Indiscretions of the Queen

Willikin

THE Prince’s return to Mrs. Fitzherbert was tantamount to a public renunciation of his marriage to Caroline. True she was the Princess of Wales and mother of Princess Charlotte, but everywhere Maria Fitzherbert was received with the Prince and apart from openly being acknowledged as such was in every other way his wife.

In spite of her apparent acceptance of this extraordinary situation, Caroline was at heart deeply wounded. Her only friend was the King and his health was declining rapidly. He visited her now and then and she was allowed to visit him; he showed clearly that he had a firm and growing affection for her which, Caroline confided to Miss Hayman, was comforting.

She was entertaining more frequently at Montague House, and was delighted to find that there were people who were prepared to visit her in spite of the fact that they knew they displeased the Prince of Wales by doing so. It was not only the Prince of Wales who was displeased but the Queen also; and as the King was growing stranger every day it seemed as though Caroline would not long have a supporter in the royal family.

Caroline endeavoured to show that she did not care and, gay and unrestricted, made an effort to lead her own life. She had her beloved daughter, and Charlotte loved her mother however much her relations tried to turn her against her; she had her little family of poor children whose welfare was of the greatest concern to her; and she had the friendship of the King and the affection of the people who had considered her very badly treated by her husband and always went to a great deal of trouble to show her that they were on her side.

She felt shut in in her house in Blackheath— aloof from the affairs of the world which were distinctly uneasy. There was trouble with France where a man of tremendous ambition named Napoleon Bonaparte had risen to make a nuisance of himself to his neighbours— by no means excluding the English. The price of bread had risen alarmingly and there was general discontent among the poor because of this.

One May morning the King went into Hyde Park to review a battalion of the Guards. Crowds had gathered to see the parade and all was going well when suddenly the sound of a shot was heard and one of the spectators fell to the ground. Crowds collected; the King asked to know what had happened and learned that the fallen man had been wounded by a ball cartridge. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind for whom that shot had been intended.

The King was calm as always in such circumstances, having long ago assured himself that kings must be prepared at all times for sudden death. As for himself, since his illness he was haunted by the fear of going mad and he often told himself that sudden extinction would be preferable to years endured in the clouded world of insanity.

‘Continue with the exercise,’ he said, and went on as though nothing had happened.

People who had witnessed the incident talked of the King’s remarkable courage; and that evening when he went to Drury Lane to see the play he was loudly cheered, but as he stepped to the front of the box to acknowledge these cheers a man in the stalls stood up and fired at him.

For the second time that day the King had had a narrow escape from death, for had the bullet been a few inches nearer the mark it would have entered his body.

There was a hushed silence before pandemonium broke out and the man who had fired the shot was captured.

The King, however, preserved his miraculous calm and signed for the play to continue; he slept through the interval which was a habit of his, usually sneered at, but on such an occasion applauded.

No one could help but admire the courage of the King and during the evening Sheridan, manager of Drury Lane, wrote a verse to be added to the National Anthem and sung to the King that very night.

From every latent foe, From the assassin’s blow, God save the King! O’er him thine arm extend, For Britain’s sake defend, Our father, Prince and friend, God save the King.’ The King listened while the audience sang this new verse several times and there were tears in his eyes as he did so.

And when the would-be assassin turned out to be a certain James Hadfield, an old soldier who had received a wound in the head and was clearly suffering from delusions, the King was immediately sympathetic— as he always felt towards those who suffered from insanity.

Momentarily to the people he was a hero instead of bumbling old George, Farmer George, Button Maker George, the butt of the cartoonists who depicted him talking to cottagers about their pigs and enquiring of an old woman how the apple came to be inside the dumpling. They were fond of old George while they laughed at his homely ways and his concern for small matters. The man who could act so calmly after an attempt on his life was in another category.

But they soon forgot and he was old George again, parsimonious, prim, father of a large and troublesome family— poor old George who had once been mad and was likely to be so again.

Pitt resigned and Pitt had been the King’s anchor ever since he had shown himself to be the ablest minister of his day and had headed a ministry at the age of twenty-five.

The King’s constant anxieties about the state of Europe, that new menace, Bonaparte, and the complicated matrimonial affairs of the Prince of Wales, had their effect.

He became ill— of a fever his doctors called it. But it was well known what the King’s fevers entailed. The Queen was in despair, while the eyes of the Prince of Wales were hopefully turned towards the Regency which had once almost been his and which if it had come to him would have brought him great power.

But the King recovered— although he still acted strangely.

Caroline was awakened one morning by her servants who announced that His Majesty was below and had called to see her.

Fearing something was wrong, Caroline did not wait to dress, but in her unconventional manner ran down in her nightgown to greet her father-in-law.

The King embraced her with fervour— in fact in such a manner as to alarm her faintly. She had long felt that he was somewhat attracted to her.

His eyes were a little wild as he declared: ‘You have been constantly in my mind. Constantly. Constantly, you understand, eh, what?’

Caroline replied that she understood and she was gratified and honoured to have been in the kindly thoughts of her dear father-in-law and uncle.

