The Princess of Celle

Clara Triumphant

CLARA VON PLATEN was awaiting her opportunity; she had no doubt that when it came she would step right into the place she had chosen for herself even before she had come to Osnabrück. Having married Platen she was committed to Osnabrück; there could now be no packing of bags and going on to seek her fortune. Why should she? Although she had had to wait longer than she had first thought, she was very near now to her dream’s fulfilment.

The court at Osnabrück was suited to her taste. It seemed that every petty Duke and Princeling imagined himself to be a Grand Monarque. Louis had a great deal to answer for! Everywhere there were attempts to turn German castles into palaces of Versailles, and the glitter and allure of the French Court – albeit that Louis was an enemy – was slavishly imitated. There were fireworks displays, masques, banquets, plays in the gardens and the great halls. When news seeped through that this and that had been done at Versailles, sure enough there would be an attempt to produce it at Osnabrück or Hanover where Duke John Frederick, the third brother, now reigned. In fact, John Frederick was the biggest Frankophile of them all. He had even become a Catholic, had put up statues in the gardens of the Palace at Hanover, commanded that Mass be sung in the churches and invited French singers and dancers to be his guests.

Ernest Augustus did not go so far as that, but he had his love of ostentation. He could not afford to spend as lavishly as John Frederick because he had a large family of six sons and one daughter, whereas John Frederick had no son and of his four daughters only two were living. George William was the only brother who did not set out to make a small Versailles of his castle; and this was strange considering he had a French wife. All was good taste and charm at Celle in contrast to the often vulgar displays of Osnabrück and Hanover.

But Clara was pleased with the manner in which the Osnabrück court was conducted. She herself loved display; and she did not forget that it was due to the fact that she and her sister had recently come from France that they had been given an opportunity to display their talents.

Now as waiting woman to the Duchess Sophia she had an occasional opportunity to study her quarry. Ernest Augustus pleased her. He was a man of lusty appetites and she would know how to satisfy them. Her sensuality was second only to her ambition; and she did not see why she should not indulge the former while serving the latter. Once Ernest Augustus had tried her, her fortune would be made; for she would make sure that he should discover her to be unique. The experience must be such as he had never enjoyed before. But how make sure of that? If his eyes rested on her lightly as they had done on the unfortunate Esther – unfortunate because Clara had decided that her reign would soon be over – he would make up his mind that here was another of his light o’ loves and that would be all she could ever hope to be. A man had to be made aware that he was getting something special before he would believe he was.

‘How?’ she asked herself.

She would wear some entirely French and exciting garment. Yes, that – but clothes were not enough. She had to seduce his mind before she seduced his body.

For this purpose during those first weeks in the service of the Duchess Sophia, she actually kept out of Ernest Augustus’s way; and instead ingratiated herself with Duchess Sophia.

An intelligent woman, thought Sophia. Discreet and oddly modest. She complimented Platen on his marriage; and remarked to Ernest Augustus that George Lewis’s governor was cleverer than she had thought.

Ernest Augustus while commenting that he had not made such a good job of George Lewis, fairly admitted that he doubted whether anyone could. He was glad that she had a high opinion of Platen because he was thinking of making a minister of him. A quiet efficient fellow – those were the sort he liked to have about him.

This was triumph, Clara decided, as well as a sign for her to go forward, and when Platen received his promotion she insisted on hearing everything that took place. She was astute, shrewd and single-minded; and she was working to one end, to attract Ernest Augustus and to set up in Osnabrück that institution which was so much a part of the admired Court of France, the maîtresse en titre. Clara was yearning for that role – the woman who by wit, charm, brains and beauty, ruled the King and therefore ruled the country.

It was naturally simpler here than it would have been at Versailles. There were no rivals for one thing. Silly little girls who giggled together about what had happened to them in the Bishop’s bedchamber were welcome to their brief triumph.

She saw that she had been wise to marry. Frank Platen was no fool; he was merely a coward. He wanted a peaceful existence, free from conflict. In a few weeks she had dominated him; and while he was a little disappointed to find his marriage was not what he had hoped it would be, he was continually being astonished by the astuteness of his wife.

‘We are working together,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to make you the chief minister. I’m going to get you a resounding title. A count, I imagine. Yes, I would like to be a countess.’

He had laughed. ‘The things you say, Clara.’

‘I say what I mean,’ she told him fiercely.

She listened to his accounts of meetings; she told him what he should say; she even phrased his speeches for him, pithily, wittily.

He began to be noticed; he, little Frank Platen, who had hitherto not been of any great importance, to be singled out by his fellow ministers, by the Bishop himself.

‘If the Bishop asks you who thought of that, tell him your wife.’

He looked at her in astonishment. ‘I have my reasons,’ she said.

‘What reasons are those?’

‘You will see.’

He obeyed her; it had become a habit to obey Clara.

‘Your wife seems to be an extraordinary woman, Platen,’ said Ernest Augustus one day.

‘She is, my lord.’

‘In the Duchess’s bedchamber, is she?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘I believe the Duchess is pleased with her.’

‘I think that to be so.’

‘Well, you look pleased with yourself. I must meet her one day.’

Platen reported this conversation to Clara.

She laughed. ‘He shall,’ she said.

Ernest Augustus was dozing in his private study. He had eaten too much and had retired hither on the pretext of studying some state papers but actually to sleep.

I’m getting old, he thought, yawning.

He could hear the music coming from the great hall. Music was played during meals now. He had always loved music – good stirring German music; but of course the taste now was all for the French.

Too much red cabbage, he thought; too much beer. The French drank wine. Well, he thought, we don’t want to become as French as that.

