Caroline the Queen

by Виктория Холт

  ‘Frederick to have £100,000 But that is a nonsense.’ ‘It is a nonsense. For vat should he vant so much?’

  ‘Frederick to have £100,000 and you to have just the same as your father who had no big family.’

  ‘I tell him it is a nonsense ... and he say that he vill a difficulty have in getting the Parliament to agree to anything else.’

  Momentarily Caroline thought of Frederick. He would have to come home now. The prospect filled her with some dismay. How strange! Once her dearest wish had been to have her little Fritzchen with her; but that was thirteen years ago. All those years she had not seen her son; he was Frederick now, no longer dear little Fritzchen. A German, she feared, who had never seen England; and she had her little William now and she desired for him the honours which would be Frederick’s.

  He would have to come home now though because he was Prince of Wales. But certainly he should not have £100,000.

  ‘And Compton is a little slow,’ suggested Caroline tentatively, fearful that her husband might remember that the man was his choice.

  But George was too angry to remember. ‘He does nothing ... nothing. He says: “The Parliament ... the Parliament ...” But I vill have them remember I am the King.’

  ‘Perhaps another man would be of more help to us. Let us think who there might be ... Pulteney

  The King scowled and the Queen nodded to show she agreed with his lack of enthusiasm for that one.

  ‘And who else,’ she went on. ‘Wyndham ...’

  ‘No,’ said the King promptly.

  ‘There is Newcastle ...’

  ‘Newcastle.’ The King’s anger broke out. ‘That ugly baboon. Never! Never.’

  The Queen nodded. They were remembering a long ago occasion when the King had forced Newcastle to become sponsor at one of the children’s christening, and the quarrel which had broken out between George and Newcastle at the bedside which had resulted in that bigger quarrel between the King and his son. George scowled now to remember the humiliation of being placed under arrest, while Caroline remembered how she had been parted from her children.

  Newcastle was the last man. Yet he was an able statesman, and there were not so many of those.

  ‘It leaves only Valpole,’ said the Queen, and then feared she had been too bold.

  ‘Valpole ...’ grumbled the King.

  ‘He is perhaps the only man who can increase the Civil List . . . and it must be increased. Ve have so many children. Valpole can do it. I remember your father’s saying that this man could turn stones into gold.’

  ‘For his own benefit he vill do this.’

  Tut to do it for us vill be to his benefit. The fat ox vill understand this.’

  George was thoughtful. It was true.

  ‘It is no harm to send for him,’ said the Queen. ‘Then Your Majesty can judge him.’

  ‘I vill see him,’ said the King.

  * * *

  So Walpole presented himself to the Queen. Caroline was delighted that he should first come to her. George must not know this, but it was how it should be in the future, and it delighted her to know that Walpole understood this.

  ‘The King is not satisfied with the Civil List,’ she told him. ‘Compton does not seem to be able to make them understand how we are placed. He vill give me only £6o,000 a year and it is not enough.’

  ‘Your Majesty should have £100,000 a year,’ declared Walpole.

  The Queen’s eyes gleamed. £40,000 more than Compton had wanted to provide.

  ‘You think this could be arranged?’

  ‘I believe, Your Majesty, that I could arrange it.’

  A tacit agreement? wondered the Queen. Give me your support and you shall be well rewarded. £40,000 a year! It was a good sum.

  ‘You can svay the House, Sir Robert,’ she said with a smile. ‘I know that yell. Perhaps you have some suggestions for the King?’

  ‘The late King had a Civil List of £700,000, and His Majesty, then Prince of Wales, received £100,000.’

  ‘This Compton vants to give our son Frederick, now Prince of Vales, this although he is a young man unmarried and the King, when Prince of Vales, had a family to support.’

  ‘Your Majesty, the £100,000 which was paid to the Prince of Wales should be added to the £700,000 Civil List, arid Your Majesties should decide what you will allow the Prince from it.’

  ‘That is von good idea.’

  ‘Then I do not see why a further £130,000 should not be provided. The King’s subjects will rejoice to see him keep a more kingly Court than his father did.’

  ‘And the Parliament?’

  Walpole smiled. ‘I think there is one man who can arrange their acceptance of these proposals.’

  ‘Sir Robert Valpole?’ asked the Queen.

  Walpole bowed. ‘At the service of Your Majesties,’ he answered.

  * * *

  Walpole was triumphant. The King had implied that he should continue in his old office provided he get the Civil List passed through.

  There was no subtlety about George.

  ‘I vant it for life,’ he said; ‘and remember, it is for your life too.’

  It had not been difficult. The government knew that Walpole’s future hung on the passing of the Civil List; and it knew too that without Walpole it could not long exist. So there he was, the fat ox of a man, smiling blandly at them, laying the suggestions before them which he knew they could not afford to oppose.

  Bribery of a sort—but not unknown in politics.

  The King and Queen had their money; and Walpole was returned to power.

  He laughed to himself as he rode down to Richmond to ell Maria about it.

  ‘You, my dear,’ he said triumphantly, ‘are not the only one who can’t do without me.’

