For a man of his genius he had not had very much success. He had been very little in office. But Prime Minister! That would make it all worth while.
Yet he felt tired and disillusioned; he kept thinking of the olive groves of Italy and Lizzie beside him reading to him of talking of the pictures they had seen that day in one of the galleries.
The Prince was surrounded by friends.
Each day they waited for news from Kew. The Duke of Cumberland had his spies there to report on his brother's progress further along the road to madness. The Prince had promised his uncle the Garter when he came to power. And then of course there would be no more of this absurd banishment from Court, he told the Duchess.
Sheridan should be Treasurer for the Navy. A good post, thought Sheridan, but not Prime Minister of course. Fox was still hoping for that. But it was very likely that in due course ...
He would not relinquish his dream.
So in the House the debates continued. The parties went on; the Prince made lavish promises; and while the Queen's friends prayed for a return of His Majesty to health those of the Prince talked of the Regency and looked forward to the day when it should come into force.
Then came news which was disturbing to the Prince of Wales and so pleasing to the King's supporters. His Majesty's health had shown some signs of improvement; he was now enjoying periods of lucidity.
His doctors believed that there was a very good prospect of his being restored to health.
The King's periods of lucidity had been gradually increasing during January and the early part of February, and because of his passion for fresh air his doctors agreed that he might take little walks in the gardens as long as he was accompanied by one of them and certain attendants.
The King was aware of his illness and very sad because of it; he still talked rapidly until his voice grew hoarse, and although his mind was clear, on certain occasions no one could be sure when he would act with the utmost strangeness.
When his favourite daughter, Amelia, was brought to him he embraced the little girl so fiercely that she protested and made as though to escape, but he would not allow her to do this and dung to her straining her to him until she began to scream to be released. She was forcibly removed by some of the King's attendants and ran crying from the room, leaving the King bewildered and unhappy, wondering why his beloved daughter ran away from him.
But there was no doubt that his health was improving all the time the Regency Bill was being debated.
Fanny Burney who had been suffering herself from the rigours of court life—draughty corridors, long hours of attendance on the never-satisfied Schwellenburg, and the general air of melancholy which pervaded the royal apartments these days—had been advised by her doctor to take exercise in the gardens at Kew and regularly she followed this excellent advice.
She confessed to Colonel Digby that she was terrified of meeting the King on these occasions, so if he should be walking at the same time as she was she always took the precaution of enquiring which way he had gone.
"For, Colonel Digby," she declared, "I do not know what I should do if I came face to face with His Majesty. What should I say?"
"You would not have to speak at all, Miss Burney. The King would do all the talking that was necessary."
"But His Majesty would expect some answers. Moreover, I dare not think in what state His Majesty might be."
"He is much better than he was. At times quite himself."
"So I hear ... but..."
"If my duties do not prevent me perhaps I could have the pleasure of protecting you, Miss Burney, in the gardens of Kew."
Fanny fluttered her eyelashes. Indeed, the Colonel was a gallant gentleman. Only a little while ago he had brought a carpet for her room, for there was nothing but the bare boards and the wind blowing through the ill-fitting windows was enough to chill one to the bone.
It would be pleasant to walk with Colonel Digby; but of course he had his duties. Schwellenburg had already mentioned to the Queen that Colonel Digby was constantly waiting on Miss Burney though he never waited on her; and the Queen had asked Fanny—half to her delight, half to her chagrin—why the Colonel was so frequently in her rooms. Fanny had wanted to complain then bitterly about Schwellenburg's treatment of her, but how could one complain to a poor woman who was beside herself with anxieties? If the Queen could put up with a mad husband, surely Fanny could suffer a disagreeable old woman. So she replied that Colonel Digby was a friend and they had much in common—literature for one thing. The Queen was always ready to accept an explanation of Fanny's that concerned literature. After all, was not Fanny a famous novelist?
And now Colonel Digby was unable to accompany her. She was not sure whether it was due to his duty or for some other reason. Colonel Digby had a way of avoiding duty if he wished to; and Schwellenburg had told Fanny quite frankly that Colonel Digby was as often in the company of Miss Gunning as he was in that of Miss Burney.
Fanny asked the guards at the door which way the King had gone walking, if he were in fact walking at all, and she was told that His Majesty, with his doctors and some attendants. had not long ago gone off in the direction of Richmond.
Very well, thought Fanny, then I will walk in the opposite direction. Walking, she mused on the strange behaviour of the King, the courage of the Queen, the motives of Colonel Digby —and she was thinking that it was only this last which ^ave her days some interest, for life at Court was not very exciting. Suddenly she was aware of some figures under a tree, and peered in their direction for she was very shortsighted.
Gardeners, she thought. There were always plenty of them working in the gardens. But as she came nearer, to her great consternation, she saw that the men she had mistakenly thought were gardeners were the King with two of his doctors and some attendants.
Fanny stopped short and looked at the men. She could never think quickly in an emergency. Oh dear, she thought, what have I got myself into? Why did I take this path?
And for a few seconds she and the King looked at each other; she saw the sunken cheeks, the protruberant eyes, and she thought of all the stories she had heard about the strangeness of the King. She believed there was only one thing to do: Escape. She turned and fled.
But the King had seen her. "Miss Burney! Miss Burney," he called. But she ran on. She could not face him. What if he seized her as he had seized Amelia? What if he said strange things to her? She must escape.
"Miss Burney. Wait for me, Miss Burney. Miss Burney"
But Fanny ran on. To her horror, glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the King was pursuing her, his doctors and attendants running along behind him. She heard her name called again; she heard the hoarse torrent of words; and she ran on.
"Miss Burney," called one of the attendants. "Stop. Dr. Willis asks you to."
"I cannot. I cannot," she cried.
"Miss Burney, you must. The King will be ill if he runs like this. Stop. Stop, I beg of you."
Fanny stopped, and turning, faced the King.
"Why did you run away, Miss Burney?" he asked.
What could she say? I feared your madness? So she did not answer and he came close to her and putting his hands on her shoulders kissed her cheek.
"Now, Miss Burney. I wish to talk to you." His hot hands were on her arm; he drew her a little to one side; she was thankful to have the doctors and attendants close at hand.
"Ah, Miss Burney, you think I have been ill, eh, what? Yes, I have been ill ... but not as ill as people think. Do you think I have been ill, Miss Burney, eh? what?"
Fanny answered as best she could but there was no need to be anxious on that account for the King, as Colonel Digby had said, was prepared to do all the talking.