The Dead Skunk

[Lycaon pictus]

The Pope's position gives the royalists (or rather, the Conservatives swearing on their mothers' graves even if their mothers are still alive that they aren't royalists) a convenient reason not to oppose this war. Which they need, because the Liberals would be only too happy to call them fifth-columnists and enemy sympathizers.

 

[Lycaon pictus]

The whole idea of the Warrior-Pope is going to get a lot of use in anti-Austrian propaganda, isn't it?

Actually, given the Pope's public denunciation of the Austrians, and the generally extremely catholic nature of French Legitimists, what's the royalist opinion of the Italian war? Or the English opinion, come to think of it, given how romantic a figure Byron must seem.

There is a certain amount of opposition to the war in Italy among the British. Of course, the whole issue is kind of taking a back seat to the slipping economy, the Corn Law, rotten boroughs, the suspension of habeas corpus and how mean the Prince is being to his wife.

 

[stevep]

Lycaon pictus

I notice you didn't reply to King Henry's implicit reply to you're question but I would also suspect that 'B' is Lord Byron. Was presuming this from reading the 1st parts of the last chapter, even before the initial at the end. It would fit in with what's known of his character although, even if he survives this conflict it probably butterflies any involvement in a Greek independence struggle.

Steve

 

[Lycaon pictus]

Lycaon pictus

I notice you didn't reply to King Henry's implicit reply to you're question but I would also suspect that 'B' is Lord Byron. Was presuming this from reading the 1st parts of the last chapter, even before the initial at the end.

Yep. British poet joining a war for independence in the Mediterranean… I guess it was kinda obvious.

It would fit in with what's known of his character although, even if he survives this conflict it probably butterflies any involvement in a Greek independence struggle.

Steve

Did you get to this part?

Wherever tyrants hold sway and men dare to defy them, I shall rank myself among the defiant. So long as a soul on this Earth bides in slavery and oppression, I shall not be at rest. I mean to make of myself a sword in the hand of Nemesis.

I know now why I was born.

That could send him all sorts of places…

 

[Stolengood]

This is GREAT!

Will Shelley or Keats join the cause?

 

[King Henry]

This is GREAT!

Will Shelley or Keats join the cause?

Romantic Revolutionary writing circle?

 

[Lycaon pictus]

Friday, October 2, 1818
10:15 a.m.
Worthing
The cloud cover this morning had a frayed and ragged look to it, like an old coat. The bars of sunlight that shone through looked almost solid as the steamboat reached the dock and chugged to a stop. The crowd waiting to greet it was small and subdued — and if anyone had asked them why they were there, they would probably have said they wished to pay their respects to the Prince Consort, whose carriage stood near the dock.

This was only natural. Worthing was a fairly small, upper-class community. There were people here who (poor souls) still needed Prince George’s favour, and would not gain it by being seen in public greeting Princess Caroline’s return with loud huzzahs.

Caroline understood all this, but she was still a little disappointed by the reaction. Nonetheless, she waved cheerfully at them as she stepped off the dock.

Caroline looked the Prince Consort up and down. Her daughter had made a fine catch. Leopold was tall, handsome, and from what Caroline had heard, brave, clever and kind. He had everything a woman could want except money, and since Charlotte Augusta was heir to the throne of the United Kingdom, any fortune he brought into the marriage would be superfluous.

“Have you met my young ward, William Austin?” she said, indicating the sixteen-year-old boy at her right elbow.[1] William bowed.

“A pleasure,” said Leopold, nodding to the young man. Behind her, Gaetan and Aloïse handled the luggage.

As soon as their carriage took them over the Teville Stream and out of the Worthing town limits, it slowed down. The crowd out here was huge — in the tens of thousands, if Caroline was any judge — wildly enthusiastic, and not quite restrained from getting in the way of the horses. They gave loud and lusty huzzahs to Caroline, Prince Leopold, and little Prince Leo and Princess Charlotte, who weren’t here to appreciate them. Noticeably absent from their cheers were any mention of the king, the prince regent or the prime minister.

* * *

It was the better part of a day’s journey from Worthing to Claremont House by carriage. Caroline spent part of it relating her adventures overseas. Then she pressed Leopold for any and all gossip relating to the Prince Regent and his cronies, the Douglases or any of her other old enemies — the nastier the better. “The Leo” looked none too comfortable describing what he knew of his father-in-law’s affairs to his mother-in-law, but he managed.

“Oh, and Mr. Canning sends warm regards,” said Leopold as they pulled into the driveway. “His duties with the Company and the situation in India have him rather preoccupied at the moment,[2] but he hopes to visit you personally during your stay here.”

The meeting in the front hall was something of a shock. Caroline had not seen her daughter in four years — and, thanks to Prinny, had seen too little of her even before then. It took her a moment to match up her memories of a headstrong, mercurial, vulnerable girl with the tall, determined-looking and (well, of course) regal young woman standing in front of her.

