The Regent's Daughter

Summer by the sea

BOGNOR DELIGHTED THE Princess, for there she insisted on more freedom than she could possibly enjoy in the royal palaces. A mansion belonging to a certain Mr Wilson had been put at her disposal and here she came with some members of her staff headed by Lady de Clifford.

It was pleasant to wake up every morning and to stand at an open window and smell the sea. She bathed three or four times a week and she would shriek with delight when she was immersed into the water; she loved to wander along the shore, running in the face of the boisterous wind, sometimes pausing to pick up oddly shaped stones which caught her fancy. She insisted that her attendants kept their distance and Lady de Clifford said that as long as they had her in view all the time she might enjoy this freedom.

This was delightful because it enabled her to meet people and talk to them, often without their being aware of who she was. In her green riding habit and little straw hat she looked like any young lady of a noble house; no one would have guessed by her clothes and manner that she was an heiress to the throne.

She discovered that a baker named Richardson made the most delicious buns she had ever tasted; the aroma of his bakehouse would float out into the street and when she smelt it she could never resist going into the shop.

She had talked to Mr Richardson for a long time before her attendants came bursting in to make sure that she was all right and he realized who she was.

She was amused by his confusion. ‘But, Mr Richardson,’ she told him, ‘the fact that I am the daughter of the Prince of Wales makes no difference to the fact that you make the b … best buns in England.’

Mr Richardson rubbed his floury hands through his hair and put smudges of white over his face, which Charlotte found very endearing. And after that she took to calling in at the shop at the time when the buns were taken out of the oven and she would sit on a high stool eating them and commenting to Mr Richardson on the quality of the day’s batch. It was one of the happiest occasions in her new life – as it was in Mr Richardson’s.

Lady de Clifford shook her head and did not approve of these free and easy manners, but there was nothing she could do about it. She had to have the Princess in good health and she seemed to wilt when she lacked freedom.

‘Just for a while,’ Lady de Clifford promised herself. ‘And now she is getting older, I really think she needs someone firmer than I.’

Poor snuffy old Lady de Clifford! thought Charlotte, and tried not to worry her more than she could help.

Four beautiful grey ponies arrived at Bognor and with them a little market cart. She was almost wild with delight when she saw them.

‘But they’re so beautiful, Cliffy. Do you not think so?’

The messenger who had brought them gave her a note accompanying the gift. It was written by the Prince of Wales. He hoped that she would find this little conveyance useful. He had at an early age derived great pleasure from riding and driving; he hoped that she would find the same in this gift from her affectionate father.

She leaped about with delight, treading on poor Lady de Clifford’s toes, she embraced Mrs Gagarin and she even felt kindly towards Mrs Udney.

Her father had given her a present! He had remembered her existence!

In a more sober moment she asked herself whether Mrs Fitzherbert had persuaded him to give her such a magnificent gift.

But what did it matter? She had her cart and her four lovely greys; and she was going to perfect her riding. She was going to surprise him when she saw him next.

Perhaps it was too good to last. Why did something always have to happen when she was most happy! She had seen the old men in the lanes and they had touched their forelocks to her; she did not see how they could harm her.

But Lady de Clifford had thought it her duty to report to the Queen that there was a home in the neighbourhood for old soldiers who suffered from ophthalmia; she did not know whether the disease was infectious, but she believed that Her Majesty should know.

The Princess Charlotte must not run the slightest risk. None of the King’s sons had produced another heir to the throne and Charlotte was on that account very precious. She should leave Bognor at once for Worthing; and there she should be joined by the Queen and her aunts.

Charlotte wailed in fury. What would become of her freedom under the eyes of the Begum and the Old Girls? What of Mr Richardson’s buns?

There was no help for it. The party left for Worthing.

How different was Warwick House from Mr Wilson’s Bognor mansion. But perhaps that was because royal etiquette had been introduced into it. It was like Windsor or Kew. There were the Queen’s Drawing Rooms where one must sew and read and Charlotte had to undergo catechism at the side of her grandmother. She had to see that her snuffbox was at hand when she needed it; she had to endure the alternate affection and scolding of the Old Girls.

