Текст книги "The Prince and the Quakeress "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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There was greatness in this man, the King believed. I could work with him as I used to with Robert Walpole. I wish the Queen were here. She would agree with me—or I would soon persuade her to.
She had always believed that England should be great; she and Walpole together and himself, of course. What a triumvirate. And now it should be Pitt and the King.
The King begged Mr. Pitt to be seated, and for a few moments he exchanged pleasantries with the minister. Pitt had only two or three years before married—rather late in life, for he was now close on fifty. He had married well, of course, everything Mr. Pitt did would become his dignity—Hester Grenville whose mother had been connected with the Earls of Temple. Pitt seemed happy in his marriage and had a daughter, Hester, at this time.
The King came to the point and they discussed the affairs of the Kingdom. Now Pitt glowed with purpose.
He believed in expansion—in Empire. England was a small country. His Majesty would be aware that the population of Great Britain in this year 1757 was somewhere in the region of seven million persons; now they must compare this population with their great enemy France which had one of twenty-seven millions. The difference appalled Mr. Pitt. But Great Britain was two small islands, and the whole world was open to us, and we must go out and make it ours.
These sentiments uttered in that deeply sonorous voice, with those magnificent gestures echoing round the audience chamber thrilled the King. He believed Mr. Pitt; he was inspired by Mr. Pitt; and he wanted Mr. Pitt to bring such glory to this country, of which for so many years he had been a reluctant ruler, that on his leaving it, it would be the richest, the most powerful, the most formidable in the world.
‘There have been defeats both on land and sea,’ said Mr. Pitt. ‘Defeats to make an Englishman shudder. We have been at fault. We have lacked leadership.’
The hawk’s eyes were studying the King’s face. This could he touching on a dangerous point. Cumberland, the King’s son, and the one of his offspring he came as near to loving as he could anyone, had been appointed commander of the Army not because of his military genius but because he was the King’s son. Culloden, where he had scored an undoubted victory, was a blot on English military history; and the Dukes record in the field had not been conspicuously successful since. If he was to achieve his purpose he wanted the right man doing the right job irrespective of his position; a soldier from the ranks who was a true leader should have as much chance as a King’s son who fancied playing at soldiers.
Mr. Pitt had no intention of stating this to the King at this moment but it was one of the rules he would adhere to—and he would have his way. He was not dedicating his talents to the service of a royal family but to the greatness of England.
‘It is a state of affairs which will have to be carefully overhauled...without delay,’ said Mr. Pitt.
‘You know why I have summoned you here, Mr. Pitt.’ said the King. ‘It is to offer you the post of Secret of State.’
‘Your Majesty is gracious to me and I accept the post.’
‘Newcastle continues as First Lord of the Treasury. This is agreeable to you, Mr. Pitt?’
It was agreeable. Pitt had not a great deal of respect for Newcastle but provided he obeyed orders—and he would get orders from Pitt—he would be, the new Secretary decided, a good man to deal with administration. No, he had no objection to serving ostensibly under Newcastle, for in point of fact, he himself would be the leader.
‘Your Majesty,’ he went on, ‘rarely has this country been in such a dire state. Our sole ally, the King of Prussia, is laid low. We must give aid to Prussia. It is against my principles to support other countries but the position is vital. The French will be in command of America if we do not take care. Sire, we should turn our eyes to America. Our expansion lies outside these islands.’
The King said: ‘I am in agreement with what you say, Mr. Pitt.’
‘Canada must be ours...we have subjects in North America. We cannot allow the French to oust us. This is one of the important periods of our history. It is in our hands now to make or lose an Empire. It is up to us to decide.’
‘Then we will decide to make an Empire, Mr. Pitt.’
‘So say I, Your Majesty. But it has to be won, Sire. It has to be won. Have I Your Majesty’s permission to seek out and promote those men who can do the best work for their country?’
‘You have, Mr. Pitt.’
‘I have already consulted Sir John Ligonier, who has given me some names of men whom he believes should be promoted. I believe these men should be entrusted with commands of the utmost importance. Colonel Jeffry Amherst, Major-General Henry Seymour Conway and Colonel James Wolfe.’
‘I have never heard these men’s names before,’ complained the King.
‘No, Sire. You have heard the names of men who have so far led this country to disaster.’
