Jean Plaidy - The Regent’s Daughter

‘Everyone whispers about them,’ she said scornfully. She was about to mention the cartoon she had seen but thought better of that. They might find some way of stopping her seeing them.

‘I think,’ she said, ‘that I should be allowed to see my mother.’

Augusta, as the eldest, thinking it behoved her to speak, said: ‘I will speak to the Queen about this. And tell her what you have said.’

‘Not the Queen,’ cried Charlotte in alarm. ‘Tell Grandpapa instead.’

‘I fear it would upset him.’

Charlotte turned to Amelia. ‘If you could tell him … not specially … but one day when you are talking to him. Say I asked about my mother and that a child ought not to be separated from her own mother.’

Amelia smiled. She was accustomed to having to make requests to the King.

‘I’ll see how he is and if I can introduce the subject without upsetting him.’

Charlotte was about to say more when Amelia hurried on: ‘Augusta, do play that latest piece of yours. I am sure Charlotte would like to hear it.’

She would discover little from the aunts, that was certain.

While the music was being played the Duke of York came in. This was Uncle Fred – her favourite among her uncles. He greeted her exuberantly. He was not one to stand on any ceremony.

‘And how is my little niece today?’

‘Very well, Uncle.’

He kissed her warmly; he was very fond of women, as were the rest of the uncles and her father as well, of course. But their trouble was that they could not be faithful for long. The Duke of York had now become quite friendly with his wife although at one time they had hated each other. Aunt Frederica of York interested Charlotte far more than any of the Old Girls; but Uncle Fred was not often at Oatlands where she lived; he was always deep in some love affair with a woman other than his wife.

But she liked him; he was jolly, gay, kind and carefree. A very pleasant sort of uncle to have. She liked him even better than Uncle Augustus, Duke of Sussex, for he had disappointed her when he had left dear Aunt Goosey for another woman.

We are a strange family and no mistake, thought Charlotte. Here are the Old Girls living like nuns in a convent and scarcely allowed out of the old Begum’s pocket while the Old Boys live the most scandalous lives. Uncle Augustus had not been considered to be married to Goosey although he had declared he was at one time and there had been a case to prove he wasn’t. He had married her it was true, but this was in defiance of the Royal Marriage Act which Grandpapa had made law and which said that no member of the royal family under the age of twenty-five could marry without his consent. Uncle Augustus had married Goosey – she was going to have a child – and then the State had said No, they were not married, and Goosey’s baby was a bastard, which had infuriated Uncle Augustus at the time; but perhaps he did not care now since he and Goosey had parted.

As for Uncle Fred, he had disliked his wife and refused to live with her almost from the first; Charlotte was glad they were good friends now though, for she liked them both; in fact she thought they were her favourite uncle and aunt.

Fred was clearly not clever like the Prince of Wales; he just wanted to enjoy life and to see everyone about him enjoying it too. He had been her father’s greatest friend at one time and they still were devoted to each other. In fact all the brothers were friends, which was one of the pleasantest aspects of the family, and unusual too. For, thought Charlotte, we are a quarrelling family as a rule.

‘What’s the music?’ asked Uncle Fred.

‘One of Augusta’s own,’ Amelia put in.

‘It’s good. Makes you want to dance, eh, Charlotte?’

Charlotte agreed that it did.

‘Play it in waltz time, Gussy,’ said Uncle Fred; and Augusta complied.

‘Come, Charlotte,’ said Uncle Fred, ‘we’ll waltz together.’

‘Oh, Uncle, I don’t know how.’

‘Time you did then. Don’t you agree, girls?’

Aunt Elizabeth thought that when the time came for Charlotte to learn to waltz her father would decide that she should have lessons.

‘I’ll take the blame for introducing them prematurely,’ said Uncle Fred. He was on his feet and holding out his hands to Charlotte.

This was better than sitting stitching or trying to prise information out of aunts who were determined not to give it.

‘Now, Charlotte, hold your head up, take my hand … thus. Off we go.’

She was awkward, she knew, but this was only Uncle Fred who was never critical.

‘Capital! Capital!’ he kept saying. ‘That’s our clever Charlotte.’

She smiled up at him gratefully. His protuberant blue eyes – such a feature of the family – were alight with kindness, and his cheeks were scarlet with exertion, but he was clearly enjoying this.

‘Come, Mary,’ he said. ‘And you too, Elizabeth.’

They rose and waltzed round the room. Sophia who was not very strong and Amelia, who of course would become quite breathless if she attempted to dance, were the spectators.

‘That was good,’ cried Uncle Fred, when the music stopped. ‘I’ll tell your father he ought to be proud of his daughter. You’ll soon be gracing his ballroom, Madam Charlotte.’

Charlotte standing there flushed, slightly breathless, was happy. She pictured herself at Carlton House. She could see clearly the room with the tall pier-glasses which gave the impression that the room went on and on. She thought of the glittering chandeliers which threw down a rosy light on all the company and the crimson velvet hangings with their gold fringe and tassels.

In the midst of all this splendour she would dance and the Prince of Wales would notice her and be proud of her. He would stand before her and make that bow at which everyone marvelled and say: ‘I think my daughter should dance with me.’

