The Regent's Daughter

Charlotte’s household

AT LOWER LODGE, Windsor there was less freedom than in Carlton House where one could pay visits to South Audley Street, Mrs Fitzherbert’s house in Tilney Street and Montague House at Blackheath. The last, though, had been out of bounds for some time and that was due to the mystery which Charlotte was determined to solve. There was some reason why they would not allow her to visit her mother.

They had never liked her going; she knew that. Grandmamma would have stopped it if she dared but Grandpapa, dear old Grandpapa, who mumbled and sometimes talked so fast that he was impossible to follow, and could behave in such a strange manner, had put his foot down and said she and her mother were not to be separated. And Grandpapa was after all the King. But now even he must be agreeing that she should be kept from her mother.

Why?

Here at Windsor she was in the heart of the family and had to remember constantly that she was the Princess Charlotte, one day destined to be the Queen. She had to learn how to be an example to her subjects.

‘Are kings and queens examples then?’ she asked the Bishop, Dr Fisher, who was in charge of her education. Secretly she called him Bish-Up – with the accent on the last syllable; and she could not enjoy his company for he preached continuously and he was never satisfied with her progress and, as she told Mrs Campbell, her favourite of the ladies who worked under the directorship of Lady de Clifford, one would think he were training her to be the abbess of a convent rather than a queen of England.

‘My dear Princess Charlotte,’ he had intoned in what she called his very reverend voice, ‘it is indeed the duty of all rulers to be a shining example to their subjects.’

‘It is to be hoped that they were not always so, for some were very wicked.’ She laughed mischievously, there was nothing she liked so much as an argument with some of her pompous mentors and if she could prove them wrong – which was often the case – she would chuckle over her triumph for days. ‘There was George I who imprisoned his wife for thirty years for doing once that which was a habit with him …’

Oh, delightful! The poor man was surely about to blush. She hurried on: ‘And George II who was ruled by his wife and didn’t know it. And …’ Well, she must not mention poor Grandpapa who behaved so oddly and kind as he was, such strange behaviour could scarcely be used as an example.

‘We have had great monarchs,’ he reminded her, ‘and you would do well to consider them.’

‘There was Queen Elizabeth. Oh, I think of her often. I read of her. But you must admit, dear Bish-Up, that she could be a little wicked sometimes. Perhaps it is necessary to be a little wicked sometimes. I do hope so. Being good all the time is a little dull. Although it is nice to come back and be good after one has been a little wicked.’

The Bishop frowned and turned her attention to theology.

I disconcert them, thought Charlotte. They do wonder what sort of woman I shall be when I grow up. I suspect that they would like to punish me very severely, but they do remember that I will one day be the Queen.

The fact was that one did not really want to mould oneself on anyone. One should be oneself. But what am I? wondered Charlotte, apart from a Royal Highness one day to be a Majesty? It is hard to separate oneself from that.

She really preferred Dr Nott to Dr Fisher because he was more humble, less sure of himself, and he really cared that she should improve; and he it was who had pointed out to her that she had a tendency to disguise the truth. It was difficult, of course, because when she was with her mother she had to pretend not to care for her father; she had to listen to disparaging remarks about him and pretend to be amused by them; and when she was with her father she must never betray the fact that she had seen her mother; and this tended to embarrass her, for she was so anxious not to refer to her mother that she sometimes found herself led into the indiscretion of doing so. Then she would try to extricate herself by telling some barefaced lie such as: ‘But I have not seen the Princess of Wales for weeks’ – when she had seen her but a few days before. Dr Nott took her to task for this habit; she must overcome it; to lie was a sin.

‘Yes, yes, dear Notty,’ she would cry, ‘but the Prince does not want to hear that I have seen my mother. I was thinking of his comfort, and should one not think of the comfort of one’s parents? One must honour one’s father and mother, but you must admit, Notty, that when they don’t honour each other that puts their offspring in a delicate situation.’

He was not going to be involved, dear Notty, who was far too meek to teach the Princess Charlotte; and because she was fond of him even though she liked to disconcert him now – she was always quick to come to his rescue and would add: ‘But I will try to be truthful. I do realize that one should be.’

Oh dear, she thought, how shut in I am at Windsor. And what is happening at Montague House?

She smiled, thinking of it – her mother’s home. The Princess of Wales embracing her when she arrived. ‘My angel, my pet, let me look at you. Why, you are lovely … lovely … though the image of your father! Ha, ha, he could not disown you if he tried. And he’d like to … just to put me out. But he can’t, not with those eyes of yours. You’re one of them, my precious darling.’

