King George IV
Part 9: Old Friends and New Favourites
By the time of the King’s coronation on the 1st of August 1820, the original budget of £60,000 allocated by the government had almost doubled. Despite limiting public entertainments and sacrificing part of the processional route, the cost had spiralled quickly with members of the Royal Family charging bills for their attire, carriages and servants to the coronation committee. The bills ranged from £3 to pay a Mrs Mary Jerrold, who supplied flowers to Princess Augusta and her household for a pre-coronation dinner, to £130 paid to Ede & Ravenscroft for the hire of coronets and robes for the King’s extended family. Ede & Ravenscroft had been working round the clock to provide robes for the peers who would attend the coronation, so much so that those who left it too late found themselves frantically consulting theatrical costumiers in the hope that nobody would be able to tell the difference. A popular joke at the time was that ermine was in such short supply, there wasn't a white cat to be found in all of London.
One person would be conspicuous by her absence at the ceremony. At Oatlands, Princess Frederica (the former wife of the King), was in such poor health that her household asked the King to dispatch Sir Andrew Halliday to examine her. The Princess had been consumptive for some time but now she seemed to be lapsing in and out of consciousness and her ladies in waiting were concerned that the end was near. Since the annulment of her marriage, she had refused to receive the royal physicians, especially the recently promoted Halliday who had all but declared her mad at the Court of Arches. Instead, a local doctor from Weybridge was asked to attend to Princess. When he saw Frederica, he knew she was in a very grave state of health indeed. “Do not trouble His Majesty”, the Princess said sadly, “I do not wish to add to his anxieties”.
The Princess was not invited to the coronation, presumably because she had been unwell for some time or because she had not attended court since the annulment of her marriage two years earlier. Both were sound reasons but naturally there was gossip (mostly manufactured) that the King had wished to invite her but the Queen had forbidden it. As the King prepared for the most important day in his life, he at least appeared to think of the Princess at Oatlands, writing to the housekeeper, Mrs Peverell, with instructions to “furnish the Princess with the finest food and wines in celebration of the day and of an old and cherished friendship”. The Princess could barely leave her bed, let alone enjoy such a repast. Still, on her orders, the King was told nothing of his former wife’s condition.
On the day of the coronation, the heavens opened. Whilst rain poured from the sky, the temperature stayed warm and very quickly the city was so humid that it was said that the cobbled streets steamed. At St James’ Palace, the Royal Family and members of the Household began dressing for the day’s events. One of the Queen’s ladies in waiting, Lady Campbell, recorded that, “every window in the palace had to be opened and even then there was no breeze to be had. The heat was truly unbearable and rainwater gushed in soaking everything it touched. The Queen was in a terrible temper and I had to soothe her with a handkerchief dipped in ice water as the other ladies tried to dress her”.
Because the Queen had been pregnant when her coronation gown had been commissioned, Ede & Ravenscroft had made three identical dresses hoping that one would fit her perfectly. None did. In the sweltering heat, the largest of the dresses had to be altered and the Queen sewn into it to prevent it from slipping. All was well until the heavy velvet and ermine robes were fixed to her shoulders and the front of the gown was forced downward exposing her bosom. Queen Louise flew into a rage as her ladies hastily made more alterations but by now, the Queen’s hair was soaking wet with sweat and had to be restyled. When her jewels were finally put on her by Lady Cholmondeley, the Queen burst into tears shrieking; “It is all too heavy! I cannot walk, I shall never be able to walk!”.
The Coronation Procession of King George IV and Queen Louise, 1820.
Meanwhile the King had been quite as badly affected by the heat but the Lord Chamberlain noted in his diary that “His Majesty had to be poured into his uniform like custard into a mould and everything was so sodden with sweat that he complained of painful rashes on his arms and legs within the hour”. Other members of the Royal Family began arriving from their respective residences. Princess Augusta refused to leave her carriage even in the pouring rain because “I should rather be drowned in the street than boiled alive in the palace”. But the balmy conditions did not deter the crowds who lined the route and many hoped to make extra money that day by selling street foods and souvenirs. The mood was joyous, the public fully embracing the pageantry of the occasion and forgetting any misgivings they might have had in years gone by about the Royal Family.
