The Third George: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  Her brother, all tenderness and affection, embraced her.

  She was a very important person now. He called her Your Majesty.

  *

  ‘Preparations for the journey must not be delayed.’ The Duke was giving his orders throughout the schloss. ‘We must think of Her Majesty’s coronation. There is very little time.’

  There were only two days left to her in Mecklenburg and these were to be spent in ceremonies. No longer did she eat her meals in the schoolroom under the scrutiny of Madame de Grabow. Now she dined in public. It was her very first experience of such ceremony.

  She must sit at a separate table at the banquet which followed the proxy ceremony and beside her sat Christina, pale and sombre, looking as though she would never smile again, while since her mother could not be there her place was taken by the girls’ great aunt, the Princess Schwartzenburg. All the time the Princess talked of the great honour which had come to Charlotte and how proud they were, and how she must do her duty and be a docile wife and bear her husband many children. Christina said little; she ate scarcely anything. Poor sad Christina!

  Charlotte began to feel that she would not be sorry to leave home … in the circumstances.

  In the great salon her brother was seated with the English envoy Lord Harcourt, Mr Drummond, and members of the English embassy; there were one hundred and fifty guests in all, and through the windows Charlotte could see the gardens lighted by forty thousand lamps.

  All in honour of my marriage, she thought. I have become very important here.

  But soon she would be on her way to her new country.

  *

  When she reached her bedroom she found her new dressers, Madame Haggerdorn and Mademoiselle von Schwellenburg, waiting for her. Everything was going to be so much more ceremonious from now on.

  Though these two ladies had been chosen to accompany her to England, there had been some controversy about their coming, for. it seemed that the King would have wished her to come without attendants and on her arrival choose English ones – or have them chosen for her. But she had pleaded that she be allowed at least two of her own countrywomen. ‘For I do not speak the language,’ she had explained. She spoke French tolerably well, her brother told her, and German would be understood; so she need have no fears; but the English envoy had agreed that two female attendants, provided they were well chosen, might accompany her. She was also allowed to bring Albert, her hairdresser.

  As the new dressers – and it was clear that Madame Haggerdorn was in awe of Mademoiselle von Schwellenburg right from the start – helped her to prepare for bed, Charlotte thought nostalgically of Ida and the lack of ceremony of the old days.

  Mademoiselle von Schwellenburg, putting herself in charge, made it clear that she intended to extract the utmost ceremony from the occasion. She signed for Madame Haggerdorn to hand the nightgown and she herself slipped it over Charlotte’s head.

  ‘I trust there is nothing Your Majesty needs.’

  ‘No thank you,’ answered Charlotte.

  ‘Then we beg Your Majesty’s leave to retire.’

  Yes, thought Charlotte, retire and leave me alone.

  So they left her and she lay in her bed unable to think, scenes from this eventful day darting in and out of her mind. She saw herself entering the brightly lighted salon; she heard again her brother’s impatient voice; she was lying on the couch; she could feel the cold touch of the Englishman’s flesh against her own.

  And through it all she saw the brooding unhappy eyes of Christina.

  I believe, she thought, frightened as I am of what the future may hold, I shall not be sorry to go.

  *

  There was one more day of ceremony and then she left Strelitz. For ever, she thought, and she knew in her heart that it would be so.

  Farewell, brother, she thought, you who are so glad to see me go. Farewell Christina, my poor broken-hearted sister.

  Her brother embraced her with a show of that new affection. Affection for a crown rather than a sister, she thought cynically.

  ‘You are going to a new country, sister. You are going to be a queen, but never forget you are a German; never forget your homeland.’

  She knew what that meant. If ever she had an opportunity to bring good to Mecklenburg-Strelitz she must never neglect to do so.

  ‘You are the most illustrious member of the family now,’ he told her with a smile.

