Caroline the Queen

by Виктория Холт

  ‘Oh, Frederick, I am dying ...’ moaned the Princess.

  ‘Have courage! It’ll all be over soon.’

  It seemed to Augusta that they would never reach the Palace. She would die before they did. She should be in her bed at Hampton with her ladies about to minister to her. This was wrong ... to be rattling along in this coach over the cobbles and each jolt an agony.

  ‘We are here ...!’ cried the Prince. ‘Praise God we are here! Now carry the Princess upstairs. Put her to bed at once.’ His voice had a triumphant ring. ‘Her child will be born at St James’s.’

  There were no sheets to be had, but Lady Archibald Hamilton found a pair of tablecloths and with this made some sort of bed. There were no towels, no hot water ... nothing that was required for a comfortable accouchement.

  But the child was born—a seven months’ baby—a fragile little girl.

  * * *

  It had, so the Queen thought, been an ordinary evening at Hampton. She and Amelia had been playing quadrille and Lord Hervey and the Princess Caroline had been playing cribbage, a habit of theirs now, and one to which the Queen knew Caroline looked forward with more pleasure than Lord Hervey did. The King was paying marked attention to Lady Deloraine and was playing commerce with her and the maids of honour. It was the sort of evening exactly like so many others.

  She and the King retired at the usual time and were fast asleep when they were awakened by a knocking at the door.

  The King rose up, startled. The Queen left the bed knowing that something startling must have happened for them to be aroused in this way.

  ‘Is the Palace on fire?’ cried the Queen.

  ‘No, Your Majesty, but there is a messenger from the Prince.’

  It was Lady Sundon, startled out of her sleep, scarcely believing what she heard could be possible.

  ‘I have just been told that the Prince of Wales has sent to let Your Majesties know that the Princess is in labour.’

  ‘I will come to her at once,’ said the Queen. ‘Fetch me my robe.’

  ‘Your Majesty will need your coach,’ said Lady Sundon. ‘The Prince and Princess are at St James’s.’

  ‘Are you mad? You’re dreaming.’

  ‘No, Madam. The Princess’s pains started, so I hear, and the Prince insisted that they leave by coach at once for St James’s.’

  The King had appeared, the red of his face seeming to be reflected in his eyes.’

  ‘What’s all this? What’s all this?’

  Lady Sundon repeated what she had told the Queen.

  ‘The puppy!’ cried the King. ‘The insolent puppy!’ Then he turned on the Queen. ‘This is your fault. You’re supposed to be so clever. Now they’ve outwitted you We shall have a false child put on us, depend upon it. Fine care you have shown for your son William, haven’t you? He will be mightily obliged to you. And you deserve anything he can say to you.’

  The Queen did not answer him. She turned to Lady Sundon, ‘Help me dress. I must be at St James’s if possible when the child is born.’

  The King did not accompany her but stumped angrily back to bed while the Queen made the night journey to St James’s.

  There the Prince met her and coldly kissed her hand. ‘The child is born,’ he said. ‘A girl.’

  A girl. That made the Queen feel better.

  She went to the Princess’s bedroom where Augusta lay exhausted. Caroline kissed her and said she was afraid she had suffered a great deal.

  ‘It was nothing,’ said Augusta, smiling.

  ‘Where is the child?’

  Lady Archibald Hamilton brought it wrapped up in an old red coat and a few napkins. She apologized to the Queen, explaining this was all she could find.

  The Queen took the baby and kissed her.

  ‘Poor child,’ she said, ‘you have come into a troublesome world. It is a miracle that no harm has come to the Princess. What a pair of fools! And I’m surprised at you, my Lady Archibald. You have had ten children, you should have explained what danger the Princess was in.’

  Lady Archibald Hamilton turned to the Prince and said: ‘You see, sir!’ in such a tone that the Queen was satisfied that she at least had attempted to stop the venture.

  The Queen went back to Hampton where her daughters Amelia and Caroline were already up waiting to hear the news.

