Goddess of the Green Room

The royal nursery

WHEN THE DUKE of Clarence fell in love with Dorothy Jordan he was by no means an inexperienced young man. A few years younger than Dorothy – he was twenty-five, she twenty-eight – he had been at sea for eleven years.

When he was born in August 1765 he already had two brothers: George, Prince of Wales, aged three, and Frederick, Bishop of Osnaburgh and Duke of York-to-be, aged two. Horace Walpole had cynically remarked that if it were not for the Queen’s supplying the country with dukes the peerage might well become extinct, though he had not known then that there would be more to follow.

So William entered a nursery which was dominated by his brother George, already something of a despot, being not only the eldest but the cleverest, most handsome and most charming of the children. George, who was adored by his mother and idolized by the servants, knew exactly how to wheedle concessions or to demand them, and how to wriggle out of trouble if the need arose. There was only one person whom George could not charm, and that was the King, their father. It was natural that a young brother should admire George, and George liked admiration more than almost anything else. Frederick was already his devoted henchman and young William immediately fell into line. George was the kindest of brothers and although William was younger he was never allowed to feel an outsider. George was always there to explain, advise and collect admiration. George was the god of the nursery and his younger brother accepted the situation as naturally as the sunrise. If they were in difficulties they went to George – large for his age, pink-cheeked, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed George, the little Prince of Wales, whom people cheered whenever he was seen driving out with their nurses, who already knew how to smile and wave in a manner which was both cordial and royal and made watchers smile and marvel at his precocity.

When their mother came to the nursery and took William on her knee because he was the youngest and talked to him, her eyes would be on George the magnificent. William had seen the wax figure of a baby on her dressing table. She had had it put there so that she could gaze at it while her women did her hair. It was George as a baby – the bonniest, healthiest, most beautiful baby in the world. There was no jealousy in the nursery. George was George and his benign dictatorship was acceptable to all – except the King, who would often come in with a cane to correct arrogance, disobedience or greed.

Yet, as Frederick once remarked to William, if it were not for Papa there would be no one for George to fight against. It would be like having St George without the dragon.

William had slowly grasped the point. He was not so quick as his brothers and often did not understand what they were talking about, particularly George, though when George realized this he would always explain with the utmost patience.

The royal nurseries at Kew were presided over by Lady Charlotte Finch and the King had laid down very rigid rules on diet and discipline; the children were to eat no fat with their meat and meat was not to be eaten every day. They were not to eat pastry and if there was fruit pie they had only the fruit, but they might have as many greens as they cared to eat. ‘But who wants greens?’ cried the Prince of Wales. ‘I want pastry. I want fat.’

William remembered the day of the rebellion when George had demanded meat instead of fish and had picked up the fish and thrown it at the wall; and Frederick who always did what George did picked up his and did likewise, while Lady Charlotte was speechless with horror as a chuckling William did the same.

Lady Charlotte did not punish them herself; she must always report their bad conduct to their Majesties and this of course brought a red-faced bulging-eyed parent to the nursery to mete out justice. They were all to be caned by His Majesty himself, this being a serious offence. William watched George’s face grow as red as his father’s because there was one thing George hated more than anything and that was to be caned. It was not the pain, though this was considerable, but the loss of dignity which worried George.

‘Discipline,’ said the King. ‘I will have discipline. I will beat discipline into you boys. You will not eat meat for a week and you will all be caned by me.’

The Queen was there too; and she tried to protest but the King looked at her in amazed surprise that she dared. She hated the boys to be beaten – particularly George.

George said: ‘But I was the one who started it. Your Majesty should not blame Frederick and William.’

St George and the dragon!

The Queen had looked fondly at her first-born but if the King approved of the sentiment he pushed it aside and the canings began. George yelled so they all yelled and the Queen stopped her ears and tried not to look and the King’s face grew redder as he said between strokes: ‘I… will… have… discipline in the nursery.’

When he had gone George told them that he had not cried because it hurt but because he wanted to shame Papa. He hated Papa and when he was King – which he would be one day – he would not be a bit like Papa, who (whispered low and with great daring) was a silly old fool and a lot of people thought so too – people in Parliament, for George had heard the servants talking. And because he hated Papa they must do so too and find ways of plaguing him and having disobedience in the nursery which should be ruled over by the Prince of Wales not the King of England. Thus the friction between George and his father began at an early age; and William and Frederick were staunchly behind George.

They were all high-spirited and while the King was busy preparing to lose the American Colonies and the Queen bearing children they managed to have a great deal of their own way. But always they stood together – the band of brothers – and it was the same when the other children joined the nursery.

William often remembered the occasion when George had jumped on a drum and broken it and they had thought what fun it would be to turn it into a carriage, and they wanted one of the young women attendants to sit in the drum that they might drag her round the floor.

‘Nothing of the sort, Your Highness,’ she said to George. ‘You had no right to jump on the drum.’

‘I have every right to do as I will here, Madam,’ said George, regally arrogant as he well knew how to be. ‘And now you will be seated in your carriage so that your three fine steeds can do their duty.’

‘I’ll do no such thing.’ William who had not yet learned that his brother did not approve of violence to ladies tried to push the attendant into the drum. In her efforts to evade him she threw him off with the result that he slid across the floor and cut his head open.

Lady Charlotte Finch hurried to the scene, demanding an immediate explanation. Prince William had attempted to strike her, the woman said, and she had merely tried to protect herself. She had not struck Prince William and he had only himself to blame for the cut on his head.

‘She did strike him,’ said George.

‘I did not, my lady,’ said the attendant. ‘He fell of his own accord after attempting to push me into the drum.’

But George knew that this incident could very likely result in a caning for William, but if the women struck him – which was forbidden – he could not be blamed for showing resentment.

Lady Charlotte Finch called another servant who had been a witness and who declared that the attendant did not strike Prince William; he had pushed her and in doing so had fallen and cut himself.

‘This is nonsense,’ cried George rushing in to protect William. ‘You did strike my brother. I say so. These maids will say anything to favour one another.’

What could Lady Charlotte do? She could only warn all concerned that there must be no more such trouble. It was said at Kew that if an attendant offended one brother he had offended them all; and it was clear that they would lie to defend each other if necessary. The point was that trouble for one was trouble for the others, and although Prince Frederick and Prince William might be dealt with, the Prince of Wales, with his charm, his quick wits and his ability to twist the truth to suit his own ends, was a formidable adversary.

Therefore many misdemeanours of the nursery were overlooked.

William had always been fascinated by the sea, just as George and Frederick were by the army. When his two elder brothers played with soldiers, William wanted ships.

The Queen reported this love of ships to the King who approved for once and said that when the time came William should go into the Navy and Frederick into the Army; as for George he would have to learn to be a king.

The Queen often doubted that the manner in which the boys were being brought up was most suited to a future monarch. The discipline the King insisted on was surely certain to produce rebellion in a character like that of the Prince of Wales. He grew more headstrong every day; and it was clear that when he at last broke free he would be like a frisky young horse who is determined to gallop anywhere… as long as he could revel in his freedom.

The Queen saw this, but the King could not, and ever since she had arrived in England – a plain little German princess in her teens who could scarcely speak a word of English – she had been made to realize that her duty was to bear the children; everything else might be left to the King, his mother and her lover Lord Bute. A frustrating state of affairs, but what could a humble princess do but bide her time. She lacked beauty, brilliance and all the graces it seemed, her only asset being her fecundity.

There was no doubt of that. The children had continued to arrive at regular intervals – in time fifteen of them, two of whom died in their infancy; but thirteen was a good number.

Both the King and Queen would have been happier in a less exalted position; and they tried to turn Kew – their favourite place of residence – into the home of a country gentleman rather than a royal palace. The King often wished he had been a farmer, for farming interested him more than state affairs. They were very depressing at this time in any case, with the colonists raising their voices against the mother country and half the House of Commons calling for stern methods to bring them to order and the other half advising placation. The King, with his firm ideas of the divine rights of Kings – and teaching his sons to have the same – could not understand why there should be any need to give the colonists what they asked. They were attempting to be disloyal to the crown, said the King. Let them feel the full weight of England’s displeasure.

There had been trouble with John Wilkes who had fought for free speech and whose actions the King had deplored. ‘Wilkes for ever!’ was a cry which made his eyes bulge with anger; yet it had been heard very frequently in the streets – and in the nursery too.

One day the King and Queen had been together – the Queen at her tatting, the King making buttons, a pastime from which he derived great pleasure and which his people derided as an unsuitable occupation for a King – when the door was thrust open by a very bold young Prince of Wales, with Frederick beside him and little William bringing up the rear.

It was rebellion against the lack of freedom in the royal nursery; it was the Prince of Wales, heedless of consequences, in revolt.

‘Wilkes for ever!’ cried the young childish voices.

And as the King hurried to the door he was just in time to see William being dragged out of sight by his brothers.

It was difficult to know how to punish such an action, said the King. It showed an interest in affairs which was commendable; it showed certain spirit; but it showed disrespect to their parents, which was disrespect to the crown.

The Queen said she thought that as the incident had made His Majesty smile perhaps this was an occasion when he might consider being lenient.

Leniency was not always advisable, said the King ponderously, and went on to deliver a lecture on the bringing up of children.

The only time he ever explained his actions to her was when it concerned the household; if she dared mention state affairs he was displeased and Wilkes, with all the trouble he was making, was a state affair.

He said he would tell one of the tutors to do the caning. It would give it less weight than if delivered by the King himself.

He gives more thought to caning his children, thought the Queen resentfully, than he does to state affairs. And one of these days they’ll grow up to hate him.

It was not all punishment at Kew. The King was fond of his children and, it had to be admitted, proud of them. It was his pride in his eldest son which made him stern. The boy was too handsome, too clever, too spoiled by those who surrounded him – and his mother would be included in this if the King did not keep a firm hold on her – and for this reason he must be periodically caned, watched over and kept in constant restraint.

