‘Never on any occasion.’
‘But it has been proved that people did wander in and out of Her Majesty’s bedroom rather freely.’
‘Never at any time.’
She had learned her phrase, he realized; and she was going to stick to it, having decided that only by denying everything could she serve the Queen.
Brougham imagined her in the hands of the Crown.
She would do as much harm to his cause as Majocchi had done to the other side.
He decided not to call her.
His great opportunity came when he proposed to recall the man Rastelli and heard that the Crown had sent him back to Italy.
What a sensation when the cry went up ‘Call Rastelli’ and the Crown had to admit that he had returned to Italy.
Brougham was a man to make the most of his opportunities. He wondered why the man had been sent back. He had questions to ask him which he very much doubted the fellow would be able to answer to the satisfaction of the court.
Was it not strange that he should have been sent away at such a time?
It was indeed strange, Lord Liverpool admitted. It was highly culpable; it was iniquitous.
From that moment Brougham knew he had won his case.
Denman summed up the case for the Queen brilliantly until he came to the end of his speech.
‘I know that rumours are abroad of the most vague but at the same time of the most injurious character. I have heard them even as we are defending Her Majesty against charges which compared with these rumours are clear, comprehensible and tangible— There are persons and these not of the lowest condition, nor confined to individuals connected with the public press— not even excluded from this august assembly— who are industriously circulating the most odious and atrocious calumnies against Her Majesty— To a man who could even be suspected of so base a practice as whispering calumnies to judges— distilling leprous venom into the cars of jurors— the Queen might well exclaim: Come forward, thou slanderer and let me see thy face. If thou wouldst equate the respectability of an Italian witness come forth and depose in open court—’ Denman gazed contemptuously at the King’s supporters. ‘ As thou art, thou art worse than an Italian assassin. ‘
He went on declaiming the injuries the Queen had suffered and he had the sympathy of the court for he spoke with touching eloquence; but unfortunately as he neared the end of his speech he gave his listeners the opportunity to ridicule and this they seized eagerly.
He who the sword of Heaven will bearShould be as holy as severe. ‘And if your lordships have been furnished with powers which I might almost say scarcely omniscience itself possesses, to arrive at the secrets of this female, you will think that it is your duty to imitate the justice, beneficence and wisdom of that benignant Being who, not in a case like this when innocence is manifest but when guilt was detected and vice revealed said: If no accuser can come forward to condemn thee, neither do I condemn thee. Go and sin no more.’
It was a brilliant speech; no case had been proved against Caroline but Denman could not have chosen a peroratio which would have so delighted the people.
There was a new song now to replace that of Non mi ricordo. It was: Gracious Queen, we thee implore, Go away and sin no more. But if that effort be too great, Go away— at any rate. Poor Denman was furious with himself. But Brougham was not displeased.
He knew that they had won.
There was still the Bill of Pains and Penalties. It passed through the House of Lords with a majority of twenty-eight.
If, reasoned Brougham, that Bill was passed in spite of the fact that the Queen could not be proved guilty of adultery, the first part of the Bill to exclude the Queen from her rights might still be put into force.
He called on Lord Liverpool.
‘If this Bill is passed,’ he said, ‘this will not be the end. We have had an enquiry into the Queen’s private life, what if there is an enquiry into the King’s?’
‘He has had his mistresses as most Kings have,’ began Liverpool.
‘This is not so much a matter of mistresses as of wives. There is a strong suspicion that as Heir Apparent, the King went through a form of marriage with Maria Fitzherbert, and in the Act of Succession since the lady is a Catholic, this could mean losing the Crown.’
Liverpool understood. The Bill must not be passed.
On its next reading, it received only a majority of nine in the Lords ‘This is the end of the Bill,’ said Brougham to Denman. ‘We’ve won, man.
They’ll never attempt to pass it through the Commons.’
He was right. Lord Liverpool withdrew his Bill. The Queen was acquitted.
Through the cheering crowds, she drove to Brandenburg House.
Return to Brunswick
CAROLINE called Lady Anne Hamilton to her. ‘You see me— triumphant—’
she said, and she smiled wryly.
‘Is it the pain, Your Majesty?’
She nodded. ‘Give me the magnesia.’
Lady Anne brought the drug and Caroline mixed it with water herself.
‘And I’ll add a little laudanum,’ she said.
‘Your Majesty— is it wise to take so much?’
‘Well, my dear,’ she laughed. ‘When have I ever been wise?’
The King was humiliated by the findings of the court. The Bill had been thrown out. And he was still tied to that woman. Even Lady Conyngham found it hard to console him. He was not feeling well; he was far too fat; he had the Crown but life had lost its savour.
He stayed at Windsor. He wanted to shut himself away. He had no desire to ride through the streets of London and suffer the further humiliation of having mud thrown at his carriage and overhear the remarks he guessed the people would make at his expense.
How different, he thought, from what he had dreamed in his youth. Then he had been Prince Charming and everywhere he went the people applauded him.
They had preferred him to his old dull father. What a King he will make! they said. And here he was— the King— skulking at Windsor, afraid to enter his capital, thinking sadly of the trail of scandal which marked his progress from Prince Charming to Prince Regent and King George IV.
It was dear Lady Conyngham who brought him comfort as usual.
She had changed the furniture in his bedroom a little and confessed to him that she had been very bold.
‘Change what you will,’ he said fondly. ‘What pleases you pleases me.’
She sat beside him and they played a game of patience.
She said: ‘I have heard that the people are not so much for the Queen as they were. They all believe she was guilty, of course.’
‘They cheer here wherever she goes.’
‘They are singing: Go away and sin no more.’ ‘Then they have changed.’
‘They always knew she was guilty only it wasn’t possible to prove it. I think they would like to see their King.’
‘You imagine them all to be as fond of him as you are,’ he told her indulgently.
But as they retired to bed, he thought: The public is fickle. Perhaps they are changing towards her. The enthusiasm was due to the impression that had been given by her supporters that she was a persecuted woman.
Surely they must see that she was not the woman they would want for their Queen. Whereas he was, in spite of his corpulence— until the doctors had persuaded him to abandon his corsets which he knew for the best while he regretted the result— a magnificent figure.
It was time he had a coronation. Perhaps he would go to the theatre and see how he was received.
‘Your Majesty is thoughtful,’ said Lady Conygham.