Jean Plaidy - The Regent’s Daughter

One could not of course live the simple life all the time. There were visitors from London including the Regent himself.

‘But,’ said Charlotte, ‘having had our ceremonies it makes me return all the more gleefully to the simple life.’

And soon she was happier still; for she discovered that she was to have a child.

‘This time,’ said Leopold, ‘we must make sure that nothing goes wrong.’

He lifted a warning finger, which she seized and bit – just to shock him a little and to amuse him too. For however he tried to change her, she reminded him, she would remain Charlotte, the impulsive hoyden.

He pretended to sigh and murmured: ‘I suppose it is so.’

She could not resist writing to Mercer now and then, for after all it was a habit of years; and Leopold had not said it would displease him if she wrote.

Poor Mercer, who was married to that dreadful Comte de Flahault, could not enjoy this bliss.

‘This marriage makes my whole happiness,’ she wrote, and happily she signed herself Charlotte Coburg.

ALL WAS IN readiness. Soon, thought Charlotte, my baby will be born. She hoped for a son … a son for England. But did she really care? This would be the ultimate happiness, her own child; she, the young Princess, to be a mother.

‘I can scarcely wait for the day,’ she told Leopold.

‘Patience!’ he warned, and that made her laugh aloud.

‘Really, how can one be patient at such a time?’

‘One not only can but one must,’ was the answer.

Dearest Leopold! Right as usual!

The baby’s layette was folded and lay in readiness in the drawers, delicately scented; she took out the little garments and folded them again. Sir Richard Croft the well-known accoucheur was to be in attendance with Dr Baillie, one of the most important doctors in England.

Leopold said that he was going to have his own physician, Dr Stockmar, at hand in case he should be needed. Leopold had a great faith in Stockmar and Charlotte liked him; she had had many a conversation with him during the preceding months and she had been amused at first because she sensed his disapproval of her boisterous ways. His stern Germanic ideals, so like Leopold’s, made him look for more modesty in a woman, even though she was a princess. But in time dear Stocky as she called him had succumbed to her charms and was now one of her ardent admirers.

‘He can look after you, dearest Doucement,’ she announced. ‘For I do declare that from the fluster you are sometimes in over this affair it would seem that it is your ordeal rather than mine.’

In addition to the doctors there was to be Mrs Griffiths – an excellent nurse recommended by the doctors.

‘And so,’ sighed Charlotte, ‘all we can do now is wait, patiently if possible and if not … well, as you so rightly point out, my dearest, wait in any case.’

The Queen called at Claremont. She said she wished to assure herself that all was well with her dearest granddaughter.

Charlotte sat with her in the drawing room overlooking the Park and the Queen talked of confinements of which, Charlotte conceded, she must be very knowledgeable, having given birth to fifteen children.

‘You have the best possible doctors,’ said the Queen, ‘and Griffiths is excellent. I have made absolutely sure that you are in good hands.’

‘I feel very cherished, Your Majesty.’

‘It is a very important occasion. The child you are to bear will one day be a king or queen of England.’

‘It’s a sobering thought, Grandmamma.’

‘I am glad,’ commented the Queen, with a touch of asperity, ‘to see you serious.’

‘I have changed. Grandmamma.’

‘I am glad to hear it. I shall go to Bath very relieved.’

‘And I shall pray that the waters have the desired effect and you will come back in much better health.’

‘If the great event should occur I shall return immediately. We have taken three houses at Sydney Place near the Parade. Elizabeth is coming with me and will be such a comfort. But I am going to insist that Sir Richard Croft moves in to Claremont House without delay. Griffiths too.’

‘We could get them here in a very short time, Grandmamma.’

‘No doubt. No doubt. But I prefer them to be here and I have given orders that it shall be. They will arrive tomorrow.’

The autocratic old Begum! thought Charlotte almost tenderly.

Becoming a mother made one see other people in a different light. Or perhaps she did not care any more that she was treated like a child, who could not make her own decisions.

All she cared about was Leopold and the child that was soon to be born.

She was glad that Mrs Griffiths had come for she took an immediate liking to her. The nurse was respectful yet firm and she cared passionately for babies and would talk about them by the hour.

She told Charlotte what to expect when the pains started, and trusted that the labour would be over quickly.

‘Don’t worry,’ laughed Charlotte. ‘I promise not to bawl or shriek.’

Mrs Griffiths said: ‘Your Highness will have the very best of doctors and that is a mighty relief.’

And every day they waited for the pains to start; in the stables the horses were ready and the grooms were on the alert so that the news that the birth was imminent could be carried round to those who should be present on this important occasion.

The days began to pass. Charlotte grew larger but there was no sign of the birth.

At last on a misty November day the pains began.

The message went to the grooms in the stables who sped off in various directions that the privy councillors and the Archbishop of Canterbury might be present at the birth. The latter had been staying with the Bishop of London at Fulham, this palace being nearer than the Archbishop’s own residence at Canterbury.

Very soon the carriages of the Archbishop, the Lord Chancellor and other ministers were on the road to Claremont.

They expected on arrival to hear that the child was born but the Princess’s ordeal was slow and laborious.

In the library which adjoined the Princess’s bedroom the eminent assembly waited for the cry of a child and the inevitable summons.

They went on waiting.