Both he and his brother Frederick were allowed to have their little patch on which they were to grow wheat because the King wished to instil in them his own love of growing things. That they loathed it, particularly George who could not bear getting his hands soiled, was of no consequence. The wheat must be taken through its various processes and, when ready, made into bread which the King sampled with great discrimination, passing judgement on the boys’ skill as wheat growers.

William remembered George’s fury. ‘Are we farmers, then? What do people think of a king who believes that part of the training of kings is tilling the soil!’

Frederick agreed and so did William and Edward, Ernest, Augustus and Adolphus. The nursery was fast filling at that time.

There were happy occasions. William enjoyed those times when the public came to Kew. The King had made it a rule that sightseers should be admitted every Thursday; and the band used to play on the Green. The people loved to see the royal family, but in particular the children, and George bowed and smiled and received their admiration with such pleasure that he was the most popular member of the family.

Frederick, William and the other brothers looked on, content that this should be so. In fact they would have been astonished if anyone had not been delighted with George and would have thought there was something wrong with any person who could not appreciate their brilliant and flamboyant brother.

There was always plenty of music, for the King was eager that his sons should understand and love it. George had a quick ear and could sing well but William had little understanding of it and could not appreciate the genius of Handel of whom the family was particularly fond. The King would sit beating time while the musicians played and the children were all expected to remain in awed silence and to be able to talk knowledgeably with their father on the subject of oratorios and operas – which George could do with ease. William feared he was not very musical. In fact he was beginning to fear that he was not nearly as clever as his brothers. Fred was of course a pale shadow of George but he could joke with his elder brother and they could be quite witty together. William was too slow. Never mind. He knew he could never compete and so did they and they accepted this.

In any case he did not have to attend the Queen’s Drawing Rooms every Thursday which the two elder boys did because he was not considered old enough. George grimaced when he talked of these.

‘Lucky William,’ he said. ‘At least you escape that.’

And William grinned sheepishly but wished that he went all the same, because nothing seemed right unless he shared it with his brothers.

Cards were played but not by the Princes, of course, who must stand beside the Queen and receive the guests and then listen to the music which was played in the next room, with the King sending out instructions as to what was to be next on the programme.

It was all very dull, said George, and when he was King he would have everything very different.

William did enjoy some of the parties which their parents arranged for them. There were birthday entertainments when the most magnificent firework displays were given. William would stand beside his mother and be unable to suppress his excitement, especially when, because it was his birthday, there was to be a cake in the shape of a ship.

‘Where is our Sailor William, eh?’ the King would say, his eyes protruding, trying to be gay and jolly; but William was never sure of his father and he could not forget the canings – not his own, oddly enough, but those which had been administered to the Prince of Wales.

In those early days of his life Kew was like a little village with its houses scattered about the Green. There was the royal farm where the butter, milk and eggs for the royal household were produced. This was personally supervised by the King, who liked to take his children round to watch the butter being made – and to give a hand now and then – and to tickle the pigs with a long stick until they grunted and fell down in a state of bliss, little guessing that in a short time they would be served up as pork or bacon on the royal table.

There was Lady Charlotte Finch with her own house and her own little garden, the Queen’s house and the house where the children were lodged.

It was an orderly life. They must be up early for the King believed in early rising; they must retire early too. The Queen herself superintended their baths which took place every morning at six. She and the King had a habit of looking in now and then during mealtimes so that the children were never sure when they were coming. The Queen sometimes looked on during lesson times, and their father worked out their curriculum.

That was how it was until William was eight years old and then his world was shattered. The Prince of Wales and his brother Frederick were to have a separate establishment as they were considered too old to be with the younger children. A governor was appointed for them and a new household, and William remained behind in the nursery.

Life was easier then. There were not so many inspections and rigorous laws. William had always realized that the important member of the family was his brother George who was destined to be King. Once he had left the nursery it could not be the same again.

They met now and then and George was unfailingly kind to his young brother. If William were in any difficulty he knew he only had to go to George.

When William was in his thirteenth year the King became very concerned. Nothing was going right. The trouble between England and the American colonies was working towards a climax. Burgoyne’s defeat at Saratoga had raised a storm in Parliament. The impossible was happening. The English were being beaten by the American Colonists, and there were rumours that France was sending aid to the rebels. The King conferred with his Prime Minister, Lord North. It was a question of ‘Conciliate or fight on’. Lord North wanted to resign, but the King would not let him; he wanted to show himself a true ruler and he believed that the best way of doing this was to preserve a stubborn resistance. He was anxious and uncertain and determined not to show it; and his mind was torn between events at home and abroad.

The Prince of Wales was sixteen and chafing against his lack of liberty. There were rumours of his sentimental attachments to women. There had actually been a scandal at Kew where he had been meeting a maid of honour in the gardens and had seduced her – aided and abetted by his brother Frederick, and possibly William.

The Prince of Wales was contaminating his brothers.

‘We shall find we have a family of libertines,’ the King declared to the Queen. ‘Something will have to be done. Frederick has a will of his own. It’s William I fear for. Besides, he’s so young, but he’s constantly in their company. Why shouldn’t William go to sea?’

‘In due course,’ said the Queen placidly.

‘Who said anything about due course, eh? I mean now. Let him learn to be a sailor before George makes a knave of him.’

The Queen was horrified. ‘William is thirteen,’ she reminded the King.

‘I am aware of his age, but other boys go to sea at thirteen. It’s the right age. There’s no reason why he should be any different from anyone else.’

‘He… he’s only a child.’

‘Hm,’ replied the King not unkindly. She was a mother and wanted to keep them all children for ever. ‘Just the time. Thirteen. Right age for a midshipman.’

‘Midshipman!’

‘You don’t think he can be an admiral right away, do you? He’s going to start as a midshipman and he’ll work his way up. It’ll be a hard life, but hardship never hurt anyone. That brother of his has had everything too easy.’

‘He has often been somewhat severely caned,’ the Queen reminded him with some resentment.

‘And that has prevented his being worse than he is, you may depend upon it. It will do William a power of good. I shall go down to Portsmouth myself and see the Commissioner there.’

‘I would beg you to consider his age.’

‘Stuff,’ said the King; and added as though he had had a brilliant idea: ‘And nonsense.’

‘Thirteen years old and a Prince…’

‘Old enough, and princes have their duty more than ordinary men.’

The Queen knew that once the King had made up his mind nothing would make him shift it, for one of his most persistent characteristics was his obstinacy. She was alarmed for William who, although disciplined, had enjoyed the luxuries of a royal existence. How would he fare as a sailor – for the King intended him to have no privileges. It was to be part of the rigorous training, the discipline, the hardening process.

My poor William! thought the Queen.

When William heard the news he was horrified.

He wanted to be a sailor, yes – but not yet. And when he had dreamed of going to sea it was as an admiral – at least a captain – not a midshipman.

He went at once to see his brother.

George was writing a letter to one of his sisters’ ladies-in-waiting. He greatly enjoyed writing letters for he had a way with a pen and he wept as he wrote of his emotions and undying affection for the lady.

He laid down his pen in concern at the sight of William’s face.

‘You haven’t heard, then, George, that they’re sending me to sea?’

‘Oh yes, but not for years.’

‘Soon. Our father has gone to Portsmouth to get it all arranged and I’m to go off at once.’

‘It’s madness,’ cried George. William felt better. One could rely on George.

‘But our father is determined.’

‘Our father is an ass, William,’ said George sadly. ‘Here am I a man… and treated like a boy. But no matter. You are in a worse plight. Sent to sea! How can that be? You’re not old enough to command.’

‘I’m to go as a midshipman.’

‘How dare he! My brother… a midshipman.’

‘I’ve been studying geometry for months and I’m to go… so he says. He doesn’t want me here.’

‘He’s afraid I’ll contaminate you. It’s time he saw what a fool he is. Everyone laughs at him. The Royal Button Maker! Farmer George! Are they names for a king? Stab me, William, if I were King you would not be forced to do anything unless you had a mind for it.’

‘I know, George, but you’re not King. He is. And he’s our father and he says I’m to go to sea.’

The brothers regarded each other sadly. They both knew they had to obey their King and father. As yet, thought George rebelliously. But although he might rage about the restrictions which hemmed him in the problem was William’s. Poor William, to be sent to sea like a common sailor.

What could he do to comfort him?

‘You’ll have leaves,’ he said. ‘And you can’t treat a sailor as a child. If he wants you to live like other people he’ll have to give you some freedom, won’t he? I’ll tell you what, William, when you are on leave we’ll meet. We’ll disguise ourselves. We’ll go to Ranelagh… We’ll enjoy life.’

George could always comfort him. Listening, William tried to think ahead to those leaves for only by doing so could he forget temporarily what had to come first.

It was characteristic of the King that he should be much happier arranging the departure of William than he was managing state affairs. In his family he was the complete despot; in the country he was plagued by his ministers. So energetically he personally set about the preparations for William’s departure.

He himself had gone to Portsmouth to see Sir Samuel Hood, the Commissioner of the Dockyard, and had taken the opportunity to meet Rear-Admiral Robert Digby with whom William was to sail.

‘Now,’ said the King, ‘no concessions, eh? He’s to be with the others… treated like the others. Make a man of him.’

Rear-Admiral Digby said that His Majesty’s orders would be carried out.

‘If he does wrong, he’s to be punished. Never believed in sparing the punishment. Bad for them. He’ll be with the others… eat with the others… live with the others. That’s understood?’

The Rear-Admiral understood perfectly.

‘He’s a bit wild,’ said the King. ‘Brothers!’

Growing used to the King’s staccato methods of conversation, Digby grasped that he was referring to the wildness of the Prince of Wales and Duke of York of whom there had been certain rumours.

‘Life at sea. Good for the lad. He’s a good boy. Don’t want him spoilt. Now what’s he to bring, eh?’

Digby asked if His Majesty would care for a list of Prince William’s requirements to be sent for His Majesty’s secretary.

The King’s eyes bulged slightly. ‘Secretary! No. He’s my son. I want to see that he comes as he should. I’ll have the list now.’

Digby was somewhat surprised at such unkingly methods. He was, however, not so conversant with the sartorial requirements of his midshipmen as the King supposed; he would have the list compiled, he said, and it should be handed to His Majesty before he left Portsmouth.

