Indiscretions of the Queen

The Royal Separation

THE Prince could not hide his relief.

He explained to his friend and Master of his Household Lord Cholmondeley: ‘I was terrified that something would go wrong. I cannot tell you, my dear friend, what the birth of this child means to me. If you could know all that I have suffered.’

Tears filled his eyes at the thought of his suffering, then he shuddered thinking of his wife. She seemed to him gross and vulgar and because she was so different from all that he admired in women she reminded him of the most perfect of them all: his dear Maria.

Oh, to be with Maria again, to be settled and happy; to return to her, often a little intoxicated as he used to be in the old days, to be aware of her concern, to listen to her tender scolding. Oh, Maria, goddess among women, why had she allowed him to marry this creature!

He turned to Cholmondeley: ‘If you could understand—’

Cholmondeley assured his master that he did understand; and he realized therefore that the birth of this child relieved him of a hateful burden.

‘I shall be grateful to this daughter of mine until the end of my days,’ said the Prince. ‘Pray God I never have to touch the woman again.’

‘There should be no necessity, Your Highness. The child is healthy.’

‘May she remain so. I have no intention of following my mother’s example and producing fifteen of them. Fifteen! It’s a joke. What a pity my parents were not more moderate. hey would have saved themselves a good deal of trouble.’

Cholmondeley could scarcely answer that without being guilty of les majesté so he remained silent.

The Prince was not expecting answers. He was in one of his lachrymose moods, full of self-pity; in a short while he would be talking of Maria Fitzherbert.

Cholmondeley believed that Lady Jersey must be a very clever woman— a witch perhaps— to be able to ding to her position as she did considering the Prince’s obsession with Maria Fitzherbert.

But the Prince was not looking healthy. His face— usually highly coloured— had a tinge of purple in it. A bad sign, Cholmondeley had noticed before. Well, it had been an emotional time; perhaps another bleeding was necessary.

‘Your Highness is exhausted. It has been such a trying time. Do you not think you should rest a little?’

‘I feel tired,’ admitted the Prince. ‘Bring me some brandy.’

Cholmondeley went to do the Prince’s bidding and when he, returned he found the Prince slumped in his chair. As he appeared to be suffering from one of those fits to which he was accustomed, Cholmondeley sent for the physicians.

The Prince, they said, was indeed ill, and bleeding was immediately necessary as it was the only effective way of baling with these unaccountable turns of his So the Prince lay on his bed, pale from much blood letting; and rarely had he seemed so wan and feeble.

The news spread through the Court: The Prince is seriously ill. He felt so feeble; he had no strength left. He had never felt quite so ill before in the whole of his life.

He asked that a mirror be brought and when he saw his face lying on the pillows, so white and drawn, so unlike his usual florid complexion, he was sure he was dying.

‘Leave me alone,’ he said. ‘I want to think.’

And when they had left him he lay thinking of the past— thinking of Maria.

That first meeting along the river bank and he had known that she was the only woman who was going to be of importance in his life. He had always known it.

Why had he allowed himself to be led astray?

Maria had refused him countless times. Good religious Maria, who believed in the sanctity of marriage and could only come to him through marriage. How right she was! And at last the ceremony in that house in Park Street— and the happy years.

He should have stayed with Maria. He should never have allowed himself to be seduced from her side. Only with Maria lay happiness. And he had broken her heart.

But all the world should know now in what light he regarded her. He was dying and he was going to tell the world.

He called for paper.

‘I am going to make a will,’ he told Cholmondeley, and seeing the expression on his friend’s face he went on: ‘There is no point in hiding the truth. There may well be little time left to me. Do as I say.’

The paper was brought.

‘This is my last Will and Testament,’ he wrote. And the date: ‘The tenth day of January in the year of our Lord 1796.’

He wrote that he left all his worldly goods to ‘my Maria Fitzherbert, my wife, the wife of my heart and soul,’ who although she could not call herself publicly his wife was so in the eyes of Heaven and his. She was his real and true wife and dearer to him than the life which was slowly ebbing away.

Everything— everything was for Maria. Miss Pigot was not forgotten. He had already settled five hundred pounds a year on her for the rest of his life and it was his dying wish that on his death his family should provide a post for her perhaps as a housekeeper in one of the royal palaces.

He wished to be buried without pomp; and a picture of Maria was to be buried with him; it should be attached to a ribbon and hung about his neck; and when Maria died, he wished that her coffin be placed beside his and the inner sides of both coffins removed and the coffins soldered together in the manner employed in the burial of George II and his Queen Caroline.