  And goodbye Christina. Forgive me for what I have done to you … for if I had not written that letter it would have been your marriage we should have been celebrating. Of course there would not have been those thousands of candles; there would not have been the ceremonies; but you would have gone to your bridegroom so willingly and with such joy, whereas I go to mine …

  But she had promised herself that she would not think of what awaited her in that remote land.

  Mademoiselle von Schwellenburg’s importance was growing hourly. The Queen must have this … must do that. She seemed to proclaim constantly: I am serving the Queen. No one in the Queen’s retinue is as important as her dresser Schwellenburg; and both poor Haggerdorn and Albert seemed to agree with her.

  Everyone was talking anxiously of the weather – none more so than the Duke, who lived in terror that something would happen to delay his sister’s departure for England.

  The day was overcast and inclined to be stormy when the cavalcade, consisting of thirty coaches, set out, and as they rode through the countryside the people from the villages came out to see them pass and gape in wonder, for it was a new experience to see a wedding procession and far more welcome than the soldiers to whom they were accustomed.

  Charlotte took her last look at the schloss, trying to forget what she was leaving behind and to choke back the lump in her throat. She must smile all the while and speak gaily when anyone addressed her. Those were her brother’s orders. She must not offend the English by letting them think that her great good fortune in marrying their kind did not make up for all the bereavements she had suffered.

  She would feel better, she told herself, when she reached Stade, for there she would meet the English party who had crossed the seas for the purpose of escorting her to her new country; once she was on the boat she would really feel that she had left the past behind.

  As the party rode into Stade the wind was blowing fiercely but the bells were ringing and the cannons were firing in her honour.

  Charlotte looked up at the lowering sky and said to Schwellenburg, ‘We shall never embark in weather like this.’

  ‘It would be most unpleasant, Your Majesty, and unsafe.’

  ‘So we have a little longer in Germany.’

  Charlotte sighed, uncertain whether to be pleased or sorry. At one moment she longed to get on, to come face to face with her bridegroom; but the next she was hoping to be able to postpone the encounter.

  They had come to rest at a small schloss where they would spend the night; and as Lord Harcourt came to help her from her carriage he told her that the party from England had arrived and were waiting to greet her.

  As she stepped inside the schloss she saw them waiting for her and how magnificent they seemed in their brocades and velvets, as they came forward to kneel and pay homage to their queen! Their queen! She could scarcely believe that the odd and rather ridiculous ceremony made her so.

  ‘And Your Majesty, your new ladies in waiting, the Marchioness of Lorne and the Duchess of Ancaster.’

  She stared at them. She had never seen such women before. They were like goddesses. It was their rich garments. No, it was not. That smooth skin which they both possessed; those magnificent eyes; the abundant hair coiled about shapely heads; the grace; the charm. She had always known that she was plain; now she believed that she was ugly.

  ‘At Your Majesty’s service.’

  She heard herself say incredulously in French, because so far most of these English seemed to prefer it to German, ‘Are all English women as beautiful as you?’

  The
ladies laughed and said: ‘Your Majesty is gracious.’

  It did not answer the question and as others were presented to her she scarcely noticed them for she was thinking of what the King would do when he saw her. If he were accustomed to women who looked like these two – and she had to face the fact that she had never seen any so lovely and there were two of them – what would he think of his new bride?

  She was frightened now.

  ‘Your Majesty is tired.’ It was kind Lord Harcourt at her elbow.

  She admitted that she was and he suggested that she announce her intention to retire to the apartments which had been prepared for her.

  *

  There she studied herself in the mirror. How ugly her mouth was … so wide and thin! She thought of the beautifully moulded lips of the English women – pink tinted; she kept hearing the laughter in their voices when she had asked if all their countrywomen were as beautiful. And they had not answered.

  Schwellenburg came in and because Charlotte was caught looking in the mirror she said: ‘The English women are so beautiful. I fear the King will be disappointed when he sees me.’

  ‘He chose Your Majesty,’ was the answer.

  ‘Without seeing me.’

  ‘Both those women seem very flighty to me.’

