Текст книги "Queen in Waiting "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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"He is going to keep the children from us."

"He says you can see them ... from time to time."

"From time to time! My own children. They are going to be

taken from us. And the baby He is so young. He needs his

mother."

"You are distressed, my tear. That old scoundrel ... his is von vicked old devil... but ve vill outvit him yet."

"My children," murmured Caroline. "My little baby. Don't you see. This is his punishment to us! He is going to rob us of our children?"

He could not share her grief. He was planning ahead. He would have his court and the Prince's Court would be a rival to the King's. It would be no different from before, except that the people would be sorry for him; they would be on his side. The old devil had not been so clever after all.

But Caroline was heartbroken. This was the cruellest blow he could have inflicted. Perhaps he knew it and that was why he had planned it. He was going to separate her from her children.

There was no time for grief. They were expected to leave on receipt of the King's order.

"Where to?" asked Caroline in bewilderment.

No one knew. All that mattered was that they left St. James's without delay. It was the King's wish that they did not spend another night under the same roof as himself.

Caroline called for Henrietta.

"Tell all the women to make ready. We are going at once."

"Where, Your Highness?"

"That I cannot say. All I can tell you is that we are leaving St. James's."

"And the children?" asked Henrietta.

"They are to remain," replied Caroline, bitterly, "on the King's orders."

"But..."

"I can tell you no more," replied Caroline. "We are to leave at once."

Mary Bellenden asked leave to give a note to the Prince or Princess. It was Caroline who took it and saw that it was from the Earl of Grantham. He had heard what had happened and wished to place his house in Albermarle Street at their disposal.

"So," said Caroline blankly, "we have somewhere to go."

At the same time the King's messenger had arrived with a note to her from the King.

She read it eagerly hoping that he had had some change of heart with regard to her children.

The King wrote that he understood she had not recovered from her confinement and was not well enough to move at present. He would therefore grant her permission to stay at St. James's with her children providing she made no attempt to communicate with her husband who must leave the palace without delay. Unless she kept this promise she would be ban-

ished with her husband while her children remained at St. James's.

Caroline re-read the letter. He was offering her her children or her husband.

Never in her life before had she had such a decision to make.

The Prince came to her. **Vat now?" he asked; and when she showed him the letter, his face grew scarlet with rage.

"He vould try to separate us ... he vould try to tempt a vife from her husband!"

"There are the children."

"You vill them see," he told her. "He does not say you vill not see them. From time to time, he says. But it vill not be for long. Ve vill think of something, my tearest."

And she looked at him and knew that she must choose to be with him. She was necessary to him. What would become of him without her? What would become of them both? He was as one of her children and she dared not desert him now.

She wrote to the King: "Where my husband goes there must I go too."

The maids of honour were packing hastily.

"This is disastrous," said Margaret Meadows. "It is the beginning of real trouble between the King and the Prince."

"We'll have a better time in the Prince's Court than in the King's," commented Sophie Howe. "Of all the dreary places in the world ... St. James's is the most dreary! "

"I wish it were like that summer at Hampton," said Molly Lepel. "That was a glorious time."

Mary Bellenden joined them; she was in high spirits, for where she went John Campbell as gentleman of the Prince's bedchamber would go.

"Are you ready?" she cried. "Then come—over the hills and far away!"

The coach jolted along to Albemarle Street. Already there were little knots of people in the streets to watch the party. The Prince of Wales turned out of the Palace! Who ever

heard of such a thing! These Germans had no family feeling. They didn't want Germans here. King Charles had always been jovial and kind to members of his family. It had been a pleasure to see him with his little nieces. And his brother James had doted on Anne and Mary; Anne's love for her only child who lived past his infancy was quite touching. But German George had been really cruel to the poor Princess. Not only had he taken her daughters from her but he had separated her from her newly born baby.

Family bickering was one thing, but to drive a woman from her children, soon after she's risen from childbed was real cruelty.

"Damn George," said the people. "Damn the German. And God bless the Prince and Princess of Wales."

In Grantham House the Princess was in a state of collapse. Her women got her quickly to bed and feared that she would not recover.

The Prince sat beside her bed covering his face with his hands and crying quietly.

