Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series) (39 page)

They then began to discuss more important matters of State than the Duke of Clarence’s appointment to the sinecure of Lord High Admiral of England.

William strutted before Adelaide in his Admiral’s uniform, his eyes gleaming with happiness, his face grown youthful so that he resembled a boy with a toy which he has coveted for a long time.

‘Lord High Admiral, Adelaide. Think of that! It’s something I used to dream of in those early days on the
Prince George
and the
Barfleur.
I was a midshipman then. Plain William Guelph. It was my own wish that I should be known by that name. And
it wasn’t easy, Adelaide, for the son of the King to become a common sailor.’

‘I can well believe it was not.’

‘Oh no. But I accepted the discipline. I forgot my rank. I became one of them and I learned to love the sea and ships. By God, it’s a fine thing – the British Navy. It’s the finest institution in the world. But there is room for improvements. By God, yes! And there will be improvements. They have got a sailor at their head now … a sailor who started at the bottom and rose to his present position through his own determination and …’

Adelaide was not listening to the words. She was alarmed by his excitability. He was constantly making long speeches as though he were addressing the House of Lords.

‘I am sure it is realized what an asset you will be to the Navy, William,’ she said quietly. ‘It is for this reason that you have been offered the post.’

‘There’ll be jealousies,’ went on William. ‘By God, I’m not sure that I like that fellow Cockburn. Seems to think he’s in some superior position. Talks about the Board. “The Board”, I demanded. “What of the Board? The Lord High Admiral of England does not need a
Board
to tell him what to do. Let me tell you, sir, that the Lord High Admiral of England was a sailor which is something this
Board
could never be!” I said to him …’

His eyes grew wild, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

‘William,’ said Adelaide gently, ‘remember your asthma. You won’t want to provoke another attack.’

But William could not be calmed. He was Lord High Admiral and he intended to make his presence felt.

They were scarcely ever at Bushy now. There was no time for the old peaceful life. ‘I have my duties,’ said William. ‘Navy affairs must come first.’

He was not content merely to wear a uniform and appear at naval functions which was what Canning had planned for him. He wanted to be responsible for reforms, he wanted to make speeches. The latter was easier than the former and he plunged into this on every occasion; he made the mistake of thinking
that he was a master of oratory; his voice sounded magnificent to himself; he could laugh at his own words and when the occasion demanded it be intensely moved by them. Unfortunately they did not have the same effect on his listeners, who had difficulty in suppressing their yawns and whispered comments. The result was ridicule in the press.

William did not care. He was going to hoist his flag and go to sea. For this purpose he determined to take the
Royal Sovereign
yacht at the head of a Squadron. Excitedly he discussed the project with Adelaide.

As she dreaded going to sea she was less happy. She was almost always ill; and this was not like a Channel crossing; William planned to stay at sea for more than a week.

‘William,’ she said, ‘I cannot come with you. I should be violently ill.’

His face fell childishly.

‘Don’t forget you will soon be Queen of England.’

‘I beg of you do not speak so loudly of such things.’

‘Why not?’ he roared. ‘It’s true.’

‘It sounds as though you almost
want
your brother to die.’

‘Old George has had his day. To my mind he’s not all that anxious to cling to life. It’s inevitable. Fred’s gone … and Fred was younger. Oh, the day will come soon and I see no reason to pretend otherwise.’

‘It might not be considered seemly, and a king has to consider his words.’

‘That’s right, that’s right,’ said William. ‘A king has his responsibilities.’

‘And often has to act with discretion.’

William laughed. ‘You’ll make a good queen, Adelaide,’ he roared.

All the same she could not go with him, so she compromised. He was calling at ports along the south coast. Very well, she would travel overland to all those ports and when he docked she would join him in the
Royal Sovereign.
This would prevent her suffering from seasickness, which in any case would have rendered her incapable of doing her duty; she could help him entertain in the ports and be on board with him when the ship was in dock and
while it was at sea she would have an opportunity of visiting some of the noble families who had country estates in those ports.

It would be, she said, a sort of royal progress.

A royal progress! The phrase appealed to William.

Trust Adelaide to think of the right thing. How she had developed under his guidance. To think that when he married her he had believed that the alliance with the House of Hanover might have gone to her head. No, she was steady and reliable, his Adelaide; and he couldn’t have had a better wife.

He was very pleased with life. But he would be more pleased when the crown was placed on his head and he was proclaimed King of England.

The Duchess of Cumberland had joined her husband and his son George was with her. George was immediately taken into Adelaide’s circle of young people and the boy was charmed with his aunt. He was given presents and made to feel very welcome and his parents looked on with amusement.

They were staying at Windsor where the Duke of Cumberland had become the closest confidant of the King. The Duchess too was often in his company: he found her clever and amusing.

Lady Conyngham was not very pleased with the Cumberlands. She had been contemplating leaving the King and would have done so if she could have found a means of effecting it easily; but now that she saw her place being usurped by the Duchess of Cumberland she was angry.

The King was very old, she reasoned. He could not live much longer. She should remain with him until the end now. There might be quite a few perquisites to fall into her hand for the King was very lavish with his jewellery and who would be able to say whether such and such a piece had been given to her or not.

No, she was going to stay to the end and she was not going to be pushed out by the Duchess of Cumberland.

The Cumberlands carried a sinister aura wherever they went. No one could quite forget that during their past they had both been suspected of murder.

They had a standard of morals all their own. They were undoubtedly allies, yet that did not mean that they were faithful to each other.

The Duke of Cumberland was known to be engaged in a haison with Lady Graves; the Duchess did not object in the least; and in fact had the King not been so old and incapable of such conduct, she would most certainly have attempted to become his mistress.

They understood and they had one aim which made any other desire that might come to them of the greatest insignificance. They wanted the throne of England – first for the Duke and then for their son George.

