The Regent's Daughter

Charlotte in revolt

MRS GAGARIN AND Louisa Lewis were dressing the Princess for her birthday ball. It was to be a grand occasion at Carlton House given by the Prince of Wales because she was sixteen years old.

‘Soon,’ she was saying, ‘they will have to stop treating me as a child. I’m longing to wear feathers. When I do, you will know then that I really am no longer regarded as a child.’

‘Don’t you be in such a hurry to grow up,’ advised Louisa. ‘It’ll come soon enough.’

‘Not soon enough for me. Do you think the Prince R. will be proud of me tonight? Now don’t say “Yes, yes, yes”. Stop and think. Think of him and all his elegance. I have to be rather good to come up to his standards. Why, what’s the matter with Gagy?’

‘It’s all right, Your Highness, just a stitch in my side.’

‘Better sit down,’ advised Louisa. ‘You know …’

Mrs Gagarin flashed her a warning look which Charlotte intercepted.

‘Now what is this?’ she demanded imperiously. ‘Gagy, you are not ill, are you?’

‘No, no. It’s nothing. My dinner did not agree with me.’

Charlotte looked suspicious and felt a sudden touch of panic. Birthdays made one realize that time was passing. It did not seem so long since her last; and some of these people who had been with her for so long that she thought they would be with her for ever, were getting old.

Mrs Gagarin had a grey tinge to her face today. Charlotte threw her arms about her and said: ‘Gagy, you mustn’t die. Don’t forget I made you want to live after you lost Mr Gagarin, didn’t I? I still want you. You mustn’t be ill.’

‘What a fuss,’ said Mrs Gagarin, ‘about a touch of indigestion. Anyone would think I was on my death-bed.’

‘Don’t talk about death,’ commanded Charlotte. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘All right,’ said Mrs Gagarin. ‘Let’s see that you look your best for this party.’

‘Do I?’

‘Lovely,’ cried Mrs Gagarin. ‘Doesn’t she, Louisa?’

Louisa adoringly agreed.

It was silly, Charlotte assured herself, to think poor Gagy was going to die just because she had indigestion. There were years and years left yet to them all.

She was in a slightly sombre mood, however, on the journey to Carlton House, but she was soon elated, for her father had determined this should be a special occasion. The people who had gathered to watch her alight from her carriage cheered her and she waved as Lady de Clifford had told her many times she should not – instead of bowing regally. But the people liked her for her free and easy ways and she was not going to obey Lady de Clifford’s orders much longer.

Her father looked splendid and she was thrilled as always to see him and proud that he was her father; and the odd feelings of resentment and pride fought together in the familiar way; but resentment was defeated on this night, because he smiled as he embraced her affectionately, even with a glint of tears in his eyes, and told her that she looked charming.

She was happy as, holding her lightly by the hand, he led her into that house which the old gossip, Horace Walpole, had described as the most perfect in Europe. She was proud of the tasteful decorations; they had all been done under his supervision; and from the moment she passed through the front porch with its Corinthian portico, because he was leading her there and seemed pleased to have her, she knew this was going to be a happy evening, a birthday to remember.

Carlton House was her birthplace and his home where she wished they could all live together – her father, her mother and herself, like an affectionate family. It was what she had always wanted more than anything and she had confided this to Mercer.

‘Papa,’ she said, ‘whenever I come to Carlton House I am struck afresh by its beauty.’

He was pleased. ‘I confess to a fondness for the place myself.’

‘Everything is p … perfect,’ she cried, and for once he did not frown at her stammer. She went on: ‘The lovely apartments, and best of all I think I love the dear little music room that opens on to the gardens. I never saw a room as pretty as that music room.’

He began to tell her how the idea had come to him to create such a room; and this was one of the rare occasions when they were able to chat easily together.

During dinner when she sat on his right hand he talked almost exclusively to her and told her how for the banquet to celebrate his accession to the Regency he had entertained two thousand guests here in Carlton House.

‘I had the idea that a canal should be made to run right down the central table and in it was a stream in which fish swam – they were silver and gold and I can tell you were extremely beautiful.’

‘How wonderful it must have looked. That was a great occasion.’

He was sad momentarily, thinking about Maria who had refused to come because she had been denied a place at the stream-decorated table. Why could she not understand that as Regent he dared not bring into prominence one who was a Catholic and suspected of being his wife? It was not really because Isabella had not wished her to be at the top table. Maria could not understand that. How shackled one was when one was royal! Why the legitimacy of this girl seated beside him might be in question if that ceremony in Maria’s drawing room was accepted as a true marriage.

He wished he had not reminded himself of the Regency banquet.

‘Papa,’ Charlotte was saying. ‘You have grown more slender. I trust you are well.’

He was pleased with the remark, although he disliked people to hint that he had ever been ‘fat’ which he considered an unpleasant word. He had lost a little weight, yet lying up at Oatlands had not improved his health.

Later when he led her into the dance she noticed that he limped a little and did not call attention to this; by that time she was thinking that this was one of the happiest days of her life. Her father was fonder of her than he had been for a long time and as this was, she hoped, the beginning of the gratification of one of her dearest wishes, she could forget her misgivings caused by Mrs Gagarin’s grey looks and the odd eccentric behaviour of her mother.

For once her father approved of her – and that was perhaps what she most wanted in life.

Mercer was a constant visitor to Warwick House. Charlotte often wondered what she would do without her. She confided in Mercer – not everything, of course, but a great deal. She could never talk of her feelings for her parents but perhaps this was because she did not fully understand them herself. She had not mentioned that occasion when her mother had shut her in the bedroom with Captain Hesse. That was something she could scarcely bring herself to think of – let alone talk about.

But in almost everything else Mercer was her confidante, her alter ego; and she often thought that while she could have Mercer for her friend she could bear everything else – the criticisms of her paternal grandmother and the dreary boredom of her maternal one; the alternate scoldings and gushing affection of the Old Girls; the sadness that came to her when she thought of poor mad Grandpapa and most of all her mingled feelings for her parents.

