The Third George

Princess Charlotte - The fateful letter

One day in the year 1760, when she was sixteen years old, the Princess Charlotte Sophia of Mecklenburg-Strelitz wrote a letter which many believed set in motion those events which lifted her from a little German principality, where she would doubtless have spent her days in obscurity, to the throne of England.

Charlotte had been out driving in the company of her elder sister, the Princess Christina. Once a week on Sundays they took their places in the coach drawn by six horses and drove through the countryside with as much state as they were ever allowed, which merely meant that they were escorted by guards. They were dressed in their best gowns, which they were only permitted to wear on Sundays, and they had been warned constantly by their mother, the Dowager Grand Duchess, as well as their governess, the admirable Madame de Grabow, that they must be careful not to soil them as there was no money available to buy more.

Both Princesses were made aware of their poverty, being obliged to mend their own garments and darn their stockings for as long as there was any possibility of continuing to wear them; and as the Grand Duchess and Madame de Grabow believed in discipline and that it was always necessary to have a piece of work in the hands, they must perform these tasks themselves.

Their poverty had increased since the war, which had been going on now for four years, and it was the effects of this war of which she was made deeply aware on that particular Sunday afternoon, which made Charlotte act in such an unprecedented manner.

The coach pulled up suddenly to avoid a woman who had stepped right in its path and Charlotte saw her quite distinctly as she shook her fist at the coachman.

"You'd run us down," cried the woman. "We're of no account. You take our men for the wars and our money for the taxes ... so what matter if you run us down!”

Charlotte noticed that her eyes seemed as though they were sunk deep in her head and that her flesh showed through her torn dress.

She had seen the Princesses in their Sunday gowns and she came to the window of the coach and went on: "That was our farm." She pointed vaguely.

"Who's going to till the land now, eh? They've taken my man. They've taken my sons. And the Prussians come marching through.”

The guards were about to arrest her, but Charlotte cried: "No. Drive on! Drive on." And she and her sister were thrown back against the upholstery of the coach as it jerked into action.

Charlotte was looking out of the window watching the woman.

"It was... terrible," she said.

"Did you see her face, Christina?”

Christina shook her head.

"It was so... tragic," burst out Charlotte.

"You heard what she said. This war ...this fearful war! What good is it doing the country? We're all poor because of it. Not that that is important. They'd taken that woman's husband and son. You heard what she said.”

"You are too vehement, Charlotte.”

"What else can one be ... when that is happening?”

Charlotte stared gloomily out of the window while Christina quickly dismissed the incident and continued to smile at her own thoughts. It was no use trying to interest Christina in anything since the Duke of Roxburgh had come to Mecklenburg.

So Charlotte gave up the attempt. Perhaps if she had talked to her she would not have felt compelled to give vent to her indignation on paper. She could have expressed it to Christina, could have discussed with her what they could do about it. But Christina was too absorbed in her own delicious thoughts.

The effects of this terrible war are everywhere, thought Charlotte. Yet never had they seemed so obvious as they did on this afternoon. When she had looked into that woman's face she had seen something which she would never forget a reproach, an appeal. She must do something.

It was not easy when one was sixteen. Her mother would tell her that the war was no affair of hers; and Madame de Grabow would agree with her mother. As for her brother, the ruler of Strelitz, he never had time for her, so she would soon be sent back to the schoolroom if she attempted to talk to him. Her friend and companion Ida von Billow was too frivolous. She would agree she always agreed but she would sigh and say "Yes, Princess, but what can we do about it?”

"There must be something I can do," she said aloud.

"What?" asked Christina idly.

Charlotte did not answer, and Christina did not notice that she had not.

So Charlotte gave herself up to studying the countryside and was appalled afresh by the effects the war had had on it.

She saw the people inadequately clad, inadequately fed; she saw villages through which the soldiers had passed, and plundered as they went. They had even desecrated the churches and in doing so robbed them of some of the sacred ornaments. And these were the Germans, their own people the Prussians, the most brilliant makers of war in the world.