  ‘I suppose when one is as beautiful as they are one can be forgiven all else.’

  ‘Nonsense, begging Your Majesty’s pardon.’

  ‘Oh, Schwellenburg, I’m apprehensive.’

  ‘What, Your Majesty! And you a Queen!’

  ‘Of very short duration. What if he should decide that I’m too ugly to marry and sends me back.’

  ‘He could hardly do that. Your Majesty forgets that he’s married to you already by proxy.’

  Charlotte sighed. It was not the answer she wished; she wanted reassurance; she longed to be told that she was not so ugly as she feared. But Schwellenburg would not flatter; she answered with the logical truth. Charlotte was plain; it was likely that if the King were expecting a beauty he would be disappointed; but all the same the proxy ceremony had taken place and whatever he thought he would have to take her now.

  ‘It’s all so hurried,’ she complained. ‘Schwellenburg, does it not seem to you a trifle mysterious?’

  But to Schwellenburg it did not seem in the least mysterious. The marriage had been made as many royal marriages were. If Charlotte could provide her husband with children, in Schwellenburg’s opinion no one could complain.

  Lord Harcourt was asking for an audience.

  She greeted him with pleasure, but he was looking grave.

  ‘I have messages from His Majesty the King,’ he told her. ‘He commands that we proceed to Cuxhaven without delay and there embark for England.’

  ‘At once?’ she asked.

  ‘We shall have a night’s stay here and leave in the morning. I was planning to wait until the weather changed.’

  ‘Perhaps it may by the morning.’

  ‘I shall hope that it does, Your Majesty, but whatever it is like my orders are that we should sail.’

  She nodded; she had no great fear of the sea.

  A peal of bells was heard followed by the salute of guns.

  ‘The people of Stade are determined to give Your Majesty a good welcome,’ said Harcourt.

  She frowned a little. ‘Am I worthy of all these honours?’ she asked.

  Lord Harcourt bowed and murmured: ‘Your Majesty is the Queen of England.’

  *

  At Cuxhaven, when the royal party arrived, the wind was howling and the rain was pelting down. Lord Harcourt was anxious; so, Charlotte noticed, were the beautiful women who now rode beside her and were threatening to put Schwellenburg’s nose out of joint.

  They were a little mischievous, Charlotte felt, despising Schwellenburg and Haggerdorn for two frumps; Charlotte would be the first to admit that they were dowdy and no beauties; but at least she felt more at home with them in spite of Schwellenburg’s domineering ways.

  There was no help for it, they must go aboard. The ship was rocking uncomfortably and everyone except Charlotte was unhappily aware of this. Charlotte had never been to sea; therefore she had no notion what seasickness was. She had come to a decision; if the King did not like her then he must needs make the best of her. She had not asked for this marriage – although her brother had been more than eager for it. She would do her duty and if the King was not prepared to do his, she would try to shrug her shoulders and not care. After all, these two Englishwomen might be beautiful, but they were not Princesses, so what she lacked in beauty she made up for in rank … even though in that she was not of such a high standard.

  Lady Lorne came to stand beside her at the rail as she stood watching, that she might see the last of her native land.

  ‘Your Majesty seems unaffected by the rocking of the ship.’

  ‘Should I be affected by it?’

  ‘Most of us are.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Not yet. But with Your Majesty’s permission if it becomes more uncomfortable I shall retire to my cabin.’

  ‘Pray do so. But you did not answer my question about the women of England. Are they all as beautiful as you and the Duchess of Ancaster?’

  ‘I trust Your Majesty will not consider me unduly conceited when I tell you that we are both known as two of the outstanding beauties of the Court.’

  Charlotte’s relief was obvious.

  ‘I had imagined a Court of goddesses,’ she said.

  ‘Your Majesty is too gracious.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be … only truthful. You are without doubt very handsome, both of you. Tell me about your life at Court.’