Sometimes Mercer would describe the dresses she had seen at a ball. Then they would talk of clothes – a subject of which Mercer was a past mistress, as of everything else, and they would perhaps call in Mrs Gagarin and Louisa Lewis to discuss what could be made for Charlotte out of what Mercer sternly called her ‘somewhat inadequate allowance’.

‘Never mind,’ cried Charlotte, ‘I shall soon have an establishment of my own and that will mean a good allowance. They can’t keep me in the nursery for ever.’

‘It will be on your eighteenth birthday,’ prophesied Mercer, ‘which is not really very far away.’

Charlotte’s eyes sparkled at the thought of growing up.

‘One thing you must promise me, Mercer. When I am Queen you will always be with me.’

Mercer said it was not really very becoming to talk of being Queen when one considered what must happen before she was.

There were times when Mercer was a little self-righteous, and Charlotte was glad of it. It would not have been good for them both to be as impulsive as she was.

She confided in Mercer that her Uncle Cumberland had said her father was suffering from his father’s malady.

‘That is a treasonable and most wicked statement,’ announced Mercer. ‘I have always been suspicious of the Duke of Cumberland.’

Charlotte had declared that she too had always been suspicious of him. There was something definitely sinister about the man. The fact that he had only one eye made him look a real villain.

Mercer agreed. ‘He’s a Tory too.’ Heinous sin in Mercer’s opinion. She could always be angry with anyone who might seek to turn Charlotte from the Whig cause.

They spent a hilarious half hour talking of Uncle Cumberland’s many failings and building up a quite horrifying picture of him which eventually sent them into fits of laughter, for Mercer had her lighter moments.

Louisa, hearing them laughing together, commented that it seemed to her that that Miss Elphinstone was the Queen of Warwick House and that if they didn’t look out they would soon be taking their orders from her.

Mrs Gagarin, who was looking more frail than ever, replied that it was pleasant to hear dearest Charlotte laugh. Her life was not all Mrs Gagarin would wish for a young high-spirited girl. Let her enjoy herself while she could.

But when Charlotte told Mercer of the cartoons Mrs Udney had brought in for her, Mercer’s lips were set into lines of disapproval. ‘I don’t like Mrs Udney,’ she said.

‘Nor do I,’ admitted Charlotte, and told Mercer about the will she had once made. Soon they were laughing again, but Mercer added that she thought it was not suited to Charlotte’s dignity to look at these scurrilous cartoons about her own family. She should reprimand Mrs Udney for bringing them into her household; and Mercer for one would like to see Mrs Udney replaced.

Charlotte nodded gravely. ‘As for the cartoons,’ she said, ‘I only had a little peep. I shan’t look at them any more, dearest Mercer, if you think I should not.’

As Mercer would prefer the Princess Charlotte not to so demean herself, Charlotte declared she would do nothing of which dearest Mercer would not approve.

Mercer allowed the conversation to become lighthearted again and talked of Lord Byron, who had the good sense to admire Mercer very much. He also admired the Princess Charlotte whom he had once had the honour of meeting.

‘I remember him well,’ cried Charlotte. ‘The most handsome man I ever met … or one of them. He is like a Greek god and that limp makes him exciting in some way. They say he is very wicked.’

‘What he needs is a woman to look after him.’ Mercer smiled complacently and Charlotte was ready to believe that he needed Mercer as she herself did. Everyone must be in need of Mercer.

‘Oh, Mercer,’ she cried in an excess of affection, ‘how glad I am that you are my friend.’

‘It’s useful,’ admitted Mercer. ‘Being so much older, I can help you.’

The Prince Regent was reading a poem to his friend Sheridan who, having a great belief in the power of the pen – particularly when wielded by the celebrated Lord Byron – was disturbed.

It was called Lines to a Young Lady Weeping.

Weep, daughter of a royal line,

A Sire’s disgrace, a realm’s decay:

Ah, happy if each tear of thine

Could wash a father’s fault away.

Weep, for thy tears are virtue’s tears,

Auspicious to these suffering isles:

And be each drop in future years

Repaid thee by a people’s smiles.

The Prince’s face had flushed scarlet and his eyes filled with tears of anger.

‘This is referring to that disgraceful scene the other night. Sometimes I think my daughter is determined to anger me.’

‘There are too many seeking to take sides, sir,’ said Sheridan.

‘They are giving her ideas of her own importance. By God, she has no importance and she shall have none if I say so.’

Sheridan knew when to be silent. It would have been folly to remind the Prince that Charlotte was his daughter and unless by a miracle in the form of divorce from the Princess of Wales he was able to get a son, Charlotte must in due course inherit the throne.

‘You know what happened. I was speaking of those rogues Grey and Grenville, who had refused my offer to join the government. Lauderdale defended them and declared he would have refused in their place. He was a true Whig and so on and hoped he would always remain faithful to the cause. And what does Charlotte do but burst into tears. Tears, Sherry, at a dinner party! How is the girl being brought up?’

Sherry refrained from pointing out that the shedding of tears was a family habit and said that the Princess must be taught to behave in accordance with her position.

‘Taught indeed … and so she shall be. But you see … she burst into tears and this fellow Byron has to write a verse about it, showing her as a heroine and me as a scoundrel … and the whole country is reading it, I don’t doubt.’

Sheridan could only admit to the popularity of Byron’s work.

‘And in the past I’ve recommended his poetry. I liked the fellow. Why should he behave so … against me?’

Sheridan shrugged his shoulders. ‘She is a young girl, sir, not without charm. The people are determined to take sides and some of them will take hers.’

‘But why should they take sides?’

One might reply: Because we are concerned with the House of Hanover and in this House it is the custom for parents to quarrel with children. Hadn’t the Regent himself set an example to his daughter?

‘They will always take sides, sir. The people like a battle, and if there is not one they will set about contriving it.’

‘Charlotte should have behaved with more decorum. But when does she? She is now a staunch Whig. Soon we shall have her interfering in politics.’

It was her father who had wished her to become a Whig in the first place; if now that he had become Regent he was looking for some compromise between Whig and Tory and was inclining very much towards the latter, could he expect Charlotte to follow without a protest? Lady Hertford had decided to make a Tory of him and Lady Hertford must be placated at all costs. But one could hardly expect Charlotte to care for Lady Hertford’s views.

