Georgian: The Prince and the Quakeress Part 17

Baron Munchausen, the Hanoverian Minister in England, was so incensed by the loss of Hanover that he wanted to call a council and have the Duke's behaviour examined. He declared he had copies of the letters he had sent to the Duke. These would show that in surrendering Hanover the Duke had used his own initiative and that there had been no orders from St James's to do so. But Mr Pitt a man who had little friendship for the Duke was the one to defend him. Hanover was temporarily lost, was Mr Pitt's reasoning; the Duke had surrendered it on orders from London; there was no point in denying this just to save some people's faces. The deed was done; Hanover was lost; the best way of dealing with the matter was to face up to the truth; and the truth was that the Duke had acted on orders; England had for the time being lost a small electorate of little account; and her prospects on the American continent were promising.

'Bury the past and over its grave build up the future; in that way it will soon be forgotten there is grave there.'

But Baron Munchausen could only cry: 'But this is Hanover!'

Mr Fox had known of the Duke of c.u.mberland's arrival and had come in readiness to greet him. Fox and Pitt were of one mind on this matter. The Duke was being used as a scapegoat and they, being men of honour, were offering him their support. Pitt was against nepotism which he saw as the downfall of the army and therefore of the country, and was firmly opposed to the appointment of a commander because he was a King's son; but c.u.mberland was a brave soldier, and he was being unfairly treated in this instance, albeit by his own father. Mr Fox agreed with him in this matter so Fox was there to support the Duke.

Fox was a politician of brilliance, though he lacked Pitt's eloquence; in fact he was a poor speaker, hesitant and unable to express himself with grace; but he had a sharp mind and was a match for any orator, even Pitt, by his calm reasoning powers. He never attempted to rely on rhetoric; reason was his weapon. He and Pitt admired each other; they were two ambitious men, tremendously envious of each other's success; and Fox was more popular than Pitt, whose affectations irritated many. But they recognized the other's talents and in this affair they stood eye to eye.

The Duke thanked Mr Fox for being at Kensington to meet him when he was informed of the reason why the minister had come.

'I am well in mind and body,' the Duke told him; 'and I have written orders in my pocket for everything I did. And now, Mr Fox, you should take your leave as I do not wish it to be said that I have taken the advice of anyone on what I plan to do.'

Fox understood this and retired, but the Duke must have been extremely comforted to know that he had powerful men on his side.

The King hearing that his son was in Kensington Palace became more irascible than usual. He had to see the fellow, the fool who had lost Hanover. But in his heart he knew that the reason why William had not fought to save Hanover was because he had been commanded to give it up. George would not admit it. He could not face the fact that he was the King to have lost Hanover. It had to be someone else's fault. Caroline had always shielded him. She had let him believe that suggestions were his when they were hers or Walpole's. It had been such a comforting way of life. And here he was an old man... without Caroline and Hanover lost.

'A plague on them all,' he muttered. He wanted to be young again... in Hanover, with Caroline his young wife. The happy days, he thought of them, letting memory skilfully paint them in bright colours for him. Caroline... Caroline... no woman worthy to... Amalia Walmoden was a wonderful woman... his Countess of Yarmouth... she would offer him some comfort for the loss of his Caroline.

But now there was this fellow... this c.u.mberland... this Willie come home... in disgrace. 'Yes, sir, disgrace, I say. You lost Hanover... the home of our fathers... and you lost it.'

It was the only way he could bear to look at it. Though it had seemed the only alternative they had had to save Bremen and Verden. They had had to save the army. It was either that or Hanover.

'Yes, yes... but I could not have lost Hanover, Caroline, could I? You would see that. Didn't you always see everything.'

He looked at his watch. He was to go and play cards with the Princess Amelie, his daughter as he always did. If he did not hurry he would be late. Unthinkable. He was never late.

Amelie... Emily as they called her in the family... she was getting old now, and she was sour. She had wanted Grafton. It had caused her mother some concern the way Emily had run after Grafton. Perhaps they should have found a husband for her. It was difficult with Princesses... not much royalty left abroad and it had to be Protestant royalty, which limited the choice. Either that or someone at home. The girls ought to have been given Englishmen. Why not? That would have been better than letting them go unmarried and turn sour like Emily.

