by Deryn Lake
“If only that were so,” answered Caroline, sighing a little. “If only it were.”
For truth to tell, it was a little daunting to be seen constantly in the company of two such attractive young women as Sarah and Susan, different though they were one from the other. With the Prince of Wales’s obvious interest in her, Sarah had become more and more the centre of attention wherever she went, and now that he was King, if his affection continued and was not diminished by the fact of his elevation, Caroline could envisage the situation getting quite out of hand. Tonight, she thought with yet another sigh, was going to be quite an ordeal.
His Majesty was at last beginning to show signs of a certain independence, an excellent portent to all those who feared the domination of his mother, the Princess of Wales, born Augusta of Saxe-Gotha. This German princess had some years previously married George II’s son Frederick, the heir to the throne, who had predeceased his father and, to make matters more painful, been loathed and detested by both his parents while he was alive.
“If I was to see him in hell,” Queen Caroline had said of her own child, “I should feel no more for him than I should for any other rogue that ever went there.” But his sad and early death had solved it all. Frederick’s young son George had become Prince of Wales in his father’s place.
But now, despite the fact that he had set up his own establishment, there were those, Fox amongst them, who feared for the future. Augusta still tried to rule with a rod of iron through her favourite, the Earl of Bute, formerly a close friend of Prince Frederick’s but who, so gossip said, had consoled his widow only too well. Infatuated with Bute, though clearly not sexually so, George turned to the older man for advice as he would have done to a beloved father.
Emulating his grandfather, His Majesty was keeping Christmas at Kensington and it was with some relief that Fox observed, as his party entered the receiving room, that not only were there very few guests, literally about thirty people in all, thus making the compliment to Sarah even more marked, but also that neither Princess Augusta nor Bute were amongst those present. Tonight, at least, the youthful monarch would be free to do what he pleased.
The new King looked splendid. Dressed in deep purple, possibly an extension of his personal mourning, George stood tall and handsome, his white wig, tied with a smart black bow, only serving to enhance his blue eyes and fresh skin. He smiled broadly as Sarah Lennox came into view, showing his strong and even teeth, while she curtsied in front of him in a manner which suggested intimacy as well as respect.
‘He’s in love with her,’ thought Fox, watching narrowly. ‘I’d stake my life on it.’
And, indeed, when the dancing began, and after the King had led out the most senior lady present as a mark of politeness, it was Sarah’s hand that he claimed as partner for the next dance. There may not have been many guests at the Ball that evening but those who were there had plenty to think about as the King bent his head close to Sarah’s and murmured what looked like a string of compliments, judging by the way she smiled and lowered her lashes. And then, at around ten o’clock, His Majesty actually left the dancing with his partner and was observed going alone with her into the room where tea, negus and other drinks were being served.
“Do you see that?” said Fox to Caroline, positively jigging from one foot to the other.
“They are only going out for refreshment.”
“Yes but alone, my dear. For the first time ever they are alone.”
And so they were, for the room was empty except for the two women presiding over the cups and glasses.
“What may I fetch you, Lady Sarah?” the King asked as they sat down side by side, something of the novelty of the situation obviously appealing to him, for his eyes were very lively.
“It is not seemly, Sir, that you should wait upon me.”
“But nothing would give me greater pleasure,” George insisted. “Would you like tea?”
“No, negus, if you please. It’s a cold night and I adore the warmth of it.”
“So do I,” he answered, glancing round quickly in a way that suggested to Sarah his mother did not approve of him drinking. “I’ll get two.”
He got up and she did likewise, it being considered the height of rudeness to remain sitting while royalty stood.
“Please, Lady Sarah, let us be friends and not ruled by ceremony. I beg you to take your seat and be comfortable,” the King said, looking at her very tenderly.
He crossed the room to get two glasses of the hot port punch, sweetened and spiced and quite the most delicious drink ever made, Sarah watching his shapely back as he did so, trying to take in the fact that the King of England was actually fetching her a drink, while she sat like his sweetheart and let him wait on her.
“There,” he said, returning and bowing slightly, “now let us converse.”
“What would you like to talk about, Your Majesty?”
“You,” said the King very definitely, and crossed one elegant silk clad leg over the other.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. First of all let me say that I’m so delighted you have done nothing to lose your Irish accent. I told you when we first met that it enhances your many charms and it most certainly does. So remind me how you acquired it. You went to live in Ireland when you were very young, did you not?”
“I did, Sir. My mother died when I was little more than a tot and I was sent, in company with the two sisters nearest to me in age, one older, one younger, to be brought up with Emily, yet another sister who had married the Earl of Kildare.”
“I see,” said the King, nodding, though Sarah knew that he wasn’t really concentrating, his blue eyes too busy staring at her hair, her mouth, her own eyes, deeper in colour than his by far.
“It was a happy time, very boisterous and amusing. Dublin society is quite bon ton, you know.”
The King smiled. “Your sister must have had a good heart to surround herself with so many children.”
