by Norah Lofts
“Then I must go?”
“In a year,” Mamma said, “you will be so happy, Carol: that you will look back on this evening and laugh at you self.”
She made that prophecy with complete confidence and sincerity; no young man, in his right senses, could look upon this beautiful girl without loving, and trying to please her.
KEW AND LONDON; 1765—1766
Time had never flown so fast before; spring had hardly come with its daffodils and tulips when summer was there with its roses, then the colored autumn, winter again and snow. In part this acceleration was due to Caroline’s feeling that she was being rushed toward a fate which, though she had accepted it, still had, at odd moments, an element of terror; and in part because with the announcement of her betrothal and the coming-out ball which had followed, she had become part of the adult, fashionable world.
Mamma’s profound distrust of that world had not lessened; it was, if not positively corrupt, shallow and false; the woman who entertained you lavishly in the evening, was capable of inventing and propagating the most virulent gossip about you next morning over the chocolate cups. But it was a world in which Caroline must live and find her own way; and a girl could not go direct from a sheltered, simple, informal life with her family to an important place in a foreign Court. There were, however, signs to be hung out over the most obvious danger spots.
“It is advisable, my dear, never to listen to gossip. When it starts, change the subject as unobtrusively as possible. And never repeat anything that you hear. And unless you have sound reason to believe it, be skeptical.” In a burst of that frankness which her favorite daughter had inherited, the Princess said, “You will hear it said that Lord Bute is my lover. That is absolutely untrue. He is my friend and adviser. This is the kind of thing that results.”
She handed to Caroline a paper so folded as to expose a cartoon. There was George, his appearance despite the cartoonist’s exaggerations, quite unmistakable, Mamma equally easily identified, but wearing an apron to whose strings George was attached, and looming over both an enormous boot.
Anger deepened the color in Caroline’s cheeks and flashed in her eyes. “How truly abominable! Who drew it? Who printed it? They should go to jail!”
Mamma folded the paper smaller and tucked it behind a cushion.
“The English press enjoys great freedom,” she said, calmly. But it seemed an opportune moment to bring out another signpost.
“To some extent I have laid myself open to such attacks. Nobody who knows the situation would imagine for a moment that George is led by me; but it is true that he consults me and asks my advice because I am interested in politics. I know now that for a woman that is a bad thing. Had I my time over again I should affect not to know a Whig from a Tory.”
On another occasion she warned Caroline against having favorites. “Naturally one likes some people more than others, but it is a mistake to allow preferences to show. It can only lead to envy and malice. To be amiable to all and intimate with none is an excellent rule for anyone in high position.”
Such advice, most of it sound and good, much of it the fruit of experience, was poured out freely and stored away in Caroline’s memory. It was after the remark “intimate with none” that Caroline said to Alice who was temporarily doing duty as femme de chambre, “How I wish that you could come with me, Alice.” Everybody, even a queen, needed somebody to talk to at times, and nobody would be envious of Alice. But it was already arranged that an older woman named Phyllis, a good hair dresser and needlewoman, won accompany Caroline to Denmark and stay for a time, least.
As 1765 sped away, more and more things were arranged. Her birthday came in June, and soon afterward Ma began to show for her health the concern previously reserved for delicate Louise. Caroline knew why; she was still not marriageable in the narrowest sense of the word. And she was still growing, which also concerned Mamma, who was herself tall for a woman. “You’ll be my height, Caroline, I fear. I was fortunate, your dear Papa was tall.”
The theory that Caroline was outgrowing her strength served as an excuse for refusing many invitations in that autumn and winter. Old Doctor Faversham, somewhat deaf and so long-sighted with age as to be purblind at close range, but trusted by Mamma because he had never once disagreed with her, was called in and said “Time” and early to bed, and plenty of red meat and port wine.
By the first week in January 1766, these measures had brought about the desired effect and Caroline was marriageable.