  While the King and Queen were congratulating themselves on the easy way in which they had acquired a large income a blow struck from an unexpected direction.

  Letters were delivered to the King and among them was one from his distant cousin the Duke of Wolfenbüttel.

  The Duke had written that he was in a somewhat delicate position, and he hoped the King of England would advise him what should be done.

  King George I, His Majesty’s father, had left with him a copy of his will in case the original was lost in some way. He did not want to interfere in his cousin’s arrangements in any way, but he had heard that the King of Prussia had hoped that his wife, Queen Sophia Dorothea, who was after all the daughter of the late King, would have profited from her father’s will. The Duke of Wolfenbüttel was hard pressed at the time and he sent congratulations to his more affluent relative. He was also in a quandary, for on one side was the King of Prussia who, he believed, was ready to pay handsomely for a glimpse of the will, and on the other his friend and cousin George II. He was writing this letter first of all to ascertain the wishes of His Majesty. It gave him great pleasure to have the Duchess of Kendal as his guest at Wolfenbüttel, for he knew full well in what great regard the late King had held that lady....

  When the King received this letter his eyes bulged with fury. He took it to the Queen who read it and looked very grave.

  Who would have thought the sly old man would have made a copy and deposited it where it was out of the reach of his son’s hands!

  And what a stroke of ill luck that the Duchess of Kendal, who would no doubt profit as much as anyone from the late King’s will, should at this time actually be staying as a guest in the house of the man who had a copy of the will.

  The promptest action was clearly needed.

  ‘At least,’ she said, ‘Volfenbüttel has not made its contents known. I suppose Your Majesty will do as he is asking and buy this copy of the vill?’

  ‘Got damn him!’ cried George.

  ‘And as soon as possible. He might change his mind. The Duchess of Kendal is actually under his roof. Who knows what pressure she might bring to bear.’

  ‘She is vithout power.’

  ‘She is on the spot. And
the King of Prussia may yell make a big offer for the vill.’

  ‘I vill send a trusted man at vonce.’

  ‘And I vill write to the Duchess assuring her of my friendship. It vould be yell if she came back to England ... and quickly.’

  The King despatched a messenger without delay and the Queen went to her apartments and immediately wrote to the Duchess.

  ‘My first thought, my dear Duchess, has been of you in the misfortune which has befallen us; I know well your devotion and love for the late King, and I fear for your health; only the resignation which you have always shown to the divine will can sustain you under such a loss. I wish I could convey to you how much I feel for you, and how anxious I am about your health, but it is impossible for me to do so adequately. I cannot tell you how greatly this trouble has affected me ...’

  Caroline paused to smile cynically. What joy it had brought! No more to he plagued by that old scoundrel, to have her children with her. Would poor Ermengarda see through this hypocrisy? Not she! She had always been simple—except in money matters. Ah, there was the point. If she knew of the existence of that will, she would guess that she would be one of the main beneficiaries and she would no longer be the King’s simple Ermengarda Schulemburg whom he had made Duchess of Kendal. Money had always sharpened Ermengarda’s wits.

  Caroline continued:

  ‘I had the honour of knowing the late King, and you know that to know him was sufficient to make one love him also ...’

  Oh, no! That was too much! But in Ermengarda’s present mood she would accept it. George I had been a god to her when he lived; now he would naturally have become a saint. And Ermengarda must come back to England; she must be safely settled in the shadows for ever more.

  ‘I know that you always tried to render good service to the present King. He knows it too and I hope you realize that I am your friend. It is my pleasure and duty to remind you of the fact and to tell you that I and the King will always be glad to do all we can to help you. Write to me, I beg you, and give me an opportunity to show how much I love you.

  Caroline.’

  Its falseness was apparent in every line. But Ermengarda might not see this. She was almost out of her wits with grief for the King whose constant companion and devoted mistress she had been for so many years.

  Caroline despatched the letter that it might arrive at the same time as the Duke of Wolfenbüttel received the handsome sum George was sending in payment for the will.

  There were many anxious days before the copy of his father’s will was in the King’s hands and, once there, immediately given the same treatment as the other copy.

  Coronation

  EVERYONE’S thoughts were now occupied with the coronation.

  The Queen had dismissed the governess of her eldest girls and had decided that she would supervise their education. It was a little late now, Anne being nearly nineteen years old and even Caroline only four years younger. Oh, how angry she could become even now when she thought of the years that old monster George I had kept them from her. Still that was over now and she must make the best of it.

  Here she had all her children under her care now. Even Frederick would have to come soon.

  Not yet, she thought. The longer they kept him out of England the better.

  She went to the nursery, for she had commanded the elder girls to be there with their little sisters and brother as she wished to talk to them all together.

  When she entered the elder girls curtsied, but the young ones rushed at her and Anne looked on with haughty disapproval as young William claimed first attention.

  She could never resist him. He was her favourite and she was touched by love and pride every time she saw him. Darling William, already Duke of Cumberland.

  ‘My darling!’ said Caroline fondly. ‘And you have been goot boy?’

  ‘He is never a good boy, Mamma,’ said Anne coldly. William swung round and ran at his sister preparing to pummel her.

