Always her mind went back to that other and most fearful occasion. But he had been well for so long now, so perhaps she need not worry any more.
If George were ill ... there was the Prince. She thought of him longingly. Why did he not come to see her now? He would always be her favourite; she remembered every detail of his childhood and now ... well perhaps it was fortunate that he did not come and see her, for the King might be there and the Prince did upset him so.
"These flower pieces are delightful," said the King. "I think they are very clever, what? Little bits of paper, eh?”
He turned to Charlotte and explained in detail the process of the paper mosaic he had just learned from Mrs. Delany. The old lady was flushed with pleasure. She clearly adored the King and he had taken her to his heart immediately. He was calling her already 'my dear Mrs. Delany.”
The children came in to pay their respects to their parents and Mrs. Delany was invited to stay.
George swooped on Octavius.
"And how is my son, eh? Glad to see his papa, eh? What? What?”
"Very glad, Papa," said the child.
"And now I must present you to Mrs. Delany who makes clever paper mosaics. Perhaps you might ask her to show you the one she has presented to the Queen, eh? And tell you how it is done, eh, what?”
Octavius was brought to Mrs. Delany and being delighted by the necklace she was wearing stretched out to touch it.
Mrs. Delany overcome with emotion, kissed the child's hand; and George to show what a fancy he had taken to this woman said : "Kiss his cheek, Mrs. Delany. Kiss his cheek.”
And this she did with tears in her eyes.
"Now, Mrs. Delany, the children will perform for you. For this is the concert hour. Now are we ready, eh? I hope you have included some Handel in the programme. There is no composer to my mind to compare with him, Mrs. Delany. I trust he is a favourite of yours, eh? what?”
Mrs. Delany was ready to make any favourites of the King and Queen hers. And in the second drawing room the concert was held a family affair. Little Prince Ernest, nine years old, carrying a chair almost as big as he was for Mrs. Delany to sit on.
The King sat back listening to his little daughters singing together. What a charming scene! There was dear Elizabeth Pembroke, pensive and beautiful, beside the Queen and dear Mrs. Delany so happy to be honoured, such a good and loyal subject. What a pity, mused the King fleetingly wondering what the Prince of Wales was doing at this moment, that one's children cannot always remain young. But even the young can cause distress. Nine months after the death of Prince Alfred, little Octavius was taken seriously ill.
This was an even greater tragedy than the loss of Alfred, for Octavius was four years old and the most lovely and charming of the children. The King had adored him and had spent hours playing games with him in the nurseries.
"This is more than I can bear," he said to the Queen. Poor Charlotte! She shared those sentiments.
She was pregnant again and was not feeling as well as she usually did; and the anxiety concerning Octavius was terrible.
When the little boy died the King could scarcely contain his grief; he shut himself into his room and would see no one. But when he emerged he was obviously resigned.
"Many would regret that they had ever had so sweet a child since they were forced to part with him. I do not feel that. I am thankful to God for having graciously allowed me to enjoy such a creature for four years.”
He went to Charlotte and repeated these sentiments to her. "You must agree with me, my dear.”
And Charlotte did her best.
A few months later she gave birth to a daughter. They called her Amelia; she was a little frail but lovely, and she did much to make the King forget his grief for Alfred and Octavius.
More and more did the King seek the refuge of his family. Only in the heart of it with his young children around him could he be happy. North had resigned a fact which had greatly upset the King; Charles James Fox was making a nuisance of himself and was allying himself more and more closely with the Prince of Wales; young William Pitt, Chatham's second son, was making himself heard in Parliament; and the King was favouring young Pitt because he was the enemy of Fox. When Pitt was appointed First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer there was derisive laughter through the Commons, for Pitt was not then twenty-five years old. Pitt was on his mettle. He was going to show these old fools what a young man could do. He had his father's tradition behind him and he carried with it all the confidence and courage of youth.
George believed in this young man. He knew there would be no lip service to royalty, but George did not seek that. He wanted a man of principles at the head of affairs who would bring back honesty into government. George wanted a peaceful existence. He knew that he needed this. He had been aware of certain failings in his health both physical and mental and he was often worried. Let the lampoon writers say that the country was in a schoolboy's care, he trusted that schoolboy and because of this felt he could escape more and more often to the pleasant domesticity of his private life which was what he needed and indeed what he must have.
He dared not think towards what disasters the Prince of Wales might be heading. He now had a place in the House of Lords and had already given his vote in support of Fox. He was decorating Carlton House at great expense; he had discovered the virtues of Brighton where he had started to build a fantastic Pavilion, and worst of all there were rumours that he had offered marriage to a Catholic widow, Mrs. Maria Fitzherbert.
The King shut his ears; he did not want to know what the Prince of Wales was doing. He felt ill when he contemplated this son of his; it made him dizzy; it made him talk even to himself at a great rate. It alarmed him.
No, he wanted to get down to the country. It was Windsor he frequented now. There he had farms to inspect; he would ride and walk about the country; he could come home and play with the children. His greatest happiness was in Baby Amelia, the most adorable of creatures. He loved that child. Not that he did not love all the children, but the adorable girl who held out her arms to him when he came near her was, he admitted secretly, his favourite.
The Duchess of Portland died suddenly and when the Queen told him of this he immediately thought of his dear friend Mrs. Delany. "For," he said, "I do not know how much she relied on the Duchess, but I do not believe dear Mrs. Delany is so comfortably placed as I could wish. What do you think, eh? What?”
The Queen said that she thought poor Mrs. Delany was not very comfortably placed.
"Then," replied the King, 'we must do something about it, eh? What? Can't allow that dear lady to be in difficulties.”
He had the answer. She should have a little house all her own and it should be at Windsor so that he could call on her any time he wished. And she should have an annuity of three hundred pounds a year so that she need have no anxiety. Wasn't there a niece, a Miss Port, or someone? She should come and live with her. He would busy himself to see that everything was as it should be. This was the sort of task he enjoyed. It did not worry him in the least; it only stimulated him. He would see about stocking the house.
"Let her know," he said to the Queen, 'that she is to bring nothing to Windsor but herself, her clothes and her niece. Now let me see what will she want, eh? What? Now the furniture. Leave it to me ... leave it to me ...”
He saw to everything. Plate, linen, china, glass, wine in the cellars and there was even sweetmeats and pickles in the still-room. It was a strange task for a king; but no one was surprised. A king who went round to the farms on his estate and helped make the butter was capable of anything.
When Mrs. Delany arrived at the little house which the King had prepared, it was to find George himself on the threshold waiting for her.