Queen in Waiting: (Georgian Series) (33 page)

‘They like us veil,’ he murmured; and he bowed graciously, his hand on his heart, to a young woman in the crowd.

‘It gives me pleasure,’ said Caroline, ‘to see how you they like more than your father.’

‘Ah, they hate that old devil. And I love them for it.’

George Augustus laughed happily and those watching said that the Prince and Princess were on the best possible terms, and they gave an extra cheer for the Princess, reminding each other how good she had been during the winter, which had been a hard one.

There was a special cheer from the boatmen who earned their living by ferrying along the river. They had much to be grateful for to the Princess of Wales who had helped them when they were starving.

They would remember the season just passed as that terrible winter when the Thames had been frozen over, when it had been possible to drive a horse and cart from bank to bank and roast an ox on the ice.

That would in future be known as The Winter of the Great Freeze and the Great Hardship, when it had not been possible to ply a waterman’s trade. The Princess had concerned herself with their sufferings, had raised money for them. So there was many a poor waterman who would give a cheer for the good Princess every time her carriage rolled by.

There were others who remembered how she had pleaded for leniency towards those poor devils who had been caught up in the ’15 rebellion. Not that her pleading had had much effect on sour old George. He didn’t seem to want his English crown but he was pitiless enough with those who had tried to deprive him of it. They had seen the executions of Lord Derwentwater and Lord Kenmure. They had heard how the Countess of Nithsdale had implored the King for leniency towards her husband and of George’s brutal rejection of that distracted lady.

They were still talking of Lord Nithsdale’s miraculous escape from the Tower which was romantic and exciting enough to
win the sympathy of even the staunchest Hanoverian. Nithsdale had been in the Tower, doomed to die, and his wife was unable to move the King with her entreaties. She was not only a brave woman but a determined one; she had taken a companion with her to the Tower, and while she had worn two cloaks her companion had worn two gowns; and in the condemned prisoner’s cell they had hastily dressed Lord Nithsdale in the extra gown and cloak, had painted his face, drawn the hood over his head, and Lady Nithsdale and her husband had left the prison while the companion had remained behind.

Such a romantic story caught the imagination of all. The Nithsdales escaped to the Continent; even George realized that he could not punish the lady who had helped in the deception, for the mood of the people was not strong enough in his favour; and even though James had retreated to France, that did not mean that the people loved George.

But while the Prince and Princess rode through the streets on their way to Drury Lane it was remembered that the Princess had pleaded with the King for leniency towards the prisoners of the ’15, among them Lord Nithsdale; so the Princess’s name was linked with the nobleman’s escape, and the people liked her for it.

As for the Prince, he was not unpleasant. And his father hated him, which was in his favour.

So, decided the crowd, a special cheer for the Prince and Princess of Wales.

To Caroline the streets of London were always an exhilarating spectacle. The noise and colour were so different from anything she had known before coming to London. The shouting of the street vendors who pushed their way between the carriages of the great and the occasional sedan-chair, never failed to fascinate her. She could only be amused when some grinning pieman would catch her eye and shout: ‘Good hot pies. They warm the cockles of your heart.’ Her smile would be gracious, appreciating the joke; and the pieman would add his cheers to the rest. She had learned the art of being affable and dignified at the same time; something which neither the Prince nor King could achieve.

They had arrived at the theatre – Caroline in her tight-waisted dress, the bodice of which was cut low enough to give a liberal view of the ‘finest bosom in the vorld’, her skirt a mass of flounces, jewels at her throat, on her arms and fingers; hair dressed in her favourite style with a curl over her shoulder – not high because that would have added inches and called attention to the fact that she was taller than the Prince. Her heels were low for the same reason.

Drury Lane. And the crowds closing in to have a closer look at the Prince and Princess.

‘Who’s King and who’s Pretender?’ cried a voice in the crowd.

‘Silence! Three cheers for our Princess.’

