Queen in Waiting: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  But that was the old life – a new adventure lay before her. In a short time now she would face the unknown.

  ‘You are sorry for me,’ she said to those about her bed. ‘Why? I have always wanted to satisfy my curiosity about life after death. My friends… even Leibniz… could not explain that to me. Now I am going to find out. There is nothing to weep for.’

  ‘We have sent word to the King of Prussia,’ said George Lewis.

  She tried to smile. ‘He will give me a splendid fuheral,’ she said. ‘And although it will not matter to me, it will please him, for he loves pomp and ceremony.’

  She saw her nephew and niece by her bedside – George Augustus and pretty, young Sophia Dorothea, named after her ill-fated mother.

  ‘I hope you will be happy,’ she said and held out a hand to the girl. Sophia Dorothea, so pretty and so like her mother, came forward, took it and kissed it.

  ‘Bless you, my dear child,’ said Sophia Charlotte. ‘I wish you a happy life. And you too, George Augustus. May you find a good wife and live as happily as is possible on this earth.’

  Marie von Pöllnitz had brought a chaplain into the room. And Sophia Charlotte asked him what he wanted.

  He said that he had come to pray with her.

  ‘Let me die without quarrelling with you,’ she said. ‘For years I have studied religious questions. You can tell me nothing that I don’t know already. And I die in peace.’

  ‘Your Highness, in the sight of God, kings and queens are mortally equal with all men,’ said the chaplain.

  ‘I know it well,’ she answered.

  Then she closed her eyes.

  She was smiling serenely as she passed into the unknown.

  Caroline saw the riders coming into Ansbach. She ran down to greet them, for she believed they would have letters from Sophia Charlotte.

  She stood impatiently in the hall of the Ansbach Palace under the Glorification of Karl the Wild as the messengers approached, and wondered why they looked so sombre.

  ‘Your Serene Highness,’ said one, ‘there is bad news from Hanover.’

  ‘What news?’ she demanded.

  ‘The Queen of Prussia has died on a visit to her mother…’

  ‘Dead!’ She heard the word but was not sure who had said it. She was aware of a rushing in her eyes, a sudden dizziness. This was not true. This was a nightmare. There was not such misery possible in the whole of the world.

  She gripped the statue of the Margrave to steady herself.

  And she said again in a voice of utter desolation: ‘Dead!’

  There was nothing more to say. Her world was shattered; there was no reason for making decisions, for caring what became of her; there was nothing more in life to live for.

  The courtship of Caroline

  WHEN THE GREATEST catastrophe imaginable struck, one did not sit down and weep senseless tears, at least not if one were the Electress Sophia of Hanover. There was only one way of living and that was to become busily occupied in some new project.

  There must be an attempt to fill the emptiness left by the irreplaceable. One must look for substitutes.

  The Princess Caroline, herself emotionally crippled, could help Sophia bear a grief which they shared. That they would have in common and so much more.

  Finding no comfort in prayer – either, as Sophia said, reproaching, or pleading for better treatment from, a Divine Being – she tried to set in motion a plan which, if it materialized, would at least make life tolerable.

  If she could bring Caroline to Hanover, she would soothe her grief, give herself a new interest in life, and so continue living for the years which were left to her.

  Poor Caroline! No one now would plan for her happiness as Sophia Charlotte had done. She was not a weak young fool, but she was without powerful friends.

  The sooner I can marry her to George Augustus the better, thought the Electress Sophia; and set herself to work out a scheme for doing this.

  It was exasperating to think that she had first to get George Lewis’s permission. In fact it was the same in everything. He was the master now; and what a different place he had made of the court at Hanover since his father’s death! He had all his father’s lechery and none of his wit; although, of course, during the lifetime of Ernest Augustus she had had to endure the reign of the notorious Clara von Platen who had been his maîtresse en titre for so many years.

  George Lewis at least had had the wisdom or the luck to choose stupid women for his mistresses. They would never interfere in politics as Clara von Platen had done. George Lewis was like a lumbering great ox; he had no finesses such as his father had; he was without sensitivity; but he kept his women in order, and when he beckoned to one she immediately rose and followed him; and the others dared not protest. He made it clear that women for him were of use in one place only, and that was the bedchamber.

  Sophia had risen from her sick bed feeling weak and exhausted, not perhaps ready to do battle with her son; and yet she felt the need for speedy action. Who could say, now that Sophia Charlotte was dead, perhaps Caroline would try to forget her misery by embarking on a new life as wife to the Archduke Charles?

  She went to her beloved Herrenhausen to try to recover her health and decide what should be done but even Herrenhausen which, during her husband’s lifetime, she had considered hers, was not the same. For one thing George Lewis had refused to let her have the place to herself. She must be contented with one wing, he said. Herrenhausen, like the Alte Palais and the Leine Schloss, belonged to him and he would have her remember it.

