Caroline the Queen

The King’s Absence

IN the middle of May the King left England for Hanover. The Prince was sulking because once more he had been passed over and the Queen was made Regent.

In his own apartments he raged against his parents and the Princess Augusta listened, nodding her head, looking angry when he did, smiling when he did, agreeing with every word.

The King had not seen his son before his departure, but had sent a messenger to him with a letter which told him that wherever the Queen resided during his absence there would be apartments for the Prince and Princess of Wales.

‘Well,’ retorted the Prince, ‘the apartments may be there but we shan’t be in them.’

‘No, we shan’t,’ agreed the Princess.

‘I hate them ... both of them,’ declared the Prince.

And the Princess nodded as though he had said something even more clever than his usual utterances.

‘And I’ll show them.’

She nodded eagerly.

‘They’re going to be sorry for the way they’ve treated me.’

‘Very sorry.’

‘They can’t imagine I shall endure these humiliations for ever, or if they do they’re bigger fools than I take them for. We are not going to live under the same roof as the Queen Regent ... and we are going to do everything to annoy her. Do you know, Augusta, I think I hate my mother more than my father. He after all is just a fool. She’s the one who has made him what he is. She left me when I was only seven ... left me all alone in Hanover and it wasn’t till I was in my twenties that I saw her again. There’s a mother for you!’

It did not occur to Augusta to wonder in what circumstances the Queen had behaved as she had. Frederick said she had been cruelly neglectful, so in Augusta’s opinion she had.

‘But I’ll be revenged on them. You wait! I’ll ask for my hundred thousand. After all it’s my due. And when I’ve got that it will be only a beginning. You’ll see, Augusta, the sort of man you’ve married.’

Augusta laughed gleefully. She was sure she had married the most handsome, the bravest, and best man in the world.

It was no wonder that the Prince of Wales was pleased with his marriage.

Augusta was amused and impressed by the way in which her clever husband outwitted his mother.

She, the wicked Queen, had sent to them from Richmond saying that she intended staying there a while and, in accordance with the King’s order, she thought that the Prince and Princess should join her there.

Augusta listened wide-eyed to what her husband had to say.

‘We’re not going,’ he said. ‘We’ll write and tell her that you’re indisposed.’

Augusta thought this a clever idea; but the Queen it seemed was clever too for she wrote to her son and said that since his wife was indisposed she would call and visit her on her sick bed.

This threw Augusta into a panic, but her husband assured her that he had a plan. She would keep to her bed and the room would be so darkened that the Queen would not see her properly so it would not be difficult to feign illness. All she had to do was lie back and look wan.

When the Queen arrived and the Prince came with the Queen to her bedroom, the Princess of Wales was lying in her bed, her eyes closed.

The Queen took a seat beside the bed and asked how she felt.

‘Very weak, Your Majesty,’ said Augusta, but even to herself her voice sounded high pitched and false. She was not, she feared, a very good actress.

The Queen enquired about her symptoms in such detail that the Princess became very muddled, but the Queen was kind and said that she would not stay long as she could see that her presence was a little exhausting to one in the Princess’s state. On the other hand she had every confidence that very soon her daughter-in-law would be completely recovered.

With that she took her leave telling herself that one could not blame the Princess whatsoever; she would be a pleasant creature without that odious husband of hers.

She implied to her son as she took her leave that he had not deceived her one bit, and asked him why he had not attended the Council which had assembled to see her break the seals of the King’s commission which made her Regent.

‘My apologies, Madam,’ retorted the Prince insolently. But I mistook the hour.’

She curtly left him, thinking: We shall have trouble with him. His marriage has not helped us at all.

But at Richmond she summoned her family because she needed the comfort they always gave her—William, her particular favourite, and Caroline, her more constant companion. Caroline she took just a little for granted perhaps, but on William she doted.

Even the King liked his son. William was bright, quick-witted, which was a pleasure to his mother; and his preoccupation with military affairs gave him something in common with his father.

It was a pity, thought Caroline, that Frederick had ever been born.

The less rigorous routine immediately had its effect on the Queen’s health. Lady Sundon was pleased that there were no more of those cold foot-baths which she was sure were the worst possible thing for the Queen’s health. If Caroline’s legs and feet were too swollen for walking then she merely pleaded a pressure of business and rested in her bedchamber.

It was a great relief to escape from the King’s temper.

He was writing to her every day, long letters describing every detail of his days, and these were largely taken up with Madame de Walmoden.

It had been a wonderful reunion. She was an enchanting creature. He described her body in detail so that Caroline would be delighted to know how happy he was. They had a fine boy now—a very pretty fellow. He wished Caroline could see him.

She showed the letters to Walpole who nodded gravely but did stress the one good point that the King was still as frank as ever and it was an asset to know the exact state of his enslavement.