Rumours that the Prince and Princess were ill circulated in the streets and little knots of people stood outside Grantham's house waiting for news of them while in St. James's the King gave orders that any foreign ambassadors who visited the Prince would not be received at his Court.

And now, he said, that the troublesome Prince is no longer with us let us enjoy some peace.

A new drama soon arose. The newly born child, deprived of its mother, became ill. The nurses whom the King had commanded to care for the little boy at first assured themselves that this was nothing but a normal childish ailment, but as the child grew more wan and fretful they could no longer deceive themselves and sent for the physicians, who, when they saw the child, decided that the King should be informed, without delay, of its condition.

"Well," said George gruffly, "what do you recommend?"

"That Your Majesty should send at once for the child's mother."

"That's impossible," snapped the King.

"We fear, sir, that if you do not the child will die."

"Nonsense. What can she do that you can't? Are you doctors or not?"

"In our opinion, Your Majesty, the child is pining for his mother."

George looked at them suspiciously. He was inclined to suspect them of working for the Prince.

"She is forbidden to come to the palace, so she must stay away."

And with that he dismissed the doctors.

But the people were too interested in the family quarrel not to have discovered what was happening in the Palace, and when it became known that the newly born child was ill and not allowed to see its mother, the crowds grew angry.

"Keep a babe from its mother I" they cried. "What sort of a monster is this we've got as a King."

Stanhope came to see George.

"If the child dies. Your Majesty, and his mother is not allowed to see him, there might be riots. These people are sentimental about children."

George was thoughtful.

"The Princess may come, but not the Prince."

"I will send a message to her immediately," replied Stanhope.

When Caroline received the message she immediately prepared to leave Albermarle Street for St. James's. The people crowded the streets to see her pass and shout their good wishes.

She smiled wanly; and when they saw how ill she looked and how sad they shouted: "God bless you. And down with the unnatural German monster."

Caroline felt comforted and wondered whether she would be

allowed to stay at St. James's and nurse her baby; and whether she would have a chance of seeing her daughters.

On reaching the Palace she was hurriedly taken to an apartment which had been prepared for her and when she saw her child she was overcome with grief for she realized how ill he was. He was suffering from fever and his cough was so incessant that she was afraid she had come too late.

She took him from his nurses and said she would have charge of him now, and all through the night she sat with him and although he continued to cough and his fever was as high as ever, she fancied he knew her and was comforted.

The child was sleeping in his cradle. He looked very ill, but at least he slept. Caroline kept her place at his cradle, rocking it gently to and fro and turning over in her mind whether she might not plead with the King at least to allow her to have care of this child.

Henrietta, whom she had brought with her, came silciitly into the room and said that the little girls were outside and longing to see their mother.

"Oh Henrietta, bring them in to me! "

The door was flung open and the girls ran in to throw themselves into their mother's arms.

"Anne ... my dear ... and Amelia ... and where's my baby Caroline?"

"Here, Mamma! Here!"

"Oh, my darlings! "

She was weeping; and they had never seen her weep before. They would not have thought their stately, wise Mamma capable of tears. And because she was crying for them that made them sad and happy at the same time; and very soon they were all crying with her.

"But ve are /ou," said Caroline. "Here ve are together ... and ve veep ven ve should be laughing. Oh, it makes me happy to see you. Are you goot girls? Do you miss Mamma ... and Papa?"

"We miss you. Mamma," said Amelia, the truthful one.

Caroline pretended not to notice the omission. She thought:

What do they hear of their father? There must be whisperings about him in the King's court.

"We are like charity children," said Anne.

"Charity children?" cried Caroline.

"Yes ... although we have a good mother and we have a father ... we are not with them and that makes us like charity children."

"Ve shall be together soon ... you children and Papa and

myself."

"When Mamma, when?" demanded little Caroline.

"Ven it... is permitted."

"I do not like grandfather much," said Amelia.

"He is the King," put in Anne in a shocked voice looking over her shoulder.

Were they being furtive? wondered Caroline. Did they talk together about the King, about the family quarrel? Did their servants whisper gossip to them? 'You must not mention this ... or that...'

It is so bad for them, she thought. Oh, why cannot I bring up my own children in the way I want. It is so cruel. He knows what hurts me most.