The Gold State Coach left St James’ Palace at 9.00am and began the procession toward Westminster Abbey. In days gone by, public entertainments would have been staged in the royal parks until the return of the King and Queen to the Palace but given the weather and the lack of anything much to do, the crowds quickly dispersed once the coach had trundled past them on it’s first outing. Escorted by the Life Guards, the route saw the King and Queen pass through Charing Cross before the Coach turned along Whitehall to the Abbey. The temporary stands for spectators which had been erected could hold up to three thousand people but on the day, they held significantly less.
Once they arrived at Westminster Abbey, there was a misunderstanding as to which door the King and Queen would be entering by. The Coach stopped early and they began to alight, aided by coachmen, heading towards the Central Doorway of the North Transept. The King noticed the error and taking the Queen by the arm, their enormously heavy robes carried by panicking and perspiring Pages, Their Majesties were forced to pretend this was a deliberate gesture as they walked across the grass to the courtyard of the West Entrance. The crowds were delighted by this, cheering and shouting at the royal couple and seizing the opportunity to get a far better view of them. But the carriages bringing other members of the Royal Family had stopped at the correction door and now the courtyard became a chaotic scramble for position as everybody tried to find their places.
The rest of the ceremony seemed to go pretty much as planned and was modelled closely on the coronation service of King George III in 1761. Though the traditional girding of the sword or donning of armills were omitted, and the Nicene Creed was spoken and not sung, everything else remained much as before with Handel’s
Zadok the Priest and
Hallelujah Chorus providing a suitably uplifting soundtrack to the proceedings. There was one small incident just before the crowning of the King in which one of the sapphires hired to be set into St Edward’s Crown came loose and rolled across the floor. Nobody dared retrieve it until after the ceremony by which time, a light-fingered guest had taken it home with them as a souvenir. But the King hadn’t noticed and looked “dignified and quite moved” as the Archbishop put the crown upon his head. Lady Campbell recalled; “Her Majesty shed a small tear for the King, which touched us all for she had been in such poor humour until that time. Then she went forward to be crowned herself and I suspected she may weep but she did not”. [1]
When the newly crowned King George IV and Queen Louise left Westminster Abbey (by the right door) at 3.30pm, the bells rang out and those who had bothered to remain along the route cheered them. But both must have noticed that the turn out was now a third of what it had been that morning, even with the rain holding off for most of the afternoon. The Gold State Coach splashed its way through puddles and mud until it reached Buckingham House where a “coronation breakfast” was to be held. Princess Sophia gave voice to everybody’s thoughts by asking, “Isn’t it rather late for breakfast?”. Nonetheless, the 200 guests invited enjoyed lavish hospitality that far exceeded the banquets of old, leading some to wonder why it had been replaced at all. A “coronation breakfast” was never held again and the banquet of old was revived the next time around.
The following morning, the Queen complained of sickness and fatigue, no doubt brought on by the previous days weather and exertions. But when she had not shown signs of improvement two days later, the Mistress of the Robes, Lady Cholmondeley, asked for Sir Andrew Halliday to examine Her Majesty. To everyone’s surprise (and delight), the Queen was expecting again. The King was in such a joyous mood from the coronation that he was “practically floating on air” and even took a walk in Hyde Park with the Marquess of Cholmondeley, beaming at passers by as he went. Despite their differences, the King and Queen had learned to appreciate one another, at least enough to do their duty in the royal bedchamber. On Sunday 6th August 1820, the King and Queen attended church and prayers were said for the future prince or princess. In his contentment, the King had no idea that at Oatlands, Princess Frederica had just breathed her last.
Frederica, Princess of Prussia.
