Indiscretions of the Queen

The Douglas Affair

For some months Lady Douglas waited impatiently, but her desire for revenge grew rather than diminished. She was a vindictive woman, and she had hoped for great benefits through her association with the Princess of Wales. They would never be hers now since the odious woman refused to receive her. But she was going to regret that It seemed the greatest fortune when Sir John was given a post in the household of Augustus, Duke of Sussex The Duke of Sussex, fourth brother of the Prince of Wales, had had rather startling adventures in matrimony himself when at the age of twenty he had married Augusta Murray without the consent of his father. His marriage had later been declared null and void since it contravened the Royal Marriage Act but the Duke had snapped his fingers at the law and set up house with the lady he and his brothers acknowledged as his wife.

Lady Douglas saw the opportunity she needed in this appointment and badgered her husband to tell the Duke that Willikin was the Princess’s own child.

‘But my dear,’ protested Sir John, ‘this could make the most violent upheaval.’

‘That’s what I want.’

‘You want it? But it would be trouble— terrible trouble.’

‘For them that deserve it.’

‘I think we should keep out of it. You know what happened about the letter.’

‘Oh yes, yes, His Majesty’s health is so precarious that he must not be disturbed. In the meantime that scandalous woman can foist her illegitimate offspring on the nation.’

‘But she is not foisting William Austin on anybody.’

‘William Austin! He’s no more Austin than I am. That’s her story. And how do you know that she won’t try to foist the little brat on the nation? Why, don’t you see, that boy could be our future king.’

‘Oh no, that’s going too far.’

‘I will decide what is going too far. It’s your duty, John Douglas, to see that what is going on reaches the right quarters.’

‘And what do you mean by the right quarters?’

‘Surely you know. The Prince of Wales should hear of this.’

‘You’re not suggesting that I go to the Prince of Wales?’

‘What I’m suggesting is that you tell his brother. That’s not so difficult, is it?

You are after all a member of his household. Tell him, and let him carry on from there.’

‘I don’t think you understand what a storm you could be raising.’

‘That’s exactly what I do understand. And I’m waiting for that storm. It’s our duty. Are you going to stand by and see a little bastard king of this realm? Are you going to see him snatch it from our dear Princess Charlotte?’

‘I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.’

‘Oh, but you’re going to, John Douglas.’

A few days later Sir John came to his wife; he was pale and trembling.

‘I have spoken to him,’ he said.

‘Yes— yes, and what did he say?’

‘He said that he thought this matter should be brought to the notice of the Prince of Wales.’

Lady Douglas clasped her hands together in joy.

‘But he says we should prepare a document which he can show his brother— setting down all the facts. Put it, in writing.’

She nodded and he cried in dismay: ‘Don’t you realize what this means. It’s all very well to say these things but to put them into writing I don’t know what this could bring us to.’

‘Chicken heart,’ she mocked. ‘Leave it to me.’

How exciting it was, going back over those meetings, colouring them up, putting constructions on them which would add conviction to her story. For instance had not the Princess said ‘I am going to have a baby.’ Had she not shown inordinate interest in Lady Douglas’s own pregnancy?

It was easy to adjust a word here and there. It was dangerous when a Princess of Wales lived an immoral life because of the succession. Lady Douglas wrote that she had reminded the Princess of this and that Her Highness had replied that if she were caught she could put it on to the Prince of Wales because she had slept a few nights at Carlton House and he was often so drunk that he could not account for his actions. Then there was the story of Lady Douglas’s calling at Montague House and seeing the baby for the first time. There was Mrs, Fitzgerald’s hasty explanation that he was William Austin and that the Princess had adopted him Oh yes, she had a very plausible story to tell.

The King was surprised to receive a call from his sons, the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Sussex; and as soon as he saw them he knew that something extraordinary had happened.

Not family trouble again, he hoped. There was no end to it. Both of them were offenders. Sussex marrying that woman when he had no right to and having a court case about it and then its being decided that he wasn’t married. Not that he cared. They had no morals these sons of his. There he was living like a respectable married man with the woman he called his wife and he had a family too. As for the Prince of Wales with his Mrs. Fitzherbert and all that scandal— well, it was better not to think about that!

‘An unexpected pleasure, eh, what?’ he said grimly.

The Prince of Wales felt a momentary wave of pity for his father. How he had aged in the last few years! Those white eyebrows jutting out from the far too red face and the protuberant blue eyes gave him a look of madness. Surely it couldn’t be long before he broke down again. And this matter was not going to help him.