‘Very good. Very good. I think you’ll like the boy. Cheerful lad. Always had a feeling for the sea. Right stuff for a sailor. Good boy, but… brothers.’

Rear-Admiral Digby said he understood; and was extremely grateful to His Majesty for giving him his instructions in person.

It was the night before William was to leave for Portsmouth and the family were gathered together to say good-bye to him. The King, the Queen, seven brothers and four sisters – the only exception being Baby Sophia who was too young to appear. The Queen was tearful and as resentful as she dared be. She thought it was very wrong of the King to send his young son away like this. Who ever heard of such nonsense? A boy not yet fourteen and a Prince, to be sent to live with common sailors. She was thankful it was not George who was going. That she could not have borne. He was so sensitive, so fastidious. Fortunately William was more amenable, slower, dull when compared with George and so might be able to adjust himself better, but it was a shameful indignity all the same. She often felt resentful against the King. When she had come to England from Mecklenburg-Strelitz she had thought she was going to rule with him as Queen; but quickly she discovered that the only decisions she was allowed to make was what embroidery her daughters should do and who should walk the dogs. Even her children’s diet had been arranged by the King. And now her son William – against her wishes – was to be sent away to live among common sailors! There were times when she hated her husband. And she sometimes thought of that strange illness of his which had occurred twelve years before when he had frightened her so thoroughly. It had been a fever but something more than that. Once when in conference with his ministers his face had become very red and he burst into tears. That had been very odd – but only she knew of the alarming manner in which he had rambled on when they had been alone together. ‘They’re all against me,’ he had said. ‘Everyone in the cabinet is against me.’ And he would go on saying it until she had wanted to scream to him to stop.

‘I am insulted by the people,’ he had cried. ‘I can’t sleep for thinking of them and my ministers. They hate me. They won’t let me alone.’

And so on in such a strain that she had feared he was losing his mind. He had feared it too. ‘Sometimes,’ he said to her, ‘I fear I’m going mad. There should be a Regency Bill. George is too young…’ George had been three years old at the time. ‘A Regency Bill… a Regency Bill…’

And at that time he had developed that urgent repetitive manner of speaking which had stayed with him; and often she was reminded of that terrible time when she, a newcomer to England at that time with a three-year-old George, a two-year-old Frederick and William on the way but not yet arrived, had wondered what her fate would be if her husband went mad.

He had recovered; but such an illness left its scars and often she asked herself: Is he going mad again?

And this notion of sending young William to sea seemed a form of madness.

William sat at the supper table next to his father in the place of honour so that the King might talk to him and give him advice, which he did incessantly.

‘I’ve sent off a hair trunk, my boy, with two chests and two cots done up in a mat. You’ll settle in. You’ll soon be telling us that there’s no life like that of a sailor. Yes, a hair trunk…’

George looked at Frederick and said slyly: ‘Papa, how many hair trunks?’

The King’s white eyebrows shot up and his blue protuberant eyes regarded his eldest son. The young fellow always seemed to him too arrogant and he resented that air of languid elegance about him.

Frederick suppressed a guffaw and their mother trembled while the others looked on in admiration of the Prince of Wales who dared mock their father.

‘A hair trunk, I said.’

‘I see, Papa, I thought there were several.’

‘One hair trunk,’ said the King, ‘two chests and two cots done up in one mat.’

‘William is lucky to have Your Majesty nurse him like a… like a… nursemaid.’

‘H’m,’ said the King, never sure of George, suspecting that he was trying to be insolent but determined not to have friction with his eldest son on the eve of William’s departure.

He turned his attention to William. ‘I shall give you a Bible before you go. Read it every day.’

‘Yes, Papa.’

‘You are about, my dear boy, to leave your home and to enter into a profession in which, I will not hide from you, you will be obliged to undergo many hardships and be surrounded by danger. You understand, eh, what? Your first duty is to your superior officers. If you are going to command you must first learn to obey; and you should not think that your rank absolves you from any menial task which may be demanded of you. Don’t think that because you are the son of a king you will be treated differently from officers of the same rank. The same discipline and routine will be yours. You will not be known as a prince but as a common sailor. Understand?’

The Prince of Wales shuddered and put a hand over his eyes as though to conceal his emotion; the Queen frowned; but the King was rambling on, having said what he had prepared himself to say and now repeating it.

William was almost glad when the party broke up.

‘Retire early,’ said the King. ‘A good night’s sleep. You’ll need all your wits about you tomorrow.’

George embraced his brother with tears in his eyes. George wept easily and effectively.

‘Don’t forget, William,’ he said. ‘You’ll soon be home. Then we’ll enjoy life… together.’

George could offer more comfort than the King with all his homilies and the Queen with all her fears.

Midshipman Guelph

THE NEXT MORNING William left for Portsmouth to join the Prince George at Spithead, a vessel of ninety-eight guns under the command of Rear-Admiral Digby. He was dressed in plain blue jacket, sailor’s trousers and a low crowned hat. The Prince of Wales suppressed a shudder as he looked at his brother for he did not wish William to know how humiliating he considered it even to wear such clothes.

Final farewells were said and William trying not to cry set off in the company of Mr Majendie, his tutor, who, in spite of the King’s determination to make the Prince live as an ordinary midshipman, must accompany him to give his daily lessons. Although the boy was to be a sailor he must not be uneducated; and as he was not yet fourteen it could not be said that his education was complete. It was only when he was jogging along those country roads in his unfamiliar garments that he was overcome by the strangeness of everything and he felt this was indeed the most wretched moment of his life. He yearned for the old nursery days with George in command; he longed to be anywhere but on the way to join the Prince George. The only comfort was in the name, but even that only reminded him of his beloved brother.

Still, as George had said, he was not the most imaginative of them and this did enable him not to dwell too much on what the future might be but to wait and see what it was like; and he kept telling himself he had always wanted to go to sea.

He tried to think of great battles with himself directing actions from his flagship. Admiral Prince William… but he was supposed to forget he was a prince, of course.

Arrived at Spithead there was no welcome for him. Instructions had been that he was to be treated like any midshipman. He was not without courage and as he descended the ladder into the steerage he felt a lifting of his spirits. After all, this was adventure such as George himself had never had; and he thought of those leaves when he would tell his brothers all about this and they would listen enthralled because it was something they had never experienced. He must act like a king’s son although he must never remind anyone that he was.

He looked about him; what an airless place. Surely the King with his passion for fresh air would never have agreed to his sleeping in such quarters.

This was where midshipmen slept, ate and spent their leisure he supposed. He could not imagine anything less like the royal apartments at Kew, St James’s, Windsor or Buckingham House.

Peering into the gloom he made out a table covered with a stained table-cloth; he wrinkled his nose with disgust at the odour of cooking grease and onions, and wondered what was the horrible smell which dominated everything else and discovered later that it came from the bilge water.

How was he going to eat in such a place, sleep in that narrow berth? How could he live here in between leaves? Going to sea was not what he had thought it would be. He had dreamed of commanding from his flagship, winning great victories – not living in quarters like these. Then with a start he realized he was not alone in this dark place. He was surrounded by silent watchers.

There were other boys down here all wearing the same kind of jacket and trousers and low crowned hats. They were staring at him.

Seeing that he was aware of them, one crept forward and peered into his face. William knew at once that they were conscious of his identity and did not like him the better for it. He knew too that they would have been told: Treat him as one of yourselves. That is the wish of the King.

He thought of George and wondered what he would have done in such circumstances. But George would have refused to wear these clothes in the first place; he would have come here in velvet coat and diamond shoe buckles and no one would have dared look at George as these boys were looking at him now.

‘Have you come to sail with us?’ called a voice from a berth, and a cloud of evil-smelling tobacco came from the same direction.

‘I have,’ said William.

‘You have, have you,’ was the comment. ‘And what’s your name?’

‘I am entered as Prince William Henry,’ said William, ‘but my father’s name is Guelph.’

‘Guelph, is it? We are not to bow three times every time we see you, you know.’

William laughed. ‘Why should anyone bow three times?’ he asked. ‘You must call me William Guelph, for I am now nothing more than a sailor like you. Which is my berth?’

There had always been something natural about William; his fellow midshipmen sensed it now. They had been expecting a swaggering arrogant young coxcomb whom they had determined to put in his place since the orders had gone round that he was to be treated like the rest of them.

But how could they put William in his place when he had already put himself there?

‘I’ll show you,’ said the young man who had asked the questions, leaping from his berth and coming up to William. ‘What do you think of it, eh? It’s not St James’s Palace, you know, and it’s not Windsor Castle.’

William laughed – a rather fresh innocent laugh. He had always had an ability to make friends which his brothers lacked. His was so natural and at heart modest.

The atmosphere changed suddenly. William’s shipmates had decided that although they had a king’s son among them he was not very different from themselves.

A few days after his arrival the Prince George set sail for Torbay and from there went to join the Channel Fleet, the immediate task of which was to prevent the French fleet joining up with that of Spain. This, however, the British fleet failed to accomplish and the combined ships of France and Spain sailed boldly up the Channel as far as Plymouth causing consternation all along the south-west coast of England. The Spanish and French commanders stood on their decks looking through their binoculars at the land and deciding that it would soon be theirs. When they saw the wooded hills of Devon and the rich red soil their eyes glittered greedily, but when they saw too the guns trained on them and heard that Sir Charles Hardy, who commanded the British fleet, was on his way they lost heart and retreated.

William had believed that he was about to see his first action and was surprised on arriving at Plymouth to find that the enemies had fled. The Prince George docked there and William was given a brief leave of absence. His parents wished him to set out for Windsor without delay.

William was delighted although not as eager as he had thought he would be. After a few weeks at sea he had quickly adjusted himself to a midshipman’s life and he found it not as restricting as the schoolrooms of Kew. He had become a man; he listened to men’s talk; he had already engaged in fisticuffs after an argument with one of the midshipmen.

‘If you were not the King’s son,’ he had been told, ‘I’d teach you better manners.’