The news reached the King the following morning. Lord Bloomfield, acting as Private Secretary to the Sovereign, wrote; “When the King was consulted upon the subject of the funeral, he at once determined that every wish of his lamented former spouse should be complied with; and directions were accordingly given that the obsequies should be performed as she had requested, with as little ostentation as possible”. This was relayed to parliament and the press but again, the court gossip mongers saw to it that another version of events seeped out into the public arena. According to their account of things, the King had wanted to give his former wife a grand ceremonial funeral at Windsor with an internment at St George’s Chapel. The Queen had forbidden it. This caught the public imagination quickly, especially given the popularity of the late Princess. The diarist Charles Greville noted; “Probably no person in such a situation was ever more really liked than the Duchess of York. She has left £12,000 to her servants and to some children in the local village whom she had cause to be educated”.
The funeral was held at St James’ Church, Weybridge on the 13th of August. Several members of the Royal Family were in attendance and Frederica’s coffin was lowered into the chancel which the King later restored so that a permanent memorial could be installed. So grieved by her loss were the local villagers that they collected money to erect a sundial on the village green near Oatlands paying tribute to “Frederica Charlotte Ulrica Catherina, Duchess of York, who resided for upwards of thirty years at Oatlands in this parish, exercising every Christian virtue, and died, universally regretted on the 6th Day of August 1820”. The King was moved by the public outpouring of grief for his former wife and spent the night at Oatlands for the first time in well over a decade. He mourned her as an old friend and though Lady Campbell noted that the Queen showed “no jealousy or animosity to this”, the public thought otherwise. As Greville noted; “That the Queen could not bring herself to attend the funeral of the beloved Duchess is a stain on her character that the people will never allow to be purged. Diminished in mind she may have been, but in her heart, the Duchess was more good, more virtuous and more loved by this nation than her successor could ever be”. [2]
The memorial to Frederica in Weybridge.
Viscountess Sydney, one of the Queen’s ladies of the bedchamber, represented Queen Louise at Frederica’s funeral. Upon her return to London, the Queen asked for a report of the day’s events. Lady Sydney was in her early 80s and prone to displays of emotion. She felt the loss of the Princess very deeply as she had once been very close to her. She began to weep, relaying that the Princess was “very sincerely mourned by the people”. When she finished her account, the Queen stood up without a word and left the room followed by Lady Melville and Lady Campbell. When the poor Viscountess rose to do the same, the Queen barked; “Do not approach!” and the doors were closed leaving a confused Lady Sydney out of the royal presence for the rest of the day. This continued for a week until the Mistress of the Robes was forced to go to a frantic Lady Sydney and advise her that the Queen no longer required her services at court. The Viscountess had been in royal service for almost 60 years. She ended her days at Frognal in Sidcup, dying in solitude at a small dower house on the estate, at the age of 90.
Many feared that the Queen may battle with the Prime Minister again over appointments to her household but to everybody’s relief, she did not. Viscountess Sydney was replaced by Lady Elizabeth Somerset, the 23-year-old daughter of the Duke of Beaufort. Lady Elizabeth was the goddaughter of the Marquess of Cholmondeley, he being a close friend of the Beaufort family. Indeed, many historians suggest that it was the Marquess who proposed Lady Elizabeth as a candidate for the post of lady of the bedchamber to the Prime Minister after a weekend spent with the Beauforts at Badminton. Though she accepted the appointment in principle, the Queen made life difficult for Lady Elizabeth before relenting and allowing her to join her other ladies in her company to play cards. The Duke of Beaufort had hoped that by securing her a place in the Queen’s household, his daughter might make a good match. [3]
In September, the court moved to Windsor. The entire Royal Family were invited, including the Clarences. The Queen had insisted the Duchess attend even though she was heavily pregnant. The King wished to see his niece, Princess Victoria, who had been lodged with the Clarences since the departure of the Duchess of Kent earlier that year. The King noted that his niece was “a content fat little baby with a sweet nature” and Victoria was allowed to play in the nursery which housed her cousin, the Prince of Wales, who was equally fussed and fawned over by members of the extended family. But after a few days, the little Princess was growing restless and noisy and the Duchess asked Lady Elizabeth Somerset to take her for a walk in the park. The King also happened to be out walking that afternoon and stopped to admire his niece. He also found much to admire in Lady Elizabeth too.