He finished with a loving goodbye to his Maria, his wife, his life, his soul.

Then he felt better. She would know that he had sincerely cared for her. Their parting was a piece of folly which they should never have allowed to happen. He could never be happy in life without her; and he wanted her to know this as she would when his will was read after his death.

But he did not die.

In a few days’ time he had recovered from the excessive bleeding and the fond colour was back in his cheeks.

Caroline was happy. She had her baby and nothing else mattered. But there was inevitably one fear which haunted her; what if they should take the baby from her? The Prince showed little interest in the child; her only importance to him was that she made it unnecessary for him to live with her mother.

‘What do I care for him!’ said Caroline. ‘If I can keep my baby, I care for no one.’

Lady Jersey had hinted that the child would not be left under her control.

‘Let them try to take her away from me, cried Caroline clutching the child to her breast. This made Lady Jersey smile her haughty condescending smile, and Caroline felt she hated that woman almost as fiercely as she loved her child.

The christening took place at St. James’s, with the King, the Queen and the Duchess of Brunswick (represented by the Princess Royal) as sponsors. The Archbishop christened the little girl Charlotte Augusta.

‘Charlotte,’ laughed Caroline to Mrs. Harcourt, ‘after dear Grandmamma, the Queen of England, and Augusta after my own mother. I hope my little girl will resemble neither of them.’

Harcourt shrugged her shoulders. She was in duty-bound to report this to Lady Jersey who in her turn would report it to Her Majesty and Caroline would have advanced a little farther in the ill-favour of the Queen.

Yet, thought Mrs. Harcourt, Lady Jersey was perhaps not firmly established in the good graces of the Prince. True, he was fascinated by the woman, but she had heard that he repeatedly spoke— and with great longing— of Mrs. Fitzherbert and now that that lady’s friends had persuaded her to take a house in Town and enter Society, who knew what would happen? It was beginning to be said that if one would please the Prince, one should invite Maria Fitzherbert. An old and familiar pattern which must make Lady Jersey uneasy, though she gave no sign of it and seemed as confident as ever of her sway over the Prince.

The Princess Charlotte could one day be the Sovereign and therefore great ceremonies should attend her birth, but the Prince was smarting under Parliament’s methods of dealing with his debts and refused to receive the loyal ceremonies planned by the City of London.

‘I am too poor,’ he announced, ‘to receive these loyal addresses in a manner fitting to my rank. Therefore I would ask that the speeches ‘be written and presented to me.’

The Aldermen of the City were incensed. The Prince might have his dignity but theirs was as great. They could not depart from their old customs to please an impecunious prince. Therefore the ceremonies would not take place.

The City was indeed offended. The matter was discussed in the streets and the coffee houses.

‘Can’t afford it! You know what this means? He knows that she will have to receive the congratulations with him and he can’t bear to stand beside her while she does so. He hates her. And why? Because he knows she’s not his true wife, that’s why. He’s married to Maria Fitzherbert and he can’t abide this one.’

Why not? She was affable. She was German, it was true, but he was half German himself in any case.

The Prince of Wales was more unpopular with the City of London than he had ever been before. He was unhappy about this. He loathed the silences that greeted his carriage when he rode in the streets, and he thought longingly of those days of his youth when he was Prince Charming and everything he did was right. Then they loved him and hated his father; but since the King’s bout of madness that had changed. Not that the King was so popular. Royalty was not beloved in this changing world. There was the grim example from across the Channel always to be remembered. Only last year there had been riots in Birmingham. Flour had risen in price; a mob in Westminster had sacked the crimping houses; and the windows of Pitt’s house in Downing Street had been broken. This was how trouble had started in France.

In October, on his way to open Parliament, crowds had surrounded the King’s carriage shouting that they wanted bread. Stones had been thrown at the King and to his immense consternation, among them was a bullet.

There was no doubt about it. Royalty was not popular and it was unfortunate that the French had shown the world their method of dealing with it.

The Prince shuddered; but he was completely immersed in his own affairs; and his longing for Maria Fitzherbert surpassed any qualms he might have felt for the future of the Monarchy.

The King was preparing to call on the Princess Caroline at Carlton House to see his granddaughter, a journey of which the Queen could not approve, but His Majesty was very worried about the situation between the Prince of Wales and his wife.

‘He treats her very badly. No way to treat a wife, eh, what?’

