Mary Anne

“I think it was the latter end of July, or beginning of August. His Royal Highness was setting off for Weymouth for the purpose of standing godfather to Lord Chesterfield’s child.”

  “When did you first mention the matter to Colonel Wardle?”

  “Very lately. Within a month.”

  “To whom else did you speak of it?”

  “I don’t recollect. Possibly to some of my friends.”

  “Had you any end to accomplish by making the affair known?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Did you ever state you had grounds of complaint against His Royal Highness the Duke of York?”

  “My friends know I have.”

  “Have you not stated that if His Royal Highness did not comply with your demands you would expose him?”

  “No. I wrote two letters to Mr. Adam. Perhaps he will produce them.”

  “Were there threats in both?”

  “They were not threats. They were solicitations.”

  “Did you accompany these solicitations by saying, if they were not complied with, you would expose His Royal Highness?”

  “I don’t remember. You had better ask for the letters. The Duke sent me word once that if I should speak or write against him, he’d put me in the pillory or the Bastille.”

  “Who brought that message to you?”

  “A particular friend of the Duke of York’s. One Taylor, a shoemaker in Bond Street.”

  “Had you sent His Royal Highness a letter?”

  “I had.”

  “By whom did you send that letter?”

  “By that same Ambassador of Morocco.”

  A shout of laughter went up from all sides of the House. The Attorney-General lifted his hand for silence.

  “What is your husband’s name?”

  “Clarke.”

  “What is his Christian name?”

  “Joseph, I believe.”

  “Where were you married?”

  “At Pancras. Mr. Adam can tell you.”

  The witness was admonished from the Chair, and warned that if she persisted in giving her answers in that pert manner she would expose herself to the censure of the House.

  “Did you make Mr. Adam believe you were married at Berkhamsted?”

  “I don’t know what I made him believe. I was merely laughing at him.”

  “Did you represent your husband as being a nephew of Mr. Alderman Clarke?”

  “He told me he was. I have never taken any pains to ask anything concerning him. He is nothing to me, or I to him, nor have I seen him these three years, nor heard of him, since he threatened to bring an action against the Duke.”

  “What is your husband?”

  “He is nothing but a man.”

  “What business?”

  “No business. He lives with his younger brother and his brother’s wife, that’s all I know of him.”

  “Were you ever in Tavistock Place?”

  “I was.”

  “Whereabouts in Tavistock Place?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you live anywhere else between living in Tavistock Place and living in Park Lane?”

  “I don’t know. The Duke knows. I might have gone to some of his houses.”

  “When did you first become acquainted with the Duke?”

  “I do not consider that a fair question to put to me. I have a family of children to bring up.”

  “Were you under the Duke of York’s protection when you first lived at Tavistock Place?”

  “No, I was under the protection of my mother.”

  “Do you know a Major Hogan who wrote a pamphlet against the Duke?”

  “No, I don’t know him, and I never saw him. Taylor the shoemaker told me Mr. Greenwood said I was connected with pamphlet writers, which I then denied, as I do now.”

  “Did you ever say to Mr. Robert Knight you were anxious to conceal the transaction of the £200 from the Duke of York?”

  “No.”

  “If anyone represented you as having said so, do you declare him to have spoken falsehood?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Had you any reason for wishing to conceal Doctor Thynne’s visit about Mr. Knight from the Commander-in-Chief?”

  “I never was desirous to conceal his visits, or those of any other gentlemen, from His Royal Highness.”

  The Attorney-General shrugged his shoulders, and making a deprecating gesture with his hands gave place to the Leader of the House.

  “How soon after the exchange did Mr. Knight fulfill his promise?”

  “Immediately, the same day.”

  “And do you allege that it was on the same day that you asked the Duke of York for change?”

  “I did not ask the Duke of York for change, the servant went for the change.”

  “Have you received money upon any other occasion for applying to the Duke of York on behalf of officers seeking promotion?”

