The King and Queen were much disgusted at what they considered the Government’s half-heartedness, and included in their displeasure the Whigs generally, who had certainly wavered in their devotion to the court when they heard that the King’s health was so bad. “If the Whigs can be so little depended upon in the King’s interest,” said the Queen, “we might as well send for the Tories, who are only too willing to come; the King has only to beckon to them.” She did not mean what she said, but Walpole became alarmed. His majority was not so large that he could pose any longer as a dictator, or afford to dispense with the Queen’s favour and support. He knew that Lady Sundon was intriguing against him, and that she had had several interviews with Lord Carteret. Carteret now expressed his great regret at having championed the Prince’s cause; he said he was driven into it against his better judgment; he was full of the Queen’s praises, and vowed that he would do anything to serve her. He declared that he had great influence over the Opposition leaders, especially Pulteney and Wyndham, and could bring them to the Queen’s side if she would only make the sign. All this was duly repeated by Lady Sundon to the Queen, who listened but did nothing. She never intended to do anything, but she thought it well to bring Walpole to his bearings, and in this she quickly succeeded. Walpole came to her, and told her that he had heard of Carteret’s overtures, and warned her not to trust him. The Whigs he urged were the natural support of the Hanoverian family, which was certainly true, since they had brought them over to England, and the Tories were but a broken reed. Caroline agreed with all he said, but fell back upon the lukewarm support which the Whigs had given the King. Even Walpole, she said, had regarded the Prince’s conduct in too favourable a light. Walpole told her that he had only striven to bring the Prince to reason, but he now owned that he had made a mistake. The Queen, he said, should never again have cause to complain of him on that score, he saw that the Prince must be overcome. The Queen said she only wanted him to assure her on that point, and she dismissed him with many assurances that she would never cease to support him. The immediate result of this reconciliation was to strengthen the alliance between the Prince and the Patriots, who now saw in Frederick their only hope of ever gaining office.
These events took place quite early in the Session, but when Parliament rose the King said nothing about going to Hanover as Ministers had feared. In truth he was afraid to go, for he knew that Frederick would seize upon it as a pretext for some fresh intrigue, and the country was hardly in a humour to brook another prolonged absence. So he rarely mentioned the name of Hanover and never that of Walmoden. Most people about the court thought that the King had forgotten her for Lady Deloraine, to whom he showed great attention, paying her visits in her apartments for a long time together, as he had done to Lady Suffolk in the old days. He also insisted on her sitting next him at the commerce table, and often walked with her tête-à-tête in the gardens. Lady Deloraine, who had great beauty but little discretion, was inclined to boast of her triumphs, for she said to Lord Hervey: “Do you know the King has been in love with me these two years?” Lord Hervey, who was afraid to invite dangerous confidences, merely smiled and said: “Who is not in love with you?” Walpole came across her one day, standing in the hall at Richmond with a baby in her arms, and said to her: “That is a very pretty boy, Lady Deloraine; whose is it?” She replied: “Mr. Windham’s (her husband’s) upon my honour. But,” she added with a significant laugh, “I will not promise whose the next shall be.” She moreover told several people that the King had been importunate a long time, but that she had held out from motives of virtue, which were not at all appreciated, as her husband, she was sure, did not care.
Whether there was anything between Lady Deloraine and the King or not, the Queen followed her usual policy of ignoring the intrigue. She knew what her husband was, and made allowances. Perhaps, too, she was glad that he should seek distraction from Madame Walmoden, though she knew that he had not forgotten her. Walpole had told her of an incident which showed how the King still esteemed his Hanoverian mistress above Lady Deloraine. He ordered Walpole one day to buy a hundred lottery tickets, and to charge the amount, £1,000, to the secret service fund instead of his civil list. Walpole did as he was bid and told Hervey of this iniquitous transaction, which he said was for the benefit of the King’s favourite. Hervey thought he meant Lady Deloraine and expressed his surprise at the largeness of the sum, saying he “did not think his Majesty went so deep there”. Walpole replied: “No, I mean the Hanover woman. You are right to imagine he does not go so deep to his lying fool here. He will give her a couple of the tickets and think her generously used.”
