Clarence became William IV.
Chapter V
THE INDISCRETION OF A BARONESS
W illiam, Duke of Clarence, had arisen early on the morning of Saturday, June 26th, leaving Adelaide in bed. He liked the morning air, he said, and nowhere was it fresher than at Bushy. He was inspecting the flowers when he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs and hurrying across the lawn he saw Sir Henry Halford, his brother’s doctor, dismounting.
He had no need to ask the news. He saw it in Sir Henry’s face. The King was dead.
The wonder of what this meant swept over William. Many times he had anticipated it, but how much more glorious was the realisation!
‘Your Majesty,’ began Sir Henry … and William did not wait for the rest. He grasped the doctor’s hand and shook it, which was a strange thing to have done. But William had never behaved in a conventional manner and the doctor was too excited to notice at the time.
‘The Queen must be told,’ said William, ‘but I shan’t tell her. She’s been dreading this. But she must be told.’
Sir Henry said he would ask one of her women to waken her.
William went into the house where he was shortly joined by Adelaide who looked more as though she were being told she were a widow than a Queen.
William muttered something jocularly about Her Majesty but Adelaide gazing at her husband and seeing the flush in his cheeks and the brilliance in his eyes was afraid for him. It was the worst thing that could have happened. While he lived quietly at Bushy with the family she could feel he was safe.
‘It’s early,’ said the new King. ‘We’ll go back to bed. I’ve never yet been to bed with a queen.’
Sir Henry looked startled but the King insisted and when the Duke of Wellington as Prime Minister arrived to make the official announcement to William that he was the King of England, he found him in bed.
The great Duke of Wellington, who was a less successful politician than he had been a soldier, cared deeply for the honour of his country. It was, he believed, his great task to guide the King; and there could have been few Kings who needed guidance more. It was not very long ago that William – as Duke of Clarence – had shown how foolishly he could behave when given some authority. Then he had been invested with the office of Lord High Admiral and had brought ridicule on himself and been forced to resign; how much more dangerous would it be to give him the powers of a King.
And yet King he was, by right of succession. Frederick, Duke of York, Wellington supposed, might have been easier to handle.
Only a short while ago the Duke and Robert Peel had been deploring the state of the country. ‘A most heartbreaking concern,’ the latter had called it and due to the conduct of the King and his brothers. Cumberland would have to be watched – a mischief-maker if ever there was one; and when it was considered that the new King had a tendency to his father’s malady, it was clear that there were stormy times ahead.
It appalled Wellington that William showed no regret for the passing of his brother, who had always been a good friend to him; William had known this and had been fond of George, but the prospect of being King so overwhelmed him that he lost all sense of decency.
The poor Queen was grieved and doing her utmost to restrain the King.
‘William, my dear,’ she implored, ‘pray do not be so overjoyed . Remember you have lost a dear brother.’
‘Dear old George! But he had his day. Now I shall wear an admiral’s uniform for my first meeting with the Privy Council. An admiral’s uniform, eh, Wellington?’
The King frowned at Wellington. He had not been a very good friend at the time of all that trouble over his office of Lord High Admiral. But he was a clever fellow and by God the country owed him something. They’d never forget Waterloo. So it was no use holding that other trouble against him. He needed Wellington, a good fellow, a fine soldier. A King must trust his
Chapter V
THE INDISCRETION OF A BARONESS
W illiam, Duke of Clarence, had arisen early on the morning of Saturday, June 26th, leaving Adelaide in bed. He liked the morning air, he said, and nowhere was it fresher than at Bushy. He was inspecting the flowers when he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs and hurrying across the lawn he saw Sir Henry Halford, his brother’s doctor, dismounting.
He had no need to ask the news. He saw it in Sir Henry’s face. The King was dead.
The wonder of what this meant swept over William. Many times he had anticipated it, but how much more glorious was the realisation!
‘Your Majesty,’ began Sir Henry … and William did not wait for the rest. He grasped the doctor’s hand and shook it, which was a strange thing to have done. But William had never behaved in a conventional manner and the doctor was too excited to notice at the time.
‘The Queen must be told,’ said William, ‘but I shan’t tell her. She’s been dreading this. But she must be told.’
Sir Henry said he would ask one of her women to waken her.
William went into the house where he was shortly joined by Adelaide who looked more as though she were being told she were a widow than a Queen.
William muttered something jocularly about Her Majesty but Adelaide gazing at her husband and seeing the flush in his cheeks and the brilliance in his eyes was afraid for him. It was the worst thing that could have happened. While he lived quietly at Bushy with the family she could feel he was safe.
‘It’s early,’ said the new King. ‘We’ll go back to bed. I’ve never yet been to bed with a queen.’
Sir Henry looked startled but the King insisted and when the Duke of Wellington as Prime Minister arrived to make the official announcement to William that he was the King of England, he found him in bed.
The great Duke of Wellington, who was a less successful politician than he had been a soldier, cared deeply for the honour of his country. It was, he believed, his great task to guide the King; and there could have been few Kings who needed guidance more. It was not very long ago that William – as Duke of Clarence – had shown how foolishly he could behave when given some authority. Then he had been invested with the office of Lord High Admiral and had brought ridicule on himself and been forced to resign; how much more dangerous would it be to give him the powers of a King.
And yet King he was, by right of succession. Frederick, Duke of York, Wellington supposed, might have been easier to handle.
Only a short while ago the Duke and Robert Peel had been deploring the state of the country. ‘A most heartbreaking concern,’ the latter had called it and due to the conduct of the King and his brothers. Cumberland would have to be watched – a mischief-maker if ever there was one; and when it was considered that the new King had a tendency to his father’s malady, it was clear that there were stormy times ahead.
It appalled Wellington that William showed no regret for the passing of his brother, who had always been a good friend to him; William had known this and had been fond of George, but the prospect of being King so overwhelmed him that he lost all sense of decency.
The poor Queen was grieved and doing her utmost to restrain the King.
‘William, my dear,’ she implored, ‘pray do not be so overjoyed . Remember you have lost a dear brother.’
‘Dear old George! But he had his day. Now I shall wear an admiral’s uniform for my first meeting with the Privy Council. An admiral’s uniform, eh, Wellington?’
The King frowned at Wellington. He had not been a very good friend at the time of all that trouble over his office of Lord High Admiral. But he was a clever fellow and by God the country owed him something. They’d never forget Waterloo. So it was no use holding that other trouble against him. He needed Wellington, a good fellow, a fine soldier. A King must trust his
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