‘Stab me,’ said the Prince, ‘I have been too lenient with that young woman. I must let her see who is master.’

‘I think she is aware of that already, Sir.’

‘Then it’s more than she appears to be. I want to know who it is who is feeding her her politics. Her governess seems a fool to me.’

‘Lady de Clifford is perhaps not adequate to the task of controlling a princess like Her Royal Highness.’

‘And she sees her mother too frequently.’

‘Once a week, Sir.’

‘Too frequently,’ retorted the Prince with a frown. ‘I’ll warrant it is there she is taught how to plague me. But I’ll tell you this, Sherry: It is not going on. No, it is not going on. Keep your ears open and see if you can discover who is encouraging her to behave in this way. Once I know I shall put that person somewhere where he – or she – will have no power to instruct the Princess and to plague me.’

Sheridan would, he declared, as always do his best to serve his Prince.

‘And I shall see that someone in her household keeps an eye open,’ said the Prince.

The Duchess of York arrived at Warwick House to accompany Charlotte to the Opera. The Princess was excited.

‘At this rate,’ she told Louisa, ‘I shall soon be wearing feathers.’

‘Time enough,’ soothed Louisa, which made the Princess laugh.

‘I expect the people will cheer me when I go into my box. I shall let them see how pleased I am that they like me. I think one of Papa’s faults is the haughty way he behaves in public. Of course he looks magnificent. But that is why everyone would recognize him as the Prince Regent so he has no need to keep reminding them by his manner that he is. He will be a little hurt I think if they cheer me more than they cheer him, but he won’t be there. I wish he would be. Do you know, Louisa,’ she added wistfully, ‘no event seems quite the same without him.’

She thought how pleasant it would be if they were all in their box together: He magnificent in one of his more colourful uniforms, Mamma looking elegant like Lady Hertford for instance or Maria Fitzherbert; and herself between them – the beloved daughter. It was an old dream and a foolish one because all dreams were foolish if there wasn’t a hope of their coming true.

The Duchess was scarcely elegant. She was happier at Oatlands with all the animals than chaperoning her niece to the Opera.

‘Dearest Aunt, and how are the darling dogs and are they not going to miss you?’ she demanded.

The Duchess settled down happily to give her an account of the illnesses and cleverness of her pets and Charlotte listened with interest so that the Duchess was pleased and suggested that as soon as it could be arranged she must come to Oatlands for a rest. That was satisfactory because anything was preferable to the boredom of Windsor or the monotony of Warwick House.

Lady de Clifford was flustered and nervous as usual. She really was becoming more and more stupid, thought Charlotte. She was ready to accompany them to the opera with Colonel Bloomfield who as a clever ‘cellist was particularly interested in music.

It was exciting to be going out into the world and Charlotte chattered lightheartedly to the Duchess as they rode through the streets and was delighted when she was recognized.

‘It’s Charlotte!’ cried the people, and there was a special cheer for her after Lord Byron’s poem. She was good Princess Charlotte as opposed to the wicked Regent. Sometimes she was pleased about that, sometimes sorry; it was all part of her mixed feelings for her father. She could not really decide how she felt about him when sometimes she was saddened by his unpopularity, at others elated by it.

At the opera house she was received with ceremony and conducted to her box.

How they cheered as she stepped into it. She came to the front, bowing and smiling and waving in an exuberant if not exactly a regal manner. The people did not mind. She was young and fresh and so obviously pleased to be among them.

‘God bless the Princess Charlotte!’ they called. And there were cries of ‘Down with the Prince Regent!’

Lady de Clifford was in a fever of anxiety, but the Duchess was as calm as ever; and Colonel Bloomfield decided that it was his duty to report to the Regent how she had been applauded, for fear he should hear through some other source.

During the intervals people looked up at her box and she could not resist waving to them. There was excitement throughout the opera house, and it was clear that the audience was delighted to have the Princess among them and to see her in a new light – no longer a girl but a young woman destined to be their queen.

When she left they crowded round her carriage cheering her; she waved and smiled and even threw kisses.

‘Princess Charlotte!’ murmured Lady de Clifford in embarrassment, and was certain that Colonel Bloomfield would report to the Prince that she had no control over her charge.

She was right. He did.

Thus the Prince learned that Lady de Clifford was nervous with the Princess and had no control over her; that she was constantly in the company of that forthright and most forceful young woman Miss Margaret Mercer Elphinstone who was a fervent Whig and determined that Princess Charlotte should be the same.

As a result the Regent paid an unexpected call at Warwick House.

There was a flutter of excitement throughout the Princess’s establishment. Lady de Clifford was visibly trembling; she ran into the room where Louisa and Mrs Gagarin were mending one of the Princess’s gowns and asked if they had any idea why His Royal Highness should have called.

They were astonished. Surely Lady de Clifford should have more idea than they. But had the Princess any notion that her father was coming? None that she had imparted to them, said Louisa.

She ran out distractedly.

‘Dear me,’ said Louisa, ‘I do fear the task really is becoming too much for her ladyship.’

‘Charlotte has no respect for her,’ said Mrs Gagarin sadly. ‘It is time she went.’

‘But for whom would Charlotte have respect? I am not sure that Miss Elphinstone is good for her.’

‘You’re jealous, Louisa,’ said Mrs Gagarin. ‘Perhaps we both are. She’s like our very own child, I suppose … and we don’t like to see others taking too much of her attention. I hope and pray I live to see her happily married.’

‘Don’t talk like that,’ said Louisa sharply. She could not imagine the apartments without Mrs Gagarin and she was angry with her when she talked as though her end was not far off. Louisa could not bear the thought of change. She wanted to go on with Charlotte their own dear tomboy for ever.

Meanwhile the Prince had summoned his daughter to his presence.

He looked at her coldly.

‘I have come to tell you,’ he said, ‘that you are to leave for Windsor without delay.’

‘W … Windsor,’ she stammered, and he frowned. After all the teachers she had had she had never completely mastered that unbecoming hesitation in her speech. It was most trying.

‘I said Windsor,’ he repeated, enunciating very clearly.