Then came the letter which set the Queen laughing and yet at the same time made her sad, for it was rather melancholy to have the follies of one’s husband so blatantly brought home to one.

The King was in a quandary and he wanted his dear wife’s opinion on this matter.

She knew of course that he had given his dear Madame de Walmoden apartments in the Leine Schloss and she would remember the gardens which ran down to the river. Well, one night a gardener had seen a ladder propped against the wall of the Schloss and this was immediately under Madame de Walmoden’s window. The gardener was a zealous man who was certain that a thief was trying to steal Madame de Walmoden’s jewels; so cautiously leaving the ladder where it was, he called together some of his fellow gardeners and posting one at the foot of the ladder he and the others made a search of the gardens and sure enough they found a man hiding in the bushes. Thinking they had discovered a low fellow bent on robbery, they called the guard and in spite of his protestations the man was arrested. Now comes the awkward part of the story because the man was no low fellow after all, but a diplomat who had come to Hanover on the Emperor’s business and was a very high official. His name was Schulemburg and he was of course a connection of the Duchess of Kendal. He was, on showing his credentials, immediately released, but not before the story was being talked of all over the Court.

His dear Madame de Walmoden was most distressed. As Caroline could imagine one so beautiful and enchanting and honoured, of course, through her liaison with the King, was bound to have enemies. She had assured him that the whole thing was a plot contrived by her great enemy, Madame d’Elitz. Caroline would remember Madame d’Elitz, as one of the ladies with whom he had had a little affair of gallantry before he had the great good fortune to discover his peerless Madame de Walmoden. Poor Madame d’Elitz could have been jealous. He would understand that. But there was a great deal of gossip and he could see that so many people did not really believe Madame de Walmoden’s story.

Now he trusted his dear wife’s judgment, as she knew well, and he would like to have her opinion of this little affair.

‘Show this letter to le gros homme,’ he finished, ‘for my dear Caroline, he is more experienced in these affairs than you are, and less prejudiced than I myself am in this one.’

Caroline summoned Walpole and showed him this letter. He laughed over it.

‘I think, Madam,’ he said, ‘that this is a step in the right direction. This could well be the beginning of the end.’

But although the King continued to write pages about the affair it soon became clear that his infatuation had not diminished in one small degree; and the fact that he was eager to believe in the innocence of Madame de Walmoden over the ladder affair showed how deeply he was involved with her.

Trouble was in the air. Caroline knew that the Prince was fermenting this. The story of the ladder had leaked out and was seized joyfully by the lampoon writers. The King had never been so unpopular, and this reflected on the government. All over the country there was unrest. In the West of England there were riots among farmers over the importation of corn; and the Spitalfields weavers declared they would no longer tolerate the Irish workers in their midst who were ready to work for a lower wage than they were. There was fighting among the English and Irish and the Queen ordered that soldiers be called out to quell this. The act enraged the Spitalfields workers who declared that more consideration was given to foreigners than the English since they had foreigners on the throne. They even forgot their own grievances to ask what the Germans were doing here and demanding that they be sent back to Hanover.

‘Long live James III, the true King of England!’ was a cry which was heard frequently in the streets that summer.

But it was the Prince of Wales who caused the Queen the most anxiety. Trouble was brewing there. His hatred of her had increased since his marriage and she knew it was due to the fact that she had been Regent while he had been passed over. It was alarming to contemplate that he hated her even more fiercely that he hated his father.

She found that she was wishing he was dead. How much less trouble there would be if he were! William would make such a fine Prince of Wales and in time King—and how happily they could dispense with Frederick!

He was teaching his wife to cause trouble, too, although one could not blame her. Poor little thing, she hadn’t a mind of her own.

She was obviously instructed to do the things she did, such as arriving late at church and as the only way she could reach her seat when she entered by the main door was by passing along the pew in which the Queen sat, this was very uncomfortable for the Queen, in view of her portly figure—uncomfortable and undignified; yet on every occasion the Princess did this.

She had given orders that no one must enter by the main door if they arrived late which was a direct command to the Princess of Wales.

Frederick had retorted that his wife could not possibly enter by any door but the main one, so he ordered the poor child not to go to church at all if she could not be there before the Queen.

So distressing, so unnecessary; but a sad indication of the deterioration of the relationship between them.

What struck at the heart of the people more than anything else was the government’s attempt to stop the terrible effect gin drinking was having on the population. Gin was so cheap that it was available to the very poorest and it had become a habit to drink away miseries in the gin palaces which had sprung up all over the country.

One tavern in Southwark had attached a cynical but inviting notice on its door which was taken up by others and was a reminder to the public how cheap gin had become.

‘Drunk for a penny,

Dead drunk for twopence.

Clean straw for nothing.’