Then unexpectedly Frederick, King of Denmark died and Christian became King. Mamma said, “It is just as well. The position of second lady in the land is never easy.” And Mamma should know.
That was in January. By the end of March or the beginning of April, time went so fast that exact dates were difficult to fix, Mamma’s whole attitude changed. Caroline, uninformed, sometimes imagined that Mamma, so very clever and resourceful and controlled, had actually taken notice of her protest made more than a year ago and had been secretively in sympathy with her and biding her time to make a move. For now Mamma appeared to be doing everything possible to delay the wedding.
She said that Caroline would not be fifteen until June and fifteen was full young to be married.
She said that Caroline, marrying not the Crown Prince of Denmark, but the King, should have a dowry of at least £500,000. George said that this was extortionate and the Commons would never grant it. And he was right; while they argued, the lilac at Kew bloomed and faded, and then June came with roses and the Commons announced that Princess Caroline would take with her a dowry of £100,000. Mamma said, “That will do; had we asked for that we should have obtained less,” and shifted her ground.
Neither Caroline, nor Louise had been confirmed, she pointed out; and a girl should be confirmed before she was married. She had always planned that Louise and Caroline should be confirmed together, and Louise had always been too delicate for any extra instruction. Instruction was needed before confirmation.
Instruction took quite a time because Louise had a headache, a backache, and a shocking cough; it was late in August when the two girls knelt before the Bishop of London in the Royal Chapel of St. James and were formally enrolled, two more soldiers for Christ.
And here was another change, for fifteen years God had always seemed to Caroline to be associated with, and very similar to, Mamma, judicial, critical, all-knowing, very ready to mark what was done amiss, to punish if necessary, but fundamentally kind and just. Kneeling, with the Bishop’s hand laid in blessing on her head, she recognized God as different, something more, vaster, vaguer, completely disassociated from ordinary things that could be handled and understood. A little like, frighteningly like, that mental vision of Denmark, gray sea and sky and between them darker spires and a cupola. Entirely different but akin, on the same plane of consciousness, of awareness. A spiritual experience?
The Dowager Princess knelt and for once ignoring even George’s claim to Providential favor, prayed, “Let her be happy; bless and protect her. I have done what I can, I must leave her, dear God in Your Almighty hands.”
She had done what she could which was to delay, not to prevent the marriage. Rumors that might have appalled a woman of less experience had reached her in the early part of the year. Christian, abruptly freed from all control and elevated to complete power, seemed to have gone quite wild.
But then, so had George, who had had what Christian had never known, a good, solid, God-fearing background, family ties, a mother’s care. George had been twenty-two when he ascended the throne, Christian was only seventeen. George had gone wild—Hannah Lightfoot, Sarah Jennings—but he had settled down and now in all England there was not a more uxorious husband, a fonder father. In the end all was well. And the Dowager Princess had convinced herself that all Christian of Denmark needed was a little time to sow his wild oats and settle down. Yet, in case he should—like her own husband—remain wild after marriage, there was another signpost to be hoisted.
&n
bsp; The date of the marriage by proxy, which was to take place in London in October, was drawing near and the time had come for what the Princess always thought of as “a little talk.” She was incapable even of thinking in the crude terms which Alice had used, yet planning the euphemisms embarrassed her; still she was not the woman to send a girl entirely unprepared for the marriage bed. Duty before all!
Mamma’s unusual lack of ease when she began to speak of “physical intimacies, permissible between husband and wife,” caused Caroline to become in turn embarrassed, especially as all this obvious effort was a waste. She said, “Yes, Mamma; I know.”
At fifteen! So carefully guarded! So innocent-seeming?
“How? Who?”
The darkening of Mamma’s eyes warned Caroline that the person named must be beyond reach of recrimination; there was only one, the Queen of England.
“Charlotte, Mamma.” A thundering lie.
Surprising, perhaps, but satisfactory. Charlotte was so happily married, she would not have said anything amiss.
