The Third George

A visit to a Quaker house

The King and Queen were taking breakfast together. This was a very pleasant part of the day, Charlotte often thought. George was always so courteous and she really believed he was growing fonder of her, which surprised and delighted her, for she was fully aware of her lack of beauty; and there was no doubt that George with his golden hair, blue eyes and fresh complexion was a handsome man. In Court dress he looked truly magnificent; he even looked pleasant in the early morning.

He took only a dish of tea at breakfast.

"I must be on my guard," he told Charlotte, 'against getting fat. It is a characteristic of the family.”

"But a dish of tea! It seems so little. I really think I should persuade you to take a little more.”

He smiled at her rather cautiously. He wanted her to know that although he was determined to be a good husband to her, he was not allowing any interference even in the matter of a dish of tea.

Tactfully he changed the subject.

"You will be interested in this Lord Mayor's Show. I doubt you have ever seen anything like it.”

"I am constantly seeing things which I have never seen before. It makes life very interesting.”

He looked at her covertly. They had been married nearly two months. Was there any sign yet? He had certainly not failed in his conjugal duties. It might even be that already she was with child.

"We shall be the guests of the City, I believe," she was saying. "How I love the City. I find it absorbingly interesting.”

"How are you getting on with your English?”

"Oh ... tolerably well. I am taking my lesson every day.”

"Try speaking it.”

She did, haltingly, and he corrected her. She was laughing with him over her odd pronunciation.

What a blessing, she said, that he could speak German so well. "Even when I speak English proficiently we shall speak in German, shall we not, when we are alone together. We shall make it our intimate language.”

He nodded. "Although you must work hard at your English.”

"Oh, George, I will.”

"I think my grandfather made a great mistake in not speaking it well. Now ... the plans for the ninth.”

She smiled cosily. How he liked making plans. He would go to such trouble to arrange the guests for the most informal ball even when he must have very important state matters on his mind.

There was the affair of Mr. Pitt for one thing.

She ventured: "There is much talk of Mr. Pitt.”

He frowned. "Oh, he is no longer in the cabinet.”

"I did learn that there is a great deal of feeling in the City about his resignation.”

"Who told you this?”

"Oh ... I do not remember. It is often talked of. It seems a pity. He is a great man, they say; and it is sad that his talents should not be used in the service of the nation.”

George was not having this. He must make her understand that he had no intention of talking politics with her. It was not a woman's place to interfere. He had seen too much of women's meddling. He was beginning to think that his mother interfered too much; but she was old and wise and he had always listened to her. But he was not going to have Charlotte becoming another Princess Dowager. Queens and mistresses of kings had often sought to dominate them. It was not going to be said that George III was so dominated ... except by his mother when he was young.

George was beginning to think that one day he might have to tell his mother that he would make up his own mind. So he did not want Charlotte beginning to interfere.

He said shortly: "That matter is settled. It is of no interest to you. I will show you the route the Lord Mayor's Show will take." He spread a map on the table and Charlotte was immediately absorbed. It was like the old days with Madame de Grabow. Now she followed George's finger as it traced the route.

"And where shall we be?" asked Charlotte.

George had turned a faint pink and she wondered why. He stammered as he answered: "There ...

there is a house opposite Bow Church in Cheapside where it is possible to get a fine view of the Lord Mayor's Show. Its owners have invited us to see it from their house.”

"How strange," murmured Charlotte.

"It is not at all strange," replied George, almost too vehemently. "It is a very fine house and it is in fact... most suitable. There are balconies from which we can see everything in ease and comfort.

And these people are Quakers. I ... I think the Quakers are very fine people indeed. I... I have always felt that this was a religion ... had I not been king of this realm ... which I could have followed.”

He was looking at her almost defiantly, and she said: "You must tell me more of this Quaker religion. You have known many Quakers, I suppose.”

George grew a shade pale and, turning, went to the window and looked out. He said in a muffled voice: "My position makes it necessary for me to meet many of my subjects.”

The Queen was puzzled. What was the reason for this strange vehemence and embarrassment?

Was it because he was asking her to see the procession from a house which he did not consider suitable for a queen? Or was it because he really felt strongly about becoming a Quaker? Of course that was impossible.

How restricted we are, thought Charlotte, and she saw poor Christina's face with the sad expression which had been there from the time her sister had heard that her marriage would not take place. Poor Christina. There was no freedom for a princess ... or a king for that matter.

"George," she said, 'do you feel strongly about this Quaker matter?”