Hot, rather suffocating embraces, not always very fragrant. Mamma did not like bathing and her women found it very difficult to make her change her clothes. ‘Come along in, my sweetest.’ Arms entwined, into the drawing room, which was not really like a royal drawing room.

‘We are having a special entertainment for you, my darling. Oh, not a silly children’s party. You would not like that. And no ceremonies, eh? Enough of them with de old Begum, and de bulls and cows.’ Mamma laughed wildly. ‘Bulls and cows’ was Charlotte’s own name for her numerous uncles and aunts which, in a careless moment, she had whispered to her mother. The Princess of Wales loved laughing at the family into which she had married. And it was not surprising, for they all hated her and had been most unkind to her, with the exception of the King, of course. Dear Grandpapa would never be unkind to anyone. And there was another secret. She had long been aware of how everyone watched him as though expecting him to do something odd. She often wondered what. Perhaps it was to die – but that was not so very odd. Dear Grandpapa, she wanted him to go on living for a long, long time. She would tell him so. Oh no, she would not, because then he wondered whether anyone had discussed his death before her.

How careful one has to be in a family like ours, thought Charlotte.

She was shut in by people who watched her all the time because she was an heir to the throne. The only thing that could prevent her attaining it, as far as she could see, would be the birth of a brother to her parents. And that was most unlikely.

She did love some of these people who surrounded her – Dr Nott, for one. Well, hardly loved, but she was fond of him. Perhaps the two she loved most were her dressers Mrs Gagarin and Miss Louisa Lewis. They were comforting as one imagined mothers might be. They scolded in a tender way which pleased her so much that she often behaved in such a way as to provoke their reproaches.

But she did not talk to them of what happened at her mother’s house. She was aware when they accompanied her there of their silent disapproval. Mamma never gave them a thought. She never altered anything because they were there. At the entertainments she gave she laughed wildly as she ran about playing Blind Man’s Buff, her eyes bandaged, her arms outstretched, and she always caught one of the gentlemen and the forfeit for being caught was a kiss. There was always a great deal of kissing going on at Mamma’s parties and there were always plenty of bluff hearty gentlemen living in the house, it seemed. They were very courteous to Charlotte although they did not kiss her – only when there was a forfeit in the games in which she joined.

Her mother’s house was quite different from anything she had ever known – or was likely to.

There was a sailor whom everyone called Sir Sydney – and wherever he was, there was lots of gaiety; he was constantly chasing and kissing the ladies; but he could tell a good adventure story of how brave he was. Charlotte particularly liked the one in which he defended Saint Jean d’Acre.

Mamma used to listen, her eyes alight with pleasure.

‘One of these days,’ she said, ‘I shall sail round the world. Will you come with me, my precious?’

Charlotte had replied that she would like to but she thought that, since she would one day be Queen of England, her place would be at home.

That made her mother screech with laughter. ‘You see, Sydney, they are making a queen of her already.’

Strange Montague House, where everything was so different from what it was at Windsor or Carlton House. But perhaps it was Mamma who was so strange that she would transform any place where she was and even Kew would become strange if she lived there.

She had not realized how interested she was in the manner in which life was lived at Montague House until she was not able to go there.

It is excuses all the time. Well, I am going to find out, she promised herself.

Who would tell her? Mrs Gagarin and Louisa Lewis she had hoped, but however much she tried to worm it out of them they would not tell her. They had such a stern sense of their own duty.

Her thoughts went to Mrs Udney, who, with Mrs Campbell, was attached to the household as assistant governess. Charlotte was quite fond of Mrs Campbell, though she was rather a colourless woman always talking about her family connection with the de Cliffords – and it was no doubt due to this that she had been given the post. Mrs Udney was of a different nature. There was something about Mrs Udney which Charlotte did not like. She was rather good-looking, with charming manners, so that one took to her at first and then began to wonder. Charlotte had seen her fly into a sudden temper, which was something with which Charlotte could sympathize, but then she did not pretend to be so calm and gentle. She had heard Mrs Udney sniggering with Mrs Campbell, and when she was aware of the Princess’s attention she would smother her sniggers. Charlotte could not help wondering what it was that brought that expression to her face until one day she discovered that it was the affairs of the Princess of Wales.

There were, of course, many rumours; and she did hear of them at her mother’s house where one could read the papers and see the cartoons. But she believed that even her mother might keep some from her; and these would probably be the ones she most wanted to see.

Mrs Udney would be in the Princess’s bedchamber at this time putting her clothes away and setting out what she would wear for her audience with her grandmother and aunts. So to her bedchamber went Charlotte and there as she had expected she found Mrs Udney alone.

