with such a one?

George sat down, his brain was whirling. Everything went wrong. America! The Prince of Wales! Everything!

He covered his face with his hands and oddly enough he could see nothing but that woman of his brother’s with the eyelashes a yard long and young George with his actress. He had made enquiries about the young woman; she was one of the most beautiful in London.

Gloucester had a beautiful wife. They were rogues all of them and he tried to be a virtuous man, a good King. As a result he had Charlotte. Charlotte and a large family who would flout him as the eldest was doing now.

Life was a tragedy and a disappointment.

It was as though Hannah and Sarah came to mock him.

It could have been different.

At first he tried to shut out of his mind the erotic images that crowded into it. Then he made no attempt to do so.

He sat thinking of what might have been.

*

Very shortly afterwards the shortcomings of the Prince of Wales were forgotten in a disaster which threatened to lay waste the whole of London and Westminster.

Ever since George’s association with Hannah Lightfoot he had
felt the need for tolerance in religious matters and although he favoured Quakers particularly he wanted to be remembered as the King under whom religious freedom had been encouraged.

England was fiercely Protestant and had been ever since the reign of Mary I, when the Smithfield fires had shocked the country. The history of England might have been different if James II had not become a Papist. Then he would have continued to reign and his son after him, and the House of Hanover would never have been known in England. George was King because his ancestors had been Protestants.

The laws against Catholics were unjust, he had always considered. Catholics could not hold land; Army officers could not be Catholics; the son of a Catholic who became a Protestant could claim his father’s property; Catholic religious services were officially illegal, although for many years they had been held and no one had taken any action.

There had been no great religious fervour in England; the natural impulse was to go one’s way and let others do the same. Occasionally minorities suffered a little and George had on several occasions shown his desire to protect them. He had begun by professing his friendship for the Quakers and when there had been certain comment about this had extended his benevolence to other sects.