She greeted him with a show of affection when he reached her apartments. The cards were ready.

'Come,' he said, 'let us play.'

'We are ready, Father,' Emily replied.

He said quietly: 'Your brother is in the palace.'

'I know, Father.'

'He'll be coming to cards tonight. Don't leave me alone with him.'

'No, Father.'

'It's an order.'

'Yes, Your Majesty.'

The game began and when the Duke of c.u.mberland came into the room the King did not look up, but he was aware of him, for he muttered: 'Here is my son who has ruined me and disgraced himself.'

The Duke of c.u.mberland was scarlet with mortification, but he could not approach his father unless given permission to do so and after that remark the King gave no sign that he was aware of him but stolidly went on playing cards. Nor could the Duke leave the a.s.sembly until the King rose and dismissed the company by his departure.

It was eleven o'clock and as soon as the King had left the card-room the Duke went at once to the apartments of the King's mistress, the Countess of Yarmouth.

The Countess was an inoffensive woman whose main purpose was to please the King and keep her position; she made few demands on him and this was why she held her place. She was a little avaricious, but apart from trying to make money by selling honours she had few vices. She therefore received the Duke kindly for she was eager to help him, knowing that he had been unjustly accused.

'Madam,' said the Duke, 'I have come to ask a favour of you.'

'My dear Duke,' she replied, 'you know I will do everything in my power to help you.'

'My father will listen to you. I want you to break this news to him as agreeably as possible that I am resigning my post as Captain-General and the command of my regiment.'

'Oh no, you cannot. It is too much.'

'In the circ.u.mstances, Madam, there is nothing else I can do.'

'I pray you don't make this decision so hastily. Give yourself time to think.'

'Begging your pardon, Madam,' he replied, 'I have not come here to ask your advice, though it is kind of you to offer it. I merely wish you to pa.s.s on this news to the King in the manner less likely to disturb him.'

'I wish to help... and since you ask me this... I can only do it. But I think perhaps you are over hasty.'

'I have been falsely accused, Madam. I have no alternative but to resign.'

'Then there is nothing I can do but obey your wishes.'

The King arrived at his mistress's apartments at the appointed time.

He saw at once that she was distressed and that did not please him. He had come to her for comfort, not to be fretted. He frowned but she said: 'I must tell Your-Majesty at once that the Duke of c.u.mberland has been to see me.'

'The puppy!'

'Sire, he is determined to resign his post. That is what he has asked me to tell you.'

The King's face grew purple. 'This will be a nice scandal. He must be stopped.'

'He seemed determined,' said the Countess, her face puckered with anxiety. 'But Your Majesty has had a trying day. Should you not shelve the matter until you have... rested.'

The King looked at his watch. He did not intend to spoil this meeting with his mistress.

'The puppy will have to be brought to heel,' he said.

'I am sure Your Majesty will soon have him where you wish him to be.'

This was her most attractive quality: she always made him feel a wise and great man. In fact he felt more comfortable with her than he had with Caroline, although he would not admit that now.

'I'll deal with him,' he said; and shelved the matter as she had hoped he would.

What a soothing, tender creature she was. He was lucky to have found her!

The King wanted no trouble. He demanded that 'secret papers' be brought to him and he feigned to study them. He then announced that he thought better of the Duke of c.u.mberland than he had, and he believed that there was no need to continue with this farce of a resignation.

But the Duke was determined. He would treat his father with the respect due to a King, for he was a royalist by nature; and having seen the ill effects of quarrels on the royal family's prestige he did not want to add to that.

He had nevertheless made up his mind that he could no longer talce a command in an army in which he was obliged to obey the orders from the Council and his father, and then take the blame when they were unsuccessful.

He had been deeply wounded; he saw only one course of action open to him: resignation; and nothing was going to prevent his taking it.

The Duke of c.u.mberland had resigned. The hero-villain of Culloden was no longer in command of the army.

His pa.s.sion in life had been the army and now he was no longer of it. The action of his father had made it impossible for him to retain his position. But this was no family quarrel. The Duke robbed of his position, of his career through the action of his father, continued to pay him the utmost homage in public.