‘I hate W … Windsor.’ There! She had been so determined not to stutter. That was why she had repeated the name of the hateful place; and she had done it again.

‘Nonsense,’ said the Prince. ‘How can you hate Windsor?’ And as he spoke he knew perfectly well why she hated Windsor. He had always hated it himself.

‘It’s cold and draughty and … dull, and the old …’ She stopped in time. ‘I want to stay here,’ she added boldly.

‘That is unfortunate,’ he retorted coldly, ‘since you are going to Windsor. Pray, let us have no more childish scenes. You will leave tomorrow. And there is one friendship you have made which shall be discontinued. I refer to this unseemly familiarity with Miss Elphinstone.’

‘M … Mercer,’ she cried.

‘I said Miss Elphinstone. I wish all contact with her to cease.’

‘That’s not p … possible.’

‘Charlotte, pray don’t be absurd. I shall expect you to see no more of this young person until I give you permission to do so.’

‘B … but she is my greatest friend.’

‘You are too old for foolishness now. You have been making yourself familiar with the people. That means that your actions are under supervision. There is no place in them for sentimental friendships.’

‘Friendship is a very good thing. So I have been taught.’

‘I believe this woman would seek to direct you. That is something I cannot have – nor should you. You will see no more of her. Do you understand what I say?’

She hesitated; her lower lip jutting out defiantly. Then she said: ‘Yes, Papa.’

‘Very well. I am most displeased with your conduct. That tearful scene of which so much has been made quite disgusted me. Pray try to be a little more responsible. Remember that you happen to be my daughter. Now you may go. Tomorrow you shall leave for Windsor and you understand me when I say that you shall make no further contact with Miss Elphinstone until I give my permission for you to do so.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ she said meekly.

Of course, she said to herself, I understood what he said. Does he think I am a fool who can’t understand English? I understood but I didn’t promise. And in any case if I implied I promised, promises given in such circumstances are not binding.

To prove to herself that she was not going to be dictated to by him she took out a piece of paper and picked up a pen to write to her dearest Mercer to tell her that she was to leave for Windsor the next day and that the ‘P.R.’ had instructed her to cut off all communication with her dearest Mercer.

‘He thought I promised but I did not. And I should never promise such a thing, my best of friends. I would die rather than give you up, as you well know.’

Mercer’s response was to send her a bracelet which was engraved with their names.

Charlotte wept over it when she received it and declared that it would always be a great joy to her. She needed some solace because by that time she was at Windsor, and what was there to do at Windsor but attend dreary Drawing Rooms presided over by the Queen who was becoming more and more stern with her granddaughter and was even more critical than the Prince Regent; and when she rode out it was usually with one of the Old Girls.

What a life! Her visits to her mother were less frequent and the Princess of Wales was growing restive. She was hinting that she would not much longer endure the situation and was giving out dark hints as to what she would do.

Then Mrs Udney brought her a note which had come through the Princess Caroline. It was from Captain Hesse who was coming to Windsor when he hoped he would have the pleasure of seeing the Princess Charlotte. Charlotte was delighted and after that she often contrived to give the grooms the slip and meet Captain Hesse in the forest.

One must make the most of dull old Windsor. What was there to do but ride and practise dancing and write to Mercer telling her how she longed for her company? George Fitzclarence had arrived and what fun it was to divide her smiles between the two young men.

The aunts were shocked.

‘I do declare, Charlotte,’ said Aunt Mary, who had once been the prettiest of the Old Girls and still was, though faded, ‘that you are a regular flirt.’

Poor Aunt Mary who hoped to marry her cousin the Duke of Gloucester. Charlotte wondered why they didn’t because surely the Prince Regent would put no obstacles in their way. It was only poor mad Grandpapa who had done that – and of course the Begum. That wicked old woman did not wish her daughters to marry because she did not want them to have any independence and wanted to keep them dancing attendance on her. But if Mary and Gloucester were ever going to marry they should do so now before it was too late. Perhaps the Regent would give his consent if they asked it, but it might be that having waited so long they had lost the urge to marry.

Poor old things! thought Charlotte. When one was approaching the charming age of seventeen one could be sorry for these old people – particularly such as Aunt Mary who had never lived any life but one in subservience to the old Begum. So what did she know of flirts? Though, considered Charlotte, I believe I am inclined to be one. She would write and tell Mercer. Dear Mercer, who meant more to her than anyone.

During that stay at Windsor when she was not reading Mercer’s letters smuggled in to her very often by the services of Mrs Udney, or writing her own to be smuggled out by the same ready hand, when she was not writing to Captain Hesse – and how much more familiar she could be on paper than in conversation when they were so spied upon (and in any case she had inherited her father’s gift for letter-writing and his indiscretion in the art, because after all it was indiscretion which made a correspondence exciting) – she became aware of a certain tension in the atmosphere. Poor old Lady de Clifford seemed to have become more scatter-brained than ever; Mrs Gagarin was remote and Charlotte feared she was sometimes in pain, a fact which disturbed her greatly; Louisa was worried about Mrs Gagarin; and there was something secretive about the aunts. As for the Queen, she was more tight-lipped than ever, more disapproving, and attendances on her were becoming intolerable.

Something was about to happen, thought Charlotte.

One day when she came in from riding in the forest Mrs Udney said: ‘Talk about scenes. We’ve had some excitement while you’ve been out. Who do you think called? None other than the Princess of Wales. And what do you think? Her Majesty refused to receive her. Of course it’s not the first time. The Princess was furious, shook her fist at our stone walls as she got back into her carriage and talked a lot of German, but I did understand her to say that she was not going to allow things to remain as they were. She was going to see her daughter when she wished. She was not going to be kept away and she had friends to help her.’

‘I should like to have seen her.’

‘Trouble’s brewing,’ said Mrs Udney and the sparkle in her eye proved that she was one who felt that to be rather a desirable state of affairs.

One could not keep the girl at Windsor indefinitely, ruminated the Regent. However troublesome, she had to be brought back. She would be seventeen at the beginning of the new year and that was but a year from her coming of age.

It had been more comfortable when she was a child.