Even the sea could not make up for that.

Warwick House was at the end of a narrow lane; and there was nothing about the place to suggest that all this royal ceremony was going on inside. It was true two sentries were always posted at the gate; but for them it might have been any gloomy old country house.

‘Charlotte, you are too boisterous. I think you often forget your position.’ This was the constant complaint of her grandmother. ‘Stop fidgeting, child. How awkward you are! I do declare you have the manners of a cottage child.’

Nothing pleased her. Even her daughters talked of her ill temper.

‘It’s her rheumatics, poor Mamma,’ said Amelia, who was always ill herself and could pity others who were.

It was from the aunts that she heard some news of her mother.

‘I doubt not that before long you will be able to see her,’ whispered Aunt Mary. ‘I believe the King is going to receive her.’

‘Why have they been so unkind to her?’ demanded Charlotte.

‘Hush! There are things you cannot understand. You will one day.’

It was exasperating, but if one protested it might stem the flow of information; so the only thing to do was to curb one’s impatience and try to be calm. It would make her very happy to see her mother again.

It was Mary who told her that her grandfather, the Duke of Brunswick, had been killed at Jena.

‘This terrible Napoleon Bonaparte,’ sighed Aunt Elizabeth. ‘He is dominating the whole of Europe. And to think that he thought of invading England too. Dear Lord Nelson put a stop to that.’

Charlotte was well aware of Napoleon’s activities. This was the kind of lesson which she assimilated with ease. She knew full well what the country owed to Lord Nelson and what sorrowing there had been when he fell only a few years ago at Trafalgar.

And now that wicked man had killed her grandfather – or at least his soldiers had. Poor Mamma, she would be very upset for she had loved her father. She had once told Charlotte that she had loved him better than any man she ever knew. But one could never be sure; she expressed her feelings with such extravagance. One day she loved Charlotte better than anyone in the world and the next it was Willie Austin – or her Willikins as she called him. Still, she would be very unhappy because of the death of her father.

‘And,’ went on Elizabeth, ‘your Grandmamma Brunswick is in England.’

‘Shall I see her?’

‘You certainly will. Your Mother is allowing her to live at Montague House and she is in her apartments at Kensington Palace.’

At Kensington Palace! Then that surely meant that Mamma was received at Court. She was no longer in disgrace.

There was a further surprise. The Prince of Wales sent his own carriage to Worthing to pick up his daughter and Lady de Clifford and bring them over to Brighton where they might visit the Pavilion and see a parade of the Prince’s own regiment.

Charlotte was delighted. First the little cart and the four greys – and now he was sending his carriage for her! Mrs Fitzherbert might well be behind this but what did that matter? She was at last to be given the chance to know her own father. And if when she returned to Carlton House she might visit her mother she could be loved by them both; and perhaps one day their differences would be forgotten because they would both have one great interest in common: their own daughter.

Perhaps that was a dream, but it was a very pleasant one and riding along those country roads often beside the sea, in his magnificently upholstered carriage, with his coachman very grand in his scarlet and green livery, Charlotte felt she had every reason to believe that her most cherished desire would be fulfilled. Her white muslin dress was very pretty; she had argued with Mrs Gagarin that it would be dirty before the day was over, but Mrs Gagarin had said they should take a chance on that. The Prince would expect his daughter to look her best. And, declared Louisa fondly, Charlotte looked a real picture with those lovely white frills and flounces and her straw hat with the blue ribbons to match her eyes.

‘Do I look nice?’ Charlotte had pirouetted before the glass and pictured her father’s approval. ‘By God,’ he would say, ‘I have a damned pretty daughter.’

They came into Brighton at a jog trot. There was no place quite like Brighton; here was an exhilaration in the air which was nowhere else. This was the town where the Prince of Wales reigned supreme; he had turned it from a humble fishing village to the most elegant place in England – next to London, perhaps. But it was so different from the capital that it need not regard even that as a rival. Here everyone seemed happy; the ladies were fashionable; and the costumes of the gentlemen made one gasp in admiration. The influence of Beau Brummell and the Prince of Wales was evident everywhere.

