The Regent's Daughter

The will of the People

CHARLOTTE WAS GLAD to be back in Carlton House for that meant visits to Lady de Clifford’s house in South Audley Street and to Mrs Fitzherbert’s in Tilney Street.

Here she could play with George and Minney and she constantly plagued Lady de Clifford to take her and George to Tilney Street.

These were the most exciting expeditions because she never knew when her father would call. What fun to ride in the carriage sitting beside George while Lady de Clifford sat smiling opposite them, pleased because she was going to enjoy a tête-à-tête with dear Maria Fitzherbert and Charlotte always seemed to behave more decorously in her house than anywhere else.

It was a small house, compared with Carlton House, but Charlotte loved it. On the first floor, french windows opened on to a balcony and from this one could look out on Park Lane, for the house was on a corner. Charlotte loved to open those french windows, stand on the balcony and pretend that there were crowds below cheering her because she was to be their queen. She often thought as the carriage rolled along and people took little notice: Oh, you do not know that in this carriage is one who will one day be your queen.

Mrs Fitzherbert received her as though she were really pleased she had come, and she whispered to her that she had a promise from the Prince of Wales that he would look in that day.

Charlotte returned the pressure of Mrs Fitzherbert’s hand and it was as though they shared a secret.

‘Do you think he will be pleased to see me here?’ whispered Charlotte so that neither George nor Minney could hear.

‘He will be delighted. He has told me so.’

That was wonderful news. Now when he came she would not be nervous; perhaps she would not stutter and be able to seem as bright as she did in her own schoolroom.

She would feel safe while the plump figure of Mrs Fitzherbert presided over the scene like a benevolent fairy.

The Prince of Wales left Carlton House for Tilney Street with mingled feelings. He had to face the fact that since the Seymour case, during which his friendship with the Hertfords had become a very close one, he had fallen in love.

Falling in love had, of course, been the major preoccupation of his life, but when he had returned to Maria he had believed that as long as he had Maria he would never seriously hanker after another woman.

How wrong he had been! But then how could he have guessed there would have been such perfection in the world as that possessed by Isabella Hertford?

He had already confessed his devotion to her, but she remained aloof.

‘Your Highness’s kindness is appreciated, and I trust that my husband and I will always remain your very good friends.’

‘It is more than friendship I need.’

She smiled at him. ‘Your Highness will remember that I am a married woman and you are a married man … some say doubly so.’

Her fresh coolness delighted him; in his heart he wondered whether he really wanted her to surrender. When he thought of the sexuality of Lady Jersey he was nauseated. How different was Isabella. She would not surrender, she implied, on any terms. And what could he do? There was nothing he could offer her that she should possibly want. She was as rich as he was – richer possibly – and her great passion was politics – Tory politics at that. When the Prince considered all that lay between them – his politics, her frigidity, virtue she called it – it seemed a hopeless case. And yet it was the hopelessness which he had always found so attractive; and while she held no hope of surrender, she implied that she was not displeased by his attempts to seduce her.

At the same time she made certain demands; she wanted assurances that he really was as infatuated as he declared himself to be.

Could she doubt it? he demanded.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘You are so frequently in the company of that very virtuous lady who – rumour has it – would never so compromise herself if she did not consider you to be her husband.’

‘Maria Fitzherbert has been my very good friend for many years.’

‘Then, Sir, since you are so satisfied with that friendship, why do you seek mine?’

Because, he told her, she was the most beautiful, elegant and fascinating creature he had ever met, and he could only be truly happy in her company. He wished to give a banquet for her at Carlton House. Would she allow him to do this?

She was thoughtful for a while. She was not very anxious to appear in public with him. She cherished her reputation which had never been touched by scandal, and she had no intention of becoming one of the women with whom it would be said he was having a light love affair. She had no doubt that while these were progressing he made ardent protestations to the ladies concerned, as he was doing to her now. He was merely the Prince of Wales; he had very little political power, nor would he have while the King ruled; but as she pointed out to her husband, the King was a very sick man and at any moment there could be a new sovereign – or at least a Regent. Then the Hertfords should have that King or Regent at their command. They had to remember that. But in the meantime she must keep him dangling. Even so neither of them must forget that while he believed himself to be Maria Fitzherbert’s husband no one was going to get very far with him. That woman had a very firm hold; and if the Prince was to be of any use to the Hertfords it had to be broken. It had been broken before by Frances Jersey; and what Lady Jersey could do Lady Hertford was certain that she could do better.

So her task at the moment was to keep the Prince at bay while slackening Maria Fitzherbert’s hold on him.

