Georgian: The Prince and the Quakeress Part 28

'That clock is almost a minute slow.'

'Is it, Sire? I will speak to the clock winder without delay.'

The King nodded.

But he was feeling in a jovial mood, not inclined to be angry about the clock. He was thinking of Caroline, sitting at breakfast with the family, and Lord Hervey hovering. An amusing fellow, Hervey, and a great favourite with Caroline. And all the children there. Not many of them left now. Fred had gone... no loss. And William his only other son a disappointment to him. Emily a sour old spinster. They ought to have let her marry. Just those two left to him, William and Emily... both unmarried. He couldn't count Mary who'd married the Land-grave of Hesse-Ca.s.sel. She was too far away. Not much of a family, then. And the boy... George! He would be all right if he could cut loose from his mother's ap.r.o.n strings and free himself from the Scotsman.

It would have been different if Caroline had lived. He always thought of Caroline in the mornings; in the evenings he devoted himself to the Countess of Yarmouth. She was a good woman and he was glad he had brought her from Hanover. Caroline would be pleased, he told himself. She was always fond of those who were fond of me.

He looked at the clock, drained off his chocolate and rose to go into the closet. It was a quarter past seven.

He shut the door and suddenly he felt a dizziness; he put out his hand to the bureau to steady himself, and as he did so he fell to the floor.

Schroder had heard the fall and ran into the closet; he saw the King lying on the floor, and that he had cut his head on the side of the bureau.

'Your Majesty, are you all right?'

There was no answer. He knelt down and cried: 'Mein Gott!'

Then he called to the other servants.

'His Majesty...' he stammered; and they lifted the King and laid him on the bed.

'Call the physicians,' cried Schroder; and at that moment Lady Yarmouth came running in.

'Schroder. What has happened? Where is the King? Oh my G.o.d!'

'His Majesty fell, while in his closet,' Schroder told her. 'I have sent for the doctors.'

Lady Yarmouth knelt by the bed murmuring: 'Mein Gott! Mein Gott!'

When the doctors came they said they would bleed the King without delay, for it was certain that he had had a stroke. But when they tried to bleed him, no blood came.

Schroder knew what that meant. The King was dead.

Schroder also knew his duty. He had been primed in it by Lord Bute and although he served the King loyally he was not such a fool as to believe that he must ignore the masters of tomorrow for the rulers of the day.

Lord Bute had said: 'It is imperative that if anything should happen to the King and he is in his seventy-seventh year so it's not unlikely the first to know should be the Prince of Wales. It is your duty, Schroder, to see that is done. So in this unhappy event send a message immediately to His Highness and do not say "The King is dead". Write that he has had an accident... an accident will mean that he is dying; a bad accident will imply that he is dead.'

Those orders were clear enough and it was also clear to a man of Schroder's intelligence where the orders would come from from now on.

So while the doctors busied themselves about the bed and Lady Yarmouth knelt by the bed in a state of dazed apprehension, Schroder wrote on the first piece of paper he could find that the King had had a bad accident and he despatched a messenger with it to Kew, with the instructions that it was to be put in no hands except those of the Prince of Wales.

George was taking his morning ride in the gardens at Kew when he saw the messenger in the King's livery riding towards him.

He pulled up and waited. His heart had begun to beat faster. He guessed, of course. They had been waiting for it so long; it had to come sooner or later and there could be no denying that here it was when he read Schroder's scrawl: 'Your Highness, the King has met with a serious accident.'

In those first seconds George was aware of a terrible sense of isolation. This brisk October morning was different from any other in his life. He had changed. He was not the same man he had been yesterday. He had become a King.

He s.h.i.+vered a little. He had visualized this so many times, but nothing is quite the same in the imagination as in reality.

There was such a mingling of emotion fear and pleasure, pride and apprehension; a sense of power and of inadequacy.

But there was one he needed; and it was of him he first thought.

He told the messenger he might return whence he had come and turning to his groom he said: 'Take the horses back to the stables and say one has gone lame. You have seen the messenger from the King. Tell no one you have seen this... if you value your employment.'

'Yes, Your Highness.'

The Prince dismounted and made his way to the apartments of Lord Bute.

His lords.h.i.+p was at breakfast and as soon as he saw George he knew what had happened.

He hastily dismissed his servants and, kneeling, kissed George's hands.

'Long live the King!' he cried. 'And a blessing on Your Majesty.'

'Whose first command will be to hold you to your promise, my lord.'

'My life is at Your Majesty's service.'

'Now,' said George, 'I feel competent to mount the throne.'

While the new King and Lord Bute were preparing to leave for London, a letter arrived for George in the hand of his Aunt Amelia.