The Queen replied that she was not altogether surprised. Caroline was certainly an odd creature, and vulgar by all accounts. They could not expect George— elegant, fastidious George— to enjoy living with a woman like that; it had been a great mistake to bring her into the country and when they considered that there was charming erudite Princess Louis whom he might have married!

The King’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Nice woman,’ he said. ‘Can’t see anything wrong with her. Pretty hair, nice figure— eh, what?’ He was determined to show her that at least one member of the royal family was on good terms with her.

Caroline received him affectionately, returned his kiss warmly, which delighted him. He liked to be kissed by pretty women— and in his eyes Caroline was pretty enough.

She sent for the child. What a lusty little creature!

‘He reminds me of her father when he was her age. You’d have thought then there wasn’t a prettier baby in the world. Ah well! Very healthy little thing, eh?’

Caroline held her baby in her arms and the King’s eyes filled once more with tears to contemplate her. He knew how she felt. He remembered his own feelings They were so enchanting when they were young— and then they changed.

Amelia hadn’t changed. She was still his darling. She would never bring him anxieties— except through her cough. He could not bear to think of Amelia’s cough so he gave his attention to young Charlotte.

‘Like her father, he said gruffly. ‘And has he been to see you?’

‘Not to see me. I have not seen him since the birth. But he comes to see the child.’

The King shook his head. ‘Bad,’ he said. ‘Bad. The people don’t like it.’

‘Well,’ cried Caroline with a shrill laugh, ‘my husband does not like me— which seems even worse.’

‘Must stop, you know. Should live together. There should be others. Madame Charlotte should have brothers and sisters, eh, what?’

Caroline shook her head. ‘He won’t, you know. He ignores me. I don’t exist for him ‘ ‘It’ll have to be stopped. He’ll have to do his duty.’

Caroline grimaced. ‘I don’t like being a duty much, Your Majesty.’

‘Ha,’ laughed the King. ‘Have to do your duty, you know. We all have to, eh, what?’

‘Your Majesty should be telling him this— not me. I’m ready to live with him. He’s the one who has made this separation.’

‘So you would welcome him, eh?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say welcome— not unless he changed his ways. He would have to treat me as a wife. He would have to recognize me as the Princess of Wales. I won’t have that Jersey woman set up in my place while I’m treated as though I were one of her servants, because that’s how it was. Oh no, I should not accept that.’

‘There’s no reason why you should,’ said the King. ‘Nor shall you. Leave this to me. We cannot go on like this. It’s not natural, eh, what?’

Caroline agreed that it was not natural. But it was such a delight to have a child of her own that she was prepared to forget everything else.

The Prince summoned the Master of His Royal Household and Cholmondeley saw at once that he was in a rage.

‘What do you think, Cholmondeley? I have just been summoned by my father and told that I must without delay do my duty as the husband of the Princess of Wales.’

Cholmondeley sighed.

‘Well,’ cried the Prince, ‘what have you to say? What do you think? That I should spend my life with that vulgar creature. Eh, what do you think, Cholmondeley?’

‘I think,’ said Cholmondeley, ‘that it is something Your Highness would not contemplate with pleasure.’

‘You’re right there, Cholmondeley. But I shall not contemplate it. I have no intention of living with her. In the first place I loathe her; I find her the most repulsive object I ever set eyes on. And in the second place I do not accept the fact that she is my wife.’

‘The Princess Charlotte—’

‘Oh, they have the heir. I’ve done my duty— all the duty I intend to do if it concerns that creature. I am going to make this very clear to her and to everyone.

I wish you to go to her without delay and tell her my feelings.’

‘If Your Highness will tell me exactly what you wish I shall be happy to comply with your instructions.’

‘Go to the Princess Caroline and tell her that I wish us to be formally separated. We shall each go our own way and our affairs will be of no concern to each other.’

Lord Cholmondeley looked uneasy but the Prince said peremptorily, ‘Go. Go at once. I wish there to be no delay.’

Caroline was in the nursery. In fact she rarely left it. She was like a merchant’s wife, said Lady Jersey, with her first child. No one would believe she was a future Queen of England.

When she heard that Cholmondeley had brought a message from the Prince of Wales she feared there would be an attempt to take her daughter from her. She had visualized it a thousand times. A visit from an important member of the Prince’s household; the order that the Princess Charlotte was to be conveyed to some new residence and put under the care of a governess, and taken away from her mother.