Caroline was not much inclined to regret, but right now it occurred to her to wonder what her daughter had gone through in her absence. Charlotte had lost all trace of childhood in her bearing and features. (She had put on a little weight as well, but that was probably an effect of the pregnancy.) Does she truly understand? thought Caroline. Does she forgive me?

“Mother,” Charlotte said. Her expression softened, just a little. The servants exchanged glances, then quietly left the room. Leopold was showing William where the horses were kept.

Charlotte strode forward and embraced her. Caroline’s face pressed against the side of her daughter’s neck. She cried a little.

“I’m sorry I stayed away so—” Her daughter hushed her.

“You’re back now. We have all the time in the world.”

“Only two weeks,” she said. “One day, darling, I swear I’ll come back to England for good.”

“Well, in the meantime… I believe there’s someone else here you would like to see.” She escorted Caroline to an upstairs room.

“I’ve just got him changed, Your Highnesses,” said the nanny, as little Leopold William Frederick used her apron to pull himself up onto his feet. As soon as he saw his mother, he beamed and started toddling unsteadily but quickly in her direction.

“Mother,” said Charlotte, “say hello to The Cub.” Cheerfully throwing aside all upper-class British etiquette, Caroline kicked off her shoes, knelt down on the carpet, lowered her head until her face was more or less on a level with the infant’s and let out a stream of her finest baby-talk.



[1] Caroline took in orphans and abandoned children like they were stray cats. William Austin is the oldest of her collection.

[2] As in OTL, George Canning (a friend of Caroline’s, which is why Leopold brought him up) is president of the Board of Control of the British East India Company. The Third Anglo-Maratha war ended at the beginning of this year with an overwhelming British victory (courtesy of General Wellington) but some of the leaders of the revolt are still at large. Wellington is capturing Peshwa Baji Rao II about the same time this is happening — it took longer ITTL because Wellington refused to meet the Peshwa’s demands of an honorable and luxurious retirement. (That was pretty much what they gave Napoleon at Elba, and look how that worked out.)

 

[Lycaon pictus]

Saturday, October 3
shortly after 2 p.m.
Claremont House, Surrey
The weather had taken a turn for the worse. It was a good day to stay indoors, enjoying tea and conversation. In addition to her daughter, her son-in-law, William Austin and her sister-in-law Sophia whom she had so unexpectedly met at Prince William’s wedding, there were many guests — Lady Charlotte Lindsay, who had been a member of Caroline’s entourage on part of her journeys, and one of Charlotte Augusta’s dearest friends, Margaret Mercer Elphinstone. There were also two MPs — Samuel Whitbread[1] with his wife and sons, and Henry Brougham, to whose house Charlotte Augusta had once fled when her father had tried to make her marry that Dutch prince.

“Cream or honey?” said a servant as she poured Caroline some tea.

Caroline almost said “sugar” before she realized the girl hadn’t said anything about sugar. Well, if there wasn’t any, it probably wasn’t the servant’s fault.

“Both, please.” Only after the servant had supplied everyone and left the room did Caroline turn to her daughter and say, “So there’s no sugar at Claremont House?”

Charlotte Augusta opened her mouth to speak, but Leopold gently motioned for her to be quiet and let him answer.

“We believe that the persistence of chattel slavery is one of the great evils of the present day,” said her son-in-law. “In fact, we wish to sever — as much as we possibly can — all ties of commerce between our household and those industries which practice the greatest exploitation of slave labour.”

“Hear, hear!” said Brougham. Whitbread also nodded approvingly.

“Thank you. Unfortunately, it’s very hard to find sugar grown by free labourers — I have tried. So we substitute honey.”

“For all that he says ‘we believe’,” Caroline said to her daughter, “I suspect this was much more your idea than The Leo’s.”

“It was,” said Charlotte Augusta.[2]

“Oh, she’s become quite fanatical,” said Charlotte Lindsay.

“Well, I don’t like slavery any more than you do, and honey in my tea is a nice change of pace — in fact” (Caroline took a sip) “I think I like it better than sugar — but I find politics in my food and drink to be rather less sweet. Next you’ll be worrying about who grew the cotton in your linens.”

“I have already given that some thought.”

“Oh… well, it certainly does you credit, but I don’t think I could live like that. Worrying about my every pleasure and purchase, and whether it was contributing in some distant way to suffering and injustice elsewhere in the world… I should think it would take a deal of joy out of life.”

“I assure you, there’s plenty of joy left over,” said Leopold, turning to gaze into his wife’s eyes.

“And in any event,” said Whitbread, “since the Tories passed the Corn Law, there’s no escaping politics in our food — or drink, if one is a brewer like myself. That is, if one is fortunate enough to be able to purchase food and drink at all.”