‘Don’t let that be a hindrance,’ William had retorted.

But his adversary had said it would not be fair for he was older and stronger; but William would not take that for an answer, and they had fought and William had not come out of the fray too badly. The rest of the company liked him because he did not seek special advantages. They forgot half the time who he was and as they knew him as Guelph he seemed exactly like one of them.

Now he was on his way to Windsor and when he arrived he was told that Their Majesties wished to see him without delay.

There were tears in the King’s eyes as he embraced him.

‘I’ve had good reports,’ he said. ‘Digby tells me you’ve done well. Good lad. Glad to hear it. Must remember to set an example.’

The Queen embraced him in her somewhat detached manner; she never showed much affection for any of them except George, and only to him by the way she looked at him and listened intently when he spoke.

The King wanted to know all about his adventures, how they had sailed up the Channel and put the French and Spanish to flight. He was clearly proud to have had a son involved in such an action and William felt pleased with himself; and decided that after all a sailor’s life was a good one and it was more satisfactory to be a midshipman on board Prince George than a child in the nursery.

He saw his two elder brothers who had come down to Windsor for the express purpose of being with him.

George was horrified at his uniform and the oaths which he had picked up, but also amused.

‘They’ve toughened you, William,’ he said, ‘but by God they’ve made a man of you.’

‘It’s an improvement in a way,’ added Frederick.

And they took him into their confidence and told him of George’s latest conquest and how assignations were made in the gardens at Kew while Frederick kept guard for his brother.

They talked with more frankness than they had ever shown before, and William knew that his brothers considered that in becoming a sailor he had become a man.

When he returned to the Prince George it was to a somewhat chilly reception.

‘His Highness has returned,’ declared one of the midshipmen. ‘But of course he had to go home to see Mamma.’

‘What do you mean?’ demanded William.

The boys continued to talk over his head.

‘No leave for the likes of us. Oh, but it’s different with His Royal Highness. He’s not old enough to leave his Mamma. So he has to run home to her and tell her what a rough lot he’s been put with.’

‘Nothing of the sort,’ cried William angrily. ‘It wasn’t my mother who said I was to go, anyway. It was my father.’

‘Ho! His Majesty’s command, eh?’

‘That’s about it,’ said William.

‘And while Master Guelph was going to balls and banquets, Sam here asked leave to go because his father was dying and did he get it? No. But it’s different with His Royal Highness.’

William turned to Sam, real concern showing on his face. ‘I’m so sorry. I wish I’d known. I’d never have gone. I’d have said you must go in my place. How is your father?’

‘Dead,’ was the laconic reply.

There was silence. William turned away. George would have wept and said something moving; but William could say nothing; yet his silence was more effective than words would have been.

Then someone shouted, ‘Wasn’t your fault, Guelph.’

William answered: ‘I have to do what they tell me. I get more freedom here on board than I ever did at home.’

The tension was broken. Someone laughed. ‘Who’d be a Highness? Never mind, Guelph, you can forget all about that here.’

They had realized once more that they really did like their young princeling.

It took only a day or so to adjust himself to life in the cockpit of Prince George. His brief stay with his family had made him forget how coarse the language could be – half of which he did not understand – how airless the cramped quarters, how nauseating the mingling odours and what it was like to live in the semi-darkness with only the constantly burning lamp swinging from the ceiling to relieve the gloom.

His fellow midshipmen were still ready to pounce on the slightest show of royalty; they laughed when he was relieved of duties to study with Mr Majendie. They watched him, when they remembered, for what they called airs and graces.

‘Avast there, my hearty!’ was a constant cry. ‘The son of a whore is as good a man here as the son of a king.’

‘I’d agree with that,’ was William’s good-humoured comment. ‘It’s the man himself we have to work with, not his father.’

Although he could be hot-tempered his anger died quickly; he was more likely to resort to fisticuffs – at which he was quite accomplished – than words. He was not quick-witted but he was good-natured; and if he could help anyone he would.

Resentment grew into an amused tolerance. Willie Guelph was not a bad sort and as long as he kept his royalty to himself they would not complain.

He learned to swear like the rest of them. When they went ashore he would go off in the company of his friends and like theirs his greatest interest was in the girls of the town.

He was a regular fellow, this Guelph; he was accepted; he was an example of the truth of the saying that one man was as good as another.

The Prince George was at Spithead once more and Christmas was approaching. A message was sent to Admiral Digby that Prince William was to return to Windsor where he would pass a few days with his family.

Some opposition had been expressed to the Prince’s absences of duty – there had been several of them since he had joined the Navy – and the Earl of Sandwich had actually spoken to the Queen on the subject. Such favouritism could not add to the popularity of His Royal Highness, he pointed out; at which the Queen looked at him very coldly and replied that she thought his son’s career was a matter for His Majesty to decide. Sandwich, who prided himself on his bluntness, retaliated with ‘If Your Majesty does not know your duty, I know mine!’ which made the Queen very angry but because her word carried no weight with the King she allowed the insult to pass. However, William still continued to enjoy frequent leaves from duty.

This was a sad occasion, for during this one he was to say good-bye to Frederick who was to be sent to Germany to learn how to be a soldier.

The Prince of Wales was in despair. He and Frederick were inseparable. What was he going to do without Frederick? Who was going to help him to meet the ladies of his choice? In whom was he going to confide? And if Frederick was to become a soldier why could he not do so in England? Why did the King believe that only the Germans knew how to train soldiers? The Prince of Wales wanted to be a soldier too. If Frederick had to go he would like to go with him. ‘A Prince of Wales cannot leave the country,’ said the King. ‘Then let us train in England,’ retorted the Prince, which so shocked the King that his eyes bulged and he called his son a young jackanapes whose insolence was growing beyond endurance.

So it was not a very happy occasion.

The King was very solemn, full of advice and maudlinly sentimental, for since the Prince of Wales had started to cause so many scandals Frederick had become his favourite son.

His Majesty made all the arrangements in detail just as he had with William and the last day arrived and the family gathered for the last evening as they had for William.

William was unhappy because of George’s grief. George had been sorry to lose William but he knew that William would be frequently returning to England and have his spells of leave. It would not be so with Frederick. He would stay in Germany perhaps for years.

George wept and embraced Frederick; they mingled their tears. It was most affecting.

‘And to think,’ said George to William, ‘that the old fool could have let him train in England – then we need not have been separated.’

‘William must stay with us for my birthday celebrations,’ declared the Queen. ‘Frederick has gone, so William must stay.’

William was delighted. Although he had now grown used to life at sea he found the complete change stimulating. The contrast between his exquisite brother George and his shipmates was overwhelming. They seemed rougher when he returned to them, and George seemed to grow more and more elegant. But perhaps this was the truth for George was becoming increasingly interested in his clothes and had even invented a new style of shoe buckle which was being worn everywhere and known as ‘the Prince of Wales’s Buckle’. The young women – William’s prevailing passion – were different too. He liked the girls he met in taverns but he liked fine ladies too; and now that he was a man he could discuss his adventures with George which was interesting. George’s approach was entirely romantic – very different from that of the sailors. George had to adore the object of his passion; she had to be perfect, angelic, an ideal of womanhood. It was a new outlook and a fascinating one; and was more satisfying to William’s nature – which was not unlike that of George in this respect. To be in love was an ecstatic experience. Without it, to George’s fastidious mind, there was no great pleasure to be found in associating with women.

He converted William to this point of view.

And thus it was when the brothers attended the ball at St James’s which was held to celebrate the Queen’s birthday, William fell in love for the first time.

She was the Hon. Julia Fortescue and when William saw her he understood fully the doctrines of the Prince of Wales. He danced with her; they talked. He was no longer shy but in her presence he felt a little tongue-tied. He was not yet sixteen – very young, of course, but then so was she and he had been living like a man. They could not make a man of him one minute, he thought, and expect him to be a boy the next.

He danced again with Miss Fortescue. He told her that he had had many adventures during his life at sea but he had never met anyone like her before. She thought he was charming, because he was so modest and humble in spite of being the son of the King.

The Queen was aware that he was dancing with Miss Fortescue more than he should. He ought to remember his duty. There were other ladies – not such young ladies – with whom he should be stepping out. But Her Majesty was not so concerned with him as she was with the Prince of Wales who was showing marked attention to Lady Sarah Campbell.

After the ball he and George talked of their divinities and it was George who suggested that they should marry.

‘Marry!’ cried William ecstatically. ‘It is what I wish for beyond all things.’

He called on her. Her family lived in Piccadilly in a big house facing Green Park, and naturally the son of the King was welcome there.

Every day he visited the Fortescues; people were talking and Julia and he began to make plans.

‘We will marry,’ declared William.

‘Could we?’ she asked. ‘Is it possible?’

‘Of course it is.’

‘There is the Marriage Act.’

William wrinkled his brows; he had not concerned himself much with Acts.

‘The King and Queen would never consent.’

‘Why not?’

‘They’d want a princess for you.’

‘You’re better than any princess. They must see that.’

But of course the King did not think so; and when he heard that William was dancing attendance on Miss Fortescue, calling on her at her home and was talking of marriage, he sent for his son.

‘What’s this, eh? Courting a young woman. What are you thinking of, eh?’

‘Marriage, Sir,’ said William.

‘Are you mad?’

‘Only in love, Sir.’

The King’s eyes bulged and his face grew red but he was momentarily silent. He couldn’t help thinking of his own youth. He had been only William’s age when he had been so wholeheartedly in love with a young Quakeress that he had acted in the most foolish way. And he had been Prince of Wales.

He softened a little. Mustn’t be too hard on William.

‘Look here, my son, you cannot marry this young woman. You must know that.’

‘Why not? She is of good family. I met her at the St James’s ball. You speak as though she were some innkeeper’s daughter.’

The King shuddered. An innkeeper’s daughter was not very different from a linen-draper’s niece; and he would be haunted for ever by his love affair with Hannah Lightfoot. Just William’s age… he was thinking. It’s not easy to be a young man.