  ‘I have seen the fools,’ she said. ‘He is a scoundrel and she, poor thing, has no mind. If she were to spit into my face I should just wipe it off and not hold it against her.’

  ‘And the child, Mamma?’

  ‘A poor ugly little she-mouse. If instead of her there had been a brave large fat jolly boy, I should have been suspicious. As it is, I must accept the fact that this son of mine is an arrogant fool, but at least he is not an impotent one.’

  * * *

  Shortly after the birth of the Prince’s daughter, Lady Walpole died. She and Sir Robert had meant little to each other for years and Sir Robert’s immediate thought was that now he would be able to marry Maria.

  At the same time he was expected to show some sorrow and the Queen summoned him that she might express her sympathy. This he accepted perfunctorily, but the Queen’s desire to know exactly how Lady Walpole had died aroused his interest.

  What had been her symptoms? Was she not young to die?

  ‘Death,’ said Sir Robert, ‘can strike any of us at any time.’

  ‘That I know well,’ she said, ‘but she was a woman who fancied her comforts.’

  ‘She lived ... well,’ commented Walpole.

  ‘She had had her children. I wondered whether her death was due to ...’ The Queen paused and her manner became almost furtive. ‘Some women,’ she went on, ‘often suffer injuries in childbirth from which they never recover. I have heard of internal ruptures which can be dangerous. I wondered whether this had happened to Lady Walpole.’

  ‘I know of no such thing.’

  ‘You do not think that perhaps she kept it a secret?’

  ‘Why should she?’

  ‘Oh ... it might be something of which a woman did not care to speak.’

  Walpole said: ‘It was nothing of that.’

  And he knew then that he had discovered the Queen’s secret. This was the knowledge she shared with Lady Sundon; and she would tell no one, receive no treatment, because she thought it was too humiliating. Or was she afraid that through it she would lose the King’s affection?

  It was folly. If the Queen did suffer in this way she should consult the physicians; he believed there was an operation that could be performed.

  He went home to discuss this depressing matter with Maria and the exhilarating project of their coming marriage which, for the time, because it would follow so quickly on the death of his wife, they must keep their secret.

  Two secrets, he thought. One so morbid, one so joyous; and neither need be secret. Nor would they be long? Soon everyone would know that he and Maria were married. And the Queen? If she did not look after her health the news of her disability would soon become common knowledge.

  The Secret Betrayed

  IT was a misty November morning when the Queen decided that she would go to inspect the new library she was having built in the stable yard of St James’s.

  The King, strangely enough, had raised no objection, and Walpole had somehow found the money from the treasury to enable this project to become a reality. She had been wise, Caroline told herself, to have started the library after the King had returned chastened from Hanover.

  Now she was watching it grow with real pleasure and she and her daughter Caroline came every day to inspect it.

  It was pleasant, she said to Caroline, to have something that was a comfort to contemplate.

  Caroline agreed; they were both thinking of Fred who, since the birth of his daughter, had behaved so badly, particularly to the Queen whom he seemed to dislike more than he did his father. If he had a chance of slighting her, he would seize it and the situation between them all had become so bad that the King
had exiled Frederick, his wife, and child from St James’s, declaring he would not have him under the same roof.

  This was exactly what Frederick and the Opposition wanted. He had taken up residence at Kew and started a new Court there. The Opposition was behind him, seeing in him the King who would very soon be on the throne. The young Tories believed that once the King was dead, that would be the end of Walpole and the Whigs; they would have their chance. Therefore the Prince’s Court was to be feared and neither the King nor the Queen knew when the next trouble would appear.

  So, as Caroline said, it was very comforting to inspect the growing library.

  But while she stood there the smiles on her face became fixed and the Princess Caroline, herself something of an invalid for her rheumatic pains were showing signs of returning now that damp cold weather was back, noticed that something was wrong.

  ‘Mamma,’ she said, ‘are you well?’

  ‘I think,’ said the Queen, leaning heavily on her daughter, ‘I should go back to my apartments.’