George took it and read it. It formally announced the death of her father and begged George to come to London with all speed.

Bute watched his protege sign the receipt for the letter, boldly and without hesitation: G.R. A King of twenty-two, thought Lord Bute. That could be an alarming state of affairs but not with George, innocent malleable George.

'Your Majesty is ready?' he asked when the messenger had gone.

George answered: 'Let us leave.'

There was certainly a new purpose about him. The lessons had been taken to heart. How different it would have been if that extraordinary affair of the Quaker had not been satisfactorily settled. Bute grew cold at the thought. That had been a narrow escape from disaster, brought about just in time.

On the road from Kew they discussed the new position. George would have to be firm; he would be surrounded by some very ambitious men; and the most formidable of them was, of course, Mr Pitt.

The sound of horses' hooves made Bute put his head out of the carriage window.

He sank back in his seat grimacing. 'As I thought. They have lost little time. Mr Pitt is on his way to Kew.'

Mr Pitt's splendid equipage with his postilions in blue and silver livery and his carriage drawn by six fine horses had pulled up beside the royal coach. Mr Pitt alighted perfectly groomed, his tie wig set neatly on his little head, his hawk's eyes veiled but glittering.

'At Your Majesty's service.'

'You are kind, Mr Pitt,' said George.

'As soon as the news was brought to me I set out for Kew to offer my condolences for the loss of your grandfather and my congratulations on Your Majesty's elevation to the throne. There are certain immediate formalities and I have come prepared to advise Your Majesty on the way to London.'

Pitt was ignoring Bute as though he were some menial attendant. Bute could say nothing in the presence of the King, but his fury was rising. George, however, had indeed been well trained.

'Thank you, Mr Pitt,' he said, 'but I shall give my own orders and am on my way to London to do so. I suggest that you get into your carriage and follow us.'

Pitt was amazed. He had expected to ride with the King into London. He had thought the young man would naturally have turned to him for guidance. Moreover, it was the custom for the King's ministers to advise the King; and here was this boy twenty-two and young for his years telling the Great Commoner himself that he had no need of his services.

For once Pitt was at a loss for words. He bowed; got into his carriage and while the King and his dear friend Lord Bute rode on towards London, Mr Pitt had no help for it but to get into his carriage and follow.

Bute was laughing with glee as they rode along.

'I fancy Mr Pitt is very surprised. He thought Your Majesty would almost fall on your knees before him. He has to be shown his place.'

'We will show him,' said George.

'His position is not exactly a happy one,' smiled Bute, 'for although he has taken power into his hands it is still that dolt Newcastle who is the nominal head of the government. That will make it easier. Your Majesty should summon Newcastle... not Pitt. Then our arrogant gentleman will realize that Your Majesty has no intention of being ruled by him.'

Indeed not! thought George. He would not be ruled by anyone. He was King. It was what he had been born for... reared for... and now he had reached that high eminence.

He looked at the countryside with tears in his eyes. His land! These people whom he saw here and there, did not know it yet, but they had a King who was going to concern himself only with their welfare. He was going to make this a great and happy country. He and his Queen would set an example of morality which would take the place of all the profligacy which had darkened the country before.

His Queen. He saw her clearly beside him. The loveliest girl in the kingdom who but the Lady Sarah Lennox?

Pitt, regarding the new King's strange behaviour on the road as youthful arrogance and uncertainty, arranged for the first meeting of the Privy Council to be held at Savile House. Meanwhile George, under Lord Bute's direction, had sent for the Duke of Newcastle to wait on him at Leicester House.

There the new King told Newcastle that he had always had a good opinion of him and he knew his zeal for his grandfather and he believed that zeal would be extended to him.

Newcastle expressed his pleasure and was looking forward to telling Pitt that their fears regarding the new King were unfounded, when George said: 'My Lord Bute is your good friend. He will tell you my thoughts.'

Newcastle was bewildered. He had always known of the young King's fondness for Bute, but he could not believe it would be carried as far as this. He might regard the Scotsman as a parent, but surely he realized the heights to which Pitt had carried the country.

He left the King's presence and went to see Pitt to impart his misgivings to him.

Pitt agreed that the King's conduct was extraordinary.

'But we must not forget,' he reminded Newcastle, 'that he has been ill-prepared for his destiny. When he is made aware of the position he will be easy enough to handle. I have prepared the speech he is to make to the Council and was about to leave to see him now.'

'I will await your return with some misgivings,' the Duke told him.

Pitt bowed before the King.

He smiled and went on to say that he doubted not the King knew the procedure on occasions such as the present 'of which, Your Majesty, there have been many in our history'.