‘My boy,’ he said gently, ‘you are a prince, a king’s son, and as such you owe your duty to the State. It is the Parliament which decides whom you marry. You have to obey the Parliament, my boy. It’s something all your family have to learn sooner or later. Make no mistake about it.’

‘Why should Parliament decide whom I marry?’

‘Because, my dear boy, you are in the line of succession for one thing. You have two elder brothers it is true, but you could one day be King of this realm – that is not an impossibility and because of this you must marry the bride who is chosen for you.’

‘I could refuse.’

‘You are wrong, my son. You could not refuse. And you must have my consent to marry. If you married without it your marriage would not be legal.’

‘A marriage is a marriage…’ began William stubbornly, amazed that he should for the first time in his life dare to contradict his father. It was his love for Julia Fortescue which was driving him on to do so.

‘When legal,’ interrupted the King. ‘Now listen, William. Have you ever heard of the Royal Marriage Act, eh? I’ll tell you. It was my Act so none could tell you better, eh! You know how your uncles Gloucester and Cumberland displeased me. Not received at court. You know that. Well, they married without my consent… unsuitably. But they are married. It was after their marriages that I brought in my Act. And in that Act, my boy – and it will be well for you and your brothers to remember this – no member of the royal family under the age of twenty-five may marry without my consent. They can go through a ceremony of marriage, yes, but it is no marriage – because that is what it says in my Marriage Act.’

William’s face had grown red; he was angry; but the King was surprisingly lenient.

He laid his hand on his shoulder.

‘Young women,’ he said. ‘Very attractive. Want to protect ’em… marry ’em. Yes, yes. I understand. But king’s sons have their duties, eh? It doesn’t do for kings’ sons to make promises of marriage.’

William went to Julia and told her what his father had said. They wept together but they knew they would have to obey the King.

‘We’ll wait,’ said William. ‘You must write to me when I go to sea.’

And he did go to sea very quickly.

‘Mischief they get into at home,’ said the King to the Queen. ‘Boys – always trouble with them. Different from the girls. William’s not a bad boy, though. Now George…’

And while the King gave himself up to his major irritation and preoccupation – his son George – William returned to sea to dream of dancing at St James’s and riding out in the park with Julia Fortescue.

Julia wrote to him and he received some of her letters. He thought of her as he went through his duties on board; for several weeks he dreamed of flouting his father, the Parliament and Julia’s family and marrying her whatever they said.

Why should Parliament tell me whom I should love? he asked himself.

And then he went ashore and carousing with some of his friends he met other girls. Girls were irresistible and he struggled to be faithful to Julia; but she was so far away and so different; and the friendship of these girls involved him in no trouble except perhaps a fight or two with another midshipman who was a rival for their favours.

There was so much to do. There were after all enemies afloat. There were constant skirmishes with French and Spaniards – and life was too full of exotic incidents to brood on romance at home. He was not like George – an elegant lover of beautiful women, who could write flowery letters and concern himself only with romantic love. He had to be a sailor at the same time; he had to do his watches and his other duties. Life was arduous when there were no concessions to royalty.

The King thought it best that William should not return home for a while, so he stayed at sea and the King decided it was not a bad idea for him to visit New York.

William was delighted to see the world. He had been farther afield than any member of his family and that seemed a distinction. Even George had not travelled; not that George would have wished to visit uncivilized places; but there was no doubt that travel added to his knowledge.

New York was exciting. The conflict between the colonists and England was over – with victory for the colonists – but there was great interest in the arrival of William. He was the first member of the royal family to set foot in America and he received a warm welcome: but the mere visit of a boy member of the family could naturally not stop the flow of events.

It was an exciting period although William did not learn until afterwards how exciting. He was to discover that a certain Colonel Ogden had with the help of George Washington planned to kidnap him and hold him as a hostage for bargaining with the Mother Country. The plan went awry but William was thrilled when he heard it. He wondered what would have happened if the colonists had succeeded in carrying him off.

It was small wonder that leading such a varied and exciting life he forgot in time what Julia Fortescue looked like; and he became more and more eager to win the favour of any attractive girl he met.

William had never taken kindly to his lessons; poetry he despised; he did not even have the family’s love of music. But he was passionately fond of the drama. He like to visit the theatre and to play parts himself. This had not been possible in the nurseries at Kew. George might have acted and delighted in it, and Frederick would have followed George, but there was no one else to take parts so it had not occurred to them to play.

But here on board there were plenty to take parts and William did not see why they should not spend some of the time at sea in staging a play.

When he explained how they could use the orlop deck for their theatre and how they could improvise their costume he did not have much difficulty in arousing enthusiasm. They were clamouring for parts. He had decided they would play The Merry Wives of Windsor which he had seen at Drury Lane. He thought they would have some fun with the men dressing up as women, and characters such as Falstaff offered great opportunities. There was a great deal of amusement on the orlop deck and some of the senior officers came to see the play.

It was an excellent way of keeping the men contented during long periods at sea.

When William returned home he was determined not to cast aside his newly-won manhood and looked for the same adventures in London as he had found abroad. He saw clearly the folly of incurring scandal for the sake of Julia Fortescue. He could not marry her and her family would not consent to their forming an irregular union. He must seek excitement elsewhere.

One of his shipmates who was in London at the same time suggested they go together to one of the masked fetes at Ranelagh which were so popular and which offered numerous opportunities for adventure. The gardens were notorious; there ladies roamed in order to lose their reputations among those who had already lost theirs; and everyone was looking for pleasure.

William and his friend in their sailors’ uniforms could be in fancy dress; they had only to put on their masks and they were ready to mingle with Venetian noblemen, shepherdesses, and lords and ladies in the colourful costumes of courtiers. Their masks hiding their features, William and his friend strolled to the Rotunda past the Chinese Temple, the Grotto and the Temple of Pan; they listened to the al fresco orchestra; but they were soon tired of the sights and decided to explore the winding narrow paths, which gave such opportunities, in search of girls. They quickly found them – and William was attracted by one who wore the habit of a nun which was very intriguing because it was obvious that her costume was chosen out of contrast to her way of life.

This seemed a great joke and they were planning how to escape from their companions and go off alone to that part of the gardens which had been carefully cultivated to appear like a natural forest, when they came to a seat under a tree where William’s sailor friend suggested they sit down for a while.

This they did and as the young sailors chatted to their ladies and made sly attempts to remove their masks up strolled a group of men led by one in the costume of a Spanish grandee. There was something arrogant about that grandee; he walked with a swagger and looked through his mask, which was even more concealing than most, as though he not only owned Ranelagh but everyone in it.

He glanced at the group under the tree and his eyes rested on the nun.

‘Charming!’ cried the grandee, and held out a languid hand to the nun.

William was on his feet.

‘Begone, you insolent dog,’ cried William.

‘How dare you address me so, puppy,’ retorted the grandee.

‘Do you think an officer of His Majesty’s Navy will accept insults from a Spaniard?’ demanded William.

‘If he is forced to,’ was the reply, ‘and you will be, my little sailor boy.’

William had learned to use his fists; he was on his feet and delivering a blow which would have felled the grandee if his companions had not rallied round him as though he were a person of some consequence.

But he did not wish to be protected. He demanded satisfaction; a commotion ensued and someone called the constables.

‘Who started this?’ demanded the officer of the law.

The grandee’s friends said it was the sailor, and William and his declared it was that overdressed popinjay, the Spanish grandee; and as a result the constables arrested both the grandee and William and marched them off to the watch-house.

When they were brought before the constable of the night they were ordered to unmask.

When the grandee and William took off their masks they stared at each other.

‘Eh! William, is it you?’ cried the grandee Prince of Wales.

‘Eh, George, is it you?’ echoed William.

There was loud laughter. The brothers embraced, while the constables looked on. Here was a pretty state of affairs when they arrested the King’s two sons.

The Prince of Wales was never at a loss for a gesture.

‘You did good work,’ he told the constables and presented them with a guinea apiece, at which, astonished and delighted, they accepted their rewards and joined in the general amusement.

Then George linked his arm through that of William. They must be together; they must talk; George wanted to hear all about William’s adventures and he would tell William his.

There could be no greater pleasure for George than to be with his brother.

So, Ranelagh forgotten, they went back to George’s apartments in Buckingham House and there they talked far into the night. And William thought how good it was to be home and that there was no one in the world who meant so much to him as his brother George.

When the King heard of the night’s adventure, he fretted to the Queen.

‘Arrested by the Watch! Bribing constables with guineas! It won’t do. It won’t do. He’ll be just like the others. Hear stories of Fred. Wild… just like George. Can’t have William following in their wake, eh, what?’

When the King talked in that breathless jerky manner the Queen was fearful. It was reminiscent of that alarming time which she tried to forget and never could.

‘William is a good boy,’ she reminded the King. ‘You’ve had excellent reports from his superior officers.’

‘Sometimes I wonder… Sometimes I think I don’t get the truth.’

‘Admiral Digby would not distort the facts. As for that man Sandwich… he would soon have something to say.’

‘It’s the influence of George.’ The very mention of his eldest son’s name made the King’s veins knot at his temples. ‘He shall go back to his ship… without delay,’ he added.

So William’s leave on that occasion was considerably shortened and the plans he had made to tour the town incognito in mask and fancy dress with George could not be put into action.

The return of the sailor

THE PATTERN WAS set for the next years of William’s life, but it was an adventurous life. None of the royal family had seen the world as he saw it. He had become weather-beaten from sun and storm; his muscles had developed; he had grown to love the sea and no matter what happened he would always think of himself as a sailor.

His journeys took him to many foreign ports and he delighted in seeing these exotic places, but most of all he was interested in the women. He followed the ways of his brothers and when the King suddenly decided to recall William from the sea for a few months to do the Grand Tour of Europe and he went to Hanover he found his brother Frederick almost as skilled in the art of seduction as George.

The exciting adventures he encountered in the countries he visited, the reunion with Frederick, the entertainments which were given in his honour compensated him for being recalled from the sea. There were romances in plenty, the most serious perhaps with the beautiful Maria Schindbach with whom he was seen daily throughout the whole of one winter. They drove around together in a train of sledges; they danced together whenever possible and would take no other partners during an entire evening. The Prince was in love, said everyone. It was an explosive situation for although Maria was not exactly a beauty she fascinated many, and being such a highly desirable young woman she was scarcely likely to settle for anything less than marriage.