Mr. Pitt was rather an uncomfortable gentleman; but the King still believed in him. He said he would consider his minister’s proposals; and when Mr. Pitt had left he began to think of Caroline; he was sure she would have approved of Mr. Pitt.
A Slight Case of Blackmail
In the house in Tottenham the years passed pleasantly. George’s visits were perhaps less frequent but that was explained by the fact that as Prince of Wales he had many duties; he was watched and could not easily slip away, and both he and Hannah lived in daily terror that their hiding-place would be discovered.
Jane visited Hannah from time to time and told her that she was still remembered in St. James’s Market and that Isaac still professed to be looking for her. There were continual alarms. Someone had called on the Wheelers and told them that they had met Hannah somewhere in the country; someone else professed to have seen her at Wapping. Every Quaker girl who had any pretensions to good looks was suspected of being Hannah Lightfoot, the girl who had disappeared on her wedding day.
She longed for George’s visits and while waiting for them occupied herself with working in the house, for she had been brought up to believe it was sinful to be idle. She had her stillroom and her garden, enclosed by a tall wall, and she had her needlework. But it was not really enough.
She longed for a simple country house with a husband who was always with her. Yet she would never love anyone but George. She would tell herself that although her life was not entirely satisfactory she was happier living in this way shut away from the world than she could ever have been with anyone else.
George was a little sad, too. He was very conscious of their position. He was essentially respectable and conventional and wished above all things that they could have been married. They were living in sin, he once said; and it was like a shadow between them. If he had been born someone other than the Prince of Wales, if they could have been respectably married, he would have asked nothing more of life.
He talked of his life at Court to her so that she felt she had lived there herself. Poor George! He was not meant to be a King—and a King he must soon surely be. Being a simple young man, he did not want power or glory; he only wanted to be happy in a respectable conventional way.
But life was not all one hoped for.
She looked forward to Jane’s visits. Jane was growing more and more prosperous, for the glass-cutting business was doing well. Mr. Jack Ems had sent customers to her and she had connections with the Court through Miss Elizabeth Chudleigh. It brought good customers and their business was going to prosper as Mr. Betts never could have done.
Jane, seated on a chair, her silk skirt spread around her exuding prosperity and enjoying freedom.
When Hannah went out it must be in a closed carriage; her exercise was taken mainly in the garden; and the great days of her life were when her lover came to see her.
Still, she would not change.
She was in the garden tending the first spring flowers when a servant came to tell her that Jane had arrived. Jane followed the maid into the garden and embraced her friend.
‘Thou hast news?’ said Hannah, who had never quite learned to drop the Quaker form of address and used it now and then.
Jane nodded.
‘Good? Bad? You don’t say.’
‘I don’t know how you’ll take it, Hannah. If it were me I’d not care a jot. You’re expelled from the Society of Friends. What they call a Testimony of Denial.’
‘I know,’ said Hannah.
‘Now you’re not going to mope about that!’
‘Oh no, I shall not mope.’
‘You’ve been away from them for a long time now. You’re not going to tell me you want to go back to them.’
‘Never.’
‘There’s a great notice about it. It says you’ve disappeared and they no longer consider you one of them.’
‘This means that they will stop searching for me, Jane.’
‘I don’t think that. They’ll go on looking and people will go on talking. But they say you’re out...not one of them any longer. But you won’t worry much about that.’
‘Oh no.’
‘It says something about their being afraid some of your sin will come off on them. That’s why you’re disowned...until such a time as from a penitent mind and a true contrition of heart you will confess sorrow for your sins.’
‘That I shall never do.’
‘No. I thought not. Oh well, here you are and the garden looks pretty and that’s a new gown. It’s lovely. And you’re beautiful Hannah and I’m not surprised there’s been all this stir about you. Now, how do you like my new silk.’
Hannah liked it very well and as she smiled and chatted with Jane she was thinking: Cast out. Disowned. And when Jane had left she sat down and thought about the room the linen-draper’s shop and all the kindness Uncle Wheeler had shown to her and her mother when they had had nowhere to go.
George found her a little melancholy.
‘You look sad,’ he said, ‘but so beautiful. I’d like to hay portrait of you just as you look now.’
She tried to throw off her melancholy but she could not at length she confessed that she had been cast out by the Society of Friends.
George embraced her, swore eternal devotion and tried to cheer her.
