These were his views; he had never been a man to prevaricate.

He had no doubt that now he had spoken the people would see reason and agree that no change in the parliamentary system was necessary. There should be no Reform.


* * *

Apart from Wellington, no one was surprised by the effect his speech had on the people. Wellington had become the most unpopular man in England. The Tories were against Reform. Therefore the Tories must go. Wellington was eager to keep the poor poor, was he, for the sake of the rich? Then Wellington was no friend of the people. There were riots all over London. People were complaining bitterly about the Peelers, that body of men whom Sir Robert Peel had inaugurated in 1822 and who walked the streets keeping law and order. What next? they demanded. The Bobbies or Peelers prevented them from causing a disturbance, and the Duke of Wellington was preventing their having the vote. And what of the King? He had walked the street and been mighty friendly with the people – but what was he doing for them now?

Stones were thrown at carriages; crowds collected and the wrongs of the people were discussed; the mob was always ready for the excuse to make trouble.

‘This could mean revolution,’ Lord Howe told the Queen.

Wellington’s speech on that November day had certainly changed the situation. It had become truly threatening. The Lord Mayor had invited the King and Queen to his yearly banquet on the ninth and of course the Duke of Wellington, as the King’s chief minister, would be present.

Everyone was waiting for the Lord Mayor’s banquet; they felt that it would be a climax and there was a brooding silence in the streets. Rumour was everywhere. This would be the end of Wellington. He would ride to the banquet at his peril.

Wellington called to see the King.

‘My dear fellow, my dear fellow,’ cried William. ‘What is all this stuff?’

‘The people are in an ugly mood,’ said Wellington. ‘They did not like what I said the other day.’

‘They did not and they are working up to something, so they tell me. You should ride in my carriage to the banquet, my dear Duke. You’ll be safe with me.’

The Duke did not think so.


* * *

They were taking wagers throughout the Court. Would the King go to the Lord Mayor’s banquet or would the whole thing be cancelled? What was the wise thing to do? The King would not wish to appear a coward – and yet this was how riots started and riots could spill over into revolutions.

Adolphus FitzClarence was certain his father would go.

‘The old fellow’s not a coward,’ he assured his friends. ‘I’d take a bet on it that he’ll go.’

‘A hundred pounds,’ was the offer.

‘A hundred pounds let it be,’ said Adolphus.


* * *

Wellington was no coward either. He was ready to face an army in the course of duty but he hated to lose his dignity. He was a handsome man – of a fine stature. He was five feet nine inches tall; and his aquiline nose was his most distinctive feature – that and his keen grey eyes. He was always immaculate; he could not bear to be other than well dressed. The idea of what might happen in the streets appalled him. The thought of his garments being spattered with mud was nauseating. It might even be worse. Who knew what the mob could be led to do? He had been shocked that the people could so far forget Waterloo as to threaten him; now he was remembering that though they might cry ‘Hosanna!’ one week it could be ‘Crucify him!’ the next.

As a successful soldier he believed in the theory that discretion is the better part of valour, so he went to see the Lord Mayor and they decided that for the good of the City of London it would be better to cancel the banquet.


* * *

The Queen talked of these matters to her Chamberlain. Richard, Earl Howe, was one of the most handsome men at Court, and from the moment he had entered Adelaide’s household she had been aware of his special qualities. His attitude towards her had been one of great chivalry and admiration and Adelaide found that in his company she became animated and when she saw her reflection at such times she was amazed at the change in her face. If she did not look pretty or beautiful, at least she looked alive and not without attraction. He had such a flexible mind, she thought; he never raved and ranted; he was always completely tactful. She did not realise for some time that she was comparing him with the King.

