The Prince and the Quakeress

Rule Britannia

HANNAH HAD PRESENTED George with a son. He shared her delight and her fears. ‘If we were only married,’ he said, ‘I would be the happiest man alive.’

And she the happiest of women, she told him. But perhaps she did not deserve happiness. She thought often of her mother and the sorrow she had caused her; her uncle, too, but particularly her mother. She wondered if they still searched for her, mourned for her, prayed for her.

Dr Fothergill, blindfolded as before, had delivered the child; but she was not so well after this second confinement as the first; and when she was less well she was apt to brood more on her sins.

George had been delighted with the picture. He told her that Joshua Reynolds was the most fashionable painter in London and people of the Court were clamouring to have him paint their portraits.

‘I doubt he will ever paint a picture so charming as that of the fair Quakeress,’ said George gallantly.

She had two children, and visits from a lover whose affection never wavered; she could have been completely happy if their union had had the blessing of the Church.

It would be all I asked, she told herself.

George had to curtail his visits, for there was business to keep him occupied. Lord Bute scarcely let him out of his sight.

‘The King cannot last much longer,’ he told George. ‘Oh, my Prince, I want you to be ready when the time comes.’

‘I shall be, if you are beside me. Without you I should fail. I often think of what a dreadful situation I should be in if I ever had to reign without your assistance.’

Bute was delighted with such reiterated trust. It was worth the tremendous effort he had put into engendering it.

Pitt was the man of the moment. Bute pointed this out to George. The man was a giant. They had to remember that, and although they would relegate him to a minor position – Bute was determined to lead the government, that being the ultimate goal – they would continue to use Pitt.

‘Oh yes, we will use him,’ agreed George.

He was beginning to look forward to power. It would be pleasant never to have to suffer the humiliation of visits such as that one to Hampton which so rankled in his mind. He would be the King, and when he was no one would dare behave towards him as his grandfather had.

Great events were afoot. Mr Pitt was a brilliant war leader and under him England was going to be the leading country of the world. Mr Pitt believed it; and he was a man who always achieved his end.

But he was a just man and he was thundering in Parliament now over the execution of Admiral Byng for which shortly before the people had been clamouring; but now the deed was done they were mourning for him, calling his execution murder.

‘You perceive the unreliability of the mob,’ said Bute.

‘Hosanna, Hosanna… and shortly after crucify him,’ said George.

Bute smiled with approval. George was beginning to think for himself.

‘It is always difficult to do what the people want,’ went on Bute, ‘for their wants are rarely constant. Mr Pitt rails against the injustice.’

‘He is a good man, Mr Pitt. I remember how he defended my uncle Cumberland for being unjustly accused over Hanover. He was no friend of my uncle – and I doubt he was of Mr Byng’s.’

George was sad thinking of Mr Byng. Death and suffering always depressed him. He told Bute so.

‘I do not like thinking of it,’ he said. ‘It makes me feel very uneasy and in fact… quite ill. I think of Mr Byng facing his execution. They told me how it happened. He was unafraid and he said he would not allow them to bandage his eyes. He would look right into the face of those men who had been commanded to shoot him. And then he was told that those who had been commanded to the task – for which they had no stomach – would be reluctant to do their duty while he looked on at them, so he answered: “If it will frighten them, let it be done. They would not frighten me.” So then his eyes were bound and they fired and killed him. I dreamed of him sinking to the ground… in his own blood.’

‘You should not allow yourself such morbid thoughts.’

‘He was my grandfather’s subject. He might have been mine had he lived longer or my grandfather died ere this. I do not think I should have agreed to his execution. I hate death.’

‘It does Your Highness credit. But admirals cannot be accused of cowardice.’

‘Was he a coward? Was he in truth obeying orders from home… as my uncle Cumberland was. Is he the scapegoat as my uncle was?’

‘I can see,’ said Lord Bute, ‘that you have been studying these affairs with the greatest interest. You are following your mother’s advice, which is to be a King. Look at this letter which I have written to Mr Pitt and tell me what you think of it. From now on, you and I should have no secrets from each other.’

George felt the flush stain his cheeks. He was thinking of the house in Tottenham, the two children Hannah had given him. What would his dear friend say if he knew that his Prince was a father?

Bute was aware of the Prince’s confusion and guessed that it had something to do with the Quakeress. It was time that affair was finished. When they had him married, which would be soon, he would have to desert his Quakeress, for it was difficult to imagine George with a wife and a mistress. At the time of his marriage, at any rate, he must stop seeing the woman. Was this the time to warn him? Perhaps not. Bute was a little displeased about the Quakeress, for George had not confided in him, preferring to do so in that Chudleigh woman. Oh, what a fool he was! The idea of betraying himself to a woman like that and keeping his affairs secret from Lord Bute and his mother.

No, this was not the time. It would only make him withdraw further. But they must keep him busy, give him little time to spare for his Quakeress.

