Caroline the Queen

by Виктория Холт

  Walpole was right, of course. He almost always was. The people were asking when Frederick was coming home. How much longer would they be able to keep him away? The King had been in a bad mood for he hated the thought of Frederick’s coming home. It seemed to be a foregone conclusion that Frederick would hate his father as George had hated his.

  Perhaps, thought the Queen, we shall grow to love him. But how could she love anyone who displaced her darling William? She was being foolish. Frederick would not displace William for William had never been in a position to be displaced. Yet she was as resentful as the King.

  Why did they have to talk continually of Frederick? Why could they not let him stay in Hanover where he was apparently enjoying life?

  She was tired suddenly. She had felt quite ill at dinner. She would retire early. They could say she had letters to write.

  As she rose her legs seemed quite numb; she stumbled and fell.

  Charlotte Clayton was at her side.

  ‘Your Majesty.’

  The Queen smiled faintly. ‘I slipped. I am a little tired. I think I vill go to bed.’

  * * *

  Charlotte Clayton had been watching the growing friendship between the Queen and Sir Robert Walpole. It seemed to her that whenever she wished for a little tête-à-tête with Her Majesty, Sir Robert was either with her or on the point of calling.

  Charlotte did not approve of Walpole. The man was a notorious lecher; he drank to excess; his conversation was crude; he was, in Charlotte’s eyes, not worthy of the Queen’s friendship.

  In the past she and the Queen had been very close. They agreed about so many matters. They had had many interesting theological discussions; but since the coronation and the closer friendship between the Queen and Walpole, Charlotte felt shut out.

  Moreover, she had always guessed that Walpole did not like her. There would come a day when he would poison the Queen’s mind against her and the Queen would become so besotted by the man that she would be ready to believe all he told her.

  That must not happen. But how prevent it? Was she, Charlotte Clayton, going to stand out against the chief minister?

  Something would have to be done.

  It was definitely wrong for the Queen to be closely attended by the King’s mistress—and for all the woman’s soft ways and meekness Charlotte would never like Henrietta Howard—and a lecher like Walpole. One good godfearing companion had to be close at hand.

  She was growing really alarmed. Only a few days ago she had heard Walpole speak of her disparagingly. He had called her ‘that old viper’. He never guarded his tongue but there was something in the tone of his voice which made her realize his dislike of her.

  She was not going to be pushed aside at ‘Walpole’s decree. The Queen needed her ... and she needed the Queen.

  * * *

  The Queen was lying on her bed. Charlotte stood at the foot looking at her, her eyes were round with horror, her face pale.

  ‘Your Majesty ...’

  ‘It is nothing ... nothing....’ said the Queen.

  ‘But madam, I saw ...’

  ‘Nothing at all ... nothing....’

  ‘Madam ... I should call your physician.’

  ‘Please say nothing about it.’

  ‘But ...’

  The Queen was almost pleading. ‘You know, Charlotte, what is wrong.’

  ‘I can only guess, Your Majesty.’

  ‘It is something which many women suffer from.’ ‘But the physician ...’

  ‘Do not speak to me of physicians. Listen Charlotte. I have had this ... affliction since the birth of Louisa.’

  ‘But Your Majesty should have treatment.’

  ‘No. No one must know. Do you understand that? It will pass, I tell you. It will pass. Charlotte I ask you ... I command you....’

  ‘Your Majesty!’ Charlotte bowed her head.

  ‘No one must know. I should feel so ... ashamed. It is such an unfortunate affliction. The King...’

  ‘Oh, Madam!’

  ‘Listen to me, Charlotte, I command you.’

  ‘Your Majesty, I would never disobey your command. This shall be our secret.’

  Our secret. Sorry as she was for the Queen, Charlotte felt a thrill of triumph. She shared a secret with the Queen; always Caroline would remember it.

  A secret, thought Charlotte, which she would share with no one ... not even Robert Walpole.

  ‘You May Strut, Dapper George’

  TO Windsor went their Majesties; they walked in the Park; they dined in public; they hunted in the forest—the King, young William, Anne, and Amelia on horseback, and the Queen in her chaise and Caroline in another. The Queen did not care for the hunt and she made Lord Hervey ride beside her and entertain her with his witty talk, for that young man was becoming a greater favourite with her every day.

  They were pleasant days at Windsor, but the King was a little sullen because he hated the place and was longing to be back at Hampton or his beloved Kensington. Still the cheers of the people delighted him and there was no doubt that they had been wise to make the tour.

  Caroline made sure that they spoke to the people whenever possible; moreover, she gave a sum of money towards paying the creditors of many who had been for years in the debtors’ prison there and thus securing their release.

  Caroline could have been very gratified apart from the nagging pain she suffered now and then, apart from wondering whether Anne should be reprimanded for showing too much haughtiness, Amelia for flirting with the Duke of Grafton, Caroline for not sitting up straight, William for his forwardness. The one of whom she must be most watchful was of course the King. Never must she betray by a look that she believed herself to be his intellectual equal.

  There were so many things to remember.