"That doesn't make me like him," said Amelia.

"I like Mamma," said young Caroline.

Caroline held her more tightly. "Tell me please ... what do you do all day?"

"Lady Portland is our governess," said Amelia.

"She is kind to you?"

They nodded.

"We walk and we read and we say prayers. And Mr. Handel is going to teach us music."

"You must be goot ... goot ... and learn. And soon ve shall be together."

"Why can't we be now?" Caroline wanted to know.

"Because of Grandpapa and Papa," said Amelia. "They have had a quarrel and it is to punish Mamma."

Oh, what do they hear? wondered Caroline again.

"Mamma is punished because she loves us," said Caroline.

And the Princess was weeping again, straining them to her breast. It was wrong, but for once she could not control her

emotions. These were her beloved children and how did she know when she should see them again?

"The Princess has been with my granddaughters! " cried the King. "This is forbidden. Of what use for me to give orders if they are not obeyed? Who took my granddaughters to their mother's apartment?"

Bernstorff pointed out that it was deplorable that His Majesty's wishes had been disregarded but if the people knew that he prevented their mother seeing the children there might be demonstrations against him in the streets. The people were a little placated because the Princess had been allowed to see her sick son; but if they knew someone had been reprimanded for taking her daughters to her there could be trouble.

"There will be trouble while that woman is under this roof. She shall not stay here."

"But the young Prince is still dangerously ill."

"I have said I will not have her here and I mean it."

"Sir..."

"Let the child be removed to Kensington and his mother can go there to be with him."

"I will ask the doctors if he is well enough to be moved. Your Majesty."

"He is to be moved. They say the air at Kensington is good. Let him go there and his mother with him."

"It shall be so, sir."

The doctors came to see the King.

"Your Majesty, the child is too sick to be moved."

"I do not want his mother here."

"He has improved a little since her coming, sir."

"She makes trouble under this roof. I will not have her."

"We do not advise moving the child."

"Nonsense! They tell me the air at Kensington is better than here at St. James's."

"But at this time of year ... the weather being so inclement ... and the child so sick."

*'Send him to Kensington or send his mother away." The next day Caroline and her baby left St. James's for Kensington Palace.

The child was dying. Caroline knew and so did the Prince who had joined her at Kensington.

They sat on either side of the small cradle and wept; and while they watched that small frail body seized by convulsions they were filled with a great hatred for the man whom they believed was responsible.

Henrietta who had accompanied them to Kensington came and stood at some little distance from the cradle. She knew before they did that the child was dead.

Eventually Caroline rose and went quietly from the apartment.

I shall hate him as long as we both live, she thought.

And when she rode back to Albemarle Street and the crowds were silent in their sympathy she felt a little comfort because she knew that they too hated the man who was their King.

The Royal Quarrel

Her child dead, her children taken from her care, Caroline felt there was only one thing left to her. She would take her revenge on the man who had treated her so cruelly and by so doing lay the foundations of the power she was determined should be hers when she was Queen of England.

"Ve can't stay at Grantham's house," she told the Prince. "Ve must find a place of our own."

George Augustus, whose grief was superficial, agreed.

"Ve vill find a suitable residence," said Caroline, "and ven ve have found it vill ve build such a court as to make the King's look like a provincial country gentleman's house."

The Prince was delighted. His hatred of his father was far from superficial.

"Veil," said Caroline, "ve begin to look vithout delay."

It was not long before they discovered Leicester House, and as soon as Caroline saw it she knew that she wanted it.

It was on the north side of Leicester Fields and a courtyard stood between it and the public square. It had a pleasant Dutch garden at the back; and Caroline pointed out to the

Prince that if they bought the house which adjoined it they could have complete privacy. Although it had only two storeys, the reception rooms were very fine and there was a grand staircase. The neighbourhood was not all that might be desired; on either side of the house were rows of shops; but the main drawback was that Leicester Fields had a bad reputation, having been the resort of all kinds of undesirable characters in the past. Footpads had lurked in the Fields by night and confidence tricksters by day; many a duel had been fought in front of Leicester House, many a nose split by the terrifying Mohocks.

