‘He should be, Madam, with all the care you give him.’

‘So Your Highness is looking after him yourself?’ asked Lady Douglas.

‘Of course, my dear. Why else should I want a baby? To give to others to care for! You shall see how I look after him. think it is his feeding time, is it not, Fitz?

I shall feed him myself. Only the best for my darling Willikin. Send in all I shall need and I shall show my dear friend Lady Douglas how I care for my child.’

Lady Douglas watched incredulously while the Princess superintended the feeding of the child and herself changed his napkin.

It’s a nightmare! thought Lady Douglas and all the time she watched Willikin to see if there was some resemblance to Sir Sydney. But, she thought, a little mollified, it could be Manley or even Lawrence.

What a fool she is! And she, the Princess of Wales! Is it possible that she can’t see what trouble she might be making for herself? Lady Douglas felt very excited. What a scandal this could be. She felt suddenly powerful, which was a very comforting feeling, suspecting as she did that her lover had found satisfaction with another woman.

But it could only be because she is Princess of Wales, Lady Douglas soothed herself. If I knew it were true, I’d make her wish she’d never set eyes on him. Not long after the arrival of Willikin, Lady, Douglas came to tell the Princess that she and Sir John would be going away, perhaps for some years. They were going to Devonshire in the company of Sir Sydney Smith, both the men being called away to duty.

The Princess took an affectionate farewell of her friend and a rather tearful one of her little godchild; but there was Willikin to comfort her.

No sooner had the Douglases left than Mrs. Fitzgerald told the Princess that she wished to speak to her on a rather delicate matter.

It had come to Mrs. Fitzgerald’s ears that Lady Douglas had spoken very disrespectfully of the Princess in the hearing of her servants, some of whom had reported this to the servants at Montague House.

‘And what was this?’ asked Caroline.

‘She spoke slightingly of Your Highness’s morals and said that William Austin was in fact your own child.’

‘My little Willikin! How I wish he were! But he is, you know, my dear. He is my own.’

‘But, Your Highness, Lady Douglas hinted that he was the result of an adulterous intrigue and that you had actually given birth to him in secret.’

The Princess was silent. ‘I think they would call that treason,’ she said.

‘They would indeed, Your Highness. That is why I think you should know that Lady Douglas was a false friend.’

‘She must have been if she spread tales like that.’

‘She did, Madam, I assure you. Heaven knows what could result if she talked too freely in some circles.’

The Princess was thoughtful. Then she brightened. ‘Well, she has gone, my dear.’

‘She may come back. If she does—’

The Princess waved her hand. ‘If she does— well then I shall not receive her.

My dear, dear Fitz, you are so concerned for me. Have no fear. She is far away and if she ever comes back, I shall simply not receive her. Now— go and bring Willikin to me if he is awake, but don’t disturb the little pet if he is not.’

Mrs. Fitzgerald went away to do as she was bid.

How feckless she was! She did not seem to have any idea of the trouble her conduct could arouse.

Willikin was awake and screaming to be picked up. Willikin indeed! thought Mrs. Fitzgerald. The cause of all the trouble.

The Anonymous and Obscene

CAROLINE settled down to enjoy life with Willikin and dismissed the Douglases from her mind. She rarely gave a thought to what was happening in the world outside Montague House— and great events were in progress.

Napoleon was astride Europe. Even Hanover, that stronghold of the Guelphs, was in his hands. Most alarming of all he was at Boulogne casting covetous eyes on England, and the threat of invasion was in the air.

The Prince of Wales was fretting against inactivity. He had settled down to harmony with Maria and was now looking for further adventure. He was very unpopular with the people and that wounded him deeply for he desperately wanted their approval and he felt he could win this by becoming a hero in this battle against that great bogey man known throughout the land as Boney; and he longed to take a part in the war.

He told Maria that he was going to insist on doing so. ‘Why should I, a man of my age— be told that I must not be allowed to fight for my country? Did you ever hear such rubbish?’

Maria replied that as the heir to the throne it was reasonable for the King to refuse to allow him to risk his life.