His advisers had said that she must be seen now and then; she must begin to take a part in public affairs. ‘So, we shall have to bring her back to be a plague and torment, I suppose,’ he had remarked to his Lord Chancellor, Lord Eldon. ‘We must bring her back and put her on show.’

Lord Eldon, who was well aware that the Princess would soon have powerful advisers in parliamentary circles and that they would be opponents of his, reluctantly agreed.

‘My sisters can be her chaperons,’ said the Prince. ‘I think they will be pleased to come out a little themselves, poor souls. They lead very dull lives.’

So it was agreed that Augusta, Elizabeth and Mary should, with the Princess Charlotte, attend the opening of Parliament.

The Regent was not looking forward to the occasion as his valet prepared him for it. It was tiresome because this was an occasion which he should have enjoyed. Position and power still excited him. He could have been content to be the centre of some splendid scene, magnificently apparelled – the benign and charming Regent – King in all but name. This is how he had pictured it in the days of his youth when he had assuredly not thought of a Regency but of reigning in his own right. After all he had been reared for that purpose. He had always known from those early days when he strutted about the nursery that he was to be a king one day. He had not foreseen the tragic illness of his father. Poor old man, living out his clouded existence in the hands of keepers … for that was what it amounted to, almost totally blind now and struggling to grope a way out of his madness. What a fate to overtake a man – and a king at that!

The Regent was sorry the relationship had not been more amicable between them; but he had made occasional attempts and the old man had always been a sore trial. Moreover, parents and their children were rarely good friends in this family – in fact often open enemies. And this brought him back to his own tiresome Charlotte. Why could not the girl behave with decorum? Why did she have to be such a bouncing indiscreet hoyden? The answer was simple. Because she was That Woman’s daughter and although she might have inherited some admirable qualities from the paternal side of the family no one could deny the fact that she was her mother’s child.

Charlotte must be kept in her place which she must understand that for another year or so was not an important one. Until she was of age she must be treated as a minor; and she must not forget – for God knows he never did – that the muchlonged-for divorce was not an impossibility and that if by some heaven-sent opportunity he was able to achieve it, he would marry with all speed, get a son and then young Charlotte would be of no more importance than one of his sisters whom she seemed to despise.

But Charlotte had more spirit than his sisters. She was, after all, his daughter. And they had been brought up without hopes whereas it seemed very likely to everyone that Charlotte would one day be a queen.

Trying creature! Oh, what an unhappy day when he had married her mother! It all came back to that odious, revolting, vulgar, ill-smelling creature who was known as the Princess of Wales.

Well, now to the opening of Parliament and very splendid he looked in the uniform of a Field Marshal. He himself had designed the cocked hat and had he still been on terms of friendship with Brummell he would have challenged him to produce a better.

Surely they must applaud such a figure. He was aware of the interest and admiration in everyone’s eyes. Whatever they said of him they must admit that he graced an occasion. He might be a little portly but a lean man would not have been so impressive.

The horses were restive but how beautiful – all matching in colour. A few people had gathered to see him get into his coach but they stood in silence, which was of course preferable to vulgar insults – but he would have preferred a little enthusiasm.

The coachman whipped up those beautiful light-coloured horses and as they started off he was remembering the old days when he was young and how the people had stopped his carriage to cheer him.

He wondered whether Maria would see him today and if so what she would think. Happy days when he had called on her and it had been like coming home. Home was something he had missed in life. Carlton House and the Pavilion might be the most splendid residences in the country but they were scarcely homes. If only Maria … but that was an old story. Maria had failed him. He had almost lost the crown for her sake and she had left him all because of his friendship with Isabella – that pure friendship which was one of the mind. And she had taken Minney with her – Minney, his gift to her. And Minney had loved her Prinney.

There were tears in his eyes and he hated the woman who, he assured himself, had ruined his life because he blamed Caroline for everything, even Maria’s desertion. He was ashamed of the German princess to whom they had married him. That he, the most fastidious and elegant of princes, should have been given that drab was cruelly incongruous. And the fact was that whenever he saw Charlotte he was reminded of her. She might have his looks but she never failed to recall her mother to his mind.

Suddenly he was thrown forward. The coachman, still clutching the reins, had been thrown to the ground and the coach swayed dangerously for some seconds before righting itself.

The crowds were beginning to gather. The Prince, realizing that he was unhurt, looked through the window and called to those who were helping the coachman to his feet: ‘Is he hurt?’

‘No, Your Highness,’ the coachman answered for himself. ‘It was the post, Sir. We struck it and it all but overturned us.’ He was still clutching the reins which had no doubt prevented the horses from bolting.

The unsavoury crowd, the curious eyes, he hated it all. So different from the old days. He wanted to give immediate orders to drive on but that consideration for his servants for which he was noted and which endeared them to him no matter how unpopular he might be outside his own household, was second nature to him.

‘Are you fit to go on or would you like another driver to take over?’

The coachman’s eyes were a little reproachful. ‘I’m all right, Your Highness. It wasn’t what you’d call a spill. Just that old post, Sir.’

‘Then let us go.’

So the coachman got on to the box and they were off; the entire incident had only taken up five minutes.

Still, it had shaken him a little, not the accident of course but the sullen looks of the people. They no longer liked him. They would be glad when it was Charlotte’s turn. How had the change come about and what was the precise reason? Why were monarchs so popular in their youth and why did that popularity almost inevitably wane as they grew older?

Walking between the peers, the crown carried before him on its cushion, he felt better; he would deliver his speech effortlessly and in his beautifully modulated voice. His manner would remind them that they could always rely on him to grace an occasion.

Charlotte watched him with those feelings to which she was now accustomed. She hoped that when the time came for her to perform a similar duty she would do so with the same elegant panache. She was proud to be his daughter and at the same time she had to fight those waves of resentment. She was fiercely proud of him and yet ashamed; she loved him and she hated him.

If he would only show that he cared a little for her, it might be so different; but often it seemed that he enjoyed humiliating her. Even on this occasion he had commanded that on their way from the Speaker’s House she must walk behind the Old Girls. She, the heir-presumptive to the throne, to walk behind old women who were not and never could be of any significance. It was done surely to humiliate her, to remind her that as yet he considered her of no importance.