When the coach arrived back at the castle Charlotte was in a militant mood.

The castle, like the villages through which they had pasted, was in a state of crumbling decay.

There was a rampart, but the tower was almost in ruins and the old grenadier who was supposed to guard the drawbridge had laid his musket down beside him so that he could get on with knitting a stocking.

He looked up and nodded a greeting as the coach raided over the bridge and into the courtyard.

Charlotte, to whom the schloss had been home ever since her brother had inherited the ducal crown eight years ago, noticed for the first time how shabby it was. Only the glass lamps over the gateway and the two cranes set there like guards reminded one that this was the ducal residence.

We are all poor, thought Charlotte, and it is all due to this terrible war.

Never before this afternoon had the war seemed so terrible. She had followed its progress on the maps her governess Madame de Grabow had made for Madame de Grabow was an expert map- maker and had a passion for geography which she had imparted to Charlotte. She knew that the war was due to the desires of Frederick of Prussia to dominate Europe and of Maria Theresa of Austria to take back from Frederick the province of Silesia. On Maria Theresa's side were France, Russia and Poland, while the English had promised assistance to Frederick. There were strong family ties between the English and the Germans and Madame de Grabow was constantly referring to the island off the coast of Europe which was becoming increasingly powerful and was even at this time at war with the French over their colonies.

And these ambitious rulers, thought Charlotte, were seeking their victories at the expense of the people of such poor little dukedoms as Mecklenburg-Strelitz.

She glanced at Christina. One must not be hard on Christina who after all was twenty-six years old and in love. One could not mix love and war and Charlotte supposed the first was a more inviting subject for thought than the second.

Charlotte had no reason to think of love, so she gave herself up to the contemplation of war and continued to ask herself what she could do about it.

There was one man who could stop this wicked waste, this pillage; who could by the stroke of pen and one word of command prevent his soldiers from laying waste villages, robbing churches and plundering the houses which stood on their routes. This was Frederick of Prussia, whom they called Frederick the Great.

But he would never listen to a sixteen-year-old girl. If she wrote to him her letter would never reach him. He would say she was a silly young creature. What if he complained to her brother?

Then there would be trouble.

Yet, thought Charlotte, if I did nothing I should never be able to forget that woman's face. Perhaps she was put in my path today for a purpose.

No, certainly she would never forgive herself if she did not take some action. But what?

She found her attendant, Ida von Billow, and her governess, Madame de Grabow, in her apartments. Ida was a frivolous girl, but the governess was a very distinguished lady indeed; she was now a widow and her father had been Mecklenburg's ambassador at the Court of Vienna. She was so learned that she was known throughout Mecklenburg as the German Sappho; an ideal governess for the Princesses, approved of by both their mother, the Grand Duchess, and their brother, the Duke.

Madame de Grabow said: "News has reached us of King Frederick's latest victory. I will show you on the map.”

The map was spread out on the schoolroom table, but Charlotte who loved maps almost as much as Madame de Grabow could find no pleasure in it today. She saw those delicately tinted areas as stricken villages, occupied by hopeless old men, women and children because the young ones were away from home fighting on the battlefields; she saw the desecrated churches, the desolate homesteads.

She did not speak of her emotions to Madame de Grabow, for she was sure that lady would heartily disapprove of what she intended to do, but as soon as she was in her bedchamber she called to Ida to bring her pen and ink and when it was brought she settled down to write.

May it please your Majesty, I am at a loss whether I should congratulate or condole with you on your late victory, since the same success which has covered you with laurels has overspread the country of Mecklenburg with desolation. I know, Sire, that it seems unbecoming in my sex, in this age of vicious refinement, to feel for one's country, to lament the horrors of war, or wish for the return of peace. I know you may think it more properly my province to study the arts of pleasing, or to inspect subjects of a more domestic nature; but however unbecoming it maybe in me, I cannot resist the desire of interceding for this unhappy people.

