Mr Pitt was no respecter of persons. Although he was almost servile in the presence of the King and the Prince he made no effort to please anyone else.
Bute! Who was Bute? A man who owed his position to the favour he found in the Princess Dowager’s bedchamber. Unfortunately that gave him easy access to the Prince of Wales, a boy… who knew nothing of affairs. If the Prince thought he was going to govern Mr Pitt he was mistaken.
Bute was ingratiating.
‘I have watched with growing admiration, sir, your work in the government. England has need of men such as you at this time.’
The hawk’s eyes looked down the long aquiline nose and Mr Pitt’s hand lightly touched his tie wig. His expression was very haughty.
‘You know, sir, of the Prince’s regard for me,’ went on Bute. ‘I have his word on this. When he should attain the throne he wishes me to have Newcastle’s place.’
The eyebrows shot up. ‘That, my lord, would not be possible.’
‘Not possible! How so… if it were the King’s wish?’
‘You lack the experience.’
‘Experience is something one gains in office. I have watched affairs…’
‘Watching is not enough, my lord. Moreover, you are a Scottish Peer. Long residence here in the South has allowed this to slip your mind.’
Lord Bute was angry. He said: ‘I suppose you would consider the King’s command must be obeyed.’
‘That might be so.’
‘So if I tell you that the Prince has given his approval, what then?’
‘My lord, I would never bear the touch of command. If I were dictated to, I should resign. So, my lord, I could not give you the post you ask for and if you were to receive it, it would not be my place to give it to you, for the fact of your receiving it could only mean that you would not have it from my hands.’
Lord Bute was furious, Mr Pitt determined. The perfect actor – as he was on most occasions and never more than in circumstances such as this – he swept off the stage; dignified as ever, holding the advantage because, vain as he was, delighting in pomp and ostentation, he was a man of honour and would never allow his personal promotion to interfere with his principles.
But Bute was his enemy from then on.
He sought the Prince and told him that on the day he became King he would have to find a way of ridding the government of that arrogant Pitt.
Pitt was triumphant. He had persuaded the King that it was to the country’s interest to provide Frederick the Great with a subsidy that he might fight England’s battles in Europe.
‘We have a small island, Sire, a small population; we need an Empire. Let Frederick take care of our commitments in Europe and we will turn the Frenchman out of Canada and India. These territories will be of more use to us than anything in Europe which is too costly to hold and will never be worth the money and effort we spend on it.’
The King was loth to send money to Frederick, but he saw Mr Pitt’s point; and he was with him.
So very soon was the country.
The tide was turning. Victory was in the air. Clive was going ahead in India. Amherst and Wolfe were doing well in Canada.
This was Mr Pitt’s plan and it was working. Englishmen were proud of their country. In the streets they were singing Dr Arne’s Rule Britannia. Men congregated in the taverns to talk of great victories and Britain’s growing power beyond the seas.
In a few years the position had changed. England was no longer fighting hopeless wars on the Continent of Europe; it was building an Empire. This little island was on the way to becoming the greatest world power.
It was a great year. God save the King… and Mr Pitt. Britannia was preparing to Rule the Waves.
The secret Wedding
IN THE DRAWING-ROOM in which Mr Reynolds had painted her picture Hannah sat sewing. She no longer embroidered – a pastime she had learned from the sewing-woman, for in Mr Wheeler’s house she had never wasted her time in such a frivolous occupation. But how she had enjoyed it once she had learned! She would sit for long hours, her ears alert for the sound of carriage wheels which would announce her lover’s arrival, while her needle plied the cambric, and the reds and blues, the purples and whites grew under her hands. Now she was making clothes for her children. She had a family of two and another was on the way. She had become a fertile woman; she loved her children, but more than anyone on earth she loved the Prince.
Perhaps she had built up this love through her great need of it. She needed more than physical contact, more than constant declarations of loyalty and enduring affection; she needed to prove to herself that love such as she had could not be denied. It was her only excuse.
She spent long hours on her knees. ‘Oh God, show me how I can expiate my great sin. I will do anything, Thou knowest… save one thing. I will never abandon him until he abandons me. And if he does abandon me I shall go forth into the world uncomplaining. I have loved deeply; I have been loved and my love has been fruitful. If my children are cared for, if he, my love, is happy, I would willingly sacrifice my hopes of earthly joy.’
Was it true? Vehemently she assured herself that it was; but equally vehemently she trusted she would never be called upon to prove it. Yet, she could not rid herself of her early training. She did not believe she could go on living comfortably as she had for the last five years. Reckoning would come.
‘The sins ye do by two and two, ye pay for one by one.’ She could hear Uncle Wheeler’s voice droning on in the room behind the shop where they had eaten and prayed. She could feel the roughness of the rush mat on her knees; she could see the faces of the family, palms together, eyes closed, as the candle-light flickered across their faces.
‘Vengeance is mine,’ saith the Lord. Uncle Wheeler had always pronounced such utterances with particular relish.
Love, forgiveness, were words scarcely heard in the Wheeler household. She remembered that now.
Why was she morbid today? Because she was with child again? Because George’s visits were less frequent than they used to be? She must be reasonable. He was a Prince… a Prince of Wales and had now come of age. At any time he might be King. Naturally he was kept busy. There was so much to learn, he had told her.
She remembered that once he had mentioned these matters with regret; now he did so with excitement. George was changing. Was that what frightened her? George was no longer a shy boy; he was fast learning to become a ruler; and he had recognized it as his destiny. He no longer wished that he were not the heir to the throne. He was waiting… almost impatiently for the crown.
In one clear flash of understanding she saw the position clearly: George had changed and she had not.
A light scratching on the door. ‘Come in.’
‘A visitor, M’am. Your lady friend.’
It showed how few visitors she had when Jane could be so introduced. My lady friend, thought Hannah. She might have said your only lady friend.
Jane was growing plump. She was a mother now and undoubtedly the head of her household. Hannah wondered how often she reminded her husband that he owed his good fortune to her astuteness in helping to pass Hannah Lightfoot over to a very important young gentleman.
She enjoyed Jane’s visits – the one link with the old days. When Jane sat sprawled in a chair, her fingers reaching for the dish of sweetmeats which Hannah always ordered to be placed beside her, Hannah could almost believe they were back in the bedroom over the shop, talking together while they looked down on the Market.