Her florid cheeks were a shade paler as she left the nursery and made her way to the apartment where Lord Cholmondeley was waiting for her.

He bowed and she cried out impatiently: ‘Yes, yes what is it?’

‘I have a message from His Highness, the Prince of Wales.’

‘Well, that’s a change. It’s not often that he honours me with his messages.’

But the fear stayed with her, and her bravado could not entirely hide it.

‘His Highness has commissioned me to say that he wishes for a separation.

You and he shall be entitled to act according to your wishes and one shall have no duty to the other.’

Caroline’s relief was obvious. ‘That’s fair enough,’ she said. ‘I can tell you, my lord, I’ll be as glad of it as he will. But one thing I do want to say is that I never wish to be forced to live with him as his wife again. I’d like to say this: I would agree to this separation provided this can be promised. Even if I lost my daughter—’ She shivered involuntarily at the idea— ‘I would never wish to resume marital relations with the Prince of Wales. If this could be promised, I should be agreeable to what he suggests.’

‘I feel certain that this could be arranged, Your Highness.’

‘I should want a written agreement of this, you’ll understand.’

‘I doubt not that His Highness would be delighted to give it,’ replied Lord Cholmondeley.

In Windsor Castle, the Prince of Wales sat at his bureau and wrote to his wife.

30th April, 1796Madam, As Lord Cholmondeley informs me that you wish I would define in writing the terms upon which we were to live, I shall endeavour to explain myself upon that bead with as much clearness and as much propriety as the nature of the subject will admit. Our inclinations are not in our power, nor should either of us be held answerable to the other because nature has not made us suitable to each other. Tranquil and comfortable society is, however, in our power; let our intercourse, therefore, be restricted to that, and I will distinctly subscribe to the condition which you require that even in the event of any accident happening to my daughter, which I trust Providence in its mercy will avert, I shall not infringe the terms of the restriction by proposing, at any period, a connection of a more particular nature. I shall now finally close this disagreeable correspondence, trusting that as we have completely explained ourselves to each other, the rest ofour lives will be passed in uninterrupted tranquility. I am, Madam, With great truth, very sincerely yours, George P. He smiled at what he had written. There. That was the end and it was amicable.

He sighed.

Never to have to be near her, never to have to touch her again.

He felt pleased with life.

Caroline was almost as pleased when she received the letter.

She was the Princess of Wales, yet she was free. No more restrictions. She was no longer accountable to her husband.

Let her keep her child, let her live her own life and she would be very contented to have come to England. She answered the Prince in French, accepting his terms with glee and telling him that she would never cease to pray for his happiness, sent a copy of the letter to the King who came to see her on receipt of it.

‘So you think that you cannot live together?’

‘Your Majesty will know the Prince’s views on that.’

‘Never heard anything like it,’ said the King. ‘Heirs to the throne are not expected to love their wives; only to have children.’

The two sometimes go together,’ suggested Caroline demurely and burst into loud laughter.

The King did not seem to take this amiss but grumbled to himself: ‘Young people— nowadays. When I was a young prince—’ Then he looked a little sad and went on: ‘You should live under the same roof, eh, what? It looks better. The people expect it.’

‘The people know the truth and I would not care to live under the same roof as my husband.’

‘ H’m. Have to see about it. An income you’ll want, too. Wife of the Prince— mother of the heir, eh, what?’

£20,000 a year, he was thinking. Have to consult Pitt. Why was it that this family could not seem to live in peace together? And where would she live?

Carlton House, eh? For while in any case.

Children! What a worry! Better not to have them if it could be avoided. But of course that was what they married for. The Prince of Wales had caused him as many as ten sleepless nights in a row since he came of age— and went on doing it too.

It was no use trying to bring them together if they had determined on parting.

It was amazing how news of the Court reached the gossip columns; there was a scandal about letters which had been written by the Princess of Wales to her family, intercepted and taken to the Queen. The stealer of the letters was of course Lady Jersey.

Her name was in every paper; there were obscene verses and even pictures of herself and the Prince, but the chief complaint against her was not so much that she was the mistress of the Prince and flaunted her ascendancy over the Princess, but that she was all the time acting as the Queen’s spy, intercepting the Princess’s private correspondence and giving it into the hands of her enemies.

Caroline had managed to win public approval. Her affable smiles and obvious pleasure in popularity delighted the people. Besides they had heard stories of her reception and they saw her as an injured woman. And why? Because of that voluptuary, their Prince of Wales, whose debts and adventures with women were a scandal; who had married the good and virtuous Maria Fitzherbert and discarded her.

