Indiscretions of the Queen

by Виктория Холт

  The Duke turned to the Duchess. ‘Get one—’ he said. ‘For God’s sake, call the accoucheur.’

  Caroline groaned and cried: ‘My pains— they are coming fast. Make haste —’

  The Duchess turned, but she did not have to speak. The maids who had been hovering in the doorway immediately, ran to fetch an accoucheur. It was impossible to keep such a fact secret. All the guests were aware that the accoucheur had been sent for that he might attend the Princess Caroline, who was in labour.

  What a shocking affair! How unlucky the Duke was in his family! Those idiot boys— the blind one— and now the Princess Caroline was about to present the Duke and Duchess with an illegitimate grandchild. If she could have done so secretly— well, this kind of misadventure was not so uncommon— but during a ball, so that all the guests should know! What a spicy piece of gossip! No wonder they could talk of nothing else. Indeed they would remember this ball all their lives.

  Madame de Hertzfeldt heard the talk but what could she do? She had not a chance. If she could have prevented the news seeping out she would have done so, but it was too late.

  It was not possible to continue with the ball while the Princess was in her apartments giving birth, and the whole Court knew it.

  With dignity Madame de Hertzfeldt addressed the company. The ball could not go on, she explained, owing to the indisposition of the Princess Caroline.

  So the guests departed and Madame de Hertzfeldt went at once to the Princess’s bedroom.

  There an extraordinary scene greeted her.

  The accoucheur had arrived and when he prepared to examine the Princess she had leaped out of bed, wiped the paste from her face which then appeared to be its natural colour and began dancing round the bedchamber.

  Then she came and bowed low before her mother.

  ‘That, Madam,’ she announced, ‘will teach you to keep me from another ball.’

  What could one do with the Princess Caroline? Could she be punished? In what way?

  The Duke and Madame de Hertzfeldt discussed the matter at great length.

  ‘A whipping?’ suggested the Duke.

  But Madame de Hertzfeldt was unsure. With unbalanced characters sometimes corporal punishment could be dangerous.

  She must soothe the Duke though. ‘She is too high spirited,’ she said. ‘I think we must try to understand—’

  ‘You mean,’ replied the Duke sombrely, ‘that we must remember her brothers.’

  ‘I am sure,’ answered Madame de Hertzfeldt, ‘that Caroline is good at heart.

  She has a bright intelligence; she has wit. Her spirits are too high most certainly and she is a little.. eccentric. But it is no more. Oh, my dear, let us do all in our power to see that it does not become more.’

  The Duke gave his mistress a grateful look.

  ‘I shall leave it to you,’ ‘he said. ‘Perhaps you will discover how best to treat her and advise the Duchess.’

  And he thought once more: What should we do without her?

  Caroline was overcome with glee and thought with pleasure of that incident for months afterwards. She forgot that the guests had all been aware that on the night of the ball an accoucheur had come to the palace to attend her.

  ‘Of course,’ said rumour, ‘we have not been told the truth. The accoucheur came to deliver a child which naturally was, smuggled out of the palace.’

  Others, who were sure that there had not been a child and the whole affair had been arranged by Caroline as a protest, were certain that she had not escaped the family taint of madness.

  So the rumours had begun in earnest. Caroline, Princess of Brunswick, was either the mother of an illegitimate child or she was mad.

  Caroline in Love

  THE Princess Caroline was past twenty and still unmarried. The Prince of Orange had been a possible choice and so had the Prince of Prussia, But Caroline, who had been so eager for marriage, decided against them for she had made up her mind that when she married it would be for love.

  There had been strange and mystifying news of her sister Charlotte. No one at Brunswick was quite sure what had happened to Charlotte but Caroline’s dramatic imagination supplied her with violent pictures.

  Where was Charlotte? She was at the Court of Russia where her husband had left her, and he had taken her three children from her. To be deprived of her children! thought Caroline. What a bitter tragedy! And why had Charlotte allowed that to happen ? Because she was powerless to stop it, was the answer.