  Everything was going well. At the last general election Walpole had emerged triumphant; his government had been returned with a big majority, having secured this by bribery; he laughed at the ease with which it had been accomplished, explaining to Maria Skerrett during brief respites from public life at Richmond that every man had his price. He was ruling with a cynical ease which proved to be the best possible thing for the country. He wanted a successful England and that meant an England at peace both at home and abroad. The Jacobite menace was always with them but under Walpole it grew more remote. Unscrupulous he might be, but he was a strong man and he wanted to see the country strong. In this Caroline was immediately beside him. Their alliance was becoming friendship. They were both fully aware of each other’s qualities and the greatest bond between them was their need of each other.

  Choleric conceited little George, although he was no absolute monarch, was not without power. The government needed the support of the King and Walpole knew that Caroline could slip those invisible reins on her little man and lead him where she would. Her dexterity, her tact, her cool intelligence and her ability to play the humble wife filled Walpole with admiration. They were ideal partners; and it was not long before the results of their rule began to be seen. Trade increased at home; the price of wheat fell; credit abroad rose. Politicians were aware of this; and the people knew that life was more comfortable than it had been for a long time. For this they would reject romantic dreams of a handsome King across the water, of the stories of the charming King Charles II and his lovely Court. The Hanoverians might be dull and ugly, but if they brought prosperity to England the English preferred them to the more glamorous branch of the family.

  The reign was becoming popular thanks to Caroline and Sir Robert Walpole.

  But they were surrounded by astute politicians and enemies. William Pulteney was one, Viscount Bolingbroke another. Both these men were intensely ambitious and coveted Walpole’s position. That he owed much to the Queen was apparent to them and they and their friends believed that the best way to disrupt this alliance was to bring it to the notice of the King.

  George himself was of the impression that the country’s growing prosperity was due to him. He liked
to compare his reign with the previous ones, himself with other Kings of England to his own glorification.

  On one occasion he said: ‘These Kings of England . . . they have not known how to rule . . . they have not ruled. Others have ruled for them.’

  Bolingbroke, always ready for mischief, pointed out that the constitutional monarchs of the day lacked the power of the kings of the past. Such a remark was bound to anger George.

  ‘Pooh and stuff!’ This inelegant expression was a favourite of his. ‘I vill show you. Charles I was ruled by his vife, Charles II by his mistresses, James II by his priests, Villiam III by his men-favourites, and Anne by her vomenfavourites.’

  ‘And Your Majesty’s father?’ asked Bolingbroke.

  George’s blue eyes bulged. ‘By anyvon who could get at him!’ he sneered. The sneer was replaced by a delighted smile. ‘And who do they say governs now?’

  Bolingbroke bowed to hide the mockery in his eyes. ‘Who but his august Majesty, King George II.’

  George was satisfied; but Bolingbroke saw what mischief could be made by the mere suggestion that the King was led by the Queen.

  Bolingbroke had always been a frequenter of taverns and coffee houses where writers congregated, for he had long realized the power of the pen and he made full use of it. Consequently, shortly afterwards a verse was being quoted and laughed over, not only in the coffee and chocolate houses but throughout the Court.

  ‘You may strut, dapper George, but ‘twill all be in vain,

  We know ‘tis Queen Caroline, not you, that reigns.

  You govern no more than Don Philip of Spain.

  Then if you would have us fall down and adore you,

  Lock up your fat spouse as your dad did before you.’

  Bolingbroke’s next task was to see that this verse was brought to the King’s notice.

  * * *

  It was not difficult for one of Walpole’s enemies to arrange this; and the place in which it should be done appeared to be in the apartments of the King’s mistress. Henrietta was not taken into the scheme; she would never have agreed to that. All she wanted was to live in peace. But Bolingbroke, Pulteney, and members of the Opposition were soon able to arrange it and a young lady in whom the King was displaying a fleeting interest was soon found to show him the lampoon.

  ‘Such lies these scribblers write, Your Majesty. Why this latest verse which has caught everyone’s fancy ...’

  George was not inclined to show interest in what he called ‘boetry’ which he said was for little men like Mr Pope not for kings and the nobility. However, the matter was pressed and eventually he asked to see the rhyme. By what seemed to be an odd chance the lady had one in the pocket of her gown, torn in halves to show her contempt for it.

  But it was not difficult to put the two pieces together and when he read them George was overcome by such a rage that those who had planned the scheme could not have been more delighted.

  He turned to the unfortunate gentleman nearest him who happened to be Lord Scarborough, and cried: ‘Have you seen this ... this scandal!’

  Scarborough, a little pink, took the paper and frowned at it.

  ‘Have you!’ cried the King. ‘Have you?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Then vere have you it seen? Who showed it to you?’ ‘I ... I could not in honour tell Your Majesty.’

  ‘You stand there and tell me ...’

  The whole of the room was watching, some with alarm, but some with amusement—secret amusement—and others in delight.

  ‘Your Majesty ... it was a lady.’

  The King’s face was tinged with purple; the veins stood out at his temples.

  ‘It is von lie!’ he screamed.

  ‘Your Majesty, the whole Court knows this ...’

  ‘Then vy such lies are they written?’

  There was silence and as the King’s rage increased he turned to Scarborough and for a moment everyone thought he was going to strike the noble lord.

