Виктория Холт - The Third George

George came in, took her hand and kissed it fervently.

"You are early, George, my dearest son.”

"I mistook the time," lied George. He thought: She is dying and she will not admit it. Oh, my brave mother who has lived for me.

The Princess Dowager embraced Charlotte more warmly than usual. Poor Charlotte, who had been shut out deliberately. It was a mistake, thought the Princess. Did I think that I was immortal, that I would go on forever, so that he had no need of someone to take my place?

She sat bolt upright on her chair trying to concentrate on what they were saying. And George sat beside her, a pain in his heart because he knew he was going to lose her and that this could well be the last time they sat together like this.

He could have wept, but he knew that would distress her; and he wanted to tell her that he loved her, that she was his dearest mother and he would never forget her care for him. But he dared not say these things for she would not wish it; and how much more painful it was to sit there beside her pretending that all was well.

When her son and daughter-in-law had left her the Princess Dowager collapsed on to her bed. I cannot lie to them much longer, she thought. She was right. She could not hold off the doctors now. She was too ill for pretence.

She was aware of the King at her bedside; she saw his eyes wide with grief, his lips twitch with emotion.

"Farewell, my good son George," whispered the Princess Dowager.

"Oh, dearest and best of mothers ..." answered George. He turned in despair to the doctors.

"Is there nothing ... nothing that can be done, eh? Nothing ... nothing. Eh? What?”

The doctors shook their heads. There was nothing.

George could not now find solace even at Kew. He missed his mother deeply and he thought of her constantly. He felt that all his brothers and sisters were alien to him; and he was a sentimental man; he had wanted to believe they were such a happy family. He could not bear to think of Caroline Matilda, virtually a prisoner in exile, her punishment for entering into an adulterous intrigue which she made no attempt to deny. Indeed how could she, with the evidence against her?

And this was his little sister. The news from Brunswick was sordid and unpleasant, although he believed his sister Augusta made the best of it and at least did not add to his humiliation by undignified conduct. But he had never loved Augusta; that year of seniority had always been between them. When they were young she had bullied him; and when they were older had shown her resentment because although she was the first born he was the boy. And now Cumberland's disgraceful marriage. And as for William, Duke of Gloucester, the only other brother left to him, there were whispers about his life to which George assiduously closed his eyes.

Charlotte was a comfort. She never caused him the slightest scandal. There she was calmly in the background, sewing, praying, living the quiet domestic life and being he had to admit it excessively dull. Not that she should ever know that he thought that. Not that he would betray by a look that he thought often of Sarah Lennox and wanted to hear all about the scandal she was creating, bearing another man's child and running off and leaving her husband. She had now left her lover and was, he heard, living quietly at Goodwood House under the protection of her brother, the Duke of Richmond. Sometimes he imagined that Richmond blamed him for what had happened to Sarah. There were often times when he thought Richmond went out of his way to plague him. But he felt that about many people. Yet occasionally there were times, though he felt well and his mind was lively, when he was a little afraid of that persecution mania which had been with him so strongly at the time of that fearful illness, on which even now he did not like to dwell.

But he still thought of Sarah ... longingly ... and of women like Elizabeth Pembroke. Ah, there was a beauty! Unsuccessfully married both of them; and he supposed his marriage with Charlotte would be called a success. It has to be, he told himself desperately. I have to set an example.

But in his fancy he thought of other women. It was as far as he would ever progress in infidelity.

He must set that example, more especially because there was such licence in his Court.

There was Elizabeth Chudleigh, that old friend of his who had helped him to pursue his relationship with Hannah Lightfoot. How grateful he had been then! But would he have been wiser not to have taken that advice? Oh, it was easy to be wise after the event. But at that time Elizabeth Chudleigh had wished to please him and that was why she had acted as she had.

Elizabeth had been creating a certain amount of scandal. She had travelled widely in Europe, had become a close friend of King Frederick in Berlin; and when her husband Augustus Hervey asked her for a divorce because he wished to marry, she hurried home. It had been a curious case.

Elizabeth was near to marry the Duke of Kingston, whose mistress she had been so many years, and when it was not possible to arrange the divorce, declared that she had never really been married, and now she had gone through a form of marriage with the Duke of Kingston.

It was all very complicated, thought the King; and he did not wish to hear of it. He did not wish to see Elizabeth because she reminded him of Hannah Lightfoot. So he was pleased to push her to the back of his mind, but her strange behaviour did underline the licentiousness of his Court which he was trying to combat. All these women he admired were adventuresses, it seemed; and the admirable one was Charlotte. Charlotte with her little body, the plain face, the wide mouth which the lampoonists likened to a crocodile's. Charlotte, his wife. So plain, so good, so dull.

So he must commit his infidelities in dreams and in reality remain Charlotte's good husband. He gave evidence of this. Elizabeth had been born as also had been Ernest Augustus bringing the total up to eight. Five boys and three girls; and they had not yet been married ten years! No one could doubt that they were doing their duty. But he was deeply disturbed about his brothers and he kept remembering his mother's injunctions to get a law passed which would prevent royal personages marrying without their sovereign's consent.