“There is one other thing, Caroline. Something that Charlotte, being very fortunate, would not know about. Other women. I think it highly unlikely that Christian will ever see a woman whom he prefers to you for however brief a time. But men are often weak, and women are scheming; and it is the fashion to own a mistress—sometimes merely as a means of displaying jewels and fine clothes. If this should happen, you must not fuss, or sulk, or reproach your husband. You must behave with dignity and on no account must you withdraw your...favors. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I think so. I shall try to behave as though Christian had acquired another horse or hound.”
My poor, innocent darling! Still, there were worse, far more fatal attitudes.
The Princess allowed herself a small sigh. The world outside the reaches of her jurisdiction was full of dangers and difficulties and horrible people. Literally one cast pearls before swine when one reared children carefully. Look at George who should have been the most popular King England had ever known; attacked on all sides, laughed at because he was a good family man and courteous to all, whatever their estate, called, mockingly “Farmer George” because of his interest in agriculture...It was truly disgraceful. And now this beautiful, charming, well-educated child about to be thrown to the wolves. No help for it; rank carried its own penalty.
She took something from the table nearby and said, “Caroline, I don’t think that anyone could accuse me of being superstitious; but in every life luck plays its part and I hope that this will be a talisman for you.”
She held out a ring, encircled, between two bands of chasing, with a wreath of flowers, the petals enameled blue, the leaves green, tiny and exquisite.
“Mamma, how beautiful!”
“There is an inscription.”
Caroline looked inside the ring and read, “Bring me happiness.” Her throat thickened and ached.
“That is my most earnest hope for you, dear child. That you should be happy.”
“I shall wear it always,” Caroline said; her voice was shaking. She wanted to throw herself into her mother’s arms and cry and cry and cry. But that would serve no purpose; it could only distress Mamma, and it would show lamentable lack of self-control. So she drew a breath, held it, counted up to fifteen, expelled it, and as usual the trick worked. “I shall look at it and remember your wish for me, Mamma. And I will try to be happy. Resolutely.”
“Then you will be, dear Caroline.” The Princess put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and kissed her brow.
Go now, before I give evidence of weakness.
I must get away to cry in secret.
Fortunately, the Princess, left alone, turned to the fire, gripped the marble overmantel in both hands, almost in the attitude of crucifixion, and wrestled with herself and her emotion. Tears no longer brought the relief that they had done in her youth, her tempestuous, passionate nature had by self-enforced rules become so narrowed and hardened that now to weep gave her positive physical pain. And at fifty-one, tears left ravages that remained for hours. And what good could crying do?
So when the door opened behind her, she was able to kick a log into place and then turn a calm, undamaged face toward Caroline whose burst of crying had been checked by the discovery of Alice lurking in the anteroom.
“Mamma, it is Alice. She says there is something of importance...She would not tell me.”
“Alice?” At a loss for a second, then remembering; oh yes, the foundling girl. “Tell her to go to Mrs. Stubbs.”
But Alice was already in the room, bobbing deeply so that her starched skirt and apron crackled.
And Alice was in control of the situation.
“Begging pardon, Your Royal Highness, Mrs. Stubbs wouldn’t do. Lady Mary neither. This is something I thought you ought to know. At once.”
Caroline, with a half-apologetic glance at her mother slipped away. Alice closed the door behind her and advanced a few steps, mustering her words as she moved. The trouble with knowing two ways of talking—almost two different languages—was that you had to be so careful. But the H in Highness had come out in the proper, acceptable way, and she need not say that again. The rule was to say it once, and then “Ma’am.”
“What is it?”
“Phyllis is ill again, Ma’am.”
The Princess wanted to say, Oh no! Really, with everything arranged, it had been most exasperating to find, two days ago, that Phyllis, the excellent personal maid, had fallen ill in a truly disgusting way. But she was better, she had probably overeaten.
