Indiscretions of the Queen

The Anonymous and Obscene

CAROLINE settled down to enjoy life with Willikin and dismissed the Douglases from her mind. She rarely gave a thought to what was happening in the world outside Montague House— and great events were in progress.

Napoleon was astride Europe. Even Hanover, that stronghold of the Guelphs, was in his hands. Most alarming of all he was at Boulogne casting covetous eyes on England, and the threat of invasion was in the air.

The Prince of Wales was fretting against inactivity. He had settled down to harmony with Maria and was now looking for further adventure. He was very unpopular with the people and that wounded him deeply for he desperately wanted their approval and he felt he could win this by becoming a hero in this battle against that great bogey man known throughout the land as Boney; and he longed to take a part in the war.

He told Maria that he was going to insist on doing so. ‘Why should I, a man of my age— be told that I must not be allowed to fight for my country? Did you ever hear such rubbish?’

Maria replied that as the heir to the throne it was reasonable for the King to refuse to allow him to risk his life.

‘You would make a coward of me, my dear love. I shall write to him all the same.’

He sat down at once. He was always happy with a pen in his hand. Watching him Maria remembered those long impassioned letters he used to write to her— some of them thirty-two pages in length.

‘Listen to this, Maria: In this contest the lowest and humblest of Your Majesty’s servants have been called upon. It would therefore little become me, who am the First, to remain a tame, idle and useless spectator. ‘Very fine,’ said Maria. ‘But it will not move His Majesty one bit.’

‘By God, I’m not allowing the people to think me a coward.’

There was excitement in the air. The country was united as it could only be at such a time of danger. Just across the Channel Napoleon had gathered together a large fleet of gun boats. He thundered threats from the soil of France. The British were defeated, he cried. It was only a matter of weeks. Who did they think they were to dare stand out against Napoleon? Hadn’t they heard of his victories throughout Europe?

The answer came back: Yes, who does he think we are? And there was the nation suddenly in arms. Farmers and fishermen, merchants and their apprentices— everyone who could carry a gun or a scythe if no gun was available.

‘Come on, Master Boney,’ they cried. ‘We can’t wait to welcome you.’

The King was growing more and more afraid. The twilight times when his mind became so clouded that he was not sure where he was, and whether or not he was a young man again, were becoming more frequent. Sometimes he would doze off and wake up to find himself talking of he knew not what, and when he tried to stop himself the voice still went on and sometimes he was not sure that it was his.

Trouble, he thought. It’s all trouble— always has been, always will be.

He had been very upset recently over the plot organized by a certain Colonel Despard.

What had possessed the man? he kept asking. Eh, what? Despard was a good soldier. At his trial Lord Nelson himself had come forward and testified to his valour and loyalty.

What had happened to make Colonel Despard plot to assassinate his King?

‘Why?’ he cried. ‘What have I ever done but my duty, eh, what?’

It was a mad plot— to shoot the King and take possession of the two Houses of Parliament. Why? Eh, what?

And he had been discovered and executed with his fellow Conspirators at the top of Southwark jail and there he had made his last speech in which he had declared that he believed in the end liberty and justice would triumph over despotism and delusion.

What had he meant, eh, what?

Despotism and delusion! Hadn’t he, George III, always tried to be an honest man? And had he not always had the, good of his people at heart?

All this trouble: George and Caroline not living together. Bickering over the Princess Charlotte. A fine way for a child to be brought up! What did she know of the trouble between her parents? A great deal— she was a knowing young mix.

And it was all wrong. Napoleon planning invasion. Voices in his head.

What next? he asked himself.

And there was that young fool the Prince of Wales wanting to go and fight.

He took up his pen. The answer was no— no, no. Couldn’t he understand that, eh, what?

‘I had flattered myself to have heard no further on the subject,’ he wrote angrily.

Then he buried his face in his hands and asked: ‘What next, eh, what?’

The Prince was furious.

‘He thinks I’m a child,’ he raged. ‘By God, I’ll make him repent that.’

‘Remember,’ said Maria, ‘he is a very sick man.’

‘That may be. But he’s representing me to the people as a coward. Am I going to stand aside and see that happen?’

‘My dearest, there is nothing else you can do.’

‘My dear love, I have thought of something. The obvious way to let the people know the truth.’

Maria had risen alarmed.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said triumphantly. ‘I am going to publish our correspondence.

That will let the world know that I am not the one who is holding back.’