  Dear Herrenhausen, with so many memories of the past, with its avenue of limes and its park which was really too grand for the rather unpretentious house – without its grounds it would indeed look merely like a gentleman’s house and not a Palace! One hundred and twenty acres laid out, naturally, in the manner of Versailles, with the inevitable statues and fountains; the terraces, the parterres.

  Here she had walked with dear Sophia Charlotte before her marriage. How unhappy the girl had been, and how it had hurt Sophia to part with her – more so, she believed, than it had hurt Sophia Charlotte to go. But the marriage had been a good one, for she had become Queen of Prussia and the King had been indulgent to her. If their son could marry young Sophia Dorothea the family would be kept intact. Would his father agree?

  In the meantime there was Caroline – the immediate problem. She must throw herself into this for the sake of Caroline, for the sake of Sophia Charlotte’s memory, and because when you were old, there was nothing left except living through the young.

  She sent a message to the Leine Schloss requesting George Lewis to come to Herrenhausen to see her since she was not well enough to go to him.

  He sent an ungracious message back that he was detained that day, but would, if his business permitted, visit her the next.

  ‘He has the manners of a stable boy,’ she grumbled. Unfortunately it was this stable boy who ruled them all at Hanover.

  In a grudging mood, George Lewis set out for Herrenhausen, which was about two miles from Hanover.

  What was his mother after now? he wondered. He had been disturbed enough by the foolish action of his sister in coming to her old home to die. Since she must have known how ill she was, why hadn’t she stayed at home to die decently? He hated sentimental scenes and had no intention of indulging in them.

  Not that his mother was fond of them either.

  No, it was more likely that she had some proposition to put to him and believed his sister’s death might have put him in a mood to grant it. She was making a big mistake if she did – and his mother was not one to make mistakes.

  George Lewis’s plain, dark face looked even more dour than usual as he rode between the double avenue of limes. He liked the orderliness of the Park for he could not endure untidiness. His affairs were conducted in an efficient manner and he believed, rightly, that since he had been Elector, the prestige of Hanover had risen in other countries. There might be more splend
id courts among the German states, but there was none so prosperous as Hanover and this prosperity, begun by his father, had been increased by George Lewis. He had been a cruel husband; he was a promiscuous lover, having three favourite mistresses; he was a dour son and an indifferent parent; but if he had no idea how to win affection, he understood very well how to rule a state. Industry had flourished since his rule; farming prospered; he was growing richer, and so was his Electorate. Even his mother could find no fault with his rule. And how had he done it? By keeping the women out; by trusting no one but himself.

  He was vindictive, as his wife had discovered to her cost; his manners were coarse; he had no refinements; and the only artistic pleasure he ever received was from music. As a result his Opera House was as fine as anything they had in Vienna.

  He made his way to that wing of the house which he had assigned to his mother, and when he threw open the door her attendants scattered; he did not have to speak to them, only to frown and they were gone.

  He did not kiss his mother’s hand; he merely nodded to her and sprawled in the chair by her bed, his legs thrust out, his heels resting on her carpet, while he studied the tops of his boots as though he found them more interesting than her.

  How did we manage to get this one? Sophia wondered, as she had many times before. If I hadn’t borne him myself I’d say he had been foisted on us. How did we allow him to be brought up without grace, without charm, without manners? Yet he had excelled as a soldier and now was showing he could rule.

  ‘It was good of you to come, George Lewis,’ she said a trifle acidly, ‘good of you to call on your mother when she asked you to.’

  ‘I had nothing important to do today.’

  ‘Then I must be grateful for that,’ she retorted ironically.

  He grunted. ‘What’s your business?’ he asked.

  ‘You don’t ask how I am?’

  ‘Well, you’re better, aren’t you? You wouldn’t have asked me to come if you were ill. So what point in asking!’

  ‘As a matter of courtesy perhaps.’

  He puffed contemptuously. So they might do in the stables. And he in the presence of the granddaughter of a King of England! What would they think of him in England if he ever went there? And go there he must… a King. She thought of Charles, her cousin, roaming the Continent before his Restoration. He had had all the charm of the Stuarts. Who would believe that this heavy-jowled, awkward Hanoverian was in any way connected with the Royal Stuarts. What would the English think of him!

  ‘No sense in asking questions when you know the answer.’

  ‘You’ve too much sense, perhaps, and not enough sensibility.’

  ‘Eh?’

  My son! she thought. This is my son!

  She must get down to the matter in hand before he rudely told her he had no time to waste.

  ‘I wanted to see you about George Augustus.’

  The scowl deepened. George Lewis had no love for his son. His marriage had gone sour very quickly and how could it have been otherwise with such a man? Though, in his way, he was faithful enough to his mistresses and kept them in favour even when they lost their looks.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s no longer a boy.’

  ‘I know his age very well.’

  ‘It was time he was married.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘Why not. He needs a wife. He needs to get sons.’