‘You would make a coward of me, my dear love. I shall write to him all the same.’

He sat down at once. He was always happy with a pen in his hand. Watching him Maria remembered those long impassioned letters he used to write to her— some of them thirty-two pages in length.

‘Listen to this, Maria: In this contest the lowest and humblest of Your Majesty’s servants have been called upon. It would therefore little become me, who am the First, to remain a tame, idle and useless spectator. ‘Very fine,’ said Maria. ‘But it will not move His Majesty one bit.’

‘By God, I’m not allowing the people to think me a coward.’

There was excitement in the air. The country was united as it could only be at such a time of danger. Just across the Channel Napoleon had gathered together a large fleet of gun boats. He thundered threats from the soil of France. The British were defeated, he cried. It was only a matter of weeks. Who did they think they were to dare stand out against Napoleon? Hadn’t they heard of his victories throughout Europe?

The answer came back: Yes, who does he think we are? And there was the nation suddenly in arms. Farmers and fishermen, merchants and their apprentices— everyone who could carry a gun or a scythe if no gun was available.

‘Come on, Master Boney,’ they cried. ‘We can’t wait to welcome you.’

The King was growing more and more afraid. The twilight times when his mind became so clouded that he was not sure where he was, and whether or not he was a young man again, were becoming more frequent. Sometimes he would doze off and wake up to find himself talking of he knew not what, and when he tried to stop himself the voice still went on and sometimes he was not sure that it was his.

Trouble, he thought. It’s all trouble— always has been, always will be.

He had been very upset recently over the plot organized by a certain Colonel Despard.

What had possessed the man? he kept asking. Eh, what? Despard was a good soldier. At his trial Lord Nelson himself had come forward and testified to his valour and loyalty.

What had happened to make Colonel Despard plot to assassinate his King?

‘Why?’ he cried. ‘What have I ever done but my duty, eh, what?’

It was a mad plot— to shoot the King and take possession of the two Houses of Parliament. Why? Eh, what?

And he had been discovered and executed with his fellow Conspirators at the top of Southwark jail and there he had made his last speech in which he had declared that he believed in the end liberty and justice would triumph over despotism and delusion.

What had he meant, eh, what?

Despotism and delusion! Hadn’t he, George III, always tried to be an honest man? And had he not always had the, good of his people at heart?

All this trouble: George and Caroline not living together. Bickering over the Princess Charlotte. A fine way for a child to be brought up! What did she know of the trouble between her parents? A great deal— she was a knowing young mix.

And it was all wrong. Napoleon planning invasion. Voices in his head.

What next? he asked himself.

And there was that young fool the Prince of Wales wanting to go and fight.

He took up his pen. The answer was no— no, no. Couldn’t he understand that, eh, what?

‘I had flattered myself to have heard no further on the subject,’ he wrote angrily.

Then he buried his face in his hands and asked: ‘What next, eh, what?’

The Prince was furious.

‘He thinks I’m a child,’ he raged. ‘By God, I’ll make him repent that.’

‘Remember,’ said Maria, ‘he is a very sick man.’

‘That may be. But he’s representing me to the people as a coward. Am I going to stand aside and see that happen?’

‘My dearest, there is nothing else you can do.’

‘My dear love, I have thought of something. The obvious way to let the people know the truth.’

Maria had risen alarmed.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said triumphantly. ‘I am going to publish our correspondence.

That will let the world know that I am not the one who is holding back.’

Lord Nelson had made an attack on the fleet which Napoleon had accumulated for the invasion of England and this changed the Corsican’s ideas of easy conquest. The whole of England knew that though he might conquer Europe, Napoleon was no match for Lord Nelson.

Invasion fears died a little; but the country was still in danger and its militant mood persisted even though the situation was easier, and the King still had his troubles.

When he saw the correspondence between himself and the Prince published in the Morning Chronicle he was overcome with rage and grief.

Once more, an open quarrel in the royal family! He raged and stormed and talked perpetually and incoherently of his eldest son’s treachery to him.