  * * *

  ‘It is an attack of colic,’ said the Queen, looking at Lady Sundon as though daring her to suggest otherwise.

  ‘I have sent for Dr Tesier, Mamma,’ said the Princess.

  ‘I will lie down until he comes. I shall feel better then.’

  Dr Tesier arrived and asked the Queen many questions. ‘It is my tiresome colic back again. The same as before, you remember, doctor?’

  He did remember. It was a most unpleasant complaint while it lasted and after a bout of it the Queen often felt in better health.

  ‘Take a little Daffy’s Elixir, Madam,’ he said. ‘It cured you before. It will do so again.’

  Lady Sundon brought the Elixir and when she had taken it the Queen said she would rest a while.

  The King came bursting into the bedchamber.

  ‘What’s this?’ he said. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Her Majesty was taken ill at the library.’

  ‘A waste of money! Who wants libraries! ‘ Then he saw the Queen’s pale face and a look of fear came to his face. ‘You’re a fool,’ he shouted, ‘to tire yourself with these stupid things. Making libraries for a lot of boobies to gape at. No wonder you feel faint.’

  The Queen knew that his abuse in a way measured his devotion for her. He attacked her because he was frightened.

  So, she thought, I must look ill.

  ‘We shall cancel the drawing room,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ insisted the Queen. ‘I shall be well in an hour or so. If I sleep now I shall be fully recovered. It has been so before.’

  The King was immediately cheered.

  ‘Stupid libraries for a lot of boobies! ‘ he muttered as he left her.

  In the drawing room Lord Hervey approached the Queen’s table.

  ‘My God, Madam,’ he said, ‘are you ill?’

  ‘I have had a touch of my old enemy, the colic. I was at the library this morning when it started, so I came back and went to bed.’

  ‘You are still in pain, Madam. What did you take?’

  ‘Daffy’s Elixir. Dr Tesier recommended it.’

  ‘Madam, you should not be here. For God’s sake, go to your room.’

  ‘You are very vehement, my lord.’

  ‘I fear for you, Madam.’

  The Queen did not meet his eyes. She tried to smile at someone who was approaching. Oh, God, she thought, let this pass. Let the King dismiss these people and let me get to my bed.

  Lord Hervey stayed by her side.

  God bless him, thought the Queen. He is a cynical man, worldly, perhaps a little wicked, but I love and bless him.

  She was watching the King, eagerly waiting for him to retire. And now ... he was doing so and at last she was free.

  Oh, the comfort of bed!

  Lady Sundon was efficiently helping her to it.

  ‘Rest, Sundon. I need rest. Oh, my God, I feel so ill.’

  ‘Yes, Madam. I think I should send for the doctors.’

  * * *

  The Queen was very ill. There was no denying it. Many remedies had been tried; she had been given snake root and brandy, more Daffy’s Elixir, mint-water, and usequebaugh; she had been given clysters, and blooded, and nothing eased her.

  The King was frantic with anxiety, cursing the Queen, the doctors, and all those who came near him.

  ‘She’ll be better soon,’ he insisted. ‘It’s a colic ... nothing more. She’s had colics before.’

  She seemed a little quieter and the Princess Caroline sat by her bed with Lord Hervey, for although she wandered a little in her mind she seemed comforted to have them there.

  She spoke suddenly to them and said: ‘I have an ill which no one knows of.’ And then she closed her eyes and seemed to sleep.

  After that she seemed a little better and expressed her anxiety about the Princess Caroline who was herself ill and should not be sitting up; whereupon Lord Hervey said that he would keep watch by her bedside, and if there was any change in her condition he himself would tell the Princess Caroline without any disguise exactly how the Queen was.

  Only then would the Princess leave her mother’s bedside.

  The King said he would sit in the Queen’s bedroom with Lord Hervey and Sir Hans Sloane was sent for and, with Dr Hulse, ordered purging and blooding. Princess Amelia lay on a couch in the Queen’s bedroom; and once or twice during the night Lord Hervey went to report to the Princess Caroline what was happening in the sick room.