Lord Nelson had made an attack on the fleet which Napoleon had accumulated for the invasion of England and this changed the Corsican’s ideas of easy conquest. The whole of England knew that though he might conquer Europe, Napoleon was no match for Lord Nelson.

Invasion fears died a little; but the country was still in danger and its militant mood persisted even though the situation was easier, and the King still had his troubles.

When he saw the correspondence between himself and the Prince published in the Morning Chronicle he was overcome with rage and grief.

Once more, an open quarrel in the royal family! He raged and stormed and talked perpetually and incoherently of his eldest son’s treachery to him.

As Prime Minister Addington remarked to Pitt, this was enough to turn the King’s brain again. They would have to be, watchful.

Caroline, happy at Montague House looking after Willikin who was fast growing objectionably spoilt, was not very pleased to hear that the Douglases were back in Blackheath.

Lady Douglas lost no time in calling at Montague House and was somewhat taken aback when she was informed that the Princess of Wales was not at home.

This might have been so, but the next day she received the same answer and as she knew that this time the Princess was in residence she realized that she was being turned away.

She was furious. She raged to Sir John: Did the Princess think she could treat her in this way? She would find she was mistaken.

‘I know too much,’ said Lady Douglas ominously.

She called at Montague House again to receive the same answer..

‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Caroline when she heard. ‘I shall have to tell her that I don’t wish to see her.’ She called to one of her women. ‘Vernon, dear, I want you to write a letter to Lady Douglas and tell her not to call again.’

When Lady Douglas’s reply was brought to her Caroline turned her head away. ‘Send it back to her,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to read it. I want nothing more to do with that woman. She’s dangerous.’

When this letter was returned to her, Lady Douglas was furious.

‘Does she think she can treat me like this? She will see that she is not dealing with some humble servant. She is a vulgar woman for all that she is Princess of Wales. I’ll not endure this.’

‘Be careful,’ warned Sir John. ‘Remember this is royalty.’ But when had she ever taken his advice? She had only scorn for him.

She sat down to write to Mrs. Fitzgerald, a letter which held veiled threats.

The Princess of Wales had confided in her about a matter of great importance not only to herself but the country. She had respected the Princess’s confidence but if Her Royal Highness were going to treat her so churlishly, why should she behave with such meticulous honour towards Her Highness? She had written to Mrs.

Fitzgerald because the Princess refused to read a letter addressed to herself.

Perhaps Mrs. Fitzgerald would acquaint Her Highness with the contents of this letter.

Mrs. Fitzgerald was very perturbed,. She went at once to Caroline.

‘My precious pet! He is my child, my dear. That’s how he is to me. But what this creature is suggesting is that I gave birth to him. Is that it? And that I confided this to her? What a liar she is.’

‘Yes, Your Highness, but perhaps a convincing one.’

‘A convincing one. What do you mean, my dear? How could she convince anyone of such a falsehood!’

How indeed? thought Mrs. Fitzgerald sadly, when the Princess of Wales was so familiar in her attitude to the men who visited the house, when she had been seen kissing Sir Sydney Smith in a game and had shut herself in a room with Sir Thomas Lawrence to be painted and was always so delighted Captain Manley and so affectionate in her manner towards him Heaven help us, thought Mrs. Fitzgerald, if that woman really tried to make mischief would it be so difficult? ‘Tear up the letter, Fitz dear, and think no more about it. She’ll stop making a nuisance of herself when she realizes that I am determined not to see her.’

But Lady Douglas was not a woman to be lightly put aside. She had made a plan of revenge and she lost no time in putting this into action.

Caroline received another letter and this one she read. It was very short and extremely mystifying. Lady Douglas wrote that she had received the anonymous letter Caroline had sent her together with the drawing.

‘What is the woman talking about?’ demanded Caroline. ‘What letter? What drawing?’

Neither Mrs. Fitzgerald nor Mrs. Vernon could throw any light on the matter but they were deeply disturbed.

Another letter followed which was signed by Sir John and Lady Douglas and Sir Sydney Smith. They asked for an audience with the Princess because they felt that in the peculiar circumstances they must have an explanation.

‘What are they talking about?’ demanded Caroline.

‘I don’t know, Your Highness,’ said Mrs. Fitzgerald, ‘but I find it very disturbing and I think that you should get advice on how to act.’

‘You know what she is saying, Your Highness. It is that Willikin is indeed your child.’

