Текст книги "Queen in Waiting "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
Even so Mar marched South, and nobles and their followers joined them; and the band of sixty who had watched the planting of the flagstaff had grown to five thousand when they came marching into Perth.
Now there was alarm at the Court. Mar and his followers were preparing to march south. In London some bold men and women were actually wearing the white cockade.
Ermengarda was in despair.
"You must leave at once," she told the King. "It is unsafe for you to stay here."
But George only told her to be quiet.
"These people chop off the heads of Kings they do not want."
"Only when they can't get rid of them in any other way. They know they only have to tell me I'm to go back to Hanover and I'll go."
"Let us not wait to be sent."
"You know nothing of these matters."
"I know I fear for your safety."
George regarded her with mild affection. Dear Ermengarda! They had been together for so many years and while she loved adding to her fortunes, at the same time she had a genuine affection for him. It must be so for she could gain more by staying in England than leaving it—and she was ready to leave this country and all those new treasures which she had accumulated, for the sake of his safety.
He would never discard her; in fact he did not see her as she was now—raddled and rouged, scraggy as an old hen, her enormous red wig with its luxuriant curls slightly askew on a head that was almost bald. He saw her as the beautiful young woman she had been when he had turned to her and found her character such that he wanted in a woman.
He allowed himself a rare moment of tenderness.
"We'll see it through," he said. "The worst that can happen will be that we're sent back to Hanover, and that does not seem such a bad idea to me."
Ermengarda replied that anything that put him in danger was the worst possible idea to her; but he knew best, she was well aware; and she was comforted.
And when she rode out and was recognized and jeered at, when she saw men and women wearing the white cockade, she said: "The King knows what is best. He will stay if he wants and go back if he wants."
But she hoped she would stay. She could not be homesick for Hanover when England offered unlimited opportunities for increasing her fortune—^for although the King had first place in her heart, money ran him very close.
The Duke of Marlborough was with the King and George eyed the great soldier suspiciously. Here was a man who could have been a great bulwark ... if he could have been trusted. He was no longer in his prime and the years of exile from the Court of Queen Anne had taken more toll of him than all the exigencies of war.
But now he was offering his help and George, himself a soldier, could judge that it was good.
The situation was grave. Already five thousand men were in arms against them. Let them cross the Border, let them set up their standard in England and the Crown would be in very grave danger indeed. This must not become a civil war; it was to be nothing more than a rebellious rising; but it must not be forgotten how easily the first could become the second.
"And what will you do?" asked George,
** Muster all the men we can and send them north. We have eight thousand men only; if we send all these north and are troubled with risings in the south, we shall be defeated. We must immediately raise new regiments; we must send for Dutch troops; and we must set up a camp in the Park, complete with cannon to show the people of London what they can expect if these riots become really menacing. The Prince can be useful. He and the Princess have some popularity with the people which ... er..."
The King looked at the Duke and scowled. "Which I have not?" he said gruffly.
"Your Majesty's lack of English is a great barrier, naturally."
"The Prince's is far from good, I gather."
"It exists. Your Majesty, and the accent is quaint. This amuses and you know how your subjects enjoy being amused."
"They'll never find me amusing them by aping their gibberish."
"No, Your Majesty, but the fact that the Prince has done so gives him a certain popularity. He will be with the troops in the Park; he will review them with Your Majesty and the Princess. And I think I should be with you. We will show that in adversity the royal family can stand together and that any little differences of opinion which may have existed are forgotten in the present danger."
The King grunted. He could see the wisdom of Marlborough's suggestion and being a soldier himself he knew that, however devious the Duke was, however unreliable, he must admire him as the greatest soldier living—perhaps the greatest who had ever lived.
Marlborough was in command of the situation. The camp was set up in the Park; the Habeas Corpus Act was suspended and the Riot Act was read on the smallest provocation.
The people began to realize that although there might be excitement in the streets there was also danger.
The Prince reviewed the troops in the Park. That he enjoyed very much. Beaming with pleasure he would strut among the soldiers, complimenting them always on their good appearance, their obvious bravery and above all for being English.