It was the Prince’s birthday and therefore a great day in Brighton. He was forty-five years old and that was something the people were determined to celebrate. The streets were hung with banners; the children carried posies; and everywhere there were loyal shouts.

As soon as the carriage appeared they cried: ‘God bless the little Princess!’

‘Wave,’ whispered Lady de Clifford. ‘Incline your head. Smile. Show that you appreciate them.’

Charlotte was waving frantically, beaming on everyone.

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Lady de Clifford. ‘Not so violently. Pray remember that you are a princess.’

‘Princes and princesses, kings and queens, they must always please their people,’ said Charlotte in the tones of the Bishop; which made Lady de Clifford sigh even more deeply.

And now here they were at the magnificent Pavilion itself and the band was playing on the lawn. The carriage drew up and Charlotte jumped out. How often had Lady de Clifford warned her that she should wait to be helped and then step daintily down. But Charlotte was far too excited to remember these admonitions.

She had seen her father. He was in the uniform of his own regiment and about his waist was a belt decorated with diamonds. He was clearly very happy, as he always was on occasions like this, and because it was his birthday, and the people of Brighton had determined to honour him, and in any case had always been loyal to him however unpopular he was in London or any other part of the country, he was prepared to shower his charm on everyone and that included his daughter. He embraced her with emotion – tears in his eyes – but was that for the benefit of the spectators?

Now she was being greeted by her Uncle William, Duke of Clarence. Uncle Fred was not here today, she was sorry to see.

Uncle William’s greeting was not as affectionate as it might have been. She had overheard it once said that some of her uncles did not like the idea of a girl’s inheriting the crown. Well, thought Charlotte, they would have to put up with it, for they could have twenty sons and not one of them could oust her from her position. Not that Uncle William showed any signs of having any legitimate sons. He had several children by the lovely actress Dorothy Jordan – young George Fitzclarence, whom she bullied when she met him, was one of them – but they could never inherit the throne, so there was no reason why Uncle William should dislike her for being the legitimate daughter of the Prince of Wales. She thought Uncle William rather stupid anyway and much preferred what she had seen of Dorothy Jordan, who was lovely and had the same warm motherly quality which she had discovered in Mrs Fitzherbert. She wondered whether Dorothy Jordan was here today; if so she would not be far off because although she was merely the mistress of the Duke of Clarence she was accepted everywhere. The Prince of Wales was fond of her and, unlike his parents, he did not consider the absence of marriage lines a reason for banning a beautiful and interesting woman from society.

Now here was Uncle Augustus, Duke of Sussex, who was, next to Uncle Fred, her favourite uncle. He was tall like the Prince of Wales and his complexion was decidedly florid. He seemed pleased to see Charlotte and he had made it clear on more than one occasion that he was her friend and would help to bring about a better understanding between her and her father, but he could behave rather oddly; he was not so simple and straightforward as Uncle Fred in whom she felt she could put greater trust. She was saddened too about his break with dear Goosey, because he had gone through so much for her sake – marrying her against his father’s wishes and having a court case and when it went against them, with the support of his brothers, setting up residence with her all the same.

The nicest thing about the uncles was that they always supported each other and if any of them were in any difficulties the first person they thought of going to was the Prince of Wales.

And after greeting Uncle Augustus it was the turn of Uncle Adolphus, Duke of Cambridge. She never felt she knew Uncle Adolphus who, in his Hanoverian military uniform, was like a foreigner.

Delightedly she thought how much more elegant, dazzling and brilliant was her own father.

The Prince was smiling as he watched. At least, she thought, he’s pleased with me today. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we are going on to the lawn. The crowds will expect to see us together.’

Walking beside her father, Charlotte was happy. Brighton was the most beautiful place on earth on a hot August day with the sea sparkling and glittering before her and the wonderful Pavilion behind her and the dear people cheering them all – especially her, she thought; and she peeped slyly at her father, wondering how he felt about this. Oh, yes, there were more shouts of ‘Long live the little Princess’ than there were of ‘God save the Prince of Wales’.