He smiled, thinking as he often did of George William over at Celle. What was he doing now? Sitting down with his wife and child like any peasant. No, not like a peasant, of course. In the utmost luxury, for George William was the richest of all the brothers – and quite a lot of that fortune would go to that little French bastard of his unless he and Sophia could think of a way of preventing it – in the room, made gracious by Madame Eléonore who would be seated in her chair, her delicate white fingers working at her tapestry; and the girl would be seated on a tabouret either at his feet or hers; and they would be talking about the affairs of the castle. A charming domestic scene … if one cared for domestic scenes. He could not imagine himself and Sophia indulging in them. Theirs was not that sort of marriage – no idyllic love affair without end, but a good marriage of two people who understood each other. She had her way in anything that did not interfere with his comforts and needs – and the same for him.

Let George William keep his domestic bliss – his beautiful wife, his pretty – and if accounts were true – coquette of a daughter.

A gentle scratching on the door. He frowned, having no wish to be disturbed. Who had dared open the door without an invitation to do so?

A woman stood there. He had seen her before; she was one of Sophia’s women. Good figure, bedworthy, he had marked her down for future dalliance. But when he wanted a woman he would summon her; he did not expect to be disturbed thus.

‘My lord …’

Her voice was low, exciting in a manner new to him.

‘What do you want?’

‘I heard that Your Highness wished to see me.’

‘Then who carried such a message?’

‘It was my husband, Frank von Platen.’

‘Ah! So you’re Platen’s wife?’

She came to his chair, bowed before him, making sure that her dress fell away from her full breasts as she did so.

An invitation? wondered Ernest Augustus, slightly surprised, remembering how demure she had been.

‘I didn’t send for you now,’ he said.

‘My husband said you would like to meet me some time.’

He laughed. ‘At a more appropriate time,’ he said.

‘My lord, I thought this … a most appropriate time.’

‘Most wait until sent for.’

‘You will find that I am not like … most.’

Her eyes were brilliant; she had cleverly made them look bigger than they actually were. What a body! he thought. She would have skills. And she came from France, he remembered, although she was a German. This meant that she had the airs and graces without the pride of his sister-in-law Eléonore. Now, there’s a woman I could never fancy, he thought. He realized that he had already come to the point of fancying Platen’s wife.

‘Your husband often mentions you,’ said Ernest Augustus. ‘He seems to value your judgment.’

‘At least it is valued by one of Your Highness’s ministers.’

There was a meaning behind her words. He was a little fascinated and his annoyance at having been disturbed was fast disappearing.

‘I see that you have other gifts to bestow on your husband … besides advice.’

‘It is a pleasure to give what is appreciated.’

‘And you find him appreciative … enough?’ He regarded her lazily.

‘Who can ever have enough appreciation?’

Surely there was no mistaking her meaning? Women were of course eager to please the most important man in the principality, but he sensed this one was different. He would discover later what she wanted. At the moment there was no need to go beyond the obvious step.

He held out a hand and she took it. He drew her down so that she was forced to kneel before him.

‘You have come to offer me … advice?’ he asked smiling.

‘If you need it … it is yours.’

‘And if I do not?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘All need the help of friends.’

‘The Bishop needs it from his minister’s wife?’ he asked.

‘He may at some time. He may need other things she has to offer.’

‘I think that very likely. And they will be given freely.’

She bowed her head.

‘But it must be remembered that she likes … appreciation?’ he asked.

‘She would be wise enough to know it is foolish to ask for what would not be freely given.’

He brought his face close to hers and looked into her eyes.

‘You are a strange woman,’ he said.

‘You have quickly discovered that.’

‘I would like to know more of you.’

‘And I of Your Highness.’

He put his hand on her shoulder; touching her skin, his fingers probed lightly; but in spite of the lightness he could not hide the fact he was excited.

‘Well?’ she said faintly mocking him, he fancied.

He answered with another question. ‘When?’

‘You are the lord and master.’ Again that hint of mockery.

‘Tonight. I shall be in my bedchamber … alone.’

‘It shall be my duty … my pleasant duty … to see that Your Highness is … not alone … for long.’

When Clara came out of the Bishop’s apartment, the first signs of dawn were in the sky; she walked lightly past the sleeping guards; they were aware of a passing figure but paid little heed. A woman coming from the Bishop’s bedchamber was not a very unusual occurrence. It was wiser not to look too closely; she might not like it; she might whisper a word into the Bishop’s ear one night – it was easy enough – and there would go the hope of promotion.

Clara was pleased with herself. There would be no going back now. She had startled him. Hers was a sensuality matching his own and she had given it full rein. It had been amusing. She would not waste her energies on a man like Platen – Ernest Augustus was different. She had been making love to Power and that had aroused all her ardour.

He had let her go reluctantly, but she had insisted. Yes, insisted. It was as well to set the pace from the start. Of course she was not such a fool as to imagine she could arrogantly command him. He had been having his own way too long to accept that. But she would govern – in her own subtle way; and it might well be that he would know and simply not care.

What a night! She wanted to laugh aloud. She had startled herself as much as Ernest Augustus. She had been born to be a courtesan. She knew it. She had all the tricks of the trade; and they were inherent. Louis did not know what he had missed. Poor Louis with his mincing French harlots who would never know the verve and vulgarity of a German whore.

She opened the door of the apartment she shared with Platen. Poor ineffectual Platen! His day was done. She would never share his bed again; and he might as well know it.

‘Clara!’

He was awake, waiting for her. Fool! He might have had the grace to pretend to be asleep. How ridiculous he looked with his thin hair sticking out in all directions from under his night cap, his eyes pale and bulging, his pasty face, his gaping mouth.

‘So I awakened you?’

‘Where have you been?’

‘Employed in useful occupation,’ she said flippantly.