But he too was a little sad, wishing as fervently as she did that they could marry and put an end to this feeling of sinfulness which was constantly between them and their happiness.
• • •
It was a comfort to be able to talk of his affairs with the brother and sister he loved dearly. Edward was only a year younger than he was, and although Elizabeth was three years his junior she had a wisdom which neither of her brothers possessed, for she had read a great deal more than they had, and although shut away from the world in common with her brothers and sisters, reading had given her some knowledge of it.
George loved Elizabeth tenderly; she aroused in him the deepest pity; she was very deformed, one shoulder being higher than the other and she limped painfully so that it was impossible for her to dance or run or even walk very much. She was good-natured and seemed to accept her disabilities philosophically, never complaining. Their mother and Lord Bute seemed scarcely aware of her existence. Poor girl, she would be at the Court for the rest of her life; there would be no marriage for her, so she would be useless as a bargaining counter; she would just be there, evidence of one of the Princess Augusta’s less successful examples of child-bearing.
She aroused all the chivalry in George’s nature. He told her: ‘You and I will be together all our lives. Perhaps it is wrong of me to be glad about that, but I can’t help it.’
Whereupon Elizabeth smiled her gentle smile and said: ‘You mean, brother, that because I’m deformed and what people kindly call "homely" I shall never be commanded to marry and leave home. I, too, rejoice that I shall never leave you. So you see good cometh out of evil.’
Now it was pleasant to tell these two of his difficulties.
‘I am a husband and yet no husband. How I wish I were truly married to Hannah!’
‘I’ll swear Hannah is very happy to have you at any price she has had to pay,’ suggested Elizabeth.
‘Shut away in that house! Never knowing when the Quakers will ride up and take her away. What an adventure,’ cried Edward.
Elizabeth smiled. ‘You speak as though Quakers were the French army, Edward. They are a mild people. They don’t believe in taking life. I have been reading about them. In fact, since George and Hannah have been together I have been reading everything I can find about them. The Society of Friends! Don’t you think that it is a pleasant way to describe themselves?’
George sat back in his chair, his eyes half closed. The next best thing to being with Hannah was to be with Elizabeth, to know that she followed every phase of his life; that she was always beside him, his very dear friend and sister who would be there until the end of his life.
‘I have been reading about George Fox who founded the Society. Oh, he was a great man—the son of weaver in Leicestershire. "None are true believers but those who have passed from death to life by being born of God," he said. "God does not dwell in temples made by hands, but in human hearts." I think that is a wonderful sentiment. And it’s true.’
‘Oh yes, it’s true,’ cried George. ‘I should like to be a Quaker.’
‘That,’ retorted Edward, ‘would be quite impossible, for when you are crowned King of England you will have to an allegiance to the Church of England—the Reformed Faith.’
‘It is not so different,’ protested George.
‘Oh, George, you must not think of it.’ said Elizabeth. ‘If you told Lord Bute or Mamma that you wished to be a Quaker they would be truly alarmed. You don’t know what they would do.’
‘What could they do?’ demanded Edward.
Elizabeth was silent. She looked at George—dearest of brothers, kindest of friends—and she was afraid. He was so good, and being simple in his goodness George was inclined to believe that everyone was as good as he was. What were they thinking now of his connection with Hannah? They deplored it, of course. If he had a mistress...two or three mistresses...about the Court, if he had behaved like a lusty young man in an immoral society where he, on account of his position could enjoy special privileges, they would have shrugged their shoulders and smiled. But George was not an immoral young man; he was a good young man who had fallen in love and believed it was forever; he wanted his union sanctified by marriage and that was something these worldly people about him could not understand.
George needed protecting and who was she...the poor deformed ‘homely’ member of the family, of no account at all...who was she to protect the most important one of them all—George who would one day be their King.
‘They could not take me from Hannah,’ cried George. ‘I would never allow that. If they attempted to I...I would marry her and...join the Quakers.’
‘She is married already to Mr. Axford,’ Elizabeth reminded him.
‘I heard,’ put in Edward, ‘that marriages conducted at those marriage mills are not considered legal.’
‘That is true now,’ agreed Elizabeth, ‘but when Hannah married Mr. Axford such marriages were legal.’
‘It seems rather ridiculous,’ said George, and there was a hint of excitement in his eyes which made Elizabeth apprehensive, ‘that what is illegal now was once legal. It is the same thing, yet now it is wrong and then it was right. It seems to me that if it is wrong now it was wrong then.’
