It was perhaps a little unseemly to be thinking of that now, while she lay abed with the Prince’s child. So she would direct her thoughts from such imminent joys and think as the parent of fatherless children should.

George! Her thoughts could always come uneasily to him. She did not like his tutors. And why should she tolerate those she did not like? Why should she allow the boy’s grandfather to dictate to her? She was his mother; she cared for him as his grandfather never could care for anyone except his silly strutting self. No, she was going to take charge of George’s upbringing, and no one was going to prevent her.

She thought of George’s father, grandfather and great-grandfather. Women! That was their chief pleasure and occupation. There was a strong streak of sensuality in the family; and George must be protected from it.

George at the moment was an innocent boy who knew little of the world. It was true he was just entering into his teens, but he was exceptionally innocent. She was going to keep him like that. He should not mingle with the boys of his own age who inhabited his grandfather’s Court. That place was a sink of iniquity. How long would George keep his innocence there?

No, George was going to be protected, and she his mother would protect him.

What a glorious future! She was free to make her own life. She had done with childbearing and she had a fine family to show for the arduous years. She had cast off her yoke and now she would do what she wished. And one thing she wished was to control her son, the Prince of Wales, so that when the time came for him to be King of England his mother would be beside him – the true ruler of the country.

There might be one other to stand with her. He was coming to see her now. A little unorthodox. Oh, but he had been such a friend of the Prince of Wales!

His presence filled the bedchamber – such poise, such authority, such looks.

His smile was tender.

‘I trust Your Royal Highness will soon be restored to perfect health.’

‘Thank you, my Lord Bute. I am sure this will be so.’

Lingering looks, full of plans for the future.

This was living as she had never lived before, thought the Dowager Princess of Wales; this was freedom.


* * *

It would have been a pleasant enough household but for the dissensions among his tutors, thought George. But there was continual intrigue in the schoolroom. This was one of the penalties of being Prince of Wales.

He and his brothers and sisters never met people of their own ages because their mother was afraid that they would be contaminated. She wanted to keep her children pure and innocent, she said, and saw no reason for bringing to their notice the unpleasant side of life before they need be faced with it.

She wanted George to confide in her – her and dear Lord Bute who was in constant attendance. No one could have the children’s welfare more at heart than dear Lord Bute and she wanted them to know it. But George knew this very well; his adoration for Lord Bute almost equalled that of his mother for the noble lord. Every problem he discussed with his dear uncle; and no one had ever been more kind; never did he show the slightest exasperation when George failed to grasp a point; he would explain it in several different ways to make it clear. George was contented as long as he had his dear Mamma and dear Uncle Bute close at hand. He was aware though of the trouble between those dear people and his tutors. Lord Harcourt and Bishop Hayter always seemed to be putting their heads together to annoy Mamma and Lord Bute. He was conscious of the way these two ignored Mamma – and Lord Bute – when they came to the schoolroom and how they always tried to denigrate or shrug aside as worthless anything either Mamma or Lord Bute suggested.

George sometimes felt that he was like a bone between growling dogs. He knew very well whom he wanted to care for him.

‘I don’t know what those men are doing here,’ said Mamma again and again. ‘I should like to know what they teach you. Stone is a sensible man and so is Scott, but they are in subordinate positions and cannot raise their voices against those two.’

George said mildly that Lord Harcourt was always pleasant to him, to which his mother replied that this was doubtless because the man knew his pupil would one day be King and he felt it expedient to be, but she did not trust him; and she feared that what he wished to teach George above all else was to distrust his own mother.

‘That he could never do, dearest Mamma,’ cried George.

‘I know that, my son. You may not be clever with books but you have the good sense to recognize your friends. And there are two on whom you can always depend – your mother and dear Lord Bute.’

‘I should indeed be a fool not to know that.’

‘You are my own child. Your mother would always be your best friend… and Lord Bute too.’

‘Lord Bute is as a father to me. I love him dearly.’