‘My poor, poor Caroline, the way in which you are treated— I think of you. I think of you. I have been ill— very you understand, eh, what? and I have thought of you. I have decided to give you the Rangership of Greenwich Park. You understand, eh, what?’

Caroline sank to her knees and kissed his hand.

He surveyed her with tears in his eyes.

‘All wrong,’ said the King. ‘All wrong. Treated like this. While he goes off with— Always been a trouble to me. Such a beautiful baby he was, beautiful child— always fed in the proper manner— always disciplined— and then he gives me sleepless nights. I’ve had ten in a row. The Rangership of Greenwich Park, you understand, eh, what?’

Caroline did understand. She was triumphant. This was going to upset the old Begum. But the King, the dear crazy King, was her friend and so she had something to be thankful for.

Life was not unpleasant at Montague House for Caroline since so many interesting people were delighted to be her guests. Where George Canning was there was always brilliant conversation. Mrs. Canning often accompanied him; and there was Lady Hester Stanhope, the eccentric young woman to whom Caroline was very much attracted; that able politician Spencer Perceval came; others followed these; Mr. Pitt himself called on her with other distinguished Tories, for after all the Prince of Wales was notoriously Whig which meant that the Tories would support the Princess of Wales.

So Caroline delighted herself by giving lavish parties in which she dispensed with all ceremony. She would dance with her guests, laugh with them and play romping games.

No one could have behaved less like a Princess of Wales; but thier guests were well aware that there had never before been a Princess of Wales like Caroline of Brunswick.

But what she most enjoyed were the times she spent with those whom she called ‘her children’. She had her school which she herself superintended and where the children received a good education; not as she was determined to make sure, an education which would give them airs and graces and good manners. Oh no, theirs was to be a practical education. She wanted to equip her children, who would have no fortune, to take their places in the world with a trade behind them.

She wanted her girls to learn how to manage a house so that if they married they would be good wives; and the boys should not leave school without a good trade in their hands. She, who was so wildly impractical in most things, was entirely the opposite where her children were concerned.

Each day they were brought to her and took a meal with her. They called her Mamma and had no shyness where she was concerned. They would come to her if they hurt themselves and she was the one who must bandage them or kiss and make better.

‘There is only one thing I regret about my children,’ she told Mrs. Fitzgerald, her lady-in-waiting, ‘and that is that they are not my own.’

She spoke wistfully, for in every child she saw her own daughter Charlotte and lived for the hours she could spend with the little girl.

‘All my life,’ she told Miss Hayman and Mrs. Fitzgerald, ‘I longed for a child, and when I had one it was to discover she belonged to the State and not to me.

What a tragedy! But I must not complain, must I? I have my little family and I think of them all as my own— all the little children I should have had if I had been allowed to marry where my heart lay. That was with my dear Töbingen. Ah, I could tell you of my beloved Major. He was worth a hundred princes. But he was not good enough for poor little Caroline. Does that not make you laugh?’

They were accustomed now to the wild conversation of their mistress and saw nothing remarkable in it.

She was busy in Montague House; her children saw to that. She turned one of her fields into potato land so that the produce could be sold to add to the income she spent on her children.

She enjoyed walking round the field while the potatoes were being dug.

‘You see,’ she would say to her ladies, ‘I should never have been a princess. I should have been a country woman to marry where I wished and raise children— my own— a large family all my own.’

But the happiest days were when she saw Charlotte. She would devise games to amuse the child; she showered affection on her and it was returned and meanwhile she knew that the Prince was making all sorts of plans to keep them apart and that but for the intervention of the King he would have done so.

She discovered a gift for modelling in clay and her first effort was to make a head of her daughter.

‘To remind me of you, my angel,’ she said, ‘when you are not with me.’

Charlotte was intrigued and sat as still as she could while her mother worked; then when the sitting was over they would play rough games— for Charlotte was a tomboy— until it was time for the little Princess to go back to Carlton House.

So, thought Caroline, deprived of my own child for long periods, I must have my adopted family to keep me from grieving. Because she thought that the sea would provide her boys with a career she made the acquaintance of Admiral Samuel Hood who was the Governor of Greenwich, Hospital; and through him she met a man who was to have an important effect on her life. This was the dashing sailor, Sir William Sydney Smith, always known as Sir Sydney, a man who immediately attracted Caroline because he had the manner of an adventurer and was indeed one. He had fought many a sea battle and could tell a stirring story, so he was cordially welcomed to Montague House.

Caroline was entranced and made no secret of her interest in the sailor. He must come again to Montague House, she told him, when he was in the neighbourhood.

‘That, Your Highness,’ he replied, ‘could be any time you invite me, because I am staying for a while in the house of my friend Sir John Douglas.’

‘And that is nearby?’ Caroline wanted to know.