Maria had considered herself a friend of Lady Hertford; it was for this reason that the entire affair had begun, for Maria had sought Isabella Hertford’s help in the Seymour case. Friendship? thought Lady Hertford. That had little place in her life. She loved politics and very little else – except her own person of course; it was a great delight to dress herself and know that she was the most elegant woman present when she entered a ballroom and everyone turned to look at her. The Snow Queen, they called her. Well, why not present a different kind of beauty to the Court? And in any case her cool elegance was the complete opposite of the blowsy appearance presented by the Princess of Wales. The very contrast in them was enough to make the Prince admire her.

But she was not concerned with the Princess of Wales but with Maria Fitzherbert. She was going to amuse herself by the manner in which she ousted Maria. Outwardly they would continue to be friends, while slowly she undermined Maria’s influence.

Her first move was typical of her.

She would be delighted to attend the banquet at Carlton House, but did the Prince know that people were beginning to whisper about them? ‘About myself and Your Highness! That is something which has never happened to me before. My reputation is at stake. I am a married woman; Your Highness is a married man. I could not dream of attending the banquet at Carlton House unless Mrs Fitzherbert was present also.’

She was adamant. Those were her terms. It was not as he had visualized it. He had pictured Isabella beside him while they dined so that he could pay court to her. And how could he with Maria present? The banquet, he explained, was to be given in honour of Lady Hertford. He had not counted on Maria’s being there.

‘Your Highness must see that only if Mrs Fitzherbert is present could I attend.’

So now, driving to Tilney Street the uncomfortable task lay before him of requesting Maria’s presence at a banquet at which Lady Hertford was to be the guest of honour.

Maria should please him in this, he told himself. He had done so much to please her. In fact he was on his way to Tilney Street now, because she had specially requested it.

‘To please me,’ she had pleaded, ‘be as attentive to Charlotte as to Minney. Will you do this … for me?’

He had hesitated. Charlotte was so gauche. God knew he had tried hard with the girl, but she was so like her mother. She reminded him of her all the time and because of this he longed always to get away from her. But since it was his dear Maria’s special wish, he would come.

As he rode through the streets he was recognized, but the crowds were silent. There were no cheers now; he was no longer the darling of the people. They even preferred his mad old father. They were blaming him now because of the Delicate Investigation. They said he persecuted his wife. He had tried to bring a case against her and had failed, although during the course of that case surely everyone had realized the sort of woman Caroline was. Perhaps William Austin was not her own child, but that did not mean that she had not behaved in an extremely immoral fashion with the men who visited her house. He preferred to believe the maid Mary Wilson who had told another servant that she had gone into a room at Montague House and actually found the Princess Caroline and Sir Sydney Smith engaged as she put it ‘in the fact’. This they had heard and yet they still believed Caroline to be the wronged wife. They blamed him for the failure of the marriage; and in addition they suspected that he might have previously married Maria Fitzherbert, which was in a way the truth. Maria was his wife, if not in the eyes of the State, in those of the Church, and for Maria he had risked his crown and sacrificed much. It was because of Maria that he was greeted with sullen silence as he rode through the streets, for it was Maria’s staunch Catholicism that the people would not endure.

What I sacrificed for her! he thought. Is it asking too much that she do this little thing for me?

She was waiting to greet him in the hall; he embraced her fervently.

‘My dearest love!’

‘I am so happy to see you. Charlotte is with Minney and George Keppel.’

‘Oh, yes …’ This was something else he was doing for her.

‘They will have seen your carriage arrive. I’ll swear they were watching from a window. They will be so excited.’

He wasn’t listening. ‘I should like to be with you for a little while first, my dearest.’

Arm in arm they went into her drawing room.

‘And how is dear Minney?’ he asked.

‘In excellent health. In fact since the case has been over she has been in high spirits. Poor lamb, she was far more worried than I realized.’

‘I shall never forget what we owe the Hertfords,’ said the Prince.

‘It was a brilliant idea. I have told Lord Hertford so often how grateful I am that I believe he is getting a little weary of my gratitude.’

‘We should do more I suppose than offer them words of thanks.’

‘What could we do? I think, in fact, that Minney’s happiness is enough reward for us all.’

‘Even so I thought of giving a banquet at Carlton House. Lady Hertford should be the guest of honour. I would be obliged to devote myself to her for the whole of the evening.’

Maria suffered more than a twinge of uneasiness. She had heard the rumours. It could not be true. Isabella Hertford was such a frigid creature. A fashion-plate it was true and that appealed to him, but she would never indulge in a liaison outside her marriage – not even with the Prince of Wales.

‘Should they not both be guests of honour?’

