Island of the Swans (81 page)

“No wonder you’re such an excellent novelist!” Jane smiled cordially at her. “What a memory you have! Of course, I remember you. How could I forget? ’Twas the day the infamous Gordon Riots began,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m so delighted to see you again.”

“How fares Her Majesty?” Pitt interposed quickly.

Fanny Burney’s cheerful face fell.

“’Tis all quite disturbing,” she said, lowering her voice. “I just met His Majesty in the passage leading from the queen’s room and he was all agitation, all emotion. He walks like a gouty man and talks without ceasing. For some reason, he is obsessed upon the subject of the composer, Handel, though little of what he says about him makes sense. His poor voice is so hoarse, ’tis painful to hear him. The queen, as you can imagine, is greatly disquieted by it all.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “At dinner last night, he broke forth into positive delirium. The queen was so upset, she fell into violent hysterics. The princesses were all in misery. Even the Prince of Wales burst into tears.”

“Really?” Pitt responded with obvious disbelief. “I would have thought just the opposite.”

Fanny looked carefully around her to be sure the three of them were quite alone.

“The queen would agree with you that the prince’s conduct in the presence of the Court is all for effect,” she continued to whisper. “She believes he has been heartless, assuming to himself certain powers here at the palace and elsewhere that have not yet been
legally
granted him—and doing so without any consideration or regard for his mother’s feelings.”

“Rumor has it that the king’s mind is utterly gone,” the Prime Minister said bluntly. “What say you, Miss Burney?”

She looked from Pitt’s face to Jane’s, as if appraising their trustworthiness.

“These seizures began after he’d gotten chilled last month. The doctors tell us his urine is full of blood. In truth, though I’ve been here every day, I don’t know
what
to say. This is why Her Majesty has summoned you both. We all run some risk, you realize, if the king does not recover his wits.”

“There is always danger for those in service to a king who falls ill,” Pitt said quietly. “Will you take us to Her Majesty now?”

“She awaits you in the drawing room.”

“Where is the king?” Jane asked apprehensively.

“In the apartments next door. The rooms above us are locked so he won’t wonder at any footsteps overhead. It sets off endless upset and concern in him, for some reason.”

Jane exchanged glances with William Pitt, wondering silently why the queen should want to see
her
at such a critical time of crisis. When at last they were ushered into the royal apartments, Jane had difficulty covering her surprise at the condition in which Queen Charlotte received them. She was clad only in a silk banyan, which looked as though it might have been the king’s own dressing gown, and her face, ghastly pale, was devoid of makeup. Indeed, her haggard countenance made her look as though she had aged ten years since last Jane had been in her presence.

Nevertheless, Pitt’s formal greeting to his sovereign was no different than if they had been in the throne room at St. James’s Palace. He bowed low and kissed her hand. Jane curtsied and tried to smile pleasantly.

“Please sit down,” the queen said tiredly, indicating two chairs near the chaise on which she reclined. “Thanks to you both for coming. I will speak English, yes?” sighed the former Princess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, whose native tongue was German.

“’Twould be most kind of you,” Jane said, much relieved as her French was a bit rusty and she’d never studied the German tongue.

“You’ve heard?” the queen inquired directly, her eyes misting over.

“We’ve heard the king has not been well and that the doctors are most puzzled,” Pitt said carefully.

“S-sometimes he does not know me…
not know me!
” the queen exclaimed, stifling a sob. “He talks incessantly until he has no voice left to him… Oh, blessed God, what are we to do?”

“The doctors have no plan… no course of treatment they think would help?” Jane asked.

“
Doctors!
” Queen Charlotte spat. “The fools know nothing. They have no explanation for the blood in his urine, yet they bleed him ’til he’s deathly pale and close to expiring! They have bound him in a strait-waistcoat without my assent! Now they apply
leeches
to his head. If he wasn’t yet mad, their treatment will make him so!”

“And what says the Prince of Wales?” Pitt inquired gingerly.

Jane observed how the queen’s nostrils twitched indignantly.

“My son says
little
to my face, but tells everyone else his father has
cracked…
” her voice broke.

Jane could readily imagine how the monarch’s wayward son must be now relishing the heady position of power his father’s illness had placed within his grasp.

“Pray, tell me, Mr. Pitt… have Fox and his followers pressed any claims in Parliament to establish a Regent?” Queen Charlotte asked in a low voice.

“’Tis only a matter of time, Your Majesty. If conditions remain the same with the king—”

“We must
stop
this naked grab for power!” the queen said angrily. “His Majesty had a short-lived malady much like this when first we married. He recovered then and he will recover now! We cannot let the Prince usurp the throne. ’Twould break His Majesty’s heart to know such mischief was plotted by his own son while he was ill. I fear he’d quit the throne! And with events in France…”

Jane and Pitt knew she referred to the reports of growing civil unrest across the Channel. There were even rumors that a certain group of English aristocrats might be following suit by plotting to bring revolution to England.

“You must help me!” Queen Charlotte implored. “We must not allow the king to think we’ve abandoned him!”

“What thoughts have you, Your Majesty, upon this matter?” Pitt asked carefully. “What would you have us do?”

Queen Charlotte looked at Jane closely.

“We must let
them
know many rally to our cause!” she exclaimed, referring to her eldest son, the Prince of Wales, and his brother Frederick, the Duke of York, who was known to support the idea of the Prince becoming Regent. “I have been told, Duchess, that you did much to support Mr. Pitt in the elections in Eighty-four and have great influence in the City…”

“You’re very kind to have taken such notice of the small part I played…” Jane demurred.

“Perhaps you could help Mr. Pitt now as you did then… marshaling support… fighting those who say the king’s malady is incurable. I abhor meddling in politics. ’Tis almost a sin for me to do this, I feel. But I must do
something
!” she cried. Lowering her voice, she added bitterly, “At times, I think the game is won neither in the Privy Council nor the Chambers of Parliament, but in the bedchambers and drawing rooms of London.”