‘Very close to Montague House. Your Highness has doubtless seen the house on your trips around. In fact, it is the nearest to Montague House. You should meet the Douglases; they are an amusing pair. John Douglas was with me at Saint Jean d’Acre. That was when I was taking care of the defences. Those were stirring days. I could tell you some tales. It was just before I took over command of Alexandria. I remember the news coming in that Bonaparte had stormed Jaffa.’

The Princess’s eyes shone with excitement. If she could not have a large family of children to care for she would like to travel about the world, see strange places, enjoy the company of exotic men and women.

‘Well, my friend Douglas was with me. And now I’m ashore for awhile, I’m staying with them. Lady Douglas is an enchanting creature. She has recently had the most delightful child.’

‘A child.’

‘A baby daughter. A pretty and engaging creature I do assure you. Your Highness would enjoy meeting the mother and child.’

‘That I should,’ said Caroline, ‘and doubtless I will as they are such near neighbours.’

Such a cold day, thought Caroline. How she wished that she was in one of those hot and sunny spots which dear Sir Sydney talked about with such enthusiasm. Still, her destiny lay here. She had come to England to be a Princess of Wales, one day a queen— though she trusted that would be a long time hence, since it could only be on the death of the King.

She felt restless so she sent for Miss Hayman and told her she was going to walk.

‘Alone, Your Highness?’

‘Yes, dear Hayman, alone.’

It amused her to see the shocked look in dear Hayman’s eyes. They should be used to her by now. She was not treated like a Princess; she was not allowed to live in Carlton House; therefore she would behave like a country lady and go walking alone if she wished.

In her mauve satin cloak and yellow half boots she looked very colourful.

Would Maria Fitzherbert say she looked a little too flamboyant? Well, Maria my love, I am the Princess not you! ‘Now, my love, bring my sable cap and I’ll be off.’ When the cap was brought she set it jauntily on her head. ‘There, my dear, the Princess of Wales takes the air — unescorted— but not desolate. Because it is as she wishes and as she commands.’

‘Your Highness—’

‘No, my dear, I do not need your company. I am going alone.’

She left Montague House smiling as she went. She knew exactly where she was going. She would call on Lady Douglas and see the enchanting child and perhaps Sir Sydney Smith if he were there.

She found the house he had described. How did one call? Did one walk straight up to the door and knock? That was what she had done in Brunswick when she had wished to call on humble folk. But this was not Brunswick; and there she had merely been the Princess Caroline, daughter of a small ducal house.

Perhaps the Princess of Wales should have a different approach.

She put her hand on the gate and hesitated; then she stopped and walked up and down along by the iron railings. What does it matter how I get in? It only matters that I do. An attractive young woman had come out of the house and approached Caroline. Opening the gate, she asked: ‘Do you want something? Can I help you?’

‘Are you Lady Douglas?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘I thought you must be. I hear you are the mother of a very beautiful little girl.

May I see her? I love children.’

‘Madam—’ began the startled woman.

‘Sir Sydney told me about her. Sir Sydney Smith. He was at Montague House, you see.’

‘Montague House— but that is—’

Caroline nodded. ‘Yes, of course. I am the Princess Caroline— Princess of Wales.’

‘Your Highness!’

‘There’s no need to stand on ceremony. Ask me in, please.’

‘My— my humble house is at Your Highness’s service.’

‘Well, come and show me your little daughter.’

So that was the beginning and Sir Sydney was right. The child was enchanting. As for Sir John and Lady Douglas, they were delighted to have the honour of entertaining Her Royal Highness. And while they gave her refreshment Sir Sidney arrived; and then there was a joyful encounter between him and the Princess It was a very entertaining visit and Sir Sidney begged leave to escort her back to Montague House, which permission she willingly gave.

The Douglases were hopeful, they told her, that they might again have the pleasure of Her Highness’s company and that they hoped that next time she came she would give them warning so that they might have the opportunity of entertaining her in a fitting manner.

‘Nonsense!’ cried Caroline. ‘I’ve been most fittingly entertained! I want no ceremony— you shall come to my next Party at Montague House and certainly I shall come again. We are neighbours.’

When Caroline had left with Sir Sydney the Douglases looked at each other in astonishment.

‘I feel I’ve dreamed the last two hours,’ said Lady Douglas.

‘I always heard she was eccentric.’

‘Who would have believed that she— that woman— was our future Queen!’

‘The stories we’ve heard must have been true.’

‘What an adventure!’ said Lady Douglas. She looked at her husband. He was a brave man and had not done badly; he had been given a pension after the part he had taken with Sir Sydney in the defence of Saint Jean d’Acre; but she was the strong one; she had always led the way and he had always followed.

When she had suggested that the gay bachelor, Sir Sydney Smith, should live in their house when he was ashore, he had raised no objection and if he knew of the relationship between herself and Sir Sydney he raised no objection to that either. He was no raiser of objections and that suited Lady Douglas and Sir Sydney very well indeed.

But the Princess of Wales— to call on them like some humble village woman!

‘I hear you have a beautiful daughter!’ mimicked Lady Douglas in a thick guttural accent. ‘What an extraordinary thing!’

‘You found her— attractive?’ asked Sir John.

