The trouble began absurdly when two smugglers named Wilson and Robertson were arrested and put into the Tolbooth to await execution, the penalty for smuggling. This was an unpopular punishment for taxation was never popular and it was believed that if a man was clever enough to outwit the tax men what he gained was a just reward. These two prisoners, however, attempted to escape and their method was to file off their chains and cut through one bar of their window. This they managed, and Wilson who was older than Robertson and considerably fatter insisted on going first. He did, but he became jammed in the window and thus not only did he prevent his own escape but that of Robertson also.

The people of Edinburgh were intrigued with the story and all sympathy was on the side of the prisoners. The day of their execution was fixed and, in accordance with the custom, they were taken to church the Sunday before. Wilson, smitten with remorse because his selfishness had prevented the escape of his fellow prisoner, attacked the guards in church and shouted to Robertson to escape, which he did. This exploit delighted the people who did all they could to help Robertson, but Wilson remained and the Captain of the guard, John Porteous, declared that such a dangerous man should be hanged without delay and the sentence should be carried out the next day.

Wilson was duly hanged, but crowds turned out to see the execution and several tried to get the body from the gibbet to give it a decent burial. John Porteous, who was hated by the mob, ordered the soldiers to fire on the crowd and several people were killed.

Porteous managed to reach the guard house but so unpopular was he that because of public insistence he was arrested and sentenced to death. He appealed to the Queen who reprieved him.

It was this reprieve which enraged the people of Edinburgh. What right had the German woman in London to interfere in a purely Scottish affair?

They would not have it. ‘Let the usurper go back to Hanover!’ they shouted. ‘And long live James III.’

They stormed the jail where Porteous was celebrating with his friends because of the reprieve. The friends managed to escape but Porteous, afraid to be seen by the mob, hid himself in the chimney. There he was discovered, dragged out of the prison and hanged in sight of the mob.

‘So much for Germans! ‘ cried the people of Edinburgh. ‘Let them keep their rule for the English. Scotland rules herself.’

When this news was brought to Caroline she was angry. This was a direct flouting of her order; it would have happened if the King had given the reprieve, but it would be said that she had failed, and the Prince of Wales would make much of the failure.

In her anger she began to consider taking punitive measures; but she was quick to realize the tone of the Scottish peers who defended their fellow countrymen in the Lords.

Walpole discussed the matter with her and advised against action. A nominal gesture, perhaps. A fine of two thousand pounds on the city of Edinburgh.

Caroline saw the point of this; and when a young girl walked to London from Edinburgh to see her to beg for a reprieve for her sister who had been condemned to death because of the suspected murder of her illegitimate child, the Queen saw the girl and granted a pardon which the sister triumphantly took back to Edinburgh with an account of the Queen’s mercy.

But the Edinburgh affair while it lasted had threatened to be an even bigger disaster than the Spitalfields riots or the resistance to the Gin Act; and this was the most troubled of her Regencies.

And as these affairs seemed to settle themselves she was conscious of the real brooding shadow which threatened her peace now and in the future: Frederick.


* * *

Frederick did everything he possibly could to upset his mother and show his contempt for her Regency. He would talk openly of the scandal of the Gin Act and the state of Spitalfields workers; he sided with the Scots in the Porteous controversy; he spread the scandal about Madame de Walmoden and the ladder affair; he was constantly reminding his companions of his father’s dislike for England, of his long stay in Hanover. It was clear that he was trying to make a royal court just as, Caroline reflected bitterly, she and his father had done when they had quarrelled with his grandfather.

There was one thing above all others which aroused the Prince’s fury and that was the knowledge that his parents so deeply regretted his birth, that they wished him dead so that William might be the Prince of Wales. Everywhere the Queen went, William was with her. He was treated as though he were the Prince of Wales.

‘Let them give him all honours,’ said the Prince to his wife, ‘it makes no difference. I am the Prince of Wales and nothing can alter that. You wait till we have a son. That will be an end to Master William’s hopes for ever.’

‘We will have a son,’ cried Augusta.