‘I thought you’d be here, Mrs Udney,’ said Charlotte, coming straight to the point. She sat down on the bed and bounced up and down on it while Mrs Udney put her head on one side and regarded her with amusement.

‘I want to know why I do not go to Montague House,’ said Charlotte bluntly.

‘Because Your Highness is at Windsor.’

‘As I am not a child, Mrs Udney, I would prefer you did not treat me as such.’

Mrs Udney inclined her head by way of apology. Oh yes, thought Charlotte, there is something about her which I do not like.

‘I command you to answer my questions,’ she said imperiously. ‘Do you know why I am not allowed to go to Montague House? A plain yes or no, please.’

‘Why … yes, Your Highness.’

‘Then pray tell me.’

‘Your Highness, I might be exceeding my duty.’

‘Your duty to whom?’

‘Those who place me in my responsible position.’

Charlotte coaxed: ‘Oh come now, please tell me. I do want to know. And why shouldn’t I? It concerns me, does it not?’

‘It does, Your Highness.’ Mrs Udney’s little pink tongue licked her lips and she really looked as though she found this rather to her taste. ‘Your Highness would not tell tales of me.’

‘Tales of you? Whatever for?’

‘If I were to talk of this matter it might be frowned on.’

‘I have told you I will frown if you do not.’

Mrs Udney came close to the bed and said: ‘You know all is not well between the Prince and Princess. You know they do not … live together.’

‘Of course I know this. The Prince lives at Carlton House and Brighton; and my mother is at Montague House; and if she comes to London she stays at Kensington Palace.’

‘I mean they do not live … as husband and wife. Your Highness understands?’

‘I understand p … perfectly,’ declared Charlotte, stammering a little because it was one of those lies which Dr Nott deplored.

‘But that does not prevent their having other … friends.’ Mrs Udney’s smile was sly; Charlotte felt that it was distasteful in some way but she was not sure why.

‘Friends. Of course they have friends. Everyone has friends … I hope.’

‘Rather special friends, Your Highness. And with special friends there are sometimes … results.’

‘Results? What results?’

‘Your Highness always disliked the boy. Your Highness said more than once that he was a vulgar little brat.’

‘You mean … my mother’s adopted boy?’

‘I did mean William Austin, Your Highness.’

‘What has he to do with this?’

‘Everything.’

Charlotte was puzzled.

Mrs Udney put her face close to Charlotte’s and all her fine manners had suddenly gone. ‘Some are saying that the Princess of Wales did not adopt the boy. They are saying that he is her own.’

‘That he is my father’s son! How silly. If he were …’ The enormity of the possibility overwhelmed her.

Mrs Udney went on: ‘Oh, no, not the son of the Prince of Wales. There were plenty of other gentlemen ready to be the … friend of Her Highness.’

Charlotte did not fully understand but she knew that was some fearful slander against her mother. How dared this … this creature stand there looking so sly and knowing … yes, and pleased.

The ungovernable temper of which Dr Nott and Lady de Clifford despaired was in the ascendant.

Charlotte brought up her right hand sharply and gave Mrs Udney a stinging blow across the cheek.

Then, appalled by what she had done and what she had heard, she ran out of the room.

Mrs Udney could not allow such treatment to pass and immediately reported it to Lady de Clifford.

‘Why, Mrs Udney,’ cried her ladyship, ‘what on earth has happened?’

Mrs Udney’s eyes were blazing with fury and there was a red mark on her cheek.

‘Her Royal Highness has just seen fit to slap my face.’

Lady de Clifford put her hand to her eyes. ‘Oh, no, no! How could this have happened?’

‘Madam came into my bedchamber in a mood. She fired a few questions at me, was not pleased by my answers; then she rose and slapped my face like a vulgar fishwife.’

‘Where does she learn such manners?’

‘Where could she but at Montague House?’

‘I greatly fear she is growing like her mother. Oh dear, if only she were a little more like the dear Prince.’

‘I pray she does not behave as her mother does.’ Mrs Udney’s fury was diminished slightly by a certain gleeful pleasure at the prospect. ‘Then there would be ructions at Carlton House and Windsor as well.’

‘I beg of you, Mrs Udney, do not even suggest such a thing.’

‘I believe she has heard something of what is happening.’

‘Do you think she could?’

‘Everyone is talking about the Investigation and the general belief is that William Austin is the Princess’s little bastard by Sir Sidney Smith or Captain Manby or Lawrence the painter. Young Willikins cannot be said to lack a father, although his actual identity is unknown.’

