The Regent's Daughter: (Georgian Series) (34 page)

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
in
delicate 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.