‘I would say she is an attractive proposition rather than an attractive woman,’

said Lady Douglas with a smirk.

‘You think this could bring good fortune to us?’

‘I intend to see that it does. Good Heavens, can’t you imagine what it could mean to us? Friends in high places! My dear friend and neighbour is Madame Caroline. She’s crazy; she’s wild; she behaves in the oddest way— I grant you that. But she is still the Princess of Wales.’

‘Sydney seemed taken with her.’

Lady Douglas turned away to hide the frown.

‘He would have to be taken with the Princess of Wales, wouldn’t he? So have you to be— and I. So have we all, if we’re wise.’

Lady Douglas left her husband and went to her room as she said to think of what could come out of this.

From her window she watched for the return of Sir Sydney and when he came back and up to the rooms which had been set aside for him, she was waiting for him in his bedroom.

‘Well?’ she demanded.

‘It’s a fantastic thing. I can scarcely believe it.’

‘She’s a fantastic thing, you mean.’

‘Tut tut, Lottie. You’re talking of the Princess of Wales. Remember that.’

‘I trust you remembered it.’

‘Now what does that mean?’

She threw herself against him and put her arms about his neck. ‘You know full well.’

He laughed.

‘Myself— and the Princess of Wales! Come, Lottie, you’re letting your imagination run away with you.’

‘Mind you don’t let yours run away with you where that woman’s concerned.’

He laughed again and embraced her.

‘Your spare time is for me,’ she told him. ‘Remember it.’

‘As if you’d let me forget!’

‘I shan’t. But if you did by any chance there’d be trouble. You know that.’

‘I know my Lottie,’ he said.

The friendship with the Douglases flourished. Lady Douglas, Caroline believed, was a very exciting personality. She was full of fun, ready for the wildest games Caroline arranged for her parties; and there was the delightful little daughter of hers who had been christened Charlotte Sydney.

It made a bond between them that they both had a daughter named Charlotte; and Caroline was constantly bestowing gifts on the adorable little creature.

How pleased she was that she had called on the Douglases that day!

There was a great deal of entertaining and Sir Sydney was in good form at Parties; he had a talent for devising all sorts of games and they were usually games with forfeits. And the price he always demanded from the ladies was a kiss. This caused great merriment. And when Caroline had to pay her forfeit, Sir Sydney did not alter his terms and Caroline was very prepared to kiss him heartily. He was her dear friend who had helped to make her life so much more exciting.

Captain Manley came to Montague House a great deal too. He was very interested in her boys and told her that the sea would be a fine career for any of them who were suited to it.

‘Why, you are like a father to my darlings,’ she cried in her impulsive way, and once when he took his leave she kissed him heartily to show him how grateful she was.

She did not realize that her behaviour was noticed and commented on not only among her friends but among her servants. Nor did she know that some of the latter had be placed in her household on the orders of the Prince of Wales that her conduct might be observed and reported.

‘Dear, dear Captain Manley,’ she would say. ‘What wonderful man he is! And so kind.’

As for dear Sir Sydney, she had a great affection for him too. He was the life and soul of any party and she enjoyed his high spirits and those occasions when he would hold the all entranced with some tale of the sea in which Sir Sydney always played the part of dashing hero.

Since she had come to Montague House she certainly was building up a little coterie around herself which was making life very agreeable.

The King called with presents for herself and little Charlotte. She was sad because she saw that his health was deteriorating. He spoke in that rapid manner which was so alarming and he was a trifle incoherent.

‘Well, well, well, so you are settled here, eh? It’s wrong you know, wrong, wrong, wrong. Ought to be at Carlton House. And little Charlotte? How is the child? Are you seeing her? Glad of that, glad of that. Should be there, though.

Don’t like trouble in the family. My father quarrelled with his father— his father quarrelled with his father— and now my son— Who would have sons, eh? Lucky to have a daughter. Worried about Amelia, though. Do you never see the Princesses?’

‘I never see them, Uncle dear. I think they may have had orders to stay away.’

‘Don’t like it. All wrong— wrong— should all be friends. Like to see you back with the Prince.’

‘He’d never have me, Your Majesty, and I don’t think I’d want to go. I’m happy here. If I could have little Charlotte here I’d want nothing else—’

‘Happy, eh? Like it here? Not suitable really for Princess of Wales. Should be at Carlton House. Don’t like it.’ He looked at her in an oddly appreciative way.

He said: ‘Pretty woman— fine bosom— should be painted. Should have your portrait painted. Has it been done since you came? Should have it done, I’ll send a man to do it. You’d like that, eh, what?’

‘Why yes, Your Majesty. I’d be delighted.’

‘Leave it to me. Only right. I’ll send a man, eh, what?’

Poor, poor Uncle George, thought Caroline when he had left. One of these days he will go completely mad. She believed that he would forget the promise to have her portrait painted and expected to hear no more, so she was surprised when Sir Thomas Lawrence, R.A., arrived at Montague House.