Advice? thought Caroline. Yes, she did need it. This matter was too important to be ignored. And what was Sir Sydney Smith doing in it? She had thought he was her friend.

She could go to the King. No, he was too ill and he would be so shocked at the prospect of any scandal, moreover he had been too much worried already by his children, she did not want to add to those anxieties.

The Princes— apart from her husband— had always been friendly towards her; perhaps she could ask one of them.

Her choice fell on Edward, Duke of Kent, who was the most sober of all the Princes; he was good-natured and kind-hearted. She would ask him to come to see her and help her throw some light on this affair.

As soon as he received her invitation, he came to Montague House and listened carefully to all she had to tell him. She explained how she had met Lady Douglas and had become friendly with her but how she had heard that Lady Douglas had gossiped most scandalously, after which she had refused to see her.

Then had come letters and finally one referring to an anonymous letter and another requesting an interview with the Douglases and Sir Sydney Smith.

Caroline had no idea what Lady Douglas was attempting to do and why Sir Sydney Smith should be involved.

The Duke of Kent looked grave.

‘The matter must be examined,’ he said. ‘I don’t know these Douglases but I have met Sir Sydney Smith. I will see him and hear what he has to say.’

The Princess thanked him and remarked to Mrs. Fitzgerald after he had gone: ‘My kind brother-in-law will soon get to the bottom of this affair, and that will be an end of it.’

Sir Sydney Smith called on the Duke of Kent as requested and with him brought the anonymous letter and the drawing to which Lady Douglas had referred.

‘Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales, has told me of some trouble in which you and Sir John and Lady Douglas are involved. She does not understand what it is about. Perhaps you could explain.’

‘I can indeed,’ cried Sir Sydney. ‘And begging Your Royal Highness’s pardon, I am sure the Princess is in no doubt as to the cause of the trouble. Would you yourself, sir, not want an explanation if this had been sent to a lady of your acquaintance when that lady had a husband who was your greatest friend?’

The Duke of Kent stared at the piece of paper which Sir Sydney Smith had laid before him. It was an obscene drawing of Sir Sydney Smith and a woman (Lady Douglas, Sir Sydney explained) in a compromising position.

‘This is— disgusting!’ cried the Duke of Kent.

‘So think I, sir, and so thinks Lady Douglas. Why, it is enough to set Sir John and me at each other’s throats.’

‘And this— is the work of the Princess of Wales. It came, sir, with this letter which although unsigned, I am assured is in Her Highness’s handwriting.’

It did not occur to the Duke of Kent to doubt that the letter and drawing were the work of Caroline. Her eccentric behaviour was well known. The point was that however innocent she might be, it was not inconceivable that she might be guilty of the charges brought against her.

‘And what do you propose to do?’ asked the Duke of Kent.

‘This is an attack as Your Highness will see on my honour and that of Lady and Sir John Douglas. I do not think Sir John is a man who will lightly allow such an insult to pass.’

‘It is a shocking affair. You know the precarious state of the King’s health.

This would have a disastrous effect on him if it came to his ears. You will appreciate this, Sir Sydney, and I am sure that such a loyal subject as yourself would not wish to increase his difficulties.’

Sir Sydney agreed that he was indeed a loyal subject and if he could persuade Sir John to drop the matter, he himself would be prepared to do so. But of course the Princess of Wales must understand that there must be no more such attacks.

‘I can assure you of this,’ replied the Duke of Kent.

‘Then, sir, leave it to me to persuade Sir John. I am sure I can do it.’

The Duke grasped Sir Sydney’s hand. He believed he had settled, with the utmost tact, a matter which might have raised a big scandal in the family.

A few days later Sir Sydney called on him and told him that Sir John had promised that the matter should go no further.

The Duke of Kent wrote to the Princess to tell her that the unfortunate matter was at an end but she should have no more correspondence with the Douglases.

The fact was: that he had been disgusted by the drawing and had readily believed that it was the work of the Princess.

He shivered, pitied his brother for being married to such a wife, congratulated himself on having skilfully handled a delicate situation, and put the matter out of his mind.

Lady Douglas was incensed. Her little plot had failed. And it was due to Caroline’s having called in her brother-in-law. Who would have thought she would have had the sense!

And now Sydney, out of deference to a royal Duke, had made them all agree that the matter was at an end.

Was there to be no revenge then? Was she to be insulted by Caroline?

She would not accept that. But she would have to wait awhile. After all there was the affair of Willikin, which was far more serious than an anonymous letter and a disgustmg picture.