Georgian: The Prince and the Quakeress Part 11

'How can that be when I am married already?'

'When you are King it will be necessary for you to marry a Princess, to give the country heirs...'

George shook his head and looked stubborn. Trouble here, thought Bute; but he is only sixteen. Give him a chance to grow weary of the Quaker adventure.

He spread his hands. 'It will be for you to decide,' he said comfortingly. 'And you know that I shall always be ready to advise in any problem. I trust that you will always come first to me, Sir, or to your mother.'

'I shall. I shall insist that everyone accepts you as the Friend of the Family. My dear friend will always mean more to me than the crown itself. I need you now, but I shall need you more when the crown is mine. You must never think of leaving me.'

Bute took the Prince's hand and kissing it, swore he would not.

Shortly afterwards he was repeating this conversation to the Princess.

'I feel we have lost nothing through this affair of the Quaker,' said Bute.

'But I shall never forget that he acted without consulting me,' replied the Princess.

'It was natural that he should not consult his mother about his mistress. Rest happy. He is more devoted to us than ever before; and as long as we do not try to separate him from his mistress he is ours to command. Trust me, my dearest, this little affair of his is no bad thing.'

The Princess nodded. She could always rely on dear Lord Bute to comfort her.

George, the King, was in a testy mood. Nothing was going well in the country discord at home and defeats abroad. He was beginning to suspect that Newcastle was not the best man for his post and that Pitt would be an improvement. Pitt was a man of war, but perhaps what the country needed at this time was a man of war. Pitt... an outsider and a master of oratory! His brilliance in that direction had caused Robert Walpole some misgivings. Oh, the days of Sir Robert, when Caroline was alive and the three of them had conferred together! Everything was so much easier then. Sir Robert was a man of genius and he, the King, had known how to bring out the best in that genius; and Caroline was always there to support him. No woman worthy to unlatch her shoe, thought the King sentimentally, forgetting to remember that he loved her so much more since she was dead than he had when she was alive. He had always been so devoted to her when he was away from home; he had regularly written to her letters twenty or thirty pages long, quite often about his affairs with other women, asking her advice, explaining their particular accomplishments in the bedchamber. She had never shown any resentment. A remarkable woman. No one worthy to buckle her shoes.

But now she was dead, and there was Newcastle making his insufficiencies apparent every day and Pitt clamouring to take office and Henry Fox standing by, cunning as his name implied. Pitt and Fox... good men both. Pitt had integrity; he knew that; and men of integrity were as rare as they were valuable; and Fox, well since he had married Richmond's daughter he was wealthy and he did not have to rely on his position in politics. Security could make a man honest. Perhaps Pitt and Fox provided the answer.

And there was one other the very mention of whose name made the veins stand out at the King's temples: Bute. But one could not ignore him because of the power he wielded at Leicester House. Was it true that he was the Princess's lover? Of course it was true. One only had to see the pair together to know that they were cooing like a pair of turtle doves. The Princess doted on Bute as she never had on Fred. He didn't blame her there. Married to Fred, poor woman; anyone who married Fred would have his sympathy. And Fred was gone and she was free, so let her have a little fun, poor woman. But she was not going to put Bute into his government while he lived. And when he had gone... Ah, then Bute would be there; she would see to that. He was installed there in her household as though he were young George's father and he behaved as such, by all accounts. And young George accepted him!

And what was all this talk about a Quaker? The young puppy must have a mistress, one supposed. But why couldn't he choose one from his own or his mother's household or even the King's household come to that? Why must the young fool go sniffing round Markets.

It was because he was concerned about his grandson that the King had sent for him, and the boy had come down to Hampton and was waiting to be called in. All right, let him come.

The King was standing with his back to the door looking out of the window at the craft on the river when the Prince entered.

The King turned slowly. So this was his grandson, Fred's boy. The King frowned. He was tall, and George II had always disliked tall men because they reminded him of his own lack of inches, something which all his life had irritated him. Now the Prince of Wales stood there, tall and gangling, not making the most of his height which irritated the King as much as his having it.

'Well?' barked the King.

'You... Your Majesty sent for me.'

'Don't stammer. Never could abide it. Now... what's all this, we hear. Abducting Quaker girls from Markets. By G.o.d, what do you think you are? A dashing young gallant, I suppose. But let me tell you this, you young puppy, you are the Prince of Wales and are not expected to behave like some ninny on a theatre stage.'

