by Jean Plaidy
She was lying in bed. The Prince was seated at her bedside, fussily attentive.
‘Vot have happened?’
‘You’re all right, my tear. The doctors haf assured me…’ He held her hand. ‘I haf been so anxious. You are tearer to me than my life. But it is all right. They have me told.’
‘The child…’
‘There vill be children. You vill not be upset now. You vill soon be vell… and that is my only concern.’
So she had lost the child!
Was there some curse on her? The children she had were taken from her; and it seemed that fate had decided she was not to bear another.
In time the Princess recovered from her disappointment. There would be another child, for George Augustus was as regular in his attentions to her as he was to his mistress. I cannot go on being so unfortunate, she told herself. And she must be grateful for her good health which helped her to recover from these disappointments more readily than most.
She fretted constantly for the children. She heard that Fritzchen was drinking too much, and was getting a taste for gambling; she heard too that he was not very strong. He was subject to fever; his back was weak so he was obliged to wear whalebone stays – not steel, which would have pressed uncomfortably on his nerves. He had glandular trouble. His doctors ordered a diet of asses’ milk. What was happening to Fritzchen? How unnatural that all these years should be allowed to pass and a mother not be permitted to see her son!
And the little girls? She heard that they had danced for their grandfather at Hampton; that they were treated with respect by ambassadors – different from the way in which that unnatural man insisted his son and daughter-in-law should be treated! They did meet occasionally; but how difficult it was when George Augustus was not allowed to visit Hampton and they were surrounded by spies. The girls were growing up and one could not expect them to be unaffected by the conflict in the family.
How different was this summer from that glorious one at Hampton!
In Hampton George tried to forget that he had a son and daughter-in-law! He regarded Frederick Lewis, his grandson in Hanover, as his heir; and although he had no tenderness for his grandchildren he liked to see them now and then to remind himself of their existence and the power he had to take them from their parents.
From time to time he heard how the Princess grieved for them and that gave him a grim pleasure. The woman had flouted him; she was far too clever, luring men to her court and winning the affection of the people. She should pay for that as anyone who offended him had to pay.
He had no intention of trying to make Hampton like Richmond. His court would be as he liked it. Some might say it was dull but what did he care. His Duchesses of Kendal and Darlington – in other words Schulemburg and Kielmansegge – pleased him, particularly the former, without whom he never liked to go far. Ermengarda was to him as a wife – a good, placid wife who never stood in the way of anything he wanted. In his youth his hobbies had been war and women; now he was getting too old for war so it was merely women. But although he liked occasional variety, he went back and back again to Ermengarda. She was a rich woman in her own right now, for since she had been to England she had developed an unsuspected talent for amassing money, but that made no difference to their relationship. She was still his placid Ermengarda, always ready to obey.
There was one thing he did enjoy in England and that was the theatre.
He therefore had the great hall at Hampton fitted up as a theatre and sent to Colley Cibber and his company to come down to entertain him.
Cibber played Henry VIII and other Shakespearean plays, of which the King was especially fond; Cibber provided German translations which the King read beforehand that he might follow the action on the stage, and so delighted the King; and the King delighted Cibber.
This to the King was a pleasant existence: to see the play, with the Duchesses of Kendal and Darlington on either side of him – the three of them had long formed a habit of going about together – and then to retire with one of them, or a fancy of the moment, to what he called a seasonable bedtime.
So passed the summer months.
To see the King going to Drury Lane was a sight which amused the people of London. His sedan-chair would be carried from St James’s Palace, preceded by his beefeaters and guards. Immediately behind would be two other chairs, and if the people were lucky they would catch a glimpse of the red and black wigs above what they considered to be two of the most grotesquely ugly faces in the kingdom.
George cared nothing for the jeers of his subjects. Nor did his two mistresses, who in any case had grown accustomed to them.
And when he reached the theatre and was welcomed by the manager he would refuse the royal box and ask for one where he could not be so easily seen.
Then he would sit at the back of this, a Duchess on either side of him, and prepare to enjoy the play.
One evening that autumn as his chair came out of the palace, a young man leaped out of the crowd and ran towards the chair. If one of the guards had not seen him, he would have shot the King; as it was the bullet merely grazed the top of the chair.
The young man was seized and dragged away. The King went on to the theatre.
In the cart the young man was being taken to Tyburn. His name was James Shepherd and he was only eighteen years old.
He shouted to the crowd: ‘There is only one true King of England. He is James III. Down with the German!’
‘Down with the German!’ echoed many in the crowd.
‘He’s young to die,’ said others. ‘The King should have shown mercy.’
The Jacobites watched sullenly and said the King was a monster. His own wife, the Queen of England, was languishing in prison; he had quarrelled with his son; his daughter-in-law was deprived of her children. They hadn’t a king on the throne. They had a monster.
Some remembered that the Princess of Wales had pleaded for the boy. He was young, she said; he was doubtless led astray. Let him be punished in some slight way and cautioned.