It was but a few years ago that this country wore the most pleasing aspect. The land was cultivated, the peasants were cheerful and the towns rich and gay. How they have changed! I am not an expert at description, nor can my fancy add any horrors to the picture; but surely even conquerors themselves would weep at the hideous change.

The whole country, my dear country, is one frightful wasteland, presenting only objects to excite terror, pity and despair. There is no longer work for farmers and shepherds for they have become soldiers and help to ravage the soil they once cultivated. The towns are inhabited only by old men, women and children; while perhaps here and there a warrior, by wounds or loss of limbs rendered unfit for service, is left at his door, where little children hang around him, to ask the history of every wound, and grow themselves soldiers before they find strength for the field. But this were nothing, did we not feel the alternate insolence of either army as it happens to advance or retreat, in pursuing its campaigns. It is impossible indeed to express the confusion which they who call themselves our friends create, for even those from whom we expect relief only oppress us with new calamities. From your justice it is, therefore, Sir, that we hope redress; to you even children and women may complain, whose humanity stoops to the meanest petition and whose power is capable of redressing the greatest wrong.

Your Majesty's humble servant Charlotte Sophia Mecklenburg-Strelitz Charlotte's usually pale cheeks were tinged with pink. Dare she send such a letter? If her mother knew, if her brother discovered, what would they say? They would be horrified. How dared she, a girl of sixteen, a girl of no account, write such a letter of reproach to King Frederick of Prussia.

She was more or less telling him what he should do.

"I will send it," Charlotte told herself fiercely. "For I shall despise myself for ever more if I do not.”

She sealed the letter and kept it in her secret pocket; and when the messenger next left with letters for Prussia she gave it into his hands to be put in no others than those of King Frederick. Then began the misgivings; then the realization of what she had done.

She waited for the inevitable reverberations.

Charlotte folded the petticoat she had been mending and laid it carefully on the table and, grimacing, picked up a gown from the pile of clothing which lay between her and Ida von Billow Ida was aware of the Princess's mood and thought she knew the reason for it. She was after all sixteen and must wonder often whether she would ever escape from the monotony of life here in the schloss. It was certainly dull, Ida conceded, and surely Charlotte must be wondering whether marriage would ever rescue her from it.

But what chance would she ever have? The dukedom of which her brother had become reigning sovereign eight years ago was an insignificant one about one hundred and twenty miles in length and thirty in breadth and since the war it had become more impoverished than ever. No, Charlotte's chances were small. She was not even handsome, but rather what kindly people called 'homely'. Though her expression was pleasant, and a lively intelligence lightened her face she was so pale as to be colourless; small and thin, she entirely lacked that fleshy rotundity so necessary to Teutonic beauty; her nose was too flat and her mouth so large that had she possessed the most perfect features otherwise, it would have prevented any claim to beauty.

Charlotte held up the gown.

"There is not much life left in it," she declared. "I may patch the skirt but I shall be out at the elbows the next time I wear it.”

"A waste of time, Princess," agreed Ida.

"But," went on Charlotte, smiling a little wickedly and imitating Madame de Grabow's voice to the life, 'at least I am occupied. Idle hands are the outward manifestation of an idle mind.”

Ida laughed but Charlotte went on judiciously: "Madame de Grabow is right. I am indeed fortunate that she should be my governess.”

"Very fortunate.”

"I must always remember it. Oh dear, I don't think I can do any more with this gown. If only ...”

"You will not get a new one until the war is over.”

The war. She daren't think of it. What would he say when he received her letter? Whenever the door opened she started, expecting to see a page there summoning her to her mother ... or worse still to her brother.

Ida must be regarding her curiously so she threw aside the gown and picked up a piece of embroidery.

"That's better. It's a pretty pattern. Don't you agree, Ida? But of course you always agree. Ida, how deeply do you think my sister is in love?”

Ida gave a spurt of merriment. "She couldn't be in deeper.”