This was spoken in French so fast that the Prince could scarcely keep up with it. He realized to his dismay that he was expected to reply in the same language.

'Well,' went on the King, 'what have you to say for yourself? Young Quaker girls! Why can't you find a girl in one of the households? Why do you have to go prancing round Markets. Do you know there has been trouble. Enquiries made. Good respectable tradesmen looking for their girl. There has been a note delivered to the Secretary. Did you know that? Of course you didn't, you young puppy. Not your job to know, you say. Yours is only to go sniffing round Markets.'

'Sire...' stammered George, and could go no farther.

'So you're dumb, are you? It's time I took a hand with your education. That mother of yours... Women are no good at this sort of thing... except your grandmother. She was a woman who could do anything. No one worthy to unbuckle her shoes. I'll speak to Waldegrave. This won't do, you young puppy. It won't do. Do you hear me? Then say something. Don't stand there like a ninny!'

'If Your Majesty would speak in English...'

A further offence. The Prince spoke perfect English. The King was not going to display his very imperfect brand.

'Don't tell me what to speak.'

'Sire, I... I did not tell you... I... I...'

'Stuttering ninny! Now what's this about the Quaker girl? You send her back to her family and find a woman in your mother's household...better there than your own.'

'I... I must ask Your Majesty not to speak of... of... this lady in this manner.'

'So you are telling me how I should speak of my subjects, are you?'

'Your Majesty does not understand...'

'Not understand. Look, you ninny, I had mistresses when I was your age. Don't think you're the first. But there are wh.o.r.es enough about you. You don't want to go to Quakers for them.'

The Prince had turned pale. 'I must ask Your Majesty not to speak of this lady in this way.'

'I speak of my subjects as I please, boy.'

'N... not of this one.'

If George had not drawn himself up to his full height the King might have laughed at him; but he did and he towered above his little grandfather so that the King had to look up to him.

'Infernal puppy!' shrieked the King, and bringing up his hand slapped the Prince so violently across the face that he reeled backwards. 'Get out of my sight, whelp, idiot, puppy! Get out before I set the guards on you.'

The Prince stared at his grandfather, but the King, his face purple, shaking with rage, was on the point of calling the guard.

George stumbled out of the room, humiliated and angry. He never wanted to see the old man again; he never wanted to see Hampton again.

The guards smiled at each other as they watched the Prince stalk out of the palace to the river stairs and take boat to London.

Only the King quarrelling with the Prince of Wales... an old Hanoverian custom.

The King sent for Lord Waldegrave; he wanted to speak to him he said about that young puppy, the Prince of Wales.

Waldegrave looked sad and the King nodded grimly.

'I can see you have no great opinion of your pupil.'

'I fear I shall never make a scholar of him, Sire.'

'Scholar! Who wants a scholar? Don't want the puppy bleating poetry all over the place. But the young fellow doesn't seem to have any sense. That's what I complain of.'

'He is very slow, Your Majesty. I suppose he tries to learn, but it's not easy for him.'

'Lacks the intelligence, I suppose.'

'Not a very good brain, Your Majesty.'

'I know... I know. Takes after his father. A stupid a.s.s, that was Fred. And it seems this one's the same. Fred's mother...' The King's eyes were glazed with tender memories. 'How different she was. I used to say to her: "You're more like a schoolmarm than a Queen." If she were here now. There's not a woman worthy to unbuckle her shoes, Waldegrave.'

Waldegrave successfully managed to stifle a yawn. The eulogy on the late Queen whom the King had delighted to humiliate during her lifetime would go on for precisely five minutes and Waldegrave knew it almost off by heart. One virtue the King possessed was his precision. He was always accountable. He was as regular as a clock in his habits. There were people at Court who remembered how he used to walk up and down outside his mistress's door, his watch in his hand, so that he could call on her at precisely the time he had set himself to do so. He would leave at the arranged time also. The joke at Court was that he made love by the clock.

So Waldegrave waited while he delivered his speech on the virtues of the Queen. The King wiped his eyes at the end as he always did. Waldegrave wondered mildly whether Madame Walmoden had to listen to a recital of the late Queen's virtues before getting into bed with her lover. He hoped so. Caroline deserved that small consideration after all the accounts she had had to listen to of his affairs with other women.