‘Why … yes … of course. Perhaps you could devote yourself to Hertford.’ He was beaming with pleasure. That would be it. ‘There could be two tables … one at one end of the room with you at the head and Hertford on your right and at the other end my table with Lady Hertford.’

Oh, no, thought Maria. The Prince’s table was the only table at which it would be an honour to sit and her place was at that table. She always had a place there – next to the Prince of Wales. It was his way of saying to the world that he regarded her as the Princess of Wales and expected everyone else to do the same.

‘I think that both Hertfords should be with us at your table,’ said Maria firmly.

But that would not suit him. How could he make verbal love to Isabella under Maria’s nose?

‘No,’ he said coolly, suddenly becoming very regal and the Prince of Wales in place of Maria’s ‘dear love’. ‘I prefer it my way.’

Maria felt indignant. She wanted to tell him that she had already heard the rumours about his growing passion for Lady Hertford. She controlled herself with an effort and said coolly: ‘Lady Hertford herself might not care for the arrangement.’

‘I have already spoken to her.’

‘Without consulting me,’ she said; and immediately cursed her hot temper which Miss Pigot had informed her had been her downfall during the Jersey affair.

‘Did you expect me to consult you about my Carlton House arrangements?’

Oh dear, she thought, we are going to quarrel. And Charlotte is waiting upstairs for him. In a moment he would walk out of the house and Charlotte would believe it was because she was there. Poor child, how dared he treat his wife – for she was that, whatever anyone said – in this way; and how dared he refuse his daughter that affection which she so obviously craved.

She said quickly: ‘Of course I did not. Charlotte is eagerly awaiting you. Please …’

‘And you will agree?’ he asked eagerly. ‘You will come to the banquet as I ask?’

She thought: We are bargaining. Be nice to your daughter and I will be present so that the woman whom you hope to make your mistress is not compromised.

No, she thought. I won’t do it. Then she thought of that young girl who was eagerly waiting now, listening for his footstep on the stair.

What does it matter? she thought. He has been unfaithful before. But that was what she had told herself when Lady Jersey had appeared on the scene and had brought about their parting. But he had come back to her. He knew he needed her. Very well, let him have his flirtations, his infatuations, his light love affairs. He would always come back to Maria.

She said: ‘I agree. And now come and show your daughter that world-famous charm.’

How impressive he was! Charlotte was proud of him. No one else had a father like him. George Keppel had Lord Albemarle, who was all right; poor Minney had no father at all, though she had Mrs Fitzherbert, who was perhaps a great deal more comforting – but Charlotte had the Prince of Wales.

He looked enormous – tall and fat; his eyes were laughing; he looked as though something had pleased him; he had somewhat pouting lips which gave him a petulant air and his slightly tilted nose made one want to kiss him. His clothes were magnificent; they made Charlotte feel awkward just to look at them, because they fitted him so perfectly. His coat of very fine dark green cloth was single breasted and he wore it buttoned right up to the chin; his breeches were of leather and his boots Hessian; his neckcloth was of white silk with tiny gold embroidered stars on it; it had many folds and came right up to his chin. He wore a wig which was a profusion of honey-coloured curls. A truly magnificent figure.

He sat down on the chair and Minney ran to him. George remained decorously in the background and he said: ‘And Charlotte? Come and tell me what you have been doing.’

Mrs Fitzherbert smiled and nodded to her as though to say: Don’t be nervous. And she felt that with that good fairy standing there nothing could go wrong.

So she spoke up and told him about the Bish-Up and Dr Nott, imitating them – and some of the amusing things that happened in the schoolroom.

To her delight he thought them funny too, and so did Mrs Fitzherbert, who started everyone laughing a great deal, and when Mrs Fitzherbert laughed so did the Prince.

‘Why not a game?’ said Mrs Fitzherbert. ‘A guessing game.’

All the children were delighted at the prospect, and Mrs Fitzherbert suggested one at which Charlotte always shone.

So they played and Charlotte won a great many points at which the Prince was surprised and pleased; and Charlotte thought on more than one occasion that Mrs Fitzherbert chose questions to which Charlotte knew the answer. And looking across the room at her seated on the chair – serene and plump but with her lovely figure and her skin as fresh as a young girl’s and her masses of golden hair untouched by powder, Charlotte loved her; and a wish came to her. If this were my home … if these were my parents … But she would not go on with it because it was unfair to her own mother, who had come down to Windsor especially to see her. It was not her fault if she had been turned away.

When the Prince took his leave he was affectionate to his daughter and Charlotte’s eyes were shining with pleasure. It had been such a happy afternoon – she rarely remembered enjoying herself so much.