Her words did nothing to ease the tension. "Of course not," he said sharply; and then: "I have matters to which I must attend.”

He left her at the breakfast table, wondering why his mood should suddenly have changed.

It was almost as though he were hiding some secret.

Charlotte was being dressed for the Lord Mayor's Show. It was a state occasion so she would be most splendidly attired. Her women had dressed her hair in what they called coronation ringlets; these were crowned with a circle of diamonds. Her gown was silk and gold and silver brocade; her stomacher glittered with diamonds and she was not displeased with the reflection which looked back at her. Such clothes could take the plainness out of the most ordinary face; and Charlotte was always pleased to win the admiration of spectators.

The little page boy, dressed in scarlet and silver, was standing by waiting to carry her train, and Elizabeth Chudleigh was chattering away to the Marchioness of Lome; they did not know that Charlotte was understanding a little more English every day.

"So it's to be the house of the Quaker," laughed Elizabeth Chudleigh. "Well, he has been said to have a special fondness for them.”

"This is the Barclays. Very rich bankers, the Barclays. Prosperous simplicity is the order of the day. I'm sure H.M. is glad that the house chosen was not in St. James's Market.”

"Would Hannah's family have had him?”

The women tittered together. How strange! thought Charlotte. Had she translated that conversation correctly? She was not sure; but George himself had said something about Quakers.

What was this Quaker mystery? There was something she was sure. Perhaps she would find out today.

"They say the people are massing in the streets," went on Elizabeth. "Pitt's supporters are all out. I don't think they are going to send up happy cheers for the Favourite, do you?”

"When have they ever?”

"Never. But with Mr. Pitt riding in the procession they could get really offensive about Master Bute and Her R.H.”

Pitt! Bute! The Princess! Charlotte could guess what these frivolous women were talking about.

She herself disliked the Princess Dowager and was sure her mother-in-law disliked her in return.

It was rather disgraceful that she should be so talked about on account of Lord Bute. What did the King think? Whatever he thought he kept it to himself. He was very fond of them both more fond, Charlotte suspected, than of her.

She smiled to herself. That was going to change. George was not going to remain his mother's boy now that he was a husband, She had a suspicion that he might soon be a father, but she was not sure yet. When he was, everything would be changed. The important people in his life would be his wife, his sons and daughters not his dominating mother and her paramour. Charlotte, glittering with diamonds, pink with the pleasure of contemplating the excitement of what was very possibly the case, left her apartments to take her place beside the King in the coach in which they would drive to the Quaker household from where they would see the show.

Pitt was reluctant to be a part of the procession, but Lady Hester was certain that he should.

"If you don't," she said, 'the people will believe that you are ashamed to face them and in a day or so they will be saying that the lies Bute put about against you are true.”

Pitt smiled. "They will have read my correction.”

"Slander sticks," insisted Lady Hester, and Pitt had to agree that she was right.

"But the banquet is to honour the King. I do not wish to bring about an uncomfortable situation by appearing.”

"You should be there. I am certain of it. You must convince the people of the City that you are still one of them. You resigned because the cabinet did not agree with you. You accepted the pension and my title as just rewards for your work ... and Heaven knows you deserve them. You have the future to think of, William. You must go.”

So Pitt gave way and he and his brother-in-law, Lord Temple, joined the procession in their coach.

The Princess Dowager was deeply concerned about her lover. He would have to ride through the city and the people of London blamed him for the dismissal of Pitt. Bute assured her that he had taken precautions against any unpleasantness which might occur: "I have hired strong men to follow my coach and they will be on the spot when needed.”

"So you expect trouble." Cried the Princess Dowager.

"Let us say that I always believe in being prepared for it.”

The Princess shuddered. Since the resignation of Pitt, the temper of the public towards her and her lover had grown more hostile. In the past the people had sung songs about them, had contented themselves with whispered scandal. They had merely been silent when they rode through the streets. Now they had changed. They shouted after her carriage and she knew they did after Lord Bute's, too. When she had last driven through certain streets, placards had been waved before the coach so that she could not fail to see them. On them had been crudely drawn a jackboot and petticoat. Some of the people even carried the boot and petticoat. They shouted obscenities after her carriage.

The petticoat was meant to represent her and the jackboot was a play on her lover's name. He was John therefore Jack and Boot stood for Bute. The country was governed by Jackboot and Petticoat, called these people, and they were by no means reticent about the relationship they believed to exist between these two; nor did they hesitate to discuss it in lewd and lurid terms.