This was her day, in spite of the fact it was the Prince’s birthday. She beamed and waved at the people – forgetting all instructions to be decorous. Why should she be, when the people liked her as she was? The band was playing; the sun was shining and the people cheering. What a happy day!

Then she thought of her mother who was not here. How strange that was. Her father’s birthday and her mother not here! The three of them should have been together. Wasn’t it a family occasion? But of course the Princess of Wales never went anywhere that the Prince might be.

On such a day one should not dwell on these controversies so she gave herself up to pleasure.

The picnic was delightful. The footmen served champagne to all the guests, who took it in their carriages which were all lined up in order of precedence. Mrs Fitzherbert should have been in the carriage next to the one Charlotte occupied with the Prince and her uncles. But she was not; instead there was the very cold – though she admitted elegant – Lady Hertford, looking remarkably pleased with herself.

The champagne made Charlotte feel lightheaded. What a glorious day! She trusted she was not displeasing her father by her rather loud laughter. Fortunately Lady de Clifford was not close enough to hear.

She did see Mrs Fitzherbert on that day; she was in her carriage with Minney, not far from Mrs Jordan’s carriage in which the lovely actress sat with several of the Fitzclarence children.

Mrs Fitzherbert inclined her head graciously but the Princess leaped into the carriage and kissed her.

‘My dearest Mrs Fitzherbert, I feared you were not here.’

‘Oh, yes, I still attend functions like this.’

She was obviously a little sad and Charlotte wondered how anyone could be on a day like this.

‘I hope,’ she said, ‘that soon this silly notion will be forgotten and we shall be visiting you again.’

‘God bless you,’ said Mrs Fitzherbert tenderly.

‘When I am old enough to please myself no one shall tell me where I may and may not go.’

‘I am sure that will be so,’ said Mrs Fitzherbert with a warm smile, and she added: ‘Minney has missed your visits, haven’t you, Minney?’

‘Very much,’ replied Minney. ‘Mamma and I were saying so only this morning.’

Charlotte was pleased that they had talked of her.

‘One day it will be different,’ she said; and because she noticed that she was attracting attention, she said goodbye and left them.

And after the picnic there followed the review which she witnessed from her father’s carriage. How proud he was of his own regiment, the 10th Hussars, and he seemed to grow more and more magnificent in his own splendid Hussar’s uniform as he took the salute.

When it was over they went to the Pavilion. What a magic palace it was, what an Aladdin’s cave! Although it was her father’s home it was unfamiliar to her. It was true she had once had a children’s ball here. She had stood in this vestibule with its odd but splendid decorations and received her guests. They had gathered in the ornate banqueting hall where now the Prince would entertain the chosen guests; and in the music room she had listened to an occasional concert.

She wished that she might live with her father and mother in this house which he so loved and for which he was always planning alterations; it was beginning to look like an oriental palace and everywhere was his love of Chinese art evident.

In those little paragraphs in the newspapers which gave her so much pleasure – partly because she knew that her grandmother would have given orders that they were to be kept from her if she was aware that she saw them – she heard a great deal about the Pavilion. Mrs Udney was constantly chuckling over the papers and Charlotte’s curiosity, which her grandmother would, she was sure, have called prying, made a bond between them. She did not dislike Mrs Udney half as much as she had once; and Mrs Udney’s way of calling attention to these paragraphs with a little chuckle or giggle or a clicking of the tongue was the sign for Charlotte to demand – imperiously so that Mrs Udney could not refuse – to see the paragraph.

There were references to Mrs Fitzherbert which she did not always understand but she did guess that Mrs Fitzherbert was not as happy as she had once been. Perhaps dear little Minney was not climbing on his knee so often. But quite a lot of the references concerned the Pavilion and since Charlotte had read of it she longed to see her father’s new bathroom. She slipped away from the throng of people – not easy for a princess, but Charlotte was nothing if not resourceful – and made her way to her father’s apartments.

This was his bedroom. His bed was as she would have expected it to be – elegant in the extreme. It had been made for him in France and was unexpectedly simple, but she could recognize the graceful lines. She climbed the bedsteps, sat on it and bounced up and down laughing, sticking out her legs and looking at her long lacetrimmed drawers. They were not quite as clean round the lace edges as they had been when they set out from Worthing.