‘It’s slow,’ said Lord Eldon.

The Archbishop commented that he had been afraid he would not arrive in time but it seemed there was time to spare.

‘Sir Richard has told us that all is going as well as we could possibly wish,’ replied Eldon.

The waiting continued.

The day was well advanced when Sir Richard Croft, looking less confident than previously, announced that he and Dr Baillie had decided to call in Dr Sims, the well-known accoucheur.

Dr Sims arrived at three o’clock the following morning while the birth of the child was still awaited.

All through the day Charlotte’s labour persisted.

Everything was not as it should be. No one could shut their eyes to that now. The doctors were giving out reassuring bulletins but in the streets the people stood in little crowds, silent and solemn.

Poor Princess, what an ordeal for her. But it must soon be over now.

At nine o’clock the child was delivered – a boy, perfectly formed, but dead.

Leopold was at her bedside. She smiled at him.

‘So I have failed you,’ she said.

He shook his head, tears in his eyes. ‘My darling, you were so brave. Only one thing matters, you are here with me. I feared … how much I feared.’

‘Well, then I find I am not so unhappy. It will be as it was before and next time there will be a living boy.’

‘My dearest … don’t speak of it.’

‘I believe you suffered more than I.’

Mrs Griffiths came to the bedside with some chicken broth. ‘How smart you are looking, Griffiths,’ said Charlotte. ‘I see you have changed your dress. Why didn’t you put on the silk one? You know it is my favourite.’

‘I will wear it, Your Highness, on the day you leave your bed.’

‘I shall keep you to that. When shall I be able to comb Leopold’s hair again?’

‘When you have drunk this nice chicken broth and grown strong again.’

‘Griffiths treats me as though I’m a child,’ she said with a grimace.

It was the old Charlotte. Leopold was deeply moved, she saw, and she asked him why.

‘Because I feared so much …’

‘Dear Leopold, so you truly love me?’

He could not speak – he, the calm, the precise one, found that words choked him.

She was happy to lie there holding his hand, dreaming of the future. They would have children. Perhaps she had not taken enough care. Next time it would be different. She would make him understand this when she was stronger.

Now she would have him put his head on the pillow beside her. ‘I feel happier that way,’ she said.

And they stayed like this for some minutes when suddenly she cried out.

‘It’s a pain, Leopold … such a pain …’

Leopold ran from the room to call the doctors.

The doctors were round the bed. The Princess’s body was as cold as ice and they could not bring warmth back to it. They gave her hot wine and brandy; they applied hot flannels and bottles of hot water, to no effect.

Leopold stood by the bed gazing at her in an agony of distress. Charlotte’s eyes never left him and now and then she made as though to stretch out her hand to him.

She said to Sir Richard Croft: ‘Am I in danger?’

‘If you lie still and remain calm there will be none.’

She smiled wanly. ‘I think I know what you mean,’ she said, and she thought: This is the end then. This is where it all stops. My divided love for my parents, my destiny … I will never be like Queen Elizabeth now. All the time Fate was mocking me. I was learning to be a queen who never would be. And Leopold … who made me happy at last, my dearest Leopold will be all alone.

She wanted him to know what he had done for her, how he had brought her that security of love for which she had striven all her life … twenty-one years of living. Leopold, she thought, I am leaving you now.

She stretched out her hand. He took it and murmured her name.

But she could scarcely see him now.

Leopold, gazing at her, saw the glazed expression in her eyes, heard the death-rattle in her throat.

Time was playing strange tricks. He was in the Pulteney Hotel; he was handing her into a carriage, she was laughing at him, teasing her Doucement. Hundreds of pictures of Charlotte, anything to shut out the Charlotte he was seeing now.

Sir Richard Croft laid his hand on his shoulder.

‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘it is over.’

And Leopold threw himself on to his knees, frantically kissing her hands as though by so doing he could bring her back to life.

Letters of the Princess Charlotte 1811-1817 edited by Arthur Aspinall

A Biographical Memoir of Princess Charlotte of Wales and Saxe-Coburg (1817)

The Life of the Late Princess Charlotte (1818)

National and Domestic History of England William Hickman Smith Aubrey

The Years of Endurance Sir Arthur Bryant

George III – His Court and Family Henry Colburn

The Reign of Beau Brummell Willard Connely

The Life and Times of George IV The Rev George Croly

The Good Queen Charlotte Percy Fitzgerald

The Life of George IV Percy Fitzgerald

George IV Roger Fulford

Memoirs of Her Late Royal Highness Princess Charlotte of Wales and Saxe-Coburg Thomas Green

Unsuccessful Ladies Jane-Eliza Hasted

Memoirs of Charlotte Augusta, Princess of Wales Robert Huish

The Princess Charlotte of Wales Mrs Herbert Jones

The Great Corinthian Doris Leslie

George IV Shane Leslie

The Loves of Florizel Philip Lindsay

The First Gentleman of Europe Lewis Melville

An Injured Queen Caroline of Brunswick Lewis Melville

Queen Caroline Sir Edward Parry

The Beloved Princess Charles E. Pearce

The Four Georges Sir Charles Petrie

The House of Hanover Alvin Redman

The Ill-fated Princess: Life of Charlotte, Daughter of the Prince Regent G. J. Renier