The Princess shuddered. "I wish you were not riding in the procession," she said, but Bute only smiled at her. Of course he must be there. It was an occasion when all men of standing must be present. She need have no fear. He had arranged for protection from the mob should it be needed.

Had he not always been able to take care of himself?

Charlotte sat in the state coach with the King. The journey from St. James's Palace to Cheapside was just over two miles, but although they had left the Palace at noon they were still on the way after three o'clock on account of the roads being so jammed with the people who had come to see the show; and because of the carriages, carts and sedans of the spectators the procession made slow progress. The people were able to come up to the coach and stare in at the King and Queen.

George greeted them with warm, affectionate smiles; and Charlotte did her best to look pleasant.

"God save the King ... and the Queen!" cried the people.

About the state coach were the Grenadier Guards, the Horse Guards and the Yeomen of the Guard, all in their brilliant uniforms, making a show to delight the people. But just ahead of them was the coach in which the Princess Dowager was riding with her daughters, the Princesses Augusta and Caroline Matilda, and Charlotte could hear the shouts of derision which were hurled at that particular vehicle.

"Where's the Scotch Stallion?" called a voice in the crowd. George heard it and his lips tightened.

He did not like to hear his mother thus insulted; but it occurred to him that the relationship between Lord Bute and his mother was so close as to give rise to speculation. He refused to believe that they were anything but good friends; in his great desire to bring morality back to the Court he could not face any other conclusion. These were the two people to whom he was closest; he could not allow himself to believe they were living in a manner of which he would heartily disapprove. Therefore he preferred to believe the people were wrong, and it distressed him deeply.

Moreover, he was thinking of Hannah. How could he help it when he was to be guest of Quakers?

Perhaps he should have refused the Barclays' offer of their home. But that would have aroused more comment than accepting it. The shadow of Hannah Lightfoot hung over him. Sometimes he remembered the biblical admonition: The sins ye do by two and two ye pay for one by one.

He glanced sideways at Charlotte. She had no idea of his feelings. She must remain in ignorance.

He was fond of her; he had forced himself to be fond of her because it was right and proper that he should be; he had forced himself to forget Sarah Lennox; but he could not shut Hannah Lightfoot out of his mind, and today he could not stop himself thinking of that ceremony of marriage through which he had gone when he and Hannah had stood before Dr. Wilmot. It was a mock marriage. Hannah was already married to Isaac Axford. But Axford had no longer considered himself married to her because they had not seen each other for years and in any case they had been married at Dr. Keith's Marriage Mill which had since been declared illegal.

At that time he and Hannah had believed their marriage to have been legal, and he could not get the thought of that marriage out of his head. It was going round and round, refusing to be dismissed; peeping out at him at odd moments like a mischievous sprite determined to ruin his peace of mind. Sometimes his head ached with thinking of it.

Charlotte must not know. Charlotte would do as she was told. He was glad she could not speak English; that necessarily kept her apart. It was the wish of his mother and Lord Bute that she should not have any friends without their knowledge. They wanted to keep Charlotte in the background. And so did he.

How slow was the journey! It was nearly four o'clock and they were only just turning into Cheapside. Nearly four hours since they had left the Palace.

"I'm hungry," Charlotte was saying.

The first of the coaches in which George's uncle, the old Duke of Cumberland, was sitting must by now have reached the Barclays' home; and after that was George's Aunt Amelia and his brother the Duke of York, both with their separate coaches and servants. So many carriages and their retinues and after that there were George's brothers William, Henry and Frederick before the Princess Dowager and her daughters.

Charlotte said: "What a lot of food the Lord Mayor will need to provide for us all.”

"It will do them good," replied the King. "They were eager enough to sit down at our expense at the coronation.”

One of the Barclays had spread a red carpet on the pavement before the house, so that the King and Queen need not step on the cobbles. Charlotte, handed from the coach by the chamberlain, entered the house where one of the counting houses had been transformed into a parlour. On the stairs leading from this room the Barclay family was assembled to greet their Majesties. They looked very sombre in their grey Quaker costumes, for although palace servants had been sent to the house to show the family how to conduct themselves in the presence of royalty, Mr. Barclay had said that it would be against his principles to change his dress or manners. He respected the King but the only one he could bow down to was God.

Charlotte murmured in German that she could not reply in English to Mr. Barclay's loyal speech of welcome but the King was immediately behind her and he expressed their joint pleasure; he seemed very moved by the reception he received from these good people.

