She had just put Willikin to bed— a task which she undertook herself with the utmost pleasure— when Mrs. Fitzgerald came to tell her that a messenger had arrived with a letter for her.
She said that he was to be brought to her and when he came, she read the letter and went to her desk to write an answer.
When the messenger had left with it she said to Mrs. Fitzgerald: ‘They are telling me that they will want the servants to appear for questioning and I have answered that they may question all they like.’
‘For questioning?’ cried Mrs. Fitzgerald aghast.
‘Why? What’s worrying you? Why shouldn’t they question them if they want to?’
‘If they tell the truth all should be well,’ said Mrs. Fitzgerald, but she was thinking of the many indiscretions— the light, frivolous flirtatious manner and conversation of the Princess. She was thinking of young Willikin upstairs in his bed.
Couldn’t she see how easy it was going to be to make a case against her?
But it was not so easy. It was true that some of the servants gave the answers which they knew the Prince of Wales would want. Several of these servants were no longer with the Princess of Wales; some had been dismissed and had a grievance; others had been sent to serve her for the sole purpose of spying.
Oh yes, said these. They had seen the Princess behave very familiarly with men who came to the house. They had seen her kiss Sir Sydney Smith, embrace Captain Manley and speak very affectionately to Mr. Canning; she had told them not to disturb her when she was alone with Sir Thomas Lawrence. Oh, yes, they all thought this was very strange behaviour for a Princess of Wales.
But there were other servants— good and loyal. The Princess was by nature friendly. She was warm and affectionate to everyone— even the humblest of her servants. She called them ‘my dear’, ‘my love’, ‘my angel’ even. It was a habit of hers.
Had she been very familiar with men who called at the house?
No more than with women. She was impulsively friendly with all.
But right at the heart of the matter was Willikin. Who was this boy? Was it possible that he was the Princess’s son? This was the charge against her and if it could be proved that she was the mother of that boy then it would be possible for the Prince to divorce her, for not only would she have been proved flagrantly unfaithful, but guilty of treason to the State, for that boy could claim the throne; and this was where the matter was so serious.
The Princess had declared— and some of her servants corroborated this— that William Austin was the son of Samuel and Sophia Austin; they were near neighbours of hers and the man worked in the dockyards.
There was only one thing to be done: Call the woman whom the Princess alleged was the mother of the boy.
Sophia came— clean, respectable, a witness whom they had to admit they could trust.
Yes, she had had conversations with the Princess of Wales.
‘And was she the mother of the boy who lived with the Princess of Wales?’
‘If you be talking of young Willie,’ was the direct answer, ‘I am his mother.’
‘And your son now lives at Montague House with the Princess of Wales?’
‘Tis true that I sometimes have to pinch myself to believe it. But she’s an angel, that Princess. And my, don’t she love the little ones! When I was carrying Willie she came to me and I complained of having another mouth to feed. Give him to me, she said . I’ll adopt him. There! It was as easy as that.’
‘Do you swear that you are the mother of William Austin?’
‘I swear it, and if you don’t believe me you go along to Brownlow Street Hospital, for that was where Willie was born.’
There was no refuting evidence of that sort. The Council had reluctantly to admit that there was no truth in the allegation that the Princess of Wales had borne an illegitimate son.
They did not forget, however, that they must please the Prince. They added that, although there was no evidence to support the theory that the child, William Austin, was the Princess’s and although it seemed certain that he was not, that did not mean that the Princess was not guilty of behaving in most unbecoming manner; and in the Council’s opinion the morals of the Princess of Wales left much to be desired.
So her enemies were defeated. They had been proven by the Prince’s friends — to be lying.
She had forgotten that she was only exonerated from the charge of producing an illegitimate child; it was by no means proved that the life she lead was not one of immorality.
She was made aware of this when she wrote to the King with her usual exuberance and received a very restrained letter in reply in which His Majesty stated that he could not help but be gravely concerned by her conduct.
‘By my conduct!’ she cried to the faithful Mrs. Fitzgerald. ‘But I have been proved to have been slandered! Oh, my dear, dear Fitz! Was ever such a poor devil in the plight I’m in? I’m a princess and no princess. I’m a married woman with no husband— for the Prince of Wales is worse than none. This is not the end, Fitz. They’ve determined to make my life a hell— all of them. Can’t you imagine the old Begum tittering away, surrounded by her virgin daughters! Let them! What do I care! But I do care about the old man, Fitz. I think I loved him in a way. He tried to be so good always. And now look at this. He’s gravely concerned— by my immorality and he isn’t going to see me. I’m going to be shut away here and forgotten. But I’ll tell you something, my dear, I won’t have it. I won’t. I won’t.’
Mrs. Fitzgerald looked alarmed, but Caroline burst out laughing.
‘Don’t be frightened, my dear, I’m not going mad. Though I declare there’s enough to make me. That’s for my poor old father-in-law. God bless him. But I’m not having him turned against me! I’m going to see him. And I’ll keep on at him until I do. I shall write to him again and again—’
‘Your Highness, why not ask the advice of Spencer Perceval? He will know what’s to be done.’
The Princess was thoughtful for a moment. Then she cried: ‘You’re right.
That dear man will know— and at least he is my friend.’
The King was decidedly worried. On all sides he heard stories of Caroline’s misconduct. The Queen believed in it and constantly referred to it. Oh, they had not proved that she had had this child but it was quite obvious that she led a very wild life. All those men calling on her at odd times of the day and night! Most peculiar! And what a way for a Princess of Wales to live! What a sad day for the Prince of Wales, for the family and for England when George had taken the King’s niece from Brunswick instead of the Queen’s from Mecklenburg-Strelitz!
A sad day, a sad day indeed, thought the King. But she was a pleasant woman, quite handsome in her way too. Why could not the Prince of Wales give up his wild life and settle down as an heir to the throne should do?
He was sorry for Caroline, but how could he see her in the circumstances? It would be as though he gave his approval to immorality.
And he had felt life was going to be better. Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar had put new heart into the nation and in him. Yet even that victory had its sadness, for Nelson had fallen and the country had lost its saviour in the moment of victory.
He thought of the great hall of Greenwich hospital into which the public had crowded to see the coffin of the naval hero and of the funeral that followed and at which he had been represented by the Prince of Wales and his brothers. A sad occasion to follow victory. But Lord Nelson would have rejoiced because he had crippled the might of Napoleon and made England safe.