The prospect of being deprived of this ‘solace’ so enraged the people that they determined they would rebel against it; and the ballad-makers were busy turning out laments to the demise of Madam Gin while the taverns put out mourning signs. There was even a mock procession when the Gin Act was passed which paraded with torches through the streets of London and of course became very intoxicated ... on gin, rioted and caused a great deal of damage.

It soon became clear that nothing could stop the sale of gin and that the result of the Act was merely to set in motion a number of illegal methods of passing it to the consumer. It was sold over many a counter with a wink in bottles labelled ‘Ladies Delight’, ‘Take 2 or 3 spoonfuls 4 to 5 times a day as the fit takes you’, ‘Make Shift’, ‘Cuckold’s Comfort’—for whatever happened the English must have their jokes.

At the same time they were enraged at this attempt to stop what they called ‘the pleasures of the poor’ and they would talk about it in the taverns over their gin sold by another name and ask themselves why German George should be having his pleasure in Hanover while they were deprived of theirs in London.

The Spitalfields controversy was nothing compared with the anger of an enraged population deprived of its gin, and the government realized that action would have to be taken to modify the Act during the next session of Parliament.

All these troubles were blamed on the royal family and a rather ugly incident occurred one day when Caroline was riding by coach from St James’s to Kensington. Outside a tavern from which hung a huge sign ‘In Mourning for Mother Gin’ a crowd was standing and as the royal coach approached they recognized it. People stood across the road barring the way so that the coach was forced to stop.

The Queen put her head out of the window and asked what was wrong.

An ugly face was thrust close to hers while a pair of bleary drunken eyes glared at her. Fists were shaken.

‘You took our comfort away from us,’ they shouted. ‘You ride in your coaches but you take our comfort from us.

‘This is a matter for the Parliament,’ began the Queen.

But they shouted: ‘Where is the King? In Hanover with his whore. Is he allowed to drink gin there, think you?’

‘The King will not be drinking gin.’

‘No time,’ shouted someone. ‘Too busy with his whore.’

The cry was taken up and Caroline sat mortified, more disturbed because of the manner in which this scandal had seeped out, than the fact that she herself might be in danger.

‘No gin, no King!’ someone shouted.

It was an implication that if they were deprived of their gin the King could stay in Hanover forever.

‘Be patient,’ cried Caroline. ‘Next session you will have them back again.’

‘Which?’ shouted a voice close to her.

‘Both she answered.

‘You can keep George, but give us our gin.’

‘Next session,’ she answered, and the coachman seeing his chance whipped up the horses and they galloped on to Kensington. It had been an unpleasant experience.

But the internal family strife still remained her greatest anxiety. Even her daughter, Caroline, usually of a mild temper, was beginning to hate her brother. There was great enmity between Amelia and Frederick, because at one time Amelia had thought she might work with her brother. He had soon discovered she was no true friend to him and this had made them dislike each other more than the others did. William of course disliked Frederick with the great passion of a younger for an elder brother who knows that but for him he would be heir to the crown. It was hard for the ambitious young man William was becoming to take second place to a brother whom his parents Wished they had never had, and whom they all wished dead a hundred times a day.

‘Fred is our thorn in the flesh,’ said the Queen.

Breakfasts were very peaceful occasions now that the King could not descend on them and reprove them for taking too much chocolate. And oh, the comfort of a dish of chocolate! sighed the Queen.

Of course she was anxious about Amelia who was flirting openly with the Dukes of Grafton and Newcastle. She believed that affair with Grafton was quite serious and she was afraid to enquire too closely into it. Amelia was no longer a young girl; she was very much the eldest daughter now that Anne was in Holland, and determined to receive the homage due to her. She was very proud and haughty and this did not endear her to the public, nor to her immediate circle; and her preoccupation with hunting and animals made her appear rather masculine. Caroline was her comfort. Dear Caroline, who was so virtuous and truthful and could be relied upon; but even she was a cause for anxiety, for lately she had been complaining of rheumatic pains and the doctors could do little for them. Caroline was her comfort and William her pride. As for the two little girls they were young yet, but already showing signs of their personalities. Mary was meek, rather like Caroline, but Louisa the youngest was vivacious and impulsive, traits which might well have to be watched as time passed.

The peace of this breakfast was, however, shattered by Caroline of all people, when she announced that she really was most ashamed of her silly little sister-in-law.

‘Mamma, what do you think she does? She walks in Kensington Gardens with a page holding up her train! A train, Mamma, in the informality of the gardens! And that is not all. Two gentleman ushers and her chamberlain have to lead the way, and her maids of honour have to walk behind.’

‘But this is ... ridiculous. Why does she do it?’

‘Because, Mamma, the silly girl is not accustomed to being the Princess of Wales.’

‘Fred will have to learn how easily people can be laughed at in this country.’