The relations between the Prince of Wales and his parents went from bad to worse as the months wore on, but they were not even yet strained to breaking point. Acting on the advice of his supporters the Prince still occasionally attended levées and drawing-rooms. The King treated him as though he were not in the room; the Queen, though she recognised his presence, did not speak to him more than was absolutely necessary, and in private she declared that she was afraid to do so lest he should distort her words. The Prince still resided in his father’s house, making his headquarters at St. James’s Palace. But when the King and Queen moved to Hampton Court for the summer he had perforce to go there too, but much against his will. Though he and the Princess lived under the same roof as the King and Queen they saw little of them, and only met them in public.
In July the Prince wrote a letter to the Queen announcing that the Princess was with child. The Queen congratulated him and the Princess on the auspicious event, and asked the latter some maternal questions about her condition. To all these the Princess made the same answer—“I do not know”. The Queen had doubts, which were shared by her daughters, as to whether the Princess was really pregnant. Both she and the King considered the Prince quite capable of palming off a spurious child on them, and their prejudices against him were so strong that they half believed he was plotting to do so. They had no wish that the Princess of Wales should bear children; it was generally thought that she would not. If she did it would destroy the remaining chance that their beloved younger son, William, might one day succeed to the crown. The Prince, who resented these suspicions, wished that his wife should be confined at St. James’s, but the King determined that the event should take place at Hampton Court. The Queen declared that “at her labour I positively will be, let her lie in where she will,” but again expressed herself sceptical about the Princess being confined at all, as she could see no signs of it. The Prince, on the other hand, who knew and resented these suspicions, vowed that his mother should not be present at the birth, and that the child should be born at St. James’s. He kept his word.
The court was then at Hampton Court for the summer, and the Prince and Princess of Wales were there occupying their own suite of apartments. On Sunday, July 31st, the Princess dined in public with the King and Queen, but on retiring to her apartments she was seized with pain, and symptoms of premature confinement became manifest. Notwithstanding the danger, which perhaps the Prince did not realise, as the Princess’s confinement was not expected for two months, he determined that she should at once be secretly removed to St. James’s. He ordered his coach to be brought round quickly. It was nearly dark, and the Prince’s apartments were in another wing of the palace to those of the King and Queen, so they were able to make their exit without being seen. The poor Princess was carried downstairs, though she begged her husband to let her remain where she was, and Lady Archibald Hamilton added her entreaties, but to no effect. The Prince obstinately insisted on his wife getting into the coach with Lady Archibald and one of her women. The Prince got in after them, and gave the order to drive with all speed to St. James’s, and once outside the gates of Hampton Court they went at full gallop towards London. The Princess moaned in agony, but the Prince kept saying: “Courage, courage,” telling her by way of consolation that it would all be over in a minute. They arrived at St. James’s Palace about ten o’clock: there was nothing ready for them, as they were not expected. The Princess, shrieking with pain, was carried upstairs and put to bed, and, there being no sheets in the palace, a pair of table-cloths had to make shift instead. Within half-an-hour she was prematurely delivered of a girl child.[119]
Meanwhile at Hampton Court, the King and Queen, all unsuspecting, passed their evening as usual: the King played commerce below stairs with Lady Deloraine and the maids of honour; the Queen and the Princess Amelia played quadrille above; the Princess Caroline and Lord Hervey had their nightly game of cribbage. The party broke up, and all retired at eleven, without having heard a whisper of what had been going on in the Prince of Wales’s apartments. The King and Queen had gone to bed and to sleep, when about half-past one they were aroused by the arrival of a courier from St. James’s Palace with a message that brooked no delay. The Queen, startled at being aroused at so unusual an hour, asked whether the palace was on fire, but Mrs. Tichburne, her dresser, in fear and trembling explained that the Prince of Wales had sent to let their Majesties know that the Princess was in labour. The Queen jumped up immediately and cried out: “My God! My night-gown, I’ll go to her this moment.” “Your night-gown, madam,” said the worthy Tichburne, “aye, and your coaches too; the Princess is at St. James’s.” “Are you mad?” exclaimed the Queen, “or are you asleep, my good Tichburne? you dream.” Then Mrs. Tichburne told the whole tale of the Princess’s flight, so far as she understood it. The King raged and swore, and began to abuse the Queen, saying: “You see, now, with all your wisdom, how they have outwitted you. This is all your fault. There will be a false child put upon you, and how will you answer for it to all your children? This has been fine care and fine management for your son, William; he is mightily obliged to you; and as for Anne, I hope she will come over and scold you herself; I am sure you deserve anything she can say to you.”