“Fortunately both Carton, the Earl’s country seat, and Kildare House, in the capital, are very large so we did not get under each other’s feet. But what helped most was that my brother-in-law was so supportive to us all. My sister loves him greatly for it. She declares that he is the best and kindest of husbands.”
George sipped his negus. “And who takes the lead in this happy household? Is it Lady Emily or Lord Kildare who rules the roost?”
Wondering why he was asking such an odd question, Sarah lowered her eyes. “My sister is a clever woman, Sir. Therefore it is Lord Kildare who governs.”
“And do you approve of that?”
“I think women who appear to rule can be overbearing.”
The King nodded sadly. “Indeed, indeed.”
Draining her glass, Sarah said boldly, “I have heard it said, Sir, that you are under the maternal thumb.”
The handsome face paled and an expression of utter amazement crossed George’s features.
“Do people really believe that?”
“Yes, Sir, they do.”
“But surely parents are the best people to govern a child.”
It was out of Sarah’s mouth before she had time to think. “Not when the child is King of England and the mother a German princess.”
He stood up, turning slightly away from her, and the girl knew she had gone too far, that encouraged by the negus she had made an utter fool of herself by repeating the views of Mr Fox, frequently expressed at considerable length but always in the privacy of Holland House.
“I hope I have not offended, Sir, but you asked that we might be friends and converse as friends do. Yet in obeying I believe I have upset you,” she said contritely.
He spun round, looking down at her from his considerable height and taking both her hands in his.
“On the contrary. I admire the honesty in you, Lady Sarah. In fact I would go so far as to say I love it. You would not have been capable of saying that parents know best and leaving it at that, would you?”
“No, because it would have been telling an untruth.”
“But you would not mind telling a white lie presumably?”
“Oh yes I would, Sir.”
“So then I shall always know where I stand with you?”
“You will, Sir.”
He drew her fingers to his lips. “Lovely Lady Sarah, how very happy that makes me. Will you honour me with the next dance?”
Sarah curtsied delightfully. “I will indeed.”
They were falling in love, exhilaratingly so, and both of them knew it. Nor did they care who noticed for when the couple re-entered the ballroom, smiling secretive smiles, there was an audible murmur of interest. Fox caught Caroline’s eye and winked his own while Lady Susan thrilled with silent jubilation. She, above all, by the very way her friend responded when Susan teased her about the King, knew that Sarah was more attracted to him than she was prepared to admit. And now they danced as if there were not another couple present in the place.
“A pretty sight,” said the Duke of Bedford drily, within earshot of Fox.
“Pretty be damned,” snorted his Duchess. “I’d rather the King were given time to look round other English beauties.”
“Meaning her own wretched daughter,” Fox whispered audibly and was rewarded with a piercing glance.
But the young couple danced on oblivious to all, Sarah teaching George the steps of Betty Blue, an Irish country dance.
“I have plans,” said the King softly as they whirled around, “for extending the grounds of Kensington Palace.”
“Have you, Sir?”
“Yes, I thought it might be both pleasant and convenient to take them as far as the parkland of Holland House. Then, perhaps, we could meet as we rode out.”
“I am entirely at Your Majesty’s command,” answered Sarah.
The blue eyes grew ardent and the pressure of the King’s hand tightened.
“I will not forget that, Lady Sarah. Be sure I will hold you to such a promise at some time in the future.”
“It will be an honour, Sir,” answered the girl and the couple indulged in exchanging warm glances before George said, “Reluctantly I feel I should mingle amongst my other guests though I would far rather stay at your side all evening.”
“Of course, Sir.” And Sarah dropped one of her spectacular curtseys as he kissed her hand.
The company, small and select though it might be, was positively buzzing with gossip by now and the Duke of Newcastle, a seasoned old cynic with a hard shrewd eye, said to Fox, “Odds on your sister-in-law, what!”
“Meaning, your Grace?”
“You know what I mean. She’s obviously destined for great things, damme.”
“You think so?”
“I most assuredly do.”
Fox smiled secretly, as wily and cunning as his name. But as soon as the carriage door was closed for the journey home he lowered his guard, quite unable to resist asking questions despite Caroline’s tuts of disapproval. Sarah pulled a face in the darkness, disliking the inevitable interrogation which followed a meeting with her royal admirer.
“If you must know, dear brother, we talked about the park, Betty Blue and Princess Augusta,” she said sulkily.
“I beg your pardon?”
Sarah grinned. “I taught His Majesty a new dance, discussed his proposed alterations to the grounds of Kensington Palace, and told him that in your view he was completely governed by his mother.”
“You did what?”
“I said that in your opinion, Sir, a King of England has no place being told what to do by a German woman.”
“Are you serious?”
Sarah relented slightly. “I did say it but in truth omitted the fact they were your words and actually pretended they were mine.”
“Sarah!” remonstrated Caroline, stung into action. “How could you? Not only will you have hurt His Majesty’s feelings, you will also have put yourself completely out of favour.”
“On the contrary. The King told me he loved my frankness of speech and lack of guile. He said it was quite one of my most attractive features.”