"Do you think she will be allowed to marry the gentleman?”

Ida thought it likely. Christina was ten years older than Charlotte. If she did not find a husband now she never would; and an English duke would not be an impossible match. The daughter of a minor German duke could not hope for European royalty. Yes, Ida thought an English duke might do very nicely.

"I do hope so, Ida," said Charlotte fervently. "Although I should miss her. She would go to England.”

"And they are our allies in the war ...”

Charlotte wanted to put her fingers into her ears. Phrases from that most impertinent letter kept ringing in her head. Sometimes she would awake in the night and hear them. Did I really write that? Did I? And did I really send it to the King of Prussia?

"I heard it was very grand at the English Court," she said quickly.

"And Christina would of course go to Court. Ida, perhaps it is a good thing that we are a poor little dukedom because that means that no great king would ever ask for our hands ... and therefore Christina may be allowed to marry her duke. Be careful. Here she comes.”

The Princess Christina came into the apartment. There was a resemblance between them, but she was more handsome than Charlotte and being in love had transformed her.

"What news?" cried Charlotte.

"News of what?" demanded Christina. "The war ...”

"No, no, no! Of you... and your duke.”

"What news should there be?”

"That Mamma and our brother have given their consent to your marriage.”

"Not yet, but...”

"They will," said Charlotte.

"They must. Christina, when you are an English duchess will you invite me to visit you in England?”

"You may be sure I shall.”

"I wonder what it's like there. I wonder if all the stories we hear of it are true.”

"Some are." Christina was knowledgeable through conversations with her lover. "The new King is very young, only twenty or so. And the people' have long been waiting for the old one to die.

They believe everything will be different now he is gone. It will be a change for the better for the King is a very good young man... modest and virtuous. Unusual qualities for a king.”

Charlotte shuddered, thinking of that other king whom she could not get out of her mind.

"I have heard manners are free and easy at the English Court," said Ida.

"Oh, the English!" laughed Christina.

"They are not so ... disciplined as we are. If they disapprove of the royal family they don't hesitate to say so.”

"That is good," said Charlotte with vehemence. "I... I believe that people should speak their minds.”

"But to kings!”

"Yes, to kings.”

Christina went on: "Oh, yes, there are lampoons and songs always being circulated. The people get together in the coffee and chocolate houses. They are all over the town, these houses ... and people go there to drink coffee and chocolate and stronger things and talk ...and talk...”

Madame de Grabow came into the room.

She said: "I have just come from the Grand Duchess. I have orders to prepare us to leave for Pyrmont to take the waters.”

Christina looked a little downcast, guessing this would mean a temporary separation from her duke... Charlotte, watching her, thought wistfully: I wonder if I shall ever have a lover. I wonder if I shall ever marry.

"Come," said the efficient Madame de Grabow, 'there is much to do. The Grand Duchess is anxious to leave without delay.”

It was pleasant at Pyrmont. The Grand Duchess took her daughters to the pump rooms and it was certain that they benefited by the change. They lived simply, staying at a nearby country house and partaking in the life of the place like any noble family on holiday.

Christina was a little sad, regretting the parting from her lover who had stayed in Mecklenburg, for he had no excuse for following them there; but she confided to Charlotte that she was very hopeful that soon after their return the betrothal would be announced.

In the rooms where they mingled with other visitors after taking the waters a Colonel Graeme was presented to them. He was a charming Scotsman who was, the Grand Duchess was informed, a great friend of Lord Bute who in his turn was a close friend of the King and the Princess Dowager of England.

Colonel Graeme was very courteous and made a point of speaking to Charlotte. In fact he seemed very interested in Charlotte who was surprised that her mother allowed him to spend so much time with her.

"It can scarcely be that he has fallen in love with you," cried Christina.

That made Charlotte laugh. "You think of nothing but love. No. He is just a nice old gentleman who likes to talk.”

And how he talked! It was all about England. He seemed determined to make her see St. James's and Kensington, Hampton and Kew; but chiefly he talked of the young King.