Captain Merrick, a fellow sailor, who had accompanied the Prince was also attracted by the young lady, and having served at sea with William and having treated him on board as no different from any other member of the crew, he was not going to withdraw from the pursuit of Maria simply because his rival was the son of the King.

Maria was amused and delighted by the rivalry; but besides being beautiful she was wise. She knew that there could be no marriage with William; she had learned all about that awkward Marriage Act which prevented ambitious young ladies like herself entering the royal family. Captain Merrick could offer what Prince William could not: marriage.

So she accepted Captain Merrick.

William suffered the pangs of disappointment for a few weeks before going in search of fresh adventures. He found one with a passionate young woman who was to bear his son, but he did not know this at the time. He had passed on before his mistress was aware of it.

Such was his life. Excitement, gaiety, adventure; and after the Grand Tour, to sea again.

William was eighteen when he formed an important friendship.

He had been transferred to the Barfleur which was lying in the Narrows off Staten Island at the time and was doing watch duty on deck when a barge came alongside in which was a young man in the uniform of captain. The Captain came aboard the Barfleur and was received by Admiral Lord Hood who brought him over to William.

It was one of those occasions when William’s rank was remembered for Lord Hood said: ‘Your Highness, I would like to present Captain Horatio Nelson.’

William thought Nelson the youngest captain he had ever seen, and as they talked together an immediate liking sprang up between them. It was to be the first of many meetings.

Nelson talked with more earnestness than any man the Prince had so far met. He was ambitious in the extreme, not for wealth but for the glory of the Navy. William had never known anyone who had such knowledge of ships and war and how the former should be the means of bringing the latter to a satisfactory conclusion.

When Nelson was at hand there was a marked change in the Prince’s behaviour; he did not care so much for roistering in foreign ports. He became imbued with the Captain’s ideals; he listened earnestly to Nelson’s plans for reform in the Navy; he learned of wrongs which had not occurred to him until this moment; he was informed of the unhappy effects of nepotism which appointed the wrong men for certain posts at crucial moments in history.

Nelson talked with a firmness which was infectious.

William grew to love the Captain, and his happiest days at sea were when he was under his command.

In due course William received his commission. This had meant passing an examination before the Board of Admiralty and the King announced beforehand that there were to be no special concessions for his son. However, no one on the board had the slightest intention of declaring the Prince unfit to receive a commission in the Navy and Lord Howe reported to the King that Prince William was a true sailor, and he became third lieutenant on the frigate Hebe.

The King declared himself pleased with William’s progress and as soon as he had passed the Board sent for him to come to Windsor to spend a few days with the family before taking up his new position.

George, who had now acquired Carlton House and his independence, insisted that William join a breakfast party at his town residence and it was certainly pleasant to be his magnificent brother’s guest of honour. The sojourn at Windsor was not so pleasant, being excessively dull; however, that meant that he was glad when the time came to set off for Portsmouth.

Hebe toured the British Isles calling at various ports in Scotland and Ireland; and in a short time William had become second lieutenant; and in less than a year he was made a captain and given the command of the Pegasus which he took to Canada and afterwards to the West Indies. It was in Antigua that he found Nelson who was the commanding officer on the Leeward Island Station, which meant that the Captain of Pegasus was under his command.

Nothing could have delighted William more, and he was determined that Nelson should have nothing of which to complain in his command of Pegasus.

William began to grow more serious under Nelson’s influence; he learned of the reforms Nelson was seeking to introduce; and they had many discussions about ships and the sea.

William regarded Nelson as his greatest friend, and the most brilliant sailor it had ever been his good fortune to meet. He did not think so much of Nelson as a lover, however, and he told him so; for Nelson had met the widow of a physician who was serious, intelligent and delightful in every way and was considering marrying her.

The Prince wanted to hear all about Mrs Nisbet and would laugh at the calm and judicious manner in which Nelson described her.

‘My dear Horatio,’ he said, ‘you talk more like a man who is married than a man who is about to be.’

‘And what does Your Highness mean by that!’

‘That you show more enthusiasm for reforms in the Navy, seem more enthusiastic about tackling an enemy than marrying this lady.’

‘It is a different matter.’

‘Oh, you don’t deceive me. You are married already. Only a married man could be so calm.’

‘As Your Highness has never married…’

‘I know what you are going to say. How could I be sure? But I am sure. I have never married because I’m my father’s son. Many times I have been on the point of marrying but have been unable to because of the Marriage Act.’

‘Then perhaps we should be thankful for the Marriage Act.’

William laughed. ‘Oh, I doubt not that had I married I should have settled down happily enough. Happily enough… yes… as you are now, my dear Horatio. Calm, contented but not ecstatic. That is why I say you are more like a man who is already married than one who is about to be.’

Nelson laughed at his friend which was because, said William, Horatio knew more of the sea than the ways of women.

‘Nonsense,’ retorted Nelson. ‘I am morally certain that Frances Nisbet will make me a happy man for the rest of my life.’

‘Spoken like a married man,’ mocked William. ‘And I tell you this: I shall insist on giving the bride away when the occasion arises.’

‘We will take you at your word,’ replied Nelson.

On a March day in the year 1787 Nelson was married and, true to his word, William gave the bride away. William was twenty-two, a little envious of the young Captain who could marry as he wished and did not have to suffer the restrictions put on princes.

Frances Nisbet – now Nelson – was a charming woman and he hoped his dear friend would be happy. He realized that serving under him had been the most rewarding period of his life. He had come to idolize the Captain and to feel differently about him than he had about anyone else in his life. He marvelled at Nelson’s genius as a commander coupled with his care for his men. He considered the welfare of the lowest rating. ‘How can you have an efficient ship if the men are not as well and happy as you can make them?’ He had asked. ‘Discipline yes, but a discipline the men can accept as justice. Then you’ll have no need to enforce it.’ Although they had visited pestilential ports they never lost a man through disease, which was due to Nelson’s rigorous rules on hygiene which, because he explained them in detail to his men, they accepted.

No one had had such an influence on his life as Horatio Nelson.

That was why when Horatio and his bride sailed for England and William received orders to sail for Jamaica he had never before felt so depressed.

With Nelson gone and orders to report to the nearest commanding officer William was suddenly in revolt.

Why should he be ordered here, there and everywhere and have no say in his own actions? It was bad enough not to be able to marry where he would. Every common sailor had that right. He wanted to be home. He wanted to see his brother George and discuss his situation with him. George was the most sympathetic person in the world for while William was fond of and greatly admired Nelson, the sailor had rigid ideas of duty which the Prince of Wales lacked. George knew how to get what he wanted from life. He had captured Maria Fitzherbert and was extremely happy with her. Everybody seemed to be able to do what they wanted except William.

On impulse, instead of obeying orders and reporting to the nearest ship, he set sail for Halifax.

Here he was received with dismay and when he could give no satisfactory explanation of his arrival there when he was expected in Jamaica was sent to Quebec there to remain for the winter.

This was not what he wanted and still in rebellious mood he set sail for England.

When his unexpected arrival was reported to the First Lord of the Admiralty a message was sent to the King without delay telling him of William’s action.

The King heard the news in horror. He went to the Queen; he was confiding in her more than he ever had and the reason was that he was sometimes afraid of talking to his ministers because he was apt to lose the thread of what he was talking about and ramble on vaguely of other matters.

The Queen had noticed disturbing signs during the last months and she was worrying more about the King than ever.

There were rumours about George and Maria Fitzherbert and the question of whether or not they were married was being raised everywhere. Frederick was home from the Continent and no sooner had he returned than George had grown more wild than he had been recently, for the influence of Mrs Fitzherbert had been a good one and for a time he had appeared to live a quiet and domestic life with her; but with the return of Frederick there had been wild parties, practical jokes, drinking and gambling – the sort of activities to set the King worrying.

And now William. She had thought William had settled down; he had had his wild moments, of course, and had at times been uncomfortably involved with women. She remembered a time when he had deserted his ship to come home and tell her that he had fallen in love with a young woman in Portsmouth – was it Portsmouth? some such place! – and pleaded with her to intercede with his father to allow him to marry this young woman. The King had quickly had William transferred to Plymouth, she believed. The places were unimportant. It had only been necessary to remove him from the young woman.

Now here he was back again, disobeying orders, having forgotten that lesson which they had once believed that he had learned so well – that as a sailor he was no different from any other man.

What a trial the boys were! She would make sure – and so would the King – that the girls did not give their parents the same sort of trouble.

‘You hear this. You hear this?’ demanded the King. ‘The young fool. Deserted his ship. Come home… without permission. What next, eh, what?’

‘Where is he?’ asked the Queen fearfully.

‘In Cork Harbour. He’s to sail to Plymouth without delay. Young jackanapes. What does he think, eh? Who does he think…? Sons! Who’d have them? Fred’s the best of the bunch. Hope of the house. As for George…’ The King’s face grew more scarlet merely to think of his firstborn. ‘Arrogant young dandy! Prancing about. That woman…’

‘She seems to be having a good influence.’

‘Good influence! Aping at marriage. Disgusting. Nice woman. Too good for him. Fine state of affairs.’

‘Your Majesty should calm yourself.’

He looked at her quickly. What was she suggesting, eh? But he knew. She was frightened of what would happen if he continued with his tirade. She thought he might start to rave, and was afraid that he might do something… violent.

So was he.

William had committed a grave indiscretion for which any other captain of a vessel would have been court-martialled.

When he brought the Pegasus into Plymouth badly damaged, for on the way from Ireland they had encountered a bad storm and the mainmast had been struck by lightning, he found orders awaiting him there. He was to remain in Plymouth, supervise repairs to the Pegasus and await orders to sail again.

The trip to London which he had no doubt promised himself was not to take place. If he had thought to have a pleasant reunion with his family he was mistaken.