‘Mrs Udney, I beg of you. But I shall have to tell the Bishop of the Princess’s behaviour. I really cannot have her actually laying hands on those who serve her.’

‘I sincerely hope she has discovered nothing,’ said Mrs Udney piously, ‘for who knows how she might romance about the affair. She does not always keep to the truth. Do you not think it is better to refrain from mentioning anything that might remind her of her mother and the life she leads at Montague House?’

‘I do indeed,’ sighed Lady de Clifford.

At least, thought Mrs Udney, they would not broach the subject, and if Charlotte were reprimanded for slapping the face of one of her attendants she would not tell the reason why since it concerned her mother.

Mrs Udney was sure that she could explain what had happened and do no harm to herself.

She went back to Mrs Campbell and told her that the Princess was becoming unmanageable and this was her mother coming out in her. Dr Fisher, Bishop of Salisbury, was pacing up and down the room waiting for his pupil to arrive.

When she came he was immediately aware of her defiant looks. So she guessed that news of her misdemeanour had reached him.

Smug, pompous, looking self-righteous he suggested that they should pray together for humility.

‘Humility?’ demanded Charlotte. ‘Is that a good quality for a princess to have?’

‘It is a good quality for us all to have, Your Highness. And particularly princesses.’

‘Bishops too, Bish-Up?’

‘For us all,’ replied the Bishop. ‘Those of us who are in positions of authority – or who are being trained for such – must remember it especially. Pride is one of the greatest of sins. One of the seven most deadly.’

‘So humility must be one of the virtues – or do they not go in opposites? Perhaps it is possible to have humility and pride. One changes, you know, Bish-Up. I do. I am sure that sometimes I am very, very humble. Yet I can be proud.’

He put the palms of his hands together and raised his eyes to the ceiling. His most pious attitude! thought Charlotte. This means he is very shocked about something and of course it is my slapping Udney’s face. Serve her right.

‘Proud, overbearing, hot-tempered and behaving in an unseemly manner. Lady de Clifford is alarmed at your inability to control your temper.’

‘It’s true, Bish-Up. It flares up and flies out … and then it is all gone. Almost as soon as I have done something quite dreadful I begin to feel sorry. That must be the old humility creeping in. I told you, did I not, that one can have the deadliest of sin side by side with a lovely virtue.’

‘Being sorry afterwards is not enough.’

‘Oh, I know one is supposed to suffer for one’s sins. I never liked the thought of that very much. If anyone did me a wrong and then was very sorry I should want to say “Forget it” and make it as though it had never been.’

‘That might not be God’s way.’

‘I didn’t say it was. I said it was my way. And I happen to think it’s a good way.’

The Bishop sighed. ‘I despair,’ he murmured.

‘Now you should never despair, Bish-Up. That’s bad. It’s almost as bad as losing your temper. You should always hope. You should be like Queen Elizabeth. Think of all that time when she was in prison and never knew from one day to another whether she was going to lose her head. But she went on hoping and in the end the crown was hers. I should wish to be like her in a way … when she was good. But she could be very wicked.’ Charlotte laughed. ‘Perhaps that’s what I like about her. Bish-Up, do you think she had a hand in the murder of Amy Robsart?’

‘We are not discussing the conduct of Queen Elizabeth but that of the Princess Charlotte.’

‘Oh, we are discussing my conduct. I thought we were discussing sins and virtues. And I thought we all had those.’

‘You acted violently towards one of your servants, I am told.’

‘Hardly violently. She said something I did not like so I slapped her face.’

‘And do you think that was becoming conduct for a princess?’

‘It was most unbecoming not only for a princess but for anyone. It would even have been so with a bishop.’

‘We are discussing an act which you have performed, not the suppositious conduct of others.’

‘Well, to tell the truth, Bish-Up, I lost my temper. You know what my temper is like. She displeased me … violently, so I slapped her … far less violently than she displeased me, I do assure you.’

‘You did not stop to think. I have had to reprove you on other occasions for the quickness of your temper.’

‘It’s true, Bish-Up.’

‘And have I not told you what you should do when you feel one of those uncontrollable fits of rage? How many times have I told you to repeat the Lord’s Prayer to yourself when these occasions arise? “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us.”’

‘I did in fact, Bish-Up. The first bit anyway.’

‘And you are telling me that even that could not prevent this unfortunate outburst?’

‘It did much good, my lord Bish-Up. If I hadn’t said those first lines, I should doubtless have killed her.’

She was laughing at his discomfiture.