And seated nearby, looking exactly as a queen should look – and that was as different as it was possible for anyone to be from the old Begum – would be Mrs Fitzherbert, smiling, well pleased, because everything was well between the Prince of Wales and his daughter.

How often all her dreams came back to this happy ending; and it was only in reality that it seemed as far away as ever.

Seated at her table in Lower Lodge, her books about her, Charlotte heard the sound of carriage wheels. She ran to the window and looking out saw her mother alighting.

She has come to see me! thought Charlotte excitedly. At last we shall be together. She must have ridden all this way from Blackheath to see me.

As she ran from the schoolroom she collided with Dr Nott who was about to enter and nearly knocked him over.

‘My gracious me,’ he murmured; but she had run past him. She would put on a clean dress, for the one she was wearing was a little grubby. Not that her mother would notice.

Lady de Clifford came running from her room crying: ‘Princess Charlotte, what has happened? Where are you going?’

‘My lady, my mother has come.’

‘It’s impossible,’ cried Lady de Clifford, turning pale.

‘I tell you I have seen her with my own eyes.’

Lady de Clifford knew that the King’s orders were that the Princess of Wales was not to visit her daughter. If Charlotte had indeed seen her mother then the Princess had come to Windsor in defiance of that order.

Flustered and trembling she decided she must delay Charlotte. ‘You should be ready when you are sent for,’ she said, although she did not believe that Charlotte would be sent for. Oh dear, what a dreadful task this was! She would die of palpitations one day. Trying to keep Charlotte in order was enough, but to have these unfortunate situations thrust upon her by her eccentric relations was more than a woman could endure.

‘You should put on a clean dress … and comb your hair and then … you will be in readiness,’ she babbled.

‘Help me then. I must be ready. I daresay they will give us only an hour together or something silly.’

Charlotte hastily put on a clean dress and allowed Lady de Clifford to comb her hair.

‘I should return to the schoolroom,’ she said, ‘for they will expect me to be there and that is where they will look for me.’

Lady de Clifford agreed and returned to the schoolroom with her.

They had not been there very long when they heard the commotion from without.

The Princess of Wales had come out to her carriage. Oh dear, thought Lady de Clifford, she does not look in the least like a princess. No wonder the dear Prince …

Caroline’s black wig was a little awry; her heavily rouged cheeks were startling beside the white lead with which the rest of her face was covered apart from those very black brows which had been painted on.

She was talking loudly in her atrocious English. She was trembling with rage, clenching and unclenching her fists and even turned to shake one at the windows.

It was clear to Lady de Clifford that the Princess of Wales was being turned away from Windsor.

‘Cliffy,’ whispered Charlotte, ‘what does it mean?’

She wanted to run down to the carriage to tell her mother that if no one else wanted her she did.

Lady de Clifford had laid a hand on her shoulder; she was saying: ‘I doubt not the Princess has come without an invitation.’

‘Without an invitation! To see me … her own daughter!’

The coachman had whipped up the horses, Lady de Clifford noticed with relief, and the carriage started to move.

‘They have driven my mother away,’ cried the Princess Charlotte.

Gentle Amelia tried to comfort Charlotte.

‘You see, Charlotte dear, His Majesty cannot visit the Princess nor allow her to visit us until this little matter is settled.’

‘What little matter?’

‘The Princess of Wales has been entertaining people at Montague House who are not quite the sort of people who – who should be the friends of royal people, do you understand?’

‘How is that? I met Sir Sydney Smith there. He is a great Admiral and he fought for his country. You should hear how he defended Saint Jean d’Acre. He told me about this. He could tell wonderful tales. And he used to carry me round on his shoulders.’

‘He could have been a very brave and daring sailor but still unfit to mix with a royal princess. You are too young to understand.’

‘I am not too young,’ said Charlotte rudely. ‘I liked Sir Sydney. And there was Thomas Lawrence too. He is a very great painter. It is a good thing to paint well, I suppose you’ll agree.’

‘It is very good, but to be able to paint does not mean that one is fit …’

‘And my mother is not allowed to see me because she knows these people?’

‘One day you will understand.’

‘One day!’ cried Charlotte scornfully. ‘What’s the good of one day when this is Now. Why is it that learning some things is so good for one and others have to wait till “one day”! I should have thought all knowledge was good. Don’t you think that’s true, Aunt Amelia?’

Aunt Amelia said that when she was older she would understand; and she then began to cough; and as, when Aunt Amelia coughed, everyone had to try to stop her doing so because it so upset the King, Charlotte had to run and get her soothing syrup and that was the end of that little conversation.

But, determined Charlotte, they are not going to keep me from my mother. I love her, and she loves me. She wouldn’t have come to Windsor to be insulted by Them if she did not.

She thought constantly of her mother and longed to see her again.

Augusta told her that there was to be a party for young people at Windsor and she could ask anyone she wished.

‘I thought,’ said Aunt Augusta, ‘that you might like to askLady de Clifford’s grandson, young George Keppel, and perhaps little Sophia Keppel as well. You may invite them both if you wish.’

‘You said that I might ask anyone I wished?’

‘Yes, that is so.’

‘Then I ask my mother,’ she said boldly.

Aunt Augusta looked as though she were going to have a fit of the vapours. Really, she confided to Elizabeth afterwards, Charlotte could be most embarrassing.

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.