The King was often with him and always managed to curb any outward sign of his dislike; and when Dutch troops arrived in England, when certain Jacobites were arrested and sent to the Tower, when the Duke of Argyll, Commander of the King's Forces, marched to the Border, tension relaxed. It seemed that Hanoverian George was more firmly on the throne than many had believed possible.
James arrived at Peterhead on a bleak December day which matched his mood.
He could not forget Bolingbroke's warnings and he was wishing that Bolingbroke had never come to France. For so often he had planned this invasion; he had talked of nothing else during the last years of Anne's reign; but in his heart there was a fatalism which made him believe that the throne of England would never be his. He had inherited many of his father's characteristics and had no power to win men to his side. Hand-
some as he was, possessed of the notorious Stuart charm, he had only to spend a little time in any company for it to doubt his success. He was melancholy by nature; he believed in failure rather than success.
In the circumstances it seemed strange that he should have embarked for Scotland; but he knew that once the Queen was dead an occasion would arise which would force him to take this action. His friend Louis XIV who fervently hoped, for the sake of Catholicism, that he would become King of England, had expected him to make a bid for his throne; and he had always implied that when the opportunity arose he would do so. It had come; Mar had set up his standard in Scotland and loyal friends were waiting for him.
In his small craft with only eight guns and six friends, in the uniform of French naval officers, his spirits did lift a little when he saw the land. Scotland should be particularly dear to all Stuarts; it was natural that he should land here and find loyal friends. It was anathema to good Scotsmen to see a German rule them when they had a good Stuart King living.
At Peterhead he was welcomed by a very small company but the welcome was warm; and keeping his identity secret he crossed Aberdeenshire to be met by the Earl of Mar, who welcomed him in the name of Scotland and for his services was awarded a dukedom.
"Your Majesty," said Mar, **if it pleases you we shall crown you James VIII of Scotland and III of England at Scone in January."
"That will give me pleasure if it comes to pass," murmured James.
"It shall be so. Your Majesty," Mar assured him.
And so to the palace of Scone there to make a court for James III! This must be set up with all the pomp and ceremony of the Court at St. James's that there might be no doubt that this was indeed the palace of the King.
This was pleasant. James allowed himself to be treated as a King; he was gracious and charming. So different, it was said, from the crude George of Hanover.
There must be a ball and a banquet to celebrate the return of the King.
There was little money but that must be found somehow; all those who possessed jewels must give them to make a crown for the King and provide the money for the necessary celebrations.
And so while Mar and James celebrated his arrival in Scotland, while they busied themselves with plans for the coronation at Scone, Argyll was marching north with the Dutch troops wlio had now arrived in England.
When James heard the news he shook his head sadly.
"We are lost," he said. "What hope against Argyll?"
"Argyll is a Scot, Your Majesty," pointed out Mar. "I have heard it said that he is delaying his advance in your cause, not that of the German."
"Nay," murmured James, "too many come against us. I shall at least not be surprised if I am unfortunate, for so have I been from the day of my birth. It was doubted then that I was the King's son; and shortly after my birth my father was driven from his throne. What luck can 1 expect now?"
"All fortunes have to change, Your Majesty."
"Not mine," he mourned. "Not mine."
The Highlanders were restive. They demanded of each other why they had been brought south. Why should there be this dismay because the enemy were approaching when they had gathered together to meet the enemy. And what of King James? Why did he not show himself? Why did he never mingle with his soldiers? And why when he was seen did he have the look of a man whose cause is hopeless?
There was only one answer to those questions: these things were so because the cause was hopeless.
James and his Council decided they must retreat in the face of the advancing army; and while this marched north, Mar and James made their arrangements for James to return to France.
So the great rebellion known as the 1715 was quashed almost before it started.
What could the Highlanders do when they heard that their
leader had left? There was no point in fighting without a cause.
They returned to the Highlands, there to hide until the '15 was forgotten.
Good luck, not skill, had given the victory to George I.
In London the streets returned to normal; the Jacobites drank their toasts in secret; the camp disappeared from Hyde Park; and the soldiers returned from the north.