“I wonder if they even know,” said Brougham. “Parliament, I mean. I wonder if they realize how large our cities have grown, or how many people in them are without work and short of bread.”

“Given the state of the boroughs, why would they?” said Caroline. “The seats in Parliament should be apportioned to represent men, not sheep or grouse.” (For preference, she would not have spent more time than absolutely necessary talking politics. But if it was true what everyone was saying, that her husband was more determined than ever to divorce her, she would need all the political allies she could get. Best to lay the groundwork for that now by making it clear whose side she was on.)

“Let us take a respite from politics for the moment,” said Charlotte Augusta. “Some of us have very important news. Margaret, Henry… will you tell her, or shall I?”

“Henry and I are going to be married next May!” blurted out Margaret.[3]

“Again I see your hand in this, darling,” said Caroline as soon as the congratulations were done.

Charlotte Augusta smiled. “Two of my best friends meeting and falling in love? What could I possibly have had to do with that?”



[1] In addition to being a political radical, Samuel Whitbread was a big fan of Napoleon — to the point where, IOTL, he slit his own throat a few weeks after Waterloo. ITTL, he seriously contemplated suicide after Napoleon’s death at Nancy, but since the French government didn’t collapse right away, he ultimately decided to stick around and see what happened next.

[2] From what I know of Charlotte’s politics, her personal history and her circle of friends, I can easily imagine her becoming an abolitionist. And I think she would have been a pretty radical one — she didn’t seem to have a lukewarm setting.

[3] If you’re curious — OTL, MME married an officer of Napoleon’s who fled to Britain after the Bourbon Restoration, and Brougham didn’t marry until 1821.

 

[Lycaon pictus]

Monday, October 5
About 1 p.m.
Carlton House, London
Prince Regent George Augustus Frederick, “the first gentleman of England,” effective monarch of the United Kingdom and Ireland since his father’s incapacity, sat gazing out the window of his home. In spite of his physical bulk (the Radical press were calling him “Prince of Whales”) he sat with a certain poise, and his clothes were sumptuous and impeccably neat. You could, if you were hopelessly ignorant, imagine that his mind was occupied with great affairs of state — the situation in Italy, the establishment of order in India, the danger of domestic unrest and whether it was advisable to reinstate habeas corpus…[1]

“What is that blasted woman doing in my kingdom?”(Which was getting a little ahead of developments, as his father was still technically alive, but never mind.)

“It is only a brief visit, Your Highness,” said Lord Liverpool. “Soon enough she’ll be gone again. There is no danger of her crossing your path — none.”

“I should hope not! Castlereagh would never have allowed this to happen!”

“Of course not, Your Highness. But Castlereagh is in Stockholm, where he is most urgently needed.”

“I urgently need someone to make her go away!”

Somehow, the Prime Minister kept his exasperation from showing on his face. Of course, everyone knew “Prinny” hated his wife. Lord Liverpool had first realized just how strongly he felt about her three years ago, when he had told the Prince Regent of the death of Bonaparte. His exact words had been “Your Highness, your greatest enemy is dead.” The prince’s face had lit up and he had said “Is she, by God!” It was as though he had poured all the frustrations of his life into his hatred of that one obnoxious woman — and there had been many frustrations, mostly revolving around the unwillingness of king and Parliament to allow him to spend the entire treasury of the empire on riotous living. (That, and the matter of Mrs. Fitzherbert.)

“All in good time, Your Highness.” Technically, this 56-year-old child had the authority to dismiss Parliament. Of course, that would mean new elections, which with the realm in its current state would surely mean a government far less to the prince’s liking than this one. He couldn’t possibly do something so self-destructive in a fit of petulance, could he? What am I thinking? Of course he could.

“Consider,” Lord Liverpool continued. “Even as we speak, our agents in Paris are working tirelessly to collect the evidence of her misdeeds. Once their work is done, your position will be unassailable. If she ever dares show her face on these shores again, we will begin divorce proceedings at once and expose her to the world as an adulteress.”

“Did I ever tell you about the stains I found on her drawers on our wedding night?” said George apropos of nothing. “Stains both fore and aft — and the smell of her! I was quite put off.”[2]

“Most distasteful, Your Highness.” Please, God, let this conversation come to an end, thought Lord Liverpool.

“I have done my duty as a husband and a prince — no one can say otherwise. I have done what was required of me, though it was almost more than I could bear. Now… I will have that wretched woman out of this country and out of my life.”



[1] OTL, habeus corpus was suspended in the U.K. in 1817. The sudden end of the war left a lot of people unemployed, broke (and, thanks to the Corn Law, hungry) and angry. Lord Liverpool’s government was afraid this would lead to a French-style revolution.
ITTL, the British economy is on the decline (made slightly worse by French tariffs in Anvers and the Dead Roses’ tariffs in the United States) but it hasn’t yet dropped to the level it did at this point IOTL, since the wars have sort of trailed off rather than coming to a sudden stop. On the other hand, ITTL there’s Talleyrand, the Bonaparte family and the Jacobins lurking across the Channel, just itching to foment unrest. Anyway, habeas corpus has definitely been suspended by now.

