by Jean Plaidy
The suggestion was that the King was so eager for her arrival. But how could he be so eager for someone he had never seen? Why had it been decided that he must marry without delay?
There was some mystery, Charlotte was sure.
Well, perhaps she would soon discover.
‘Your Majesty has no one in attendance,’ said Lord Harcourt.
‘Poor ladies, they are prostrate, all of them. The sea does not take to them as kindly as it does to me.’
‘Your Majesty is fortunate … in more ways than one.’
Am I? wondered Charlotte. What will life be like with my new husband in England.
‘I shall play the harpsichord to them,’ she announced. ‘Perhaps it will comfort them. If I leave the door of my saloon open they will be able to hear it as they lie on their bunks.’
Charlotte played and found pleasure in playing; but the poor ladies were unaware of anything but their own misery.
*
The wind dropped suddenly and the storm was over; sun dappled the grey waters turning them to green and opalesque.
One by one the ladies rose from their bunks. The change in them was miraculous. Schwellenburg became her old domineering self, Haggerdorn her faithful second; and the two English ladies put on their poised elegance as though it were a gown and were soon as beautiful as ever.
As these two dressed themselves and the horror of the last days faded and as the Duchess of Ancaster said she felt like a human being again, they discussed together the advisability of warning the Queen of the King’s attachment to Sarah Lennox.
The Duchess of Ancaster thought it unwise; the Marchioness of Lorne was not so sure.
‘She is so plain … That mouth of hers makes her look like a crocodile.’
‘Poor creature. George is going to be so disappointed. I’ll swear they’ve told him she’s a beauty.’
‘Queens are always credited with more beauty than they actually possess. George should know that and discount half of what he has heard.’
‘George is so unworldly. It would never occur to him to doubt.’
‘And what of the little Lennox?’
‘What of her?’
‘You know the King bitterly regrets not marrying her.’
‘Oh, that is over and George is such a good young man. They say he won’t give Sarah a thought once he is married to Charlotte.’
‘Do you believe that?’ asked the Duchess scornfully.
‘No,’ answered the Marchioness. ‘But I believe that it is better for Charlotte to discover this for herself. Though we could at least try to make her a little more attractive.’
‘A difficult task,’ retorted the Duchess.
‘Still … a little improvement might be possible. I shall try.’
‘Grim Schwellenburg will be most displeased.’
‘Let her. She doesn’t know the competition Charlotte will have to face in Sarah Lennox.’
‘Sarah’s a pretty little thing, but she’s not exactly a beauty.’
‘She has something more than beauty. Charm. And she’s young.’
‘So is Charlotte.’
‘More’s the pity. She would have a better chance of winning George from Sarah if she were a little older, a little more experienced. I think her appearance could be improved a little … though that mouth would spoil anything. But I think we ought to try.’
*
Albert was dressing Charlotte’s hair.
The two English women looked on rather sadly and the Duchess of Ancaster suggested that Her Majesty might like to try an English style.
Charlotte answered promptly, ‘No, I should not.’
‘A little toupee … beautifully curled … would make a great deal of difference to Your Majesty’s appearance,’ added the Marchioness.
Charlotte studied the hair of the two ladies and remarked coolly that she believed the style in which Albert dressed her hair was as becoming as theirs.
The ladies were silent. Perhaps she was right in thinking no hairstyle could add beauty to such a plain face.
‘If the King wishes me to wear a periwig I will do so,’ added Charlotte. ‘But until he asks it I shall remain as I am.’
‘The King likes to see ladies dressed in a feminine English style.’
‘As you are dressed?’ asked Charlotte.
‘That is so, Your Majesty.’
Charlotte studied them, her head on one side. ‘I do not think it is the style of dress that is becoming. I understand you are two of the most beautiful women of the King’s Court, but it is not your dress which makes you so. No, I shall dress as I have always dressed, and shall not try to ape you, my ladies.’
The two women exchanged glances. They had done what they could. The King was going to find his bride vastly different from lovely Sarah Lennox.
‘The King,’ Charlotte was saying, ‘may dress as he likes and I shall dress as I please.’
‘Your Majesty will doubtless make your decisions when you have seen Court fashions.’
‘Doubtless, but I have no intention of changing my ways unless the King expressly wishes it.’
She was gaining confidence. It was wonderful what the sea trip had done for her. To have seen these elegant women in the throes of seasickness while she herself sat playing the harpsichord for their comfort had done a great deal for her. The girl who had dared to write to Frederick the Great was not going to be persuaded into wearing fashions which she was not at all sure would suit her. Moreover, if she were dressed as they were the comparison would be even more unkind; and if she could not be a beauty, at least she would stand out by the strangeness of her costume.
‘Tell me what you know of the King,’ she said, to show them that the subject of dress was not to be mentioned again.
The King had changed since his accession, they told her. He had always been serious, but now he was more so. He was often closeted for hours in the company of Lord Bute and his mother who acted as his chief adviser – much to the disgust of Mr Pitt and Mr Fox.
What were his amusements?
He danced a little. He was not exactly a good dancer, but he was a very skilful one; he played cards a little, but not for high stakes. He was going to reform the Court, everyone said; because in the days of his grandfather this had been at times scandalous.
