"In the event of the King's death Your Highness should be at hand," agreed Fox.
"This turned out to be the attack of a mad woman with a dessert knife. I can tell you, gentlemen, the Queen received me very coldly."
"On orders from the King, no doubt."
"And he was in the next room. I even heard his silly old voice at one point. "Eh, what? Eh, what?" He was well ... and he knew I was there. I said to my mother: "I wish to see the King that I may assure myself he has suffered no ill effects from this unfortunate affair." And do you know what she replied? "That may be, but His Majesty does not wish to see you. And I can assure you that your visit here is having more ill effect than the attack by this mad woman." My own parents! Is it not time the people knew how I am treated?"
Fox was silent for a few seconds, then he said: "Yes, it is time ... time to bring this matter into the open. I think we should now make our plans."
"Plans for what?"
"For having the matter of Your Highness's finances discussed in Parliament whether Pitt is agreeable or not."
The Prince looked delighted. He could trust Fox. Sheridan was in agreement. Fox had brought him into politics, he owed his advancement to Fox. So naturally whatever Fox suggested seemed to him the wise thing to do.
"We need time," said Fox. "We must make sure of our support. But the time has come for us to take the initiative."
Fox radiated energy. Nothing pleased him more than a parliamentary conflict. This was a gamble of sorts. The public was naturally a little shocked that a prince could spend so much money he did not possess; but he had sold his horses and carriages; he had even paid off some of his debts and had lived economically, even riding in hired chaises—so he did repent of his follies. Whereas the King was determined not to help his son. He was an unnatural father; the people were beginning to realize that the King really hated the Prince of Wales. Besides, he was an unattractive old man, a boring old man, who preferred living in the country like a squire than in St. James's and Buckingham House like a king.
Fox said: "I do not think the King has ever been so unpopular. This is clearly the time to take action. Now we must plan carefully how best we can outwit the King and clever young Mr. Pitt."
Parliament would not reassemble until the autumn and then there were the formidable forces of Pitt to consider. Fox was eager not to go into battle until he was absolutely sure of victory and he believed that the Prince should make some bigger show of paying off some of the debts through his economical way of living. If he were not in Town—and how could he entertain there if he had shut up his reception rooms —the people would grow restive. They enjoyed watching the junketings that went on in his mansion, the fine carriages lining the Mall, the stories of his romance with Mrs. Fitzherbert. But that winter London must lose its Prince. The royal family must be content with the dreary King and Queen and occasional glimpses of the Princesses who were kept so shut away that they had no opportunity of bringing their personalities to the notice of cartoonists and the people.
"Then," said Fox, "in the spring we should be ready to go in and confound Mr. Pitt and His Most Ungracious Majesty."
Marine Pavilion
Lou is Weltje was a man of ideas and he had long been turning over in his mind a plan which he felt was a good one. On his trips to and from Brighton in the service of the Prince of Wales he had had time to survey the possibilities of that fishing village and he found them exciting.
Sea bathing he believed had come to stay. More and more of the fashionable world were spending long periods of the summer there. Old Smoker was a character; so was Martha Gunn; and stories of their salty conversation were repeated in the ballrooms of the great houses. Everyone must go to Brighton. The sea bathing was so beneficial to the health that it set one up for the winter; there was as much elegance in Brighton as in London because the Prince of Wales was there, and everyone knew that where the Prince of Wales was there was the ton, the high society, the only place where the fashionable could possibly exist.
So Herr Weltje began to make plans.
For three years the Prince had rented Grove House, but no one was going to say that Grove House was a worthy residence for the heir to the throne. Yet, reasoned Weltje, where else could the Prince stay? Quite obviously if there was no house in Brighton worthy of him, one must be provided.
No one could be unaware of Herr Weltje; he was as outstanding in his way as the Prince was in his. But whereas the Prince was remarkable for his good looks and his glittering elegance, Weltje stood out in his ugliness.
He had a face like a cod fish, sonic said, his short nose had an exaggerated tilt; his head was too big for his short fat body and he waddled like a duck.
To make up for his unprepossessing appearance Weltje had an alert mind. One did not rise from gingerbread peddler to majordomo in a royal household without intelligence; one was not known as the best cook in London without reason; one did not own a confectioner's shop in Piccadilly, which, it was true, was managed by one's wife, and a club which was patronized by the Prince and his friends if one was not a very clever business man.
The gingerbread seller was determined to make a fortune before he retired from business and then perhaps return to his native Hanover to spend it ... or perhaps by then he would be content merely to remain in England.
But now ... Brighton. Heir Weltje saw possibilities in old Kemp's Farm which stood on the west side of the Steyne. At this time few would give it a second glance, but that was all to the good. Its position was excellent; the name could be changed to Marine Pavilion; and with such a name and certain renovations it could be a more worthy dwelling for a Prince than Grove House.
Hen Weltje believed he had another winner. He would take a lease of the place, and when it was ready let it to his royal master.
When the Prince heard of the project he was delighted. Building was one of his passions and he threw himself wholeheartedly into turning Kemp's Farm into Marine Pavilion. They must have, he told Weltje, the best of architects and he would have Henry Holland brought down to Brighton. The house must be ready for occupation by Easter as he had no intention of taking Grove House again and as Carlton House was shut up he intended to come down to Brighton as soon as the weather was warm.
Work started immediately. The Prince would never suffer delay and in a few weeks there was not a sign of Kemp's Farm. In its place an elegant mansion began to take shape. It was dominated by a rotunda in its centre, with a shallow cupola. Ionic colonnades connected this with the two wings on either side; and a gallery, on which forbidding looking statues had been placed at intervals, surrounded the rotunda. The north wing, with the rotunda, had been added to what had been Kemp's Farm, and which formed the basis of the south wing, so that Holland had more than doubled the size of the place and had arranged that almost every window should have a view of the sea. He had made it a very pleasant residence with verandas and balconies; and the gardens before the Pavilion were delightful. The front lawns were surrounded by a low wall and some trellis so that it was easy for people to see over and watch the Prince and his guests enjoying the sunshine in the gardens.
It was a pleasant summer villa, the Prince decided; not ostentatious, but suited to his present mode of living. His passion for building made him dream of what alterations might one day be made to the Pavilion—but for the time being, with its two wings on either side of the rotunda, it must be adequate.
Maria, who had refused to live openly with him, took a little house very near Marine Pavilion—just a small villa, made charming by its green shutters, and it was particularly convenient because only a narrow strip of garden separated it from the Prince's house.