Ermengarda settled down happily to discover more opportunities for amassing a fortune; George grunted and was not sure whether he was pleased or sorry. He still thought with deep nostalgia of Hanover. The Prince and Princess of Wales took their walks in the Mall with their band of attendants and friends, talking their German-French-English which never failed to amuse, telling everyone how much they admired England and the English.
They were secure. James would make no more attempts. They felt safer than even before. The attempt had been made and failed; it was as though the people had given their verdict.
But the scribblers were still busy and the rhyme which won the most acclaim at that time and which was repeated in every coffee house, tavern, or wherever men and women congregated, was John Byrom's:
''God bless the King, God bless our Faith's Defender! God bless – no harm in blessing – the Pretender! But who Pretender is and who is King? God bless us all! That's quite another thing,"
The King's Departure
Mary Bellenden was leaning out of the window trying to see the last of a handsome man who had crossed the courtyard and was about to disappear through a door which led to the Prince's apartments.
As he waved and was gone, she sighed and turning sharply was aware of two of the maids of honour who had been watching her.
There could not have been two girls less alike than Margaret Meadows and Sophie Howe. Margaret had now folded her arms and was looking extremely disapproving while Sophie was giggling sympathetically.
"Such unbecoming conduct! " muttered Margaret.
"I see nothing unbecoming," retorted Mary.
"Of course you do not. You are accustomed to such manners that you believe them to be acceptable. It's more than I do."
"Really Margaret," protested Sophie. "Tell me what harm can they do by waving to each other from a window?"
"They've made an assignation no doubt."
"There's nothing wrong in making an assignation," pointed
out Sophie. "Of course it depends on what happens when they keep it." She began to laugh so hilariously that, thought Margaret, she could only be remembering her own indiscretions.
"Be silent both of you," commanded Mary, "I won't have you say such things about John."
"So it's John?" cried Sophie.
"Yes, it's John and he is an honourable gentleman and I don't want either of you to start a gossip about him. Do you understand?"
"Oh, we understand, we understand?" cried Sophie. "We understand our Mary is at last in love."
"Don't shout so," reprimanded Margaret. "I never saw such behaviour. And you, Sophie Howe, are the worst of the lot. As for you, Mary Bellenden, you should be careful. These men will talk of love until they get what ihey want and then ..."
"'Tis true, Mary," agreed Sophie. "Oh, how they talk of love! And afterwards they laugh and tell their friends all about the submissive lady while they advise them to try their luck."
"You don't understand ... either of you. You're too much of a prude, Margaret, and Sophie's too much of a flirt."
"And our dear Mary is ... just as she should be?" laughed Sophie.
"I'm ... serious."
"But is he?" laughed Sophie. "I could tell you a few things. In fact if you want to know anything about the most fascinating subject in the world come to Sophie."
"And what would that be?" demanded Margaret.
"Men!" laughed Sophie.
"If you know anything about them, Sophie Howe, it's all you do know," retorted Margaret.
"There's no need to know anything else, I do assure you, Margaret."
Mary listened to them dreamily. Colonel John Campbell was the handsomest man in the Prince's bedchamber; one day they would marry but for the present they must be content to wait for each other. Poor John had little money; and she, as one of the greatest beauties of the court, was expected to make a brilliant match. In fact everyone knew that the Prince had his eye
on her. Not, thought Mary scornfully, that that will do him much good. She was not going to take the easy road to honours by becoming a Prince's—and later perhaps a King's—mistress.
In fact, thought Mary, she would be a fool to take any notice of the Prince's insinuations. He was not really very interested in any woman as a woman; his great desire was to prove his manhood and this he thought he could best do by implying that he was the insatiable lover.
How trivial, how foolish these vanities seemed when compared with the love she and John Campbell had for each other.
One day, John, she was thinking, we'll be married. Perhaps secretly at first ... but shall we care about that? John had told her about the great love of his hero the Duke of Marlborough for his Duchess; they had been married secretly in the days before he had become famous; and whatever might be said of the great Duke or his termagant of a Duchess, none doubted their affection for each other. Their love had endured through all their fame and their misfortunes.