‘Fred, Mamma, will never learn anything, I fear. He has put Lady Archibald Hamilton among her ladies and the poor little simpleton does not know why.’

‘Do not blame her for her simplicity, Caroline,’ said the Queen. ‘Remember she knows nothing but what Fred teaches her; and after all it is no bad thing to be a docile wife.’

‘Let her go on being a docile wife and doing what Fred tells her. That is the quickest way to upset the people.’

The Queen was thoughtful. ‘I wonder who allowed her to walk out in that way. Perhaps Lady Archibald Hamilton takes a pleasure in making a fool of her. Caroline, tell her that she should not walk in the gardens like a Queen at her coronation. Explain that it would be better if she walked informally as we all do.’

Caroline said rather tartly for her that she would take an early opportunity of telling her sister-in-law what a fool she was making of herself.

Poor Caroline, thought the Queen. I suppose her pains are bad today. She suffers even as I do; and of course, even though her pains came from a less humiliating cause the custom in the royal family was to keep silent about one’s ailments.

And here was Lord Hervey come to cheer them. The Princess Caroline’s face lit up with pleasure and she looked a different girl from the one who had talked so slightingly of her young sister-in-law.

The most serious disaster of that unhappy summer occurred in Edinburgh. Scotland had always stood behind the Stuarts and had never accepted the Hanoverian rules, so that it was regarded in the South as a spot where trouble could quickly flare up. And it seemed it was about to do so.

The trouble began absurdly when two smugglers named Wilson and Robertson were arrested and put into the Tolbooth to await execution, the penalty for smuggling. This was an unpopular punishment for taxation was never popular and it was believed that if a man was clever enough to outwit the tax men what he gained was a just reward. These two prisoners, however, attempted to escape and their method was to file off their chains and cut through one bar of their window. This they managed, and Wilson who was older than Robertson and considerably fatter insisted on going first. He did, but he became jammed in the window and thus not only did he prevent his own escape but that of Robertson also.

The people of Edinburgh were intrigued with the story and all sympathy was on the side of the prisoners. The day of their execution was fixed and, in accordance with the custom, they were taken to church the Sunday before. Wilson, smitten with remorse because his selfishness had prevented the escape of his fellow prisoner, attacked the guards in church and shouted to Robertson to escape, which he did. This exploit delighted the people who did all they could to help Robertson, but Wilson remained and the Captain of the guard, John Porteous, declared that such a dangerous man should be hanged without delay and the sentence should be carried out the next day.

Wilson was duly hanged, but crowds turned out to see the execution and several tried to get the body from the gibbet to give it a decent burial. John Porteous, who was hated by the mob, ordered the soldiers to fire on the crowd and several people were killed.

Porteous managed to reach the guard house but so unpopular was he that because of public insistence he was arrested and sentenced to death. He appealed to the Queen who reprieved him.

It was this reprieve which enraged the people of Edinburgh. What right had the German woman in London to interfere in a purely Scottish affair?

They would not have it. ‘Let the usurper go back to Hanover!’ they shouted. ‘And long live James III.’

They stormed the jail where Porteous was celebrating with his friends because of the reprieve. The friends managed to escape but Porteous, afraid to be seen by the mob, hid himself in the chimney. There he was discovered, dragged out of the prison and hanged in sight of the mob.

‘So much for Germans! ‘ cried the people of Edinburgh. ‘Let them keep their rule for the English. Scotland rules herself.’

When this news was brought to Caroline she was angry. This was a direct flouting of her order; it would have happened if the King had given the reprieve, but it would be said that she had failed, and the Prince of Wales would make much of the failure.

In her anger she began to consider taking punitive measures; but she was quick to realize the tone of the Scottish peers who defended their fellow countrymen in the Lords.

Walpole discussed the matter with her and advised against action. A nominal gesture, perhaps. A fine of two thousand pounds on the city of Edinburgh.

Caroline saw the point of this; and when a young girl walked to London from Edinburgh to see her to beg for a reprieve for her sister who had been condemned to death because of the suspected murder of her illegitimate child, the Queen saw the girl and granted a pardon which the sister triumphantly took back to Edinburgh with an account of the Queen’s mercy.

But the Edinburgh affair while it lasted had threatened to be an even bigger disaster than the Spitalfields riots or the resistance to the Gin Act; and this was the most troubled of her Regencies.

And as these affairs seemed to settle themselves she was conscious of the real brooding shadow which threatened her peace now and in the future: Frederick.

Frederick did everything he possibly could to upset his mother and show his contempt for her Regency. He would talk openly of the scandal of the Gin Act and the state of Spitalfields workers; he sided with the Scots in the Porteous controversy; he spread the scandal about Madame de Walmoden and the ladder affair; he was constantly reminding his companions of his father’s dislike for England, of his long stay in Hanover. It was clear that he was trying to make a royal court just as, Caroline reflected bitterly, she and his father had done when they had quarrelled with his grandfather.