The Queen made no answer, but dressed quickly, ordered her coach, and set out for London at once, accompanied by the Princesses Amelia and Caroline, and attended by some of the lords in waiting. She arrived at St. James’s Palace about four o’clock, left her coach, and those who came with her, at the outer gate, walked alone across the courtyard and made her way upstairs as fast as she could. At the top of the stairs she met the Prince in his night-gown. He dutifully kissed her hand and cheek, and then with scarcely concealed malice told her that she was too late, the Princess had given birth to a daughter. The Queen expressed neither surprise nor annoyance, but asked why the news of the child’s birth had not been sent to her before she started from Hampton Court. The Prince said that he had written letters to the King and Queen directly he could; the messenger was already on the road and she would doubtless find them on her return. The Queen made no further remark, but asked to see the mother and child. The Prince then conducted her into the Princess’s chamber. The Queen kissed the Princess and wished her joy, but expressed her fear that she had suffered greatly. The Princess dutifully replied: “Not at all; it is nothing”. Lady Archibald Hamilton brought the child, which was wrapped up in an old red mantle and some napkins, no proper clothes having yet been found for it, nor any nurse. The Queen kissed the babe and said: “The good God bless you, poor little creature; you have come into a troublesome world”.
The Prince then began a long account of what had happened. The Queen listened to him without interruption, but when he had quite finished, she said that it was a miracle the Princess and the child had not been killed. She added that he and his wife were a couple of young fools who could not have been aware of the danger they ran, and then she turned to Lady Archibald and said: “But for you, my Lady Archibald, who have had ten children, that with your experience, and at your age, you should suffer these people to act with such a madness, I am astonished; and wonder how you could, for your own sake as well as theirs, venture to be concerned in such an expedition”. To this Lady Archibald made no reply, except to turn to the Prince and say: “You see, sir”. The Queen then embraced the Princess, wished her good-bye, and told her that if there was anything she wanted she had only to name it and it would be done. The Princess, who had evidently been coached in her part, from between her table-cloths thanked her Majesty, but said she wanted nothing. The Prince waited on his mother down the stairs, still in his night-gown, and would have escorted her to her coach, had she not insisted that he should not accompany her out of doors in such a plight. The Queen walked across the courts by herself to where the coaches were waiting. She told the Princesses that she had no doubt the child was genuine, but she added: “If instead of this poor, little, ugly she-mouse there had been a brave, large, fat, jolly boy, I should not have been cured of my suspicions”.
As soon as the Queen had set out from Hampton Court the King sent express messengers to Walpole and Lord Harrington, requesting them to hasten to St. James’s to be present at the birth of the Prince’s child. They went thither with all speed, but like the Queen arrived too late. Walpole returned to Hampton Court in the course of the morning, and had a conference with the King and Queen. He agreed that the insult was intolerable, and must be punished. Walpole had learnt his lesson, and was now wholly against the Prince. So far from attempting to moderate the King’s ire he rather sought to inflame it, and declared that if the King and Queen did not conquer him he would conquer them. After much discussion and much strong language, the King sent the Prince a written message, complaining of the “deliberate indignity” offered to him and the Queen, which he “resented in the highest degree”. The King was for taking more drastic measures at once, but Walpole persuaded him to defer them until the Princess was out of danger, and then strike. The King would gain by waiting a little he said, for as soon as it was known that the Prince had been guilty of this grievous act of folly his popularity would wane. In this he was right, for no sooner did the news get abroad than the public, to a man, condemned the Prince’s conduct in risking his wife’s life and that of his unborn child, in order to insult his father and mother. His friends who had supported him through thick and thin in his endeavour to get a separate grant from Parliament were unable to find an excuse for this rash and inconsiderate step, though they urged in palliation the Prince’s natural pique at the surveillance to which he had been subjected, and his ignorance of the danger the Princess had run.