He could face nobody— not even Lady Hertford. He wept bitterly. He forgot his disagreements with his daughter; he only saw her now as his beloved child.
Sir Richard Croft, the accoucheur, had come to him in an utmost demented state. The Prince had tried to comfort him and himself at the same time.
‘They tell me the child was perfect— perfect— and a boy.’
‘It was so, sir. And his features were undoubtedly those of your family.’
The Prince turned away and wiped his eyes. ‘I cannot bear to think of it. Pray leave me to my grief.’
Sir Richard went away and in the streets the people recognized his carriage and booed him. The rumours were already spreading through the town that he had been careless; he had not done his job as he should; he was responsible for the death of their beloved Princess.
The Regent gave way to tears and at the back of his mind was the thought: It is even more important now to rid myself of that woman. It’s not too late. But for her, I could marry again, get another son. They must bring me news of her misconduct. Why can’t the obvious be proved? But it is necessary now— necessary. The Queen was at Bath taking the waters. She had been unwell lately, and her doctors had suggested the visit. Her daughter Elizabeth had accompanied her and they had taken three houses in Sydney Place for themselves and their attendants.
She was glad that her relationship with the Prince Regent was better than it had been for many years. The old battles were done with. He had mellowed, she told herself, and perhaps she was no longer seeking power. It was all his now,.
and her feelings towards him were like those she had had when he was a child, when he had been her favourite.
He had married that odious woman and she would like to see him free of her; not that he needed to marry now that he had a child and this child was about to bear another. She hoped it would be a boy which would please the people and make them love their royal family again. There was nothing like a child to do that.
She remembered how they used to crowd round young George when he was a baby and cheered when he was wheeled into the Park.
How different they were towards him now. Only a few months ago when he returned from the opening of Parliament the mob had surrounded his carriage and thrown mud and all sorts of ill smelling rubbish at it. He had sat in it, ignoring the smell, his scented handkerchief at his nose, a figure of elegance and disdain.
Some people said that a bullet had been fired at him although the sound of it was not heard, so loudly was the mob shouting. They found a hole in the woodwork of the coach though.
Such scenes were frightening. One could never be sure when the mob would get out of hand.
But all that was over for a while. The people would be thinking of the new royal child. The bells would be ringing out and there would be general rejoicing.
She hoped she might have a hand in bringing up the child. It certainly should not be left to flighty Charlotte.
She was eagerly awaiting news of the birth. It must be soon now.
Lady Ancaster, one of her ladies-in-waiting, had come to read to her as she did at this time every day. How strange she looked.
‘Is anything wrong, Lady Ancaster?’
‘Your Majesty—’ Lady Ancaster had begun to sob.
‘It is Charlotte— is it?’
Lady Ancaster tried to speak but could not do so. ‘Something has gone wrong.
The child—’
Lady Ancaster looked at her helplessly. ‘Born dead—’ murmured the Queen.
And she knew the answer.
‘Charlotte—’
Still that look of blank misery.
‘No! No!’ cried the Queen.
But he knew it was true. Charlotte was dead.
Lady Ancaster was startled into action. She ran to get assistance, for the Queen had fainted.
They were saying in the streets that wicked old Queen Charlotte had planned this. She had always hated her young namesake. Why should one so young and healthy die in childbirth?
And what had Sir Richard Croft to do with it?
Why, the old Queen and the accoucheur had plotted together. They were determined that Charlotte should die so they had poisoned her. Sir Richard had neglected her. He had bled her too much. He had weakened her when he should have strengthened her. Who was Sir Richard Croft anyway? The son of a chancery clerk who had become a fashionable doctor.
Wait till they could lay their hands on the old Queen. Wait until they could meet Richard Croft face to face. They had been hoping for a royal birth and the accompanying festivities— and all they would get was a funeral.
Sir Richard Croft blew out his brains and the people were satisfied. After that there was no more talk about the murder of Princess Charlotte and her child.
When the funeral was over the Prince Regent retired to Brighton there to think of the future. He wandered through his ornate rooms and took comfort from all the splendour which was his creation. And all the time he was haunted by a shadow— the shadow of the woman who was his wife. While he was married to her he would know no peace and he longed as never before to be rid of her.
Why would no one help him? Why was it impossible to find just the evidence they needed?
He was determined that he would rid himself of Caroline.
No price was too high to be paid to be free of that woman. He would marry again. This time he would choose his bride.
He often thought of Maria. The greatest mistake of his life might have been marrying Caroline but to leave Maria was almost as grave. They should have been together. She would have comforted him now. He still thought of her at times like these. Lady Hertford— nor any of them— had ever had the solace Maria had to offer.
But it was too late to think of Maria now. She was older than he was and he was no longer young. But not too old to beget a child. And he must. The country needed an heir and he must provide it.
And how?
Now here he was back to the beginning. He must rid himself of that woman.
He went to see the Queen. She received him with great affection. It was pleasant to contemplate that the enmity between them was over. Now they were in perfect accord and she knew why he had come to her.
‘If I died tomorrow, the Duke of York would be King.’
‘With a barren wife who is not long for this world,’ remarked the Queen.
‘And William— he’s living with his large family of Fitzclarences at Bushey.’
‘He, should marry and so should Kent,’ said the Queens ‘This sad affair has brought home to us how necessary it is for every member of the family to do his duty.’
‘I will summon them all,’ said the Regent. ‘Their duty must be pointed out to them.’
‘So many children,’ mused the Queen, ‘and not an heir among them.’
‘If Charlotte and the child had lived—’
‘Ah, yes, you did your duty, painful as it was.’
‘Painful, indeed,’ echoed the Prince.
‘I always thought it was a pity you took that one instead of my niece Louise. I knew it was wrong at the time. Alas!’
‘Alas!’ repeated the Prince. Then he added briskly: ‘I will speak to my brothers. They must marry without delay. As for myself—’
‘As for yourself—’
‘I don’t give up hope. She is behaving in the most outrageous manner. We must have proof soon.’
‘Oh pray God it will come,’ said the Queen piously.
It was not difficult to persuade the Dukes of the need for them to find wives as quickly as possible. They were no longer very young, any of them— and marriage was a duty of which they had been very neglectful. The Duke of Kent was a little disturbed because he was devoted to his mistress, Madame St. Laurent, with whom he had been living for the last twenty-seven years; but like his brother, the Duke of Clarence, he was prepared to do his duty.