She was always exhilarated by his company and he seemed to be by hers, but she never allowed herself to examine too closely her feelings for him. He was her Chamberlain and her friend; the King enjoyed his company too. Earl Howe was married and Lady Howe was a woman of great beauty who, before her marriage, had been one of the toasts of the town but she was rather eccentric and caused her husband some embarrassment. Adelaide would never forget the occasion recently when she had been driving with her Chamberlain and his wife. Lady Howe was seated next to her in the carriage and Earl Howe opposite when Lady Howe had said she was tired and put her feet on her husband’s knee. He looked so taken aback and had given her such a look that she had replied: ‘What do you mean by making signs at me?’ Then she had laughed and, adding that her feet were hot, rested them on the window ledge so that they were half out of the window.

Adelaide wondered why Lady Howe had behaved so in her presence and the thought did give her some uneasiness; she knew that she had become very unpopular since the Reform Bill had been brought into the house. To some extent the King too had lost his popularity – but not entirely. The people were still fond of their bumbling old sailor and since they must blame someone they blamed the Queen. The Queen, they said, was the one who was advising the King to oppose the Bill. And why? Because Earl Howe opposed it and the Queen listened more to her Chamberlain than to anyone else.

Adelaide refused at first to believe that people were whispering about her and Earl Howe but when she was forced to accept this she suspected the FitzClarences of spreading the gossip and was very unhappy by the way in which they had changed towards her. They had been such friends when William had been merely Duke of Clarence, but it seemed that they could not endure the fact that she was legitimately accepted into the royal circle and they were not. They were called the ‘bastidry’ which infuriated them, and because their treatment of the King was common knowledge, some wit referred to them as the King’s unatural children.

Earl Howe was saying that he was pleased the Lord Mayor’s banquet had been cancelled.

‘I should not have cared for Your Majesty to ride through the streets with the people in their present mood.’

‘That Bill. How I wish it had never been thought of.’

Earl Howe looked grave. ‘If it ever became law I believe that would be the end of the Monarchy.’

‘You are not the only one who thinks so. I believe that the Duke of Wellington is of the same opinion.’

‘I shall vote against it. If by some chance it got through the Commons it would never get through the Lords.’

‘It will not get through the Commons. Wellington will not allow it.’

‘And Your Majesty will make sure that the King refuses to give his consent even if it should.’

It was flattery, the implied suggestion that she carried great influence with the King. It was not really true, although she had to admit that William had always been good to her and treated her with respect; but it was Wellington on whom he relied.

This was perhaps why she enjoyed Lord Howe’s company so much. He made her feel wise … and yes, she had to admit it, an extremely attractive woman. For the first time in her life she was enjoying masculine admiration, and when it came from one of the most handsome and attractive men at Court how could she help being flattered.


* * *

There was to be a small dinner party at Clarence House. The Queen was dressed in white silk which fitted her beautifully. She wore a few diamond ornaments but she never overloaded herself with jewels and feathers as the Duchess of Kent did.

When she went to the drawing-room William was already there, seated in a chair waiting to receive his guests. He never behaved like a King and although he was courteous to the ladies, people laughed at his lack of regality. He had been jeered at for offering people lifts in his carriage and going to the door of Clarence House or even St James’s to wave goodbye – acts which while they endeared him to those who received them, were noted and laughed at.

‘He’ll never be the King his brother was!’ was the comment; and although the most unpopular of monarchs had been George IV, there was a note of nostalgia in the words.

‘That’s a nice dress,’ he said. ‘Why you look quite pretty tonight, Adelaide.’

‘I’m glad you like it,’ she said. ‘It’s made of English silk. I shall tell the ladies tonight that every bit of it was made in England and that I consider our own silk equal … if not better than … the French. It would be much more helpful to these people who are so dissatisfied if more work came their way, and surely it would if we bought less abroad.’

‘You’re right … damned right.’

‘Well, I shall tell them tonight.’

William said, ‘I hope they’ll soon be forgetting all this stuff.’

Adolphus FitzClarence arrived, bursting into the drawing-room with the studied lack of ceremony affected by all the FitzClarence family.