He thought of those five boys and three girls and sincerely hoped that they would not bring him as much trouble as their aunts and uncles had. And thinking of this he decided that his mother was right and that something should be done.

The King was preparing a message which would be delivered to his Parliament: His Majesty, being desirous, from paternal affection to his own family and anxious concern for the future welfare of his people, and the honour and dignity of his Crown, that the right of approving all marriages in the royal family (which ever has belonged to the Kings of this Realm as a matter of public concern) may be made effectual, recommends to both houses of Parliament to take into their serious consideration whether it may not be wise or expedient to supply the defects of the law now in being, and by some new provision more effectually to guard the descendants of his late Majesty King George II (other than the issue of Princesses who may have married or may hereafter marry into foreign families) from marrying without the approbation of His Majesty, his heirs and successors.

When this message was delivered to the two Houses it was received with hostility. Chatham, on one of his rare appearances in the House of Lords, hobbled in, swathed in bandages, to thunder against the Act.

"New fangled and impudent," he cried. Others said: "This should be called "An Act to encourage Fornication and Adultery in the Descendants of George III".”

Lord North came to see the King and shook his head over the Bill. "It is most unpopular, Your Majesty.”

"I am sure it is right," declared George obstinately. "This must go through.”

The opposition continued. It was called a wicked act; but the King was determined.

He wrote to Lord North: I do expect every nerve to be strained to carry the Bill through both Houses with a becoming firmness, for it is not a question which immediately relates to the administration but personally to myself, and therefore I have a right to expect a hearty support from everyone in my service and shall remember defaulters.

The last phrase was ominous. Although this was a constitutional monarchy the King carried great weight, having the power to appoint ministers. There were some though who opposed him. One of these was Charles James Fox, a young man who was already beginning to make himself known in the House. Son of Lord Holland, nephew of Sarah Lennox, he was a man of overpowering personality. He stood firmly against the Marriage Act and resigned because of it.

A plague on young Fox, thought the King. His own mother, daughter of the Duke of Richmond, had run away from home to marry Henry Fox. A misalliance, thought the King. One could see the way that young man's mind worked. But he was angry with Mr. Fox. He would remember him.

The Bill had a stormy passage and could not be passed through exactly as the King wished. It was amended. The consent of the Sovereign should only be necessary until the parties were twenty-six years of age, after which a marriage might take place unless Parliament objected. A year's notice of the proposed alliance must be given.

Modified as the Bill was there were still storms of protest; but eventually it was passed with a meagre majority.

No sooner had the Marriage Bill been passed than George received a communication from his brother William Henry, Duke of Gloucester. William Henry had a confession to make. Six years before he had married and, because he believed that the King would not approve of his marriage, he had kept it secret. Now, of course, that the Marriage Bill had been passed, he must come out into the open.

And the woman he had married was Lady Waldegrave, the widow of their tutor whom George had so intensely disliked. That was not all. Lady Waldegrave was, in the King's opinion, most unsuited to be the wife of a royal duke. She was the illegitimate daughter of Sir Edward Walpole and her mother was said to have been a milliner! George was wounded not only by this most unsuitable marriage but by the fact that for six years his brother had kept it secret from him.

"The fool! The idiot!" he shouted. "They have no sense ... these brothers of mine. They think of nothing ... nothing but the gratification of their senses. They don't look ahead. They forget they are royal and they allow themselves to be caught by adventuresses.”

Charlotte, hearing the news, because it spread rapidly through the Court, tried to comfort her husband.

"At least we set a good example," she reminded him.

He looked at her ... plain little Charlotte, the mother of his numerous progeny. He had had to accept her; while his brothers chose these fascinating sirens whose unsuitability meant they must be doubly desirable, because even his reckless brothers would not be trapped into marriage unless they were. The more he thought of them, the more his lips tightened, and the more angry he became.

"They shall not be received at Court," he said. Then he was sad, thinking of the old days.

"Gloucester was my favourite brother after Edward died. We were often together and when he was young he was so serious.”

Charlotte nodded. "But that was only because he could not be anything else.”

"He was a good religious boy ... and so was Edward ... when we were all together in the schoolroom.”

"But they lost their seriousness with their freedom.”

"A madness seemed to possess them," began George, and was silent suddenly. That word which his mother had always hated to hear on his lips! No, no ... he thought ... a wildness. He went on: "A reckless desire to find pleasure ... everywhere. It seems as though they thought they had so much to make up for. I can't understand my brothers. Why do they have to behave in this way?”

Charlotte could not say. Her expression was prim. She was becoming very like her husband.

"I shall not receive them," said George. "I shall not accept this marriage. It may have been entered into before the Marriage Act but I shall not accept it all the same. Why should I, eh? What?”

But a further letter came from Gloucester. His wife was expecting a child. He hoped this would influence the King to accept them. When George read this he threw it on to his table. His brothers were going to be forced to realize their responsibility. He had had to make sacrifices; so should they. His family had displeased him and he was disappointed in them all. He remembered how he had adored Lord Bute and how he had been the last one to understand the relationship between that nobleman and his mother.