‘Hannah married Mr. Axford,’ said Elizabeth, plucking at the rug which covered her knees. ‘And, George, please don’t mention to my Lord Bute that you would like to be a Quaker.’
George smiled at her blandly. ‘He would listen sympathetically. He is a wonderful friend to me...the best I have.
Oh, I don’t mean better than you two...but you are my family. Well, so is he in a way. I think of him that way. But he is a statesman and a politician. I should be terrified of becoming King but for Lord Bute. But if he is there I know everything will be all right.’
‘You will soon learn to govern without relying too much on one minister,’ Elizabeth assured him.
‘All kings must have ministers,’ put in Edward. ‘Our grandfather had Sir Robert Walpole...though they say our grandmother was the real ruler...she and Walpole between them. Grandfather didn’t know that, though.’
‘Grandfather is an...objectionable old man,’ said George, remembering the blow he had received at Hampton Court. ‘I’m not surprised that Mamma and Lord Bute dislike him so much.’
‘Quarrels...quarrels,’ sighed Elizabeth. ‘I wonder why there always have to be quarrels in this family!’
‘Perhaps we are quarrelsome by nature?’ suggested Edward.
‘George, you must not quarrel with your son when you have a Prince of Wales. But of course you will not. You will be I kind King; you will put an end to this silly chain of quarrels.’
‘Well,’ George reminded them, ‘I didn’t quarrel with our Papa.’
‘There,’ Elizabeth pointed out. ‘Didn’t I say that you were far too good-natured to quarrel with anyone?’
‘Of course I was very young...too young to quarrel perhaps.’
They all laughed and were sober suddenly, thinking of poor Papa who had died so suddenly and the cruel verses that were sung about him in the streets, as though he were of no consequence.
Elizabeth was thinking that perhaps he had been of consequence. There was still the same King on the throne; George was nearly eighteen, and at eighteen he would come of age. Eighteen was old enough to ascend the throne. And even Mamma had not been rendered exactly desolate by Papa’s death—at least after the first shock had subsided and she had begun to grasp her new power. And then, of course, there was Lord Bute to comfort her.
Our mothers lover, thought Elizabeth, whom George so reveres because he treats him as a son. George is too trusting, he is unaware of the schemes of ambitious men.
‘Well, what are you thinking now?’ asked George.
‘How glad I am that I shall always be with you...no one is going to want to marry me. I’m glad. I shall stay at home living close to the King. I shall be your most devoted subject...’
George’s eyes filled with tears.
‘I wish,’ he said, ‘that you two could meet Hannah. You would love her and she would love you.’
‘Why do you not have her portrait painted?’
George’s eyes lightened with pleasure. ‘It’s a wonderful idea. I will do it. I will engage the best artist in England. Of course it must be done. How is it, Elizabeth, that you always know what I want before I do myself.’
‘I should set about discovering how best it can be done,’ suggested Edward.
‘And, George,’ murmured Elizabeth, ‘do remember not to mention to anyone that you would like to be a Quaker. It would never be possible...and you can never be sure what would come of it.’
‘Not even to my Lord Bute? He has asked me to tell him everything...’
She leaned forward and laying her hand on his arm looked at him earnestly.
‘Don’t mention it to anyone...but Edward and myself, George. It could be dangerous. To please me.’
George kissed her forehead tenderly. ‘You know I would do anything to please you, little sister.’
‘So it’s a promise.’
‘A promise.’
Elizabeth was relieved. George could always be trusted.
• • •
Elizabeth Chudleigh daringly offered to give a ball in honour of the birthday of the Prince of Wales. It was a great occasion, she said, and one which should call for celebration. So she, who had a very particular fondness for His Highness, would beg the honour of his attendance at her ball.
‘Impertinence,’ said the Princess Augusta to Lord Bute. ‘I have never known a woman so...so blatant.’
‘It would be well for George to attend, pointed out Bute. ‘She knows a great deal about the Lightfoot affair. In fact, she may know more than we do. We must be careful with Miss Chudleigh.’
‘What harm can she do? The Prince keeps a mistress at Tottenham. That is going to please rather than shock the people.’
‘George is not like other young men. Let us remember that. He is too serious...too sentimental. We must watch this Lightfoot affair. I had not thought it would go on so long. We must be very careful and I do not think it wise to offend Mrs. Chudleigh.’