The situation amused them. An ailing king with clearly a short time to live and when he was dead between them was merely William (Silly Billy as they called him) and Victoria.

If the situation had been straightforward, if there had been no lives between, they could not have experienced the same stimulation and exhilaration which the present state of affairs gave rise to.

When they were together they discussed the way things were going.

‘William,’ said the Duke, ‘is playing straight into our hands.’

‘Trust William.’

‘Behaving like an idiot. He can scarcely open his mouth without showing his impatience for George’s death.’

‘That may upset George, but however upset he is he can’t alter the succession.’

Her husband’s eyes narrowed. ‘Successions can be altered.’

‘What have you in mind?’

‘Our father was put away; he went into retirement and George became King – in all but name.’

‘You can’t mean they would put William away?’

‘Why not … if he behaved like a madman?’

‘But he’s just a fool.’

‘There is a very fine line between folly like his and madness.’

‘You would never get others to see that point.’

‘Then, my dear, it will be my job … our job … to make them.’

Frederica laughed. However much she might be attracted by
other men and Ernest by other women, they still found each other the most exciting person in the world.

‘A terrible misfortune has come to the country,’ said the King, holding a handkerchief to his eyes. ‘I have just had word that Canning is dead.’

Lady Conyngham was scarcely listening. She was bored with politics; but she was glad of course that the King was confiding in her instead of in the Cumberlands. He had just received the news and was very upset about it.

He rambled on: ‘Of course there was a time when I was set against him. He was very friendly with the Princess of Wales.’ (He never thought of Caroline as the Queen; to him she remained the Princess of Wales.) ‘At the time of the Delicate Investigation he was visiting her frequently; and when the Bill of Pains and Penalties was brought forward he was on her side. Some said he was her lover. Who knows? With that woman one could never be sure of anything. And when he became my Foreign Secretary I don’t mind saying now that I could not endure the fellow. But that changed. He had such good taste; he was the sort of man with whom I could find an understanding. No, I cannot believe that he could ever have been the lover of that creature. One did not have to spell things out with him. He had a quick mind; a great eloquence; he was one of the most brilliant men of our day.’

Lady Conyngham yawned and wondered whether to have her sapphires reset with the new diamonds the King had given her, or wear them as they were. Canning’s death meant nothing to her.

‘And now he is dead,’ went on the King. ‘I have lost a good friend as well as a great minister. And what can I do but ask myself what would Canning have
wished
me to do in such sad circumstances? He would have wished me to send for men whom he trusted. That is so. Don’t you agree with me, my dear?’

‘Oh yes, I agree,’ said Lady Conyngham.

In accordance with what Canning would have wished the King sent for Lord Goderich and offered him the office of Prime Minister.

But it was soon clear that Goderich was no Canning; the
choice was a bad one and ‘The Goody’ as the press called Goderich was soon in difficulties.

A few months after his appointment he called to see the King and in tears informed him that he could no longer carry on.

‘My dear fellow,’ said the King, ‘then you must resign.’

With that he passed Goody his handkerchief to dry his eyes and decided that there was nothing to be done but call in the Duke of Wellington.

One of the most romantic men in the country was Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington. After the battle of Waterloo it was inevitable that he should be the country’s hero. Who had rid them of the enemy Napoleon, the villain who had cast a shadow over Europe for so long? The answer was Wellington. Nelson had beaten the Corsican at Trafalgar but he was still able to plague Europe for ten long years after that. But with Waterloo came the eclipse of the arrogant conqueror. Everyone must admire Wellington if he were the most ill-favoured man in England. But he was not. Tall and spare of figure, with aquiline nose and keen grey eyes, always immaculately dressed, he was not only handsome but, also romantic.

He was married, and the story was that he had married out of chivalry. As a young man he had fallen in love and the lady of his choice, Kitty Pakenham, had declined his offer of marriage at which he had gone away and devoted himself to his career in the Army. When he had gone Kitty regretted having let him go and decided to mourn her loss for the rest of her life. Some years later the news of this reached him and being the romantic man of chivalry he wrote to her and asked her to marry him.

‘I have been a victim of the smallpox,’ she wrote. ‘I am very different from the girl you wished to marry. I have lost my looks and you would be shocked if you saw me. Do you still wish to marry me?’

There was only one reply a chivalrous man could make and he made it. It was not for her beauty alone that he had wanted to marry her. So they were married and he was soon regretting his impulsive action; and when the war was over and he came into politics and made the acquaintance of the fascinating Mrs
Arbuthnot he was more in the latter’s company than that of his Duchess. But so discreet was he that although it was considered appropriate when inviting the Duke to invite Mrs Arbuthnot too and to place them side by side at dinner, no one was absolutely certain whether or not she was his mistress.

There was Mr Arbuthnot, that very respectable Tory gentleman, who was one of the Duke’s greatest friends, and surely this could not have been the case if the Duke had taken his wife?

Of course Mr Arbuthnot was years older than his beautiful wife; and she was a strikingly intelligent and intellectual woman. Mr Arbuthnot himself said that ministers discussed State affairs before her – not only because they could trust her discretion but because she often had valuable advice to offer.

So it was with the Duke. He could talk to Mrs Arbuthnot; he enjoyed her company as he could no one else’s; and the poor doting Duchess, who had been married for chivalry, must accept this and make the best of it. She was half blind in any case and declared often that she could not see her husband’s ‘precious’ face as clearly as she would like. She had her sons whom she adored and who treated her without respect, obliging her to fetch and carry for them and generally making a slave of her. But all this she accepted as she did the Duke’s attitude towards her, for he, accustomed to commanding an army, liked to issue orders as to how the house was to be run and the guests entertained.

It was to Mrs Arbuthnot he turned when he was selected as Prime Minister.