  The witness sighed, looked to the Chair and said, “I thought that when I had spoken as to the Knight business, I should be let away.”

  She was at last permitted to withdraw, and the Leader of the House asked that Mr. Adam might be allowed to make a statement. In a speech lasting twenty minutes, this gentleman told the House that late in 1805 it had come to his knowledge that Joseph Clarke was threatening an action for adultery against the Duke of York, and it fell to his lot to direct enquiries, he having been for more than twenty years in the service of His Royal Highness. In the course of these enquiries he found reason to believe that Mrs. Clarke’s conduct had not been correct, that she had taken bribes, and he felt it his duty to inform the Duke of York of this. It was an unpleasant task, His Royal Highness not being inclined to believe that anything was wrong in that quarter. But the evidence was irrefutable, and soon after, His Royal Highness’s mind being finally made up to separate from Mrs. Clarke, Mr. Adam was asked to announce the royal decision to her. His conversation with her on this occasion was brief, and he had not seen her from that day to the present time.

  A member now rose to protest vehemently against a witness of Mrs. Clarke’s character being examined in the House about the conduct of the royal family. Mr. Perceval replied that, distasteful though the matter was, he felt that the enquiry should nevertheless take its full course. “The question the House has to consider,” he went on, “is whether His Royal Highness was acquainted with the circumstances that money was given in the way she described. The entire case will be defective if the credit of Mrs. Clarke can be shown unworthy. She stated that she was a widow, when her husband was and is alive, she said to Mr. Adam she was married at Berkhamsted, when in fact she was married at Pancras. I am confident that the charges will be disproved through her false testimony.”

  The proceedings were then adjourned.

  Mary Anne left the House of Commons attended by her brother, Captain Thompson, and the two ladies who had arrived with her. She was handed into her carriage by Lord Folkestone, who was most solicitous and expressed the utmost concern for her health. Crowds gathered round them, inquisitive faces peered through the windows, and it was some time before a way could be cleared for the horses to move forward.

  Once back at Westbourne Place she accepted a sleeping draft from Dr. Metcalfe, her physician, and went upstairs to her room, followed by her brother and her sister Isobel.

  “The brutes,” exploded Charley, “putting you through the mill like a common criminal. What has it to do with this present investigation when you were married, and in what church, and where you lived? Why didn’t you send the Attorney-General to hell?”

  She had flung herself on her bed and closed her eyes.

  “I did,” she said, “as courteously as I could. Don’t worry, I know now what I’m up against. Will Ogilvie warned me. It was rather worse than I thought, but that can’t be helped. Isobel, fetch me a drink of water, will you?”

  Isobel gave her water, took off her shoes and knelt down to fan the fire and cheer the room.

  “
Don’t worry with me, dears. Get off to bed. You must be as tired as I am—possibly worse. You might see if there are any letters for me, Charley.”

  “There was only one. I have it here.”

  He gave her a letter with a Tilbury postmark. It had been sent to Bedford Place and forwarded. Bill’s handwriting. She crumpled it up in her hand.

  “I’ll be all right. Tell Martha not to disturb me.”

  They left the room and she opened the letter.

  “Dearest, where are you, and what in the world is happening? I got your note in Lisbon before Christmas about exposing the D… Have you gone quite mad? I beg of you not to listen to unwise counsel. I shall be in London on Thursday, at Reid’s Hotel.”

  Thursday. Today. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. She must go to him at once and break the news. Tomorrow would be too late—he would see the papers and form his own opinion of the business, perhaps condemn her and refuse to be mixed up in it.

  She rose from her bed and seized a cloak, tiptoed to the door and opened it. Everything was quiet, the house in darkness. Isobel and Charley had gone to their rooms. She left a note for Martha on her pillow and crept downstairs.

  She called a hackney carriage on the corner and told the driver to take her to Reid’s Hotel. It was nearly midnight when they reached St. Martin’s Lane. The quarter was almost deserted; only a few late stragglers were standing about in the court.