There was one thing above all others which aroused the Prince’s fury and that was the knowledge that his parents so deeply regretted his birth, that they wished him dead so that William might be the Prince of Wales. Everywhere the Queen went, William was with her. He was treated as though he were the Prince of Wales.

‘Let them give him all honours,’ said the Prince to his wife, ‘it makes no difference. I am the Prince of Wales and nothing can alter that. You wait till we have a son. That will be an end to Master William’s hopes for ever.’

‘We will have a son,’ cried Augusta.

‘Many of them,’ replied Frederick, ‘just to make sure of it.’

The Queen was certain that the Prince would never have a child; she did not think him capable of begetting one. The rumour was that he was impotent and that wise people were paying court to William because he was certainly going to be the next king.

Then the Prince began treating the Princess with that very special care which indicated that she was already pregnant. Nothing official was said about this but the Princess, acting on her husband’s orders, played up to the story.

The Queen was anxious and there were endless discussions between her, the Princess Caroline, and Lord Hervey.

The Queen was tormented by the thought of Frederick’s having a child and one day she summoned Lord Hervey to her and told him that she wanted to speak to him very privately.

When they were alone she said: ‘The Prince is putting it about that the Princess is pregnant. I do not believe this to be possible. I believe that the marriage has never been consummated.’

‘Why should Your Majesty believe this?’ asked Hervey, always curious to discover such secrets which were just the kind which appealed to his nature.

‘Because I know something of my son. And I believe you know a great deal, too. You know, do you not, that little FitzFrederick was not Frederick’s son. He was yours. Oh, come along now, my lord, put aside all affectation and answer me, for I am very anxious to be satisfied.’

‘Madam, it is difficult to know who was the father of Miss Vane’s son.’

‘Perhaps she knew.’

‘She did not always speak the truth.’

‘No, I’ll warrant she told you FitzFrederick was yours, and Frederick he was his. Frederick pretended to believe her. He was so proud of having fathered that boy. A little too proud perhaps. What did Miss Vane tell you of the Prince?’

Hervey hesitated and the Queen said impatiently, ‘Pray, do not be coy. You and I have talked of such matters often enough.’

‘She would describe the Prince as being inexperienced and ignorant, but she did not say he was impotent.’

‘It is very important to me to know,’ said the Queen. ‘If I thought he were impotent I should be very easy in my mind, for then the way would be clear ahead for William. Could you ask Lady Dudley? She was his mistress and as she has been to bed with half the men in town she would know whether Fred is like others or not.’

‘There is one way to find out all Lady Dudley knows of course, but I do not think my curiosity is strong enough to make me risk my nose to satisfy it.’

‘I know of his great desire to have children and I believe him capable of anything to get the Princess with child. He was so anxious to be thought the father of Miss Vane’s child—over anxious—and although you have perjured yourself by assuring me it was not so, yet I am sure that had he asked you to get a child for him.... Pray, hold your tongue. I do not want to listen to any more lies on this subject.’

‘I was not going to comment on that,’ said Lord Hervey, boldly interrupting her. ‘But suppose it were true. There is a difference between asking a man to lie with one’s mistress and asking him to lie with one’s wife. The Princess would have to be in the secret in order to reach a satisfactory conclusion.’

‘I am sure if you undertook it you could contrive it, though I don’t know how you could bring it about without her knowledge.’

Such a possibility delighted the devious imagination of Hervey. ‘If the Prince had consummated his marriage it would be possible,’ he said. ‘But if he hadn’t, that would be very difficult ... nay, impossible.’

‘Now suppose you were both willing, how could you, without her knowledge, go to bed with her in his place?’

‘It would be simple.’

‘My God, tell me how.’

‘Well, for a month before the time I would advise the Prince to go to bed several hours after his wife and to pretend to get up several times during the night and then to scent himself with some powerful scent. He would have to accustom her to his silences in bed and then the man who would be same size as the Prince would go into her in his place.’

The Queen laughed. ‘You are ingenious, Lord Hervey, and I love you mightily, but if I thought you would get a little Hervey by the Princess of Saxe-Gotha to disinherit my dear William, I could not bear it, nor do I know what I should be capable of doing.’

‘Your Majesty need have no fear. I am the last man with whom the Prince would enter into such a compact. And my dear great good Queen, you must cease to fear on this score. The Prince would never make such a request to any man.’

‘I think he is capable of it,’ replied the Queen. ‘He would hate to be thought impotent and I think he would go to any lengths to foist a child on us.’

‘No man would enter into such a bargain, Your Majesty. The risks would be too great. No sum of money would be large enough to compensate a man for taking such a risk, for who knows, with such a secret he might easily be found too dangerous to be allowed to live.’

