‘Oh, Mercer,’ she cried in an excess of affection, ‘how glad I am that you are my friend.’
‘It’s useful,’ admitted Mercer. ‘Being so much older, I can help you.’
The Prince Regent was reading a poem to his friend Sheridan who, having a great belief in the power of the pen – particularly when wielded by the celebrated Lord Byron – was disturbed.
It was called Lines to a Young Lady Weeping.
Weep, daughter of a royal line,
A Sire’s disgrace, a realm’s decay:
Ah, happy if each tear of thine
Could wash a father’s fault away.
Weep, for thy tears are virtue’s tears,
Auspicious to these suffering isles:
And be each drop in future years
Repaid thee by a people’s smiles.
The Prince’s face had flushed scarlet and his eyes filled with tears of anger.
‘This is referring to that disgraceful scene the other night. Sometimes I think my daughter is determined to anger me.’
‘There are too many seeking to take sides, sir,’ said Sheridan.
‘They are giving her ideas of her own importance. By God, she has no importance and she shall have none if I say so.’
Sheridan knew when to be silent. It would have been folly to remind the Prince that Charlotte was his daughter and unless by a miracle in the form of divorce from the Princess of Wales he was able to get a son, Charlotte must in due course inherit the throne.
‘You know what happened. I was speaking of those rogues Grey and Grenville, who had refused my offer to join the government. Lauderdale defended them and declared he would have refused in their place. He was a true Whig and so on and hoped he would always remain faithful to the cause. And what does Charlotte do but burst into tears. Tears, Sherry, at a dinner party! How is the girl being brought up?’
Sherry refrained from pointing out that the shedding of tears was a family habit and said that the Princess must be taught to behave in accordance with her position.
‘Taught indeed … and so she shall be. But you see … she burst into tears and this fellow Byron has to write a verse about it, showing her as a heroine and me as a scoundrel … and the whole country is reading it, I don’t doubt.’
Sheridan could only admit to the popularity of Byron’s work.
‘And in the past I’ve recommended his poetry. I liked the fellow. Why should he behave so … against me?’
Sheridan shrugged his shoulders. ‘She is a young girl, sir, not without charm. The people are determined to take sides and some of them will take hers.’
‘But why should they take sides?’
One might reply: Because we are concerned with the House of Hanover and in this House it is the custom for parents to quarrel with children. Hadn’t the Regent himself set an example to his daughter?
‘They will always take sides, sir. The people like a battle, and if there is not one they will set about contriving it.’
‘Charlotte should have behaved with more decorum. But when does she? She is now a staunch Whig. Soon we shall have her interfering in politics.’
It was her father who had wished her to become a Whig in the first place; if now that he had become Regent he was looking for some compromise between Whig and Tory and was inclining very much towards the latter, could he expect Charlotte to follow without a protest? Lady Hertford had decided to make a Tory of him and Lady Hertford must be placated at all costs. But one could hardly expect Charlotte to care for Lady Hertford’s views.
‘Stab me,’ said the Prince, ‘I have been too lenient with that young woman. I must let her see who is master.’
‘I think she is aware of that already, Sir.’
‘Then it’s more than she appears to be. I want to know who it is who is feeding her her politics. Her governess seems a fool to me.’
‘Lady de Clifford is perhaps not adequate to the task of controlling a princess like Her Royal Highness.’
‘And she sees her mother too frequently.’
‘Once a week, Sir.’
‘Too frequently,’ retorted the Prince with a frown. ‘I’ll warrant it is there she is taught how to plague me. But I’ll tell you this, Sherry: It is not going on. No, it is not going on. Keep your ears open and see if you can discover who is encouraging her to behave in this way. Once I know I shall put that person somewhere where he – or she – will have no power to instruct the Princess and to plague me.’
Sheridan would, he declared, as always do his best to serve his Prince.
‘And I shall see that someone in her household keeps an eye open,’ said the Prince.
The Duchess of York arrived at Warwick House to accompany Charlotte to the Opera. The Princess was excited.
‘At this rate,’ she told Louisa, ‘I shall soon be wearing feathers.’
‘Time enough,’ soothed Louisa, which made the Princess laugh.
‘I expect the people will cheer me when I go into my box. I shall let them see how pleased I am that they like me. I think one of Papa’s faults is the haughty way he behaves in public. Of course he looks magnificent. But that is why everyone would recognize him as the Prince Regent so he has no need to keep reminding them by his manner that he is. He will be a little hurt I think if they cheer me more than they cheer him, but he won’t be there. I wish he would be. Do you know, Louisa,’ she added wistfully, ‘no event seems quite the same without him.’
She thought how pleasant it would be if they were all in their box together: He magnificent in one of his more colourful uniforms, Mamma looking elegant like Lady Hertford for instance or Maria Fitzherbert; and herself between them – the beloved daughter. It was an old dream and a foolish one because all dreams were foolish if there wasn’t a hope of their coming true.
The Duchess was scarcely elegant. She was happier at Oatlands with all the animals than chaperoning her niece to the Opera.
‘Dearest Aunt, and how are the darling dogs and are they not going to miss you?’ she demanded.
The Duchess settled down happily to give her an account of the illnesses and cleverness of her pets and Charlotte listened with interest so that the Duchess was pleased and suggested that as soon as it could be arranged she must come to Oatlands for a rest. That was satisfactory because anything was preferable to the boredom of Windsor or the monotony of Warwick House.
Lady de Clifford was flustered and nervous as usual. She really was becoming more and more stupid, thought Charlotte. She was ready to accompany them to the opera with Colonel Bloomfield who as a clever ‘cellist was particularly interested in music.
It was exciting to be going out into the world and Charlotte chattered lightheartedly to the Duchess as they rode through the streets and was delighted when she was recognized.
‘It’s Charlotte!’ cried the people, and there was a special cheer for her after Lord Byron’s poem. She was good Princess Charlotte as opposed to the wicked Regent. Sometimes she was pleased about that, sometimes sorry; it was all part of her mixed feelings for her father. She could not really decide how she felt about him when sometimes she was saddened by his unpopularity, at others elated by it.
At the opera house she was received with ceremony and conducted to her box.
How they cheered as she stepped into it. She came to the front, bowing and smiling and waving in an exuberant if not exactly a regal manner. The people did not mind. She was young and fresh and so obviously pleased to be among them.