"It shall be so with us," John had said.
He would be as great a soldier as Marlborough, she had replied, but she trusted she would never be such a quarrelsome woman as the Duchess.
She would never be anything but the most charming, the most beautiful woman in the world, he told her.
"You're one who has made up his mind," she had retorted, for the rival charms of herself and Molly Lepel were continuously sung in the court and there were continual arguments as to which of the two was the more beautiful.
"Be careful of the Prince," John had fearfully said; and she had laughingly assured him he had no need to warn her.
Sophie Howe was saying: "I told the man I could not pay him yet. I told him it should be payment enough for him to serve a maid of honour."
"If he complains to the Princess you will be reprimanded I can tell you."
"Oh Margaret, how tiresome good people can be! I tell you I owe such a lot that I dare not try to calculate how much. In fact when a bill is sent to me I hide it ... quickly."
"Which is just what I should expect of you. Don't forget you
were one of the chief offenders in church and it's due to you that the maids have to be boarded up. You will be getting a bad reputation, Sophie Howe. I'm surprised that Her Highness keeps you in her service."
"She can hardly dismiss the granddaughter of Grandpapa Prince Rupert ... even though there is a slight blot on the family escutcheon."
"You are a frivolous creature and you'll come to a bad end one day."
"Well I shall have lots of fun on the way there, you can be sure. Oh how I wish I were rich! How I wish I had a nice kind friend who would pay all my bills so that I need not be bothered to hide them."
"That's what we should all like," said Mary, coming out of her day dream. "When I think of all I owe, I shudder."
"Goot day to you, ladies!" The door had been opened and the Prince of Wales, accompanied by the Duke of Argyll, with his brother Lord Islay, and a few of his gentlemen came into the room.
The three girls immediately curtsied and the Prince smiled benignly on them all, but his eyes rested on Mary Bellenden.
"And very pretty you look," he commented.
"Your Royal Highness is gracious," answered Margaret Meadows.
"Always ready to be gracious to pretty young ladies."
His eyes were almost pleading but Mary refused to look at him.
He rocked on his heels and put his hands into his pockets. He brought out some coins which he jingled in his hands.
"Alvays ready to be gracious," he went on; and this time Mary could not avoid his eye. "Very ready," he added.
She bowed her head.
"Your Highness would wish us to acquaint the Princess of your presence?" she asked boldly.
"The Princess, yes. Ve are come to accompany her to the theatre. You like the theatre?"
"Very much. Your Highness."
"It is goot."
Little eyes, alight with desire, implied that, like John Camp-
bell, he thought Mary Bellenden the prettiest girl at Court; and it was fitting, surely, that the Prince should choose the prettiest to be his mistress.
"We must not detain Your Highnesses," said Mary.
And she hurried from the ante chamber to the Princess's apartment.
Caroline enjoyed riding through the streets to Drury Lane. Since the rebellion she had become so popular—more so, she believed, than her husband; and she was secretly pleased that this should be so.
When the Prince became the King she would be Queen and she had no intention of being a background figure, she meant to choose the ministers who would serve them; and she was determined that everyone should realize the importance of the Queen, for, she often wondered, when George Augustus betrayed some foolish vanity, what would become of royalty if she did not take the lead. George Augustus was a fool; he must be to grow angry when he remembered how short he was, and keep a mistress like Henrietta Howard for whom he had no great fancy, merely because he wanted it to be known that he had a mistress. George Augustus was a fool; but his wife was a wise woman.
Therefore it was a pleasure to know that she was becoming known to these people and that they liked what they heard.
She was not only wiser than the Prince but than the King also, for George I cared nothing for his unpopularity which showed he was a fool. He clearly betrayed his preference for Hanover—and that was almost as great an offence in the eyes of the English as his refusal to speak their language. The Prince, though not unpopular like the King, missed opportunities—and the scribblers saw through him and did not hesitate to make their vitriolic pen portraits of him.
Caroline learned that the English enjoyed treating their rulers with derision, and decided she would give them no opportunity to treat her so if she could help it.
