On the morning of the day an unfortunate incident occurred in Hyde Park. The King was reviewing a battalion of the Guards when one of the spectators who was standing quite close to him was hit by a ball cartridge. After assuring himself that the victim was not fatally wounded and giving orders that he should be attended to without delay, the King continued with the review. But speculation was great. The attempt had evidently been made by one of the soldiers who had fired the volley but it was impossible to discover which one.

The King’s cool courage made it possible for the incident to pass off lightly, but it seemed certain that the cartridge had been intended for him.

That evening there was a full theatre. The people might laugh at Farmer George, the Royal Button Maker, but he had an aura of royalty and that was enough to give glamour to any occasion.

But the fact that he had escaped assassination that very morning made people all the more eager to see him.

Sheridan rubbed his hands together gleefully and remarked that the would-be assassin could not have timed his attempt more to the advantage of the theatre.

Dorothy was playing the role of Hypolita in the play and it was one of those which she had made very popular. In her plumed hat, with her quizzing glass and her breeches she was still attractive, although her increasing weight did worry her and, dressed as she was, she could not help wishing that the King could have seen her in this costume as she had been when she had first made the role popular; but she must console herself with the truth that although her figure might not nowadays fit so well into such a costume she could make up for that by the finesse of her acting.

The King and Queen with the four eldest Princesses were in the foyer. Sheridan was greeting them, bowing, smiling, murmuring that the whole company was honoured.

The King glared at him, his face slightly redder than usual, his eyes seeming as if they would pop out of his head.

The Queen acknowledged Mr Sheridan’s greeting unsmiling. The man who had helped lead George to his downfall – not, she was ready to admit with something between exasperation and admiration, that George needed a great deal of leading. George would always go his own way; and if Mr Sheridan had not been there to lead him someone else would. But she did not like this clever gentleman who was reputed to be the greatest wit in London.

The four Princesses could not take their eyes from him. The wicked author of The School for Scandal, the man who created scandals of his own, who had eloped with his beautiful wife and then betrayed her a hundred times with other women, and above all was the friend and confidant of their fascinating brother the Prince of Wales – who was even more startling in his adventures than Mr Sheridan.

‘If Your Majesties will allow me to conduct you to the royal box…’

‘Lead the way,’ said the King.

When Sheridan threw open the door of the box, bowed and stood aside for the family to enter, shouts and cheers rang through the theatre.

The King, always moved by a show of affection from his people, went to the front of the box and stood there bowing and smiling.

Then suddenly a man stood up and pointed a horse-pistol straight at the King.

There were shouts of: ‘Stop him!’ And at that moment the shot was fired.

The Princesses screamed; the people in the theatre shouted and leaped to their feet; the man with the pistol was seized by some members of the audience and the orchestra. Everyone was crowding round him.

The King stood erect.

‘I am unhurt,’ he said.

Pandemonium had broken out in the theatre. The man who had tried to kill the King was hustled away but the noise continued until Mrs Jordan came on to the stage.

‘Your Majesties,’ she said, holding up her hand for silence. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen. The man who fired the shot has been taken away. There is nothing more to fear.’

The Queen said: ‘Perhaps we should leave.’

‘Nonsense,’ said the King, ‘we came to hear the play and we shall stay to hear it.’

Mrs Jordan was looking at the royal box. No doubt waiting for the royal assent for the play to continue.

He nodded to her smiling; she curtsied and cried: ‘Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, ladies and gentlemen, we shall now play for your enjoyment She Would and She Would Not.’

It was an evening to be remembered. No one could help but admire the cool courage of the King. He looked younger and in better health after the shooting than he had been before. In such a situation he had full confidence for he knew how to act. Courage was a quality he had never lacked; it was statecraft that baffled him.

Dorothy played as well as she ever had. She held the audience which was not easy after such a scare. Everyone wanted to talk about it, to ask who the man was, why he had shot at the King, how near he had come to killing him. It all seemed so much more interesting than the fate of characters in a play.

Behind the scenes the Duke of Clarence was waiting for Dorothy when she came in between playing. It was a man called John Hadfield, he told her. He was obviously another of those madmen who got it into their heads from time to time that they should kill the King.

‘His Majesty is magnificent,’ said Dorothy emotionally. ‘I feel tonight that I have indeed played before a King.’

Sheridan said that such an event in his theatre must not go un-noted. When the last curtain calls had been taken he came on the stage to say how happy everyone present was that there had been no tragic outcome of that unfortunate affray. No one need be alarmed. The culprit was under arrest. But they were a happy house tonight because they had His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen with them and what might have been a tragedy had turned out to be merely an incident. His Majesty’s cool courage was an example to them all and he believed that they should all stand up and sing the national anthem with special fervour.

Because they would all wish to show their loyalty and devotion to His Majesty he had this very evening composed an extra verse which he was sure every man and woman present tonight would feel, and want His Majesty to know they felt, so he had had the new verse printed and it would now be handed round that they might all rise and sing another verse to the national anthem.

They rose and sang and the King stood up, tears falling from his eyes while his loyal subjects expressed their delight in his escape by singing from the bottom of their hearts the national anthem with Sheridan’s additional verse:

‘From every latent foe,

From the assassin’s blow,

God save the King!

O’er him thine arm extend,

For Britain’s sake defend,

Our father, prince and friend,

God save the King!’

People were weeping openly, embracing each other and smiling up at the royal box.

The King had not been so happy for many years. His people loved him. A madman had tried to shoot at him and because he had failed his dear people were rejoicing. Pretty little Mrs Jordan – William’s woman – was on the stage leading the singing in her enchanting voice; even the Queen was touched.

It was an inspiring evening and he would not let them be too hard on the man who had shot at him. A madman, they said; he had a great desire to be kind to madmen.

And when he returned to St James’s it was to hear that the Princess Amelia when she had heard that he had been shot at had fallen into a fit and could not be comforted until she saw for herself that her dear father was safe.

He went to her at once. He embraced her – his darling, the best loved of them all.

‘I’m safe,’ he said. ‘No need to fret. I’m back. All went well. Mrs Jordan is a delightful woman. Plump and pretty. Acts well, sings even better. And even that villain Sheridan composed a very nice addition to the national anthem and they all sang it most loyally. Nothing to fret about, eh, what?’

So in spite of what might have been tragedy the night the King saw Dorothy in She Would and She Would Not was a great success for all except poor John Hadfield.

After that incident the relations between the King and his sons improved. They had all called at Buckingham House the following morning to take breakfast with their parents and to congratulate them on their lucky escape.

‘We don’t see enough of you, William,’ said his mother. ‘You must not forget your position entirely, you know.’

William thanked her for her kindness. He wanted to say that it was difficult for him to appear as much as he would wish when the lady whom he considered his wife could not be received at court as such.

The Queen understood perfectly and was implying that he should come without her.

The Prince of Wales was also affable to his father and the King to him, but the Queen could not help wondering what her son’s real feelings were. She had a notion that his fingers were itching to take the crown. And the poor King’s mental state was not improved by incidents like that of last night, however bravely he might stand up to them.

William was thoughtful as he left Buckingham House. He would go to some functions; he owed it to his parents and to his position. As long as it did not interfere too much with life at Bushy. George was happily reunited with Mrs Fitzherbert and was enjoying one of those honeymoon periods during which he was promising himself that they would never be parted again.