‘Clara, I insist …’

‘You insist. Now, Frank, don’t be foolish. You insist on nothing – nor shall you ever where I am concerned.’

‘I want to know where you have spent the night.’

‘So you shall. I have no intention of making a secret of it. Soon it will be known throughout this court. Soon everyone who wants the smallest favour will know it has to come through me.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Oh yes you do. We’ve hinted it, haven’t we? You wanted it as much as I did … or if you didn’t you’re more of a fool than I take you for.’

‘Do you mean that you’ve been with …’

‘With His Highness, yes.’

‘You have …’

‘I have.’

‘Clara!’

‘My dear little shocked husband, you are now a cuckold. Don’t look outraged. It’s a pleasant thing to be as you will learn. The best thing to be if you can’t be a noble Duke or Prince or King is a cuckold, as many a man throughout the world has come to realize.’

‘Clara, I’m horrified.’

‘You don’t appear to be. I can see the speculation glinting in your eyes and well it might. Why do you think I married you? I married you for this. Now listen to me, Platen. We are going to make our fortunes. I’ll make you the richest man at this court. I’ll make you the Bishop’s chief minister. I will, I tell you. You should go down on your knees and thank me for this night’s work.’

He was staring at her and she laughed.

Weak! weak! she thought. And excited. At last he is discovering he has ambition. He was afraid of it before – but now he has someone to tend it for him … he really is rather excited.

Despicable! she thought.

Then: Thank goodness. It means we shall not be plagued by petty irritations.

In the schoolroom with its windows overlooking the moat, Sophia Dorothea sat with her attendant, Eléonore von Knesebeck, idly glancing at the books before them.

Eléonore von Knesebeck had become her greatest friend; and although she was a few years older than Sophia Dorothea she was less precocious; she had a pleasant face without beauty; and she and her family were very happy that the young Princess had taken such a fancy to her. Sophia Dorothea had felt the need of a friend near her own age and Eléonore von Knesebeck filled that need perfectly. As her father was one of George William’s councillors it had been agreed that Eléonore should share Sophia Dorothea’s lessons and that the friendship between the two girls should be encouraged.

Since the little Knesebeck had come to her apartments Sophia Dorothea had found life much more interesting, for her friend was more in touch with the world outside the castle than she herself could be and there was nothing she enjoyed so much as startling Sophia Dorothea with news of it. It was from Eléonore von Knesebeck that Sophia Dorothea learned so much about the court of Osnabrück, and that enchanted castle ruled over by the ogress had grown more realistic but none the less sinister. Sophia Dorothea now knew that Clara von Platen had become the Bishop’s mistress-in-chief and everyone at the court was a little afraid of her; she knew that George Lewis, the Crown Prince, was a little monster who was like his father in one way only – and that he indulged this trait with the serving girls in his father’s household. She knew that the Duchess Sophia was a tyrant in her own way, ruling apart from Ernest Augustus.

Sophia Dorothea liked to listen and shiver ecstatically; and to be thankful for her beloved parents and peaceful Celle.

The two girls were talking idly now of the court at Osnabrück for it was a subject that fascinated them both.

‘My aunt and uncle never visit us here,’ said Sophia Dorothea. ‘Sometimes I wish they would. I should love to see them.’

‘They are jealous really,’ put in Eléonore. ‘Celle is richer, more cultivated and more beautiful than Osnabrück; and you are more cultivated and more beautiful than any of their children.’

‘They have a lot and poor Maman and Papa have only me.’

‘Quality is better than quantity,’ declared Eléonore; and the two girls laughed.

‘Of course I shall not be here forever,’ sighed Sophia Dorothea. She frowned; she could not visualize a home that was not this castle. The idea of waking up in a bed which was not in the alcove and from which she could not see the mantelpiece supported by four cupids seemed impossible. But it must come, for there was a great deal of talk about her betrothal.

‘You’ll not be far away,’ Eléonore soothed her.

‘You’ll come with me when I marry.’

‘I shall come. We’ve said we’d never be separated, haven’t we?’

‘All the same I shall hate going. I wonder if Augustus Frederick would come here and live?’

‘Well, he’ll be the heir of Wolfenbüttel. Heirs usually live in their own castles. But it is near. You’d be home in a day.’

‘I’d always remember that; and if I didn’t like it, I should just come home.’

‘But you do like Augustus Frederick?’

‘H’m. He’s all right.’ Sophia Dorothea stared dreamily out of the window. ‘Eléonore, do you remember Philip Königsmarck?’

‘Who?’

‘He was a boy who came here once. We were great friends. He went away though. And he didn’t say goodbye properly. I wonder why.’

‘People come and go.’

‘I should have thought he would have said goodbye to me.’

‘When was this?’

‘Long long ago. I believe he was really Sigurd. He left so mysteriously. He was handsome, very handsome; he rode a white charger …’

‘And he rescued you from a ring of fire?’

‘You’re laughing at me, Eléonore. But I’ve never forgotten him.’

‘You dreamed it. I don’t suppose he was any better than Augustus Frederick really.’

‘Do you think I did dream it?’

‘You do change things a little … from what they were, you know.’

‘Yes, I believe I do.’ Sophia Dorothea sighed. ‘The fact is, Eléonore, I never, never want to leave Celle.’

‘But you want to grow up, have a family of your own. You don’t want to be a child forever.’

‘I don’t know. I don’t want anything to change. I used to think it never would. Birthday mornings when I wake up and think of all the secret treats they are planning, and Maman and Papa come in with all the presents … I want it to go on like that forever.’

‘Which it can’t,’ said Eléonore practically. ‘Oh, look, there are riders approaching the castle.’

The two girls were at the window watching.

‘It’s the Wolfenbüttel livery,’ said Sophia Dorothea. ‘What message do you think they are bringing?’