  The proprietor of the hotel, Mr. Reid, was talking to some customers in the saloon. He recognized her at once and came forward smiling. Thank heaven he did not connect her with the gossip obviously being discussed among his clients—she caught the words “the Duke” and “lying strumpet.” Mr. Reid knew her only as “Mr. Dowler’s lady.”

  “Come for your gentleman?” he said. “He’s gone upstairs—finished his supper about two hours ago. He was glad to get a bit of English food inside him. He’s looking well. Sam, take madam up to number 5.”

  The waiter led the way to the first-floor passage and tapped on the door. She opened it and went inside.

  He was kneeling on the floor beside his trunk, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, and at sight of him, known, familiar, dependable, anxiety went from her. She shut the door behind her and called his name.

  “Bill…”

  “Why… Mary Anne!”

  So much to disentangle, so much to explain—the whole long story of the past nine months. He knew the court martial verdict, but not the sequel—not the letters to Mr. Adam, the night of arrest, the nowhere-to-turn-for-money, the weeks of worry, the November encounter with Wardle and Major Dodd, and the final decision to throw in her lot with theirs.

  “You were wrong, you were terribly wrong.”

  But she interrupted, “What else in the world could I do? You weren’t here to advise me. I’ve never been more alone, more utterly stranded.”

  “I warned you four years ago…”

  “I know… I know… What’s the use of raking up that? The damage is done. If the Duke had only made some proper settlement none of this would have happened, but since he didn’t my only redress was to do what I’ve done today—bear witness for the charges brought against him. It’s torture, it’s hell and damnation, but there’s no other way.”

  “You expect me to help you?”

  “You must. Without you I’m lost. We can’t rely on any other witness. Wardle told me this evening, before we left the House, that most of the people concerned will deny everything—they’re all too terrified of getting into trouble. You remember Sandon, Colonel French’s friend? He’s supposed to be a witness for us, but he’s likely to turn. So is an agent called Donovan, whom I thought I could count on, after the money he’s had from me in the past. Bill darling, you will… you must, stand by me.”

  There was anguish in her voice and tears in her eyes. He took her in his arms and held her close.

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  “No, tonight.”

  “But it’s late. I must call a carriage to take you home.”

  “I’m not going home. I’m staying here with you.”

  “It isn’t wise…”

  “Oh, God, don’t talk of wisdom… Don’t you want me?”

  The porter received a message which he handed on to Samuel Wells the waiter: “On no account disturb No. 5 before the morning. Breakfast for two at eight.”

  The following day Colonel Wardle had information that Mr. William Dowler, late of Lisbon, was prepared to act as witness in support of the charges, and hoped to meet him on Sunday at Westbourne Place…

  What would they say to Bill, wondered Mary Anne, and why was it that answering questions tortured the mind, driving it instantly to subterfuge? She had nothing to fear in the evidence brought for the charges. She had taken the bribes—it was known, and the fault was admitted. She did not mind how much she was questioned on this; but when the Attorney-General touched on her past, a feeling of being trapped had at once engulfed her, a sensation that she was cornered, with no escape. She was afraid she would be forced into some admission about her former life, about her lovers, and it would all come into the papers in printed headlines, finding their way to the country, to the children.

  Poor Bill, possibly he would feel guilty too, remembering his father down at Uxbridge, always so ashamed of the bribe and appointment, which now must be disclosed to support the charges. In sudden horror she felt she could not face it, and when Will Ogilvie called on the Monday evening she told him he must get her out of town.

  “I’ve lost my nerve. I can’t go through with it.”

  For a moment he did not answer. Then he walked across the room and stood in front of her.

  “You bloody coward,” he said, and slapped her face.

  Rage filled her instantly. She hit him back. He laughed and folded his arms. She started crying.

  “All right, then, whine,” he said, “get back to the gutter. Crawl like a rat to a sewer, and hide yourself. I thought you were a cockney and had some pride.”