‘His Majesty rises early and therefore likes to retire early.’
‘Oh,’ cried Charlotte, ‘I do not relish going to bed with the chickens. And I have no intention of doing so.’
The ladies were further surprised. It seemed that Charlotte was growing more and more confident as they came closer to the shores of England.
*
Lord Anson who was in command of the expedition told Lord Harcourt that he had decided to put in at Harwich instead of going to Greenwich as had been planned. The storms had driven them so far off course that it would be more convenient to go to Harwich. Moreover, he feared they might run into a French man-o’-war if they travelled farther south and Lord Harcourt could guess what that would mean.
Lord Harcourt expressed his misgivings that there would be no welcome awaiting the Queen at Harwich as there most certainly would be at Greenwich where she was expected.
‘Better an unwelcomed bride than a prisoner of the French,’ was Anson’s sage reply, and Lord Harcourt agreed with him.
Thus Charlotte first stepped ashore at Harwich. It was three o’clock in the afternoon on 7 September and a fortnight since they had sailed away from Cuxhaven.
Everyone – except Charlotte – was relieved to set foot on dry land and as soon as it was realized that the Queen was in Harwich the Mayor summoned his aldermen to give her a welcome.
This had to be brief, for Lord Harcourt explained to the Mayor that they must leave Harwich without delay as they were expected in London immediately. So two hours later they had reached Colchester where at the house of a certain Mr Enew they stopped to drink tea, which Lord Harcourt reminded the Queen she would find refreshing. She did, and she
was particularly delighted to receive a box of eringo root which was one of the products of the town. Tasting this she found it to be a delicious sweetmeat and Lord Harcourt explained to her that the sweets were made from the roots of the eringo which was a kind of sea holly, and it was the custom of the inhabitants of Colchester to give boxes of this sweetmeat to members of the royal family who honoured their town by visiting it.
They left Colchester for Witham, where they were to spend the night at the mansion of Lord Abercorn; but alas Lord Abercorn was away in London, being unaware that he was to receive such an honoured guest. However those members of his family who were at home proceeded to show their loyalty to the Crown by arranging as impressive an occasion as they could manage at such short notice; and members of the nobility from the surrounding country – having heard of Charlotte’s arrival – came hurrying to be presented to her.
She was beginning to feel that the English were really pleased to see her. Perhaps this was why next morning as she was prepared to continue the journey and knew that that day she would come face to face with her husband, she allowed Elizabeth to persuade her to adopt an English mode of dress. In fact she was rather pleased with the effect, for the English fashion was more becoming than the German, and when she did not look at the dazzling beauty of her two English ladies-in-waiting she felt she looked tolerably well. Her fly cap had laced lappets which were very fine; and the stomacher with which she had been presented was decorated with diamonds, her gown was a white brocade with gold embroidery. It was quite magnificent and more elegant than anything she had ever possessed.
When they set out and she saw how many people had come to see her she was glad she had worn a dress more in keeping with what these people had been accustomed to think of as high royal fashion. She sat in her coach smiling at them as she passed along.
At Romford the King’s servants met her; they surrounded her coach and prepared to bring her into the capital; and along the road the cavalcade was joined by more soldiers, all in dazzling uniforms, all come to escort her on her way.
And so she came to London.
She was bewildered and fascinated – so much so that temporarily she forgot the ordeal before her. As her coach rattled over the cobbles past the magnificent buildings – such as she had never before imagined existed – the magic of the great city enveloped her. She saw the people jostling for a look at her; from the windows of the houses they called to her; she could not understand what they said, but she knew it for a welcome and she bowed and smiled and her delight in what she saw was obvious, so London took her to its heart. She was plain – they saw; but they liked her no less for that. She was a young bride for their young King; her coming would mean a wedding – a day of holiday and revelry – then a coronation.
‘Long live the Queen!’ shouted the people of London.
She saw the gaily coloured signs hanging from the shops; apprentices with their masters and their masters’ wives; ladies in their chairs, elegantly scented, powdered and patched. There were men in brocaded coats, their quizzing glasses held up to the procession, delicate lace ruffles falling from their wrists; and there were beggars, ragged and dirty, and women with children in their arms and dragging at their skirts; there were the street traders who yelled their wares, to mingle with the shouts of loyal greetings. The ballad sellers, the pie men, the milk girls with their panniers on their shoulders, the pin woman, the apple woman, the gingerbread-seller … they were all there to play their part and add to the noise and squalor, the colour and excitement of the London streets.
Charlotte stared in amazement as the coach rumbled on.
The Marchioness was amused by the effect the London scene was having on Charlotte. She looked at the watch which hung at her side and declared: ‘Your Majesty will scarcely have time to dress for your wedding, which is to take place tonight.’
‘Tonight! But surely I shall have a day or so to … er … grow accustomed to the King?’
‘It has been arranged, Madam, that it shall take place tonight.’
The significance of this suddenly struck Charlotte. She was almost at St James’s. There she would come face to face with the man they had chosen to be her husband; she was to be hurried through a ceremony and then left with him alone.