All the furniture was beautiful and everywhere was the Chinese influence. She looked round, admiring the ormolu clock and the candelabra. Dismounting the bedsteps she took a closer look and saw the clock was in the form of a cupid driving in a beautiful chariot, which was drawn by butterflies. It was lovely, and Cupid was represented in the candelabra also.

My father is very much attached to Cupid, she thought. But I suppose he would be.

But she had come to see the bathroom and there it was; its walls were of white marble and its bath of which she had read was sixteen feet long, ten feet wide and six feet deep. It was a miracle of a bath because it could be supplied with sea water.

What an exciting man my father is! thought Charlotte. If only …

Then she remembered that she had read somewhere that one of the reasons why her father disliked her mother was because he loved bathing and she did not.

It is a very sad thing, she thought, that a girl has to learn all the important things about her parents from the newspapers.

She dared not linger for fear she would be missed; so she rejoined the guests and hoped no one had noticed her absence.

And after that memorable day Worthing seemed less desirable than ever.

Charlotte had a piece of good luck. The Queen had noticed that she had not maintained the good health she was enjoying when she arrived at Worthing and decided that the place did not agree with her as well as Bognor. She had made inquiries about the danger of living near a hospital for those suffering from ophthalmia and had learned that the disease was only contagious when people were in immediate contact and for instance slept on the same pillow. There was no evidence of anyone in Bognor having caught the disease.

The Queen summoned Lady de Clifford and said that in the circumstances she believed that the Princess Charlotte might go back to Bognor for the rest of the summer while she herself and the Princesses, her daughters, would return to Windsor.

What joy! Bognor again and freedom! No more lectures from the Begum! No more boring sessions with the Old Girls! Instead long rambles on the seashore and conversation with Mr Richardson while she munched his buns.

‘Now,’ said Lady de Clifford, ‘you must get plenty of fresh air. There is nothing like fresh air, Your Highness.’

‘Nothing like fresh Bognor air, my lady,’ cried Charlotte hilariously.

Her health began to improve and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Bognor was the spot best suited to the Princess.

The days were full of interest for her. She liked to mingle with people, to talk to them, to discover how they lived. For this, she told Lady de Clifford, is the duty of one who is to be their Sovereign.

Lady de Clifford was always nervous of such talk. It was in any case bad taste and she was not sure that it was not treason. But Charlotte always laughed at her. Her familiarity with the ordinary people was alarming but her father could behave in the same way and like her father she could at a moment’s notice become imperious.

On one occasion she was driving her four greys along a country road with Lady de Clifford beside her when she saw a woman, poorly dressed, with nine children trailing behind her.

Charlotte pulled up with a jerk which almost sent Lady de Clifford out of her seat.

‘What a large family!’ cried Charlotte. ‘Are they all your own?’

‘Yes, sweet lady, they are all my own and a terrible task I have to try to feed them!’

‘So many!’ cried Charlotte.

‘But all the children of my own wedded husband,’ the woman assured her.

Charlotte studied the children and said: ‘How did you manage to have so many of an age? Now, come, I want the truth. I always want to hear the truth and I cannot abide lies. I will give you a shilling if you tell me the truth.’

Charlotte felt in her purse which she always carried with her in case she met any deserving poor person whom she thought she should help.

The woman looked at the shilling. ‘I have lied to you, my-lady. Two of these children are mine. One by my husband and the other by another man. The rest of them are borrowed.’

‘To arouse pity, I daresay,’ said the Princess severely. ‘I was going to give you a guinea if you had told me the truth at first. But you lied and although you have told a plausible tale now which I accept as truth, you only told it because I offered you a shilling. You shall have two shillings because I believe at last you told me the truth.’

The woman accepted the two shillings with many thanks, but her lips were trembling and Charlotte knew she was thinking of the lost guinea.

She drove on and after a while she stopped.

‘Poor woman,’ she said. ‘I suppose when one must beg for a living it is easy to lie.’

She waited until the woman came up.