"He is not only extremely handsome," he told Charlotte, 'but good. I can tell you that there was great rejoicing when he came to the throne. We looked forward to a time of prosperity, for the King cares, as few have before him, for the good of his people.”

"He sounds a very worthy king," Charlotte agreed. "Is he ... warlike?”

Colonel Graeme looked at her oddly and she flushed. She said quickly: "I hate war. You will see what it has done to our country. But kings seem to take to it mightily. I was wondering whether the King of England enjoys going to war.”

"Indeed he does not," replied Colonel Graeme. "The King of England is opposed to war. He hates suffering of any sort. He wants to see his subjects happily at peace. When his father, the Prince of Wales, died, he was deeply affected. He scarcely touched food for days and we feared for his health. He loved his father; but when two gardeners fell off a ladder in the gardens at Kew he was upset for days.”

"He sounds a very virtuous king.”

"I believe Your Highness would think him the best king in the world.”

"If he loves peace, I should. But His Majesty of England will care little for my opinion.”

"I believe His Majesty would be deeply gratified by Your Highness's good opinion.”

Colonel Graeme was indeed a courtier, thought Charlotte. She was not sorry for Christina's sake when they returned to Mecklenburg. It was pleasant to be back, for the summer was now with them and they could spend a great deal of time in the gardens.

They must not think the sun was an excuse for idleness, said Madame de Grabow; they must not sit about, their hands in their laps, merely because the sun was shining. Such a sybarite existence was to be deplored. They could read in the sunshine, study their Latin verbs, answer Madame de Grabow's questions on history or geography; they could set up a table and make maps of the world; and there was always the needle. When their garments were all repaired they could take up their embroidery or lace; but not before.

Christina was a little anxious. "I cannot understand why there must be all this delay.”

"Does the Duke know why?" asked Charlotte.

"He is as puzzled as I. Why, before we went to Pyrmont it was as good as settled. Now it is: "Wait... You must be patient." We have been patient long enough.”

Poor Christina. She had lost the look which love had put upon her, for the anxiety took the sparkle from her eyes. It can't go wrong, thought Charlotte. It must not go wrong. And why should it?

Madame de Grabow had ordered them to set up the table and their sewing was laid on it in little bundles. Not much today, Charlotte was thinking. She would soon be working on her embroidery.

It was very pleasant stitching in the sunshine; she had almost forgotten that letter she had written to the King of Prussia, and when she did think of it she assured herself that it had never reached him. Had she not been a little naive to imagine it would? She pictured the scene; the messenger arriving and the letters being taken from him by one of the King's secretary. And what was this one? A letter from the Princess Charlotte Sophia of Mecklenburg-Strelitz! Who was she? A girl of sixteen. She pictured the secretary opening the letter, casting his eye over it and, laughing, tearing it up and throwing it in the waste-paper basket or holding it in the flame of a candle. She had been foolish to worry.

"You're thoughtful," whispered Ida.

"I can guess what you're thinking. You're wondering when there will be a suitor for you.”

Charlotte did not answer for a moment; she carefully threaded a pale blue strand of silk; she loved working with beautiful colours. "Oh come, Ida," she said, when her needle was threaded and she was plying it again, 'do you really think a husband will ever be found for me?

"He may find you.”

"You are too romantic. I believe you read romances.”

"Well, they're more interesting than your Greek and Latin.”

"How can you tell since you don't know Greek and Latin? At least they teach me to be realistic, whereas your romances teach you to dream impossible dreams.”

"Why impossible? Why shouldn't you have a husband? Many people do...particularly princesses.”

Charlotte looked across the table where Christina's head was bent over her sewing. She desperately hoped that everything would work out well for Christina.

"Now who," said Charlotte almost testily, 'would want to marry a poor little princess like me! Be realistic, Ida, for once. My mouth is too large and my person too small, I have neither attractions nor fortune. No man whom my brother and my mother would consider worthy would consider me worthy, so there's an end of the matter.”