But the King had ignored the pleas of the Princess of Wales, and James Shepherd was taken to Tyburn and the rope was placed about his neck.
Even the staunchest Hanoverians said as they watched that young body hanging there: ‘He is young to die.’
The King was aware of the murmurs against him. It was not often that he cared about public opinion. It had always been his comment that if the English didn’t want him here he would willingly go back to Hanover.
But he was angry that even out of such an incident as an attempt on his life and the – to him – perfectly just punishment of such an act, the Princess should squeeze a little popularity.
She was kind, they were saying now. She was humane. She had pleaded with the King to spare the life of the young man who had attempted to kill him. Of course she did! Doubtless she thought the fellow some sort of hero.
And the people admired her for it.
He was in this mood of resentment when Henry Howard, the husband of the Prince’s mistress, who was one of the grooms of his bedchamber, caught his eye. The King summoned Howard to him.
‘Is it not a rule,’ he said, ‘that the wives of men in my service should leave that of the Prince and Princess of Wales if they happen to be with them?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘And what of your wife?’
‘She has refused, Your Majesty.’
The King knew of this and he had not insisted at the time because he had thought it would plague Caroline, and do George Augustus no good in the eyes of the people, to keep his mistress.
But the affair seemed to be accepted and Caroline no doubt saw that it was conducted with decorum.
The King nodded. He saw the chance of making trouble with a little scandal.
‘It is your duty to insist that your wife leaves Leicester House and comes to you here.’
Henry Howard bowed and said he would obey the King’s orders.
When Henrietta received a let
ter from her husband demanding that she return to him and leave the household of the Prince and Princess of Wales, she did not take the matter seriously. She knew that Henry was drinking heavily, that he did not want her and was in fact glad to be rid of her; so she ignored the letter and forgot about it. But a few nights later there was a disturbance at the gates of Leicester House. Next morning everyone was talking about it and when Henrietta went into the apartment where the maids of honour were noisily discussing it, there was a silence.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Did you hear the noise last night?’ asked Molly Lepel.
‘Yes. What was it?’
‘A… a man… the worse for drink. The doorman turned him away but he was shouting for a long time.’
Mary Bellenden said gravely: ‘It was your husband, Mrs Howard. He was asking for you. He said he wanted to take you away with him.’
Henrietta turned pale and said: ‘There is some mistake.’
No one answered; and Henrietta went to Caroline’s apartment to tell her what she had heard.
Caroline listened gravely. ‘Do you think he really vants you to return to him, Henrietta?’
‘No.’ Henrietta was shivering with apprehension and Caroline had never seen her so before.
‘You’re frightened, Henrietta.’
‘I could not live with him, Madam. He is a drunkard. He’s a brute. He ill-treated me before. I have never been so happy as I am here with you… and the Prince.’
And the Prince! thought Caroline. How much does he mean to her? Can she really care for him? Surely not! She wanted peace and comfort; she did not seek power or great riches, but this life suited her and she was in terror of losing it.
‘It is strange that he should come here. There must be some meaning behind it.’
Caroline did not say that she suspected the King, for poor Henrietta was in such a state of anxiety to which this could only add.
‘Don’t fret,’ said Caroline. ‘I shall not let you go. If I send this brute avay… avay he must go. Do not fret, Henrietta. Here shall you stay.’
Henrietta was comforted; but she was uneasy. So was Caroline. Could the man force his wife to live with him? And if he took this matter to court and if the court decided that a husband had rights over his wife, must Henrietta go? And then would George Augustus be seeking a new mistress… or mistresses? Young girls of the bedchamber who lack the tact of Henrietta, who might have to be taught that familiarity with the Prince did not mean that liberties could be taken with the Princess?
A few days later Caroline received a letter from the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Marriage was a sacrament, he pointed out. The Princess would do well to bear this in mind. She must bear in mind the privileges of a husband and the duty a wife owed to him. She must therefore command a certain woman of her household to return to her husband and remember that although she was a Princess she had a duty to God.
Caroline read the letter thoughtfully.
Why had the Archbishop written to her? Would Henry Howard have gone to him and drunkenly suggested that he should do so?
Of course not. She saw the hand of the King in this.
Slowly she tore up the Archbishop’s letter.
Caroline was resting. It had been a heavy dinner and she followed the Hanoverian custom of retiring afterwards. In his apartments George Augustus would be sleeping heavily; and afterwards he would come to her apartments and they would take a walk together.
She was thinking of Henrietta and what steps the King might take to force her to send the woman away. What an implacable enemy he was, and how he hated them! Not content with striking the worst blow any man could give any woman by taking her children from her, he must think of these little pinpricks to torment her.
She heard a scuffle at her door and rising from her bed, she threw a robe about her.
‘I will see her,’ cried a voice. ‘I insist. You can’t keep me away.’
The door was flung open and a man with bloodshot eyes, his coat bedraggled, his wig awry, burst into the room.
‘Who…’ began the Princess.
‘I’m Henry Howard,’ he cried. ‘And I’ve come for my wife.’