‘Here,’ she said, ‘Here is your guinea. But remember that you will prosper more by telling the truth than lies.’

She did not wait to hear the woman’s thanks but whipped up the greys.

‘I do not think it proper for Your Highness to bandy words with these people,’ admonished Lady de Clifford.

‘Bandy words! I was advising her always to tell the truth. Is that not a good thing? My lord Bish-Up tells me it is.’

‘I do not think it wise to hold these conversations with beggars.’

‘Jesus did. So why not the Princess Charlotte?’

‘You blaspheme.’

‘I don’t see it. My lady, I don’t indeed. According to you, it is at some times good to follow Jesus … at others not. No, I think that was just how He would have behaved to that poor woman.’

Lady de Clifford put her hands over her ears. Sometimes she wondered with great trepidation what the Princess would do and say next.

What she did on this occasion was to whip up the greys and they galloped along at great speed while Lady de Clifford clutched the side of the carriage in terror and exclaimed in dismay as they turned into a field.

‘Where are you going? This is Sir Thomas Troubridge’s field.’

‘I don’t deny it.’

‘I pray you, turn back.’

‘Too late, my lady, too late. Hold tight. That was a good one!’

The carriage went bouncing over the ruts.

‘Heaven save us,’ cried Lady de Clifford.

‘Nothing like exercise, my lady,’ Charlotte told her. ‘Nothing like exercise!’

The shells on Bognor beach were numerous and of the most exquisite colours; the seaweed was of a kind Charlotte had never seen before; it had extraordinary, hard black berries. She decided to add to the excitement of her rambles by collecting them and when she took them back to Mr Wilson’s mansion she made them into necklaces and painted some of them.

Mrs Gagarin and Louisa declared they were lovely and that she was a true artist.

She made necklaces for both of them and one for herself, and promised that she would make one for Lady de Clifford. One day when searching for seaweed along the beach she found in one of the banks a layer of what looked like gold in its raw state. It had formed itself into strange patterns and while she was examining it three young ladies came along with their governess and excitedly she called to them to come and see what she had found. They all thought it was a great discovery and she told the girls and their governess that she was going to send two labourers along to get the metal out of the rock so that she might have it tested to see if it were gold.

‘I will let you know the result,’ she told them.

Meanwhile some of her attendants had come up and she excitedly explained to them.

She turned to the girls. ‘You must come and see me tomorrow and I will tell you then the result of this discovery.’ She nodded at the governess. ‘Pray bring them at three of the afternoon. We might play some games together. Do you like games?’

The girls said they did and listened attentively while she told them of the games she had played in Tilney Street with George Keppel, George Fitzclarence and Minney Seymour.

‘So … tomorrow,’ she cried as she went off.

Her attendants looked on with disapproval but she snapped her fingers at them and returning to the town she insisted on going to the house of a labourer whose wife she had talked with. The woman was heavily pregnant and Charlotte had been very interested in her condition, so she visited her often. The result of this visit was that the woman’s husband should find a fellow worker and they would go down to the shore to see what it was the Princess had discovered.

Charlotte, pleased with the afternoon’s work, returned to the house.

When Lady de Clifford heard what she had done she clicked and clucked and said it would not do.

‘You forget your dignity.’

‘Not entirely,’ argued Charlotte. ‘Now and then perhaps I throw it aside but I make sure it is never out of reach so that I can bring it back at a moment’s notice if the need should arise.’

‘I do not know what Her Majesty the Queen would say if she were to hear of this.’

‘Nor shall you ever, my lady, for she will never know, because neither of us would dare tell her.’ Charlotte laughed aloud at her own cleverness and Lady de Clifford thought anxiously: Is she growing more like her mother every day?

‘I gather that you have asked these girls to visit you. Who are they? You do not know. How can we be sure whom you are inviting into the house?’

‘Their governess is very stern. I am sure you would not object to her.’

‘I must point out that you condescended too much to them by all accounts. You were too familiar. You must never forget your station. I hope that when they come you will be careful.’

‘I promise you, dear Cliffy,’ said Charlotte demurely.