Lady Elizabeth Somerset.
Over the coming weeks, the King seemed to spend more and more time with the Queen but only, Lady Campbell noticed, when Lady Elizabeth was present. He invited the Duke of Beaufort to Windsor for dinner where he “sang the praises of Lady Elizabeth most profusely, indeed, we thought the King had taken too much wine for he began reciting poetry, very romantic poetry at that, to the young lady in the company of the Queen. The Queen was not amused in the least and suggested Lady Elizabeth return to Badminton with her father for a few days on a little holiday. But the King would not allow it and said that he wanted Lady Elizabeth by the Queen’s side because, the Queen expecting once again, needed much attention and care”. Lady Elizabeth had captured George IV’s interest and their love affair began in earnest, the pair spending more and more time together privately away from the Queen.
The court was predictably discrete. It was not unusual for the King to take a mistress; it was less unusual that one of the Queen’s ladies might take his eye from time to time. As Duke of York, George IV had sustained several relationships whilst married to his former wife and though, until now, he had been faithful to the Queen, it was inevitable that one day he would enjoy a flirtation outside of the royal marriage. The Ladies of the Bedchamber were not in the least scandalised by the King’s interest in Lady Elizabeth and could not understand why, when the love affair became obvious to all, the Queen reacted quite so badly. “Her Majesty’s condition will undoubtedly make her prone to emotional outrages”, Lady Campbell noted, “But she seethes and sulks all day when she knows the King is with the young lady and makes the time very disagreeable. When Lady Melville asked, quite reasonably, if the Queen would like to take supper a little early, Her Majesty banished her from her presence and refused to eat, saying that poor Lady Melville had ruined her appetite”.
Whilst the Queen may have been a little naïve as to the conventions of royal marriages, the King seemed to become so besotted with Elizabeth Somerset that he occasionally failed to act with the discretion which usually came with such arrangements. Elizabeth was given an allowance to spend on clothes which none of the other ladies of the bedchamber had available to them and her collection of jewels began to increase rapidly. But where the King was foolish, Lady Elizabeth was sensible. She took every insult from the Queen with calmness, she did not flaunt her position as the King’s mistress too boldly and most importantly, she always gave the King what he wanted. As His Majesty’s mood improved; court life suddenly acquired a sense of fun it had not had for some time. On the 12th of November, a costume ball was held at Lady Elizabeth’s suggestion. The Queen did not attend and the King, dressed as his predecessor King Edward IV, spent the entire evening in the company of his mistress who just so happened to be dressed as Elizabeth Woodville. [4]
On the 10th of December 1820, the Duchess of Clarence gave birth to a daughter, Princess Elizabeth. The Duchess had lost both of her previous babies at birth and when the new Princess arrived six weeks early, there was panic at Clarence House. She was christened by the Bishop of London later that day at St James’ Palace in a sombre atmosphere. Nobody expected her to live. Meanwhile, the court returned to London from Windsor to celebrate Christmas but Queen Louise elected to remain at Windsor instead. Somewhat insensitively, she wrote a long letter to the Duchess of Clarence bemoaning her fate and complaining bitterly about the King’s “obsession with the Beaufort”. The Duchess replied full of kindness and generosity considering her situation but her ladies were quietly furious with the Queen for “adding to Her Royal Highness’ terrible burden with silly problems of her own”. Adelaide nursed her daughter for 12 weeks but in vain. Princess Elizabeth died on the 10th of March 1821.
A month earlier, the King sold Oatlands Palace. Initially, George suggested that it was his intention to take a new country house as a gift for the Queen on the birth of her second child and the proceeds from the sale of Oatlands would pay for it. He had settled on Gloucestershire as a location for this generous present and was to head to the county for three weeks to inspect properties there. He would stay at Badminton House as a guest of the Duke of Beaufort. Nobody was fooled for a moment. The King wanted a bolt hole to entertain his mistress away from the prying eyes of the court – and the Queen. Whilst touring Gloucestershire with Lady Elizabeth, staying in some of the grandest houses in the country, it was suggested that His Majesty might consider a visit to Lechlade Manor which had recently come up for sale again.