Still smiling Caroline threw a quick and uneasy glance at George Augustus. He had not noticed the omission, as smilingly he battled his way through the crowd which closed about him.

‘Good pipple, I am happy to be here. You are the best pipple in the vorld.’

Such blatant flattery, thought Caroline, yet spoken with a beaming sincerity which made it acceptable.

‘Long live James III.’

‘Long live King George.’

‘Damn King George. Go back to Hanover.’

There was loud and ribald laughter. One did not take too much notice of the shouts of an excited crowd.

The Prince and Princess were conducted to their box. They seated themselves in full view and Caroline bowed and smiled as she was greeted from the pit. The Prince beside her beamed.

‘They love us, I think,’ he whispered.

The two guards had placed themselves in the shadows at the back of the box; and now that the Prince and Princess were in their places the curtain could go up.

Caroline’s eyes were on the stage. The play was interesting; it was called
The Wonder, A Woman Who Keeps a Secret
; and it had been dedicated to the Prince, therefore there was a special reason for their presence. She was listening for some allusion to the Prince, perhaps some ridicule, for there was nothing that
pleased them so much. The Prince was contented, laughing with the audience, letting them know how much he liked to be among them.

If we had had to go back to Hanover we should have been regretful for the rest of our lives, thought Caroline. Thank God that’s over. They’ve accepted us. James will never make another attempt. He has had his chance and failed. We’re safe.

Echoes from the crowd came back to her mind. ‘Who’s the King and who’s the Pretender?’ That was nothing – merely a quotation from verses which had caught the people’s fancy. ‘Long live James III!’ Oh, these people lived for excitement. One only had to ride through a London crowd to know that. They wanted to laugh and be amused; and one of the duties of royalty was to provide that amusement. They liked to think there was a king across the water; they liked the thought of conflict. But they did not want war; and because they were essentially lazy, they did not greatly care which king was on the throne… as long as they had their chance to make merry.

We are safe, safe, thought Caroline. This is our home for the rest of our lives. Soon Fritzchen must join us. She had been delighted when little Caroline had arrived in England, but she longed for Fritzchen. After all he was her only son; he was their heir – after his father he would be King of England, yet because his sour old grandfather decreed that he should stay in Hanover, there he remained.

Why? she wanted to know. What use to keep him there? How could a boy of nine rule over even a place like Hanover? A figure-head? What nonsense! George I of England was still the Elector of Hanover; ruling over the Electorate was his business; and only the most insensitive of men would separate a boy of nine from his mother.

But then George I was insensitive. I could hate that man, thought Caroline.

But she must not show it, of course. She must still play the gentle game; she must still play the meek woman.

It would not always be so. One day…

One should not wish for another human being’s death, of course. But she was ready now to be Queen of England.

George I was no longer young and when he died… She
smiled at the man beside her. He would be the next King of England and when he was she would be Queen. Queen Caroline, the real power in the land!

She was awaiting her time.

It happened without warning. First the loud report; then it was as though in the second or so of silence which followed the whole of the theatre had become petrified. Silence… not a sound. George Augustus beside her, his face ashen beneath his towering wig. The actors and actresses on the stage stood as though grouped in a tableau. Then the silence was broken when someone in the pit started to scream.

‘Get him!’ shouted a voice. ‘He’s shot the Prince.’

The cry was taken up all over the theatre.

Then Caroline was aware of the dead man in their box, and she knew that the bullet which had been intended for George Augustus had, by a miracle, missed him and buried itself in the body of one of the guards who were standing at the back of the box.

George Augustus was about to rise, but Caroline put out a hand and gripped his.

What was the mood of those people down there? Riots could be ignited by such an action as had just taken place. She and the Prince were trapped here in a theatre, easy prey for their enemies. One false move and that could be the end of all hope, perhaps the end of life.

The manager had come into the box.

‘Your Highnesses…’ He stopped and stared in horror at the man on the floor.

‘The Prince is safe,’ said Caroline.