‘It seems ridiculous that we must consider this...maid of honour.’
‘She is no ordinary maid of honour, my love. There is much we do not know of Elizabeth Chudleigh, I am sure. And while this is so I believe we should go very carefully with that young woman. What harm can there be in George’s going to her ball? In fact, he will have the chance of meeting there some beautiful young women. I should be happy to see him lured from his fair Quakeress.’
‘Well, we will raise no objection then, and George shall accept her invitation.’
• • •
Life was very amusing, Elizabeth Chudleigh told her mother, and had been more so since the Lightfoot Affair.
‘Do you know,’ she declared, when she visited her at Windsor, ‘I do believe Madam Augusta is afraid of offending me.’
‘You be careful,’ warned her mother. ‘The old King could go at any minute. Then where would you be?’
‘This isn’t the old King’s doing, my dear Mamma. It is my own. I helped George to enjoy his little Quaker girl and Mamma Princess knows it. The fascinating point is that she doesn’t know how much I know and that is causing herself and her dearest Bute some anxiety.’
‘I repeat, be careful.’
‘Oh, I shall be careful, never fear...careful to keep this happy state of affairs just as it is.’
And now the ball. Every lady of fashion should come; it would be a ball worthy of the occasion. A Prince’s coming of age—and a Prince of Wales at that.
She asked for an audience with the Prince to thank him for honouring her by accepting the invitation.
He received her in his simple way which she found charming. He was quite unspoilt, this Prince. It remained to be seen how long he would stay like that once he was King and my Lord Bute began teaching him how to govern, for Elizabeth was sure that was Bute’s intention. Bute was going to make George what he would call ‘a real King’. They would be hearing about the Divine Right of Kings before long if my lord Bute had his way—and Madam Augusta, of course.
Oh well, life was very amusing for Miss Chudleigh and the deeper she was in her intrigues, the more she enjoyed life.
‘Your Highness, I am overwhelmed by the honour you do me,’ she told him.
He flushed and stammered. ‘I...feel I should be overwhelmed. Such a beautiful lady, to go to such trouble to celebrate my birthday.’
‘Your Highness’s birthday is a day we should all celebrate and there will be many to come and wish you well. You will find some of the loveliest ladies in England at the ball, Your Highness.’
His expression was a little prim. Oh dear, thought Elizabeth, he’s still enamoured of the little Quaker.
‘How I wish,’ she went on quickly, ‘that I could invite the most beautiful of them all. I often think of Your Highness’s happiness and rejoice in it. I would wish you to know if at any time you need my help...’ She paused and added ‘again’, for there was no harm in reminding him how useful she had once been to him...‘you should not hesitate to ask me.’
His expression had changed. How easy he was to read! ‘I shall never forget your kindness to me at a time...at a time when I most needed it.’
‘I count myself fortunate to have been of service to Your Highness.’
‘And I to possess such good friends.’
It was very agreeable. She could be sure that if any fresh contretemps arose she could count on his keeping her informed.
‘May I ask a special favour?’
‘I beg you to.’
‘Will you give her my respects when you next see her. Tell her I think of her often and rejoice in her happiness.’
‘I will. I will.’ Face flushed with emotion; eyes alight with sentimentality.
So matters have not changed at Tottenham for our little Prince, thought Elizabeth.
• • •
That was clear at the ball. There were many young ladies who had come in the highest hope. The Prince was eighteen years old—time he began to amuse himself—and any week now might see him King. Could the old -man go on much longer? King’s mistress. What an enviable position! And with such a King as George—a simple boy, weak, malleable—great power would be in the hands of his mistress.
All eyes were on him. He was really a very handsome young man. Hanoverian, of course. German to the fingertips, but not as unpleasantly German as his forebears. He was very tall for one thing. How different from dapper little George II! And charming, modest. Different in that way too. His eyes were blue and clear; there was nothing debauched about this one; he seemed gentle, eager to be on good terms with everyone.
He danced, not exactly with grace but not unskilfully. His mother and Lord Bute were watchful; and it was not difficult to guess what they were thinking. His indifference to any particular young lady seemed to affect them deeply. Did they want him to take a mistress? Or was there something in that rumour about a woman he kept at Tottenham.
