by Jean Plaidy
How can she thought the Queen. My poor dear child!
But the ceremony was carried out without a hitch and in time the banquet, which was eaten in public, took place. The Princess sat beside the Prince and they were seen smiling and talking together, neither in the least disturbed.
But, thought the Queen, the worst is to come.
She wished that they had not brought this old French custom to England whereby the married pair were put to bed by their courtiers—always an embarrassment to the couple but in circumstances like this a most trying ordeal.
There was a look of avid curiosity on the faces of all the people assembled in the bedchamber to see the arrival of the bride and groom who were in their separate apartments being undressed and prepared for bed by their servants.
Anne came in in her nightgown looking shorn of her dignity and to her mother extremely pathetic. Caroline was thinking of her own mother whose second marriage had been so disastrous and she felt ready to weep for all Princesses who were given in marriage to men almost strangers to them.
But Anne looked as serene as ever as she was helped to the bed and sat in it awaiting the arrival of the bridegroom.
Then he came.
Oh, God, thought the Queen, it is as bad as I thought. For with his nightcap replacing his flowing periwig he was revealed in all his deformity. From the back he appeared to have no head, so stooped was he, and from the front no neck nor legs.
There was a deep silence as he was led to the bed and took his place beside the Princess.
He did indeed look inhuman.
The Queen believed she was going to faint. Amelia and Caroline were on either side of her and she caught a quick glimpse of the horror on their faces.
Through the room passed all those whose duty it was to pay their respects and wish the marriage fruitful.
And through all this Anne sat up in bed smiling calmly as though, thought the Queen, it were a normal man who was beside her and not this ... monster.
* * *
The Queen had little sleep that night.
She kept waking and thinking of her daughter. My poor child, how is she surviving this terrible ordeal? Does she understand what marriage means?
She was silent while she was dressed and at breakfast she was joined by her daughters who could not refrain from talking of this terrible thing which had happened to their sister.
‘I would rather die than marry such a monster,’ declared Amelia.
‘How she must have suffered! ‘ sighed Caroline.
Lord Hervey joined the party; he was full of chat about what the people were saying.
The Queen sighed and said: ‘My lord, I have been weeping bitterly. When I saw that monster come into the room to go to bed with my daughter I thought I should faint. You must be sorry for my poor daughter.’
‘Madam,’ answered Lord Hervey, ‘the Princess Anne seemed satisfied with her lot and I have never been one to pity those who don’t pity themselves.’
‘My poor, poor Anne. It is all very well for you to talk, my lord. You married one of the most beautiful women at the Court.’
Lord Hervey lifted his shoulders and was aware that the Princess Caroline was regarding him intently. Poor child, he thought. How she adores me ... madly and hopelessly! What does she think will ever come of her passion for me? Still, it was pleasant to be so adored, particularly by one of the Princesses.
‘Madam,’ he said, ‘in half a year all persons are alike.
The figure of a body one is married to, like the prospect of the place one lives at, grows so familiar to one’s eye that one looks at it mechanically without regarding either the beauties or deformities which strike a stranger.’
As usual Lord Hervey had the power to comfort the Queen.
Yet Caroline and her daughters continued to mourn the terrible fate which had befallen the Princess Anne; but Anne herself showed no sign of mourning; and when she and the Prince appeared together although he took little notice of her, she was very eager to please him and Lord Hervey said he was sure that in the eyes of his wife the Prince of Orange was Adonis.
The End of a Habit
HENRIETTA HOWARD was seeking a way out of an intolerable position. The King still visited her, but everything she said he disagreed with, and did not hesitate to tell her so in the most abusive terms. He hated his visits, but because he had been making them for years he could not stop them. He would sit at a table setting his watch before him, waiting for the time to pass.
She had suggested to the Queen that she retire but the Queen would not hear of it. Henrietta knew why. She was known as the King’s first mistress and although the relationship between them was now platonic while she held the post the King would set up no one else. His affairs about the Court were necessarily brief. He could only have one first mistress and while Henrietta held that post no one else could take it. And, thought Henrietta desperately, the Queen insists that I hold that post because she is afraid of who might take it from me, and there might be someone bold and ambitious who would seek to influence the King.
But it was an intolerable state of affairs.
She had now become Lady Suffolk, for the husband whom she loathed had inherited the title a few years previously and he himself had now died. This had brought home to Henrietta that for the first time in her life she was free. If she could leave Court she could retire to her own house, be her own mistress, not be obliged to wait on the Queen or be ready to receive the King, not to receive faint praise from her and abuse from His Majesty. Oh, what peace, what joy!
She had perhaps not been a clever woman; most in her position would have collected certain prizes. Although she had in the first instance sought honours at Court when she had gone to Hanover it had been, she supposed, to find a place where she could live in some degree of comfort, for she and her husband had been in desperate straits then. Well, she was not a calculating woman and George was not a generous lover; and consequently if she left Court now she would not be a rich woman.