"Is this suitable for the Prince and Princess of Vales?*' asked the Prince.

"Not now ... but it vill be. Ve vill make it so," replied his wife.

Caroline was right. As soon as she and the Prince settled in with their household the neighbourhood changed over night. In place of the footpads came the linkmen; the Fields were almost as safe by night as by day, crowded with the coaches of the rich and influential and the Sedan chairs of the great.

All those who were dissatisfied with the Government began to make their way to Leicester House; and not only those. There were astute statesmen who began to realize that the Princess of Wales, if not the Prince, was extremely clever; and although she suffered personally through the loss of her children, her popularity with the people had multiplied because of it. There was scarcely a mother in London and its surrounding villages who did not cry shame to the monster who could deprive a woman of her children.

Caroline mourning for them, deplored the fact that she had no say in their upbringing; but she made full use of the situation; and sought to forget her sorrowful resentment in building the rival court.

This she quickly succeeded in doing and so efiiciently that some of the King's ministers advised him to seek an end of the quarrel. A house divided against itself was in danger, they

pointed out; particularly when there was a Prince across the water whom many considered to be the real King.

George shrugged these warnings aside. He disliked his son; he deplored his conduct; and he did not trust the Princess of Wales, although he admired her as a woman. He would state his terms to his son and his son must accept them or content himself with exile.

Meanwhile the charm and beauty of Caroline's ladies-in-waiting brought the young bloods to Leicester House—men like the brilliant Lord Hervey whose verses were so clever and who was so good looking, but in a somewhat effeminate way so that he was at times like a handsome girl; but he was clever enough to be an ornament to any Court and Caroline encouraged him. Then there was clever young Lord Stanhope, Lord Chesterfield's heir—so witty that he could not fail to amuse, although he was cruel with it. A strange young man, in looks as different from Hervey as he could be—with an enormous head which made him look stunted and almost dwarf like; and although he was only in his early twenties his teeth were already black. Unprepossessing though he was, he was continually boasting of his successes with women; and his wit was pungent and even more cruel than Hervey's. Another was Lord Peterborough, a tall cadaverous young man; he was amoral doubtless, but amusing. These young men fluttered round the maids of honour with many others; and the promise they gave of being the men of the future interested Caroline.

But her most welcome guests were the writers and for them there was always a ready welcome. Before she had been long at Leicester House Pope, Gay and Tickell were regular visitors; and she had expressed a wish that when Jonathan Swift was in London he would visit her. Isaac Newton was always welcome and since he lived in St. Martin's Lane not far from Leicester Fields, he enjoyed many conversations with Caroline.

This was what she had always wanted—not only a Court where politicians gathered, but one which should be the centre of the arts. Thus it had been in the days of her childhood when she had been so impressed by the court of Sophia Charlotte; she had always dreamed of being the moving spirit in

such a court; and now she could be. There was a difference between herself and Sophia Charlotte though—Sophia Charlotte had loved the arts only and had never sought to take a share in government. Caroline wanted both.

George Augustus had little time for the writers. He despised what he called "boetry". He even remonstrated with Lord Hervey for writing it.

**Vot for you vant to write this boetry?" he demanded. "That is for little Mr. Pope and his kind ... not for a noble lord.''

But he indulged his wife. "If you like these men, my tear, then haf them ... but they are only boets and vill not help us fight my father?"

Caroline's reply was that she believed there was more strength in the pen than anything else; and these people delighted her with their clever use of words.

"You vere alvays von governess," said the Prince affectionately.

And the writers continued to come.

Caroline knew that in time it would be the turn of the important politicians.

Caroline was not surprised when Sir Spencer Compton came to Leicester House with a message from the King, and she and the Prince received him in the latter's apartment.

His Majesty, explained Sir Spencer, deplored the differences which existed between him and his son.

George Augustus retorted that if that were so his father only had to behave like any rational father and he and the Princess would be happy to forget those differences.

"This," said Sir Spencer, "is exactly what His Majesty wishes to do, and if Your Highness will abide by certain rules this unfortunate trouble should be over."

"Can you tell me vat these rules are?"

"I can, for it is for the purpose of laying them before you that I have come here."

"Pray proceed."