"Long live the Princess! Long live the Prince! "
She gazed at him uneasily. Did he notice that the cheers for
the Princess were a little more prolonged than those for the Prince? She hoped not, or he would be angry with her. How well she was beginning to know this little husband of hers! That was all to the good. The more she understood, the easier it would be to handle him.
"They like us veil," he murmured; and he bowed graciously, his hand on his heart, to a young woman in the crowd.
*'It gives me pleasure," said Caroline, "to see how you they like more than your father."
"Ah, they hate that old devil. And I love them for it."
George Augustus laughed happily and those watching said that the Prince and Princess were on the best possible terms, and they gave an extra cheer for the Princess, reminding each other how good she had been during the winter, which had been a hard one.
There was a special cheer from the boatmen who earned their living by ferrying along the river. They had much to be grateful for to the Princess of Wales who had helped them when they were starving.
They would remember the season just passed as that terrible winter when the Thames had been frozen over, when it had been possible to drive a horse and cart from bank to bank and roast an ox on the ice.
That would in future be known as The Winter of the Great Freeze and the Great Hardship, when it had not been possible to ply a waterman's trade. The Princess had concerned herself with their sufferings, had raised money for them. So there was many a poor waterman who would give a cheer for the good Princess every time her carriage rolled by.
There were others who remembered how she had pleaded for leniency towards those poor devils who had been caught up in the '15 rebellion. Not that her pleading had had much effect on sour old George. He didn't seem to want his English crown but he was pitiless enough with those who had tried to deprive him of it. They had seen the executions of Lord Derwentwater and Lord Kenmure. They had heard how the Countess of Nithsdale had implored the King for leniency towards her husband and of George's brutal rejection of that distracted lady.
They were still talking of Lord Nithsdale's miraculous escape from the Tower which was romantic and exciting enough to win the sympathy of even the staunchest Hanoverian. Nithsdale had been in the Tower, doomed to die, and his wife was unable to move the King with her entreaties. She was not only a brave woman but a determined one; she had taken a companion with her to the Tower, and while she had worn two cloaks her companion had worn two gowns; and in the condemned prisoner's cell they had hastily dressed Lord Nithsdale in the extra gown and cloak, had painted his face, drawn the hood over his head, and Lady Nithsdale and her husband had left the prison while the companion had remained behind.
Such a romantic story caught the imagination of all. The Nithsdales escaped to the Continent; even George realized that he could not punish the lady who had helped in the deception, for the mood of the people was not strong enough in his favour; and even though James had retreated to France that did not mean that the people loved George.
But while the Prince and Princess rode through the streets on their way to Drury Lane it was remembered that the Princess had pleaded with the King for leniency towards the prisoners of the '15, among them Lord Nithsdale; so the Princess's name was linked with the nobleman's escape, and the people liked her for it.
As for the Prince, he was not unpleasant. And his father hated him, which was in his favour.
So, decided the crowd, a special cheer for the Prince and Princess of Wales.
To Caroline the streets of London were always an exhilarating spectacle. The noise and colour w^ere so different from anything she had known before coming to London. The shouting of the street vendors who pushed their way between the carriages of the great and the occasional Sedan chair, never failed to fascinate her. She could only be amused when some grinning pieman would catch her eye and shout: "Good hot pies. They warm the cockles of your heart." Her smile would be gracious, appreciating the joke; and the pieman would add his cheers to the rest. She had learned the art of being affable
and dignified at the same time; something which neither the Prince nor King could achieve.
They had arrived at the theatre—Caroline in her tight-waisted dress, the bodice of which was cut low enough to give a liberal view of the ''finest bosom in the vorld", her skirt a mass of flounces, jewels at her throat, on her arms and fingers; hair dressed in her favourite style with a curl over her shoulder—not high because that would have added inches and called attention to the fact that she was taller than the Prince. Her heels were low for the same reason.
Drury Lane! And the crowds closing in to have a closer look at the Prince and Princess.
"Who's King and who's Pretender?" cried a voice in the crowd.
"Silence! Three cheers for our Princess."
