by Jean Plaidy
Oh dear, thought the Queen, how difficult this welding together of her family was proving! Every day her grudge against the late King seemed to deepen when she considered what his cruelty had done to her family.
If I had always had them under my care ... she thought.
She was determined to be a good mother, and good mothers were supposed to love all their children equally. At least they always swore they did. She could not help it if her gaze rested a little more lovingly on young William. After all he was her son.... There was Frederick, but she couldn’t count him.
She had tried calling him Fritzchen in her mind in the hope that it would help her return to the love she had once had for him; but it was no use. She did not know what he looked like, for a young man of twenty must look very different from a boy of seven. And to think he had been only seven when she had left him. Another thing to blame that wicked old monster for. He had parted a mother from her son and during thirteen years the longing for her child had been suppressed until, with the coming of other children, it had been stifled altogether.
What is the use of pretending? Caroline asked herself. I don’t care if I never see Frederick again.
But his name was on everyone’s lips. Even here in the nursery her children were talking about him.
When is Frederick coming home?
The question came between her and her peace of mind. She did not want Frederick and the reason was that she deeply regretted he was her firstborn; she wanted all the honours that would be his for her adorable, bright, and utterly spoilt six-year-old William.
‘At least,’ said Anne, ‘we shall be properly dressed for the coronation. Papa will not be allowed to be so mean as to stop that.’
‘Oh, Anne!’ cautioned the Princess Caroline.
‘It’s the truth,’ replied Amelia. ‘Papa hates parting with money. That is why we are all kept so poor. It’s not fair.’
‘He asked to see my accounts,’ complained Anne, ‘and when Mrs Powis brought them he said that the braid on my top coat was too wide and could have been half the width—thus saving money. Who would think we were princesses. We might be charity girls!’
‘Sometimes I think,’ said Amelia, ‘that it would have been better not to be so highly born. I am sure maids of honour enjoy a freer life than their mistresses. There is our mother, Queen of England, but not daring to speak her mind for fear she offends Papa.’
‘But he does all she tells him nevertheless.’
‘Without knowing it,’ said Amelia. ‘I think our father is not half as clever as he thinks himself.’
The elder girls began to laugh and Caroline looked a little shocked. ‘He is after all our father and the King.’
‘Dear Caroline! You always believe the best of everyone. For me I prefer rather to tell the truth than deceive myself.’ That was Amelia. She was kneeling on the window seat in a pose which her mother would have deplored, for it was not femininely graceful. She glanced down to the courtyard below and her manner changed; a smile touched her lips and she waved a greeting.
Anne was quickly beside her.
‘So ... you are flirting with Grafton.’
Amelia was still looking at the man on horseback whose dark handsome looks and physique made him outstanding.
‘I am acknowledging the greeting of Charles, Duke of Grafton,’ retorted Amelia tartly.
‘You know that is most unwise.’
‘I cannot see that it is unwise to give or return a greeting.’
‘Greeting! You know it is more than that. You know you have a fancy for him.’
‘You are inclined to thinkyouknow too much, sister.’
Caroline moved away to another window and stood there gazing out. She was always seeking to escape from her more forceful sisters who were constantly quarrelling. Quarrels were commonplace in this family. There had been the Great Quarrel between Grandfather and Papa—and now that was over minor ones were continually springing up between members of the family.
‘Who is Grafton?’ demanded Anne. ‘I think you forget that you are royal.’
‘It is as well that all of us don’t keep reminding everyone on every occasion of the fact,’ retorted Amelia. ‘And the Duke of Grafton is as royal as you are.’
‘His grandfather was a king, I know, since his father was the bastard of Barbara Villiers and Charles II. A very pleasant recommendation.’
‘They say he inherited his father’s brilliance and charm and his mother’s beauty,’ said Amelia.
‘And doubtless the immorality of both. For shame, Amelia! You know you are all but betrothed to the Crown Prince of Prussia.’