The carriage came to take her with George and Lady de Clifford back to Carlton House, and when she took her leave she threw her arms about Mrs Fitzherbert and buried her face in that magnificent bosom.

Maria held her tightly for a few seconds in a special grip which meant that she understood. Charlotte was saying ‘Thank you’ and Maria was implying that this was a beginning. She was going to make everything right between Charlotte and her father.

Out into the street they went – Lady de Clifford leading. A little crowd had gathered about the carriage. Someone said: ‘That’s her. That’s the Princess Charlotte.’

She inclined her head and smiled graciously – like a queen she hoped.

‘It’s a shame. Bringing her up to be a Papist.’

What did they mean? Lady de Clifford had grasped her arm and was hurrying her into the carriage. George leaped in beside her, and the horses started forward.

‘No popery!’ shouted a voice, and the cry was taken up by the crowd.

‘What is the matter with them?’ said Charlotte; and as no one answered she forgot the silly people and went over every incident of the afternoon, dwelling on those delicious moments when she had scored points and startled her father by her intelligence.

It was a lovely cosy feeling to think that she and Mrs Fitzherbert were in league together.

George Keppel said: ‘I shall never do my French and Latin in time. I expect I shall be punished in the morning.’

‘Do it now,’ she commanded.

‘I can’t. I need lots of time.’

‘Here. Give it to me.’

She was in such a benevolent mood that she wanted everyone to feel as happy as she did. George had not done very well in the game. She supposed the Prince had thought what a silly little boy he was and how different from Charlotte. Of course he was younger – but perhaps the Prince did not know that. She hoped he didn’t – and then was ashamed of herself.

‘I’ll do the Latin exercise for you,’ she said, ‘while you do your French. There. Come on, we’ll start now.’

They worked in silence at the table. She was very happy. She loved all the world. She finished the Latin in a very short time and watched George frowning over the French. She would give him a watch. He had no watch. It would teach him to be more aware of the time and then he would not be behind with his Latin and French lessons. She would give him a horse, too.

She would speak about all this to Lady de Clifford at the first opportunity. And in time she would be on such terms with her father that she would implore him to take back her mother; and they would all live together like a happy family – her mother her father and dearest Mrs Fitzherbert.

George had finished his French and picked up the Latin.

‘There are lots of mistakes in it,’ he said.

‘Be thankful it’s done,’ retorted Charlotte severely.

He would like a watch, she thought fondly. And he shall have it.

Mrs Udney was secretly amused.

‘Pray, Mrs Udney, what do you find so funny?’ demanded Charlotte.

She saw then that Mrs Udney was holding a paper behind her back.

‘Something in the paper, is it?’ said Charlotte. ‘Let me see it.’

‘I don’t think it would be my duty to allow Your Highness to see it.’

‘Mrs Udney, I command you to show me that paper.’

Mrs Udney raised her eyebrows and continued to hold the paper behind her back, but with a quick movement Charlotte snatched it and ran to the window with it.

‘Your Highness!’

‘You may report to Lady de Clifford that I have no manners if you wish. I shall report that you are most … d … disobedient.’

‘I am only concerned for Your Highness’s good and I am not sure whether it is good for you to see that paper. I beg of you … most humbly … to give it back to me.’

‘I shall see first what it is you are trying to hide from me.’

‘It is on the second page, Your Highness.’

‘Oh,’ said Charlotte, ‘and it is about my mother I daresay.’

‘Oh no, Your Highness. It is you this time.’

There was no doubt that Mrs Udney was pleased … the horrid creature.

‘Would Your Highness like me to find it for you?’

Charlotte looked at her through narrowed eyes. Perhaps it was as well to let her do so. There might often be pieces in the paper which she ought to see and therefore if she made it clear that she expected Mrs Udney to show her, the woman might do so – for clearly she enjoyed these pieces.

Charlotte handed her the paper and Mrs Udney opened it and laid it on the table.

‘There, Your Highness.’

‘But what is it supposed to be? That’s meant for Mrs Fitzherbert I suppose. It is not much like her.’

‘Yet Your Highness recognized her.’

‘It’s Mrs Fitzherbert all right, but it makes her nose longer and it is just not beautiful enough.’

‘The object of these cartoons is not to show off beauty but to make the point.’

‘Point? What point? And who is the child she is carrying in her arms? Minney Seymour, I suppose.’

‘Oh, no no. See, the diadem she is wearing. That proclaims her to be royal.’

‘You … you mean … my … myself?’

‘Who else, Your Highness? You have been visiting the lady a great deal lately and the point is that the people don’t like it.’

‘The … p … people! What has it to do with the people?’