Very well, she would show him that she was the one the people liked. She would do everything she possibly could to win their cheers when they rode back to Carlton House.

She could have wept when she heard him reading the speech. It was so beautiful. Surely they must admire him. But then of course he had behaved so badly to poor Mamma and the cartoons were becoming more and more scurrilous although, having promised Mercer, she did not look at them … well, only a quick glance when Mrs Udney brought them in or her mother sent them, not what one could call a real look.

It was fun riding through the streets. What a lot of people there were about!

‘God bless the good Princess Charlotte.’

Good? Well, perhaps that was a bit too much. But it was pleasant, particularly as, when the Regent’s magnificent carriage drove by, they were silent. She had heard that when he left his coach outside the Hertfords’ house it had been pelted with mud and rotten eggs. Who was he to tell her how to live when he lived so scandalously himself? All the same he was the most exciting man in the world and if only he would let her into his confidence just a little, if only he would let her see that he was a loving father …

But how her thoughts ran on!

‘God bless Charlotte. Our queen to be. And may it not be long.’

How shocking, and yet in a way pleasant because it would show him that if he did not appreciate his daughter they did.

Here they were at Carlton House, through the vestibule, to marvel at what Horace Walpole had called ‘its august simplicity’ and into the music room with the lovely view of the garden’s winding paths.

The Prince Regent was in a rage. First the accident had upset him and then his reception by the crowds. He had been fully aware of the disloyal looks directed at him and the cheers whch had come his daughter’s way.

He took off that wonderful cocked hat and threw it on to a chair. The poor Old Girls looked terrified. Charlotte was expectant.

‘That farce is over, thank God. I should be glad to retire to the country and have done with these boring ceremonies. I am plagued on all sides.’ He looked at Charlotte and the tears came into his eyes. She had a mad impulse to throw herself into his arms and cry: ‘Papa, don’t let us be a plague to each other. Let us love each other. It is what I’ve always wanted.’ But how could she do such a thing? He would think she had inherited poor Grandpapa’s madness and despise her more than ever. He strode past her. ‘And you …’ he turned back to glare at Charlotte, ‘aggravate me. I know of course who encourages you in this. Do not think I do not understand. Of course I know. It is that woman … your mother. Ever since I married her there has been trouble. It was the greatest mistake of my life. That woman … that loathsome woman …’

Poor Aunt Mary shivered and Aunt Augusta uttered a little cry of protest but he dismissed them with a look. He was weary of pretence. He was going to let this wayward daughter of his know what a mother she had, that the source of all his troubles came from her.

He seemed to lose all control. ‘She is vulgar; she is immoral. Let us not pretend. We know the kind of life she leads. We know she keeps that gross creature with her … and why. She says he is the son of some low woman … but that is not so. He is her son and the father is Smith, Manby, Lawrence … what does it matter which?’

Charlotte said in a high excited voice: ‘It was proved this was not so.’

He turned on her in anger. ‘Indeed it was not. It was simply not proved that it was so … which is a very different matter. By God, one day I’ll have the proof I need and when I have it I’ll be rid of her.’

Charlotte felt that irresistible urge to protect her mother. It was always so. When in the presence of one she always felt she owed her allegiance to the other. ‘She is my mother …’ she began.

But he would not let her speak. He cried: ‘You shall see all the papers. You will have no doubt then. Have you ever heard of the Delicate Investigation?’

‘Y … yes, I’ve heard of it.’

‘And very indelicate were the facts revealed. If you feel you must speak for her there is only one thing to be done. You must read the papers. And you shall. You shall know what sort of woman you have for a mother. No doubt we know only half the truth but what we do know is reason for divorce and if it were not for my accursed enemies …’

Tears of self-pity filled his eyes; the Old Girls stood by shocked, unable to speak. In front of Charlotte! Mary was thinking; but Charlotte herself put an end to the scene. All ceremony forgotten, she ran from the room. She imperiously summoned Lady de Clifford and demanded that she be taken to Warwick House without delay.

She heard the Prince’s ejaculation as she ran: ‘By God, she grows more like her mother every day.’

Back at Warwick House she started to shiver. Lady de Clifford was flustered. She must be put to bed. The doctors must be sent for. What was this mysterious ‘attack’?

Charlotte lay thinking of them both – hating each other, producing her. They had hated each other even then. She had been born simply because there was a need – in his opinion a revolting need – to produce an heir.

And I am that, she thought.

And then: I hate him. He is cruel. I must help her because he is going to try and rid himself of her.

She believed in that moment that it was to her mother that she owed her allegiance; and today it had become clear to her that she could not be the friend of both of them.

In Carlton House the Prince had grown a little calmer.

He said: ‘Charlotte’s manners are disgraceful. What is Lady de Clifford thinking of? She is no use at all. As for Charlotte, she is no longer so young. It is time I found a husband for her.’

The Prince paced up and down his bedroom in Carlton House. There was no doubt that he would be happier in his mind if Charlotte were married. That would be one burden less. Let a husband be responsible for the girl. And if it were a husband who could take her out of England, so much the better. He’d have his brothers’ support for such a plan. They often hinted that it was a sorry state of affairs when England’s heir was a girl and the daughter of such a mother. If he could rid himself of her and marry and produce a son what a happy solution that would be! But his brothers would doubtless like to see him tied to that woman and Charlotte out of the way and one of them take the crown. Fred had no children and never would have. And the others – there was not one of them who was respectably married. They had never attempted to make suitable marriages; that burden had fallen on him. Suitable! My God! he thought.

But he had been over that many times.

The outlook was a little brighter than usual. Napoleon was bitterly engaged in his campaign against Russia and from the accounts that were coming in all was not going well for him. Wellington was scoring successes in Spain. If things were as bad as rumour declared this could well be the beginning of the end for Napoleon. The Regent regretted as he had so many times that he was not able to prove himself a military hero. Reflected glory was the next best thing and he was proud of Wellington, as he had been of Nelson.

Now what he must do was to find a husband for Charlotte and he believed he knew the ideal suitor. He had hinted to the Dutch Stadholder William VI that a match between the Stadholder’s son William, Hereditary Prince of Orange, and his own daughter Charlotte might be desirable.

