She said Mr Hunter was a man of perhaps forty but quite modern seeming. He wore trousers and his hair was cut in a Bedford crop. I pictured the modern Mr Hunter sitting up late with my book and not going to his bed until he’d finished it and written me a letter, eager to purchase the copyright.
But no letter came. July arrived and still no word. I was anxious that an offer might come while I was at Weymouth and Jack would open it and destroy it, so I went to Johnson’s publishing house myself, to see if the surprise of meeting the author in person mightn’t rouse Mr Hunter to action.
It was close to noon when I got there but Mr Hunter had not yet arrived at his desk. The clerk said he might appear later, or not, there was no telling. The floor and every other surface were piled high with manuscripts. I couldn’t recognize mine.
The clerk said, ‘When did you say it was left?’
‘May 15th. Are they kept in the order they arrive? Is each read in its proper turn?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘And then what happens?’
‘Mr Hunter thinks about it.’
‘And then?’
‘I’d tell the author to enquire again after a twelvemonth.’ I began to understand how Miss Burney had submitted so graciously to her years of royal service. Publishers had taught her patience. In August I set off for Weymouth.
Jack said, ‘If Boney lands you and your Royalties’ll be for it.’
I said, ‘If Boney lands so will you.’
Weymouth was full of troops. Beacons had been set up at Blackdown and Ridgeway Hill and Sutton to test the town’s readiness for an invasion, though we were given warning of it, for the sake of Her Majesty’s nerves. At ten o’clock a single shot was fired. We balanced on stools and crowded to our tiny window. We could see lanterns signalling from the rigging of the Southampton. There were answering shots from the cannon at the shore battery, and soon after we heard the sound of the Town Militia marching past and then the cavalry of the Light Dragoons. It was rather thrilling. By midnight all was quiet again and Weymouth slept. It was said that many useful lessons had been learned from the alert.
I felt no apprehension and neither did Sofy.
She said, ‘If it comes to it and there’s fighting you and I will put on aprons, Nellie, and go out to tend the wounded.’ Minny said heaven help the wounded and we had better practise our bandaging. Amelia said Sofy would never be allowed, that if the French landed any Englishwoman found in the street was likely to be ravished and then put to the sword. Sofy said she was willing to consider anything to escape playing basset with the Queen every evening and was quite ready to be put to the sword, as long as she was ravished thoroughly first.
For two weeks our lives ran in their customary grooves. The King bathed and rode, the Queen walked slowly along the Esplanade and we visited shops, examined hats and lengths of cotton and tabby and bought nothing. The change, the crisis, came on suddenly. One evening we went to the play and the King talked through it so loudly we couldn’t make out a word. It was no loss—to my recollection we had already seen The Lying Valet three times—but the King’s behaviour was alarming.
He said he must have congress with a woman or he’d go off like a firecracker and if Her Majesty wouldn’t do her duty he’d install Lady Herbert at Windsor and if she wouldn’t cure his needs Lady Buckley would do just as well. Wraxhall and Price were the equerries that evening. They tried first to persuade the King to retire and when that failed Wraxhall had the carriages brought round so that the Queen and the Princesses could be spared any further embarrassment. I was the last to leave the box and the King caught at my hand and pulled me towards him. His breath was foul.
He said, ‘You see how things are. Look at my breeches. I stand like a crocus and no one will give me relief, relief, relief.’ Major Price broke the King’s grip on me and hissed at me to go quickly. In our carriage no one spoke. When we arrived at Gloucester Lodge the Queen had already gone to her rooms and Augusta and Elizabeth to theirs.
Minny said, ‘It’s beginning again. I knew it. I saw this afternoon that his spirits were running too fast.’
We lived for two days in a state of high nervousness till Dr Willis could come. The Queen stayed in her apartments while the King paced about wherever he pleased. His colour was livid and his belly strained against the buttons of his weskit. Day and night he talked without a break. One minute he must go immediately to Lord Poulett’s for he’d promised to ride out with his pack of harriers. But then he remembered Lord Poulett didn’t expect him for two more weeks at the earliest and might not be at home. No, indeed Hanover was where he must go, to inspect his beloved city. Major Price was given the thankless job of telling his king that Hanover was lost to the French and had been for more than a year. I quaked at the thought of encountering him—no hiding place was safe and there was no predicting what he might say. His mind leapfrogged from one topic to another. Dancing lessons for his darling granddaughter; the length of yarn that can be spun from a pound of merino wool; the perfection of Lady Yarmouth’s breasts.
The opportunity to escape from Gloucester Lodge for a few hours should have been welcome. But our destination was to be Piddletown. Sofy planned to go to Ilsington House to see her son. Then she remembered my reluctance.
She said, ‘You’re not still cross with me about your ardent admirer? Well I solemnly promise not to send you to the stables this time. I daresay Ebenezer Huddlestone or whatever his name is has forgotten you by now.’
I said, ‘Nevertheless I prefer not to go.’
And there I thought it rested. Days passed and no carriage was ordered. The King’s fever continued and his daughters were pulled two ways. They didn’t want to see him or hear him, but they feared to leave him.
Then one morning Sofy said, ‘Nellie, you’re going to be so surprised. Garth is bringing Tommy to Weymouth today. I arranged it all myself, to make amends for teasing you about your admirer. Aren’t you vastly impressed?’
I did my best to appear so.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you might praise me a little more for being so considerate.’
I said, ‘You’re very good. But I wonder how it’s to be managed, a small child coming here. What about the Majesties?’
‘Oh, but it’s all very easily arranged,’ she said. ‘The King is confined to his rooms and the Queen is going to visit Lady Digby.’
Garth came at noon. Tommy’s governess, Miss Wellbeloved, was a slight, nervous woman and Tommy had complete dominion over her. I found I could not like him. He was four years old and far too pleased with himself. The visit was mercifully short, no more than an hour, so I was spared much conversation with Garth. He was as cordial as ever, told me about a plantation of Scotch firs he had made at Ilsington House, about new words Milady had learned, and about Tommy’s riding lessons.
‘The best seat I’ve ever seen on a child so young,’ he said. ‘Remarkable.’
I responded politely. I couldn’t do more.
He said, ‘Are you quite well today, Nellie?’ He seemed to be searching my face.
‘I am, thank you,’ I said. ‘Very well.’
Before he left he and Sofy circled the garden, deep in conversation. I tried not to watch them but even Tommy’s boisterous antics and Miss Wellbeloved’s comical attempts at correcting him couldn’t distract me. It was the briefest visit but I felt it would never end.
Sofy said, ‘Garth fears he’s offended you in some way.’
I said, ‘How could that possibly be?’
‘Exactly what I said. I told him you might be pensive, seeing Tommy, because you have no child of your own.’
She twittered on, about the blueness of Tommy’s eyes and the soundness of his teeth.
Then she said, ‘Nellie, there’s something I must tell you.’ My heart lurches recounting it, even now, knowing what I know.