[2] Things You Won’t Believe Are OTL (Cont’d): Caroline was raised in the court of Brunswick, where standards of personal hygiene were somewhat lower than in the British royal family. Her pre-marital advisor, unfortunately, was Lady Jersey, the prince’s mistress (now there’s a conflict of interest) who somehow forgot to clue her in on the important of washing thoroughly before having sex with your notoriously fastidious husband. George, who was probably too drunk to do anything with her anyway, claimed to find “marks of filth both in the fore and hind part of her” in a letter to a friend.
You’ll be relieved to know her hygiene has greatly improved since then.

 

[Stolengood]

LOVE IT! Even for radicals, the group at Claremont House are somewhat... prissy.

Also... was that a James Bond reference in your post at 12:10?

 

[Lycaon pictus]

LOVE IT! Even for radicals, the group at Claremont House are somewhat... prissy.

Yes, these are the upper-class radicals. Not the ones who are taking to the streets. Still, you can imagine how comfortable the Tories feel with this young firebrand of a woman two heartbeats away from the throne, one heartbeat belonging to a very old man and the other to his obese, alcoholic, not-so-young-himself son.

Also... was that a James Bond reference in your post at 12:10?

Well, no. In fact, I just spent several minutes on jamesbond.wikia.com trying to figure out what the reference might be, and I didn't come up with anything.

 

[Stolengood]

Yes, these are the upper-class radicals. Not the ones who are taking to the streets. Still, you can imagine how comfortable the Tories feel with this young firebrand of a woman two heartbeats away from the throne, one heartbeat belonging to a very old man and the other to his obese, alcoholic, not-so-young-himself son.

I wonder... is a certain William Wilberforce around for her to ally with ITTL?

Well, no. In fact, I just spent several minutes on jamesbond.wikia.com trying to figure out what the reference might be, and I didn't come up with anything.

“You’re back now. We have all the time in the world.”

 

[Lycaon pictus]

Wilberforce is an interesting character. I can see him being CA's ally on some issues (especially slavery) and butting heads with her on others.

 

[Stolengood]

Wilberforce is an interesting character. I can see him being CA's ally on some issues (especially slavery) and butting heads with her on others.

Had you been thinking of including him, beforehand?

By the way... thanks for keeping Charlotte alive ITTL; she might be fictional, but you've given her the best wedding present she could have... the future.

 

[Stolengood]

Well... I killed this discussion stone-dead, didn't I?

 

[Lycaon pictus]

Well... I killed this discussion stone-dead, didn't I?

Not really, I just didn't happen to have a response. I'm still working on the conclusion to the war in Italy.

As for Wilberforce, I knew about him, but since most of his energy seemed to be focused on the anti-slavery movement, I figured he'd be less likely to get involved in the interesting political developments to come. (Although in 1819, the anti-slave-trade movement will succeed in putting forward a change in policy which will have significant consequences down the road.)

Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying this.

 

[Stolengood]

Not really, I just didn't happen to have a response. I'm still working on the conclusion to the war in Italy.

As for Wilberforce, I knew about him, but since most of his energy seemed to be focused on the anti-slavery movement, I figured he'd be less likely to get involved in the interesting political developments to come. (Although in 1819, the anti-slave-trade movement will succeed in putting forward a change in policy which will have significant consequences down the road.)

Ahhh, very nice. Perhaps he will look up and notice when Princess Charlotte speaks her mind on the subject.

Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying this.

Welcome; it's been a great read. Sorry if I got carried away in that last response...

Also, wanted to mention an interesting factoid... at this time in OTL, a nine-year-old Edgar Allan Poe was attending Reverend John Bransby’s Manor House School at Stoke Newington, then a suburb four miles north of London. He and his foster parents, the Allans, had moved from Virginia back in 1815, where he'd attended the grammar school in Irvine, Scotland (where his foster father, John Allan, was born) for a short period in 1815, before rejoining the family in London in 1816. There he studied at a boarding school in Chelsea until summer 1817, at which point, he was sent to the Manor House School I mentioned above.

What, with everything else going on, it might be interesting to mix him into the p(l)ot later on...

 

[Lycaon pictus]

How did you guess that I have plans for Poe? (I'm not saying what those plans are, mind you. That would be telling.)

 

[Stolengood]

How did you guess that I have plans for Poe? (I'm not saying what those plans are, mind you. That would be telling.)

I didn't; just guessed because of the place and time period, and because I happened to be on a Poe jag and was looking up his biographical details.

 

[Rooster Cogburn]

Great to see that this is back up and running!