But there was one comfort. She had had the foresight to build a house for herself and it was true that George had helped her to do this. The house had been a great comfort to her in moments of humiliation and despair. She had called it Marble Hill; it was plain, white, and Augustan—in perfect taste. It had the most peaceful of outlooks being set on a slight hill which sloped gently down to the river. This house had been her joy all during the years of servitude; she herself had planned the apartments with their high ceilings and had designed the frescoes on gold and sepia; she had often sat by the large windows and looked out on the river and dreamed of entertaining her friends there—friends such as Alexander Pope who had always been devoted to her and whose company she found so stimulating. The King had little time, of course, for the man he called rather slightingly ‘little Mr Pope’ who spent his time writing ‘boetry’ to which the King always referred With a laugh, as an occupation not for gentlemen nor to be taken seriously. How little he understood! And how astonished he would be if he knew how she longed for the society of such people which would provide her with relief from the boredom of the royal conversation which was so often about soldiering, his prowess in past battles, his regrets that there were no wars now in which he could excel, the number of buttons on a lackey’s tunic, or the length of time it took to walk from the Palace to Great Paddock.
Lady Suffolk was so eager to escape that she decided to approach the Queen and beg her to allow her to leave.
The Queen had shut herself in her apartments and mourned for three days after the departure of the Princess Anne for Holland.
It was true that Caroline was anxious for her daughter, but Henrietta guessed that she was in fact taking advantage of her grief to enjoy the comforts of her bedchamber. All those who had served the Queen intimately knew that her health was not all that she pretended it to be; and that she was continually putting up a brave front because the King disliked illness of any sort.
Henrietta herself had grown quite
deaf and this was a further reason why she wished to go. The King was irritated when she did not hear or gave the wrong answers.
‘Stupid fool! ‘ he would mutter.
Well, thought Henrietta, the Queen must endure him, but I need not.
When she presented herself at the Queen’s bedchamber next morning she asked leave to speak to her.
Caroline looked at her sharply and no doubt guessing what was in her mind, for it was something the Queen continually feared, said that she would speak to her after breakfast if there was time; if not after her walk with the King.
‘I trust you are well, Lady Suffolk?’ she said anxiously. ‘I am well, Your Majesty. And Your Majesty . . .?’
The Queen looked fierce. ‘I am very well thank you, Lady Suffolk.’
The Queen was dressed and went into breakfast where she was joined by the Princesses Amelia and Caroline.
She ordered chocolate and fruit and cream and prepared to enjoy them, while the Princesses talked of their sister. How was she liking Holland? How was she faring with her husband?
‘Did you know, Mamma,’ said Amelia, ‘that she calls him Pepin.’
‘It is a pet name I suppose,’ put in Caroline.
‘If one put a chain about his neck people would think he was a monkey and monkeys are often kept as pets.’
‘Emily, my dear, your tongue is too sharp,’ said the Queen. ‘I think it charming that she should call him Pepin. It shows a pleasant intimacy.’
Amelia shuddered and her mother looked at her reproachfully.
‘Nothing would have made me marry him,’ said Amelia.
‘I should have been horrified if I had to,’ admitted Caroline, ‘but if he was the only one available I suppose, like Anne, I should have taken him.’
‘That is enough of this talk,’ said the Queen. ‘Oh, here is William. William, my dear, you look pale this morning.’
‘I had to be bled twice, Mamma.’
‘Oh, my God, why?’
‘I fell from my horse. It was nothing much but they bled me ... and then they bled me again.’
‘My dear boy, shouldn’t you be resting after the bleeding?’
‘Yes, Mamma, but Papa would ask for me and you know how he hates any of us to be ill.’
The Queen was dismayed. But it was true of course. If William had not appeared the King would have asked where he was and then gone to see him; he would have been displeased and pointed out that illness was all part of the imagination and he did not expect a son of his to give in just because he had fallen from his horse.
‘William, when Papa and I have gone for our walk you must go back to bed. Stay there until this evening when you will come to my apartments for my soirée. But I will leave early and you must do the same.’
Henrietta was hovering, hoping for a chance to speak to the Queen before the King arrived, but Caroline was determined to prevent this.
She kept up the conversation with her family and precisely at his usual time the King appeared ready for walking.
He was in rather an ill humour for Caroline was still drinking her chocolate. He pointed out that this was not the first time he had found her still at breakfast when he arrived; and she was drinking far too much chocolate and he was not surprised that she was getting so fat that she couldn’t keep up with him and came panting behind him like a wheezy old sow.
Caroline left her chocolate and declared that she was ready. She was glad that he did not notice William’s pallor and that neither Amelia nor Caroline were doing anything to irritate him. But he did notice that one of the chairs had been moved and he began to talk about the incompetence of servants and how they could never leave well alone and that it was useless for him to expect law and order in his palaces unless he saw that it was enforced himself.
One of the guards had had dirty buttons on his tunic this morning.
‘I reprimanded him,’ he said. ‘Most severely.’
‘Poor guard! He will doubtless go and jump in the river,’ said Amelia, who could never control her tongue.