Caroline was delighted with the painter from the beginning. He was handsome, in his early thirties and had an extremely gallant manner. She was discovering that she liked to be surrounded by admiring men; their attentions and compliments helped her to forget the insults of the Prince of Wales, for although she pretended that she did not care and that she was no more attracted to him than he to her, her pride had been deeply wounded; and men such as Captain Manley and Sir Sydney Smith, with their perpetual gallantries and air of ‘Ah, if I but dared’ were a comfort to her. And now to their number was added the handsome young painter.

How should she be painted? Let them decide together. She had seen some of his portraits. Would he make her as handsome as some of his other sitters?’

‘If I tell the truth Your Highness will be more beautiful than them all.’

She laughed aloud; she slipped her arm through his. He was a little astonished at the familiarity but like everyone else, he had heard of the eccentric behaviour of the Princess of Wales.

So there was the additional pleasure of sitting to Sir Thomas who had taken up residence at Montague House.

‘I shall be sitting with Sir Thomas for the next two hours,’ she would tell her servants. ‘See that we are not disturbed.’

There were sly nods and winks below-stairs.

‘We see life,’ they said to each other, ‘serving such a mistress.’

She was ‘a one’ for the men. As if Sir Sydney and Captain Manley were not enough— now they had Sir Thomas Lawrence as well.

One morning Mrs. Fitzgerald came to tell Caroline that there had been an accident. Mrs. Lisle, one of her ladies, had fallen and hurt her foot.

Caroline was immediately sympathetic. She ran into Mrs. Lisle’s room and found her lying on her bed, her ankle very painful and swollen.

‘Oh my dear, my love, does it hurt? We must call the doctor at once, Fitz dear, will you see that they send for him. Oh, my poor, poor Lisle! Now be perfectly still and don’t move.’

She asked questions about the ankle, how it had happened, how painful was it.

And she would be very, very angry with her dear Lisle if she got up from that bed before the doctor had given his verdict.

Mrs. Lisle thought how endearing the Princess was. It was true she behaved in a manner most unsuited to a Princess, but who else would be so concerned about a sprained ankle— or whatever ailed her. At times like this one loved the Princess.

The doctor came and diagnosed a bad twist to the ankle. Her foot was also damaged. He said she must certainly not stand on her feet more than was absolutely necessary for at least a fortnight.

‘I have my duties,’ began Mrs. Lisle.

Caroline, who had insisted on being present, cried: ‘What nonsense! Of course she shall stay in bed. I myself will see to it, Doctor.’

‘The Princess has the kindest heart in the world,’ said Mrs. Lisle.

Caroline said ‘Nonsense!’ again, but she was pleased, it was true she did love those who served her, and wanted to do the best possible for them.

Lady Douglas came that day. She was coming more frequently than ever and she and Caroline were considered to be fast friends. An added bond between them was Lady Douglas’s pregnancy.

‘Lucky lucky you!’ cried Caroline when she had heard; and it was this fact which made her more eager than ever to talk to Lady Douglas.

Caroline greeted her warmly. ‘And how are you today, my dear? Taking good care of yourself, I trust? Oh, how I envy you. And no one attempts to keep you from your darling Charlotte. I saw mine the other day. What a tomboy! She is going to be a wild one. You cannot think how I miss her. And you, lucky creature, have your daughter all the time and a new child coming. What do you hope for? A girl or a boy?’

‘What does it matter?’ said Lady Douglas. ‘Once one has a child that child is all one ever wanted.’

Caroline clasped her hands. ‘How right you are, my dear. And pray tell me how are dear Sir John and dear, dear Sir Sydney?’

Lady Douglas suppressed the wave of jealous anger which rose in her. Sydney said there was nothing serious in his relationship with the Princess; it was merely a flirtation. Could she trust him? Not at all. He was a born adventurer and he took adventure where he found it. Had he found it here? She could never be sure.

Was Caroline having love affairs with Manley and Lawrence? There was gossip enough and she saw that her servants were on friendly terms with those of Montague House. Servants were such good detectives; not only did they have opportunities but an extra sense where the scandals of, the families they served were concerned. Some said yes and some said no.

And I’d make her sorry if I found out there was anything between Sydney and her— Princess of Wales or not! thought Lady Douglas. And perhaps since she was Princess of Wales it would be easier than if she were not in such an exalted position.

Let her babble on about her babies, those cottage children she treated like her own! The woman was more than eccentric, she was mad— and she had said as much to Sydney.

The eternal question was: ‘Is Sydney faithful to me?’ What a fool she was to become so besotted about a man. It was not like her; she was usually so calm and practical. But ever since she had met Sydney— Oh, well, she was obsessed by the man and as long as he remembered that he was hers and that she expected fidelity all was Well. But if he was the Princess’s lover— There sat the woman brilliantly rouged, her hair in some disorder, her bodice cut low to show too much of her voluptuous bosom. Looking at her one would say that suspicions were not unfounded.

By God, if I found out, thought Lady Douglas, while she said sweetly that one must of course take care of oneself during the waiting months for the sake of the child.