  “How dare you call me a coward!”

  “You are a coward. You were born in an alley and bred on the streets of London, and yet you haven’t the guts to stand up for your class. You’re afraid, because the King’s Attorney-General, whose job it is to be unpleasant, asks you questions. You’re afraid, because the Tories call you a strumpet. You’re afraid, because it’s safer to blub than to battle, and the House is composed of men and you’re a woman. Rat, then, if you like—you can do as you please. It may interest you to know that you’ll be in good company. The Duke of Kent has just made a speech in the Lords. I suggest you go and join him down in Ealing.”

  He threw a piece of copy on the floor and left the room. She heard the front door slam. She picked up the paper and read the notes, intended for the press the following morning.

  House of Lords, February 6th, 1809. “The Duke of Kent thought it proper to remark that it had been supposed by many that he had been at variance with his Royal Brother, from which an inference had been drawn that he countenanced the charges brought forward against the Commander-in-Chief. Whatever professional differences there had been between them, he entertained the highest respect for his Royal Brother, and believed that he was wholly incapable of acting in the manner imputed to him. Instead, therefore, of countenancing such charges, he would do everything in his power to repel them. On this subject there was no difference of opinion in his family, all the members of which concurred in the statement he had expressed.”

  She threw down the paper and went to the window, but Will Ogilvie had gone. She called for Martha.

  “If Colonel Wardle comes, I’ve gone to bed. But tell him I’ll be at the House of Commons tomorrow, at whatever hour of the day he likes to call me.”

  Simon Pure might recant. Not Mary Anne.

  2

  On the following Tuesday, when the Investigation was resumed, Colonel Wardle stated that he would proceed to his second charge, regarding Colonel French’s levy, and he
called Captain Sandon. As he had feared, the witness denied any recollection of having spoken in the matter to Mrs. Clarke: the levy, he declared, had been entirely settled between that lady and Colonel French, and he thought he had nothing at all to do to interfere in it. Pressed by Colonel Wardle, however, he admitted that he had at various times paid her £800, or perhaps £850, in addition to the original payments which Colonel French had made to her and to her agent, Mr. Corri.

  He had not, he went on to say, believed Mrs. Clarke to have much influence with the Commander-in-Chief, and had never supposed that the application to raise the levy would have been refused through the ordinary channels, but Colonel French had thought the matter would be hastened by giving money to Mrs. Clarke. Mrs. Clarke had been most secretive about the whole business, and whenever he saw her had urged on him the greatest caution, lest the passing of money should reach official ears, and most particularly the Duke of York’s.

  Captain Sandon then stood down, and Mr. Domenigo Corri was summoned. The music master, smiling and full of confidence, hair frizzed for the great occasion, glanced about the Chamber in the hope of seeing famous faces; he was called to attention, and examined by Colonel Wardle.

  “Do you recollect introducing Captain Sandon to Mrs. Clarke?”

  “I never introduced him; he introduced himself.”

  “Do you know anything of the bargain between them?”

  “They settled it all between them, and in the month of June I was sent a bill for £200, at the Cannon coffeehouse.”

  “You know nothing further?”

  “Several people came applying to me for places, and I told Mrs. Clarke, but I never heard any more and no business passed between us except the music.”

  “Have you, since this matter came before the House, destroyed any papers?”

  “I destroyed a paper in the month of July, that same year, after Captain Sandon’s business. One day I went to Mrs. Clarke’s house, and she told me there was a terrible noise, the Duke was angry, and desired I would burn all papers and letters that I had.”

  “Did she explain why the Duke was angry?”

  “Yes; she told me that the Duke was watched very closely by Colonel Gordon, and that Mr. Greenwood also watched her movements; therefore she was so situated she could get nothing through, almost. She was just going to Kensington Gardens at the time, the carriage was at the door, and she said ‘For God’s sake go home and burn those papers,’ and there was very little more that passed, in the hurry.”