"His Majesty requires you to pay for your children's house-

holds—that of your daughters in St. James's and your son in Hanover."

"If my father vill allow my son to come to England and be under my direction I shall have the greatest pleasure in paying for his establishment over here."

"It is the King's wish that he remains in Hanover."

George Augustus's face was purple with anger. "Then it shall be the King's privilege to provide for him there."

"Is that Your Highness's final answer on that point?"

The Prince rapped his fist on the table. "That is my final answer."

"And your daughters' household?"

"If the King vill have charge of them he must pay for them."

"Then I will continue with the conditions which the King has asked me to put before you. You are to fill no places in your household without the King's pleasure, and to retain in your service no one disagreeable to His Majesty."

"That vould doubtless mean ridding ourselves of some of those who are dearest to us," said Caroline quickly.

"It is a condition His Majesty has imposed."

Caroline looked at the Prince and shook her head; she nad no need. He was growing angrier every minute.

"Vat else?" he asked.

"It would be necessary for you to sever relations with any whom the King declared was disagreeable to him and to treat the King's servants in a civil manner."

"I can scarcely believe that is all His Majesty demands!" said George Augustus with heavy sarcasm.

"And the children?" cried Caroline hastily. "If ve did these things should ve be allowed to have our children back?"

"There is one other condition, Your Highnesses."

"Yes?"

"You would be obliged to acquiesce in the King's right to the guardianship of his grandchildren."

"No," cried Caroline.

"No, no, nor echoed the Prince.

Caroline smiled at him. "Ve are better as ve are. I know the Prince is too vise and shrewd and also too proud to give vay to such conditions."

"That is true,'* said the Prince.

So Sir Spencer Compton went away; and the quarrel persisted, as fierce as ever.

**He is the von who vill be sorry," Caroline told the Prince, though in her heart she would have been ready to agree to any condition which brought back her children to her, and the King knew it. It was for this reason that he had struck her in such a way that she should suffer most.

Very well. It was open warfare. If the King wanted battle between himself and his son and daughter-in-law, he should have it.

And she was strong enough to make her own the winning side.

And when Robert Walpole became a visitor to Leicester House she believed she was going to succeed.

The Prince had never despaired of winning Mary Bellen-den, and sought every opportunity of making her aware of his intentions, although she continually evaded him, sometimes pretending that she did not understand what he meant.

Because he liked to share confidences he told Henrietta about his feelings. In fact Henrietta could not have been ignorant of them, as no one else at court was; but it did not occur to him to think it strange that he should confide his desire to make a woman his mistress to one who already was.

He was the Prince and above reproach; moreover being as virile as he would have everyone believe him to be, it was not to be suspected that he could be satisfied with one mistress and one wife.

**This girl vants to be chased," he told Henrietta. "She is enjoying this courtship, but it goes on too long. Vat can I do?"

The meek Henrietta said that he might tell her of his intentions outright.

"She never gives me the chance. She laughs too much. Then she vill pretend she cannot understand vat I say ... like that rascal Newcastle. Then she talks so fast that I cannot understand her. She is von naughty girl ... though very pretty. I

think, Henrietta, that she is the prettiest girl in my tear wife's household."

"Either Mary or Molly Lcpel is according to the poets," admitted Henrietta.

"Oh boets. Don't talk to me of boets. The Princess thinks so highly of them she believes all they say. Mary is prettier than Molly and I have long had this fancy for her. Invite her to your rooms tonight, Henrietta, and I vill speak to her."

Henrietta, always docile agreed to do so. For one thing she knew very well that Mary would not accept the Prince, and for another she knew that if she did, it would make no difference to her own position. For all his talk of being English the Prince was completely German—certainly in his attitude to women. He would be like his father who had been faithful to Ermen-garda Schulcmburg for more than twenty years, no matter how many mistresses he had in addition.

So Henrietta told Mary Bellenden that she was expected to attend her apartment that night on orders of the Prince.

Mary looked glum when she received the command.

"I can't come," she declared.

"The Prince's orders."

"You must say I'm ill."

"If you say that there'll be another time. You can't be ill forever."

"What am I to do?"

"Tell him the truth."