The Princess listened rapturously. One would almost think she was pregnant herself.

‘Poor Lisle hurt her foot today,’ she said suddenly. ‘I am insisting that she lie up for a fortnight. Doctor’s orders. Of course the dear soul is worrying about how I shall manage without her. It will be difficult. I do miss my ladies when they are absent.’

‘They’re very fortunate to serve Your Highness.’

‘And I’m fortunate to have such angels to serve me. Oh— something has just occurred to me. I wonder whether you would like to come here for a fortnight as a maid of honour it would be so amusing. We could talk and talk— and should see personally that you did nothing to harm the precious child.’

To live in Montague House for a fortnight! That would be interesting. Then she might discover a great deal. Sydney could visit her there. It amused her to think of them being together under the same roof as the woman who might well be another of his mistresses.

‘Your Highness is so good to me.’

‘Would Sir John object do you think?’

‘Sir John!’ She must not show her contempt for her husband for that might cloud a little the image the Princess had of her. ‘Oh, Sir John, I am sure, he would be delighted. He would be extremely conscious of the honour done to me.’

‘Then it is settled.’

So Lady Douglas came to stay for a fortnight in Montague House.

What gossip there was and it was all of babies. Lady Douglas was present when the children came to see the Princess. She watched them all at breakfast with her, saw Caroline’s devotion to them and thought her quite mad.

‘Lucky, lucky creature,’ she said to Lady Douglas. ‘You already have one and another little darling on the way. I trust you will have a large family. Ten, no less.’

God forbid, thought Lady Douglas.

Sir Sydney came but he was reluctant to spend too much time alone with Lady Douglas in Montague House.

‘What of the Princess?’ he demanded. ‘What if she should discover?’

‘Would she be so shocked?’

‘The general opinion would be that she should.’

‘You probably know more of her than most people.’ That made Sir Sydney laugh. ‘Do I detect a certain jealousy, my dear?’

‘Do I detect a certain complacency?’

‘Complacent? Why shouldn’t I be complacent? I’m a naval hero, my love.’

‘And the lover of the Princess of Wales?’

Sir Sydney’s eyes sparkled. ‘Hush. Who knows we may be overheard. That’s treason.’

She took him by the arm and shook him. ‘Is it true? Is it true?’

That made him laugh. She thought how maddeningly attractive he was. She longed to subdue him as she had Sir John but of course she could not and that was the man’s attraction for her.

‘Answer me, answer me.’

His eyes were alight with mischief.

‘Ask the Princess. I should like to hear what she has to say.’

How was she to know whether it was true or not? But from that moment she began to believe it was; and her hatred for Caroline was like a physical pain. She felt a longing to destroy the Princess.

But the fortnight passed in outward harmony and Caroline had no idea of the stormy feelings she aroused in Lady Douglas.

And when Mrs. Lisle was again on her feet Lady Douglas went home.

‘It has been such a privilege to serve Your Highness,’ she said.

‘Oh, don’t call it serving,’ cried the Princess. ‘It’s been the visit of a friend.’

Shortly afterwards she was out walking in the neighbourhood when she came across a case of extreme poverty which she found most distressing.

She was first attracted by Mrs Austin who was heavily pregnant and paused at the door of their cottage to talk to her.

‘I see you are soon to have a child.’

‘Worse luck,’ said the woman, recognizing the Princess, for most people in the neighbourhood knew her by now and were aware of her eccentric habits and as she did not ask for ceremony they gave her none.

‘My dear good woman, how can you say such a thing! You are about to have that most precious gift— a child— and you see it as ill luck!’

‘I’ve had too many precious gifts, Madam— more than I can afford to feed.’

Caroline’s deepest sympathies were aroused.

‘You should have come to me and I would have helped you. Now you are not to worry any more. I shall have food sent to you. And I shall see that the baby is looked after when it is born.’

‘We all know of your goodness, Madam. And I can only say we know too you’ll keep your word. This was a lucky day for me.’

Caroline went on her way but she could not stop thinking of the coming child.

Poor mite, to come into the world unwanted. If only she was the mother— if she could only have a child which would be all her own and not taken away from her, how happy she would be!

She could not get the Austins out of her mind; and next day she was at the cottage with blankets and food; and it soon became clear that although she was interested in all the children and pregnant mothers of the neighbourhood, she had a very special feeling for the Austin family.

‘Mrs. Austin’s child will be born in two months’ time,’ she told Lady Douglas when she called. ‘I wonder whether it will be a boy or a girl.’

‘I doubt she minds much.’

‘She said she had had too many. Poor dear soul! As if one could have too many. It’s strange that some feel this to be so and others would give years of their lives to have one.’

‘Your Highness loves children so much. Perhaps other women are less motherly.’

Caroline held her arms as though she cradled a baby. She began to laugh suddenly. ‘Do you know I feel as though I am pregnant.’

Lady Douglas looked at the strange creature sharply. Could it be? Was she?

Sydney would think it all a great joke.