“I believe you’re right,” responded Jane, impressed by the distressed queen’s grasp of current realities.

“We must have Loyalists on
our
side, battling that coven of degenerates—Fox and Sheridan and the Duchess of Devonshire. Mr. Pitt, if a Regency is declared, you must seek to
restrict
my son’s powers severely. ’Tis unseemly to do otherwise until we know the outcome of the king’s unhappy state.”

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” Pitt replied.

“I will be happy to do what little I can to assist the prime minister,” Jane added quickly. “Have you heard of Dr. John Willis?” she asked with sudden inspiration. “He is quite well known for treating… uh… mental maladies.”

“No,” the queen replied, at once interested. “Tell me about him.”

“W-well,” Jane began hesitantly, wondering why she put herself forward in such a dangerous game. “He’s well known in Lincoln for his knowledge concerning this kind of… problem. I gather he is a kind man who makes reforms in exercise and such and shuns the use of leeches and restraints. He believes if the mind is allowed complete rest, it will often recover on its own accord.”

“You know him to be skilled in this regard?” Pitt said, gazing at her intently.

“Aye, Dr. Willis was consulted over the situation concerning Lord George’s conduct while he was… uh… awaiting trial in the Tower,” Jane began. “The duke’s brother apparently impressed the judges sufficiently that he was sane when he stated to them he never intended to do mischief.… ’Tis only a trifling suggestion, Your Majesty—since you’ve said you’re displeased with the physicians—”

“I am,” the queen interrupted. “I thank you for this intelligence.”

As their audience with the queen drew to a close, Jane concluded that the situation couldn’t be more desperate. If the king proved irretrievably mad, there would be a grim fate awaiting those who opposed the prince and the Eyebrow—men who were hungry for power and saw, now, their chance to grab it.

“Pray for me, Duchess,” Queen Charlotte said. “And stand fast by Mr. Pitt.”

“I will, Your Majesty,” she murmured, executing a deep curtsy.

Fanny Burney magically reappeared to lead them back to their coach. As they exited the queen’s chambers, Pitt exchanged glances with Jane at the strange noises emanating from behind one of the palace doors.

“’Tis
him
!” Fanny Burney whispered with alarm.

At that moment, the door flew open and a chambermaid hurried past them carrying two tin bowls half-filled with blood. Then a pale figure appeared in the doorway whose fearsome appearance caused Jane to swallow hard. The king was wigless, and several ugly red patches scarred his forehead where the leeches had been attached to his skin. He was strapped into a peculiar coat whose sleeves crisscrossed his stomach and were tied at his waist in the back. His eyes widened at the sight of the three of them, and his mouth opened, but his speech consisted of a few pathetic hoarse croaks that were indecipherable. Quickly, an enormous liveried servant grabbed the monarch roughly by the shoulders and hauled him back into the chamber, slamming the door shut.

“’Tis frightful, absolutely frightful!” mumbled Pitt as he and Jane hurried down the passageway and out into their carriage.

Jane, who despised the constructions of stays and laces, could only think that if anyone ever put her in such a cloth and leather contraption, she’d shriek so loudly, she’d be considered as cracked as the king.

The day’s events left Jane shaken and filled with dread. For days afterward, she remained haunted by the experience of having heard incoherent gibberish spouted in her presence by one of the mightiest sovereigns in the world.

Throughout December 1788, a number of wild scenes were played out in the House of Commons involving the matter that in polite circles was referred to as the Regency Question.

“That damned Eyebrow today claimed the evidence shows the king is
incurable
!” Prime Minister William Pitt fumed one evening at a strategy dinner held at Jane’s St. James residence. “The evidence is so far inconclusive, but the prince and that rakish brother of his, the Duke of York, openly side with the opposition in trying to wrest His Majesty’s power! ’Tis absolutely
disgraceful
!”

Jane, on the other hand, couldn’t deny she had a soft place in her heart for the prince, who had so bravely saved her in the fire. Accordingly, she tried to soothe the prime minister’s feelings.

“Dundas will be here soon,” she countered in a reassuring voice. “I’m told he’s bringing a company of M.P.s who vow to assist you in implementing your delaying tactics, my dear Pitt.”

She ordered the servants to lay out the food and wine on a sideboard so they could continue their conference without interruption, though such generous provisions were placing a great strain on Jane’s household budget.

“’Tis not merely a contest for power within England,” Pitt confided later to the assembly seated in a ragged circle in Jane’s sitting room. He and Jane hoped the delicious food and strong spirits would help convince these men to remain steadfast behind the king. “There is a major political upheaval building in France—we all know that. ’Tis not the time for England to be in the throes of uncertain succession to the throne. There are larger dangers here, if only those scoundrels toadying to the Prince would see them. There are traitors among the great families in England who would like nothing better than to abolish the monarchy to garner more spoils for
themselves
, don’t you see?” he added darkly.

However, both Jane and Pitt began to realize that there was little they could do to prevent the cronies of the profligate Prince of Wales from grabbing power if the king didn’t recover soon.

After several such nocturnal discussions, Pitt remained perplexed and upset. One evening, he slouched in a chair in Jane’s drawing room, long after the other strategists had departed for the night. Pitt’s partisans had only narrowly avoided a vote in Parliament on the Regency Question that very afternoon.

“William,” Jane said quietly, pouring Pitt what she hoped would be his last whiskey for the evening. “What’s troubling you now?”

“Have these damned jackals no decency at all?” he exploded. “Now they stoop to assassinate the queen’s character! Her own son has started a rumor that I am having a dalliance with Her Majesty now that the monarch is lying prostrate and raving!”