But even more unpopular was Lady Jersey.

The comments in the press made it impossible for Lady Jersey to ignore them.

Something would have to be done she told the complacent and long suffering Lord Jersey and it was for him to defend his wife’s honour. His manners were too graceful for him to as much as smile at this. He was in fact noted for his beautiful manners. What would his wife wish him to do? She had only to say.

She had written to Dr. Randolph asking him to explain what had happened to a certain packet of letters which the Princess of Wales had entrusted to his care and so far had received no reply. Lord Jersey should without delay write to the doctor and tell him that he insisted on an explanation.

This the obliging Lord Jersey did and in such terms which Dr. Randolph dared not ignore them. He explained in detail how he had set out for Germany, been called back by his wife’s illness and had sent the packet of letters entrusted to him by the Princess of Wales back to her by way of Lady Jersey.

Lady Jersey wrote to say that she had not received that packet and was most uneasy about it. The fact that it had not been returned had been overlooked at the time as the Princess herself had not questioned its return. However, she would publish the correspondence and hoped that this would put an end to the cruel slanders against her.

Caroline read the papers and tried to remember what she had written in those letters. Comments on her new family. Of one thing she was certain. They would not have been very flattering.

She laughed at the affair. It was perfectly clear to her what had happened.

Lady Jersey had deliberately stolen the letters and sent them to the Queen.

Then she became angry. Why should she have that woman in her household?

Why should she allow herself to be spied on? She would endure it no longer.

When the King came to see her she told him that she wished to ask a favour of him.

‘I think,’ she said, ‘that now that the Prince and I have come to an understanding I should no longer be expected to keep Lady Jersey in my household.’

‘No, indeed you should not,’ declared the King. ‘Too much, eh what? No, the woman shall be dismissed. You may leave that to me, my dear.’

Caroline threw her arms about the King’s neck and kissed him.

Bless me, thought the King, the woman has no decorum. But it’s rather pleasant to be kissed by a pretty woman, eh, what? The King sent for the Prince of Wales He shook his head sadly over his son’s matrimonial affairs. ‘The people don’t like it,’ he said ‘They’re in an ill mood. You should take care.’

‘By God,’ cried the Prince of Wales. ‘I married the woman. What more do they want?’

‘They expect you to do your duty. You should have sons.’

‘I have a daughter. No one can prevent her from becoming Queen of England.’

‘A son would have pleased them more.’

‘I have pleased them enough. I now intend to please myself.’

‘A Prince can never please his people enough.’

‘So it would seem. But nothing will induce me to return to her. That is settled.

Your Majesty has seen the correspondence?’

‘Yes, yes. And it seems to be a matter on which you are both in agreement— she as well as you, but there is one matter I have to discuss with you. She asks for the removal from her household of Lady Jersey and in view of the unfortunate position that lady holds in your affections I must ask you to dismiss her.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘Then I shall be forced to dismiss her myself. You understand, eh, what?’

The Prince’s face had flushed to a deeper red than usual. ‘So Your Majesty would concern yourself with my wife’s household?’

‘The lady whom you have repudiated, remember— Someone must protect her. I have decided to do that.’

The Prince narrowed his eyes. He was not going to fight for Frances. Why should he? He was tired of her. Perhaps she would realize if he made no attempt to keep her in Caroline’s household, that he wished to be free of her.

‘Am I to understand that these are Your Majesty’s orders,’ he asked.

‘You may take it so.’

The Prince bowed and retired.

‘And so,’ he told Frances, ‘I had no alternative but to accept.’

‘So you are not allowed to choose the members of your own household?’

‘You are a member of the Princess’s household.’

‘But surely you, as the Prince of Wales, could insist—’

‘Madam,’ said the Prince coldly, ‘I am not the King; and it is on his orders that you are to leave.’

She was too angry to see the warning lights in his eyes.

She would not forget this insult, she declared. She would make that creature sorry for this. She had carried tales of her to the King and this was the result.

She was indeed angry. Now she would be of no use to the Queen, and the Queen would quickly withdraw her favour from one who could not serve her.

This was going to make a great deal of difference to Lady Jersey’s power and power Was money of which she was very fond. She had had a good picking from the Prince but there were all sorts of perquisites which came the way of a lady who was on good terms not only with the Prince but with the Queen who, since the King had become feeble-minded, had the power to bestow ill sorts of honours.