Amelia shivered. ‘I hope that I never have to make that marriage.’
Caroline drew farther into her corner, shivering slightly. She had heard stories of the terrible King of Prussia who beat his children, locked them up and starved them and then worked out how much he had saved by keeping them without food. He quarrelled constantly with his wife, their aunt Sophia Dorothea, tried to beat her too, and because that wasn’t possible contented himself by spitting into her food when it was a dish she especially fancied.
What a household for poor Amelia to enter l No wonder she thought longingly of staying in England and marrying a man who was as handsome and charming and daring as the Duke of Grafton.
Caroline was terrified of the day when she might have to go away. It wouldn’t bear thinking of. But they were growing old now and they were no longer merely the granddaughters of a king; they were the daughters of one; and that made a difference. Matches would be made for them and princesses always had to do what was expected of them.
How sad it was for a princess to grow up It was better to be young even though their childhood had been overshadowed by the Great Quarrel when Grandfather would not allow them to see their parents. Caroline had suffered then because of dear Mamma who loved them so and whom they loved. Not being allowed to see Papa had been no great hardship, for they could not help being a little ashamed of the way in which he strutted and was so conceited, and anxious to prove he was the master of them all—which he wasn’t although he was King, for kings were ruled by their parliaments; and it was becoming well known that the Queen had a bigger influence, and the only one who wasn’t aware of this was the King. All this made him a ridiculous figure in spite of his brilliant uniforms and all the pomp with which he liked to surround himself, for although he was mean enough with his daughters, he was not with himself.
Caroline listened to her sisters quarrelling over the Duke of Grafton and let her own thoughts stray pleasantly.
She wouldn’t think of the time when she too must go away. Perhaps it would never happen. After all, the King had so many daughters, he couldn’t find royal marriages for all of them. Some might be allowed to marry in England.
There was one figure which kept intruding into her mind—that of elegant Lord Hervey of whom her mother was so fond.
He was one of the most brilliantly clever young men of the Court—clever in a different way from Sir Robert Walpole. Lord Hervey made amusing verses and witty conversation; he was very very handsome and, she was sure her mother agreed with this. one of the brightest lights of the Court.
He had recently married Molly Lepel, one of the Court beauties, but she remained in the country and rarely came to Court, so it was almost as though Lord Hervey was a bachelor.
So Caroline sat dreaming of Lord Hervey while Anne and Amelia quarrelled over the Duke of Grafton.
* * *
The coronation was to take place in October and during September little else was talked of throughout the Court and the city.
The King strutted in the Park wearing brilliant uniforms, reviewing troops. He was very pleased with himself. The Queen busied herself with state affairs, going carefully through all documents in order to render, as she told the King, the little assistance of which she was capable.
He was pleased, and as long as she never showed that she had a firmer grasp of affairs than he had,
as long as she always made a show of waiting for his opinion before passing her own, he was contented.
Caroline was delighted that he showed such a pleasure in pomp and ceremony, for this was what the people enjoyed; they would gather to cheer him in the Park and often when she was at Kensington she would watch him from her window.
She too must not give up her habit of sauntering, always remembering to smile and chat affably with the humblest who approached her. She realized the importance of this. It was where George I had failed so wretchedly. In fact, sauntering tired her more than it used to. It might have been due to that unmentionable infirmity of which she refused to think; there was a touch of gout in her legs which was almost as disturbing, for if she could not walk with the King whenever he wished it, he would be irritated and it might be necessary to confess that she was unable to. That must never happen.
George was in the highest spirits at this time. He was a new enough king to be a novelty to his subjects and had as yet had not had time to do anything of which they could disapprove. All he had to do was parade in splendid uniforms and acknowledge the cheers. He was delighted with the manner in which he believed he had acquired a larger Civil List than his father, for he was immediately able to forget the part Caroline had played in this and she, in accordance with her practice, made no effort to remind him. He was eagerly awaiting the coronation which would be the most dazzling spectacle of all.