He thrust the letter he had written into George’s hands.

‘Oh’, my dear friend, Mr Pitt, what dreadful auspices we begin with. And yet, thank God I see you in office. If ever the wreck of this crown can be preserved to our amiable young Prince, it will be to your efforts, my dear Pitt, that he must owe it. I have the greatest confidence that you will rise above all adversity, my dearest friend.

Most affectionately, Bute.’

‘Wreck of a crown…’ repeated the Prince.

‘These affairs do us no good, Your Highness. Cumberland’s disaster… Byng’s… We are low… low… low. But I have an idea that we shall soon begin to see changes.’

‘And it will be due to Mr Pitt.’

‘Mr Pitt is a clever man. But he is a commoner. The Great Commoner he may be, but a commoner none the less. He needs guidance… our guidance, but he is a great man for all that, and there is no harm in letting him know that we appreciate him.’

‘Your letter will tell him that.’

‘In a few days time I intend to put a suggestion to him… with Your Highness’s consent, of course.’

‘What is that.’

‘I am going to ask him to give me Newcastle’s place when the King dies.’

‘That is First Lord of the Treasury!’

‘And Your Highness does not think me capable of holding such a high post?’

‘On the contrary, I think no one will do it such honour.’

‘None could do it much less than Newcastle has done.’

‘You must have it, my dear friend. Nothing will satisfy me than that you have it.’

Bute clasped George’s hand and shook it warmly. ‘I knew I could count on Your Highness’s support. First he shall receive this letter. We will give him a chance to consider it… then I shall take an opportunity of seeing him and getting a promise from him.’

‘I shall feel so contented if you do, for then I shall know that you will be with me when I mount the throne.’

Let that day be soon, prayed Lord Bute, for when it comes I shall be ruler of this land.

Mr Pitt was no respecter of persons. Although he was almost servile in the presence of the King and the Prince he made no effort to please anyone else.

Bute! Who was Bute? A man who owed his position to the favour he found in the Princess Dowager’s bedchamber. Unfortunately that gave him easy access to the Prince of Wales, a boy… who knew nothing of affairs. If the Prince thought he was going to govern Mr Pitt he was mistaken.

Bute was ingratiating.

‘I have watched with growing admiration, sir, your work in the government. England has need of men such as you at this time.’

The hawk’s eyes looked down the long aquiline nose and Mr Pitt’s hand lightly touched his tie wig. His expression was very haughty.

‘You know, sir, of the Prince’s regard for me,’ went on Bute. ‘I have his word on this. When he should attain the throne he wishes me to have Newcastle’s place.’

The eyebrows shot up. ‘That, my lord, would not be possible.’

‘Not possible! How so… if it were the King’s wish?’

‘You lack the experience.’

‘Experience is something one gains in office. I have watched affairs…’

‘Watching is not enough, my lord. Moreover, you are a Scottish Peer. Long residence here in the South has allowed this to slip your mind.’

Lord Bute was angry. He said: ‘I suppose you would consider the King’s command must be obeyed.’

‘That might be so.’

‘So if I tell you that the Prince has given his approval, what then?’

‘My lord, I would never bear the touch of command. If I were dictated to, I should resign. So, my lord, I could not give you the post you ask for and if you were to receive it, it would not be my place to give it to you, for the fact of your receiving it could only mean that you would not have it from my hands.’

Lord Bute was furious, Mr Pitt determined. The perfect actor – as he was on most occasions and never more than in circumstances such as this – he swept off the stage; dignified as ever, holding the advantage because, vain as he was, delighting in pomp and ostentation, he was a man of honour and would never allow his personal promotion to interfere with his principles.

But Bute was his enemy from then on.

He sought the Prince and told him that on the day he became King he would have to find a way of ridding the government of that arrogant Pitt.

Pitt was triumphant. He had persuaded the King that it was to the country’s interest to provide Frederick the Great with a subsidy that he might fight England’s battles in Europe.

‘We have a small island, Sire, a small population; we need an Empire. Let Frederick take care of our commitments in Europe and we will turn the Frenchman out of Canada and India. These territories will be of more use to us than anything in Europe which is too costly to hold and will never be worth the money and effort we spend on it.’

The King was loth to send money to Frederick, but he saw Mr Pitt’s point; and he was with him.

So very soon was the country.

The tide was turning. Victory was in the air. Clive was going ahead in India. Amherst and Wolfe were doing well in Canada.

This was Mr Pitt’s plan and it was working. Englishmen were proud of their country. In the streets they were singing Dr Arne’s Rule Britannia. Men congregated in the taverns to talk of great victories and Britain’s growing power beyond the seas.

In a few years the position had changed. England was no longer fighting hopeless wars on the Continent of Europe; it was building an Empire. This little island was on the way to becoming the greatest world power.

It was a great year. God save the King… and Mr Pitt. Britannia was preparing to Rule the Waves.