‘They are coming to tell the Duke and Duchess that Duke Anton Ulrich is coming to pay a visit with Augustus Frederick.’

Sophia Dorothea made a little grimace.

‘Their livery is not as charming as ours.’

‘Nothing outside Celle is as charming as inside,’ answered Eléonore von Knesebeck.

‘It’s true.’

‘Except at Versailles where everything is so much more wonderful even than at Celle.’

‘Maman was at the French Court; she was banished from it and she is happier at Celle than she has ever been anywhere else.’ Sophia Dorothea turned to Eléonore von Knesebeck and hugged her suddenly.

‘What is it?’

‘I just thought that I am so like Maman that I shall never be happy anywhere but at Celle.’

‘You’re shivering.’

‘Yes … so I am. Is it not foolish of me? Do you know, Eléonore, I always feel like this when messengers come to the castle. I am always afraid of what messages they will bring.’

‘There’s nothing you need fear while you’re in Celle.’

‘No, of course not. There is only the old ogre and the ogress from Osnabrück we need fear.’

‘And they cannot touch you.’

Sophia Dorothea laughed and went back to the table; she and Eléonore von Knesebeck were sitting there together when the door opened and the Duchess came into the room. Sophia Dorothea, jumping up to greet her mother, saw at once how agitated she was.

‘Maman,’ she cried. ‘What is wrong?’

‘Bad news, my darling.’

Sophia Dorothea threw herself into her mother’s arms; the Duchess stroked her daughter’s hair while Eléonore von Knesebeck stood apart uncertain what to do.

‘Dear Augustus Frederick is dead. He has been killed in battle at Philipsburg fighting for the Emperor. My dearest, this is a terrible blow to us all.’

Sophia Dorothea hid her face against her mother’s bodice. She felt bewildered. Augustus Frederick … so young, so vital … dead. It was bewildering. Never to see him again … never to hear him speak.

‘This is such a shock,’ said her mother, stroking her hair.

It was some time later when Sophia Dorothea thought: There will be no marriage now. I shall stay at Celle where everything is safe and happy.

The Duke of Celle was with his chief minister, the Count of Bernstorff, in that small, very private apartment where they were wont to deal with matters of state, discussing the recent death of Augustus Frederick and what effect this was likely to have on the relationship between Celle and Wolfenbüttel.

‘I believe that Duke Anton Ulrich hopes that this will not change anything,’ said Bernstorff.

‘I do not see how we can be so close as a marriage between his son and my daughter would have made us.’

‘He is still hopeful, my lord, of uniting Celle with Wolfenbüttel. I’ll guess that Wolfenbüttel already has plans for the Princess Sophia Dorothea’s dowry.’

‘I have no doubt,’ said the Duke wryly.

‘The Duchess has a very high opinion of Duke Anton Ulrich.’ Bernstoff laughed lightly. ‘They are sworn allies.’

‘We are all good friends,’ answered the Duke.

Bernstorff lowered his eyes; he did not want to betray himself by an expression. He was excessively vain, certain of his own powers, longing to take a bigger part in the government of Celle; and although he was the Duke’s chief minister again and again he found himself in confict with the Duchess.

The Duke was easy-going and luxury loving; all he wanted was to be left in peace. What a pleasant state of affairs that would have been – but for the Duchess. She was unlike her husband; she it was who had decided that there should be this alliance with Wolfenbüttel. It was not that Bernstorff doubted the good of that alliance for Celle; but he was not so much concerned with the good of Celle as the good of Bernstorff. What he did not care for was continually to be forced to accept the will of the Duchess. It insulted his vanity – which was the ruling passion of his life – to have to be subordinate to a woman.

And the trouble at Celle was that the Duke so doted on his wife that he was ready to follow her advice in all things.

What Bernstorff wanted was to acquire a fortune, become a landowner, to be supreme in his own little world. It was not easy to build up a fortune in Celle, yet but for the Duchess it might have been. A bribe here … a bribe there … and it might have been possible to build quite a fortune out of bestowing places; the easy-going careless Duke would never have been the wiser. But the Duchess was aware of what went on – and so he hated her. If he could do her harm, if he could make the Duke swerve one little bit in his devotion to her, he would feel he was making some headway. That had seemed impossible – but now he was not so sure.

‘Very good friends,’ he said now; and cautiously added: ‘And I doubt not, my lord, that very soon there will be another bridegroom to replace the one we have lost.’

‘Which bridegroom is this?’

‘Duke Anton Ulrich has another son, my lord. I heard the Duchess say that he is nearer the age of Sophia Dorothea – so I am hourly expecting an announcement.’

‘There has been no arrangement.’

Bernstorff permitted himself a slight laugh. ‘Oh no, my lord, but since the Duchess has so obviously made up her mind …’

He did not finish the sentence; he had said enough. The Duke frowned slightly.

At last he was getting home the point he had been trying to make over the last months with delicate innuendoes and insinuations.

The Duke was beginning to understand that in the opinion of his minister he was a man subdued by a forceful wife. A henpecked husband. Madame gave the orders; the husband obeyed.

It was not very pleasant, and it was clear that the Duke disliked it.

That little touch of resentment should be fostered. It could grow big.

John Frederick, Duke of Hanover, was drunk. There was nothing very unusual in this; his attendants had often seen him stagger from the table and stand at the window of his palace and look out on the grounds with admiration.

‘Louis would have to admire that …’ he often muttered.

Louis XIV had no more devoted admirer throughout Germany than John Frederick of Hanover. Hanover was in truth a petit Versailles for he had been quite slavish in his imitation.

In his gardens he had erected statues and fountains; many foreign guests filled the court; he had even become a Catholic, which delighted Louis so much that he had given him a pension.