‘He would have the honour of being the father of a King.’

‘In secret, Madam. Vanity has little to feed on in private. It is only in public that it shines. Suppose I had the honour to be born Your Majesty’s son.’

‘I wish to God you had,’ said the Queen with vehement affection.

‘Your Majesty is very kind, but if it were so and I believed any man other than the King was my father I should never act as though I believed it. But, Madam, this is a little play we are making. It may be that the Prince is impotent, in which case the way is clear for His Highness of Cumberland. But if he is not, then the Princess Augusta, even if she is not now with child, may well be one day—and we must make the best of it.’

‘You are right,’ said the Queen; ‘but I fret on this point; and I pray you, if you should hear any rumour as to the Prince’s capabilities or the true state of the Princess, tell me without delay.’

‘My dear Majesty may rely on me now as ever.’

‘I know, I know,’ said the Queen. ‘You are my comfort in this troublous realm.’

When the King wrote that he would not be back for his birthday, Walpole was seriously disturbed.

He came to see the Queen immediately.

‘This is the first time he has failed to come home for his birthday,’ he said. ‘He knows the seriousness of this. There will be comment and he does not care. This is significant.’

The Queen agreed that it was.

‘It means, of course, that he will not leave Madame de Walmoden.’

‘Then ...’ The Queen spoke almost sharply. ‘He must stay with her.’

‘Madam, if he does he will not stay King of England.’ ‘Then what ...’

‘There is murmuring in the streets already. He was never so unpopular as he is now. More and more people are looking to the Prince. I tell you this can be disastrous ... not only for the King, but for the House of Hanover.’

‘I know it,’ said the Queen.

‘There is a way out.’

‘Pray what?’ asked Caroline.

‘You must invite Madame de Walmoden to the Court.’

‘Invite her ... here?’

‘It is the only way. Here she will be to the King what Lady Suffolk was. It is the only way.’

‘I refuse,’ cried the Queen.

‘Your Majesty should consider the alternative. I would feel more comfort from knowing that woman was under our own roof than keeping the King in Hanover.’

‘I will not have that woman here.’

‘Doubtless Your Majesty will wish to consider this matter. We will talk of it later.’

When Walpole had gone the Queen went to her apartments and refused to see anyone.

This is too much, she told herself. I won’t endure it. It’s bad enough to read about her ... but to hear him talk day after day of her charms, of her reactions to his passion.... Oh, my God, I won’t have it.

She was surprised to find that there were tears on her cheeks. It is too much, she thought. Frederick, the riots, the unpopularity, Augusta’s pregnancy, real or trumped up, and this nagging pain, this awful forboding which envelopes me.

She covered her face with her hands and suddenly she was aware that she was not alone. She dropped her hands. Lady Sundon was standing watching her.

‘I ... did not send for you.’

‘I sensed Your Majesty needed me. May I help you to bed.’

The Queen felt suddenly defeated. There was no point in pretence now. Lady Sundon knew.

‘Come, come,’ she said, dropping ceremony and talking as though the Queen were a beloved but wilful child. ‘You should be in bed. Allow me to help Your Majesty.’

‘Oh, Sundon,’ said Caroline, ‘I’m so ... tired.’

‘I know, Madam. And ... the pain has been bad today.’

‘You knew.’

Lady Sundon went to her knees and kissed the hands. ‘I always know, Madam. My heart bleeds.’

‘Oh, get up, Sundon.’ She laughed. ‘It’s folly to lie to you. You know, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty. I know.’

‘He knows ... Sundon. He knows too.’

‘His Majesty?’

‘Yes. He suspected long ago when it first started after Louisa’s birth. I told him it would pass. It often happens. He believed me. He wanted to believe me. He always wants to believe we are all well, Sundon.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

‘And he never spoke of it again and I pretended that it was not there. Oh ... but the pain, Sundon.’

‘I know, Your Majesty.’

‘And then when he came home from Hanover he was aware of it. He mentioned it and I was angry... . So rarely am I angry with him that I alarmed him. I said he was tired of me, that he made this the excuse....’

‘Oh, Madam, Madam.’

‘He swore he wasn’t, that he never would be. But he is, of course, Sundon. He is. Why am I telling you this? Why ... why ... when I have kept silent all these years. You have known. The secret has been there, Sundon, all these years.’

‘But safe, Madam, I have never breathed a word ... never betrayed by a look.’

‘I know it.’

‘Nor will I ever without your permission.’

‘My dear, good friend.’

‘But I am afraid. The time has come when you should tell the doctors.’

‘Tell the doctors! Never. It has been our secret ... and so shall it remain. I should never have told you if you had not guessed. And thank you ... for keeping silent.’

‘Your Majesty, I would serve you with my life but I know there should be no more of this secret.’