Just as she finished speaking the sound of the postman's horn was heard in the distance.

"Letters from afar," said Christina, lifting her head.

Ida's eyes sparkled. "Perhaps this is a sweetheart come to claim you, Princess," she whispered to Charlotte.

Charlotte laughed at her; and they were all silent. Again the postman's horn was heard this time nearer. They listened to it until it was right at the door of the schloss.

A page was coming across the gardens, straight to the table where the girls sat at their sewing.

Christina was watching eagerly. Poor Christina. She was always believing that she would be summoned to her brother's presence and there told that she had his consent to her marriage.

"His Highness commands the presence of the Princess Charlotte without delay.”

Charlotte's knees were trembling as she rose. This was how she had imagined it a hundred times.

The letters arriving from Prussia. The King's fury; his angry letters to the Duke who allowed his sister to be so disrespectful to the King of whom every little German duke must stand in awe.

Christina and Ida looked alarmed; even Madame de Grabow was ill at ease. The letters had just arrived. It seemed strange that Charlotte should have been summoned so soon. This could not have happened unless it was a matter of the utmost importance.

She followed the page into the castle. It was so hot out of doors, so cool behind those thick walls; but it was not the change of temperature which made her shiver; it was apprehension. She was saying to herself: I don't care. It was right to do it. I know it was right.

The door was flung open. There they stood; her brother and her mother, side by side. Oh, this was a very important occasion.

"Charlotte”. It was her mother who spoke. She approached, still rehearsing her excuses.

"Charlotte, my dear child." Her mother embraced her.

"I have wonderful news for you. This is one of the happiest days of my life.”

Charlotte looked from her mother to her brother. He, too, was smiling.

The Duke said almost teasingly: "So you thought fit to write a letter to the King of Prussia?”

"Yes," answered Charlotte, trying to be bold but hearing her voice end on a squeak which betrayed her fear.

"Telling His Majesty how to conduct his armies.”

"No, that was not so. I merely told him of what the war had done to us here. I begged him to stop his soldiers pillaging the land which was doing no good to any of us.”

"It was an impertinent letter," said the Duke.

"But," added the Dowager Duchess with a smile, 'it amused His Majesty.”

"It... it was not meant to amuse.”

"It touched him too. He has given orders that his armies shall not plunder the villages through which they pass.”

Charlotte clasped her hands and smiled. She did not care now. She had achieved her purpose.

They could punish her if they wished. She would sew a hundred of the coarsest shirts to be distributed among the poor; she would not care; she would rejoice as she pricked her fingers as one always did with that coarse stuff. And she would think all the time of the King of Prussia, reading her letter and deciding that she was right.

"The King thought it a remarkable letter for a sixteen-year-old girl to write. Though you are seventeen now, Charlotte.”

"Yes, Mamma.”

"That is good too. It is a pleasant age. Now for my news. The King of Prussia had copies of your letter made and showed them to his friends. He even sent one to the Dowager Princess of England the mother of the King.”

"To England! So far!”

"It was the biggest stroke of good fortune that has come to our House for a long time," said the Duke.

"Your Highness means my letter ...”

"Your letter," said her mother. She smiled at her son.

"The Princess Dowager thought it a remarkable letter; so did her son.”

"The King! The King of England?”

"He read it, they tell me, and tears filled his eyes. He said: "What a remarkable girl the Princess Charlotte must be." And so he sent Colonel Graeme to see you and to report to him what he thought of you. It seems that Colonel Graeme thought very highly of you.”

"Mamma ... what are you telling me?”

"That you are fortunate beyond our wildest hopes and dreams. The King of England is asking for your hand in marriage.”

"What did I say?" demanded Ida.

"Did I not say it was a sweetheart? I never thought it would be the King of England, though.”

"But Ida... he has not seen me!”

"Colonel Graeme has seen you. And he evidently liked what he saw.”

"What a strange way in which to choose a bride”

"All royal brides are chosen in that way.”