  ‘I am a good boy. I am. I am. I am the best boy in the world, I tell you.’

  ‘Oh, William, William, that vill not do. Come here at vonce to Mamma.’

  William stuck out his lower lip and grimaced at Anne before turning to his mother.

  ‘Now, you vill tell me how you are getting on with your lessons.’

  ‘I am very clever, Mamma.’

  ‘So he says,’ retorted Amelia.

  ‘No, no. It is Jenkin who says so.’

  ‘And you have been reading Mr Gay’s fables.’

  William nodded, smiling at the memory of the fables. Anne interrupted by saying: ‘Mamma, what are we to wear for the coronation.’

  ‘Ah, the coronation! That is vy I have to you come. You vill all be taught your part and I know you vill do as you should. It vill be von great experience to see your father and me crowned. And I shall so proud of yen be.’

  ‘I shall be there!’ cried William.

  ‘And that,’ retorted Anne sourly, ‘will ensure the success of the occasion.’

  William nodded gravely, believing this to be so, and his mother laughed.

  Anne was so angry she could have slapped the spoilt child. The only thing that gave her satisfaction was that his arrogant little nose would soon be put out of joint. for surely Frederick would have to come home shortly. Then Master ‘William would learn that he was only a young brother. From the way he behaved now one would think he was the heir to the throne.

  ‘Mamma, shall we carry your train?’ asked Amelia. ‘Yes, my dear, you three eldest shall carry my train.’

  ‘I will carry it!‘ cried William.

  The Queen laughed as though he had said something very clever.

  ‘You are too young,’ Anne told him. ‘And boys don’t carry trains.’

  ‘If I want to carry a train ...’ began William ominously. But Amelia interrupted: ‘Can three of us carry the train then, Mamma?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You three will carry it and you will be wearing your purple robes of states, with circlets on your heads.’

  ‘Not coronets?’ asked Anne, always anxious that no outward sign of royalty should be omitted.

  ‘No, dear. These vill be borne before you by three peers.’

  Anne clasped her hands ecstatically. ‘Oh, how I wish that I were going to be crowned. Mamma, you must be the happiest woman in the world.’

  ‘I am happiest most to have my children vith me.’ ‘Shall I be crowned?’ asked William.

  Anne laughed loudly. ‘You are not even Prince of Wales. It is the Prince of Wales who becomes the King. You were born a little too late, dear brother.’

  ‘Mamma, why was I born too late?’

  Never was there such an arrogant six-year-old, thought Amelia. It was time brother Frederick came home if only to show Master William that although his mother spoilt him outrageously, he was not the most important member of the household.

  ‘My darling, these things vill be.’

  The Queen was regretful. William himself could not have wished more heartily than she that he was the firstborn and therefore Prince of Wales.

  ‘But I don’t want them to be.’

  ‘And even William, Duke of Cumberland, can’t have everything he wants,’ replied Anne.

  How sharp she is, how acid! thought the Queen. That must be corrected. And there was Amelia looking almost mannish although so good looking; and little Caroline stooping too much. Mary and Louisa were such babies, of course, but they seemed to be her very own because they had not been taken from her and she had always had charge of them. She feared that the quarrel with the late King had had a marked affect on her family.

  She must correct their faults, but gently because she loved them tenderly and wanted to keep their love.

  ‘Soon,’ went on Anne, addressing William, ‘your brother will return and you will meet the Prince of Wales who will be the most important of us all.’

  William looked questioningly at his mother who said: ‘I daresay your brother vill come to England in due cou
rse.’

  ‘Should he not be here for the coronation, Mamma?’ ‘That is impossible. He could not leave Hanover yet.’ ‘But when, Mamma, when?’ insisted Amelia.

  ‘That ve cannot yet say.’

  The pleasure was spoilt. It was true he would have to come home. And she, his mother, had to admit that she didn’t want him. To her he would be as a stranger, a German stranger!

  Perhaps she could get Walpole to help her contrive some scheme for keeping Frederick in Hanover. It was an idea. Frederick to remain as Elector of Hanover and William to be Prince of Wales. Even Walpole could never arrange that. Still, the longer they could keep Frederick in Hanover, the more hope there would be of making young William Prince of Wales.

  She could not take her eyes from him—her beloved son. He was already a little man at six years old—very sure of what he wanted; and clever, too, if she could believe his most excellent tutor Jenkin Thomas Philipps who had published for William’s use his Essay Towards a Universal and Rational Grammarand Rules in English to Learn Latin.

  ‘Now,’ said the Queen, ‘I vant to hear from you all. How are you elder girls spending your time, eh? And you little ones must tell me how you are progressing with your lessons. ... Come Louisa, my dear.’ She lifted the three-year-old on to her lap. ‘And you too, Mary.’ Mary, a year older than Louisa, was overawed by the presence of her elder sisters who were almost strangers to her, and came shyly to her mother. But William was of course pushing for the first place.

  The elder girls remained rather aloof—Anne haughtily, Amelia indifferently, and Caroline diffidently.

  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.