"We called him Profligate," said the Earl, which made the Prince roar with laughter. Although of course when he repeated the joke to Maria it brought only a forced smile to her lips.
Maria did not approve of the Lades, nor the Barrys.
Dear Maria was decidedly prim. Not that he would have her otherwise. She was perfect as she was. He would not have liked to see her swearing with Letty Lade or joining in the pranks he played with the "Gates'. But she must remember that he was young—six years younger than she was—and that he wanted to enjoy all the fun that was to be had; so he wanted to be with these amusing friends and when he wearied of them to return to Maria's comforting bosom.
He had taken her brothers Walter and John into his circle, and they were in constant attendance. They clearly adored him and would do anything however wild to amuse him. This worried Maria a little; but what could she do? How could she tell her brothers that they must avoid the company of her husband, particularly when that husband was the Prince of Wales. They were getting into financial difficulties and could not understand why Maria did nothing for them. Why did she not procure some rewarding post for them in the Prince's household? It was true she extracted them from several financial embarrassments; but the Prince would have done anything for her. She only had to ask for some sinecure to be bestowed on her brothers and it would have been done in a flash.
But Maria was adamant. She would have liked them to go back to the country; she deplored the fact that their father had been unable to control them owing to his illness. Uncle Henry was far too easy going.
So Maria kept an eye on her brothers and longed for the days before the return of the Duke of York, who was always agreeable to her and ready to be her good friend; but she did deplore the practical jokes, the wild horseplay, the extravagance.
It was different from those lovely days at Brighton when the Prince had scarcely ever left her.
But he was still devoted; still determined that everywhere she should be accepted as the Princess of Wales.
In her house in Pall Mall where the walls of her drawing room were hung with puckered blue satin, and on the walls of the dining room hung full-length portraits of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, she entertained lavishly during the winter; and in the spring she rode down to Brighton with the Prince.
They were happily married—as she saw it; and she did not believe it would ever be otherwise.
Then there was disturbing news of the King.
The King's Madness
"The Queen" said Miss Burney to the very gallant Colonel Digby who, others had noticed, was constantly at her side, "seems to me to be obsessed by a most fearful apprehension."
"Ah, Miss Burney," laughed the Colonel, "you are too fanciful. I believe you dream up all sorts of terrors—and possibly joys—for us all, Her Majesty no exception."
"It is not true," declared Fanny. "But do you not sense this strangeness in Her Majesty? At the reading yesterday I am sure she did not hear a word. She was occupied with her own thoughts; which I fancy were far from pleasant."
Colonel Digby remarked that the Queen no doubt had her problems. His Highness's conduct at Brighton was giving concern to the King—so perhaps that was the cause of her preoccupation.
"Yes," agreed Fanny. "But there is something. It is as though she expects some ghost to appear suddenly ... some horribly menacing spectre."
The Colonel laughed aloud; he did laugh frequently with Fanny, although he was of rather a melancholy turn of mind and his favourite topics of conversation were what happened after death and did Fanny believe in immortality. He enjoyed conversation more than anything else; for what else, he demanded, was there to do in the King's household than talk?
Fanny listened, forever wondering what his intentions were, tor he had only recently become a widower and being but forty-lour years of age, he had told Fanny, he would like to marry again. They had much in common, for he had read widely and liked to discuss literature with her.
It was the tea-time hour—one of the best of the day as far as Fanny was concerned. Madam von Schwellenburg had not yet made her appearance and Colonel Goldsworthy had been dozing for the last twenty minutes.
"Oh yes," went on Fanny, "it is true. I have seen it in Her Majesty's face. She is afraid of something ... and what she fears is terrible."
Madam von Schwellenburg came into the room at that moment frowning and looking disapprovingly at Fanny who was always chatting with Colonel Digby. "Miss Berners' as she called her, would have to learn that she had not come to Court to flirt with "chentlemen'. She had come to perform duties for the Queen and that meant waiting on the Queen's chief Lady of the Bedchamber.
"Tea I vill haf, Miss Berners," she said, and Fanny immediately served her.
The unpleasant woman made a face. "Poof. Not goot. Too much time on talks..." She frowned at Colonel Goldsworthy who emitted a slight snore. "Colonel Goldsworthy ... he alvays sleeps vith me. Sleeps he vith you too, Miss Berners?"
Fanny said that the Colonel had been hunting with the King and his party and no doubt that had made him a little tired.
Madam von Schwellenburg tapped her foot impatiently on the floor and looked delighted when one of the pages appeared to say that His Majesty wished to see Colonel Digby.
The Colonel sighed, gave Fanny a languishing look and departed.
"Colonel Digby is too fond of talk. He likes too much the vimen. He look alvays for Miss Gunning." Schwellenburg shot a mischievous glace at Fanny, but Fanny was pursuing her own thoughts: There is something which is disturbing the Queen, she thought. I know she is terrified.
Unable to achieve the required effect through her references to Colonel Digby's attentions to Miss Gunning, Schwellenburg scowled and said: "You vill to me bring my snuff box, Miss Bcrners. I have it left near the first cage."
Fanny rose obediently and went to get the snuff box, asking herself as she had a hundred times before, why she had given up a life among interesting people to be a servant to the most disagreeable woman she had ever met.
She was right when she had imagined that the Queen was disturbed. Charlotte was very worried indeed. Ever since the King's illness many years ago when his mind had become unbalanced she had been watchful, always afraid that there would be a recurrence of his illness. He had changed after that first bout, which must have been nearly twenty-three years ago, and she had never been able to forget it. She remembered how he had suddenly burst into tears for no reason at all; he had had a fever and the rash; and had believed that the whole world was against him. And after it he had developed that rapid manner of speech which was rambling and incoherent, interspersed with "ehsr' and "whats?" as though he were asking questions and could not wait for the answer.
Many times she had believed that a return of his illness was not far off. But it had never been so near as it was now. It needed only a little incident, she was sure, to drive him completely mad.
And if that should happen? She shuddered.
There were times when she was actually afraid of him, for now and then he looked at her so wildly that she thought he would do her an injury. It was as though he hated her. That was impossible. He was a mild man, a kind good man. Yet that wild look in his eyes was ... terrifying.
Sometimes when he came into her bedchamber she wanted to call to some of her women and command them to remain so that she might not be alone with him.