He was depressed and angry. For the first time in his life he was in revolt, but when he considered what he had done he was appalled. He had been eight years in the Navy during which time he had conformed to discipline and now some spirit had got into him and he had flown straight into the face of authority.

What would they do to him? He did not care much. Perhaps he was tired of never being at home for long; perhaps he wanted an end to the wandering life. He had seen a great deal of the world. Was he to roam all his life?

And now here he was confined to Plymouth with none of the amusements he had promised himself. It was as bad here as it would have been in Quebec. He might as well have stayed there and prevented all the fuss.

While he was brooding on his wrongs and studying the accounts of the damage to the ship one of his men came to tell him that visitors had arrived and were asking to see him.

He grimaced. No doubt Lord Chatham, the First Lord; or some such dignitary come to lecture him, or worse still.

‘Bring them in,’ he said.

They came. He stared; then he gave a cry of joy; he flung himself into their arms.

‘If you could not come to London,’ said the Prince of Wales, ‘there was only one thing for Fred and me to do. So we did it, didn’t we, Fred? We came to Plymouth.’

The brothers were laughing and hugging each other. William felt suddenly emotional, and seeing this the Prince produced his ever-ready tears.

‘Of course we came. We weren’t going to let you be bored to death in Plymouth. Have you forgotten the old motto?’

‘I haven’t,’ cried William.

Frederick grinned. ‘United we stand,’ he said.

There were gay occasions in Plymouth. Surely it was a time for celebrations with three princes in the city, and one of them the heir to the throne.

The Prince of Wales with his brothers made a tour of the dockyards much to the delight of the people of the town who flocked out in their thousands to welcome them.

In the suburb of Stonehouse where the assembly rooms were situated gala balls and banquets were arranged. Wherever the Prince of Wales appeared there was elegance, and Plymouth wanted to show it could entertain royalty as well as Brighton or Cheltenham, Worthing or Weymouth. In the Long Room at Stonehouse the Prince danced with the ladies, and Frederick and William did their duty with him. There was racing and gambling and for three days Plymouth was as gay and famous as Brighton and London.

William, happy to gain what he had come home for and what he had feared would be denied him – his brothers’ company – was full of high spirits. He was more at home in Plymouth than his brothers were, being the sailor of the family. He could talk of ships in a manner which amused the Prince of Wales while it won his admiration.

Accompanied by his brothers George drove his phaeton through the town and into the surrounding country and it was touching to see how delighted the people were to have a glimpse of their future King. George was in his element, gracious, charming, courteous and witty.

They were three exciting days.

During them William fell in love. She was a pretty girl named Miss Wynn and they immediately called attention to their feeling for each other because at the Long Room they were together throughout the ball and neither danced with anyone else.

The poet Peter Pindar who invariably brought out verses to suit every occasion wrote:

‘A town where, exiled by the higher powers

The Royal Tar with indignation lours;

Kept by his sire from London and from sin,

To say his catechism to Mistress Wynn.’

The verses were circulated and everywhere the revelries of the three brothers were being discussed. When they were brought to the King’s notice he ground his teeth in anger and wept with frustration. His sons flouted him, he complained; and he could not sleep at night for worrying about them. It seemed to the Queen that he was moving towards some fearful climax.

The Prince of Wales and Duke of York were accorded a royal salute as they rode out of Plymouth, and when they had left Captain Horatio Nelson sailed into the harbour where to William’s delight he spent a few weeks.

It was very pleasant to be in the company of this brilliant sailor, though it was very different from that of the Princes. With Nelson to listen to, William’s friendship with Miss Wynn began to wane; he became very interested in the Navy once more and was fired with enthusiasm to follow Horatio Nelson.

The Admiralty thought it was high time some action should be taken and William was transferred to the Andromeda and ordered to sail for Halifax.

The Queen was growing more and more worried about the King’s health although she sought to hide her fears from him and everyone else. While he was aware of his affliction he could to some extent control it but the Queen’s dread was that he would become unaware of it and be unable to hide his growing aberrations.

He was in a continual state of anxiety. Ever since the loss of the American Colonies he had been fretful; he blamed himself for this colossal blunder – and not without reason; the conduct of his sons was a perpetual source of worry. He would wake in the night and cry out: ‘Is he married to that woman? Is it true that she’s a Catholic, eh, what?’ Almost everything he said was in the form of a question ending in ‘eh, what?’ which his listeners found most disconcerting for they never could be sure whether or not an answer was expected.

The Queen thought that it might relieve the King to see a good play but she hesitated to suggest a visit to the theatre. She was terrified every time the King appeared in public; but some diversion was necessary so she hit on the idea of inviting a few actors and actresses to Windsor Castle to perform for the King.

The leading actress at Drury Lane was Mrs Siddons and she would suggest to Mr Sheridan that a little troupe headed by this lady should come to perform before herself and the King.

Mr Sheridan with his usual grace declared that nothing could be simpler and that Mrs Siddons and her fellow actors and actresses would be overwhelmed by the honour.

The actors came and the play was performed. The King sat through it smiling, applauding, and when it was over he asked that Mrs Siddons be brought to him for he had something to say to her.

Sarah entered the anteroom in which he was to receive her as only Sarah could. She made a drama of the most insignificant happening, but no one could say that being personally thanked by the King – which she was sure this was to be – was insignificant.

She prepared to declaim in her wonderful voice the speech which she had prepared – and rehearsed – when the King began to mumble something she could not understand and thrust a paper into her hand.

‘For you,’ he said. ‘For you. For you. Very good, eh? Gratitude, what? Very good.’

She was dismissed clutching the paper and when she looked at it she found it was blank except that he had signed it.

She stared at it in amazement for some moments and then she said aloud as though it was the last line of a scene before the curtain fell: ‘The King is mad.’

The Queen sat holding the piece of paper. Mrs Siddons had brought it to her with a display of distress, declaring that she believed it her duty to do so.

‘I have wrestled with myself,’ said the actress, striking her left hand against her breast. ‘I have asked myself what I should do. And my conscience tells me that I should bring this to Your Majesty. His Majesty presented it to me as though it were some insignia of honour. Your Majesty, I greatly fear that the King is ill.’

The Queen thanked Mrs Siddons. She had done right in bringing the paper to her, she said. There was some mistake, of course. At a convenient time she would ask His Majesty what his intentions were.

And when Mrs Siddons had gone she sat down wearily.

Was this the end of her endeavours to hide the state of his health? Was the truth to be betrayed at last?

It seemed so, for events moved quickly after that. The King was acting strangely and the whole royal household knew it. The Princesses whispered together and sat silent in the presence of their mother, working at their embroidery, filling her snuff boxes and taking care of the dogs – which was, they complained bitterly to each other, all their lives consisted of.

But something was about to happen.

Frederick sent urgent messages to the Prince of Wales in Brighton; he should be at hand, for the King was very ill indeed – not only physically ill, although he had high temperature and a chill, but strangely ill.

The Prince came at once, driving his phaeton from Brighton at a great speed; and that night at dinner the King rose suddenly from his seat and approaching his eldest son seized him by the throat and tried to strangle him.

There could be no disguising the fact.

The King was mad. His doctors must be called and the almost certainty of a Regency discussed.

The struggle over the Regency Bill began, with the Queen and the Prince of Wales in opposing camps. The Queen who had doted on her eldest son, who had had a wax image made when he was a baby so that she might remember for ever his perfections and gaze on them every day – for it stood on her dressing table – had been consistently flouted by him and shut out of his life. Because of this her love had changed. If he had given her the slightest consideration she would have been ready to love him; but hurt and humiliated by his neglect she forced herself to hate him. Her emotion towards him – love or hatred – was the strongest in her life.

Pitt, who had stood with the King, found himself in opposition to Fox who stood for the Prince. Fox declared in Parliament that since the King was unable to govern, the heir to the throne must be Regent. Pitt brought all his powers to oppose this, knowing that a Regency in the hands of the Prince of Wales could mean the fall of the Tories and the substitution of the Whigs under Fox.

Pitt sought the help of the Queen by offering her something which all her life she had been denied: Power. The country was split between those who supported the Prince of Wales as Regent and those who wished for a Regency committee. The royal family was divided. The Queen and her daughters (who dared do nothing else) for Mr Pitt and the constitution, and the Prince and his brothers for a single Regent who would be the Prince of Wales.

The Prince had strong backing in Fox, Burke and Sheridan, but Fox made the tactical error in the House of Commons of referring to the Prince’s right to the Regency which gave Pitt his opportunity to challenge the right of any to such a post in a constitutional government and asked slyly whether Mr Fox had not meant ‘claim’.

Because of this unfortunate choice of a word Pitt had his opportunity to play a game of delaying tactics which infuriated the Prince and his supporters and widened the rift between Fox and George. Twice Fox had offended him; once when he had denied his marriage to Mrs Fitzherbert in the House – and Mrs Fitzherbert had been so incensed that she had broken off her relationship with the Prince and had never forgiven Fox – and now by the use of this word ‘right’.

As Fox said to his mistress Mrs Armistead, perhaps he was getting too old for politics and should retire. He did not blame himself for that denial in the House because in view of the circumstances there had been nothing else he could do, but the use of the word ‘right’, in the hearing of a brilliant politician like Pitt, was a terrible blunder.

So Pitt had his opportunity to present his Regency Bill which restricted the powers of the Prince Regent so that he would be no more than a cipher; but no sooner had it passed through a fevered House of Commons that the King’s doctors declared that he had recovered and the conflict had all been unnecessary.

When William came back to England he found a state of war in the family.

The King – a changed man – nervous, uncertain, often incoherent, clearly relied on the Queen to whom previously he had denied all say in matters outside the domestic circle – and even there he had laid down his laws. The change was obvious. Mr Pitt during the King’s aberration and the conflict over the Regency Bill had allied himself with the Queen and any ally of Mr Pitt was a person to be considered.

The Queen accepted her new role with restrained pleasure but the change in her was as apparent as that in the King.