I cannot do it, she thought. It is too much to ask.
The Marchioness was looking at her oddly.
‘Your Majesty is not well,’ she began, then cried out in alarm for Charlotte had fallen sideways, her face ashen.
‘Quick,’ cried the Marchioness to the Duchess, ‘the Queen is about to faint. We shall be there in a minute. She can’t be laid at her bridegroom’s feet … in a faint!’
The Duchess took a bottle of lavender water from her pocket and opening it threw the contents into Charlotte’s face. As the sweet scent filled the carriage, Charlotte opened her eyes.
‘She is recovered,’ whispered the Marchioness. ‘Oh, thank God! Your Majesty, we have arrived.’
The coach had stopped before a garden gate and a young man was coming towards it.
‘The Duke of York,’ whispered the Marchioness to Charlotte.
Using all her will power Charlotte threw off the faintness which had almost overwhelmed her in the coach and looked about her; it seemed as though a crowd of people were pressing in on her. Oh, God, help me, she thought. I am going to faint again.
A tall young man had stepped towards her. She knew at once who he was, for the miniature with which she had been presented was a fair likeness – flattering, of course, but there were the prominent blue eyes, the heavy jaw, the mouth which was trying hard to smile but which in repose could be sullen.
This was her husband … the man whose children she was to bear … whose bed she would share this very night if it were true that they were to be married without delay.
Her knees felt weak and unable to support her. She was about to sink on to them when he took both her hands and kissed them.
He could not meet her eyes and she noticed this and she guessed that he was disappointed in her. She knew he must be. Doubtless they had told him she was – if not beautiful – tolerably attractive. And she felt so ill, so faint.
But he spoke to her kindly and his voice was tender. At least he was determined to hide his disappointment and she was grateful for that.
‘My mother is waiting to greet you,’ the King told her. ‘Allow me to conduct you to her.’
He took her hand and the rest of the company fell in behind them as they went into the Palace.
*
Beside Augusta, Dowager Princess of Wales, stood a tall man, middle aged, but still outstandingly handsome.
Charlotte guessed this was Lord Bute whose name she had heard mentioned many times as a great power in the land on account of his influence with the King and his mother.
The King presented her to his mother first and Charlotte was aware of a pair of shrewd eyes studying her; she was not sure of the meaning behind their expression but she fancied it was one of approval.
‘My sister, the Princess Augusta,’ he said, ‘who wishes to welcome you into England and the family.’
The Princess Augusta, a year older than the King, looked anything but pleased, thought Charlotte; she made a formal speech in French to which Charlotte responded; and after that Caroline Matilda was presented – a girl not much more than ten years old, Charlotte realized; and she too made her speech of welcome.
Then it was the turn of Lord Bute – ‘my dear friend’, the King called him – and Charlotte’s hand was most courteously kissed and Lord Bute told her, with emotion in his voice, how delighted he was to have her with them.
The Dowager Princess had risen and said that there was little time to spare, for the wedding was to take place at nine o’clock.
‘Your wedding garments are all ready in the wardrobe room,’ she was told. ‘But it may well be that some alterations will be necessary.’ The Princess Dowager looked as though they could hardly have expected George’s Qu
een to be quite so thin and little.
‘So we will lose no time,’ said the Dowager Princess, and Charlotte was walking with her into another apartment. The King had remained behind with Lord Bute and a panic seized Charlotte. She had felt safer with her husband than with these women – the cold woman who was her mother-in-law; the supercilious girl who was her sister-in-law and the young Caroline Matilda who, she felt, was secretly amused. Why? Because she was thin and small and ugly, and the child felt this to be some sort of joke?
‘Oh!’ cried Caroline Matilda as they entered the apartment in which the clothes were laid out. ‘Did you ever see such magnificent garments!’
Charlotte said in French: ‘I do not speak English.’
‘Then,’ replied Caroline Matilda, ‘you will have to learn quickly, will you not?’
The Duchess and the Marchioness appeared suddenly and the Princess Dowager commanded them to assist the Queen to dress in the garments without delay.
Then she signed to her daughters to retire with her.
As soon as they had left, the sewing women came in, pins hanging on strips of paper from their belts, their small eyes which seemed to have sunk deep into their heads through so much close work, beady and alert, as the magnificent gown was slipped over Charlotte’s head.
‘Your Majesty is trembling,’ said the Marchioness.
‘It is well for you to smile,’ retorted Charlotte. ‘You have been married twice. I never have before. So I find it no joke.’
Indeed not, she thought as the little sewing women seized her and lifted the gown up on the shoulders and in at the seams. It is like a bad dream that goes on and on, she thought. A nightmare.
*
At last the dress had been made to fit her. It was truly magnificent, being of white and silver; and her purple velvet mantle was fastened at one shoulder by a cluster of beautifully matching pearls. The King’s present to Charlotte was a diamond tiara, and this with her stomacher of diamonds – also a gift from the King – was valued at £60,000; and when she put these on they scintillated so brilliantly that she was sure their glitter would take people’s eyes from her face. Never had she seen such diamonds and she wondered fleetingly what Ida von Bülow would say if she could see her now.