Still smiling Caroline threw a quick and uneasy glance at George Augustus. He had not noticed the omission, as smilingly he battled his way through the crowd which closed about him.
"Good pipple, I am happy to be here. You are the best pipple in the vorld."
Such blatant flattery, thought Caroline, yet spoken with a beaming sincerity which made it acceptable.
"Long live James IIL"
"Long live King George."
"Damn King George. Go back to Hanover."
There was loud and ribald laughter. One did not take too much notice of the shouts of an excited crowd.
The Prince and Princess were conducted to their box. They seated themselves in full view and Caroline bowed and smiled as she was greeted from the pit. The Prince beside her beamed.
"They love us, I think," he whispered.
The two guards had placed themselves in the shadows at the back of the box; and now that the Prince and Princess were in their places the curtain could go up.
Caroline's eyes were on the stage. The play was interesting; it was called The Wonder, A Woman Who Keeps a Secret; and it had been dedicated to the Prince, therefore there was a special reason for their presence. She was listening for some
allusion to the Prince, perhaps some ridicule, for there was nothing that pleased them so much. The Prince was contented, laughing with the audience, letting them know how much he liked to be among them.
If we had had to go back to Hanover we should have been regretful for the rest of our lives, thought Caroline. Thank God that's over. They've accepted us. James will never make another attempt. He has had his chance and failed. We're safe.
Echoes from the crowd came back to her mind. "Who's the King and who's the Pretender?" That was nothing—merely a quotation from verses which had caught the people's fancy. "Long Live James III I " Oh, these people lived for excitement. One only had to ride through a London crowd to know that. They wanted to laugh and be amused; and one of the duties of royalty was to provide that amusement. They liked to think there was a king across the water; they liked the thought of conflict. But they did not want war; and because they were essentially lazy, they did not greatly care which king was on the throne ... as long as they had their chance to make merry.
We are safe, safe! thought Caroline. This is our home for the rest of our lives. Soon Fritzchen must join us. She had been delighted when little Caroline had arrived in England but she longed for Fritzchen. After all he was her only son; he was their heir—after his father he would be King of England, yet because his sour old grandfather decreed that he should stay in Hanover, there he remained.
Why? she wanted to know. What use to keep him there? How could a boy of nine rule over even a place like Hanover? A figure-head? What nonsense! George I of England was still the Elector of Hanover; ruling over the Electorate was his business; and only the most insensitive of men would separate a boy of nine from his mother.
But then George I was insensitive. I could hate that man, thought Caroline.
But she must not show it, of course. She must still play the gentle game; she must still play the meek woman.
It would not always be so. One day...
One should not wish for another human being's death, of course. But she was ready now to be Queen of England.
George I was no longer young and when he died ... She smiled at the man beside her. He would be the next King of England and when he was she would be Queen. Queen Caroline, the real power in the land!
She was awaiting her time.
It happened without warning. First the loud report; then it was as though in the second or so of silence which followed that the whole of the theatre had become petrified. Silence ... not a sound. George Augustus beside her, his face ashen beneath his towering wig. The actors and actresses on the stage stood as though grouped in a tableau. Then the silence was broken when someone in the pit started to scream.
"Get him! " shouted a voice. "He's shot the Prince."
The cry was taken up all over the theatre.
Then Caroline was aware of the dead man in their box, and she knew that the bullet which had been intended for George Augustus had, by a miracle, missed him and buried itself in the body of one of the guards who were standing at the back of the box.
George Augustus was about to rise, but Caroline put out a hand and gripped his.
What was the mood of those people down there? Riots could be ignited by such an action as had just taken place. She and the Prince were trapped here in a theatre, easy prey for their enemies. One false mood and that could be the end pf all hope, perhaps the end of life.
The manager had come into the box.
"Your Highnesses " He stopped and stared in horror at
the man on the floor.
"The Prince is safe," said Caroline.
"Your Highnesses "
"Let the man be taken away Get him to a doctor "
"He is dead, Your Highness."
"Then take him away."
"And Your Highnesses?"
"We will remain here. Let the play go on."
The manager was astounded. The Prince was looking at his wife. Even at such a time he resented her taking charge.
