Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill - Plaidy Jean - Страница 26

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The letter dropped to the ground. The Prince's face had grown scarlet with anguish; he stalked into the house, past the members of the household who, having been warned of his coming, were waiting to give him an appropriate welcome.

He paced round the hall not seeing anyone. In vain did Southampton try to comfort him. He shouted; he wept.

'Pray remember your weak state, sir ...' murmured Southampton.

But the Prince could only think of one thing: He had be-

lieved she was about to be his and she had gone—he did not even know where.

The King in his bedroom at Kew Palace awakened at five in the morning as was his custom and got out of bed to light the fire which his attendants had laid overnight. Then he returned to bed to allow the room to warm up before he rose and attended to the State papers which were on a table awaiting his attention.

Since young Mr. Pitt had taken office he had consoled himself that the Government was in good hands. Mr. Pitt was like his father had been, a trifle arrogant but courteous in his conduct to the King, yet somehow conveying the fact that while he was Prime Minister he intended to manage the country's affairs without royal interference. He might ask for the King's approval, but this was a formality and the King realized it. How different from Lord North was Mr. Pittl But then if he had been like Lord North the country's affairs could not have been so skilfully managed.

The American Colonies ... The King groaned at the thought of that major disaster. Rarely had Britain suffered such a humiliating setback. It would be remembered against him and North for ever. Any good he had done for his country —and he had given it a lifetime of service—would be weighted against that tragedy.

Never, never shall I forget it, thought the King. Where did we go wrong? At what stage could some action of mine make it turn out differently?

Back went his thoughts over the past. Little incidents chased themselves in and out of his mind, leering at him suddenly, mocking him, laughing at him until he thought they were mischievous pages who had broken into his bedchamber to play a game called Mocking the King.

What ridiculous thoughts came to him nowadays.

But once he had been strong. He had believed that a king should rule. In the days of his youth when he had been greatly in awe of his destiny and had believed that he would never be able to mount the throne without Lord Bute behind him, his

mother had continually admonished him: 4 Be a king, George.' Those words had haunted him in his dreams and when he had in fact become a king, when he had begun to take a grasp of State affairs, he had said: 'Very well, Mother, I will be a king.'

And he had tried to be.

When the country had been against continuing the war with the Colonists and he had wished to go on he had wanted to choose a cabinet and set himself at the head of it. That aroused even docile North to protest.

'Your Majesty is well apprised that in this country the Prince on the Throne cannot, with prudence, oppose the deliberate resolution of the House of Commons. Your Royal predecessors have been obliged to yield to it much against their wishes in more instances than one.'

That was the situation. In this country one was a king but no King. One was governed by a body of men called the Parliament and the King could be plagued by them. There were men like the Pitts. Old Pitt had been a brilliant statesman; to him could be accredited the founding of the Empire. Looking back that was plain enough; and his son Pitt the Younger was such another.

Poor old fool that some would think me, mused the King, I have sense enough to see that.

But these men of integrity such as the Pitts made up for their honesty with their arrogance. Young Pitt was an able man; he knew it; and lie was determined to govern with concessions to none. Pitt blamed North's subservience to the King for the loss of the Colonies, and would have no interference with his Ministry.

'Young puppy,' thought the King and was immediately sorry. Mr. Pitt was no puppy: he was a brilliant statesman. Age had nothing to do with it. He had inherited that touch of genius from his father and he, the King, should be glad of it.

Moreover, Mr. Pitt was in opposition to Fox and any one who was in opposition to that man was a friend of the King's. Fox! The King's eyes bulged at the thought of that man. He more than any other was responsible for the sins of the Prince of Wales. He had heard that wherever the Prince was, there was

Fox. The Prince doted on Fox; he confided in Fox; he treated Fox like a father; and there was that arch villain always at his sons elbow, teaching him to drink, to gamble and to live an immoral life with women. Mr. Fox thought this was the way a gentleman should live and the Prince was eager to learn.

Merely thinking of the Prince of Wales made the King's brain whirl. 'What next, I wonder,' he said aloud. 'What next, eh, what?'

He rose from his bed. The room was warm enough and he would start brooding on the activities of the Prince of Wales if he stayed there in bed. Better dress and look through the papers on his desk and be in time to take a dish of tea with the Queen.

He dressed thoughtfully. There were no ceremonies of the bedchamber at Kew. He was glad to escape from all that and it was the reason why he so enjoyed being at 'dear little Kew' as Charlotte called it.

Here he lived like a squire in a country village, and at the same time like a king of a little German Court whose law was absolute. Neither the determination of Mr. Pitt nor the villainies of Mr. Fox could interfere with life at Kew. If the King made some regulation then the household must obey, and no carping politicians could remind him that the King must submit to the rule of Parliament.

So at Kew he would make his rules.

He was horrified when he looked at himself nowadays. In spite of all the exercise he took and the careful manner in which he watched what he ate, he was growing fat. It was a curse no members of the family seemed to be able to avoid. It was unfair. After all his efforts to keep his body supple and agile, there was that disgusting paunch. His eyebrows had turned white and they were the more conspicuous because of his high colour. He was always depicted in the cartoons as being fatter than he was and he would be seated at a table laden with such foods as he had denied himself all through his life.

'It's the family tendency to grow fat,' he said; and he made more rigorous rules in the nursery.

And while the people sneered at him and lampoons and

cartoons were circulated in the streets about him they admired the Prince and cheered him. That gambler, that drinker, that frequenter of prizefights, that puppy who was always chasing some woman or other—and in the most public manner—was admired.

And here he was back at the Prince of Wales.

But, he reminded himself, here at Kew it is different. Although he was not able to control the Prince of Wales he would see that those members of the family who were still under his control should toe the line. Frederick was in Hanover, learning to be a soldier; William was at sea; Edward would soon be going to Germany to study soldiering. That left only Ernest, Augustus and Adolphus among the boys at home —and the girls, of course, from Charlotte the Princess Royal who was eighteen to the adorable baby Amelia who was one, six girls in all. Quite a family, and he was going to see that they did not go the way of their eldest brother.

Though where I went wrong I fail to see. Perhaps I should abdicate. I lost the Colonies. Am I fit to be King? I sired the Prince of Wales. Am I fit to be a father? Well, the Princesses were a credit to him; they always sat so meekly in a little row and spoke when spoken to. They would be his comfort, and particularly his adored Baby Amelia. They must take care of her, he had told the Queen; the deaths of little Alfred and Octavius had been a terrible blow to them both. But there were thirteen left to them. Charlotte had been a good mother and a good wife, so he must not think of other more beautiful women. He wished he could get Elizabeth Pembroke out of his head. She was a beautiful woman, and she was at Court, which made it rather more important not to think of her.

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