He came to the Queen to talk to her about it. She was busy with state papers, her feet resting on a footstool which seemed to ease her legs, but when the King came in she hastily kicked it aside.
‘Ha!’ He glanced quickly at the papers and then sat down stretching his legs out before him.
‘I have been looking at the robes,’ he said with a smile. ‘They are very fine.’
She smiled at him. ‘Crimson velvet edged with ermine vill suit you. You have tried them on?’
He confessed it, and she had a quick picture of him strutting before mirrors. She tried not to think of the suppressed smiles of his attendants but she guessed they would have bcen there.
The cap of state is very fine,’ went on the King. ‘I remember seeing your father vearing it.’
The King laughed. ‘It did him not much become!’ he jeered. ‘He looked as if he vere going to his execution rather than his coronation.’
‘You vill look so different.’
His expression changed. Rarely was a man so easy to read, thought Caroline; and was thankful for it. It helped her to assess his moods quickly and so avoid pitfalls.
‘The jewels in this cap are very goot. They sparkle yell against the crimson velvet.’
‘The people vill be delighted.’
‘It vill be the best coronation they have ever seen.’ The King reluctantly turned his mind from the contemplation of his own splendour to think of the Queen’s.
‘You too must dazzle them, my dear.’
‘It vill be the King on whom every eye vill rest.’
‘But they vill not forget the Queen. He had no queen. They remembered she was shut away in prison ... and he had put her there. No queen ... only those two mistresses of his. I remember how the people laughed at him. Our coronation vill be different. You vill be there ... the Queen ... and the girls vill hold your train. They vill see that we are von big and happy family ... now that the old scoundrel can no longer plague us. You must sparkle vith jewels.’
‘Ah, jewels,’ said Caroline. ‘Vere shall I find them? Your father gave away all the jewels to those mistresses of his. I vas looking into this only today. There is nothing left but one pearl necklace.’
‘The old scoundrel....’ George’s eyes bulged in the familiar way. ‘But jewels there must be. They must them give back.... We must have jewels...
‘I vill find a vay of acquiring some.’
He nodded. He was not really interested in her jewels. He was seeing himself smiling, bowing, his hand on his heart. He could hear the acclamation of the crowds. Everybody was going to be glad on that day that the old King was dead and a new one was being crowned.
* * *
The Queen was at her wits end to know how to procure jewels for the coronation. The King would be displeased if she did not glitter from head to foot; and how could she, when the royal jewel cases were empty and she could not even trace which of the late King’s mistresses were in possession of the gems. Ermengarda Schulemburg, Duchess of Kendal, no doubt possessed many of them, but she was still abroad and certainly could not be asked to return her late lover’s gifts ... not by letter at any rate.
Caroline summoned her two most trusted women, Mrs Clayton, on whom she depended perhaps more than any other, and Henrietta Howard, the King’s mistress, who had for many years proved herself a good and discreet servant to the Queen. That these two ladies disliked each other intensely did not disturb Caroline.
‘I need jewels,’ she said. ‘There is only one pearl necklace in the jewel boxes.’
‘But, Your Majesty, that is impossible!’ cried Mrs Clayton.
‘I fear not. The late King vas occasionally a generous man to his mistresses ... particularly as he grew older.’
‘I’ll swear that harlot Anne Brett has looked after herself.’
‘Ve can scarcely blame her for that. Perhaps ve should all have done the same in her place. But I need jewels. I must have them for the coronation.’
Henrietta Howard said: ‘I’m sure every lady in your household would be delighted to lend Your Majesty everything she has.’
‘You think so, Henrietta.’ The Queen smiled. ‘It is a strange position—a coronation and no jewels for the Queen to wear.’
‘If Your Majesty will give me permission I will discover discreetly whether I can acquire the jewellery.’
‘Yes, Henrietta, you vill be discreet I know.’