What could one do with the Princess Charlotte? It was, he told Lady de Clifford afterwards, enough to send him to her father to beg to be released from the almost impossible task of controlling her.

‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ sighed Charlotte, romping into the sitting room which Louisa Lewis shared with Mrs Gagarin, while they mended a gown which she had torn. ‘The Very Reverend Bish-Up has been on at me again. How I wish he were not such a good man – or did not think he was such a good man. Perhaps that is it. It makes him so shocked by the sins of others. What are you doing? Mending that old dress? Did I tear it again?’

Louisa threw an adoring glance at Charlotte and said: ‘Yes, Your dearest Highness did.’

‘That was a nice way of saying it. As though you loved me for all my faults.’

She threw herself against Louisa and putting her arms about her neck kissed her. Louisa pricked her finger and her part of the dress fell to the floor, but she did not complain. Charlotte was always boisterous.

‘You were always the one for tearing things,’ said Mrs Gagarin indulgently.

So Mrs Gagarin must have a hearty kiss too.

‘I was always a great tearer,’ she cried, laughing. ‘Miss Hayman is always telling me how I used to tear my caps showing her how Mr Canning raised his hat and bowed to me. She used to hold me up at the window to see him pass. I think I remember it … or perhaps that is due to hearing Miss Hayman mention it so many times. She was very sad when my father dismissed her and she couldn’t look after me any more. Well, she became my mother’s friend and went to Montague House and I am sure she finds it very lively there.’

She was inviting them to talk of Montague House and what she thought of as That Matter, but they were more cautious than Mrs Udney and said nothing, though she fancied they exchanged glances over her head.

She sighed. ‘My lord Bish-Up is most displeased with me. I have to do a sort of penance. Guess what. But you never will. I am to wear the uniform of a Charity School girl. This is very plain and it is to be hoped that after having worn it for a whole week I may have learned a little humility.’

‘A Charity School girl!’ cried Louisa. ‘The Princess a Charity School girl!’

‘It is not the clothes that are important, dear Louisa. It is the soul within. I shall be the same Charlotte inside my Charity School girl’s costume as the one you see before you now. And I daresay I shall soon be tearing that as I do all my clothes. But perhaps I do need to learn humility. I slapped Mrs Udney’s face, you know.’

‘I’ve no doubt she deserved it,’ said the loyal Louisa.

‘Oh, she did, but I shouldn’t have done it. I should have folded my hands together thus, raised my eyes to the ceiling so, and have said as the dear Bish-Up would: ‘Madam, you have committed a grave error. Pray mend your ways … saying the Lord’s prayer before you utter. Wear a Charity School girl’s gown.’ Oh there are lots of things I should have done, but what I did was slap her face.’

They were laughing. Dear Gagy! Dear Louisa! She could always rely on them.

‘Now let’s talk.’

‘What about, Your Highness?’

‘Me, of course. Talk about the things I used to do.’

It was one of those cosy chats when they all laughed together about the antics, comic and tragic, good and wicked, which had been recorded of Charlotte. They would never admit to the wickedness – that was why they were so much more comforting than the Bishop – they said the worst were natural childish mischief and high spirits.

‘Always so good,’ said Mrs Gagarin. ‘Do you remember the boy in the ditch?’

They all remembered it; they had heard it many times before, but that was no reason why they should not hear it again.

‘There he was lying in the ditch – a poor starving boy – and Your Highness would not leave him there. “What ails you?” Your Highness wanted to know. He was cold and hungry and he had hurt his hand. It was sore and bleeding. And what did Your Highness do but bind it yourself. Of course they did not like that. They reprimanded Your Highness. You might have caught some disease. And what did Your Highness say?’

Charlotte supplied the answer: ‘“Jesus was not afraid to heal the leper, so why should I be to bind this poor boy’s hand?” Why, that might have been my lord Bish-Up himself talking. But at least I did it. And I gave him food and money and he was very grateful to me, that boy. I was not always such a paragon, was I?’

‘You had your naughty moments.’

‘Quite a number of them.’

‘I remember when Her Highness sang in the royal drawing room,’ said Louisa, giggling a little.

‘Such a little thing. The Princess Mary made her stand on a stool and sing for the company.’

‘She was wearing a pink silk dress with a white satin sash, looking lovely.’

‘And I sang the wrong notes, I remember. They all clapped and said I was wonderful … and they only did that because I was the Princess.’

‘It was a pretty sight. The King wept openly.’

‘He weeps very easily.’

‘And the Prince was so proud.’