  Charlotte had been an unfaithful wife, it was said. That was possible. Her husband had put her under the care of the Empress Catherine of Russia, that woman whose amours were notorious throughout Europe. And Charlotte had simply disappeared.

  How she would like to go to Russia, to discover what had happened to her sister, to travel and be adventurous! But all the same the affair of Charlotte made one wary of undertaking a marriage which would send one among strangers far from home.

  She told her father so when they walked together in the grounds about the Palace, for as she grew older so did the affection between them strengthen and he was the only member of the household with whom she could discuss her innermost thoughts. Her mother was a silly woman, she decided, and although she accepted the virtues of Madame de Hertzfeldt, the fact of her supremacy in the household did make an uneasy position, in spite of the fact that none of them knew what they would do without her. If Madame de Hertzfeldt had been the Duchess and her mother, then she could have confided in both her parents.

  Moreover, with such a mother might she not have been more serene, more what they called balanced? Who could say? But there was her father, and when he was not away from home fighting his battles under the command of his friend and patron, Frederick the Great, or was not engaged on state matters at home, he had time for his daughter. The only son who could possibly rule after him was learning his business as a soldier, and Caroline was like an only daughter now that Charlotte had gone.

  He often brooded on the boys living out their lives in darkness; on Charlotte who, he was certain, had been murdered in Russia; and asked himself why he and his fertile wife had produced such a brood. Then he turned to gay, lovely and pretty Caroline— for in his eyes she possessed all these qualities— and told himself that at least he had this daughter. And since that affair of the accoucheur she had become less wild He had been the one who had explained to her the folly of such actions and how they grieved him, and he was a little comforted to see that it was the latter which had made most impression on her.

  She had put her hand shyly in his— for in spite of all her bravado she was a little afraid of him— and had said ‘Papa, I would not wish to make you sad.’

  When he had reported this scene later to Madame de Hertzfeldt she had been pleased and said that the way to mould Caroline was through affection and it was her father who could guide her because there was no doubt that she loved and admired him; and what was perhaps most important of all, respected him.

  So when her father sent for her and told her that the Prince of Orange was asking for her hand in marriage she went quietly away and considered all she had heard of the Prince of Orange and decided against the match. Then she returned to explain her feelings to her father.

  ‘I wish to be married,’ she explained, ‘but I do not wish to be unhappy as my sister must have been. There is much unhappiness in marriage and I would approach it very cautiously.’

  ‘That’s a wise attitude, I have to admit,’ replied her father.

  ‘Dear Papa,’ she went on, ‘he would have to be a very attractive bridegroom to make me want to leave you.’

  Yes, he had succeeded with her through affection. He had a nightmare picture of her being forced into marriage. What disaster would that bring forth? He dared not speculate for he believed that his unwelcome marriage was the reason why he had three afflicted children. They had found the way to treat Caroline: affection, restraint only when necessary and applied with the gentlest hands, and just a da
sh of fear— or perhaps respect would be a more apt description.

  In any case, the Duke had inspired her with enough admiration and affection to be able to guide her.

  ‘My dearest daughter,’ he told her, ‘I want you to know that I shall never force you into marriage. You shall only go away from home if you wish it.’

  He was rewarded by her response.

  ‘Dearest Papa, you put me in a quandary. I wish to marry. Above all I wish to have children. Yet I know I shall never wish to leave you.’

  ‘You will one day. It is natural for you to marry. The day will come. But I want you to know that you will never be forced to accept a marriage which is distasteful to you.’

  Oh, yes, it was certainly right. There was a rare softness in her eyes subduing the habitual wildness. This was the way to treat Caroline. And they must employ this method or they would have another tragedy like Charlotte’s.

  So she declined the Princes of Orange and Prussia.

  The Duchess was excited and came to her daughter’s apartments to tell her why. Caroline’s servants were there but the Duchess never worried about servants; she looked upon them as though they were pieces of furniture and it never occurred to her that they possessed ears and tongues and might be as fond of gossip as she was herself.