But it had to be done and while King clung to his rank he would have to accept it.

Better, thought the Prince, for him to retire gracefully, to abdicate perhaps. And then he would take charge. He admitted to himself that the prospect of power pleased him.

Should he have kept quiet about this matter? Certainly he could not! It was of the utmost importance to the Crown and at the back of his mind was a solution which pleased him as much as the thought of wearing that crown: to rid of Caroline.

‘A very serious matter has come to light,’ he said, ‘and Augustus and I thought you should immediately be acquainted with it.’

Alarm shot up in the King’s eyes which seemed to become a shade more prominent.

‘Your Majesty,’ went on the Prince, with the utmost solemnity, I have here a grave charge against the morality of the Princess of Wales.’

‘Eh? What’s this? Eh, what? Caroline you mean? What this? Grave charge, eh?’

‘I think that Your Majesty might read this accusation which has been written by Sir John and Lady Douglas. It seems that the Princess of Wales is the mother of an illegitimate child— a son— a boy who now lives with her at Montague House.’

‘What? Eh? What’s this? Don’t believe it. Impossible. A boy? Eh? What’s this, eh, eh, eh?’

‘If Your Majesty would read this charge.’

The King took the Douglases’ statement and stared at it. His eyes boggled as he read.

He stuttered, ‘But this is impossible.’

‘Unfortunately, Sire, it appears to be true.’ The Prince then went on to explain that his brother, the Duke of Kent, had been shown a disgusting drawing which Caroline had done of a neighbour Lady Douglas and Sir Sydney Smith. His Majesty would remember the well-known sailor who had served country with such zeal. Sir Sydney had wanted to take action but had been dissuaded from doing so to a scandal.

‘Disgusting drawing! What? A drawing you say. What drawing?’

‘Of Sir Sydney and Lady Douglas.’ The Prince put his handkerchief to his eyes. ‘Too disgusting, sir, to be talked of, and but Your Majesty may well imagine—’

He could imagine. Sometimes when he was in one of his lost moods pictures came into his head. Pictures, he thought. Disgusting pictures. They’d have to put a stop to it.

‘This matter,’ said the Prince of Wales, ‘is too grave to be dismissed. If it is true that the Princess of Wales has an illegitimate son, some action must be taken — and taken promptly.’

‘There must be an enquiry,’ said the King.

Spencer Perceval rode over to Montague House. ‘I have heard some very grave news,’ he said. ‘There is to be an enquiry into your actions with regard to the boy William Austin.’

‘But why should that be grave?’ enquired the Princess. ‘There is nothing wrong with Willikin.’

‘The implication is that he is your I own son.’

‘I regard him as such.’

Perceval was faintly exasperated. ‘Your Highness must realize the gravity of this charge. It is being said that he is the result of an indiscretion on your part and that you gave birth to him.’

‘That’s a lie, of course.’

‘I know it, Your Highness, but we have to convince others. I suggest that Your Highness engages me to work on your behalf.’

She smiled at him tenderly. ‘Oh, you dear good man.’

He said gruffly ‘I am a friend and a neighbour. Naturally I wish to do all in my power to refute this wicked slander. I rejoice in my position for as such I can do good service to Your Highness.’

She would have embraced him but he held her off. The most indiscreet woman in the world! he thought. And even now she does not realize that it is her indiscretions which have led her into this dangerous position. ‘I must ask Your Highness to tell me the truth of this matter. Hold nothing back. Tell me how did the child come to be in this house?’

Caroline told him of her discovery of the Austins, how he himself had found work for the child’s father, how before he was born his mother had promised him to her and how he had come to her a few weeks after he was born.

Perceval nodded, well satisfied.

‘We have a good case,’ he said. ‘We need one. But I don’t think we are going to have any difficulty in proving these charges false. You have been very indiscreet, Your Highness; and I do beg of you to curb your tongue. A word in the wrong place can ruin you. I beg of you remember that.’

‘I have always been told that I talk too much and without thinking.’

‘I trust Your Highness will remember the truth of that.’

‘I shall do my best. And I think it’s— noble of you to help me. You know, don’t you, that the Prince will not be very pleased with you because I believe my beloved husband is hoping to prove me guilty. He can have as many love affairs as he pleases— and he’d grudge me just one.’

Perceval sighed. What was the use of begging for discretion?

‘We must do what we can,’ he said sternly, ‘and remember the gravity of the situation.’