  The Marchioness replied that she had first come to Court as Elizabeth Gunning some ten years before from Ireland – she and her sister and her mother.

  ‘We came to seek our fortunes.’

  ‘And you found them?’

  The Marchioness was silent for a few moments. ‘I suppose some would say we had. A year after we arrived I was married to the Duke of Hamilton.’

  ‘And you were happy?’

  She smiled sadly. ‘It was a runaway marriage of a sort, Your Majesty. We were married in a Mayfair chapel at half past twelve at night; and as the Duke had not thought to provide a wedding ring we used a curtain ring.’

  ‘It sounds … romantic,’ said Charlotte wistfully. ‘He must have been very much in love with you.’

  ‘That was true, Your Majesty. Then I was presented to the King and that was a great occasion.’

  ‘That would be … my husband’s grandfather.’

  ‘Yes, Madam. He was most kind to me … but he was not considered as kind generally as his present Majesty.’

  ‘So you find the King … kind?’

  ‘The King would never, I believe, be unkind to any. He is very different from his grandfather, who was inclined to be irascible, constantly flying into rages. Forgive me, Your Majesty, my tongue runs away with me.’

  ‘I have asked you to be frank. And so the King is different from his grandfather, then?’

  ‘Very different. The King is tall and handsome and there is a charm about him … a gentleness …’

  Charlotte was beginning to feel better. It was pleasant to chat with a woman like this and so get an idea of what was waiting for her.

  ‘I hear from Lord Harcourt that he is impatient for the wedding.’

  ‘It is true. He has fixed the date of the coronation and I have heard that he wants his queen to share it with him.’

  Charlotte nodded, beginning to feel almost happy. She was curious about this beautiful woman and wanted to know why she was the Marchioness of Lorne when she had married the Duke of Hamilton.

  ‘The Duke died six years after our marriage.’

  ‘And you have married again?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty, to the Marquis of Lorne.’

  ‘So you became a marchioness instead of a duchess.’

  ‘My husband, Your Majesty, is th
e heir of the Duke of Argyll.’

  Charlotte smiled. ‘So it is only a temporary loss of rank. Have you any children?’

  ‘Yes, by my first husband I have a daughter and two sons; I have a little boy by my second marriage.’

  ‘You are a very fortunate woman. Was your sister as lucky?’

  ‘My sister died a year ago of consumption. They said it was due to the white lead she used for her complexion.’

  ‘Oh … how terrible.’

  ‘I myself was very ill less than a year ago and I thought I was dying of the same disease; but my husband took me abroad and I have completely recovered.’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘White lead!’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty, it produces a perfect whiteness which I have heard is most appealing.’

  Charlotte laughed more merrily than she had since the wedding ceremony. ‘Perhaps it is as well not to have such beauty that has to be preserved by such lethal means.’

  The Marchioness smiled and whispered that if Her Majesty would grant her permission she would retire to her cabin, for she was beginning to feel a little queasy.

  Charlotte stood at the rail after the Marchioness had gone. She liked the feel of the wind on her face. She did not feel in the least ill.

  She believed that she had really begun to look forward to the new life.

  *

  The ship was battling against the elements and all Charlotte’s attendants lay groaning in their cabins or on their bunks praying for the journey to be over … or for death.

  But Charlotte was not in the least affected. A harpsichord had been placed on board for her entertainment and she spent a great deal of time playing this, though her ladies did not hear her, since every one of them, even the redoubtable Schwellenburg, was prostrated.

  Lord Harcourt told her that they were days from the coast of England and that he had just learned that the storms had driven them almost on to that of Norway.

  ‘It is a pity for my ladies that we did not wait for more propitious weather,’ commented Charlotte.

  ‘Your Majesty, the King’s orders were that we embark without delay.’

  ‘Why, Lord Harcourt, is he so very eager for our arrival?’

  Lord Harcourt, smiling, bowed. ‘That, I am sure, His Majesty will make clear to you on your arrival.’