Lechlade.
Lechlade had been a manor in possession of the Crown until the 16th century when it was sold. [5] An imposing building with a considerable estate, it’s most recent occupant and owner was Sir Jacob Wheate, a Gloucestershire baronet who was forced to sacrifice Lechlade to pay his enormous gambling debts. The estate changed hands twice between 1777 and 1821 before it was put up for sale again with an asking price of £5,000 (the equivalent of around £460,000 today). The previous owners had refurbished the manor at great personal expense before moving on and thus Lechlade required no costly refurbishment. Whilst the furniture was not included in the price, the King decided he could easily kit out his new country house from what was currently in storage from Oatlands. Lechlade was perfect. The King purchased the house and upon acquiring the deed, placed it in a wooden box with a note witnessed by the Marquess of Cholmondeley which said that upon the King’s death, the house and all its contents were to be bequeathed to Lady Elizabeth Somerset.
Soon after the purchase of Lechlade, Lady Elizabeth left the Queen’s Household. She did not leave in disgrace, neither did the Queen force the King to have her dismissed by the Prime Minister. The most logical explanation is that the King had decided to prolong his relationship with her and did not wish her to remain in the household of his wife where her every movement would be followed by the Queen or her ladies of the bedchamber. But she did not disappear from court, rather, she attended as a personal guest of the King in her own right rather than as a member of the Royal Household. The King visited Elizabeth as often as he could at Lechlade and even invited her to join him on his proposed tour of Ireland in August.
In the past, courtiers had often felt sympathy for royal wives where the King’s mistress was concerned but nobody expressed any sentiment of regret for the hurt feelings of Queen Louise. Rather than accept her husband’s mistress as a somewhat unpleasant by-product of life as a Queen consort, Louise became even more ill-tempered and brusque than usual. Heavily pregnant, she refused to receive the King at all at Windsor and when she heard that he had purchased a country house, supposedly on the pretext that he wished to give her a gift to mark the birth of their second child, she swore never to set foot there. Most knew she was unlikely ever to receive an invitation to Lechlade anyway.
With tensions running high and the Queen’s ladies determined to try and find ways to please her, Lady Cholmondeley breathed a sigh of relief when the King instructed her to invite the Queen’s mother to England for last months of the Queen’s pregnancy. He also commanded the Marchioness to recruit the same medical team from Hanover which had delivered the Prince of Wales the previous year. Landgravine Caroline accepted and returned a letter with the names of the household and medical staff she intended to bring with her. One name on the list was new to Lady Cholmondeley, that of the recently appointed Deputy Steward of Landgrave Frederick’s Household at Rumpenheim. In a few months’ time, the entire court would know only too well the name Joachim Pepke.
[1] This account of the Coronation is a blend of a watered-down version of the Coronation of George IV (Prince Regent) in the OTL, which remains the most expensive on record, and a more traditional version than the OTL Coronation of William IV, which had to be changed to fit the political atmosphere of the day.
[2] Bloomfield’s words here are actually from an obituary of the Duchess of York in the OTL whilst I’ve added on a little to what Greville actually wrote in his diary to fit this TL. Otherwise it’s pretty much word for word.
[3] Beaufort was a Tory in good standing with many daughters available to attend the Queen consort. Lady Cholmondeley’s son in the OTL married a daughter of the Duke, Lady Elizabeth’s sister Susan, in 1830.
[4] Masquerades were all the rage at this time in the OTL with costume balls a particular favourite. The King and Lady Elizabeth’s costumes are not only a nod to their affair in this TL but to the Plantagenet Ball later held by Queen Victoria in the OTL in 1842.
[5] There may be a butterfly here but it’s not a huge one. Lechlade was almost definitely leased in 1821 but who actually owned the property is a little more vague. To save getting bogged down in 19th century deed ownership (!), I decided to eject the renters to make the house vacant possession for purchase.
[Note] The photograph of Lechlade used here is the Victorian rebuild and not the one the King would have known in this TL. Unfortunately I can’t find an image of the original Lechlade.