The Captive of Kensington Palace (11 page)

And on June 25th King George IV died and the Duke of Clarence became William IV.

  Chapter V  

THE INDISCRETION OF A BARONESS

W
illiam, Duke of Clarence, had arisen early on the morning of Saturday, June 26th, leaving Adelaide in bed. He liked the morning air, he said, and nowhere was it fresher than at Bushy. He was inspecting the flowers when he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs and hurrying across the lawn he saw Sir Henry Halford, his brother’s doctor, dismounting.

He had no need to ask the news. He saw it in Sir Henry’s face. The King was dead.

The wonder of what this meant swept over William. Many times he had anticipated it, but how much more glorious was the realisation!

‘Your Majesty,’ began Sir Henry … and William did not wait for the rest. He grasped the doctor’s hand and shook it, which was a strange thing to have done. But William had never behaved in a conventional manner and the doctor was too excited to notice at the time.

‘The Queen must be told,’ said William, ‘but I shan’t tell her. She’s been dreading this. But she must be told.’

Sir Henry said he would ask one of her women to waken her.

William went into the house where he was shortly joined by Adelaide who looked more as though she were being told she were a widow than a Queen.

William muttered something jocularly about Her Majesty but Adelaide gazing at her husband and seeing the flush in his cheeks and the brilliance in his eyes was afraid for him. It was the worst thing that could have happened. While he lived quietly at Bushy with the family she could feel he was safe.

‘It’s early,’ said the new King. ‘We’ll go back to bed. I’ve never yet been to bed with a queen.’

Sir Henry looked startled but the King insisted and when the Duke of Wellington as Prime Minister arrived to make the official announcement to William that he was the King of England, he found him in bed.

The great Duke of Wellington, who was a less successful politician than he had been a soldier, cared deeply for the honour of his country. It was, he believed, his great task to guide the King; and there could have been few Kings who needed guidance more. It was not very long ago that William – as Duke of Clarence – had shown how foolishly he could behave when given some authority. Then he had been invested with the office of Lord High Admiral and had brought ridicule on himself and been forced to resign; how much more dangerous would it be to give him the powers of a King.

And yet King he was, by right of succession. Frederick, Duke of York, Wellington supposed, might have been easier to handle.

Only a short while ago the Duke and Robert Peel had been deploring the state of the country. ‘A most heartbreaking concern,’ the latter had called it and due to the conduct of the King and his brothers. Cumberland would have to be watched – a mischief-maker if ever there was one; and when it was considered that the new King had a tendency to his father’s malady, it was clear that there were stormy times ahead.

It appalled Wellington that William showed no regret for the passing of his brother, who had always been a good friend to him; William had known this and had been fond of George, but the prospect of being King so overwhelmed him that he lost all sense of decency.

The poor Queen was grieved and doing her utmost to restrain the King.

‘William, my dear,’ she implored, ‘pray do not be so
overjoyed
. Remember you have lost a dear brother.’

‘Dear old George! But he had his day. Now I shall wear an admiral’s uniform for my first meeting with the Privy Council. An admiral’s uniform, eh, Wellington?’

The King frowned at Wellington. He had not been a very good friend at the time of all that trouble over his office of Lord High Admiral. But he was a clever fellow and by God the country owed him something. They’d never forget Waterloo. So it was no use holding that other trouble against him. He needed Wellington, a good fellow, a fine soldier. A King must trust his ministers.

The FitzClarences were delighted. They were now the sons and daughters of the King. This was going to make a great difference. Lots of honours should come their way.

His daughter Lady Erroll with her husband and their children were in residence at Bushy at the time and they came out to look at him in his admiral’s uniform and listen to him rehearsing the declaration.

Wellington felt that never could a King’s accession have been received in such a way, but the only member of the household who seemed to be aware of this very odd behaviour was the new Queen.

Wellington was glad when it was time to leave for St James’s with William that they might attend the first Privy Council under the new reign.

On a hot July day George IV was buried. It was some three weeks since his death and during that time William had succeeded in making himself quite popular with his subjects. His complete lack of ceremony endeared him to them; in any case they were prepared to love anyone who was not George IV. He showed a lack of concern for ceremony; he walked about the streets; he would shake any man by the hand, and had a word for everyone. His red weatherbeaten face was unlike that of a King; he lacked the stature of his brother; and the people liked him for it.

It was going to be very different now he was the King. He was a faithful husband; it was true his wife was by no means beautiful but she had a royal air which was acceptable; and she was fond of him and he of her; and it was not her fault that she had not given him an heir.

He had declared that the royal parks should be opened to the public; they were for everyone to enjoy, he said; the public might wander through the grounds and look in at the windows of Windsor Castle. The Sovereigns belonged to the people; that was William’s maxim.

He sent a note to Mrs Fitzherbert telling her that the late King had been thinking of her at the last and that she was to put her household into mourning for him. This was another popular move. Maria was a respected figure; the late King had been disliked for treating her badly and for the new King to behave as though she were indeed the widow of George IV appealed to the people’s sense of chivalry.

In those first few weeks William could do no wrong.

It was true Adelaide had to remonstrate with him to curb his high spirits. It was unseemly to go to a funeral in such a jocular mood. But there was no subtlety about William; he was overjoyed to have reached his goal and he was not going to pretend otherwise.

And so, amidst rejoicing and a certain amount of frivolity, the remains of George IV were laid to rest in St George’s Chapel at Windsor.

In the late King’s apartments his effects were being sorted out. Such a medley of souvenirs had rarely been seen. He had been a great letter-writer and had revelled in his correspondence with numerous women with whom during a long and amorous life he had believed himself to be in love. He had been a hoarder who could never bring himself to destroy anything. There were thousands of letters tied up with ribbons; there were women’s gloves and locks of hair, all carefully preserved. He had cared passionately for clothes and had in fact designed many with and without the help of Beau Brummel. It had been impossible for him ever to lose sight of these garments on which he had expended so much loving care. Now they were hanging in good condition and in chronological order in his wardrobes. His servants said that he never forgot one of them and was apt to ask to see some garment which he had not worn for fifty years. With regard to money he was less careful. Among his possessions were found five hundred wallets each containing sums of money the total of which amounted to £10,000.

This strange collection caused some amusement, and was discussed throughout the Castle; and then William began to change everything. He dismissed his brother’s French chefs. English cooks were good enough for him, he declared; he would have musicians – English ones – but by no means the number who had served his brother.

George had been a connoisseur of the arts and had filled all his houses with priceless treasure. ‘What are these?’ demanded William. ‘Cost money, did they? Well, they belong to the people and the people shall have them. They should be put in galleries and museums, and the people should look at them … if they wanted to.’

He was a man of the people. He was a jolly, unpretentious old fellow who wanted the people to know that he had their good at heart.

There was no one to grieve for the death of King George, except Maria Fitzherbert who in her household of mourning dreamed of long ago days when the young Prince Charming had met her along the river bank and called her his ‘Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill’.