The Queen was delighted; the Princesses giggled together. It certainly added a spice to life when such dramatic events took place in the family. And all centred round the Prince of Wales as was usually the case.

‘So,’ said Sophia, ‘there is to be an investigation.’

‘A delicate investigation,’ Mary reminded her.

They laughed. ‘Oh, very delicate. Really, Caroline is a fool. What do you think will happen?’

‘Well, if it goes the way George wants it, she’ll be divorced and sent back to Brunswick. And then he’ll take another wife and if he has a son that will put dear little Charlotte’s nose out of joint.’

‘Which I daresay will do her no harm. That child gives herself airs.’

‘What do you expect with such a mother?’

‘And such a father!’

‘How exciting they make life. George has had a morganatic marriage which you would have thought was enough for anyone. But not for George. Now he has to have a Delicate Investigation!’

The Delicate Investigation had begun. The King himself had appointed a Council to enquire into the truth of the Douglases’ allegations and this was made up of Lord Grenville, the Prime Minister, Lord Erskine, the Lord Chancellor, Lord Ellenborough, the Lord Chief Justice, and Lord Spencer the Secretary of State; and presided over by Sir Samuel Romilly, one of the leading lights of the Bar recently, at the instigation of the Prince of Wales, appointed Solicitor- General.

There was no representation for the Princess of Wales, though Perceval was at hand to help her and advise. She had in fact not been officially warned that the investigation was to take place although an attorney, a Mr. Lowten, had been appointed to watch the case for the Prince of Wales, which meant that he was to do all he could to prove Caroline’s guilt.

She had just put Willikin to bed— a task which she undertook herself with the utmost pleasure— when Mrs. Fitzgerald came to tell her that a messenger had arrived with a letter for her.

She said that he was to be brought to her and when he came, she read the letter and went to her desk to write an answer.

When the messenger had left with it she said to Mrs. Fitzgerald: ‘They are telling me that they will want the servants to appear for questioning and I have answered that they may question all they like.’

‘For questioning?’ cried Mrs. Fitzgerald aghast.

‘Why? What’s worrying you? Why shouldn’t they question them if they want to?’

‘If they tell the truth all should be well,’ said Mrs. Fitzgerald, but she was thinking of the many indiscretions— the light, frivolous flirtatious manner and conversation of the Princess. She was thinking of young Willikin upstairs in his bed.

Couldn’t she see how easy it was going to be to make a case against her?

But it was not so easy. It was true that some of the servants gave the answers which they knew the Prince of Wales would want. Several of these servants were no longer with the Princess of Wales; some had been dismissed and had a grievance; others had been sent to serve her for the sole purpose of spying.

Oh yes, said these. They had seen the Princess behave very familiarly with men who came to the house. They had seen her kiss Sir Sydney Smith, embrace Captain Manley and speak very affectionately to Mr. Canning; she had told them not to disturb her when she was alone with Sir Thomas Lawrence. Oh, yes, they all thought this was very strange behaviour for a Princess of Wales.

But there were other servants— good and loyal. The Princess was by nature friendly. She was warm and affectionate to everyone— even the humblest of her servants. She called them ‘my dear’, ‘my love’, ‘my angel’ even. It was a habit of hers.

Had she been very familiar with men who called at the house?

No more than with women. She was impulsively friendly with all.

But right at the heart of the matter was Willikin. Who was this boy? Was it possible that he was the Princess’s son? This was the charge against her and if it could be proved that she was the mother of that boy then it would be possible for the Prince to divorce her, for not only would she have been proved flagrantly unfaithful, but guilty of treason to the State, for that boy could claim the throne; and this was where the matter was so serious.

The Princess had declared— and some of her servants corroborated this— that William Austin was the son of Samuel and Sophia Austin; they were near neighbours of hers and the man worked in the dockyards.

There was only one thing to be done: Call the woman whom the Princess alleged was the mother of the boy.

Sophia came— clean, respectable, a witness whom they had to admit they could trust.

Yes, she had had conversations with the Princess of Wales.

‘And was she the mother of the boy who lived with the Princess of Wales?’

‘If you be talking of young Willie,’ was the direct answer, ‘I am his mother.’

‘And your son now lives at Montague House with the Princess of Wales?’

‘Tis true that I sometimes have to pinch myself to believe it. But she’s an angel, that Princess. And my, don’t she love the little ones! When I was carrying Willie she came to me and I complained of having another mouth to feed. Give him to me, she said . I’ll adopt him. There! It was as easy as that.’

‘Do you swear that you are the mother of William Austin?’