‘I don’t think he could have been really proud for he sings so well himself. He probably pretended to be proud because it was good manners to do so. He thinks so much about manners.’

‘And all the Princesses applauded and the Queen was pleased.’

‘She is not often pleased with me.’

‘Oh, she was very pleased. It was a beautiful occasion.’

Charlotte was pensive suddenly. ‘But something bad came out of it. Oh dear, I’m afraid I am very wicked. The next day I asked my music master how I had sung and he said, “Perfectly.” I was in a sudden rage because it wasn’t true. I was angry with myself really for standing up there and not singing perfectly. So I turned my anger on him and I said he was a fool and I would not be taught by a fool who was afraid to correct his pupil because she was a princess.’

‘Well, that was good. It shows how right you were not to accept flattery.’

‘But I refused to allow him to teach me and he was dismissed and although afterwards I asked my father to bring him back to teach me, he did not. So you see that was pride in a way … pride in a sort of virtue which ended in that poor music master’s dismissal. I hope he has forgiven me. Oh, let’s not talk of me. Let’s talk of you. Tell me about Mr Gagarin, do please. I love to hear of him. I wonder where he is now. In Russia do you think? But perhaps it pains you, dear Gagy. Does it?’

‘It’s all too long ago.’

‘Then tell us again.’

So Mrs Gagarin told the story of her love for Mr Gagarin … only he wasn’t plain Mr Gagarin; he was a great nobleman in Russia who had come to the English Court on some mission.

‘No sooner had he set eyes on you,’ said Charlotte, ‘than he fell violently in love.’

‘It’s true,’ said Mrs Gagarin, her eyes momentarily soft.

‘And you ought to be the lady of a great mansion in Russia, dear Gagy, instead of mending my old dresses. Do you wish you were there with … him?’

‘It’s all so long ago, Your Highness.’

‘And what happened? What happened?’

‘You know.’

‘Yes, but I want to hear it again. And then you received a letter. Go on from there.’

‘It was from his wife, for he was married already.’

‘And so you were not his wife at all. Oh, my poor, poor Gagy. Your heart was broken.’

‘Yes, my dear Charlotte. I thought so.’

‘But it was mended again. I mended it, didn’t I! Oh, say it. You used to say it. You said that when you came to look after your dearest Charlotte. You did.’

‘Yes, as soon as I came to look after my dearest Charlotte, it began to mend.’

Charlotte was delighted. It was the reason why she wished to hear the story so often.

‘Then,’ she said solemnly, ‘I cannot be so bad, can I? In spite of my lord Bish-Up’s terrible warnings of what will become of me if I continue in my ways.’

She rocked back and forth in her chair.

‘You’ll break it one day, dearest Princess, if you jerk it back so sharply.’

She did not care. What was a broken chair when she had mended a broken heart?

They dressed her in the Charity School girl’s gown with much clicking of tongues. Indeed, what if His Highness the Prince of Wales saw fit to call? What would he say to see his daughter so attired?

Well, it was the Bishop’s order and the Bishop would have to answer for it.

And how did Her Highness feel to be so humiliated? She gave no sign that she was distressed. She was smirking at her reflection in the mirror. And no Charity School girl’s gown could disguise the royal features. In fact she looked more than ever like her father.

‘I hope,’ said Louisa Lewis, as angry as it was possible for one of her mild nature to be, ‘that my lord Bishop will be satisfied.’

Charlotte smiled at her dressers – her dear good faithful Louisa and Gagy of the mended heart. She loved them both dearly. She embraced them fervently, disturbing the coiffure of one and almost tearing the sleeve in the dress of the other; but they were accustomed to her rough caresses and would not have had them changed one bit.

Into the room she went where the Bishop was waiting for her. If he expected to see her enter shamefacedly he was disappointed.

‘Good morning, my lord Bish-Up,’ she cried. ‘It’s a very bright morning. And look at my new gown. It’s a good fit. Do you not agree? It might have been made for me.’

She beamed at him and pirouetted so that he might see the back as well as the front.

He was disconcerted. He had expected some shame.

But what could one do with such a pupil? he plaintively asked Lady de Clifford later. He feared the worst.

In an effort to make her conscious of the evil of her ways the Bishop had warned her to repent.

‘How can you know,’ he had asked, ‘when your last moment will come? What if you were to die with all your sins upon you?’

That made Charlotte think a great deal, not so much about her own fate but of that of her possessions which she would leave behind her.

What of her darling dogs, her precious birds? She loved them so much. What a tragedy for them if she should die.