“She was fully recovered this morning. I gave her her final instructions.” They had included the order not to dress Caroline’s hair too high should His Majesty of Denmark be of low stature.
“She’s worse now, Ma’am. I found her on the stairs, very poorly indeed.” Catting her guts out, in fact.
“You informed Mrs. Stubbs?”
“I did indeed, Ma’am. And the apothecary has been sent for.”
Then why bother me? Rank carried its penalties, but it also had its privileges, and one of them was that one could delegate, one was buffered, even in this simple household.
“You acted rightly, Alice.” And having acted rightly, why was she here? “Mr.”—she groped for the name and found it—”Simkins’ draught was beneficial two days ago. Let us hope that it will be again.”
“But suppose it wasn’t. Suppose, Ma’am, Phyllis wasn’t fit to go.” And she certainly would not be, Alice would see to that. “Time being so short,” Alice said.
Time was very short indeed; forty-eight hours. And really reliable body maids were so hard to come by these days; girls preferred to hawk milk, lavender, water, fish or watercress through the streets.
“I was wondering,” Alice said, “whether I couldn’t go.”
“You are far too young, and inexperienced, Alice.”
“I can dress ‘air,” the Cockney slipped aspirate betrayed her. “Hair. I truly can dress hair. If you doubt me, try me, Ma’am. I can take you down and do you up again, any fashion you care to say. To be honest, I did Princess Caroline for her first ball when everybody said she looked so lovely. That night Musser Raymond burnt his hand on the tongs and Phyllis had a comeover, shaking like a jelly she was. So I did it.”
The things that went on, even in the most closely supervised household.
“Indeed.” The Princess looked searchingly at the foundling girl. Neat, plain, satisfactory in her work and behavior; youth the only drawback. But here, willing to go, and known to Caroline.
“What about mending?”
“Oh, I can mend, Ma’am. If you would allow me. It’s on my leg.” She came forward, hitched up her skirt and with a steadiness, indeed a grace that any dancing master might have approved, stood on one leg, the other extended at right angle to it. She wore a neat buckled shoe and a white stocking. All the Princess Dowager’s maids received white stockings at Christmas—she bought them thriftily by the gross from a hosier
in the Midlands.
On this white stocking, just above the ankle there was a darn, so exquisitely made, so like the original fabric that she was obliged to look closely to see it at all. Old age encroaching? Sight failing? God forbid!
“Very creditable.”
That Alice could also wash and iron delicate fabrics could be taken for granted; the foundling Home helped to support itself by laundering for ladies.
“It is a possible solution,” the Princess conceded. “Your youth is the only drawback.”
“I shall be eighteen this winter,” Alice said. “And being young is a thing orphans get over early, Ma’am.”
The words were said without bitterness; a plain statement of a fact which the Princess recognized. At an age when more fortunate children were being led by the hand, foundlings had charge of their juniors.
“Do you wish to go to Denmark, Alice?”
“Not particularly, Ma’am.” Never reveal a motive.
“Then why do you offer?” Phyllis had been most unwilling, and it had needed exhortation and something perilously near a bribe to make her try it for six months. Indeed the Princess still cherished a doubt that Phyllis’ indisposition could be a form of malingering.
“Princess Caroline was always good to me, Ma’am; and I thought it would be better for her. Somebody she knew and somebody who knew your rules, Ma’am; such as not gossiping about, and not doing her hair too high and changing wet stockings and underclothes being well aired.”
Behind the Princess’s controlled face the tension eased a little. She was not superstitious, as she had said, and certainly no one would expect a reward in this world for a simple act of charity, but the thought occurred and remained—Had I gone back to bed that night, after finding all my own children sound asleep, and told myself, as most women would, that cats often make the noise of children crying, this girl would not be here today, making her offer and somehow seeming, despite her youth, so thoroughly dependable. In her day the Princess had cast a good deal of bread into a variety of waters; never before had she had such a clear example of its being returned.