‘Many of them,’ replied Frederick, ‘just to make sure of it.’

The Queen was certain that the Prince would never have a child; she did not think him capable of begetting one. The rumour was that he was impotent and that wise people were paying court to William because he was certainly going to be the next king.

Then the Prince began treating the Princess with that very special care which indicated that she was already pregnant. Nothing official was said about this but the Princess, acting on her husband’s orders, played up to the story.

The Queen was anxious and there were endless discussions between her, the Princess Caroline, and Lord Hervey.

The Queen was tormented by the thought of Frederick’s having a child and one day she summoned Lord Hervey to her and told him that she wanted to speak to him very privately.

When they were alone she said: ‘The Prince is putting it about that the Princess is pregnant. I do not believe this to be possible. I believe that the marriage has never been consummated.’

‘Why should Your Majesty believe this?’ asked Hervey, always curious to discover such secrets which were just the kind which appealed to his nature.

‘Because I know something of my son. And I believe you know a great deal, too. You know, do you not, that little FitzFrederick was not Frederick’s son. He was yours. Oh, come along now, my lord, put aside all affectation and answer me, for I am very anxious to be satisfied.’

‘Madam, it is difficult to know who was the father of Miss Vane’s son.’

‘Perhaps she knew.’

‘She did not always speak the truth.’

‘No, I’ll warrant she told you FitzFrederick was yours, and Frederick he was his. Frederick pretended to believe her. He was so proud of having fathered that boy. A little too proud perhaps. What did Miss Vane tell you of the Prince?’

Hervey hesitated and the Queen said impatiently, ‘Pray, do not be coy. You and I have talked of such matters often enough.’

‘She would describe the Prince as being inexperienced and ignorant, but she did not say he was impotent.’

‘It is very important to me to know,’ said the Queen. ‘If I thought he were impotent I should be very easy in my mind, for then the way would be clear ahead for William. Could you ask Lady Dudley? She was his mistress and as she has been to bed with half the men in town she would know whether Fred is like others or not.’

‘There is one way to find out all Lady Dudley knows of course, but I do not think my curiosity is strong enough to make me risk my nose to satisfy it.’

‘I know of his great desire to have children and I believe him capable of anything to get the Princess with child. He was so anxious to be thought the father of Miss Vane’s child—over anxious—and although you have perjured yourself by assuring me it was not so, yet I am sure that had he asked you to get a child for him.... Pray, hold your tongue. I do not want to listen to any more lies on this subject.’

‘I was not going to comment on that,’ said Lord Hervey, boldly interrupting her. ‘But suppose it were true. There is a difference between asking a man to lie with one’s mistress and asking him to lie with one’s wife. The Princess would have to be in the secret in order to reach a satisfactory conclusion.’

‘I am sure if you undertook it you could contrive it, though I don’t know how you could bring it about without her knowledge.’

Such a possibility delighted the devious imagination of Hervey. ‘If the Prince had consummated his marriage it would be possible,’ he said. ‘But if he hadn’t, that would be very difficult ... nay, impossible.’

‘Now suppose you were both willing, how could you, without her knowledge, go to bed with her in his place?’

‘It would be simple.’

‘My God, tell me how.’

‘Well, for a month before the time I would advise the Prince to go to bed several hours after his wife and to pretend to get up several times during the night and then to scent himself with some powerful scent. He would have to accustom her to his silences in bed and then the man who would be same size as the Prince would go into her in his place.’

The Queen laughed. ‘You are ingenious, Lord Hervey, and I love you mightily, but if I thought you would get a little Hervey by the Princess of Saxe-Gotha to disinherit my dear William, I could not bear it, nor do I know what I should be capable of doing.’

‘Your Majesty need have no fear. I am the last man with whom the Prince would enter into such a compact. And my dear great good Queen, you must cease to fear on this score. The Prince would never make such a request to any man.’

‘I think he is capable of it,’ replied the Queen. ‘He would hate to be thought impotent and I think he would go to any lengths to foist a child on us.’