  George Lewis was silent thinking of the boy. He could not bear the sight of him. Perhaps because he reminded him of his mother. He was almost pretty and although he was fair and his mother was dark, the resemblance was strong. He was small – too small for a boy, neat and willowy, as she had been; and he had a way of gesticulating which was rather French. George Lewis liked the gardens to be laid out in a French style but he did not like French manners in his son. They were clearly inherited from his mother who was half French; perhaps that was why he was constantly reminded.

  It was not that he regretted what he had done to his wife. In his opinion she deserved her fate and he didn’t think of her unless her name was mentioned and on those rare occasions when his son or daughter reminded him of her by their looks.

  ‘You’ve someone in mind?’ asked George Lewis.

  ‘Yes. Caroline of Ansbach.’

  ‘What! My sister’s adopted girl?’

  ‘Why not? We should have to act quickly for the Archduke Charles is in the field.’

  ‘You mean he’s asked for her?’

  ‘She is considering whether she will accept him.’

  ‘Then she must be a fool.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She won’t get another such chance.’

  ‘How do you know? Austria considered her worthy, why not Hanover?’

  ‘The boy’s not ready for marriage.’

  ‘He’s nearly twenty-one.’

  ‘He seems retarded. More like a child than a man.’

  ‘How can you say that, George Lewis?’

  ‘Posturing! Dressing himself up! Throwing his hands about.’

  ‘He is certainly more gracious than his father.’

  ‘And you think that makes a man of him?’

  ‘I say he’s old enough for marriage and I think Caroline would make him a good wife. What do you say? I tell you we should act without delay.’

  George Lewis grunted.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t make those animal noises,’ she said sharply. ‘They may be intelligible to your soldiers but they’re not to me.’

  ‘I’ve other matters to think of.’

  ‘This happens to involve the succession.’

  ‘The succession! With you it’s an obsession.’

  ‘Surely you must admit that to be King of England would be a more inviting prospect than Elector of Hanover?’

  ‘No! No. I don’t.’

  ‘I marvel at you. Have you no ambition?’

  ‘I’m content where I am.’

  ‘Content! To go off and fight periodically and live like a common soldier? Yes, I can see you would be well content with that. What will you do when the Spanish succession has been settled? What will you do for fighting then? To fight… and then come home and rule your little state and bestow your favours in turn on your three favourites! Even your choice of mistresses is laughable. Schulemburg is well past her youth – she’s lost any beauty she ever had and she never did have any brains to lose. Kielmansegge – Clara von Platen’s daughter! She might very likely be your own sister. When I come to think of it she’s not unlike you. And the young Countess von Platen – she’s the only one with any pretensions to looks. But I hear she doesn’t get the opportunities the other two do to amuse Your Highness.’

  This was foolish. Sophia knew it as soon as she had spoken; but she was not herself and the sight of George Lewis lolling in his chair was more irritating than usual. A great bitterness was in her heart because she had lost her beloved daughter.

  Why did she have to die and this one be left to her? Why had Sophia lost the children she loved best and been left with those she cared little for?

  George Lewis appeared to be unmoved by these reproaches. He yawned.

  ‘I’ve work to do,’ he said.

  ‘But this project of a wife for George Augustus?’

  ‘It’ll be taken care of when I’m ready.’

  He caught his foot in a stool and kicked it aside. The door shut behind with a bang.

  She should have waited, Sophia reproached herself. She had been too upset as yet.

  There was no time to be lost, and she feared her reckless handling of the situation had spoilt any hope there might have been.

  George Augustus was in his apartments in the Leine Schloss trying on a wig, while his servants fluttered round him.

  ‘This is most becoming, Your Highness. The colour is your own.’

  ‘Yes… yes…’ muttered George Augustus, looking at his neat, almost pretty face. ‘That is good.’ He fondled the tight curls of the wig. It gave him
height. One of the great disappointments of his life was his lack of inches. ‘Another four and I’d be passable; another four on top of that and I’d be tall,’ he often thought. As it was, it could only be exasperating that the heir of Hanover was so much shorter than most other men about him. More so was the fact that he was not allowed to do anything that a man of his age should be doing. His father went off to the wars every year, but was George Augustus allowed to go? Certainly not. One day he would be the Elector of Hanover. But would his father allow him to take part in government and prepare himself? No! He hated his father and he was sure his father hated him.

  His sister Sophia Dorothea came into the room. She was seventeen, more than three years younger than he was, and very pretty. Their mother’s daintiness, which they had both inherited, looked well enough in her.

  There was a bond between them. When they were young he had told her why they never saw their mother and they planned together how they would rescue her.

  Now he dismissed his servants because he guessed she had something secret to say to him. Sophia Dorothea could never hide anything and she was clearly excited.

  As soon as they were alone, she said: ‘Our father has gone to Herrenhausen. He is not in a good temper.’

  ‘Is he ever?’