“Then by God he’s smitten,” announced Fox loudly. “No man would stand for it lest he be in love. ’Zounds but this puts a new complexion on the matter.” He banged on the carriage roof with his ebony stick. “Make haste, Hawkins! I declare I need a bumper of champagne. Holland House at speed, man.”
“Very good, Sir.”
And with a crack of the coachman’s whip the equipage rushed through the night as the first snow of the year 1761 began to fall.
*
It snowed for three whole days, transforming the park into a fairyland which gleamed and glittered through the whirling flakes. On the fourth day it stopped and the young people of Holland House, well muffled against the cold, stepped outside and began to explore the changed and beautiful terrain of their grounds.
Immediately behind the mansion lay the knot garden, created in Jacobean times when Holland House had first been built, and beyond this, below the formal terrace, were a series of wooded walkways known as The Wilderness. These paths had been created in a spoke formation and led to a central in which stood two stone seats and a classical statue of a partially nude girl. With a whoop of delight, Charles James slid across the snow-filled terrace on his bottom then, dusting the powder from his breeches, hurtled into The Wilderness and vanished amongst its trees. Shouting excitedly, the others ran to find him.
The colonnades of the woodland had been planted with hornbeam, now piled high with coronets of snow, their branches stooped and laden with white. Shaking the lowest as he ran past so that he was constantly immersed in flurries, Charles James headed purposefully for the centre where he climbed up the plinth, hung his cap on the statue and started to fondle her snow-clad breasts.
“You’re a very rude boy,” said Susan, catching him up and attempting to look stern.
“I’m only keeping her warm,” he answered, then winked, clambered down again, missed his footing and fell into a drift, from which he emerged like some arctic elf, grinning and covered in white.
“I think a snowman to keep her company is a better idea,” announced Ste plummily, and scooping up a handful threw it at his brother.
In seconds a snowball fight had broken out, the two young ladies involved against their will, not relishing the thought of icy snow going down their backs.
“Oh do stop it!” shouted Sarah, at odds with the boys already, the stirrings of love she felt whenever she thought of the King’s adoring glances putting her out of countenance with childish games, awakening in their stead strange sensations which the girl did not fully understand.
“Spoil sport,” Charles called back. “What’s the matter with you, Sal? Don’t be elderly and boring. Please!”
She rushed to him, suddenly guilty because he, too, loved her in his way, and this time they both fell over, giggling and tickling as they did so. And then, even before she looked up, Sarah felt a sudden change in the atmosphere. In that fine bracing winter’s day came another coldness, a tingling frisson, fearful and icy, which hastened her heartbeat and made her gasp for breath.
“What is it?” asked Charles James, sensing the tension in his young aunt. But she did not answer, sitting up slowly and staring straight in front of her, blind to everything else.
At the end of the row of trees immediately opposite, distinctly visible from where she sat in the snow, Sarah could see a motionless figure gazing up the colonnades as if transfixed. She recognised the sheen of red hair, the startled expression, with a remorseless sinking of her heart. She had not thought of the woman for months, had not seen her since the night of her fifteenth birthday, in fact had almost forgotten her. And now here she was, back again, standing in the snow and staring straight at her.
With a sudden burst of anger, Sarah struggled to her feet, sending poor Charles flying as she did so.
“Hey you,” she called out, “I want a word with you.”
And slipping and slidin
g as she went, Sarah ran down the avenue towards the still, motionless figure. The woman turned, as if in sudden panic, and began to hurry away through the trees, though this only added to her pursuer’s resolve. Throwing caution to the winds, Sarah skimmed down the snow-filled colonnade, determined to catch the intruder up.
Bordering The Wilderness on one side was Green Walk, on the other Little Hill Field, and it was towards the field that the interloper now made her frantic way, gazing round her helplessly as if she had no idea where she was going. Glancing back over her shoulder, Sarah could see her three companions looking in her direction open-mouthed, for all the world as if she had suddenly taken leave of her senses. Regardless of them, Sarah rushed on and then, almost from a clear sky, it started to snow again — and everything vanished.
Gasping, the girl stopped short, realising that to proceed would be foolish. Before her lay a great stretch of fields and woodlands in which she could get dangerously lost. Angrily aware that her quarry must be well ahead of her but that there was nothing she could do about it, Sarah turned and slowly made her way back through the blinding flakes.
“What made you run off like that?” asked Susan as Sarah, somewhat shakily, limped up to the trio awaiting her.
“I saw that wretched spying woman and gave chase.”
“What spying woman?” Ste repeated curiously.
“There’s a female who loiters round the estate, even comes into the house. I’ve seen her two or three times.”
“Who is she?”
“That I don’t know. I gave chase to try and find out.”
“How strange,” Ste went on thoughtfully. “Have you told Father?”
“No, I don’t like to bother him. Besides, she hasn’t been around for a long time. I thought she’d gone.”
“Well, I didn’t see anyone,” put in Charles James, “and I was sitting right beside you.”
“I think it’s a ghost,” said Susan. “I did when you first told me of her, Sarah, and I haven’t changed my mind.”
“I didn’t know ghosts walked in snowstorms.” This from Ste who was obviously giving the matter weighty consideration. “How interesting.”