"Colonel Graeme must have flattered me. I hope it won't be a shock for the King when he sees me.”

"Perhaps he's not as handsome as he's been made out to be," comforted Ida.

Christina came in. She said: "So you'll be the first to be married after all.”

There was talk of nothing else but Charlotte's coming marriage. There was to be no delay. The English were sending Lord Harcourt to Strelitz immediately and as soon as he arrived the proxy ceremony was to take place, and immediately it was over she was to sail for England.

"It seems there is an undue haste," whispered Charlotte to Ida.

"Do you think they are afraid the King will hear the truth and not want me after all?”

"What truth? He's heard the truth.”

"I think they've told him I'm a beauty.”

"Not they. He read your letter and he knows you're a wiseacre. He's more interested in that than a pretty face.”

At least Ida was honest. Charlotte studied her face in her mirror and her misgivings were great.

Homely is the kindest way to describe me, she thought; plain would be more truthful. She hoped that the King did not like pretty women. Why should the King of England select her ... a humble princess of a tiny state without beauty and riches? Ida had the answer.

"Because you're German and Protestant. There are other princesses in Europe, but don't forget they're all Catholics ... and they're not German. English Kings ever since George the First always marry Germans.”

"And I can't speak his language.”

"Never mind, he'll speak yours. Remember, he's German too.”

"That's a comfort. But I expect I shall have to learn to speak English. Oh, Ida, it's a terrible thought. I shall leave home. I shall live in a strange country for the rest of my life.”

She looked at Ida. She would doubtless leave her too, for it was hardly likely that she would be allowed to take Ida with her.

"It's better than living here, Princess... doing the same thing every day. Why, you've never dined publicly yet. You haven't been living royally at all.”

"I know, but now I feel I want to go on as I have been for a little longer at least. I wonder if Christina will come to England with me." Her face lightened. "Of course she will. She will marry and we'll go together ... perhaps we'll be married together. That will be a comfort. I shan't be alone after all." She was serious suddenly. "I can't help thinking though, Ida, that there is something extraordinary about all this. I am so humble and he is the King of England... and it is all so sudden.”

And although Ida did her best to comfort her, Charlotte could not rid herself of the idea that there was something strange about this good fortune which had been thrust upon her so unexpectedly and the speedy manner in which affairs were being hurried to their climax.

Christina was heartbroken; there was no comforting her. She walked up and down Charlotte's bedroom, her eyes wide with misery. "There's nothing to be done," she said. "No, Charlotte ... I know you would do anything, but there is nothing to be done.”

"Oh, Christina, that it should be due to me!”

"It's not your fault. It has to be. I've had a feeling lately that we were doomed.”

"It's so foolish. Because I am to marry the King of England you may not marry an Englishman!

Why? Why?”

"It's in the contract. No other member of the family must marry into England. They have their reasons.”

"There seems no sense in their reasons.”

"Charlotte, you don't realize what this means. You will be the Queen of England.”

"Why should my sister not be Duchess of Roxburgh?”

"It is in the contract. Our brother has signed it ... eagerly. You can guess why. His sister will be Queen of England. Think of that. He would sacrifice a great deal to bring about that state of affairs, and all he has to sacrifice is me.”

"Oh, Christina, I wish this had not happened.”

"Wished this piece of luck had passed you by? Don't let anyone hear you say that! They will say you are mad. The King of England might hear of it and decide not to marry you after all. Do you want to break our brother's heart... and our mother's? Oh, no, Charlotte, be content with mine.”

What could she say to Christina? If she could have made the sacrifice she would most willingly.

She was afraid when she thought of going to England. The monotonous routine of her days had become precious; she did not want to leave it... for the unknown. But both she and Christina knew that it was not for her to make momentous decisions. When she offered to give up her marriage that Christina might have hers, Christina only laughed with the new bitterness which had crept into her voice.