  ‘What do you think, Caroline? My nephew is coming to Brunswick.’

  ‘Not— the Prince of Wales!’

  ‘Oh, how I wish that were so! Not quite— my dear. But the next best thing.

  His brother, the Duke of York. I am most excited.’

  ‘Oh, Mamma, you think everything English is better than anything else.’

  ‘So it is! So it is! If I could only make you see the Court— Not so much as my brother made his but my grandfather’s Court. Everything would have been so different if my father had not died before he could come to the throne. just, think of it, Caroline, now I am the daughter of a Prince of Wales whereas I might have been the daughter of a King.’

  ‘Well, Mamma, you were of the same family.’

  ‘Not quite the same, Caroline. Not quite the same. And oh— the intrigue that went on. My mother and er— her friend on one side— the King on the other.’

  ‘Tell me about your mother’s— friend, Mamma.’

  ‘I certainly shall not.’

  ‘There is no need really so I’m happy to relieve you of the necessity. I know already. Lord Bute became the lover of the— Princess of Wales after the Prince died.’

  ‘Where do you hear such wicked scandals?’ demanded the Duchess.

  Caroline smiled demurely. ‘From you, Mamma.’

  The Duchess made an impatient sound with her lips. ‘Oh, everything here is so drab. So different from England. One must enliven the days if only with memories. I was a person of some account in England, Caroline.’

  Caroline regarded her mother quizzically. Was she? Could she ever have been? Caroline had a picture of her mother, the Princess Royal of England, vainly attempting to meddle in Court politics— ineffectually of course.

  Caroline softened towards her mother then and hoped that she would never be like her. Of course she would not. She would be like her father— a Brunswicker with a lion in her heart.

  ‘Mamma,’ she said gently, ‘you were telling me about the Duke of York—’

  ‘Oh, yes, he is coming here to see us. He is a great soldier, you know, and has been distinguishing himself on the Continent. He is a year younger than the Prince of Wales and I have had letters from my brother about him.’

  ‘That, Mamma, must have made you very happy— to have letters from the King of England.’

  ‘Very gratifying. It may well be, Caroline, that His Majesty is sending his son here for a purpose.’

  Caroline nodded. She was on her feet, parading about the room, and turning to her mother she curtsied. Then she strolled about looking over her shoulder at the Duchess. ‘Will I suit, Sir Duke? Am I worthy to be the consort of a Duke?’ Then with an English accent: ‘We will see. We will see. I am an English Duke, do not forget. My brother is the Prince of Wales.’ She pretended to take a quizzing glass from her pocket and held it up continuing to make comments in that voice with the ridiculous English accent.

  Caroline was almost choking with laughter but the Duchess was not amused.

  ‘Stop it, Caroline. You are most— most— improper.’

  But Caroline would not stop. She was carrying on with this ridiculous charade in a manner which clearly showed her mounting hysteria.

  Oh dear, thought the Duchess. I cannot manage her. If the Hertzfeldt woman were here now what would she do? ‘Caroline,’ she said sharply, ‘stop it. If you go on like this, you will never get a man to marry you.’

  It was evidently the right thing to have said for Caroline stopped and looked at her mother, and seizing her opportunity the Duchess went on: ‘You are not so very young now that you can afford to play these childish games. I think you should be a little interested in your cousin’s visit.’

  Caroline had suddenly seen herself growing old at the Court of Brunswick.

  The eccentric Princess Caroline! And she was wise enough to know that those antics which in the young could be viewed with tolerance and considered amusing, in the middle-aged would be boring, eccentric and perhaps mad.

  She did not want to stay at Brunswick all her life. She wanted to see the world; and she would never do that if she remained unmarried living always in her father’s Court.

  Her mother was right. She should be interested in the arrival of the Duke of York.

  ‘What do you know of him?’ she asked.

  ‘That he is very handsome and attractive, has distinguished himself on the field of battle, is amusing, clever und witty.’

  ‘He sounds like a god rather than a cousin.’