‘There will always be this secret. Remember that, Lady Sundon.’

‘As Your Majesty wishes.’

‘Oh, what has come over me tonight. I am behaving like a fool. I talk too much of other things because I am wounded ... deeply wounded. The King will not be home for his birthday.’

‘Oh, no, Madam!’

‘Yes, it is so. He cannot tear himself away from Madame de Walmoden.’

‘Oh, Madam.’

‘So, Sir Robert Walpole thinks we should ask her here. The King will not live without her and it seems the House of Hanover cannot live as rulers of England without the King. It is all very simple, Lady Sundon.’

‘But Your Majesty will never receive that woman here.’

‘So I tell Sir Robert.’

‘I should think so! What next! How dare that man! He is so coarse and crude himself that he expects everyone else to be the same.’

‘He tells me that I shall change my mind.’

‘Your Majesty will not.’

The Queen looked sadly at Lady Sundon.

‘Help me to bed,’ she said. ‘I am utterly weary.’

When the King received the Queen’s letter inviting Madame de Walmoden to England, he was delighted.

‘You know well my passions, my dear Caroline [he wrote]. You know my weaknesses and that I hide nothing in my heart from you. How I wish that I could be more like you for I so admire you. How I wish that I could be good and virtuous like you but you know my passions and my weakness....’

My God, thought the Queen, so I do.

He went on to tell her how enchanted she would be with Madame de Walmoden’s beauty. She would quickly understand why he took such pleasure in this lady and she herself would be happy contemplating his happiness. He wanted her to have the lodging Lady Suffolk used to have. ‘That would be most convenient for me to visit her, my dear Caroline.’

Caroline showed Walpole the draft of the letter she had written to Madame de Walmoden.

He was delighted with it.

‘A masterpiece,’ he said.

‘A humiliating masterpiece,’ retorted Caroline.

It was impossible to keep secret the knowledge that Madame de Walmoden was coming to England. The Prince’s friends soon discovered it and decided to make the most of it.

It was discussed through the Court and the city. When is the King coming back?

Soon now. He has permission to bring the Walmoden with him. He was staying away until that permission was given. Now the Queen and Walpole are letting the little boy have his own way.

The people in the streets were less polite.

One morning the Princess Caroline, her cheeks flushed with rage, brought a paper into the room where her mother was having breakfast.

‘It was attached to the palace gates,’ she said.

The Queen read:

‘Lost or strayed out of this house a man who has left a wife and six children on the parish; who ever will give any tidings of him to the churchwardens of St James’s parish, so that he may be got again, shall receive four shillings and sixpence reward. N.B. This reward will not be increased, nobody judging him to deserve a crown.’

The Queen flushed slightly and went on drinking her chocolate.

The Prince of Wales riding in his carriage through the city with the Princess saw the crowd gathered round an old horse with a dilapidated saddle on its back.

He stopped his coach and asked if there had been an accident.

When he was recognized he was cheered, for the people wanted to show him that anyone who was an enemy of the King was their friend.

Then he saw the notice attached to the horse.

‘Let nobody stop me, I am the King’s Hanoverian Equipage going to fetch His Majesty and his whore to England.’

The Prince read this in a loud voice and laughed heartily at which the people cheered him more than ever; and they followed him back to St James’s shouting, ‘God Bless the Prince of Wales and let his father stay in Hanover’.

Caroline was disturbed by these public demonstrations of disapproval.

‘What will happen when the King sets foot in England with that woman?’ she demanded. ‘There’ll be a revolution.’

‘Have no fear,’ smiled Walpole. ‘She’ll never come.’ ‘But ... you suggested I should ask her.’

‘Ask her by all means, but I have a strong feeling that she will not come. My brother has always been of the opinion that she would not come.’

Walpole was smiling. It had been a wise move to send his brother, Horace, to Hanover with the King. He was sure then of hearing all he should know.

‘She’s no fool, this Walmoden. She realizes that her position as the Lady of Hanover to be visited as a special treat puts her in a far happier position than she would be in if she lived in this country. My brother tells her of the life poor Lady Suffolk led. She wants none of that. No, she will find excuses when the time comes. Your Majesty will never have to receive Madame de Walmoden in England.’

‘I hope you are right,’ said the Queen. ‘I admit to profound relief. And if she will not come, what of the King. Will he decide to stay with her?’

‘That is something he cannot do. He will have to return very soon.’

The King continued to postpone his departure; but Madame de Walmoden as Walpole had said, found excuses for not coming to England. She assured him of her fidelity; he must promise to return to her soon; but she could not come to England. She felt that it would jeopardize the King’s position if she did. That, she declared, was her sole reason.

In vain did the King plead. She was determined. She would not imperil his crown; rather would she grieve for him in Hanover and hope and pray that he would soon return to her.