The King had finished with his Queen and was now ready to get to the business for which he had summoned Waldegrave.

'So you find the young puppy no good at his lessons?'

'He's not lazy, Sire, perhaps it's an inability to learn. Sometimes I think he tries.'

'H'm,' grunted the King. 'He's a brainless whelp. And, of course, his mother keeps him under her thumb and that prize stallion of hers too, I doubt not. Between them the pair hope to turn out a nice little wooden doll, who'll nod when they say nod and shake when they say shake. That's it, eh, Waldegrave?'

It was not the sort of agreement one gave even to the King, so Waldegrave contented himself with smiling at His Majesty.

'Oh, I know, I know. And now I hear the boy has a mistress. A young Quaker, they tell me.'

'There is a rumour to that effect, Sire.'

'Quakers,' mused the King. 'Their women are thin. I never fancied thin women, Waldegrave.'

No need to mention that, thought Waldegrave. Your Majesty has made that perfectly obvious.

'And he's not content with choosing a nice plump woman of the Court. He must go for this thin Quaker and s.n.a.t.c.h her from her husband almost at the altar. What do you think of that, Waldegrave? I'd never have believed it of the puppy, that I wouldn't.'

'It is said that His Highness was aided in the matter.'

'Some interfering scoundrels, I am sure. Ha! And that mother of his none too pleased nor the Scottish stallion either, eh? I hear they knew nothing about it until it was over. Is that true do you think, Waldegrave?'

'I think so, Your Majesty.'

The King was in a sudden good humour at the thought.

'Well, well,' he went on, 'it's time we mated the puppy. That much is clear.'

'Your Majesty has someone in mind?'

'When I was last in Hanover I looked around. The d.u.c.h.ess of Brunswick-Wolfenbttel brought her two girls to see me.'

'And Your Majesty liked what you saw?'

The King licked his lips significantly. 'So much, Waldegrave, that if I'd been twenty years younger I'd have married the elder of the girls myself and that would still have left the younger for my grandson.'

He shaped the outline of a generously formed female shape with his hands.

'Charming young girls, Waldegrave. Charming.'

'Well then, Your Majesty, since you feel the time has come...'

'How old is he? Sixteen, seventeen? In a year or so, I think, Waldegrave.'

'Your Majesty will wish the Princess Dowager to be informed.'

'H'm. Wait a bit. But I think we should give thought to these matters. It's time the young puppy was mated. Quakers!'

When the Princess Augusta heard of the rumours she was infuriated.

She paced up and down her apartment and her lover had difficulty in pacifying her. 'Do you think that old scoundrel would dare bring one of those Wolfenbttel girls over here without consulting me?'

'Surely not,' soothed Bute; although he believed the old scoundrel capable of doing anything.

'I will not have one of those girls for my daughter-in-law. I detest their old mother. She is the most unattractive woman I ever knew, and the girls will take after her. George is too young to marry. And I will not have one of those girls here.'

'You might find that you liked the girl when you met her. She might not take after her mother; but of course I agree that George is too young to marry.'

'He will come of age when he is eighteen and that is not far off. He will have to marry then; but it will not be one of those Wolfenbttel girls. Their mother is the most meddling, intriguing woman you can imagine. The father was all right... but like as not the girls will take after their mother. When George marries I should like him to choose someone from the Saxe-Gotha family my own.'

'It would be ideal, of course.'

'Well, since the old scoundrel has his eyes on Wolfenbttel perhaps he could be looking towards Saxe-Gotha.'

'Our best plan would be to make George understand that he must never accept one of those girls whose mother you so dislike. Shall I sound him? Perhaps you could follow on from there.'

She pressed his hand. 'As always you provide the answer.'

Bute found George in the schoolroom, his brow furrowed as he tried to understand the different methods of taxation which had been applied through the various preceding reigns and the measure of their success. He was very pleased to be interrupted.

'I thought you would wish to know that the King is thinking of marrying you off.'

George turned pale. 'It cannot be!'

'Certainly not to the woman of the King's choice.'

'So he has chosen?'

Bute nodded slowly. 'He has decided on either Sophia Caroline or Anna Amelia of Brunswick-Wolfenbttel. You are to pick which you prefer.'

'I cannot marry.'