Henrietta bowed her head. She was a little weary of discretion. She herself received very little reward for her services. She was a little tired of those regular visits of His Majesty. Sometimes she wanted to laugh aloud when she saw him come into the apartment, watch in hand. ‘It is exactly nine o’clock, Henrietta. Time ve made love.’ It would be hysterical laughter. She knew that throughout the Palace people would be looking at the time and making ribald remarks about her and the King.
It was said that she had all the disadvantages of being a king’s mistress and none of the advantages. It was true.
If she had not a husband from whom she wished to escape; if she were free; she would like nothing better than to retire from Court, perhaps marry again, this time using more judgment, retire into private life, perhaps to the country, far away from the Court where she must wait on the Queen and be prepared to receive the King at precisely the same hour every evening for precisely the same purpose.
And now she must find jewels for the Queen’s Coronation.
Mrs Clayton was thinking how shocking it was that the Queen should be without jewels; she was a self-important self-righteous woman and prided herself on her understanding of religious matters. The fact that Henrietta was the King’s mistress disturbed her far more than it did the Queen, and although Henrietta had had no jewels to boast from the King she was linking her now with those rapacious women who had denuded the Queen of her rightful possessions.
‘I am sure,’ said Mrs Clayton, ‘that I can find the jewels Your Majesty will need.’
* * *
At a very early hour in the morning Caroline was dressed by her women—and everything she put on had to be new. She then went quietly out of the Palace where a chair, bearing no distinguishing marks, was waiting for her. Mrs Howard who accompanied her was carried in a hack Sedan, and thus, Mrs Howard preceding her by a very short distance, the Queen was carried across St James’s Park to the House of Lords and there in Black Rod’s Room she was dressed in her state robes.
This was Coronation Day.
As her robes were being adjusted she looked with pride at the diamonds which decorated her skirts and which had been b
orrowed from the Jews of London for the occasion because although so many ladies had been eager to provide her with their pearls and jewels she needed more than they could give. She wanted to glitter on this occasion as no Queen had ever glittered before. The King would expect it; so would the people; and she was nothing loath. She enjoyed these ceremonies; and on this day of her coronation she was determined to forget everything but the fact that she was being crowned Queen of England. She refused to think of her painful legs or of that other matter which she kept so secret, or the fact that she must continually placate the King and make sure that she never gave him an inkling of who really reigned, or the fact that Frederick would have to come home and her darling William could never be Prince of Wales.
This was the great day and she intended to enjoy it, decked out as she was in borrowed finery, which was comic really considering she was the Queen.
From the House of Lords she was escorted to Westminster Hall where George was already seated under the canopy—a glorious glittering figure. He gave her a quick glance of approval, so it was well worth borrowing from her ladies and the Jews. How fine he looked! She was reminded of the day he had come courting her, incognito as Monsieur de Busch; he had attracted her then; and over the years, the often difficult years, she had she supposed, grown used to him. But she was fond of her little man for all his conceit, for all his infidelities; and he was fond of her; she often thought that however many mistresses he took she would always have first place in his affections.
These thoughts made her happy.
The sword and spurs were presented and the Dean and Canons of Westminster had appeared carrying the regalia. For George St Edward’s crown, the orb, sceptre, and the staff; and for her, the crown, sceptre, and ivory rod.
On their cushions of cloth of gold these were presented to the King and Queen and then given to those who would carry them in the procession to the Abbey.
Now it was time to make their way from the Hall to the Abbey and the way they would take was canopied in blue cloth and a rail had been fixed on either side of this path.
The people were crowding into the streets so as not to miss a moment of the ceremony and a military band was playing as it led the procession from the Hall to the Abbey. The King’s herb woman led a party of the Queen’s maids to sprinkle fragrant herbs and flowers along the way the procession should pass. First came the peers and peeresses, magnificent in their robes of state, holding their coronets, and after them the Lord Privy Seal, the Archbishop of York, and the Lord High Chancellor.
