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

‘It sounds very clever.’

‘But I do assure Your Highness that it has been done many times before.’

‘I shall pass on this information. I am sure it will give great relief. And when the time comes...’

‘When the time comes, you can count on me, Your Highness.’

• • •

So, when Hannah’s time came, Elizabeth was there with Dr. Fothergill, the not-too-stern Quaker, who was delighted to act as instructed. Such commissions were always very profitable and he had undertaken them before and he was becoming known throughout the Court for his discretion...not the important quality in such a doctor’s reputation.

He rode out to Tottenham in the company of that fascinating, mysterious and rather wicked young woman, Miss Chudleigh, allowed himself to be blindfolded at the appropriate moment, and entering a house, the destination of which he could not be sure but could vaguely guess, he delivered a very personable young woman, whom he quickly discovered to be of his faith, of a healthy girl.

‘The Butcher’s’ Disgrace

Cumberland was coming home to England...in disgrace. The King strode about his compartment, wig on one side, cheeks scarlet with rage.

‘Hanover!’ he moaned. ‘Hanover in the hands of the French! And he calls himself a son of mine. Was ever a father so cursed by his children? I thank God the Queen has not lived to see this day.’

Mr. Pitt had called to see the King. Mr. Pitt, the man who believed that England’s glory lay overseas. Here was a pretty state of affairs, a good beginning to Mr. Pitt’s grand schemes. Hanover, the home of the Kings of England, the sacred spot, loved by this royal family as St. James’s, Windsor, Hampton, Kensington had never been...and now it was in the hands of the French!

‘Mr. Pitt, sir, you find me low...very low.’

‘Your Majesty is grieved by the loss of Hanover, I know.’

‘It is the home of my fathers, Mr. Pitt. I was brought up in Hanover. As you know, I have never let long periods of time pass without visiting it.’

‘I know it well, Sire.’

‘I was happier at Hanover, Sir, than anywhere else in this world.’

‘Your Majesty’s subjects haw been made aware of that fact.’

‘And now it is lost...lost by that fool of a son of mine. Why did I ever put him in charge of my armies…?’

‘An old custom, Sire, to keep the plums of office in the family.’

‘Eh...eh, what’s that?’

‘Not always a wise one as Your Majesty is now perceiving, but is Your Majesty being entirely fair to His Royal Highness?’

The trouble with these geniuses, thought the king, was that they believed they had some prerogative to speak then minds. They gloried in it. They boasted of it. These honest men! The unpleasant truth was that a King could not do without them. Mr. Pitt was such a one.

‘The puppy was caught asleep, I heard, at Hastenbecke...The French surrounded him and he would have been taken but for the prompt action of Colonel Amherst.’

‘One of the officers I recommended to Your Majesty, you will remember. Yes, he did good work. The Duke’s position was not a happy one at Hastenbecke, Sire, and I dare swear you knew that some compromise would have to be made. Bremen and Verden had to be saved and the troops brought out of danger. It was the loss of the duchies and all those men...or Hanover.’

‘Hanover,’ wailed the King. ‘It has a special place in my heart, Mr. Pitt. I spent the first years of my marriage there, you will remember.’

Aye, thought Pitt, and courted Madame Walmoden there too, and sent the Queen accounts of your courtship in that delectable spot.

‘You will, then, understand my feelings.’

‘Indeed yes, Sire.’

‘So that is why I can’t wait to get my hands on that...puppy.’

‘Sire, Hanover is temporarily lost. It is a small electorate. I believe Your Majesty penned your signature to the orders which were sent to the Duke to sign the convention.’

‘I thought the Duke would make a stand.’

‘Against orders from home, Sire?’

‘The Duke calls himself a soldier, Mr. Pitt. I had not thought he would lose Hanover. I believed that he would have fought to the last man to save Hanover.’

‘But, Sire...’

The King glared at his minister. ‘That was my belief, sir.’

Mr. Pitt despaired. What could one do with a man who believed what he wanted to believe, who twisted the facts to suit his own taste. Bremen and Verden had had to be saved at the cost of Hanover...why did he not admit it? Because he could not face the fact that Hanover was lost, and that he had agreed to its loss. Why? Because he was sentimental about Hanover. Because there he had lived in the first days of his married life, because there he had courted Madame Walmoden.

Pitt despised the little man, but shrugged aside his duplicity. There were more important matters ahead than the assessing of a King’s character—which would doubtless prove not worth the trouble.

‘It is a small electorate, Sire,’ he repeated, ‘and there is Canada and America...needing our attention.’

• • •

Hanover lost! It was terrible. It was unthinkable. The King wept with emotion, thinking of the Alte Palais where he had lived in his boyhood; the old Leine Schloss where assassins had murdered his mother’s lover, the Count of Konigsmarck, Herrenhausen where his grandmother had lived for so long and dreamed of becoming Queen of England. In the hands of the French!

I cannot bear to think of it, he mourned.

He had given his consent that it should be signed away. It was like betraying his family. He could imagine Caroline’s eyes regarding him sorrowfully. What would she have said could she have been here? He could hear his father’s voice cursing him in German.

George II of England who had lost Hanover to the French! He would not admit it...even here in the seclusion of his own apartments. It was not he who had lost it. It was that blockhead...Willie...who had been Caroline’s favourite son. Her Duke of Cumberland whom she had said so many times she wished had been the eldest of the family instead of Fred. They had agreed that Willie would have been the better King. Willie had been brought up in England; he spoke English like an Englishman. He had always wanted to be a soldier. Willie had been their darling as a child. So bright...so loving. Different from the canaille Fred Caroline had declared. And now William was the one who had sold Hanover to the French. But the fault was William’s, for no one was going to blame him, the King.

He had already forgotten that he had agreed with his German Council to save Bremen, Verden and the armies. The English had known nothing of this. None of their business, snorted George. But Mr. Pitt had known. Mr. Pitt was one of those men who were aware of everything.

It was a false step. He saw that now. Willie should have fought. He should have ignored the instructions of the German Council backed by his father.

It was true that after his agreement with the Council the King had had his misgivings and had even drafted a letter to Willie telling him to fight to hold Hanover at all costs.

He rummaged in a drawer and found a draft of the letter. It had never been sent, but its existence seemed to exonerate him, since it was a command to the Duke of Cumberland to fight and hold Hanover.

‘I wrote that,’ cried the King triumphantly. ‘I told him to fight.’

• • •

The Princess Augusta was secretly delighted. ‘Hanover lost!’ she cried. ‘This is Cumberland’s doing.’

‘It will be interesting to see His Majesty’s reactions to Billy the Butcher now,’ replied Bubb Dodington who was often her company and that of Lord Bute.

‘This is the son he would like to have seen King,’ added Bute.

‘Constantly comparing him with Fred,’ agreed Bubb. ‘I remember Fred could not stand the sight of him.’

‘And I don’t blame him. The Butcher! He would like to get our George under his wing.’