‘I swear it, and if you don’t believe me you go along to Brownlow Street Hospital, for that was where Willie was born.’

There was no refuting evidence of that sort. The Council had reluctantly to admit that there was no truth in the allegation that the Princess of Wales had borne an illegitimate son.

They did not forget, however, that they must please the Prince. They added that, although there was no evidence to support the theory that the child, William Austin, was the Princess’s and although it seemed certain that he was not, that did not mean that the Princess was not guilty of behaving in most unbecoming manner; and in the Council’s opinion the morals of the Princess of Wales left much to be desired.

So her enemies were defeated. They had been proven by the Prince’s friends — to be lying.

She had forgotten that she was only exonerated from the charge of producing an illegitimate child; it was by no means proved that the life she lead was not one of immorality.

She was made aware of this when she wrote to the King with her usual exuberance and received a very restrained letter in reply in which His Majesty stated that he could not help but be gravely concerned by her conduct.

‘By my conduct!’ she cried to the faithful Mrs. Fitzgerald. ‘But I have been proved to have been slandered! Oh, my dear, dear Fitz! Was ever such a poor devil in the plight I’m in? I’m a princess and no princess. I’m a married woman with no husband— for the Prince of Wales is worse than none. This is not the end, Fitz. They’ve determined to make my life a hell— all of them. Can’t you imagine the old Begum tittering away, surrounded by her virgin daughters! Let them! What do I care! But I do care about the old man, Fitz. I think I loved him in a way. He tried to be so good always. And now look at this. He’s gravely concerned— by my immorality and he isn’t going to see me. I’m going to be shut away here and forgotten. But I’ll tell you something, my dear, I won’t have it. I won’t. I won’t.’

Mrs. Fitzgerald looked alarmed, but Caroline burst out laughing.

‘Don’t be frightened, my dear, I’m not going mad. Though I declare there’s enough to make me. That’s for my poor old father-in-law. God bless him. But I’m not having him turned against me! I’m going to see him. And I’ll keep on at him until I do. I shall write to him again and again—’

‘Your Highness, why not ask the advice of Spencer Perceval? He will know what’s to be done.’

The Princess was thoughtful for a moment. Then she cried: ‘You’re right.

That dear man will know— and at least he is my friend.’

The King was decidedly worried. On all sides he heard stories of Caroline’s misconduct. The Queen believed in it and constantly referred to it. Oh, they had not proved that she had had this child but it was quite obvious that she led a very wild life. All those men calling on her at odd times of the day and night! Most peculiar! And what a way for a Princess of Wales to live! What a sad day for the Prince of Wales, for the family and for England when George had taken the King’s niece from Brunswick instead of the Queen’s from Mecklenburg-Strelitz!

A sad day, a sad day indeed, thought the King. But she was a pleasant woman, quite handsome in her way too. Why could not the Prince of Wales give up his wild life and settle down as an heir to the throne should do?

He was sorry for Caroline, but how could he see her in the circumstances? It would be as though he gave his approval to immorality.

And he had felt life was going to be better. Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar had put new heart into the nation and in him. Yet even that victory had its sadness, for Nelson had fallen and the country had lost its saviour in the moment of victory.

He thought of the great hall of Greenwich hospital into which the public had crowded to see the coffin of the naval hero and of the funeral that followed and at which he had been represented by the Prince of Wales and his brothers. A sad occasion to follow victory. But Lord Nelson would have rejoiced because he had crippled the might of Napoleon and made England safe.

But there was constant trouble. No sooner was the threat of invasion removed than the family was at war within itself.

The Prince of Wales hated his wife and this was an even sadder pattern than that set by the family when father and son were fighting together. At least he had been faithful to his Queen; George II had been notoriously uxorious in spite of constant infidelity. George I— ah, there had been a sad case of husband and wife who had been enemies— But what was the use of thinking of the past? He dared not think too much.

His head went into a painful whirl when he did so. He tried to catch at his thoughts and found them eluding him. He grew alarmed when that happened.

I must not think of it, he told himself. And I must not receive her. On her request Spencer Perceval called to see Caroline and listened to her account of the King’s refusal to receive her.

‘This must not be allowed to continue,’ he told her, ‘or it will be said that you were guilty. His Majesty is treating you though you are. This must be stopped at all cost or the verdict of the people will be against you. This is unthinkable, for try as they did the Council could prove no case against you. The King must receive you. You should write again and request him to do so.’

