The Prince and the Quakeress: (Georgian Series) (3 page)

‘We shall look for you… soon,’ Augusta reminded him.

He bowed.

‘And where is your apothecary with his carriage?’

‘Madam, he left an hour ago. That was the arrangement we made as he had business to which he must attend.’

‘And what shall you do now?’

‘Find a means of getting back to London.’

‘My lord!’ She was looking at Fred who was never one to fail in hospitality.

He was laughing. ‘We invited you to Cliveden, my lord,’ he said. ‘There’s no time like the present.’

What a pleasant journey. The rain had freshened the countryside, bringing out the sweet scents of the earth as they rode along, Lord Bute entertaining them on such subjects as architecture, botany and agriculture which had suddenly become quite fascinating.

But Frederick soon led him back to the theatre and that was the most interesting topic of all.

And so they came to Cliveden. What a pleasant day! thought Augusta, looking at the tall handsome Scotsman – and all due to the rain!

The Family of Wales

GEORGE WAS IN
the schoolroom with his brother Edward. He was dreaming idly as he often did when he should be studying. He knew it was wrong; he knew he should work hard, but lessons were so tiring, and try as he might he could not grasp what his tutors were talking about. He was watching the door, hoping his father would come in, breezy and affectionate, with a new idea for a play, for George preferred acting to learning lessons. Mathematics were a bore, but history had become more interesting because his mother was constantly reminding him that he, too, would one day be a King, and this brought the aspirations of Henry VII, the villainies, in which he did not altogether believe, of Richard III, the murders of Henry VIII and the tragedy of Charles I nearer home. These men were his ancestors; he could not forget that.

But the lessons he really cared for were those of the flute and harpsichord. Edward enjoyed them, too. And their father was anxious that they should have such lessons; even that old ogre, their grandfather the King, loved music. This love was inherent, and it was said that they had brought it with them from Germany. Handel had been the very dear friend of several of his relations. George was not surprised.

Unfortunately lessons other than music had to be learned, and they were not so congenial.

‘Some persons agreed to give sixpence each to a waterman for carrying them from London to Gravesend, but with this condition: that for every other person taken in by the way threepence should be abated in their joint fare. Now the waterman took in three more than a fourth part of the number of the first passengers, in consideration of which he took of them but fivepence each. How many passengers were there at first?’

Oh dear, sighed George. This is most complicated.

Edward scowled at it and demanded to know why the future King should have to worry about such matters. Was he ever likely to travel in such a way, and if he did would he be so foolish as to make such a bargain with a waterman?

George explained painstakingly that it was not an indication that they should ever have to face such a problem in real life. It was a lesson in mathematics.

At which Edward laughed at him. ‘My dear brother, did you think I didn’t know that?’ Whereupon George’s prominent blue eyes were mildly sad and his usually pink cheeks flushed to a deep shade.

George was a simpleton, thought Edward. But at least he would work out the problem and tell Edward the answer, no matter how long it took him to do it. It was his duty to
try
to learn, George believed; and he would always do his duty.

George had hoped his father would come to the nursery accompanied by Lord Bute, the tall Scots nobleman who had become part of the household.

George shared the family’s enthusiasm for Lord Bute, who was always so kind and understanding to a boy such as he was. He explained everything in such a way that George never felt he was stupid not to have grasped it first time. His father was kind but sometimes impatient with him, and now and then laughed at his slowness, comparing him with Edward, who was so much brighter. It was not done unkindly, but in a bantering affectionate way; yet it disconcerted George and made him fumble more. Lord Bute seemed to understand this. He never bantered; he was affectionate and kind and… helpful. That was it. Whenever Lord Bute was near him, George felt safe.

In the family circle his father never behaved as though he were Prince of Wales; he would take his sons fishing on the banks of the Thames; and they played cricket in the Cliveden
meadows. The Prince was very good at tennis and baseball, and he enjoyed playing with his own children. Lord Bute would join in the games; he was so good that he was a rival to the Prince; and the Princess Augusta would sit watching them with a little group of ladies, applauding when any of the children did well – and also applauding for the Prince and Lord Bute. George noticed that his mother applauded even more enthusiastically for Lord Bute than for the Prince of Wales.