The metal she had discovered turned out not to be precious gold, but the pieces the labourers had hewn out of the rock were very pretty and she would keep them as ornaments. She wished the labourers to be brought to her so that she could give them two guineas for their work.

This was not the manner in which royal persons conducted themselves, Lady de Clifford pointed out. A royal person gave orders that money was to be paid to workmen. She did not summon them and go through the sordid business of handing them their pay.

‘Very well,’ conceded Charlotte. ‘Let the money be paid to them and tell them how pleased I am with my ornaments.’

She was at the pianoforte when the young ladies were brought to her. Lady de Clifford had arranged to be present, to make sure, thought Charlotte, laughing inwardly, that I do not become too familiar. Very well, my lady! You shall see.

She continued to play.

‘Your Highness,’ said Lady de Clifford, ‘the young ladies are here.’

Charlotte went on playing and neither Lady de Clifford nor the young ladies knew what to do. They could only stand bewildered by the antics of royalty. Then turning, Charlotte inclined her head haughtily at the girls and went on playing.

‘Your Highness!’ whispered Lady de Clifford.

Charlotte spun round on the stool and burst out laughing.

‘My dear friends,’ she said to the girls, ‘I hope I have given you enough royal dignity. It is necessary I am told for me to use it now and then. But I’m heartily sick of it and so must you be, so now that it’s done, I will be myself and we’ll play one of the games I used to play with a very dear friend. It tests your wits.’

The young ladies looked alarmed at first at the prospect of having their wits tested by a princess, but very soon she had put them at their ease and Lady de Clifford looked on with some admiration and a great deal of dismay while the Princess took charge of the situation.

When the wife of the labourer who had worked for her was brought to bed Charlotte insisted that clothes for the baby should be taken to her cottage with bed linen and anything that she might like and need in the circumstances.

The woman was overcome with gratitude and when Charlotte called to see the newborn child she thanked her and said she had always known that Her Royal Highness was the most generous of ladies and had never believed for one moment she was not.

‘Why should you have been expected to doubt it?’ demanded Charlotte.

‘Because my husband and his friend received no payment for the work they did for Your Highness. But this, Madam, is payment enough. Your goodness came to us at a time when we most needed it.’

‘No payment!’ cried Charlotte, a little colour coming into her pale cheeks. ‘Why, I paid them two guineas for the work they did.’

‘Two guineas, Your Highness? Why, they never set eyes on it.’

Charlotte was in a rage. She went straight back to the house and demanded an inquiry, and it was not long before she discovered the page who had pocketed the two guineas.

‘You wicked dishonest boy!’ she cried. ‘You are no longer my servant. You … you shall be beaten. Take him away. I n … never want to see him again. And send two guineas to those men at once.’

Her fury was intense; but in a short while it had subsided and she began to wonder what had made the page do it. He was young but it was a wicked thing to do. She would not have him beaten, however; he should simply be dismissed.

But the affair made her very unhappy.

‘In future,’ she declared to Mrs Udney, ‘I shall see that these debts are paid myself. Even if it does mean a little familiarity with those my lady does not think fit to mix with me.’

Mrs Udney told Lady de Clifford what she had said and Lady de Clifford sighed and remarked that Charlotte was a wild creature and it was no use anyone’s thinking they could instil discipline into such a girl.

‘But her heart is good,’ said Lady de Clifford, ‘that is one thing which keeps me from despair.’

‘My word,’ said Mrs Udney. ‘Wait till the time comes to get her mated. Then the sparks will fly.’

‘That time will come all too soon,’ murmured Lady de Clifford. ‘I pray God I am not in charge of her household when it does.’

Mrs Udney licked her lips, contemplating Charlotte’s fiery future, while Lady de Clifford continued her silent prayer.

So passed those summer weeks by the sea. Charlotte enjoyed them and was sad to see the shortening of the days. But autumn was fast approaching and the chilly winds were springing up.

‘It is time Charlotte left Bognor,’ said the Queen to the Prince of Wales, who agreed, with some reluctance, that this was so.

So Charlotte left the sea and comparative freedom to return to the restricted life of an heiress to the throne.