Then there were her books. And what of her jewels? As the daughter of the Prince of Wales she had some very valuable jewels; she had even been allowed to wear some of them when she had attended her grandmother’s Drawing Room. She must really look into her affairs.

‘I will make a Will,’ she told Mrs Campbell.

‘At your age?’ demanded that lady.

‘My dear Mrs Campbell, who of us knows when our last hour shall come?’

Mrs Campbell grew pale. She was constantly talking about her mysterious illnesses. Charlotte listened when she was sorry for some bout of ill temper because she knew how much Mrs Campbell liked talking about the terrible state of her inside. Charlotte was very fond of Mrs Campbell because it was always possible to discuss any topic with her and fond as she was of illnesses – and she seemed positively to dote on death – she liked to argue about everything and could always be relied upon to take the opposite point of view for the sake of the argument.

So this was one subject on which she was in agreement with the Princess.

‘That’s true,’ she said. ‘Sometimes by the way my heart beats … unevenly and thump, thump, thump … I could certainly believe my last hour is close at hand.’

‘Exactly,’ said Charlotte. ‘I am young yet but who knows Old Death may be waiting round the corner for me. So, dear Camby. I must make my will.’

‘You do that. It’ll keep Your Highness amused for quite a while, I shouldn’t wonder.’

And it did.

What fun to think of all one possessed and how pleased people would be when they received their legacies. But perhaps they would be a little sorry. Dear Charlotte, they would say, she was always such a hoyden but she had a good heart. And although she plagued the Bish-Up she mended Mrs Gagarin’s heart and she and Louisa Lewis loved her dearly.

Charlotte was almost in tears thinking of her own funeral. The drums would roll; and all over London the bells would toll. Her rooms would be hung with black and the Prince of Wales would weep such tears as even he had never wept before. The Princess of Wales would be in a frenzy of grief. She might say to the Prince: ‘Let us be together. Let us have another child. It is what Charlotte would have wished.’

But I wouldn’t wish it. Because they hate each other and I don’t want them to have another child. I want to be the only one so that I shall one day be a great Queen like Queen Elizabeth. But what would it matter, if I were dead? But I don’t really want to be dead.

One only made a will in case one died. That was what one had to remember. It was just in case she should die suddenly and no one would know what to do with her possessions.

‘The Last Will and Testament of Her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte.’ How important it looked. And what were the most valuable things she had? Her dogs and her birds – her most cherished possessions. Dear Mrs Gagarin was so good with them and they were almost as fond of her as they were of Charlotte herself. She would leave dear Gagy her dogs and birds. There would be no need to tell her to take care of them. She would be a good mistress to them.

Charlotte felt sad to think of her darling dogs looking in vain for their mistress; they would sit at the door of the death chamber and howl and refuse to be comforted. Perhaps like the little dog which had belonged to Mary Queen of Scots they would refuse to eat and pine away in spite of all Gagy’s efforts to comfort them.

But it was only in case she died. It did not mean that she had to because she made a will.

There were her jewels. People would say that they were the most valuable things she possessed. They were jewels which belonged to an heir to the throne. They did not really belong to her; when she married they would be passed on to her son’s wife or perhaps her daughter. They were not really hers to leave. She sighed. What fun it would have been to have given dear Campbell a pearl necklace worth a fortune. But no, princesses had their duties.

Her jewels then to the Prince and Princess of Wales. But not all of them … only those very valuable State jewels. She could do something with the lesser trinkets, so Mrs Campbell should have some of them and Lady de Clifford some. They would be delighted. All her books she would leave to Dr Nott. ‘With my papers,’ she wrote, ‘some of which it will be necessary for him to burn.’ He was so much more pleasant than the Bishop so she expressed the wish that the King would look after him and make him a bishop. That would put the Bish-Up’s nose out of joint and she would leave him merely her Bible and Prayer Book – he, being such a good man, would think these the greatest gifts anyone could bestow.

And dear Louisa. She hoped the King would reward her and dear Mrs Gagarin for their services most handsomely and give them a house to live in and look after them.

And Mrs Udney. That made her laugh.

‘To Mrs Udney,’ she wrote, ‘nothing, for reasons.’ Everything she did seemed to raise a storm, thought Charlotte. Who would have believed that the mere act of making a will could have caused such trouble.

She had omitted to put the will away and ‘someone’ had read it and reported to Lady de Clifford.

That Mrs Udney, I’ll swear, thought Charlotte, and chuckled to picture the woman reading what had been written about her.

‘Of course,’ said Mrs Udney to Lady de Clifford, ‘you see what has happened. Mrs Campbell dictated the will. Sharing her jewellery with you! Do you think Charlotte would have thought of that?’