George preferred being at Cliveden rather than Leicester House; as for those rare occasions when he was commanded to wait on the King, he dreaded them. His grandfather was an old ogre – a little red-faced man who shouted and swore at everyone and insisted on everyone’s speaking French or German because he hated England and the English, it seemed. The old man was a rogue and a tyrant. Papa and Mamma hated him, so, of course, George did too.

But even at Cliveden there were lessons to be learned, and now he must attend to this stupid affair of the waterman.

Edward was looking out of the window. Clearly he would not help. So George sighed, and after a great deal of cogitation he came up with the answer.

‘It’s thirty-six,’ he told Edward.

‘Sure?’ asked his brother.

‘I have checked it.’

Edward nodded and wrote down the answer.

George picked up the next problem but at that moment the door opened. Eagerly the boys looked up from their work; but it was not one of their parents nor Uncle Bute. It was their true uncle, the Duke of Cumberland, their father’s younger brother.

Edward was delighted by the diversion, George to see his uncle. They saw little of him, and George presumed it was because he was on the King’s side, which he concluded judiciously, was what one would expect in view of the fact that he was the King’s son.

The Duke of Cumberland was dressed for hunting – a large man inclined to corpulence, at the moment beaming with affection.

‘I was hunting in the district and thought I’d come and see my nephews.’ He embraced George first, then Edward.

Come to see his nephews! thought George. Not his brother or his sister-in-law?

‘Papa and Mamma are here,’ said George.

‘Not in the house,’ replied their uncle. ‘Doubtless in that theatre of theirs with my Lord Bute.’

George detected a certain contempt in Uncle Cumberland’s voice. He hoped Papa would not come in and quarrel with him. He hated quarrels.

‘And here are you boys sitting over your books on a sunny day like this.’

‘It’s a shame,’ agreed Edward.

‘We have to learn our lessons,’ George reminded him primly.

Uncle Cumberland pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. He laughed. ‘What do you learn, eh? What’s that?’ He picked up the waterman problem and scowled at it. ‘Much good that’ll do you.’

‘Mr Scott thinks we should be proficient in mathematics.’

‘Well, I’m not a great mathematician like Mr Scott. I’m only a soldier.’

Edward had leaned his elbows on the table and was propping up his face as he stared intently at his uncle. ‘Mathematics are a bore,’ declared Edward. ‘So are French and German.’

‘Mr Fung does his best to teach us, but we are a trial to him,’ George explained.

‘I like dancing with Mr Ruperti,’ declared Edward.

‘But music is the best of all,’ put in George. ‘It is the only subject at which we seem to make much progress. Mr Desnoyer is pleased with us.’

The Duke sat smiling expansively at his nephews.

‘You boys should be learning to become soldiers, not prancing about with Mr Ruperti and scraping violins.’

‘We play the flute and the harpsichord,’ George explained.

‘You should learn how to command an army; you should study the niceties of strategy. Wouldn’t you like to be a general?’

Edward said he would, but George was silent. He hated the sight of blood and did not care to think of men dying. Dying was not a noble glorious thing; people did not merely fall down dead; they suffered. He hated to think of people’s suffering, and worst of all, himself suffering or inflicting it.

All the same Uncle Cumberland was a fascinating figure and as they rarely saw their relations from the King’s Court a visit like this was an event.

He was a good talker and even made war sound fascinating. He drew his chair up to the table and said he would explain to them what had happened at a certain battle, the result of which had put their family firmly on the throne.

‘For, nephews,’ he said, ‘we came within danger of losing the throne. Your grandfather was ready to fly to Hanover; he had his valuables packed, and with his friends was ready to leave. And the rebels had come as far as Derby.’

‘To Hanover!’ cried Edward. ‘Do you mean, Uncle, that the people would have sent us away?’