Mary turned away; but even she dared not disobey the Prince's command and at nine o'clock that evening she went along to Henrietta's apartment. Precisely at nine—not a second before and not one after, for the Prince prided himself on his respect for time—George Augustus arrived at Henrietta's apartment, beaming with pleasure at the joyful anticipation of Mary's surrender.

He found the girl there with Henrietta who, on the pleas of Mary, remained as chaperon.

Strangely enough George Augustus did not seem to object to her presence and sat down immediately next to Mary and drew a table towards him.

"You are von very pretty friiulein," he told her.

"Your Highness is gracious/' Mary replied uneasily.

"I vould be very gracious ... if you are von sensible girl."

*7 think I am sensible, Your Highness," replied Mary who could never resist a certain pertness.

"Ven vat are ve vaiting for?*'

"Your Highness wished a game of cards perhaps? Mrs. Howard will doubtless summon others to join us."

"Not that game," said the Prince. "Our game shall be a game for two."

"I don't know that game. Your Highness, so you must excuse me."

She had half risen but he put out a hand to detain her.

"Von moment. You are a pretty girl. You spend much money, eh? On pretty clothes perhaps ... on powder and patches, on ribbons and laces?"

"Alas, how Your Highness understands! "

"You vill find me most understanding. Vill she not, Henrietta?"

"I am sure if she is truthful to Your Highness she will find you most... accommodating."

"There, so you see."

He took out his purse and upset the contents on to the table. The guineas rolled over the surface and some fell on to the floor.

"Vot beautiful golden guineas! They vill buy much."

"I am sure they will," said Mary. She was flushing hotly for so many times he had shown her money. It would have been ludicrous if it had not been insulting, and suddenly, Mary, impulsive by nature, lost her temper and swept all the guineas on to the floor.

The Prince stared at her in dismay. "Vy you do that?"

"Because Your Highness I do not want your money. It makes no difference to me how many guineas you have in your purse. If you show me them again I ... I shall run away. I don't want to see them."

"You don't vant guineas?"

"No, Your Highness."

"But they buy such pretty things."

"They can't buy me."

Mary had stood up, her eyes blazing; the Prince had risen too; Henrietta was looking on in dismay. Had Mary gone mad? Didn't she know that one didn't speak to the Prince of Wales like that?

Henrietta spoke softly: "I'm sure Mrs. Bellenden is overwrought."

There was a short silence. Then Mary recovered herself and looked alarmed by what she had done; and seeing her thus the Prince knew how he could act. Henrietta's tact had saved his dignity.

Henrietta went on: "I think if Mrs. Bellenden told Your Highness what is in her mind ... you might understand how disturbed she is and forgive her."

The Prince turned to Mary who was looking down at the guineas.

"Veil," he said. "Let us sit down and you shall tell me vot is wrong."

Mary sat down. "I am in love," she blurted out. "I am going to be married."

"Who is this?" demanded the Prince.

"I would rather not say."

"She fears Your Highness's displeasure," suggested Henrietta.

"I am displeased," said the Prince looking like a boy deprived of a treat to which he has long looked forward.

"But Your Highness is gracious and will understand how it is with these young people."

"You may tell me," he said to Mary.

"I am in love Your Highness and for me there can be no other than the man I am going to marry."

"What is his name?"

"I cannot tell Your Highness."

The Prince looked at Henrietta.

"They have hoped to marry for a long time," she said, "perhaps before Mrs. Bellenden knew of Your Highness's interest she had already promised to be faithful and to marry." She lifted her shoulders.

"I do not like it," said the Prince.

"Mrs. Bellenden will wish to ask Your Highness's pardon."

**I ask Your Highness pardon," said Mary as though repeating a lesson.

"So you vill marry this man?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"And that vill make you happy?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"You must not marry without telling me. You understand that I vill vish to know."

Mary stood silent and Henrietta said: "His Highness will give you leave to go now, I daresay."

"Yes go," said the Prince.

When Mary had gone he sat down heavily and stared disconsolately at the table.

Henrietta silently picked up the guineas and put them into the purse.

"Vy did she not tell me before?" he cried suddenly banging his fist on the table.

"Doubtless she feared to."

"Am I such an ogre... ?"

Henrietta smiled. "You are the Prince. None would care to displease you."