‘I do not think he will regard his offence as seriously as that,’ said the King. ‘I blame his superior officer. It is his duty to see that no man comes on parade in such a condition.’
The King caught sight of Henrietta and frowned. What was she doing waiting on the Queen at this hour! It was not her usual practice.
‘Why is Lady Suffolk here?’ he demanded of the Queen. ‘She is waiting for a word with me.’
‘She’s become an old fool,’ said the King, slightly lowering his voice, but in such a way that it was still audible throughout the apartment.
‘I see Your Majesty is ready for our walk.’
‘Ready.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have been ready five minutes ago. In two minutes time we should be in the gardens.’
The Queen followed him to the door.
‘I wonder you won’t let me get rid of that deaf old woman,’ he said.
Ever since Anne’s marriage Frederick had been growing more and more incensed; and there were plenty to help add to his resentment.
Bolingbroke was urging him to rebel and George Bubb Dodington was helping the Prince with his many debts. But Frederick was growing a little weary of Dodington, and Lord Chesterfield was now seeking his favours. This was a cause for some alarm for Chesterfield was more to be feared than Bubb Dodington.
Chesterfield was a witty writer and an extremely ambitious man. He was at the time quarrelling with Walpole and had been dismissed from his office of Lord Steward. The Queen disliked him because he had been a friend of Henrietta Howard’s and had behaved as though the way to the King’s favour lay through her instead of through the Queen; an attitude which Caroline always found hard to forgive
Now he had irritated the King by marrying Petronilla Melusina von Schulemburg, the daughter of the Duchess of Kendal and George I. The late King had created her Countess of Walsingham in her own right and as her mother had amassed a large fortune she was very rich although forty years old. Chesterfield had married her purely for her money and the couple made no attempt to set up house together but lived next door to each other, Petronilla with her mother and Chesterfield with his mistress, Lady Fanny Shirley.
Being out of favour with the King as well as with the Queen, Chesterfield turned his attention to the Prince of Wales.
All Frederick wanted, he insisted, was his rights. He wanted an income commensurate with his position; and he wanted a bride. He was no longer a youth. How dared his parents keep him in this ridiculous position!
The Queen raged against her son to her daughters. He was so easily led. He was a fool; he was a liar; she wished that he had never been born.
Amelia listened to this and thought: The quarrel grows fiercer. But one day Frederick is going to be King of England and I and Caroline will be dependent on his bounty; a pleasant state of affairs that will be, for how will he feel about his sisters who have to be supported although they had never been very good friends of his?
Amelia went to call on her brother. He looked at her with suspicion which she quickly tried to disperse.
‘I want you to know that I’m on your side,’ she said.
‘What! ‘ demanded Frederick.
‘I think the King treats you badly. We all know how mean he is. He loathes spending money on us. He likes to spend it on show for himself, of course. Naturally you should have the same income at least that our father had when he was Prince of Wales.’
‘Who sent you to talk to me?’
‘No one. Do you think they would send me? They want to keep you away from Court. I want you to come there and ... stand up for yourself. There would be plenty to support you.’
‘The friends who support me don’t support Walpole ... so should I be welcome?’
‘You must be clever, Frederick. You must hide your rancour. You must get what you want through soft words not angry ones. Look at our mother. She always agrees with the King and gets him to do exactly what she wants.’
‘Who?’
‘Lord Fanny, of course.’
‘Oh ... Lord Hervey.’
‘I loathe that man. I don’t trust him. He deceived me once. He would deceive me again. No, I’ll never come to my mother’s drawing room while she keeps him at her side like a tame pet.’
‘He is her pet ... but scarcely tame. Don’t talk to our sister Caroline in that way. She adores him. She’s in love with him, you know.’
‘The folly of women.’
‘Yes, it is a little foolish. What hope is there for her, poor Caroline!’
‘Oh, to the devil with Lord Fanny and the whole Court. I have other things to do.’
‘Visit Miss Vane?’ asked Amelia slyly.
‘Well, her drawing room is more amusing than my mother’s.’
They parted—Amelia to go back to her apartments and Frederick to the house he had found for Miss Vane in Soho Square.
Lord Hervey met the Princess Amelia when she was returning from her brother. His large languid eyes fluttered as he looked at her.
I believe, thought Amelia, that he sees everything. He is a spy watching all so that he can write down what he sees and gloat over it afterwards.
‘How was His Highness?’ he asked.
‘My Lord Hervey is God,’ said Amelia, ‘all seeing. And surely all knowing. In which case is there any need to ask?’
‘No need at all,’ he replied. ‘For His Highness is in his usual state of bucolic appreciation of his own dazzling personality.’
‘Absolutely right, of course.’
‘And grateful to his kind sister, I hope.’
‘You hope nothing of the sort, my lord. For you know Fred would never be grateful to anyone ... except perhaps Miss Vane who has given him such a fine sturdy proof of his manhood. Or is it his manhood?’
‘I do not think Her Majesty would wish you to discuss such matters.’