‘Aye, sent us packing and put the Stuarts back on the throne. Our enemy the King of France had sent Bonnie Prince Charlie over to drive us away, and they were as far as Derby. Think of that. All the way from Scotland. Here, where are your maps? Now, I’ll show you. This is where the rebels were. It was November. I advanced to Stone, hoping to meet them. They were soon on the retreat.’

His big hands were on the maps; his voice was low and intense; he glorified war himself, and his very single-mindedness fascinated the boys.

‘Now…’ The hand, big, brown, powerful, ranged over the map. ‘I drove’em back here… right to Penrith… right over the border. This had taken time and it was now December. I attempted to cut them off at this point, but there were too many for us. I had good men…’ His face softened. George could believe that he had good men. He would see that they caught his enthusiasm, his passion for war. It was apparent as he talked that this was a man who would know no fear… and no mercy. His eyes glowed; he was reliving that occasion all over again, and George had the impression that he was hoping the Pretender would come back or that someone else would give him an opportunity to save the crown for the House of Hanover.

‘We were all that winter in Scotland,’ he said. ‘Can’t do battle in the winter, boys. It’s cold up there. Spring’s the best time for battle. But there are bigger problems for a commander than battle. Ah yes. How’s he going to feed his men? How’s he
going to get them where he wants? That’s the nightmare, boys. The battle… that’s the glory.’

‘Many die…’ began George.

‘Do you know how many they lost at Culloden, boy?’

George shook his head.

‘Good God, and they’re supposed to be educating you! Two thousand rebels! And our losses? You must always set one beside the other. That’s how you calculate the extent of your victory. Three hundred and forty loyal English gentlemen lost their lives at Culloden, boys. But we got two thousand of them. It’ll be long before that scum raise a standard against our King, I can tell you.’

George was silent. ‘What is it, boy?’ demanded his uncle.

‘George doesn’t like people being hurt,’ explained Edward.

That made Uncle Cumberland rock with laughter. ‘So that’s the way they’re bringing you up, is it? Dance with Mr Ruperti! Music with Mr Desnoyer! French and German with Mr Fung! By God, what you boys want is to learn to be
men.
I’ll teach you a few things about living.’

‘But this is dying,’ interrupted George.

That made Uncle Cumberland laugh louder. In breathless tones he told the story of Culloden and how the bloody battle had gone. Even George was caught up in the excitement, and Cumberland looking from one to the other of the flushed faces was well pleased.

‘I’m going to get Sir Peircy Brett to tell you how he encountered the
Elizabeth
on the high seas. That’s a story well worth hearing. You’ll learn what it means to defend your country and that’s what you’ll have to do, boy, when you’re King, which will be one day. Now the
Elizabeth
 . . . she was a French ship. She was convoying the small frigate with their Prince Charlie on board and she was carrying the ammunition. Sent by the King of France, boys, to defeat good Englishmen, he hoped. Much chance he had.’

‘When there was a Cumberland to defend us,’ cried Edward, and received a warm look of approval from his uncle.

‘And not only a Cumberland, boy. There are men like Peircy Brett in England too. He was in command of the
Lion
 . . . sixty guns.
Elizabeth
she was a ship of twenty-four. And
Lion
sighted
Elizabeth
and went into the attack.’

‘And sank her?’ cried Edward.

‘Hey, wait a minute, boy. You want it too easy. It was a bloody battle…’ George saw the gleam in Uncle Cumberland’s eyes. ‘What slaughter! It was indeed a bloody battle.
Lion
was a wreck when it was over. Forty-five killed and one hundred and seven wounded.’

‘But that was
our
ship.’

‘Yes, you have your losses in battle. But
Elizabeth
was fit for nothing. She couldn’t go on. She had to limp back where she’d come from…
and
she was carrying supplies. So… their Bonnie Prince Charlie landed in Scotland, an impoverished adventurer… not the well-equipped young conqueror the King of France sent out. That’s battle, boys. That’s war. We lost
Lion,
but the purpose was achieved. I can tell you this: the loss of
Elizabeth
was as important to our victory as Culloden.’

George was thinking of the battle at sea; the shrieks of dying men; the blood… . there would be blood on the decks… on the cold cruel water. No, he did not like it, although he was fascinated.