  ‘I am sure you will think him so,’ said the Duchess triumphantly.

  So it was what they wanted, thought Caroline. They were hoping for a match.

  Marriage with the Duke of York. One would go to England, her mother’s country of which she talked as though it were some El Dorado— and yet her mother had not been nearly so happy living there as she had believed herself to be when she left it. That’s natural enough, thought Caroline, for that’s how life always seems.

  Yes, she would like to see England. She would like to see Uncle George, who had always seemed to be led by the nose by his mother and that lover of hers— and Aunt Charlotte who was the villainess because her sister-in-law, now Duchess of Brunswick, had so disliked her.

  ‘Tell me about them, Mamma,’ she said. ‘Tell me about the King and the Queen.’

  ‘It is long since I saw them,’ said the Duchess comfortably, because there was nothing she enjoyed like a gossip and a gossip of the old days was the best kind.

  ‘George was really quite handsome— in his way. Fair hair, blue eyes— rather heavy jaw and kind— very kind. He always wanted to please everyone. He was very startled when he found himself King of England Grandpapa, of course, was very old and Papa was dead so George was the next in the line of succession, of course, but we all thought Grandpapa would go on and on. Then one day he went into his closet and died instantly. And so George was king and he was exactly twenty-two— not much older than you.’

  ‘Was he pleased do you think?’

  ‘Pleased! He was terrified! He wouldn’t move a step without Mamma and Lord Bute. Of course there was a real scandal about that affair. They used to call him the Scotch Stallion. The people hated him. They jeered at him when he went out in his carriage. In fact there was a time when they actually tried to do him a mischief. But Mamma was faithful to him for years—’

  Caroline looked slyly at her, mother. Trust the Duchess to explain everything which a moment before she had suggested it was improper to discuss. One could wheedle anything out of Mamma, thought Caroline, provided one employed the right tactics.

  ‘The Scotch Stallion,’ cried Caroline, suddenly unable to restrain her mirth. ‘I like that.
I like that very much.’

  ‘My dear Caroline, I beg of you! You should not speak of such things. What next I wonder.’

  ‘And what of Queen Charlotte, Mamma? Tell me about her.’

  ‘A horrid creature. I disliked her on sight. Little and thin— very thin. Such a flat nose— such a big mouth. Really, she looked like a crocodile. She should have been humble— very humble. To come from a little court like Mecklenburg-Strelitz to marry the King of England.’

  ‘ ‘It was rather like Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, I expect, was it not, Mamma?’

  The Duchess looked cautiously at her daughter. ‘Yes, but smaller,’ she said.

  ‘Of less consequence. And we soon made her realize this. I reported her actions to my mother, and we soon put her in her place. I remember an occasion when she did not want to wear her jewels to church and we made her. It was symbolic, you see. If she had had her way about that, she would have tried to exert her power over the King in more important ways. Sometimes I wondered whether it wouldn’t have been better to have let him have Sarah Lennox after all. Oh dear, he was mad for Sarah Lennox. You would call her a pretty creature. But flighty.

  And that has been proved. She left Bunbury, you know. For she married Bunbury when she knew she could not have George. And there was a child— not her husband’s. Most scandalous. And that was Sarah Lennox for you. And meanwhile everyone said Charlotte might be a dull, plain little German hausfrau, but she was fertile— oh, very fertile. Fifteen children. Just imagine! No sooner is one delivered than she is pregnant again. Serve her right. It was all she was fit for.’

  ‘I should like to have fifteen children. I wonder if I ever shall―’

  ‘You will have to get married soon to have so many.’ The Duchess laughed suddenly. ‘There has to be a small breathing space between, you know. Not that Charlotte asked for much. Or perhaps George wouldn’t let her.’

  They laughed together— the Duchess maliciously, Caroline wildly.

  ‘Thirteen of them left, because they lost Octavius and Alfred. Thirteen out of fifteen is not a bad score though, is it? Thirteen. Very nice. Seven of them sons.