‘It pleases me to hear you say it. What a wonderful man he is! What should we do without him? It was a fortunate day for us when the rain brought him into our tent.’

‘Mamma, I often think of Lady Bute.’

‘Why should you do that?’

‘She is his wife, and wives and husbands are usually together… sometimes.’

‘Oh, she is happy enough. She lives in London. I doubt not he visits her now and then. She is a fortunate woman. Did you know he has given her fourteen children in as little time as it takes to have them?’

‘I always thought,’ said George fervently, ‘that he was a wonderful man.’

‘So you see,’ said the Princess firmly, ‘Lady Bute has nothing of which to complain.’


* * *

Newcastle, watching the situation in the Prince’s schoolroom with close attention, was well aware of the growing influence of the Princess Dowager and Lord Bute. It was dangerous, he decided. Each week the future King grew more and more devoted to those two; and when he stepped out of the schoolroom, possibly to the throne, he would be completely conditioned, a puppet of theirs. What Newcastle desired was that the boy should be a puppet of his, and it was the task of the tutors, Harcourt and Hayter, to bring about this desirable state of affairs.

But they were not succeeding.

Summoned to his presence for consultation they declared that the odds were against them. The Prince was constantly in the company of his mother and the man everyone now believed to be her paramour. It was too strong an influence to be easily broken. Moreover, Scott and Stone were on the side of the Princess and Bute.

‘Then,’ said Newcastle, ‘as we cannot get the Princess out of her son’s household, and while she is there so will her lover be, we must at least rid ourselves of Scott and Stone.’

This presented a problem, because neither Harcourt nor Hayter were greatly concerned with the studies of the Prince. They left that to the professors. Scott and Stone were the learned gentlemen.

‘There are other learned gentlemen,’ declared Newcastle. ‘Get rid of those two and we will find them.’

Hayter said that Stone read strange books and was constantly preaching tolerance. It might not therefore be difficult to pin on him a charge of being a Jacobite.

‘There you have it,’ said Newcastle. ‘There’s your chance. Use it.’


* * *

The people of England – and in particular London – had an inquisitive attitude towards their royal family. They jeered, they sentimentalized, they took sides. A young and innocent Prince had their sympathy and interest. He was a charming figure, fatherless, in all probability destined to be their King when a young man. They wanted to know how he was being treated; they wanted fair play for George; and surrounded by such a set of villains as his family were, they believed the situation needed their watchful attention.

The old King was a rogue. The sooner he died the better. He was a German, a little red-faced man without charm, and only happy when in Hanover. He had even brought a mistress over from Germany, implying that English women weren’t good enough! Of course he had his share of them, but to bring a woman from Germany and make her Countess of Yarmouth and set her up as his mistress-in-chief… it was simply not patriotic. He was old – and who ever wanted an old King? Oh yes, they were waiting impatiently for young George. A good boy by all accounts. And not bad-looking. He was tall – not like his little grandfather; fair skin, blue eyes, rather vacant expression and sullen-jawed; but he couldn’t help that, being a German. A pleasant boy on the whole, and the old fellow couldn’t die quickly enough for the people.

But he was young and there would be jostling for power. The rumours about the Princess were interesting. This Lord Bute seemed to be in constant attendance on the lady. For what purpose? They could guess, and whether it was true or not they were going to believe it was because it was more amusing that way. Bute and the Princess on one side – Newcastle and his henchmen on the other. There was going to be conflict; and this was what the people found amusing.

In the coffee and chocolate houses the latest gossip was discussed. The Whig writers vied with the Tory writers and the witty results of their labours brought great pleasure to all who read them.

So the conflict round the Prince was common knowledge and everyone waited to see who would be triumphant – Newcastle or the Princess Dowager.

The storm broke when Hayter came in and found George reading.

George was not a great reader. He was slow; but he was painstaking and if he took a long time to get through a book, at least he had read every word.