This she did and it brought a reply from the King. He would see her; but before the meeting could be arranged she received a letter from Windsor in which the King said that he must postpone receiving her because he had heard from the Prince of Wales that he intended consulting his lawyer with regard to the Council’s findings. Until he heard the result of this His Majesty must put off the meeting.

When Caroline received this letter she was furious. She wrote indignantly to the King. It was with great pain that she had read his letter, she said. It was seven months since she had seen the King and now that nothing had been proved against her there was no longer any reason why he should refuse to see her. She signed herself : ‘His dutiful and affection ate but much injured subject and daughter-in-law’.

She declared that she would be received at Court. She was not going to be thrust aside in this way. How dare the Prince of Wales, whose own life was so scandalous, treat her in this way?

Perceval came to see her. He heard of the latest developments and said they must delay no longer. It was necessary to deliver an ultimatum. The only thing she could do was threaten to publish the findings of the Council which would enable the public to know how she had been slandered and proved innocent. They were already on her side because of their dislike of the Prince of Wales and would be ready to believe her; and neither the Prince of Wales nor the King dared stand out against public opinion.

He dictated a letter which she was to send to the King.

‘As to any consequences which may arise from such publication, unpleasant or hurtful to my own feelings and interests, I may perhaps be properly responsible— but whatever these consequences may be, I am fully convinced that they must be incalculably less than those to which I am exposed by my silence—’ As there was no reply to this letter, Perceval arranged for five thousand copies to be printed of what was known as The Book; this contained a full report of the proceedings against the Princess of Wales at the Delicate Investigation.

Then, due to a dispute concerning Catholic reform, the Government fell, and the Whig friends of the Prince of Wales were replaced by the Tories. Lord Portland was Prime Minister and Spencer Perceval was given the post of Chancellor of the Exchequer. The leading ministers were now the enemies of the Prince of Wales which meant that they would give support to Caroline. Perceval lost no time in doing all he could to reinstate her. Very soon after the new Ministry had been formed, he prevailed upon Portland and other Ministers, including George Canning, to put their names to an ultimatum which was addressed to the King.

‘Your Majesty’s confidential servants humbly submit to Your Majesty that it is essentially necessary, injustice to Her Royal Highness and for the honour and interests of Your Majesty’s illustrious family, that Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales should be admitted with as little delay as possible into Your Majesty’s royal presence, and that she should be received in a manner due to her rank and station in Your Majesty’s Court and family.’ Another letter followed this in which it was suggested that a suitable residence be found for the Princess of Wales which would be nearer to the royal palaces and enable her to be within easy access of the Court.

This was something the King could not ignore. He knew if he did so, The Book would immediately be published and the people would rise up against the Prince of Wales— and perhaps the King— for treating the Princess so cruelly.

‘She must be invited to Court without delay,’ he told the Queen, who was wise enough to recognize an ultimatum.

‘It is something we shall be forced to endure,’ she agreed.

‘And where can she be lodged?’

‘As far from Carlton House as possible, I suggest. Perhaps Kensington Palace.’

So Kensington Palace it was; but although Caroline took apartments there she kept on Montague House and declared to Mrs Fitzgerald that she was only going to Court to let people know that she was innocent of the charges brought against her, for to stay away might give an appearance of guilt. What she enjoyed most would be her stays in Montague when she could devote herself to Willikin and entertaining her friends there in her own way without the ceremony which could not be avoided in palaces.

The King greeted her with affection and tears in his eyes. ‘My dear, how glad I am to see you! It has been a bad time— eh, what, a bad time?’

‘A very bad time, dear Uncle. But I hope it is over now and your feelings towards me have not changed.’

With tears in his eyes he assured her this was not so.

The Queen regarded her coldly and gave her only the barest acknowledgement while her eyes rested on the extravagant dress of too many colours, cut far too low. Caroline wanted to laugh at her; but she reminded herself that she must be on her best behaviour.

The Princesses of course followed their mother and treated her with an almost cool insolence.

And then the Prince of Wales. She looked at him almost hopefully. He was splendid, not so glittering as in the past being under the influence of Beau Brummell who had taught him his own special brand of unobtrusive elegance.

She dropped a curtsey.

His bow was notorious. There was no one who could perform the act with such grace. There was a breathless moment when he enacted this feat for now it was especially interesting.

It was over very quickly— that most elegant bow— and then she was looking at the Prince’s back. He had turned and was speaking to one of his sisters.

So— she was to be received back at Court though ignored by the Prince of Wales and the Delicate Investigation was over— but not forgotten.