In the streets the crowd was calling for a glimpse of the King and the Queen and George said they should show themselves without delay, for the people had been waiting long enough. Tumultuous cheers filled the street when their Majesties appeared on the balconies; and after some minutes they went back into the house to receive the members of the family.

The girls of the family looked charming in their austere garments and the King seemed deeply moved by the sight of them. There were seven daughters of the house and the King insisted on kissing them all as well as their mother. His emotion was noted by all who beheld him; and when one of the very young members of the household, a little girl of five, came forward, it was clear that the whole royal family was enchanted with her. The child was grave but not shy, and she stood before the King regarding him solemnly.

"Tell me what you think of me," said George, who loved children.

"I am thinking that thou art the King," said the child.

"I hope I meet with your approval.”

"I love the King," she said; then she lowered her eyes and added: "Though I am not allowed to love fine things.”

"I am sure you are a good girl and do as you are told.”

"My grandpa forbids me to curtsey to thee.”

There were tears in the King's eyes as he replied: "Then, my sweet child, I should not ask it of thee.”

Everyone was moved and the Princess Dowager picked up the child and kissed her.

"What an enchanting little creature!" said the Duke of York, and looked as though he were about to bestow his kisses on the child.

But her mother had taken her hand and was leading her away, as she feared too much adulation might turn the little girl's head. There was a shout of applause as she left.

Mrs. Barclay was whispering to some of the ladies that there was a buffet in one of the counting rooms which had been turned into a dining room; and if the company could be prevailed upon to follow her she would lead them to it, for she was sure they must be very hungry. The King said he would not eat but would talk with Mr. Barclay as there were many points about his doctrines that he would like to discuss with him; so the Queen with the rest of the company went into the counting-house dining room and partook of the refreshment.

Meanwhile the King was deep in discussion with Mr. Barclay and to the latter's astonishment showed some considerable understanding of Mr. Barclay's faith.

"I have always admired the Society of Friends," said the King, which delighted Mr. Barclay, for there was always a certain danger in belonging to a minority; one could never be sure when those who did not share one's views were going to make it an issue for complaint. So it was comforting to know that the King was in sympathy with them. Mr. Barclay begged the honour of presenting the King with a copy of Apology, a book which set out clearly all the tenets of the Quaker faith.

The King thanked him and accepted the book. "I assure you," he said, with emotion, "that I have always felt strong respect for your friendly society.”

It was time to watch the Lord Mayor's procession from one of the balconies, the purpose for which the King and Queen had come to the house; and they were conducted out by Mr. and Mrs.

Barclay to the pleasure of the people who were waiting in the streets to cheer them.

The Lord Mayor's procession was long and colourful and considerably enlivened by the Lady Mayoress. When she put her head out of the mayoral coach to pay homage to their Majesties her enormous headdress was caught in the window sash and she remained, her head stuck out uncomfortably as the coach rattled on. There were shouts of delight from the crowd and protests from the lady; and the whole procession had to be stopped while the footman extricated the lady and made it possible for her to put her head back in the carriage.

Everyone was laughing, except the Lady Mayoress; and Charlotte recalled the coronation and a similar series of accidents. She was reminded how serious George had been on that occasion. It was indeed a solemn one. But he was even more serious today, which was strange. It occurred to Charlotte then that there might be some strange connection between George and the Quakers. She must try to discover what it was, for as a good wife she must be interested in what concerned her husband.

Lord Bute sat well back in his coach. He had consoled the Princess, but he was not feeling very secure. He knew the mood of the people and that they blamed him for Pitt's retirement from the cabinet. He heard the shouts.

"Pitt. God bless him. We want Pitt." It was coming. He sat back in his coach. He heard the hurrahs and the shouts of approval. It was some seconds before he realized that they had mistaken him for Pitt. He kept well back. If only the coachman could whip up the horses. This slow trundling along through a mob that could be murderous if it recognized the true occupant of the coach, was alarming. The coach jerked forward and he with it. A face stared in at him; for a few seconds Bute stared back. Then the face became almost demoniacal in its delight.

"He's no Pitt. It's the Scotch Stallion himself.”

The crowd was round his coach, preventing its moving backwards or forwards. Someone threw a stone through the window. Bute narrowly avoided it. "Go back to your heathen land beyond the Border," cried a voice. They were trying to cut the traces of the horse.

"We'll hang him on a tree where he belongs.”