  In the morning the Queen seemed a little better.

  As the days passed it began to be believed that the Queen was dying.

  The Prince of Wales came from Kew to Carlton House.

  When the King heard this he shouted: ‘If the puppy should, in one of his impertinent affected airs of duty and affection, dare to come to St James’s he shall be told I wonder at his impudence. I am in no humour to bear with his impertinence and I shall tell him to get out of my house.’

  But soon the Prince was letting it be known that he had come to Carlton House so that he might be near his mother, and this again set the King in a fury.

  ‘This is one of his scoundrel’s tricks,’ he cried. ‘I always hated the rascal and now I hate him more than ever. He wants to come here and insult his dying mother, but he shall not come here and act his silly parts, false, lying, cowardly, nauseous puppy. And suppose the Queen loved him as much as she hates him, she is not in a condition to bear the emotion.’

  The King went to the Queen and sat down by her bed, scowling at her. Get well, that scowl seemed to say. How can I live without you?

  She smiled at him and said she was surprised that the Prince had not sent to ask after her. ‘Sooner or later,’ she said, ‘I shall be plagued by some message because he will think it will look well to ask after me. No doubt he hopes I’ll be fool enough to let him come and give him the pleasure of seeing my last breath got out of my body, by which means he will have the joy of knowing I was dead five minutes sooner than he would in Pall Mall.’

  ‘You need not fear he will come here,’ said the King. ‘I have taken steps to prevent that.’

  ‘He is a sad wretch, and if I should grow worse and be weak enough in my ravings to ask for him, I beg of you understand that I am raving. Promise me now that you will not let him come to me.’

  ‘I promise,’ said the King.

  The King bent over the Queen’s bed.

  ‘Caroline! ‘ he whispered.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  ‘I’m afraid your illness comes from a thing I have given you my promise never to speak of. I can no longer keep that secret.’

  Caroline started out of her languor.

  ‘You must. You must.’

  ‘I cannot. My dearest, I must tell the doctors. They must act. It may not be too late.’

  ‘I beg of you ...’

  There were tears on his cheeks. ‘I cannot, my dear. I must not. It is a chance. Do you not see that I will take any chance....�
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  ‘Please … please....’

  But he had turned away. She saw him talking to the doctors.

  She saw the doctors approaching the bed; and she turned her face to the wall and wept.

  * * *

  An operation had been performed on the Queen, but the doctors feared they were too late to save her life. Now there could be no doubt that the Queen was dying.

  The King was stricken with grief, roaring his rage one moment, breaking down and weeping the next.

  The Queen was in great pain, and now that her secret was known she showed no desire to live. She seemed as though she were eagerly awaiting death.

  The King would not leave her. He slept on her bed, giving her restless nights and enduring them himself.

  ‘I must be near her. She will be happier to know that I am near.’

  He told everyone how good the Queen was, how there had never been another woman in his life whom he cared for as he cared for her.

  He would sit by her bed and remind her of how he had come to court her. ‘I loved you then ... I love you now.

  ‘You cannot leave me, Caroline. What shall I do without you?’

  Then he would grow angry because she was restless. ‘You should sleep,’ he would shout at her. ‘How can you expect to rest when you won’t lie still a moment?’ Then he would go back to the days of their youth.

  Did she remember when she had first come to Hanover ... the first days of their marriage? Monsieur de Busch ... the ardent young man who had come in disguise to court her ... and he turned out to be the Prince of Hanover, later to be King of England. Did she remember those days at Herrenhausen, at the Leine Schloss?

  He would see her as she was then, young and very handsome . . . and this poor woman in the bed was what she had become.

  ‘Don’t lie there staring before you like a calf waiting to have its throat cut!’ he called out angrily.

  Then he was tender again and he would berate the women for not being quiet enough in the sick chamber. And the Queen continued to cling to life.