He now turned appealingly to his nephew. He hoped that the Prince of Wales would allow him to bestow on him that affection which he yearned to give.

The Princess and Lord Bute told themselves that they must watch the Duke of c.u.mberland.

Joshua Reynolds calls THE PRINCE OF Wales was very proud of having a daughter and could not resist talking of her to those in the secret.

'How I wish I could see her!' sighed his sister Elizabeth.

'And how I wish you could. Perhaps I could take you one day.'

'Everyone would recognize my poor body if I attempted to call on her.'

'If she met you she would love you as I do.'

'I hope that one day I shall.'

'I see no reason why I shouldn't see her,' declared Edward.

The Prince of Wales considered this. 'No... I suppose not. Hannah might be a little reluctant. She is very retiring.'

'Tell her I would not harm her. I should only love her... since you do.'

George beamed on his brother and sister with the utmost affection.

'Have you ever thought of having that portrait painted?' asked Elizabeth.

'Who would paint it?'

'Anyone would... if you asked them.'

'Wouldn't it be dangerous?'

Edward said: 'If one is going to be afraid of danger one will never arrive at anything. It would not be one half as dangerous as abducting a Quakeress at the altar.'

'I... I scarcely did that.'

'Oh, come, brother, you are too modest.'

'I have seen the work of Joshua Reynolds,' said Elizabeth. 'It is quite miraculous.'

'I do not understand painting much...' began George.

'Elizabeth is right,' corroborated Edward. 'I have heard it said that he is the greatest living painter. None but the best would be good enough for the Prince of Wales.'

'I should like her portrait to be painted,' mused George.

'Hush,' whispered Edward. 'Here comes our sister Augusta.'

Elizabeth began talking hastily about a piece of embroidery on which she was working. Augusta looked suspicious. A strange subject, she was thinking, for Elizabeth to discuss with her brothers. These three were always together, always seeming to share secrets, and Augusta had been told by her mother to try to discover what George talked about to his favourite sister and brother.

But, of course, they were silent as soon as she appeared. It was always so.

But George had something on his mind. It was obvious that he had some secret. She wondered what. It would be a triumph if she could discover it and report to her mother and Lord Bute. They would be so pleased with her.

George smiled at her absently. He had never greatly cared for his sister who was a year older than he was and apt to be resentful that she had not been born a boy, in which case all the honours which were his would have been hers.

George was thinking: Joshua Reynolds, why not?

A portrait, thought Hannah, as she dressed with the help of her maid. Thou hast become a vain and empty-headed woman Hannah Lightfoot.

She would not think of herself as Hannah Axford, and preferred to regard herself as a single woman rather than as that. She dreamed sometimes that Isaac Axford came to claim her, that he crept into this bedroom while she slept and that she awakened to find him standing over her.

The bedroom was becoming more and more ornate as the years pa.s.sed. In the early days she had tried to keep it simple, for every now and then her upbringing would a.s.sert itself; then she would suffer terrible feelings of guilt and see the gates of h.e.l.l yawning before her.

Had her marriage to Isaac been a true marriage? Sometimes she liked to think not. On the other hand, sometimes she must believe it was a true marriage when it seemed less shocking for a woman who had been through the marriage ceremony to have a lover, to be a mother, than for one to experience these things who had never been married at all. Then the thought of Isaac as a husband horrified her.

One fact was clear to her: she could never be truly happy. She loved her Prince; he was charming, never failing in his courtesy to her, giving her the respect he would have given to his Queen yet the load of sin was on her, and she could never shift it.

And now a portrait.

She could imagine her uncle's stern face if he knew. To dress herself in satin, to sit idly while her face was reproduced on canvas. What vanity. What sin.

But my sins are so many, she thought. What is a little vanity added to them?

In her nursery lay her daughter her idolized child. Born in sin, she thought. What will become of her? But all must go well with her, for was she not the daughter of the Prince of Wales?

She had a suspicion that she was again pregnant. She had not told the Prince yet. She understood him so well and he was so good that their sin worried him as much as it did her, although he was not a Quaker and had lived his life at a Court which in Quaker circles was another name for debauchery.