Yes, Lady Jersey was very angry.

She left the Prince in no doubt of her ill temper, but she did not care. She believed she had the power to subdue him when she wished to, and it was Caroline against whom she vented her anger. That gauche ridiculous creature.

Lady Jersey burst out laughing remembering her in the hideous white satin she had had made for her first meeting with the Prince. Stupid creature, did she think she could get the better of Lady Jersey?

She got into her coach and as it passed down St. James’s, she was recognized by passersby. One called her a lewd name. The people nowadays were becoming more and more insolent. Examples should be made of them. She sat back against the upholstery pretending not to see those grinning faces which looked in at her.

Mud splashed against the window. Someone threw a stone.

It was too bad. She was most displeased.

In the privacy of her own house she sat down to write to the Princess of Wales, telling her that she had that day obtained permission from the Prince of Wales to resign her position of Lady of the Bedchamber. She considered that she had suffered persecution and injustice in Her Royal Highness’s service but she had the satisfaction of knowing; that through her silence and forbearance she had given proof of her loyalty to His Highness the Prince of Wales and to the royal family; as for gratitude and attachment to the Prince, that would only cease with her life. She was, with all possible respect, Her Royal Highness’s humble servant.

When she read the letter Caroline shrieked with laughter.

‘At last I am rid of her,’ she cried. ‘First I rid myself of him and then of her.

This is triumph. Now I can live in peace as long as my darling Charlotte is left to me.’

Caroline was happier than she had been since she had come to England. She was free of the Prince and the odious Lady Jersey; she had her child; and the King was her friend.

But Charlotte was a princess and an heir to the throne so she must be treated as such. She was no humble child to be cared for solely by her mother. Caroline could have access to her child; she could spend a greater part of her day in the nursery, but Charlotte must have her own establishment and Lady Elgin was put in charge of the royal nursery, with Miss Hayman second in command. Caroline took a fancy to Miss Hayman who was a very sensible young woman and interested in music; she played the piano with great skill and was lighthearted and if she was not as polished in her manners as Lady Elgin she was all the more to Caroline’s taste.

So they were very happy together in Carlton House while the Prince was away at Brighton and scarcely ever called to see his daughter, the King coming often to show that he at least liked his daughter-in-law.

‘As for Madam Queen,’ said Caroline to Miss Hayman, ‘she is very welcome to stay away— and her band of spinster daughters too. I am very pleased to be rid of them. His Majesty is my friend and to tell you the truth, my dear love, I think he is a little in love with me. Oh, it would have been a very different story I can tell you if I had come over here as bride to the father instead of the son. My blessed Charlotte would be well on the way to becoming the sister of my next, I do assure you. Ha! Ha! But it was not to be.’

Miss Hayman laughed and was amused by the free and easy conversation of the Princess of Wales.

The Prince fretted. To think that the odious woman was in Carlton House— his Carlton House— that shrine of his own talent and good taste which he had made from the old ruin with which his father had presented him when he could II0 longer prevent his having his own establishment.

Caroline in Carlton House; Maria keeping away from him. Cruel Maria, who knew what a failure his marriage with the Princess of Brunswick had been, who knew that he had never really cared for Lady Jersey. It had been temporary aberration, a madness which had come upon him, a spell the wicked Frances had laid on him. In his heart he had never strayed from Maria. She should know this.

But she ignored his advances. She was not often in town; she had given up the lease of Marble Hill— ah, dear Marble Hill where she had lived when he had first discovered his Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill! And now she had retired to Castle Hill in Ealing and was spending much time there— too much time— with the faithful Pigot.

It should not go on. He would not allow it.

His first step must be to remove Caroline from Carlton House. So he sent word to her that he wished her apartments to be redecorated and this would necessarily mean that she must vacate them while the work was being done.

There was a charming villa at Charlton not far from Blackheath. She would find it a delightful spot. If she would agree to inhabit it while the rooms at Carlton House were being repainted, it should immediately be made ready for her use.

And baby Charlotte? she wanted to know.

Obviously the Princess Charlotte could not be taken from the royal nursery.

She would remain at Carlton House in the care of her governess and nurses. In due course the child would be reunited with her mother.

It seemed reasonable to Caroline. She prepared to leave for the villa in Charlton.

She did not know that the Prince of Wales had vowed he would never have her back at Carlton House; and had expressed the view that he had no desire for his daughter to be brought up by such a vulgarian as her mother.