When he was very drunk John Frederick would talk of my friend the King of France with maudlin tenderness.

His subjects accepted this attitude with phlegm. The entertainments were amusing; and there was always plenty of beer to drink. In fact the only German characteristic John Frederick seemed to possess was his love of beer; and only when he was drunk did he revert to old habits and then he would throw off his French manners and those about him felt that he was one of them.

He sat one evening over supper drinking as usual, talking of his adventures in Italy and how such and such was done at the French Court; and suddenly he grew tired and said he would retire to bed.

His attendants sprang to help him for it was clear that he was still in a state to need their help; and as he stood up, his glass still in his hand, he fell sprawling across the table.

Before they could get him to his bed he had died.

‘So,’ said the Duchess Sophia, ‘John Frederick is dead. At least he died like a good German – with a glass in his hand. And because he is dead, Hanover is ours.’

It was true. John Frederick had left no male heirs and because George William had signed away his birthright, Hanover with all its riches fell to Ernest Augustus.

Sophia was delighted. There was no point now in staying in little Osnabrück. The court moved into the Hanover Palace with as little loss of time as possible.

‘Hanover is yours,’ said Clara, lightly running her fingers over her lover’s body. ‘Now you will have a setting worthy of your state.’

‘I’ll admit,’ Ernest Augustus told her, ‘that it is going to suit us better than Osnabrück.’

‘The Duke of Hanover!’ cooed Clara. ‘I fancy you will like that title better than Bishop of Osnabrück.’

‘I was never meant to be a Bishop.’

‘So, my dear, it would seem.’

‘Nonsense, the Popes had their ladies.’

‘They were wise men.’

‘And self indulgent.’

‘Aren’t we all?’

He was silent for a while savouring her caresses. He was becoming more and more devoted to Clara. She was different from any other woman he had known.

‘George Lewis will have to leave the army now,’ said Ernest Augustus.

‘Oh yes, he must certainly be present when you are crowned Duke of Hanover.’

‘He is growing up. Scarce a boy any longer.’

‘In a year he’ll be twenty-one.’ Clara was thoughtful. When George Lewis came home he would be a power in the land.

When Clara called at her sister’s apartments, Marie greeted her warmly; her husband was receiving many favours due to the fact that Clara had become Ernest Augustus’s mistress; and Marie who had always obeyed her sister, knew that she must do so even more zealously than ever.

‘I see all is well with you,’ said Clara, ‘and that you are enjoying the married state.’

Marie nodded, and Clara regarded her complacently. She was very pretty. Far prettier, thought Clara, than I could ever be. But I have something more useful. Brains, the ability to see ahead and grasp the advantage before it is too late and someone else has seen it and taken it.

‘John is a good husband?’ asked Clara.

‘Very good. We were lucky to go to the fête as we did and meet our husbands …’ Marie stopped, wondering what the relationship between Clara and hers could be at this time, for everyone knew she was Ernest Augustus’s mistress.

‘Very lucky,’ agreed Clara. ‘But luck is seizing opportunities, and it doesn’t stay with you because you are special favourites. Oh no. You have to work for it.’

‘You have worked very hard, Clara.’

‘There must be no complacency. Every day Ernest Augustus relies more and more on me.’

‘And Frank?’

‘Frank! Don’t be so absurd. He gets as much out of this as anyone, so of course he is content.’

Marie opened her blue eyes very wide. After all the years we were together and I tried to instil a little sense in her, thought Clara in exasperation, she is still an innocent.

‘It is your turn, now dear,’ went on Clara.

‘Mine?’

‘That’s what I said. The Crown Prince is coming to Hanover for the coronation.’

‘I expected he would.’

‘You can depend upon it that some clever woman at the court will know how to get her talons into him.’

‘He likes women, so …’

‘Yes, that’s a good point. He’ll be important. He is nearly twenty-one; and that means that he will have a say in government. He’ll be brought up to rule. Now will be the time. He must be with us. I wouldn’t want someone working against me in Hanover.’

‘You think he will?’

‘No, because he’ll be stopped.’

‘You’ll stop him?’

‘Don’t be obtuse. How can I when Ernest Augustus is my affair. George Lewis will be yours.’

‘Mine! I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t be so childish. You’re very pretty so it’ll present no difficulties … He’ll be willing enough. And it isn’t to be the affair of a night or two either. You must see to that.’

‘But Clara …!’

‘Don’t play the innocent. You knew that we came to Osnabrück to make ourselves agreeable.’

‘But there is John …’

‘He will understand as Frank does. Believe me, Frank thought he should protest at first. I soon silenced him and he saw where his own advantages lay. I’ll deal with your John if you can’t yourself. But not a word until it is a certainty. Now when the Crown Prince comes to Hanover you must be ready. You must give him no chance to stray elsewhere. He is young and therefore may be impressionable. Be prepared.’

‘Clara …’

Clara took her sister by the wrist and twisted her arm quite gently, but it was a reminder of punishments inflicted when Marie was a child, and meant that she must go on obeying Clara as she always had, for to disobey could bring unpleasant consequences.

Marie was weak and without morals. Such an adventure as was being suggested had its interest, and if she need not worry about her husband’s reactions, and if she could enjoy an intrigue and feel that she was helping her family, she was not really averse to the idea.

George Lewis was riding sullenly towards Hanover. He had no wish to return there. He knew that he would dislike court life and the court of Hanover would necessarily be so much more grand than that of Osnabrück. Dancing, mincing in and out of levies, playing the courtier!