"Do you want them to marry you by force?" she asked. "Make no mistake, Charlotte. It is not what you want or I want. This is a brilliant marriage. Mecklenburg will be allied with England.

We are of no importance. Don't forget it." No, there was no comforting Christina.

Lord Harcourt had arrived at the schloss. He was a handsome man in his late forties, extremely courteous, and he behaved towards Charlotte as though she were already the Queen of England.

Before his arrival the activity in the schloss had reached a feverish pitch; the Dowager Duchess had gone through her trunks and produced dresses which she had been saving for very special occasions. There could not be a more worthy occasion than this. The gowns were altered to fit little Charlotte and she stood patiently while velvets such as she had never worn before were fitted.

Every jewel in the schloss must be produced to adorn her for the ceremonies which must take place; but her mother had said that as it was her simplicity which had charmed Colonel Graeme she must be as she was and not pretend she lived less simply than was actually the fact.

Therefore when Lord Harcourt arrived she was seated in the schoolroom darning a stocking and his lordship was conducted to her there.

Lord Harcourt bowed low over her hand and told her that he came on his king's most happy business and that his maker was impatient for that business to be concluded and to see his bride in England. She wanted to ask why his master was so impatient. He was after all only twenty-two years of age. Why the need for such haste? But she did no such thing and modestly lowering her eyes remarked that it gave her great pleasure to welcome Lord Harcourt.

"I have a gift from His Majesty with the instructions that I am to put it into no hands but yours.”

She received it with exclamations of pleasure. It was a miniature a picture of a handsome young man with flaxen hair and candid blue eyes set with diamonds.

"It is beautiful," she said. "I beg of you convey my thanks to His Majesty.”

"It is something Your Serene Highness will be able to do yourself," Lord Harcourt told her; then she understood that her days at Strelitz were indeed almost over. The proxy ceremony would take place and she would leave without delay with Lord Harcourt.

"The ... diamonds are so brilliant," she stammered.

"And the picture of His Majesty I see delights you.”

"He is very handsome," she said; and her voice trembled on a note of enquiry, but Lord Harcourt did not understand that she was wondering how such a handsome young king could be so eager to make a homely and insignificant girl his queen.

Christina walked about the schloss like a grey ghost. There was nothing to be done about Christina. The Duke of Roxburgh stayed on in Mecklenburg, hoping, always hoping that something would happen to make his marriage with Christina possible. But Charlotte's brother was eager for her wedding to take place. He summoned her and told her that the proxy marriage would be performed in a few weeks' time and then there would be no reason why her departure should be delayed.

Her departure to a strange land! Charlotte thought about it with mingling dismay and excitement.

It would be like being born again. An entirely new life in a strange country with a husband whom she had never seen. She would have liked to confide in Christina, but how could she talk of marriage to her poor heartbroken sister. If only something would happen to allow Christina to marry. But how could that be unless something happened to stop Charlotte's marriage? Charlotte knew that every day Christina was hoping for the miracle.

And then something did happen. The Grand Duchess's attendants went to her room to rouse her one morning and found her unwell. Before the day was out she was dead. This was bewildering.

Events were happening too fast. Christina had been plunged from the heights of delight to the lowest despair; Charlotte was to leave home and go to a strange husband; and this had all taken place in a few weeks after years of monotonous existence. And now change had come from an unexpected quarter. The mother who had governed their lives was dead, and there could be no talk of weddings for a while.

Charlotte, standing by her mother's coffin, looking down into that autocratic face now so white and still and oddly enough younger than Charlotte had ever known her, was suddenly overcome by a fear of the future. Life was ironic, mocking almost. Here you are fussing about weddings, so I will give you a funeral. How can we know from one moment to another, thought Charlotte, what will become of any of us? One must be strong; one must be prepared.

Throughout the schloss they were saying: "This will delay the wedding. The Princess Charlotte cannot think of marriage so soon after her mother's death.”

New hope was springing up in Christina's eyes. Delay meant hope. Often that which was postponed never took place at all.