  Instead he said in a low voice which betrayed sorrow, disappointment, and a fury which could break into a frenzy at any moment: ‘Had I been you, Scarborough, I should have shot the man who showed me such insolent lies.’

  ‘I ... I understand, Your Majesty, and this I should have done ... but it was a lady ...’

  The King did not answer. He strode from the room.

  * * *

  The matter rankled in his mind. He had been forced to look at the truth and he did not like it. The people were hinting that he was a man who was governed by his wife! It was the very conclusion he was determined to avoid.

  He did not tell Caroline of the incident. He was determined that he would not be the one to bring that scurrilous verse to her notice; but his manner towards her changed.

  It appeared that he disliked her. She could never offer the simplest opinion but he could deride it. He began by doing so in front of her women.

  He would call for her in her apartments so they could do their walk together in the park.

  I do not care for that cloak. You vill another year.’ ‘Oh, that one is a little heavy for this time of the year.’ ‘I say you vill this von year.’

  The women were startled, but Caroline meekly put on the cloak.

  Something has happened, she thought. Why should there be so much drama about a cloak.

  They sauntered in the gardens. If she made a comment to anyone he would immediately contradict it.

  ‘Pooh and stuff. That is von nonsense.’

  The Queen was humiliated, but smilingly she agreed with all he said.

  He strutted ahead of her. Let her keep her distance. His voice was strident, arrogant. He was implying to everyone that he was the master and the Queen was entirely subservient to him.

  She dared not offer an opinion, for if she did he would certainly contradict it. Yet he did not change his habits in one way. He always visited her at precisely the same time as before; they walked at the same hour; the state papers were still delivered to her for perusal. The King’s great obsession was to show the Court that the Queen was his slave.

  His greatest pleasure seemed to be to snub her in public, and he never lost an opportunity of doing this.

  ‘The position,’ Caroline told Walpole, ‘is becoming intolerable.’

  ‘You will overcome the difficulty,’ soothed Walpole. ‘A plague on these scribblers.’

  So it became a new challenge to lead the King even more skilfully than ever before; and gradually she made a little headway. Her method must be to express an adverse opinion of something she sought to bring about. The King would immediately see its advantages; and once he had committed himself she could agree with him and strengthen his views.

  But she did not enjoy being constantly humiliated before the Court. Yet although Walpole’s enemies rejoiced, their exultation was only temporary, because it soon became obvious that the Queen was ready to endure the snubs for the sake of power.

  * * *

  Walpole came to the Queen.

  ‘I must speak to you about the Prince of Wales,’ he said. Caroline’s spirits sank. ‘Is that necessary?’

  ‘Very necessary. We cannot keep him out of the country much longer. The Opposition are attacking us for allowing him to remain so long away. They will have the people behind them. The King must be made to see that action should be taken at once.’

  ‘The King vill never agree.’

  ‘We must make him agree.’

  ‘You know the difficulties vich have arisen.’

  ‘I know Your Majesty always to make light of difficulties.’

  She did not answer; and he knew that in this matter she was in complete agreement with the King. She, as much as he, did not want Frederick to come home.

  But Walpole was going to insist.

  ‘It is unthinkable,’ he said, ‘that the Prince of Wales should have reached the age of twenty-one and never have visited the country he will one day rule. Your Majesty will I know realize that there can no longer
be any delay.’

  The Queen sighed. Life was very difficult. She had had to endure the King’s public slights; and now her friend and ally was going against her wishes.

  She wondered how long she and the King could hold out against Walpole and the Parliament. In such a country where the Parliament ruled, it would not be easy, yet she could not reconcile herself to receiving her son.

  The Marriage Plot

  IN the old Leine Schloss Frederick, Prince of Wales, was wondering why his parents did not send for him. He could not understand the position. When his grandfather was alive it had been reasonable enough. Grandfather had been King of England and Frederick’s father Prince of Wales. As his grandfather was also Elector of Hanover it had seemed natural enough—at least not incomprehensible—that he, Frederick, should remain at Hanover to represent the family. That was his grandfather’s explanation on his visits. But now, his father had been King for over a year and still he was not invited to go to England.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ he said to his friend Lamotte, who was an officer in the Hanoverian army. ‘Surely I should be in England by this time.’

  ‘Doubtless Your Highness will be recalled soon now.’ ‘Soon! I’ve been waiting for more than a year for that summons.’

  Frederick stood up and paced up and down the apartment. He was a good looking young man, but short like his father; he had the heavy rather sullen Hanoverian jaw and the rather protuberant blue eyes; but because of his youth these had not become accentuated as in the case of grandfather and father—and the good skin and bright hair gave him a pleasing appearance.

  ‘Well, Your Highness enjoys life in Hanover.’

  Frederick considered it. It was true. He had his position and everyone wished to be in his good graces. He had his mistresses and his men friends, and both pleased him equally. It was not that he had anything to complain of in Hanover. But he was the Prince of Wales; he had never seen England; and he had not seen his parents since he was seven. Therefore he was piqued because although they had been at liberty to send for him for more than a year they had not yet done so.