George Lewis uttered a coarse expletive. Being so much with the army had made him coarse. But he was at home with his soldiers and popular enough with them for he was at his best in camp where men had come to respect him; he was intrepid and never asked of his soldiers what he would not do himself; in fact he was always one to take the first and biggest risk. He could be relied on, although he was so young, and he was known to be just. That was the life for him. Even his father had complimented him when he had fought at Consarbrück. And Maestricht and Charleroy were battles with which he was remembered.

On the battlefield he was a leader of men; he knew it and they knew it; and his vanity was gratified. It was only when he was at court, with people who fought each other with words, that he was at a loss and the brave soldier became an uncouth boor.

To hell with their clever phrases, their tricky jokes. He wanted none of that. He liked to sit on a bank surrounded by men, eating sausages and black bread and talking about the battle: how it had been fought, how it might have been fought; where they had shown cunning; where they had faltered; talking too of the women they would have. That was a man’s life. No dancing in the French fashion; no titillating conversation, no hiding behind fans, showing shocked surprise as though it were not known towards what end everything was leading. A waste of time, thought George Lewis. Why indulge in that? There was the woman and the man. They both knew for what purpose they were together. Therefore get on with it without preamble. He had no doubts of his abilities in actual performance; it was all the stupid gyrations, all the overtures and innuendoes, all the advancing and retreating, all the pretty manners, in which he failed.

And why worry about that, for of what use were they? They were all directed towards the same end and if it could be reached without bother, why go through them like performing animals?

That was what George Lewis told himself when he rode to Hanover. There would be plenty of women and that was all that mattered.

But when his horse was taken from him and he entered the Palace and he was aware of the Frenchified atmosphere he quailed, and his expression became more sullen than ever. He tripped over a tabouret which in his annoyance he had not seen, and cursing with a soldier’s oath he kicked it across the room.

Fortunately it came to rest before his parents appeared. He shambled over to them, his face red from the exertion.

How awkward he is! thought Sophia. What will they think of him when he goes to England? Charles is so graceful.

Uncouth as ever! thought Ernest Augustus. He belongs in the camp and always will.

‘Welcome, my son,’ said Sophia.

George knelt before his parents.

Sophia was thinking: Let us get this ceremonial greeting over as soon as possible. A pity Frederick Augustus isn’t Crown Prince. He would have made a better showing. How did we get such a one as this?

George Lewis was on his feet.

‘You’ll wish to go to your apartments before dinner.’

George Lewis said he would.

‘Then I want to hear how the army is getting on.’

The young man’s face brightened.

At least, thought Ernest Augustus, he’s a good soldier.

The Duchess Sophia followed Ernest Augustus into his apartments and shut the door, signing to the Duke’s attendants that she wished to be alone with her husband.

‘Well?’ said Ernest Augustus.

‘His manners haven’t improved.’

‘Do you think anything on earth would improve his manners?’

‘I always hoped.’

‘My dear, you are over-optimistic. George Lewis will always be what he is – a bore and boor.’

‘What can we do about it?’

Ernest Augustus shrugged his shoulders. ‘He’ll be a good soldier. Let us be thankful for that. It’s a useful occupation when you have a principality to protect.’

‘How will he be in his relations with other states?’

‘Let us hope he has good advisers.’

‘At least,’ said the Duchess, ‘he is fairly safe as far as women are concerned, for no woman of culture and education would attract him. It will be serving girls for him.’

‘Don’t be too sure of that. He’ll be the Duke of Hanover one day. I fancy that will make up for his uncouth manners.’

‘What I meant is that the sort of women who will attract him will be those who are not interested in state affairs; and that is all to the good.’

The Duke looked over his wife’s head. Was this a reference to Clara? If so, he would ignore it. Sophia knew that one thing he would not endure was interference with his affairs.

‘In any case,’ went on Sophia, ‘it is time he married.’

‘I agree with you there.’

‘The King of England has no legitimate heirs and I do not believe he will ever get any. That wife of his is barren, depend upon it. All this time and not one son. And when you consider how many strong sons the King has given to other women …’

Ernest Augustus nodded in agreement.

‘And,’ went on Sophia, ‘what of James?’

‘James has children.’

‘Two daughters – Mary and Anne. He does not seem to be able to get a son that will live.’

‘Well?’

‘Mary is married to my cousin’s boy, William of Orange. And … so far, there are no sons there either.’

‘It’s early yet.’

‘Still no sons.’

‘What are you driving at?’

‘The Princess Anne is unmarried.’

‘You mean you want George Lewis to have her?’

‘It would be an excellent match. It could so easily happen that George Lewis came to the throne of England.’

Ernest Augustus smiled at her with amusement. ‘And that,’ he said, ‘is where you would rather see him than anywhere in the world.’

‘Don’t forget he has English blood in his veins, through me.’

‘You, my dear, would never allow me to forget it.’

‘I want him to try for Anne.’

‘And you think Charles and James would have him?’

‘Why not. He is their kinsman.’

‘They might possibly look higher than a petty Duke of Hanover.’

‘There is no harm in trying.’

Ernest Augustus shook his head. ‘To go over there, to be paraded like a stud bull. How do you think he would fare? Imagine Charles exercising his wit on him! I’m not so enamoured of the English.’

‘My dear husband, are you mad? You are not comparing the Dukedom of Hanover with the crown of England.’

‘You’re looking far ahead, Sophia. Charles has to die without legitimate heirs. I admit there is every possibility that he will. James has to die without a son. That is certainly not likely. And if he does he has two daughters. Mary is already married to Orange. She also has to die without heirs; then would it be Anne’s turn; and if George were her consort, I admit that he could share the crown, after all he is actually in the line of succession – though some way back.’

‘Through me,’ Sophia reminded him with a satisfied smile.

‘Through you, my dear. But have you forgotten that not so long ago these English allowed their king to be murdered?’

‘It was that villain Cromwell. They have since deeply regretted it. Look how they adore Charles!’