However, one fact was made apparent at Miss Chudleigh’s ball: the Prince of Wales was not very interested in young women, and it seemed hardly likely that he would take a mistress at Court.
• • •
The King could not ignore his grandson’s coming of age and sent for him.
George obeyed the summons reluctantly. Ever since his grandfather had struck him he had not wanted to go near him. The King had forgotten the incident. His temper went as quickly as it arose and as he forgot it he expected everyone else to do the same.
This grandson of his was a bit of a ninny, he was thinking, but after all he was his grandson. The boy would be King one day and it was time he started to learn something about kingship. They should be together more. The Prince of Wales might not take after his father; and the King guessed that that mother of his and her lover, that insufferable Scotsman, were trying to poison the boy’s mind against him. It was time he put a stop to that, and the best way to do it was to have the young fellow under his roof. They could take walks together; they could discuss affairs together; in fact, he could prime his grandson so that he would be ready to take his place when the time came.
‘Well,’ the King looked almost benignly at young George, ‘so you’re of age now.’
‘I came of age on the fourth of June, Sire.’
‘Yes, yes, well so you did. And you’re a man now, eh? Time you broke away from your mother’s apron strings.’
‘I do not understand, Sire...’
‘You don’t understand much, do you, George? Time you stood on your own. Not a baby anymore, you know. Why, when I was your age...Now listen. I’m going to be generous. I’m going to make you an allowance, £40,000 a year, and you shall have your own apartments in St. James’s Palace. How’s that.’
‘I thank Your Majesty. The income will be most welcome. My mother was saying I should need to enlarge my household now that I am of age. But I am happy where I am…’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I...enjoy being with my mother and my brothers and sisters...’
‘Enjoy! You can come to St. James’s and enjoy, boy. You shall have your own apartments here, and I’ll have time to see you now and then.’
‘Sire...I have no...’
‘That’s all right. No need to splutter your thanks. You go now.’
‘Sire, I wish...’
‘All right. I know. You’re grateful, but you’re the Prince and these things are expected.’ The King had turned away, leaving his grandson to stare helplessly at his back.
• • •
‘£40,000 a year!’ cried Augusta in anger. ‘How dare he! Why the Prince of Wales should have £100,000 from the King’s income. It is a custom. The government voted the King £800,000, and £100,000 of that was for the Prince of Wales.’
‘Worse than that,’ pointed out Bute, ‘he wants George under his roof. You can guess what that means. He is going to take him away from us.’
‘We shall never allow it. We had better send for George.’
‘Do you think it would be better if I spoke to him alone?’
Augusta was thoughtful.
‘Let us speak to him separately,’ suggested Bute, ‘and perhaps our arguments will have a double impact. He may be forced to accept the £40,000 a year, but I am convinced that he should never agree to live under the same roof as the King when this means that he is away from us.’
‘Let us do this,’ said Augusta.
George listened to Bute’s account of the schemes of those who were seeking to separate them. They knew that the Prince’s only true friends were his mother and Lord Bute, which was why they could not bear for them to live together.
If the Prince really loved his mother, if he had any feeling for Lord Bute, he would decline the King’s offer of apartments at St. James’s; he would insist on living under the same roof as his mother.
‘I see you are right,’ agreed George. ‘On no account must we be separated.’
‘You should, of course, increase your household and should live in the state of a Prince of Wales. You will need a Groom of the Stole. Shall I tell you something? It is a position I covet. If it were mine I should always be near you. We should have opportunities which we have so far lacked. I was wondering how Your Highness felt about granting me this favour.’
‘I desire it more than you do. It shall be yours.’
‘Unfortunately it will be necessary to get the King’s consent.’
‘I will ask it.’
‘At the same time as you decline his offer of accommodation at St. James’s. I fear he will be a little displeased. But before you make any decision consult your mother. We will abide by her decision. I beg of you listen to her. Take her advice. Remember that she—and I—are the only two people here who have your real interest at heart. I beg of you ask her whether she thinks I should have the post of Groom of the Stole. If she feels it would be unwise, think no more of it.’
‘My dear friend, I am certain that she will wish it, even as I do.’
‘Speak to her and when you have done so, write to the King. That would be better than asking for an audience. Write and tell him that you accept the income—it should be more but this is not the time to ask for it—but that you cannot consider leaving your mother. Then you might suggest that you will appoint a Groom of the Stole...’