‘Everything the royal family does is the concern of the people.’

‘But …’

‘You see, Your Highness, she has been given a pair of wings and she is flying up to heaven with you in her arms. Look what you are holding. A rosary … and images of the saints. You see, it means that she is making a Catholic of you.’

‘But it’s nonsense.’

‘She is a Catholic and she does seem to be a very special friend.’

‘She has never talked to me about religion.’

‘The people won’t believe that.’

‘It’s just n … nonsense,’ said Charlotte angrily and picking up the paper she threw it on to the floor before walking haughtily out of the room.

Lady de Clifford never took her to Tilney Street now; this meant that not only was she cut off from Mrs Fitzherbert but from the Prince of Wales.

‘Why do I never go with you to see Mrs Fitzherbert and Minney nowadays?’ she demanded in her forthright way.

Lady de Clifford looked embarrassed.

‘My dear Princess, it is really better not.’

‘Why not? I liked visiting Mrs Fitzherbert. She is my good friend.’

‘In view of the circumstances …’

‘What circumstances?’

‘You don’t understand these things.’

‘Nothing makes me more angry than to be told I don’t understand. If I don’t understand, then explain.’

‘Mrs Fitzherbert is … scarcely a lady you should visit.’

‘Why not? Nobody could be kinder. She is like a queen. I often think Queen Elizabeth must have been a little like her only not so kind. Come along, my lady, do not try to change the subject. Why must I not visit Mrs Fitzherbert?’

‘Your mother …’

‘My mother always spoke most kindly of her – and in any case I am not allowed to see her either.’

Oh dear, thought Lady de Clifford, I shall be saying something most indiscreet soon. I really think the task of looking after such a princess is too much for me. It was better to tell the truth otherwise she might say something more shocking.

‘You know that Mrs Fitzherbert is a Catholic and that you may well one day be Queen of England.’

‘I shall be Queen of England one day, my lady.’

‘Therefore the people do not wish you to become a Catholic.’

Charlotte stamped her foot. ‘Am I not receiving my religious instruction from the Bish-Up and do you think he would make a Catholic of me?’

Lady de Clifford put her fingers to her ears and begged Charlotte not to utter such heresy.

‘Then tell me how I am in danger of becoming a Catholic.’

‘You are in no danger of course, but the people remember that Mrs Fitzherbert is a Catholic and it is possible that, if you see her very often, she might persuade you to become one.’

‘It’s nonsense … nonsense.’

‘The people are often mistaken, but princes and princesses have to behave in a way which pleases them.’

‘So the people have decided that I am not to see my dear Mrs Fitzherbert.’

‘They have made this quite clear.’

‘I suppose the old Begum has given her orders.’

‘Her Majesty has said nothing as yet, but she will as soon as she reads the spate of comments in the newspapers.’

Charlotte felt an impulse to cry – loudly and angrily. But she did not. There was too much weeping in the family and it had made it a rather ridiculous habit. Real tears should be for real tragedy; and this was one she felt; but she must not cry.

‘Cliffy,’ she said, ‘dear Cliffy, could I see Mrs Fitzherbert once … just once more? Could we ride there … with me dressed like an ordinary young lady … just once … so that I could talk to her? I promise it would be just that once.’

‘It would be very unwise,’ said Lady de Clifford.

But Charlotte knew how to wheedle her governess.

She did allow herself the luxury of tears when she was alone with Mrs Fitzherbert.

She lay against the sweet-smelling bosom and told Maria how unhappy she was that they were not to meet.

‘I shall have news of you,’ soothed Maria. ‘And perhaps later on this nonsense will be forgotten.’

‘You see,’ Charlotte explained, ‘it had started to change. You changed it. But it won’t go on now.’

‘It can. I will talk to the Prince about you. I will make him interested in what you are doing.’

‘Yes? But it won’t be the same. I loved it here. This little house is so different from Carlton House and Windsor and Kew and the rest of them. It’s different from Montague House. It’s like a home … the sort of home I should like to live in sometimes. Perhaps I’d like to come to it when I felt sad. I have to learn to be a queen and so I suppose I need a palace for that. But I want to come and see you sometimes.’

‘Well, perhaps you will one day. These things happen and then after a while they are forgotten. You’ll come again perhaps and play with Minney.’

‘Minney is lucky … does she know it?’

‘I think she does.’

Charlotte stood up straight and said almost regally: ‘Goodbye, Mrs Fitzherbert.’

‘Let us say au revoir instead of goodbye.’

Charlotte held up her face to be kissed.

‘You are still my friend?’ she asked.

‘I’ll always be your friend,’ said Mrs Fitzherbert.