‘How dare you. Go away at once. You vill hear more of this.’
‘And so will you, Madam, if you hide my wife. Where is she? In the Prince’s bed? I tell you I’ll have her out of that. I’ll have her where she belongs.’
‘This is very unseemly,’ said Caroline, and wondered how she remained so cool; for she had heard Henrietta say that her husband was half mad and when he had been drinking, entirely so. Certainly he had been drinking now.
‘Do not think that I shan’t have my wife. If I have to pull her out of your coach, I’ll get her.’
He stood before her, hands on his hips, his bloodshot eyes leering. The window was behind them and for one moment Caroline thought that he was going to pick her up and throw her out of it.
She was aware of the open door and one of the footmen standing there, mouth agape. She managed to move swiftly from the window and as she stood with her back to the footman facing the window, she felt safer.
Her moment of complete panic had passed.
‘I assure you no one vould dare take any servant of mine from my coach.’
He was aware of the footman and the open door, for he lost a little of his truculence. Caroline was quick to seize the advantage.
‘Your wife shall certainly not be forced to go vith you. It is a matter she herself vill decide. If she vishes to go vith you that is her affair.’
‘Madam, I warn you I shall take my case to the King.’
‘Do so if you vish. The King has nothing to do vith my servants. And if you do not leave my presence immediately you vill be thrown out.’
Henry Howard gaped at her for a few moments; then he muttered something, bowed and went out.
Caroline shut the door quickly and leaned against it.
This had gone farther than she had thought. Henry Howard would never have dared break into her apartment, he would never have spoken to her as he had if he had not had the support of the King behind him.
Henrietta came running into the apartment, her hair hanging in disorder, her eyes wide with terror.
She threw herself at Caroline’s feet and embraced her knees.
‘Oh, Madam, Madam… he has been here. He will drag me away. What shall I do?’
‘Be calm, Henrietta. This is the King’s doing.’
‘The King!’
‘Ve must face the truth. He only vants to cause more trouble, more scandal for us.’
‘Madam. You don’t want me to go away?’
Caroline’s face hardened. ‘Vat! And play right into their hands. No. Ve must fight them. If they take this to a court ve must let them know what sort of a man your husband is. Ve’ll prove him the cruel half-insane creature he is. That von’t look so veil for one of the King’s servants, vill it?’
‘But he can take me away… Oh Madam…’
The Prince burst into the apartment, his face pink, the veins knotted at his temples, his eyes blazing.
‘Vot the devil…’
‘Mrs Howard’s husband has been here demanding her return.’
‘She shall not go. I vill not it allow.’
‘No, ve vill not allow it,’ said Caroline.
‘Got damn him,’ cried the Prince and taking off his wig started to kick it round the apartment.
Caroline caught it as it came her way. She picked it up and gently replaced it on his head.
‘It is not goot to disturb ourselves,’ she said gently. ‘Ve vill this matter settle.’
Henrietta raised her eyes to Caroline’s face and her look was almost trustful; the Prince was undoubtedly soothed.
Even in this, thought Caroline, they look to me; and the thought gave her a grain of comfort.
The King lost interest suddenly; he had achieved his purpose; everyone knew that Henry Howard had broken into the Princess’s
apartment and drunkenly demanded she give up her husband’s mistress and that she had refused to do so. It made an amusingly ribald story and the lampooners were busy with it.
This could bring little credit to Leicester House, thought the King.
Henry Howard however, did not see why he should abandon a project which could be profitable and decided to take the matter to court. Everyone concerned knew that the law could force a wife to return to her husband and all sides were in a panic – Henry Howard because he did not want his wife back and Henrietta, the Prince and Princess because they feared she would have to go.
It was an absurd situation. Howard’s advisers suggested he ask for a reasonable settlement from the Prince on receipt of which he would be prepared to let the matter drop.
Negotiations went on through the winter and when the Prince and Princess of Wales moved to Richmond for the summer, Henrietta left, disguised, with the Duke of Argyll and his brother Lord Islay – two of the Prince’s greatest friends – and arrived at Richmond earlier than the royal party.
Eventually the matter was settled. Henry Howard would allow his wife to remain in the Princess’s service for an annual payment of £1,200 a year.
He believed he had come out of the affair very nicely. As for the Prince, the Princess and Henrietta, they could only be delighted that the affair was over; and Caroline began to wonder whether the quarrel might be mended, for while this unhappy state of affairs continued they could expect such unpleasantness from the King. Moreover the longing to have her children with her was becoming too acute to be endured.
Time was passing. They were growing away from her. Should she seek some compromise?
She was beginning to think she would agree to almost anything if she could have her children back.
She was turning over in her mind whether Sir Robert Walpole might have some suggestion to make.
The reconciliation
IT WAS WALPOLE himself who suggested the reconciliation.
The King, unable to stay away for long from his beloved Hanover, had paid another visit and had left a Council of Regency, consisting of thirteen Lord Justices to govern during his absence, in which the Prince of Wales had no part.