‘Well, Charles happens to be larger than life. He happens to have charm and wit and a seraglio which the English people find colourful – particularly after years of puritan rule. If they ever had our George Lewis they would quickly discover that he was no Charles.’

‘He is a good soldier. Besides, he is young yet. His manners may improve. Particularly if he went to England.’

‘If he went to England. Are you suggesting that he should go?’

Sophia nodded.

‘You have spoken to him of this?’

‘Certainly I have not. He is only just come home and naturally I should speak of it to you first.’

‘To try for Anne …’ mused Ernest Augustus.

‘Well?’

‘I am not eager.’

‘But why not?’

‘I don’t think they’d have him. He’d make a fool of himself.’

‘Oh, come, why shouldn’t a Prince visit a kinsman’s court?’

Ernest Augustus was silent. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Sophia’s eyes narrowed. Discuss it with Clara, she wondered; she pictured them lying side by side in his big bed, making love and then talking politics. What Clara said would be important to him. Well, Sophia was not having that. She had no objection to his taking the woman to bed, but that should be for one purpose and it did not include deciding the future marriage of the Crown Prince who, Sophia would have him remember, was her son as well as his.

‘I think,’ said Sophia, ‘that until we have come to some agreement on this matter this should be a secret between us two; and even when we have decided on action we should take only one other into our confidence – and that is George Lewis.’

Ernest Augustus looked into his wife’s face. He admired her. He was fortunate in his marriage. And she was right of course. If they decided George Lewis should go to England, and if the King of England would not accept him as his niece’s husband, they did not want the whole world laughing at the Crown Prince of Hanover.

Moreover he had not entirely decided that George Lewis should go to England.

‘You are right,’ he said. ‘We will discuss this at greater length – and it shall be a matter between us two.’

Sophia bowed her head. In the same way as Ernest Augustus was satisfied with her, so was she with him.

George Lewis was bored with the dancing. He could never dance gracefully and had been the despair of all the dancing masters who had attempted to instruct him.

He had eaten well; his father had questioned him about the army and that had been interesting; but there was nothing else at court to attract him except the women; he had been eyeing a few of them and selecting those who might be his kind.

His mother had talked as usual of England – how everything that was done there was so much better than everywhere else. He remembered how she always had talked like that. It bored him as it did quite a number of people in spite of the fact that she was supposed to be witty and very learned. That in itself of course was of no interest to him.

Beside his father was a woman of whom he had heard – Clara von Platen. He could see that his father was more taken with her than he had ever been by any other mistress; it was understandable; she had personality. Her glittering eyes were alert as though she missed nothing and at the same time she conveyed a deep sensuality which was not lost on George Lewis.

She was not the sort he would go for. But sitting next to her was a very pretty girl. Her gown was cleverly cut to show a seductive figure; her large eyes were soft and what George Lewis always thought of as full of promise. There was a pretty girl indeed.

He asked who she was.

‘She is the Platen’s sister.’

‘Sister of my father’s whore?’

‘Yes, sir. She is married to John von dem Bussche. You remember him?’

‘I do. He tried to teach me languages among other things. He didn’t succeed.’

‘His wife, sir, might be more successful if she tried to teach you.’

‘She’d teach me nothing I don’t know.’

‘She’s aware that we’re talking of her.’

It was true. The beautiful eyes were on them; and they stayed on George Lewis. He felt excited at once. She wasn’t clever like the sister; she was pretty; and, oh yes, he’d enjoy teaching her. Rather amusing that. He reckoned old John von dem Bussche was better in a schoolroom than in a bedchamber; and he hadn’t really had much success in the former, poor man.

Poor man! But he had no right to marry a pretty girl like that.

‘Shall I tell her Your Highness wishes to speak to her?’

‘No,’ said George Lewis. ‘I will arrange that myself.’

The evening had now taken on an interest. He would speak to her soon; he would let her know that he had no intention of making a lot of pretty speeches; he was a man who believed in taking the shortest cut to the bedchamber.

They danced after the meal. It wasn’t easy for him to act secretly because everyone would be watching him, so he made no attempt to.

‘I don’t care for dancing,’ he said, his eyes, taking in the voluptuous curves of her young body, explaining more than words what he did care for.

She lowered hers and said: ‘Nor I, Your Highness.’

‘I’ve been watching you.’

‘I saw you. I … I hope you were not displeased.’

‘Oh, I was pleased. I hope to be more pleased.’

She giggled, understanding.

‘Let’s take a turn in the gardens, shall we? There are too many watching us here.’

She agreed willingly.

‘Come on,’ he said, and they went out.

Clara came to her sister’s apartments.

‘Well?’ she said.

‘All’s well,’ answered Marie.

‘Already?’

‘He’s not one to wait. I was afraid he would get impatient and go elsewhere. You said that wasn’t to happen.’

‘Still … But perhaps you’re right. You must see that you don’t lose your grip on him.’

‘I don’t think so.’

Clara laughed and gave her sister a little push. ‘I can trust you, I know.’

‘And what about John?’

‘Leave John to me. I’ll get Frank to speak to him. This is after all, a family affair.’

Marie was nothing loath. She was tired of John and George Lewis the crude and forthright lover was virile enough to make up for his lack of manners; moreover, Clara was now delighted. The task of ministering to the sexual needs of the house of Hanover – which were considerable – was in the hands of the Meisenburg sisters, which was after all the reason why they had joined this court in the first place, so she might say Mission Accomplished. Only of course the important part in such an operation was not only attaining one’s goal, but holding it against all comers.

That was the task for the future.

Clara recognized the power of the Duchess Sophia and had no wish to challenge it. Now that Marie was firmly established as the mistress of George Lewis and she herself was even more firmly that of Ernest Augustus she was deeply concerned with holding those positions; and she realized that the most likely direction from which such a threat could come would be from the Duchess Sophia.