The King gave a farewell ball and then another and another.

December had come and he was still in Hanover.

The Queen wrote to him that she had alarming news of Anne, the Princess of Orange, who was preparing for her confinement which threatened to be a difficult one. Perhaps he would call at the Hague on the way back. He would still have time before the weather became too bad.

But the King could not bear to leave Hanover and he gave another farewell supper and by that time it was the 7th of December and he dared not delay longer than that. for in a few weeks the weather could grow so bad that he might not be able to leave until the spring.

The Queen waited for his coming, for she had now heard that he had definitely left Hanover and once he had she knew he would travel with all speed.

The weather turned stormy and the wind howled through the Palace. News came from the coast towns of storm damage; but there was no news of the King.

Caroline was alarmed. If he had put to sea he might well be drowned, for how could any ship survive in the storms which were sweeping the seas?

The King’s name was on every lip throughout the country. Where was he? Why was there no news of him? He must be drowned ... drowned coming from his whore, said the people, with all his sins on him.

The Prince of Wales showed no regret, but he gave himself airs; he was receiving more attention than he had ever received before. The general opinion was that he was in fact no longer Prince of Wales but King of England.

The Princess Amelia went about tight-lipped. If Frederick were King there would be changes. The Princess Caroline frankly declared her horror. This was the worst thing that could possibly happen to them. Fred would have no respect for any of them. He would humiliate them in every way he could think of ... particularly Mamma. William was making secret plans, wondering how he could discredit Fred and take the throne from him.

And the Queen waited for news and thought of him, the little man who had lived so close to her for so many years, who had snubbed her and bullied her and had declared always that he loved her. What would she do without him? Did she love him? How could she love one who humiliated her as he did, who so recently had planned to subject her to the greatest humiliation of all, who told her the intimate details of his love affairs because he believed she loved him so much that she was delighted to hear them? He was obtuse; he had no love for the things of the mind which once had been so precious to her; he was a silly little man, a bad-tempered, vain, little man—and yet to lose him would be like losing part of herself.

The Prince of Wales came to see the Queen.

He could not hide his delight, so she knew he brought bad news.

‘I have a letter which I think you should see, Madam,’ he said. ‘It is from a friend at Harwich who a few days after that when we believe the King must have set sail, heard distress signals fired at sea. There can be no doubt that these came from some ships of the King’s fleet.’

‘There must have been many ships at sea on that day,’ said the Queen, reading the letter.

‘Not many, Madam. I am convinced that this was one of the King’s fleet and that we must reconcile ourselves to his loss.’

‘I do not think—in that unhappy event—you will have much difficulty,’ said Caroline coldly; and she turned away indicating that the interview was at an end.

But by the end of that day a messenger arrived with a letter from the King.

The messenger had been several days at sea in a fearful storm, but the King wanted the Queen to know that he had not set sail as arranged and was awaiting a good wind at Helvoetsluys.

The Prince’s discomfiture was as obvious as the Queen’s delight. But the position was very quickly in reverse, for no sooner had the King set sail than a storm came up more violently than ever and now there could be no doubt that the King was drowned.

But yet again came the news that although the King had set sail his Captain had prevailed on him to go back to land when the storm threatened and the King had reluctantly allowed himself to be persuaded.

Thus he still lived though the sea parted them.

So overjoyed was the Queen when she heard this news that she wrote to him and told him how she had suffered through her fears that she had lost him. The King, always responding to sentiment, wrote a long letter to her—a passionate love letter, for the first time omitting any mention of Madame de Walmoden. She was the perfect wife; for her he had love which was all her own and could never be shared by any other person. She was his perfect Venus; and the reason he had allowed the Captain to overrule him was because he could not risk the chance of never seeing her again.

When Caroline read the letter she wept with joy. It was the kind of letter he had written in the days of their courtship, for he had always loved to pour out his sentiments on paper.

She could not resist showing it to Walpole who had told her so bluntly that she could no longer hope to appeal to the King’s senses.

Walpole smiled cynically. He knew his King, and he was not surprised that the dramatic circumstances had produced such an epistle. Still he was ready to concede that it was a good sign that the King could still write so to his wife.

Now there was the King waiting for a fair wind at Helvoetsluys and the nation was caught up in the drama, as it so liked to be.

‘How is the wind with the King?’ was the catch-phrase of the day.

And the answer was : ‘Like the nation, against him.’

In time the wind turned favourable and the King immediately set sail.

It was mid-January before he reached England and more than eight months since he had left.

The Queen, with all the family, were waiting to welcome him in the courtyard as his coach trundled into the Palace.

Even the Prince of Wales was there, but there were only cold looks for him. The King had eyes for no one but the Queen and with tears in his eyes he embraced her with the utmost affection that all might see in what love and devotion he held her.