The Dutch were all in favour and a Protestant match would be bound to have the approval of the English. Young William had distinguished himself on the field, had been educated at Oxford – for the possibility of such a match was not a new one – and he was in all ways ideally suited.

Not least of his attractions in the mind of the Regent was the fact that if she married him Charlotte would be expected to reside in Holland.

And that, thought the Regent, would be one of them out of the way. Caroline might even wish to live in Holland to be near her daughter; and if she were away from England, heaven alone knew what indiscretions she might be capable of.

It was an excellent scheme; and the brothers would be in favour for they would feel that once the Princess was settled out of the country it might follow that the crown would pass to the King’s other sons should by some unfortunate accident the Regent be no more.

The Regent did not see why some proposals should not be put to the Stadholder.

The Queen was not insensible to the fact of Charlotte’s growing maturity.

‘There are faults in her household,’ she said to her daughter Mary. ‘That woman de Clifford seems to me a poor helpless creature.’

‘There is no doubt of it, Mamma,’ replied Mary. ‘She hates Windsor and is always complaining of the cold. She says that her rheumatism grows worse every time she is there.’

‘I am sure,’ said the Queen, ‘that she is responsible for Charlotte’s dislike of the place. She has taught her to dislike it. Most reprehensible.’

‘Indeed, yes, Mamma. I have even heard rumours that she is so lax as to allow Charlotte all kinds of undesirable liberties.’

‘And with such a mother one must be very careful of the girl. What undesirable liberties, pray?’

‘Well, Mamma, I hesitate to mention it, but Charlotte is inclined to flirt.’

The Queen looked intensely shocked.

‘Yes, Mamma. I have even seen her myself. With people like George Fitzclarence and young Captain Hesse.’

‘Both the results of indiscretions themselves! Oh dear, I cannot understand why your brothers behave as they do.’

‘And with William …’ Mary flushed a little. ‘With the Duke of Gloucester.’

‘Oh!’ The Queen spoke sharply. She knew of Mary’s penchant for her cousin. There was some suggestion that they wanted to marry. Ridiculous! thought the Queen. As for Mary she was decidedly piqued. Charlotte was a flirt and she behaved towards many in a manner which Mary could only call arch. Her uncles for instance – so perhaps that was why she behaved in that manner to William. But it had wounded her because of that very special understanding and the fact that they hoped to be allowed to marry one day. And to see that young girl – scarcely out of the nursery – attempting to flirt with William, was well … it had shaken her; and for that reason, perhaps, she was now speaking of her in this way to the Queen.

‘Charlotte has inherited so much from That Woman,’ said the Queen, and her mouth shut like a trap. After a second she opened it and continued: ‘It cannot be allowed to go on. Something will have to be done. I shall speak to George. As her father he will have to order some changes in her household I think. And what about that particular friendship of Charlotte’s? I did not care for that in the least.’

‘I understand it still goes on, Mamma, although Charlotte has had her warning and promised, so I believe, not to communicate with the woman. But she receives letters and presents from her and they write regularly.’

‘It is a most disturbing state of affairs and it must be stopped. I consider Lady de Clifford largely to blame. The woman is useless. It would be much better for everyone concerned – and not least my granddaughter – if I chose a new household for her.’

‘I am sure that is so, Mamma.’

The Queen looked surprised that there should be any question of it.

‘My snuffbox, Mary,’ she said. ‘Oh dear, how trying family affairs can be.’

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Lady de Clifford to her daughter Lady Albemarle, ‘something is wrong … very, very wrong, I fear. The Queen was very cool to me and the Prince Regent looked at me as if I simply did not exist. There is trouble brewing.’

‘You should resign, Mamma. If you don’t you will go mad.’

‘My dear, I cannot tell you what I suffer. Charlotte is becoming more and more difficult. It is not that she means to. Her nature has always been a sweet one – but she terrifies me. I can never be sure what she is going to do next. And do you know she has been sending notes to that Captain Hesse … and receiving them from him. And although the Prince has strictly forbidden her to have any communication with Mercer Elphinstone, she writes to her regularly.’

‘Mamma, you should not allow it.’

Lady de Clifford raised her hands to the ceiling. ‘But how can I stop Charlotte doing what she intends to? Surely you know that’s impossible. Of course if she has really been sending notes to that man … and if the Prince should hear of it …’ Lady de Clifford put a trembling hand to her lips. ‘Do you suppose he has heard of it?’

‘It is possible, Mamma. After all you are sure to be surrounded by spies.’

‘If I thought he knew … It will be the end. He will never trust me again. How could she? And to promise him that she would not communicate with Mercer and then to do so … but worst of all is sending notes to that man. Oh dear, I cannot tell you … My dear, you have no idea. And her petticoats are far too short. She is constantly showing her drawers.’

Lady Albemarle said soothingly: ‘Mamma, I know what I should do if I were you.’

‘What is that?’

‘Resign before you get your marching orders.’

Lady de Clifford clasped her hands together and raised her eyes to the ceiling; her turban had slipped slightly to one side of her head; she said in a trembling voice: ‘Oh, the peace of being free! And yet … and yet. I have been with her so long. She is like my own child … and in spite of everything she is so lovable.’

‘Mamma,’ went on Lady Albemarle sternly, ‘offer your resignation … now. Don’t wait.’

Lady de Clifford watched Charlotte tenderly. How would she feel when the Princess was no longer in her charge? What an emptiness there would be! Dear, dear Charlotte, so wayward and yet so lovable!

‘My dear Princess Charlotte,’ she began timidly, ‘I hope and trust that you have not been seeing too much of Captain Hesse.’

‘It is always good to hope, they say,’ retorted Charlotte, ‘and greatly comforting to trust.’

Oh dear, she was in one of her perverse moods, thought Lady de Clifford, but went on: ‘Because it is not seemly that a princess in your position should be talked about.’

‘Who is talking about me?’

‘There are always those to talk about a princess.’

‘But who, who, who? You implied that someone was talking about me. I want to know who it is.’

‘I meant that people will talk.’

‘You hinted that they were talking. So it is merely guesswork on your part. Pray remember that I do not wish to be told what I must and must not do.’