She was almost modest with Sophia; as soon as she came into the Duchess’s presence she was the demure maid of honour and never betrayed by a look or a gesture the power which was hers.

Clever woman! thought Sophia; and she respected her for it.

Clara would go further. She would let the Duchess see that when she did use her influence with the Duke it was in his wife’s interest.

Sophia’s admiration for England was well known; in the opposite direction was her dislike of Celle. The latter she did not speak of as she did of the former but it was none the less fierce for all that.

Clara therefore allied herself with the Duchess in her dislike of Celle and as she was eager to show Sophia that she stood with her in this, decided to do something about it.

Ernest Augustus’s infidelities were becoming fewer. Occasionally he discovered a pretty girl – usually among his wife’s attendants – and he would take her to bed. His old mistress Esther was not entirely forgotten. On such occasions Clara would spend half the night pacing up and down her room cursing the object of the Duke’s interest, but in the morning she greeted her lover with the same tenderness as she had always shown him.

She knew that the least little resentment on her part would be the beginning of discord between her and Ernest Augustus, and she wanted him to think of her as a woman to whom he could come back; she wanted to be a habit with him … as a wife was. Clara was determined to consolidate her position and nothing must prevent that.

Ernest Augustus, in fact, seemed more fond of her than ever after temporarily straying; and she was coming to believe that it was not a bad thing after all for him to try others and realize her greater worth. These little flights of his did not disturb her as much as they had once done. But she was always alert, determined never to run the risk of becoming a nuisance to him.

For this reason she allied herself with the Duchess in the matter of Celle. Knowing the value of the spy, she had already set several in places where she thought they could be most useful; and when it was reported to her that Minister Bernstorff in Celle was dissatisfied with the influence the Duchess of Celle had over her husband and had shown on more than one occasion that he was attempting to break it, she was very interested.

Bed was the safest place in which to discuss secret matters and it was there that, one night, Clara broached the subject.

‘The harmony of Celle is breaking, I hear. Trouble in paradise … so I am told.’

‘You are like God, Clara,’ laughed Ernest Augustus. ‘Omniscient!’

‘Well, I have my friends to tell me what is going on in places which are important to my lord.’

‘And what do they tell you?’

Clara nuzzled up to him. ‘That Bernstorff hates the Duchess … hates the influence she has with the Duke. That everything has to be approved by her before it can be carried through. He hates her.’

‘He’s jealous of her.’

‘I believe you have a soft spot for her.’

‘She’s a very beautiful woman.’

‘Ha! And that excuses her highhandedness.’

‘I’ve noticed that beautiful women are often highhanded.’

‘In the service of their lords and masters.’

‘It seems to me that some would be the lord and master.’

‘That is how it is with Madame of Celle. She is the ruler and it is this which Bernstorff resents.’

‘Why doesn’t he get out then?’

‘He prefers to stay and fight. Besides, where else would he go? He is making some progress, I hear. The Duke is at last beginning to ask himself whether he is not a little under the thumb of his beautiful Duchess.’

‘You are sure of this?’

‘Certainly, my lord. I have had it from several sources. The Duke is a proud man … although lazy.’

‘But he is deeply enamoured of that woman.’

‘Deeply enamoured, yes. But … at the same time he is beginning to realize that she is governing Celle in his place. He has no desire to put another woman in her place; he merely wants her to let him have his.’

‘It has made a rift between them?’

‘Not exactly. But he is showing a little firmness here and there; he does not always fall in with her wishes. Bernstorff is responsible. An ambitious man, this Bernstorff. He would be on the side of those who paid him best.’

‘You are sure of this?’

‘Almost certain. We should pay him to work for us. Then we should know everything that was going on in Celle. You realize that she is working for alliance with Wolfenbüttel. An alliance between them and Celle and they would be more powerful than Hanover. The Duchess is all for it. She doesn’t trust us. George William is soft … and lazy. He’s sentimental too. She’s a clever woman that Duchess. She’s far more clever than her husband. She wants this alliance, and she’ll get it, if we’re not careful, by marrying her precious Sophia Dorothea to Anton Ulrich’s son. The eldest died, but what does that matter? There’s another. I think we have to be watchful.’

‘Clara,’ he said, ‘you have your eyes open.’

‘In your service.’

‘In our service. We’re together, eh?’

She kissed him lightly. ‘For ever and ever amen,’ she added, and although her tone was light, she meant it to be a pact between them.

He pulled her to him and held her close. She was a wonderful woman, his Clara. She had everything to offer; and in addition to those voluptuous and intensely satisfying charms she was a politician.

‘What do you suggest?’

‘That we sound Bernstorff. Offer him some bribe.’

‘Such as?’

‘He wants to be a landowner. So he’ll want money. But at first … to show that money would be following, let it be a rich present. You have a gold snuff box studded with diamonds. If that were sold it would buy quite a bit of land. Let us try him out with that; and I’ve no doubt that in exchange we shall have a front seat – in spirit – in the council chamber of Celle.’

‘Let us try him out with the snuff box then. It will be well if I am not concerned in this.’

‘Of course you must not be concerned in it. I will arrange it.’

‘What should I do without you?’

‘That is a problem which, at the moment, you have no need to consider.’

He laughed. ‘My little minister!’ he murmured.

‘One thing more,’ she said. ‘When we have settled this little matter … satisfactorily, the Duchess Sophia should be taken into our counsels. I am sure she will give the scheme her approval.’

Ernest Augustus sighed luxuriously. He was a lucky man. He had a mistress who combined an excessive sensuality with wisdom and to crown it all she was without jealousy of his wife.