‘It would not surprise me what Charlotte thought of.’

‘Campbell always hated me and so does Dr Nott. That man is quite a menace. It’s time someone spoke to the Bishop about him.’

Mrs Campbell was red-eyed and Charlotte wanted to know why.

‘They are saying I dictated your will. They are making the most hideous slanders. My health won’t stand it.’

‘They are wicked,’ said Charlotte. ‘I will go to Cliffy and tell her that I am quite capable of making a will without being dictated to.’

‘It’s no good,’ sighed Mrs Campbell. ‘I feel so faint. I really think I ought to resign from Your Highness’s service.’

‘No, no, dear Camby. I won’t allow it.’

‘Dearest Princess, if only everyone was as sweet as you!’

‘Sweet,’ cried Charlotte. ‘I do not like that word. Are you going to eat me then? Sweet! I think it is such a silly word for a person.’

‘My dear good Princess.’

‘Good! Good for what? What am I good for?’

Mrs Campbell sighed. Her Highness was in a cantankerous mood doubtless because of all this fuss about the will for which she blamed herself.

She had almost made up her mind to retire. She looked forward to a quiet life in which she could devote herself to her ailments.

Dr Nott was in a quandary. This was most embarrassing. The Princess Charlotte had suggested that he should be made a bishop and that much should be done for him. Had this been put into the mind of the Princess, everyone was asking. And who would have put it there but Dr Nott?

With downcast eyes Dr Nott gave her her Latin lesson. She was not listening; she was thinking of poor Campbell who had been so wrongfully accused and who had really seemed as if she wanted to go away and be ill in comfort.

‘Your Highness is not attending this morning.’

She sighed. ‘No, dear Doctor. I have a great deal on my mind.’

‘It was good of Your Highness to have mentioned me for a bishopric in your will.’

‘Good again,’ she said. ‘Good for what? as I said to dear Campbell. It was not good at all. It was being just. You deserve a bishopric and I trust the King will grant my request.’

Dr Nott smiled in his meek way and said that if it meant he must wait for the Princess to die that he might receive the bishopric it would be a great tragedy for him ever to have it offered to him, so he trusted Her Highness would outlive him by many years – which he thought was most likely – and he would be happy to serve her for as long as she needed him.

‘That was a pleasant speech, dear Doctor,’ she said, ‘and it moves me so much that I am in no mood for Latin this morning. Therefore let us put an end to the lesson.’

She rose, but unfortunately he had put his foot on the train of her gown and as she leaped up and moved away there was the sound of tearing material and she saw that the train was almost torn from her skirt.

Poor Dr Nott, he was the sort of man, she reflected, who would often find himself in embarrassing situations.

‘Your Highness’s pardon … I fear I have ruined your gown. How unfortunate. It would only have been a little tear if it had not run as it did.’

Charlotte examined the damage.

Then she burst into loud laughter.

‘Well, we can hardly blame you because it ran, Doctor. You most surely held it!’

Then rolling the torn train about her arm she ran out of the room, leaving the saddened Dr Nott shaking his head over this most difficult, unaccountable and wild young pupil, who could at times be lovable.

The result of the writing of that will was certainly felt throughout the household.

Mrs Campbell resigned. Her ill health made it essential, she said, but everyone knew it was due to the horrible things that were being whispered of how she was trying to win benefits from the Princess by flattery.

Dr Nott was suspected of the same fault. He did not leave but he too pleaded ill health. He needed a rest from his duties, he declared, which with such an important pupil were indeed arduous.

Charlotte was in despair. She had lost Mrs Campbell and now Dr Nott was talking of going. And she was left with the Bish-Up and Mrs Udney. They were the ones who should have gone.

She went to Lady de Clifford and told her how she enjoyed her studies with Dr Nott, how she felt it would be impossible to work without him. He must go away for a little rest because he was ill, but he must promise to come back.

At length it was arranged that this should be the case and Charlotte took a tearful farewell of Mrs Campbell.

Meanwhile there was the Bishop, whose visits were more frequent during the temporary departure of Dr Nott.

And Mrs Udney remained, sly and calculating, with a temper – carefully concealed – which rivalled Charlotte’s.

How strange the things that can happen to a princess and those who serve her, thought Charlotte – the Bish-Up who had his bible and prayer book and Mrs Udney who had nothing seem more content than dear Campbell with her promised jewels and Dr Nott with his future bishopric.

There was a lesson in it, she was sure.

But then, was there not a lesson in everything?