Oh, God, this is the end, thought Bute. On a day such as this the taverns would have been crowded while the people waited for the procession; they were inflamed by liquor and in such a mood they were capable of anything. Where were the 'bruisers' whom he had hired to follow him, for he had suspected something like this might happen. They were in fact battling their way through the mob to reach his coach. Suddenly he saw one on either side of the coach. The others would be doing their work.

"Get back," shouted one of them. "You're breaking the law.”

"Whose law? Bute's law? We take no account of that. We want the Scotch Boy. He won't sleep in my lady's bed again. We're going to hang him high ...”

The door of the coach was opened suddenly. Bute saw that another coach had drawn up close. In it was Lord Hardwicke. One of the bruisers held off the mob while Lord Bute leapt from his own coach to that of Lord Hardwicke. Lord Hardwicke's driver shouted to the mob to stand aside unless they wished to be run over and because of the urgency of the moment he drove through them. They scattered from right and left; and they satisfied their fury by destroying Lord Bute's fine carriage while his lordship, beside his rescuer Lord Hardwicke, rode on to Guildhall. He was safe, but it was a depressing indication of popular feeling.

Charlotte and George drove from the Barclays' house to Guildhall where various ceremonies had to be endured; and it was nine o'clock before they sat down to the banquet. Although they were received warmly by the Mayor and his Aldermen and the City merchants, when Pitt and Lord Temple entered the Guildhall the rafters shook with the cheers; and the hosts made no secret of who were the honoured guests.

The King was out of favour. He had allowed Mr. Pitt to be dismissed and the City of London which stood for Trade stood for Mr. Pitt. It would not be forgotten in a hurry what Mr. Pitt had done for the prosperity of London in the years when he had been at the helm. The City heartily disapproved of the King's treatment of their Great Commoner and the City of London was a law unto itself; it would not hesitate to express its disapproval of the King's action, for it considered that the prosperity of London was more important to England than all the kings and queens put together.

Still George was not as unpopular as he might have been had he been older. He was young, a new king, and everyone knew that he did not rule. He was told what he must do and he did it. England was ruled by Jackboot and Petticoat and the City had shown what it thought of them.

The King and Queen sat at a table in the front of the hall which had been set especially for them.

Over it was a canopy and they could not complain of their reception for the Lord Mayor himself served the King and the Lady Mayoress the Queen, even though, when the King proposed the health of the City of London, there were some murmurs about government policy not being conducive to its health; and this compared ill with the wild enthusiasm accorded to Pitt.

However, unlike the coronation banquet, this was expertly organized and there were four hundred and fourteen dishes with the accompanying wines ample for the entire company of noblemen, ministers, aldermen and all city dignitaries. The ball that followed was equally successful; but at midnight the King made clear his wish to depart.

The coaches were sent for, but it was discovered that the footmen and coachmen had been having a party on their own and that many of them were in such a state of drunkenness that they were unable to drive.

The Princess Dowager, extremely anxious as to what had happened to Lord Bute, for she had heard rumours of his ride through the City, was very angry. She longed to be in her apartments, her lover beside her, so that she could assure herself that all was well with him. She paced up and down giving vent to her fury while George tried to soothe her by telling her that they must expect their servants to want a little entertainment when so much was being lavished on themselves.

The King's geniality was noted with approval; the Princess Dowager's impatience with dislike.

Tomorrow the shouts against Jackboot and Petticoat would be intensified; but the Princess Dowager was too worried and too exhausted to give that a thought.

At length coachmen were found to drive the coaches and the royal party was able to set off for St.

James's. Even the coachman who drove them was not entirely sober and this was evident when the royal coach turned into the gateway of St. James Palace, for he did not judge his distance sufficiently well, and the coach came into collision with one of the posts. The King and the Queen were thrown from their seats and the roof caved in; the glass windows were broken; but to their astonishment neither George nor Charlotte was hurt. George descended from the coach and helped Charlotte out.

"Your Majesty ..." stammered the coachman.

But George only waved him aside.

"We will walk to our own apartments," he said.

What a strange day, thought Charlotte, in the royal bed while George lay beside her. She felt as though she were jolting in the coach; she could still hear the shouts of the people; could see the splendour of the Guildhall; but most clearly of all, the Quaker household. How friendly George had been to them! She had never seen him quite like that before. She must ask him to explain to her this affinity he had for Quakers.

When she fell asleep it was to dream of people in austere grey robes looking like nuns in the brilliant assembly. But in the weeks that followed she forgot George's strangeness on that day, for an exciting probability had become a fact. The Queen was pregnant.