She had lost no time in acquainting the King of the villainies of their sons, and in particular the Prince of Wales who had sought to get power into his hands and would, of course, as soon as it was possible, have replaced dear Mr Pitt with that villain Fox, while Frederick had been staunchly behind him and the other boys, she regretted to say, had stood firmly with the Prince.

William! Well, William was at sea, but she had no doubt – knowing his devotion to George – that had he been at home he would have been every bit as disloyal to his father as his brothers had been.

William heard the story from George and Frederick.

There was madness in the King, said the Prince. Didn’t they know it! He might have made some semblance of recovery but he would go mad again. The Prince of Wales was twenty-seven years old. Wasn’t that old enough to be a ruler? The King had been King long before he was that age; and surely if their simple old father was capable, it was an insult to say that the brilliant, erudite Prince of Wales was not.

‘That devil Pitt,’ said the Prince. ‘He’s the real enemy. You can be sure our mother would not have had the wit to stand against us if she had not had his support.’

William joined whole-heartedly with his brothers and declared war on that devil Pitt.

The King sent for William and when he was ushered into his presence and saw the change in him William felt a twinge of pity. The King embraced him and there were tears on his cheeks.

‘You, boy…’ he stammered.

William felt repentant for all the wild adventures, the flouting of discipline; and wished at that moment that he could have been the son his poor old father hoped for.

Kings seemed to be the most unfortunate men on earth as far as their families were concerned. They either longed for sons whom they could not get, or had too many of them who caused so much trouble.

‘Well, William,’ said the King. ‘You’re growing up, eh? Quite a man, what?’

‘Twenty-four, Sir.’

‘H’m. Time you had some title, eh? Clarence… that’s what you’ll be. Duke of Clarence; and they’ve voted you twelve thousand a year. All right, eh, what?’

Twelve thousand a year! It wouldn’t keep the Prince of Wales in shoe buckles and neckerchiefs, but it sounded like a fortune to William.

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘All right, eh, what? And a place, eh… place of your own. Richmond Lodge on the edge of the Old Deer Park, eh?’

‘Well, Sir, I’d like it very much. It’ll be something to come home to after voyages.’

‘H’m,’ said the King. ‘Can’t have you away all the time, eh? King’s son. Duke of Clarence. Two elder brothers… yes… knaves! George always was. But Fred… I thought Fred would be different. Hope of House. Don’t like it. What are they coming to, eh, what?’

William said: ‘Richmond Lodge will be much appreciated, Sir. Thank you.’

‘H’m. Not often I get thanks from my sons. You’ve got to take care, boy. Keep away from women… and drink… and gambling… understand, eh? Mostly women. They can cause trouble… great trouble. Might be a good woman. That woman of George’s… Good woman, beautiful, nice woman. But they cause trouble. Could be Quakers…’ The King’s eyes filled with tears. What am I saying? he asked himself. All long ago. All over now.

William left his father thinking: The old man may have recovered but madness is still lurking there. And then: Richmond Lodge and twelve thousand a year!

Settling into a new house was a great pleasure. He was satisfied to be home and have a rest from the sea.

Twelve thousand pounds was a great deal of money but not when George and Frederick showed him how to spend it.

He enjoyed being a householder; he took great pride in his new possession; he engaged the servants himself and laid down the rules and made sure that he locked up every night to ensure that they did not stay out late. He took an interest in them; he was discovering that the quiet life appealed to him. He would have liked to be a landowner – if he were not a sailor – looking after his tenants, living in conjugal bliss with the wife of his choice and rearing a family. He fancied that the Prince of Wales felt the same for he was very happy with Maria Fitzherbert – if occasionally unfaithful – and liked to know that cosy domesticity was awaiting him when he cared to return to it.

In spite of all William’s care Richmond Lodge, which had been renamed Clarence Lodge, was damaged by fire one night and while the damage was being repaired William took another house close by called Ivy House and himself superintended the repairs to Clarence Lodge.

He was restive. He thought nostalgically of life at sea; he was already tired of being the country squire and nothing could compensate him for the feel of decks beneath his feet and the rock of a ship, the arrival at strange exotic places, the adventure of the sea. They had made a sailor of him. They could scarcely expect him to settle on land.

But apparently they did.

‘Not fitting,’ said the King. ‘Go to the Admiralty. On the Board, give advice… Yes… still in the Navy. But a King’s son should be at home. Besides, you broke discipline. That sort of thing, frowned on. Favouritism. Not right. Bad feeling. Stay where you are… for a while.’

So he must stay. He found a very pretty and diverting young woman named Polly Finch of very obscure origin who delighted him and made few demands and agreed to come along and share Ivy House with him.

It was in a way the domesticity he hoped for. Polly never let the fact that he was a royal Duke affect her. She abused him in the manner of the streets and made love with a careless abandon. He was delighted, never having known anyone quite like Polly.

She was interested in the repairs to Clarence Lodge, for she thought they would live there. William dreamed of their living in obscurity and raising a family and himself going away to sea for periods and coming home to find Polly waiting for him.

It was a sentimental dream. Polly was not that sort of girl.

He talked to her about the sea. The rank of Rear-Admiral had been conferred on him and he would soon be an Admiral. It was inevitable. One could not be a royal Duke and not in the highest position.

‘But don’t imagine, Polly,’ he explained, ‘that I shall not deserve my promotion. But I must be ready for it.’

He wanted her to stay at home in the evenings while he read to her from the Lives of the Admirals which he regarded as a most fascinating document. Polly would sit at his feet yawning and nodding while he read of the decisions of these great seamen and their adventures at sea.

It might have been enthralling to him but it was more than Polly could endure.

Before Clarence Lodge was ready for occupation she had left him for a more congenial companion.

There was an uneasy tension throughout the country. Mr Pitt and his Tories did everything in their power to vilify the Prince of Wales and his brothers. It was not difficult. It was true that the Princes indulged in wild living, their gambling debts were enormous and their amours the main theme of court and town gossip. The cartoonists and lampoonists delighted in these and exaggerated and ridiculed them to public pleasure and their own good profit.

Every little indiscretion was exaggerated. Every prominent person was pilloried it was true, but the most profitable cartoons were those which libelled the royal brothers and in particular the Prince of Wales.

John Walter of The Times was known as one of the most scurrilous writers of the day. His comments on the conduct of the King’s three eldest sons were outrageous, and exaggerated beyond all endurance. They were having an effect on the public and as the Prince of Wales was the principal target and he was constantly being held up to ridicule, he was becoming increasingly unpopular. It was no new experience for him to be treated to a hostile silence in the streets but when his carriage was pelted with mud and rotten fruit it was the time to take some action.

A prosecution was brought against Walter for libelling the Duke of York; he was found guilty and sentenced to a fine of fifty pounds, an hour in the pillory at Charing Cross and a year’s imprisonment in Newgate. There was another charge to be answered – a libel this time jointly on the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York which brought a further fine of one hundred pounds and another year in Newgate. The Duke of Clarence had not escaped, for Walter demanded of his readers why it was that the son of the King was allowed to desert his ship and return home to be rewarded with a dukedom and twelve thousand pounds a year.

The heavy sentences imposed by the judges on John Walter angered the public. Mr Pitt, delighted at any circumstances which brought criticism to the Prince of Wales, declared that he was astonished that he and the Duke of York should have brought their cases against Walter; he believed that the Prince of Wales had declared himself for the freedom of the press. Was it a different matter when he himself was attacked?

Never had the unpopularity of the Prince of Wales been so great. It was incredible that this was the same man who had once delighted the people with his charming manners, his elegance and romantic adventures.

It was particularly alarming when it was considered what was happening on the other side of the Channel. The Bastille had fallen; it was said that the French Monarchy was tottering; an unpopular Prince, such a near neighbour, could not help feeling somewhat uneasy.

The only place where the people seemed to have any regard for him at all was Brighton, which had every reason to be grateful to him since he had turned the remote village of Brighthelmstone into the most fashionable town in England.

The Prince affected not to care and continued to concern himself with his tailor, his beautiful houses – Carlton House in London, the Pavilion in Brighton – with art, music and literature, gambling, horse racing, his own stables and women.

He liked the theatre and one day drove his phaeton down to Clarence Lodge to tell William about the play he had seen the evening before.

‘The Constant Couple – very amusing,’ he said. ‘Dorothy Jordan takes the Wildair part as I never saw it played before. She looks well in breeches. You should go and see her, William.’

William told his brother about the plays they had put on on board ship and what fun they had had.

‘We had a fine fat Falstaff,’ said William. ‘I think his name was Storey… That’s it, Lieutenant Storey. We had to improvise quite a bit and I remember in the bucking scene we used a hammock for the basket. The river was represented by a heap of junk and we were to topple our fat lieutenant out of the hammock and into the junk. It was a sight to be seen, I can tell you. This fat fellow sprawling there. It was the most successful moment of the play.’

The Prince said he could well believe it. He liked a good practical joke himself and had once contrived it that Sheridan was challenged to a duel by a Major Hanger and he and his fellow jokers had gone to great pains to put dud bullets in the pistols and Sheridan had fallen down and pretended to be dead. The Prince often said it was the best joke he ever remembered seeing played on anyone; and even Major Hanger had thought so too and because of it had become one of the Prince’s special cronies. So he laughed heartily at the joke William and his friends had played on his plump Falstaff.

‘We threw a lot of pitch over the junk heap,’ said William. ‘ “We must be realistic,” I said, “for if Falstaff were tipped into a muddy river he would not come out unsoiled.” Well, we tipped him into the junk heap and you should have seen him – rubbish of all sorts sticking to him and to our young two middies who played Mistress Page and Mistress Ford.’

The Prince laughed and told of his own experiences in the theatre, but he said nothing of his love affair with Mrs Perdita Robinson, because that matter had so humiliated him when she had threatened to publish his letters, and still rankled.

Perhaps he should warn William, he pondered for a while. There was something innocent about William in spite of his travels and adventures.

The Prince hesitated and the moment passed. And talking of the theatre filled William with an urge to see a play; and he decided there and then the very next night he would go along to Drury Lane.

He went and that night Dorothy Jordan was playing Little Pickle in The Spoiled Child.