I believe it is so, thought Lady Douglas. There is a look about her. She’s excited. I could almost be sure of it. When Lady Douglas had gone, Caroline called for her pelisse and cap. She had not told Lady Douglas yet. No, it was a secret so far. It might not happen and she had first to consult Mrs. Austin, who at the moment did not want the child but women did change when their children were born. It was natural enough and God forbid that she should take a child from its mother.

Ms. Austin was at the cottage door when Caroline arrived, she invited her in.

Small and dark and insanitary, she noted. The idea of this new and precious life starting in such place!

Mrs Austin dusted a chair for the Princess.

‘Thank you, Mrs Austin I have come to speak to you of a very— delicate matter.’

‘Oh— Madam—’

‘Don’t be frightened. If you say no, I shall understand. It’s that when the baby is born will you— could you bear give it to me?’

‘To give it to you, Madam! You mean you want to take it?’

‘That’s what I mean, Mrs Austin. I have a daughter, my— little Charlotte, but I am not allowed to have her with me all the time. I want a baby of my very own — to care for— to have with me. You said you had too many. I am asking you to give me this one.’

‘Do you mean, Madam, that you’d take the baby— Like one of those you have in your school and look after it like, and feed and learn it things.’

‘I didn’t mean quite that. I want to have this baby as soon as its born. I want to care for it myself. I want to adopt it.’

‘Then you will.’

Caroline came out of the cottage, her eyes glowing. In two months’ time she would have her own little baby, to care for, to bring up, one who would not be snatched from her.

She came running into Montague House. Some of the servants were within earshot.

‘My, dear Fitz— Lisle, my love, something wonderful has happened. I’m going to have a baby.’

Spencer Perceval, who had now become the Attorney General, often called at Montague House. Caroline knew he was a friend whom she could trust and was delighted with his growing success. She knew too that he was brilliantly clever; his conversation was a delight, spattered with epigrams as it was; and she had heard it said that he was an unusual man, for not only had he won the approval of Pitt, who had once said that Perceval could be a future Prime Minister, but Fox and Sheridan had also expressed their admiration for him.

It was gratifying therefore that he should call on her, and she knew that when such men showed their friendship for her. It caused a great deal of chagrin to the Prince of Wales.

This in itself would have made it worthwhile her receiving such men‚ but she liked Perceval for himself and was delighted to have him as her friend.

She confided in him a great deal— what comfort to confide in a clever man He knew about her school and the children she cared for and he applauded her for doing this social work. So now she felt she could talk to him of the Austins, but as yet she had decided to be unusually discreet and say nothing of her plan for adopting the child. This she supposed was due not so much to discretion but the fear that if she talked too much of the project something might go wrong with it.

She could never understand a mother’s parting with her child and was therefore haunted by the thought that when the time came Mrs. Austin would not let it go; moreover there was the dangerous affair of birth itself. If this one were lost in the process she would be heartbroken. So therefore she had a superstitious feeling that she would not speak of it until the child was actually in her hands. But she was anxious about the poverty of the Austins.

‘I have discovered a very poor family living near here,’ she told Perceval. ‘I know you understand my concern for these people.’

He did indeed. He wished that others of her rank shared her conscience.

‘Then I know you’ll help me. The father of this family is a good respectable man who had work in the dockyards until he lost it. There are several children and I have done what I could, but I think that if the father could earn money himself they would all be happier for this. They do not want to live off charity. I can recommend Samuel Austin as a good respectable man. Can you do something for him?’

Perceval said that he would do his utmost and he had little doubt that he could find some form of employment for a good and honest man who was a protégé of the Princess, in a week or, so later Caroline was able to carry the good news to the Austins that there was a job waiting for Samuel in the dockyards.

‘You’re our good angel, Madam,’ said Mrs. Austin.

‘And you haven’t changed your mind about the baby?’

‘Why, Madam, do you take me for a fool.? This baby’s going to be the luckiest in Blackheath!’

‘I’ll try to make it so,’ said Caroline.

Lady Douglas had had another daughter. Caroline went over to their house as soon as she heard the news, taking with her lavish presents for mother and baby.

‘My dear,’ she cried as she sat down heavily on the bed, 'you must be the happiest woman alive.’

Lady Douglas asked the nurse to bring the child and it was laid in the Princess’s arms. Caroline was rapturous. ‘What a little darling! I adore her. I would envy you except for the fact— but it’s a secret. You will know in due course.’

Lady Douglas clenched her hands beneath the bedclothes and thought: Can she mean she is pregnant! Is it possible! Oh, the traitor. It is so. I’m sure of it. She said sweetly: ‘I am going to ask a great favour of you. May I?’

‘Please do. I am sure it will be granted.’

‘Would you act as sponsor to my new daughter?’

‘Nothing would please me more.’

‘And have I your Highness’s permission to name her after you? Sir John and I would like to call her Caroline Sydney.’

‘I cannot think of a happier combination,’ smiled the Princess.

As the birth of Mrs. Austin’s child became imminent, Caroline arranged for her to go into the Brownlow Street Hospital and in due course a boy was born.

