Виктория Холт - The Third George

He was a bit dull, they said; and there was nothing exciting about his Court; but he was a good husband and father and that was rare in Kings. But this mingling with the public could be carried too far and when George decided that he wished the children to hold a Court of their own there was some criticism of this. Young Frederick who was at this time seven had, when only a few months old, been given the title of Bishop of Osnabruck, which amused the lampoonists so much that the child was always represented in Bishop's regalia when he appeared in cartoons as he did constantly since he had received this title.

At the reception the five eldest children stood on a dais where they received the company in the utmost solemnity. The Prince of Wales, wearing the Order of the Garter, looked particularly jaunty and young Frederick, the youthful Bishop, wore the Order of the Bath. The ceremony was subjected to the utmost ridicule which delighted those noblemen who, with their wives, had been obliged to bow before such young children.

The cartoonists were busy; examples of their work were handed round; and the Prince of Wales was drawn flying a kite while a Whig dignitary bowed low before him. It was a mistake, George realized; and he was very susceptible to the feelings he aroused in his subjects. But even though this ceremony brought the jeers of the writers and artists, everyone went on admitting that the King was a good father and considering the state of the country and that he was therefore overwhelmed by anxieties brought about by the hostilities between his ministers and their ineptitude in solving the nation's affairs, he still had time to supervise his children's education.

George was a family man.

A family, though, could prove a heavy liability. George had long known that his brothers were creating scandal by the lives they led. Deploring this, George reminded himself that this fault in them could to some extent be blamed on their upbringing. So eager had their mother been to shield them from contamination by the wicked world that she had kept them shut away until they were too old to go on leading the sheltered lives she had arranged for them. And the result! As soon as they were free they began living like libertines, desperately, feverishly trying to make up for lost time.

There had been Edward, the companion of his childhood, who had been his favourite brother.

When they were boys they had shared confidences and it was to Edward that George had told the story of his love for Hannah Lightfoot, and it was Edward who had said that he would always stand beside his brother in everything he did. But when Edward broke free of maternal restraint he had given vent to such lechery that George could no longer feel the same affection for him; and Edward had chided his brother for his prudery. It had broken some of the links which bound them together, but the affection had still been there. George was affectionate by nature and the love for a brother could not be so easily destroyed. Edward Duke of York had gone to sea and, when ashore at Monaco, he had attended a ball, caught a chill and died. That had been a shock to George, even though some of his affection had waned. He could not forget the friendship of their boyhood and he had been very sad for a long time over Edward's death.

Now he was to receive a fresh shock, this time through the younger of the two brothers who remained to him, Henry the Duke of Cumberland. Young Cumberland came to George one day in an abject mood so unusual with him that George guessed something was very wrong. He soon discovered how wrong.

Cumberland said: "I have been a fool, George." And the fact that he called him by his Christian name was an indication to the King that he was appealing to him as a brother.

George replied: "Doesn't surprise me. I've heard tales of your doings from time to time. What have you been up to now, eh? What?”

"It's Lord Grosvenor, George.”

"Well, well, well, what of him, eh? what? Get on.”

"He's suing me for damages.”

"Suing a member of the royal family! He can't do that.”

"Well, George, he is threatening to do it.”

"On what grounds, eh?”

Cumberland hesitated and looked sheepish. "Well, you see, I was very fond at one time of Lady Grosvenor.”

"You idiot! You young fool! And now what?”

"He has brought a case against me for the seduction of Lady Grosvenor.”

"But this is not true," cried the King, knowing full well that it was. Cumberland nodded miserably.

"It must be stopped.”

"It's too late. The case is about to be heard. I put off telling you because I knew how shocked you'd be. You're such a prude, George. You never understand these things.”

"Oh, go away," said the King. "What is the use of my trying to set an example when my own family undermine everything I do?”

Cumberland wheedled: "There's nothing odd about it, George. Most people sleep with someone else's wife at some time.”

The King flushed scarlet. "Get out!" he said.

And Cumberland went, dejected but only a little. The King had to know that this case was pending and he had felt it would be better if he were the one first to break the news.

The whole of London was highly amused by the proceedings. The Duke of Cumberland had become very enamoured of Henrietta, Lady Grosvenor, and had sought to seduce her. She had allowed herself to be seduced; and now her husband in fact one of the biggest rakes in London had decided to make capital of the affair. After all he should expect big damages from a royal duke.

And so he had brought the case and Lady Grosvenor had kept Cumberland's letters which was exceedingly practical of her and so helpful to her husband's case. The letters were read in Court; ill spelt and ungrammatical, they were a boon to the lampoonists. All London knew what happened when a dissolute royal duke, who was clearly no scholar, pursued an equally dissolute noblewoman who was nothing loath.

The Princess Dowager was depressed about the affair; or perhaps it was something else which depressed her. She could no longer deceive herself. There was something very wrong with her throat. She felt listless at times and only wanted to shut herself in her apartments and be alone.

Her great desire was that no one should know that there was anything wrong with her.