‘As your governess …’

‘Governess,’ cried the Princess, ‘I am too old for governesses. Whoever heard of a g … girl … a woman of seventeen … or nearly … with a governess!’

‘It is not unusual. People in your position …’

‘I am thinking of myself, my lady, and I say that I am too old to be told do this and do that by some g … governess.’

‘You mean that you no longer desire me to remain in your service?’

‘I mean that I am too old to have a governess.’

‘So you want me to go?’

‘I did not say that. I said I am too old for governesses, and moreover, I will not have one.’

‘But Your Highness can only be referring to me. I am afraid you no longer have any confidence in me. I am afraid that you …’

There was a high colour in the Princess’s cheeks.

‘Lady de Clifford,’ she said haughtily, ‘you are too much afraid.’

And with that she walked out of the room.

It is the end, thought Lady de Clifford. I have no alternative now but to resign.

When Charlotte paid her weekly visit to her mother at the latter’s newly acquired residence Connaught House, which was not far from Kensington Palace, Caroline was eager to know what was going on at Warwick House. She had heard rumours, she said, and they concerned Madam de Clifford.

‘Oh, yes,’ declared Charlotte, ‘she is acting very strangely. She is more absentminded than ever and almost put snuff into the teapot.’

This made Caroline shriek with laughter and as usual Charlotte joined in. Her mother made her feel witty and clever which was exactly the opposite effect her father had on her. It was certainly rather pleasant.

‘She goes about muttering to herself and shaking her head. Do you know, Mamma, I think she is going to resign. She has hinted it. Perhaps she has already spoken to my father … or to the Queen or the Old Girls.’

‘And de old Begum I don’t doubt is looking round for someone to take her place.’

‘I think I am old enough to have done with governesses,’ said Charlotte. ‘In fact I told Lady de Clifford so. She seemed to take it as a slight on her but it wasn’t. It isn’t just one governess I don’t want – it’s any governess.’

‘And quite right too, my angel. You’re no longer a baby. Though they would like to keep you one for ever, I don’t doubt. They’ll keep you in the nursery for as long as they can. And why? Because the people like you too much, that’s why. It was the same with me. When I first came here the people used to cheer me. They were silent when he rode by, but you should have heard the cheers for me, and they hate him more every day. You should see the latest crop of papers. I’ve saved them for you …’

‘I don’t think I’ll look at them … now, Mamma.’ Mercer’s stern face rose before her. Just a quick look perhaps, she pleaded with that reproachful image. After all as the future Queen of England I should know what’s going on. But most important was to stand firm and refuse to have another governess. There was no point in de Clifford’s going if she was to be replaced. She might have someone worse. At least she could keep her ladyship in order. She said quickly: ‘I’m afraid they are already choosing Lady de Clifford’s successor.’

‘My darling, you must stand firm. You must say No, no, no! No more governesses. You must say: I’m seventeen years old. Why, most girls are married at that age. Governesses! Poof! You should be enjoying life not listening to governesses.’

‘I know, Mamma, but when they get on to me … it’s not always easy.’

Caroline’s eyes narrowed and she burst into sudden wild laughter.

‘Well, my pet, so I thought, so I have asked two very clever gentlemen to call on me today. They will come … by accident of course … at the precise time that you are visiting me. And no one is responsible for that if it is an accident. And poor old de Clifford dozing away in her armchair is not going to know that you have seen them until the interview is over.’

‘What gentlemen are these, Mamma?’ asked Charlotte thinking of that occasion when her mother had shut her into the bedroom with Captain Hesse and all the occasions when he had called ‘by accident’ during her visits.

Caroline lifted her finger archly. ‘Oh, very serious gentlemen. You will see.’ She ran to the window and looked out. ‘We shall hear their carriages at any moment. They are my friends, my love; and I tell them that no one is my friend unless they are my daughter’s friends as well.’

‘Mamma, please tell me who these gentlemen are so that I shall know something of them before they arrive.’

Caroline drew her daughter’s arm through hers arid they sat down on a couch together.

‘First there is old Brougham,’ she said. ‘A politician and a lawyer. He is going to fight for me. He is going to see that I get my rights and he is a very clever man. He’s reckoned to be the best barrister of the day. He’s defending Leigh Hunt and I hope he gets him off. I hope it indeed. Have you seen what he said about your dear Papa?’

‘N … no,’ said Charlotte.

‘Ah, you must read it. I have it here. I’d like to frame it. The Morning Post printed a poem about your respected Papa calling him an Adonis and glory of his people and goodness knows what. Then Leigh Hunt writes this … Here. I’ll read it for you. “This Adonis in loveliness is a corpulent man of fifty.” I’ll swear he liked that. If ever you want to annoy your father call him fat. He hates the word. He thinks if no one uses it it just is not. So he’ll love this. Corpulent man of fifty. And him behaving like a young man of twenty-one! “This delightful, blissful, wise, honourable, virtuous, true and immortal Prince is a violator of his word, a libertine over head and ears in disgrace, despiser of domestic ties, the companion of gamblers and demireps, a man who has just closed half a century without one single claim on the gratitude of his country or the respect of posterity.” There’s your Papa for you.’

‘They actually wrote that about the P … Prince Regent!’

‘They did, my pet, and are being prosecuted for libel and my Brougham is going to get them off.’

‘Papa will never permit it.’

‘There is one thing that is of more importance than he is, my pet, and that is the law. Mr Brougham knows a great deal about the law – far more than Adonis does. And then there is my dear Sam Whitbread. He’s a Member of Parliament and a very clever gentleman and he is my friend. He has sworn to stand by me and to help me to my rights. So you see, my sweet child, we are not alone, you and I. Nobody is going to trample on us. We have protectors. Listen! Do I hear carriage wheels?’

Charlotte said that she did. And in a very short time Mr Brougham was ushered into the room to be followed a little later by Samuel Whitbread; and after treating her with the utmost respect as though she were not only a princess but an adult, they began to talk of her rights and the need for her to have an establishment of her own.

There was nothing she wanted so much. She wanted freedom from restraint; but she felt very uneasy when she wondered what her father would say if he could see her here with these people who had openly declared themselves to be his enemies.