When Mrs. Austin came home, Caroline went to the cottage and saw the child in his shabby cradle. She took him up in her arms but Mrs. Austin said that she would have to keep him with her for a week or two.

‘You are not going against your word?’ cried Caroline.

‘Lord love you, Madam, it’s us that’s frightened you’ll go against yours.’

‘Never,’ said Caroline, hanging over the cradle, ‘Have you named him?’

‘We thought of William, Madam.’

‘It’s a good name,’ replied Caroline. ‘Little William— my little Will. Yes, he shall be William. When am I going to have him?’

‘In three weeks from now?’

‘I wait with great impatience.’

As was promised, the baby boy was delivered to Montague House where Caroline had already prepared a luxurious nursery for him. She covered his face with kisses; she was going to look after him herself. He was hers as darling Charlotte could never be. Her little Willie.

‘My Willie,’ she cooed. ‘My little Willikin.’

And that made him seem like hers. From henceforth he was Willikin.

Lady Douglas was away for a few weeks and Caroline was longing for her to come back so that she could show her the baby. When she eventually did she immediately came to call and was shown into the Princess’s drawing room by Mrs. Fitzgerald, Caroline had thrown a light piece of cloth over the child so that it was not immediately visible.

‘I have a surprise for you,’ she cried excitedly. ‘Turn your back or shut your eyes. No— turn your back. I want you to have a really big surprise.’

Lady Douglas did so and when Caroline gave her permission to turn, saw the child lying on the sofa.

‘Your Highness!’ cried Lady Douglas.

‘Ha. I told you I was going to have a baby, did I not?’

‘You did, Your Highness, but—’

Mrs. Fitzgerald who had remained in the room said quickly: ‘Her Highness adopted the child. He is the son of a Sophia Austin, the wife of a dock labourer.

You should have seen him when he arrived.’

Caroline had snatched up the child and was kissing him frantically, ‘He has changed has he not, Fitz? Is he not now the most beautiful baby in England?’

‘He should be, Madam, with all the care you give him.’

‘So Your Highness is looking after him yourself?’ asked Lady Douglas.

‘Of course, my dear. Why else should I want a baby? To give to others to care for! You shall see how I look after him. think it is his feeding time, is it not, Fitz?

I shall feed him myself. Only the best for my darling Willikin. Send in all I shall need and I shall show my dear friend Lady Douglas how I care for my child.’

Lady Douglas watched incredulously while the Princess superintended the feeding of the child and herself changed his napkin.

It’s a nightmare! thought Lady Douglas and all the time she watched Willikin to see if there was some resemblance to Sir Sydney. But, she thought, a little mollified, it could be Manley or even Lawrence.

What a fool she is! And she, the Princess of Wales! Is it possible that she can’t see what trouble she might be making for herself? Lady Douglas felt very excited. What a scandal this could be. She felt suddenly powerful, which was a very comforting feeling, suspecting as she did that her lover had found satisfaction with another woman.

But it could only be because she is Princess of Wales, Lady Douglas soothed herself. If I knew it were true, I’d make her wish she’d never set eyes on him. Not long after the arrival of Willikin, Lady, Douglas came to tell the Princess that she and Sir John would be going away, perhaps for some years. They were going to Devonshire in the company of Sir Sydney Smith, both the men being called away to duty.

The Princess took an affectionate farewell of her friend and a rather tearful one of her little godchild; but there was Willikin to comfort her.

No sooner had the Douglases left than Mrs. Fitzgerald told the Princess that she wished to speak to her on a rather delicate matter.

It had come to Mrs. Fitzgerald’s ears that Lady Douglas had spoken very disrespectfully of the Princess in the hearing of her servants, some of whom had reported this to the servants at Montague House.

‘And what was this?’ asked Caroline.

‘She spoke slightingly of Your Highness’s morals and said that William Austin was in fact your own child.’

‘My little Willikin! How I wish he were! But he is, you know, my dear. He is my own.’

‘But, Your Highness, Lady Douglas hinted that he was the result of an adulterous intrigue and that you had actually given birth to him in secret.’

The Princess was silent. ‘I think they would call that treason,’ she said.

‘They would indeed, Your Highness. That is why I think you should know that Lady Douglas was a false friend.’

‘She must have been if she spread tales like that.’

‘She did, Madam, I assure you. Heaven knows what could result if she talked too freely in some circles.’

The Princess was thoughtful. Then she brightened. ‘Well, she has gone, my dear.’

‘She may come back. If she does—’

The Princess waved her hand. ‘If she does— well then I shall not receive her.

My dear, dear Fitz, you are so concerned for me. Have no fear. She is far away and if she ever comes back, I shall simply not receive her. Now— go and bring Willikin to me if he is awake, but don’t disturb the little pet if he is not.’

Mrs. Fitzgerald went away to do as she was bid.

How feckless she was! She did not seem to have any idea of the trouble her conduct could arouse.

Willikin was awake and screaming to be picked up. Willikin indeed! thought Mrs. Fitzgerald. The cause of all the trouble.