There were times when she was in great pain; then she would soothe herself with a little opium which would lull her to sleep, and after a rest she would feel better. Her great determination to hide this thing from everyone about her acted as a kind of crutch, and although many people thought she was looking tired at times, they put this down to her increasing years. She was just past fifty, not so very old really and yet by no means young. It was understandable, she argued with herself, that occasionally she should have one of her bad days.

Secretly she was aware that this Thing in her throat was a killer; she had known others who had suffered from it. It was she guessed a tumour which would gradually grow more malignant as it sucked the life from her. But not yet. Not even Lord Bute should know. And when it was over there would be Miss Vansittart to comfort him. She was glad of that woman's existence. She would not regret leaving him so much if she could leave him in safe hands.

She was more philosophical, more self explorative than she had been before. She smiled sometimes at her reflection in a mirror and when her face looked back at her no longer forced into vitality, but showing the pain that was gnawing away inside her, she would whisper to herself : "I can see that I truly love that man.”

And she wept a little for the past those glorious days when they had first met in the tent, and how discreet and kind and attentive he had been, keeping his distance until that day when after Fred's death it seemed right and proper for them to become lovers.

"No man was ever loved more," she murmured; and she thought how strange it was that she who had been able to be such a mild and docile wife to Frederick, who had never greatly cared for her children, should have had such single-minded passionate devotion to offer to one man. There were some women perhaps who made better wives than mothers. She was one of them.

George she had watched over with such devotion mainly because he was to be the King. And now George had moved away from her. He no longer confided. She had always urged him to be a king in fact that had been the theme she had continually pressed on him and now, in his way, he had become a king. He devoted himself to state affairs; he made decisions; his ministers knew that they had to keep in his good graces. That was, after all, being a king.

And there was trouble. Chatham a sick man; and these other ministers?

"Poof!" said Augusta and thought how much better Lord Bute would have filled the role of Prime Minister. He had given up but that was because everyone was against him, she assured herself.

She would not believe that he could not have been as competent perhaps far more than Chatham ... if he had had a chance.

Trouble everywhere and now Henry, this silly son of hers, had to make matters worse by being involved in this most unsavoury case. They were laughing at him in the streets. They were prying into his intimate life. He had betrayed the secrets of his bedchamber. It was disgusting.

And of course the people revelled in it; and as they laughed over Cumberland and Lady Grosvenor, they would remember the Dowager Princess and Lord Bute. There would be more jackboots and petticoats to be seen in the streets, she knew. But it was so petty, so humiliating, so revolting. But the pain was beginning to nag again; and she knew from experience that it could quickly become so overwhelming that it submerged all else.

She groped for her bed and lay down. The pain was claiming her; there was nothing but the pain.

The past dissolved, taking ambition with it. The Princess Dowager knew that the pain was driving her from the scene of action and that whatever happened in the future she would have no part in it.

**** Henry came to see the King again. He was very dejected because the court had given judgment against him.

"Well?" said the King. "What is it?”

"Ten thousand pounds damages for Grosvenor.”

"What!”

"And three thousand costs. Thirteen thousand in all.”

"Well, you'll have to pay it. What?”

"George, I haven't the money.”

"Haven't the money? Should have thought of that before you started this ... this ... frolic. Thirteen thousand pounds!" The King seemed to be struck speechless with the distress of it.

"It'll have to be paid," said Cumberland. "Otherwise there will be a mighty scandal.”

"You should have thought of it before you started on this frolic. You should have considered it, you idiot. You young fool. Where are we going to find this money, eh, what? You tell me. Do you think I am going to find it for you, eh? Get out, and don't let me hear any more of this matter. You hear me, eh?”

There was nothing Cumberland could do but retire, but he returned shortly after with his brother William, Duke of Gloucester. Gloucester was sympathetic with Cumberland. He could hardly be anything else. His own amatory adventures were inflammable enough to burst at any moment into a roaring scandal. He would go with his brother, he said, and together they would try to persuade the King that he must help pay Grosvenor's damages or the family would be in disrepute.

George saw the point of this. He was weary of the affair. It was no use arguing. He wanted to talk it over with someone, but he would not do so with Charlotte. He had no wish to sully his wife's ears with stories of this sort. It was quite disgusting.

No, he must decide this matter alone, and after much thought he came to the conclusion that the best way out of this indelicate situation was to pay the damages as quickly as possible. In fact, although he did not care to admit this, the loss of the money hurt him even more than the scandal.

Wantonly to throw away thirteen thousand pounds for the pleasure of sleeping with one woman seemed to him not only criminal but criminal folly.

What about the folly of marrying Hannah Lightfoot? asked his conscience, always at his elbow these days. At least I was respectable. I married her. Ha, ha! said his conscience. What Cumberland has done is not half as shocking or perhaps as callous as what you did to Hannah Lightfoot. And what of Sarah Lennox? You publicly jilted that girl because you hadn't the courage to insist on marrying her in the face of opposition from Bute and your mother.