‘Your Highnesses…’

‘Let the man be taken away… Get him to a doctor…’

‘He is dead, Your Highness.’

‘Then take him away.’

‘And Your Highnesses?’

‘We will remain here. Let the play go on.’

The manager was astounded. The Prince was looking at his wife. Even at such a time he resented her taking charge.

‘Perhaps if you speak to the people they would listen,’ she said. ‘You could tell them that a man has been killed.’

She looked down at the scene below. There was great confusion. The tableau on the stage had sprung to animation; the actors were climbing down into the pit; there were shouts and screams as people began rushing for the doors.

‘There’ll be a riot,’ said the manager.

The Prince stood up in his box.

‘Good pipple,’ he shouted, ‘the trouble is over. A madman tried to shoot me. He has not done so… you see. We haf come here to see the play.’

He was at his best, for no one had ever been able to call him a coward, and the thought that he had narrowly escaped death even stimulated him. This was what he always wanted to be: the centre of the scene, the hero of the occasion.

He stood there, waiting for silence. It came and all eyes were now on the royal box.

‘The murderer is caught,’ he said. ‘And now there is the play…’

A man was being hustled out of the theatre and attention was divided between the scuffle and the Prince in the box.

‘It is a goot play, eh, my frients?’

There was a short silence during which Caroline felt anything might have happened.

Then the people below began to take their seats. The actors climbed back on to the stage and the play continued.

The King walked in the gardens of Hampton Court discussing an exciting project. His ministers, Townsend, Walpole and Stanhope had never seen him so animated and Walpole was thinking that if the people of England could see him now and know the cause of his pleasure he would be less popular than ever.

‘Now that all is orderly there is no need for me to be here. I can take a little respite. After all I have Hanover to consider. I must pay my brother a visit and see how he is faring.’

Walpole and Townsend exchanged glances. If he went the affairs of the nation would be left in their hands, and what could please them better than that? In any case George had never meddled extensively. He was not sufficiently interested in his realm to want to govern it.

‘I can see no reason why Your Majesty should not pay a visit to Hanover,’ said Walpole.

‘And does Your Majesty intend that the Prince and Princess shall accompany you?’

George was thoughtful.

‘The Prince should surely remain in England as Regent,’ suggested Stanhope.

‘Regent!’ cried the King. ‘Never shall this be. You know the Prince. He will be wearing the crown by the time I return.’

The ministers were thoughtful. ‘It is the usual procedure, Your Majesty. The Prince is of age…’

‘I care not. He shall not be Regent. The Prince is a fool.’

‘Then what does Your Majesty suggest?’

‘I suggest that he is not Regent. That he has no power to govern.’

‘The people would think it strange.’

‘The people!’ cried the King. ‘Why, one of them tried to shoot him the other night.’

‘Proved to be a madman, Your Majesty. And the Prince’s action in the theatre has made him very popular.’

‘What action?’ growled the King.

‘He was very calm; and they are saying that his behaviour – and that of the Princess – prevented a riot. He is very popular at the moment. And the Princess has been ever since she came.’

‘She is cleverer than he is. He is a fool; she is a she-devil.’

The ministers looked uncomfortable; and the King for once was roused from his usual indifference.

‘Oh yes, she must be watched. She is the clever one.’

Walpole was inclined to agree. He would either have to be the friend or the enemy of the Princess of Wales if she became powerful. She would not, of course, while the King lived; but wise politicians planned ahead.

Already she had shown a desire to meddle in politics, and had hinted that she would like the post of Secretary of the Treasury for the husband of Mrs Clayton, one of the women of her household for whom she had a great regard. Walpole had no intention of allowing her to have the post for her friend; in the first instance she must not be allowed to acquire the power which
friends in high places would give her; for the second he wanted the post for his brother Horatio.

‘The Princess is perhaps ambitious,’ suggested Walpole, ‘and too ambitious to be content with merely social activities. It may be that she will attempt…’