'I am acquainted with the procedure,' said George coolly, for Bute had told him that the only way to deal with Mr Pitt was to refuse to see him as the great man Mr Pitt believed himself to be. Pitt was the King's minister and he had to be made to see that he was not the King. 'A misapprehension,' added Lord Bute, 'that his manner would suggest he deludes himself into believing.'

'I guessed Your Majesty would be, and I have prepared your speech. Perhaps you would look over it and give it your approval?'

George replied as Bute had suggested he should, because Bute had known that Pitt would present himself and his speech at the earliest possible moment. In fact Bute had already prepared the speech, so George had no need of Mr Pitt's literary efforts.

'I have already viewed this subject with attention,' said the King, 'and have prepared what I shall say at the Council table.'

Pitt was astonished. Ministers had grown accustomed to the indifference of Hanoverian kings to the traditions of English monarchy. And here was a boy twenty-two years old flying in the face of custom.

'Your Majesty would no doubt allow me to glance over what you intend to say.'

George hesitated. Bute had not advised him on this point. He said: 'Er... yes, Mr Pitt. You may see it.' And going to a drawer he produced the speech.

Mr Pitt cast his eyes over it and when he came to the phrase '. . . and as I mount the throne in the midst of a b.l.o.o.d.y and expensive war I shall endeavour to prosecute it in the manner most likely to bring an honourable peace...' Mr Pitt paused; his eyes opened wide and a look of horror spread over his face.

'Your Majesty, this cannot be said.'

George was alarmed, but he endeavoured to follow Bute's instructions and preserve an aloof coldness.

'Sire, this war is necessary to our country's well-being. Our conquests have raised us from a country of no importance to a world power. I recall Lord Bute's writing to me a few years ago when he deplored the state of our country in which he saw the wreck of the crown. Lord Bute was right then, Sire. Later he was congratulating me on our successes and thanking G.o.d that I was at the helm. I venture to think his lords.h.i.+p cannot have changed his mind since his hopes in my endeavours have not proved in vain. This war is b.l.o.o.d.y, Sire. All wars are b.l.o.o.d.y. It is not unduly expensive, for in spite of its outlay in men and money it is bringing in such rewards, Sire, as England never possessed before. You will not be a King merely; you will be an Emperor... when India and America are yours. And believe me, Sire, there is untold wealth, untold glory, to come your way. So I beg of you do not rail in your first speech as King against a b.l.o.o.d.y and expensive war.' George was about to speak, but Pitt held up a hand and without Lord Bute at his side to guide him George could only listen. 'One thing more I am sure Your Majesty has overlooked. You have allies. Are you going to make a peace without consulting them? Believe me, Sire, that if you use these words in your first speech to your Council you will do irreparable harm to yourself and your country.'

'You are very vehement, Mr Pitt.'

'Not more so, Sire, than the occasion requires. Now, will you allow me to advise you on this one sentence. The rest of your speech stands as it is written. It is well enough. But this sentence must be adjusted. Now allow me... Instead of "b.l.o.o.d.y and expensive war which I shall endeavour to prosecute in the manner most likely to bring an honourable peace... " we will say " . . . an expensive but just and necessary war. I shall endeavour to prosecute it in a manner most likely to bring an honourable and lasting peace, in concert with my allies." Now, will Your Majesty agree?'

George hesitated. He saw the point. It was true that Mr Pitt was leading the country to a position it had never before attained. But Lord Bute had said they must do without Mr Pitt because Mr Pitt would not be content to work under their direction. Mr Pitt would want to rule and lead them. All the same, there was something about the man which made it impossible to rebuff him.

'I will consider it,' said George haughtily.

Mr Pitt bowed and left.

It is the Scotsman who was trying to influence the King, thought Pitt. We shall have to delegate him to some position with a high-sounding name to hide its insignificance.

Without that evil genius George might be moulded into a fair shape of a King.

In a room at Carlton House the Archbishop of Canterbury received the members of the Privy Council when he solemnly informed them of an event which they already knew had taken place: George II was dead and they were a.s.sembled here to greet the new King, George III.

George, who had been in an antechamber waiting to be summoned, then came in.

In his hand he carried the speech he would deliver his first as King of England. As he came to the Council Chamber his eyes met those of Mr Pitt. The minister's were steely; he was wondering whether George would take his advice and change the speech which Bute had written. When he had been with the King he had been sure he would; but after speaking to Newcastle and talking together of the influence Bute had on the new King and on his mother who also wielded great influence with the young man he was a little uneasy.

He felt that what happened in the next few moments would be an indication and he would be able to plan accordingly.

Of one thing Pitt was certain; Bute would have to be relegated to the background, and the sooner the better.