The Prince and the Quakeress - Plaidy Jean (книги полностью бесплатно TXT) 📗

‘I came of age on the fourth of June, Sire.’

‘Yes, yes, well so you did. And you’re a man now, eh? Time you broke away from your mother’s apron strings.’

‘I do not understand, Sire...’

‘You don’t understand much, do you, George? Time you stood on your own. Not a baby anymore, you know. Why, when I was your age...Now listen. I’m going to be generous. I’m going to make you an allowance, ?40,000 a year, and you shall have your own apartments in St. James’s Palace. How’s that.’

‘I thank Your Majesty. The income will be most welcome. My mother was saying I should need to enlarge my household now that I am of age. But I am happy where I am…’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I...enjoy being with my mother and my brothers and sisters...’

‘Enjoy! You can come to St. James’s and enjoy, boy. You shall have your own apartments here, and I’ll have time to see you now and then.’

‘Sire...I have no...’

‘That’s all right. No need to splutter your thanks. You go now.’

‘Sire, I wish...’

‘All right. I know. You’re grateful, but you’re the Prince and these things are expected.’ The King had turned away, leaving his grandson to stare helplessly at his back.

• • •

‘?40,000 a year!’ cried Augusta in anger. ‘How dare he! Why the Prince of Wales should have ?100,000 from the King’s income. It is a custom. The government voted the King ?800,000, and ?100,000 of that was for the Prince of Wales.’

‘Worse than that,’ pointed out Bute, ‘he wants George under his roof. You can guess what that means. He is going to take him away from us.’

‘We shall never allow it. We had better send for George.’

‘Do you think it would be better if I spoke to him alone?’

Augusta was thoughtful.

‘Let us speak to him separately,’ suggested Bute, ‘and perhaps our arguments will have a double impact. He may be forced to accept the ?40,000 a year, but I am convinced that he should never agree to live under the same roof as the King when this means that he is away from us.’

‘Let us do this,’ said Augusta.

George listened to Bute’s account of the schemes of those who were seeking to separate them. They knew that the Prince’s only true friends were his mother and Lord Bute, which was why they could not bear for them to live together.

If the Prince really loved his mother, if he had any feeling for Lord Bute, he would decline the King’s offer of apartments at St. James’s; he would insist on living under the same roof as his mother.

‘I see you are right,’ agreed George. ‘On no account must we be separated.’

‘You should, of course, increase your household and should live in the state of a Prince of Wales. You will need a Groom of the Stole. Shall I tell you something? It is a position I covet. If it were mine I should always be near you. We should have opportunities which we have so far lacked. I was wondering how Your Highness felt about granting me this favour.’

‘I desire it more than you do. It shall be yours.’

‘Unfortunately it will be necessary to get the King’s consent.’

‘I will ask it.’

‘At the same time as you decline his offer of accommodation at St. James’s. I fear he will be a little displeased. But before you make any decision consult your mother. We will abide by her decision. I beg of you listen to her. Take her advice. Remember that she—and I—are the only two people here who have your real interest at heart. I beg of you ask her whether she thinks I should have the post of Groom of the Stole. If she feels it would be unwise, think no more of it.’

‘My dear friend, I am certain that she will wish it, even as I do.’

‘Speak to her and when you have done so, write to the King. That would be better than asking for an audience. Write and tell him that you accept the income—it should be more but this is not the time to ask for it—but that you cannot consider leaving your mother. Then you might suggest that you will appoint a Groom of the Stole...’

• • •

The King raged up and down his apartment.

He’ll have a stroke if he doesn’t take care, thought Waldegrave.

‘This letter from that impudent puppy! I know who has put him up to this. It’s that mother of his. Sly -faced row. And that Scottish stallion. A pox on the pair of them. He will take the money. By God, he will. But he prefers to live with his mother. Baby! Cannot leave Mamma! You know why? Tied to her apron strings, that’s why. And Bute has tied the knots. Never trust a Scotsman, Waldegrave. They’re the ones to make trouble. All the trouble starts across the Border and this fool of a daughter-in-law of mine has to keep a warm place for one in her bed. Here’s a nice state of affairs. I’m flouted in my own Court. He’ll take the money but he’ll stay with Mamma. By God, he won’t. If he stays with Mamma he gets no money from me. If his grandmother were alive...’ Sentimental tears in the blazing blue eyes, incongruous when his anger blazed in his purple cheeks and the veins were knotted in that dangerous way at his temples. ‘No, I’m glad she’s not alive. That’s how I feel sometimes, Waldegrave. I’m glad she’s not alive to see what an ungrateful puppy she’d have for a grandson. A Prince of Wales! A ninny who can’t leave Mamma. And this is the whelp who asks me for ?40,000 a year and he’ll graciously accept it as long as we don’t untie the leading rein Mamma and Mamma’s bedfellow have tied about, his silly neck. I tell you this, Waldegrave: If he does not come here he’ll get no money and that’s my word on it.’

Waldegrave waited a few seconds for the worst of the anger to subside a little.

Then he said mildly: ‘It may well be that Your Majesty’s ministers will think that the allowance is the Prince’s due.’

‘So my ministers are on his side, eh? My ministers will work for the puppy against me?’

‘I can only suggest that this may be so, Your Majesty.’

‘We’ll see. If my ministers cannot serve me, Waldegrave, they can get out.’

Waldegrave was silent. The King would doubtless have to give way. He must remember how unpopular his own father had become when he quarrelled with his Prince of Wales, George II himself. Did the old King know how unpopular he was and how the people were all waiting for this blue-eyed boy to step up to the throne.

Perhaps he did. Perhaps he gave way to these spasms of rage out of habit. He had always been a man of habit.

‘And there’s something else, Waldegrave, something which makes me wish I had that puppy here so that I could kick him round this room till he yelped to be let free. There’s something else.’

‘Your Majesty?’

‘He asks a favour for Bute. "Groom of the Stole," he says. "I know of no one who could better fill the role, nor one whom it would please me better to have about me." No, I’m sure he doesn’t. Who’s put him up to that, do you think? Mamma! Let’s have him Groom of the Stole to the Prince as well as Stallion in Chief to the Princess. This is my witless nincompoop of a grandson, Waldegrave.’

‘Sire, I doubt not your ministers would decide the Prince should choose the members of his own household.’

‘But he has to come to me for the key, eh. He has, in fact, to have my assent. I’ll tell you this, Waldegrave, I’d meant this office for you. You’ve done good service and it was to be your reward.’

‘Sire, I shall be happy indeed to retire from the Prince’s household.’

‘Well, that’s what it will mean, Waldegrave, that’s what it will mean. He’s of age now. No place for a tutor. He’s a man at last...so they tell me. But I fail to see it.’

‘Your Majesty, I beg of you have no regrets on my account, for I shall retire from the Prince’s household with none.’

‘I know well your opinion of the boy.’

‘He is not a bad boy, Your Majesty, but by no means bright. He is not ill-natured; he simply cannot apply himself.’

‘In other words, he’s a fool. Don’t mince your words, Waldegrave. He’s my grandson, but he takes after his father. Fred was the biggest fool in Christendom and a rogue in the bargain. This young whelp is not that...yet. But, believe me, that mother of his and her Scot will make him so. Depend upon it. Depend upon it.’ The King looked at the watch which was hanging on his coat. ‘In five minutes I must call on the Countess of Yarmouth. Never fear, though. I shall have thing to say to young George.’