Indiscretions of the Queen

by Виктория Холт

  ‘I have something very serious to say to you,’ he began. ‘Difficult. In a quandary. Don’t quite know what it means but we shall have to discover. Can’t let you marry if the bridegroom already has a wife, eh, what?’

  ‘Already has a wife!’ cried the Princess Royal. ‘But she is dead.’

  ‘So we think— so we hope. At least one should not hope for the death of others, eh, what? But there are rumours. Some say that she is not dead— but a prisoner in Russia— and if she is, then that means that Prince Frederick can’t take another wife, can he— because that would be bigamy and something we couldn’t have, eh, what?’

  The Princess Royal looked stricken. What a worry children were! thought the King. But they couldn’t have bigamy in the family— although in a way they already had it, because the Prince of Wales was supposed to be married to Mrs.

  Fitzherbert and he’d married Caroline.

  Oh dear, oh dear, families were difficult to control. Why could they not all be docile like himself and the Queen, who had always done their duty!

  The King said: ‘Well, my dear, you see what this means. You must prepare yourself for no marriage. Though it may be it won’t come to that. The Prince assures me that his wife is dead. He has a letter from the Empress of Russia dated two years after he left his wife in her country and the Duke of Brunswick also has a letter from the Empress and in both the letters it states that the Princess Charlotte of Brunswick is dead.’

  ‘Then she is dead,’ cried the Princess Royal. ‘Why is there all this talk if she is dead?’

  ‘Because, my dear, no one seems to know how she died. Some say one thing, some another. And there are some who doubt the motives of that strange woman, the Empress, that they say the Princess did not die at all but that she was kept a prisoner and still is in prison in Russia.’

  ‘I won’t believe it! I won’t believe it!’ cried the Princess Royal.

  ‘All the same,’ said the King, ‘it is a matter which must be cleared up to my satisfaction— and the Queen’s— before we can consent to this marriage.’

  ‘But my— my future husband is due to arrive here!’

  ‘Postponement, my dear. It is sometimes necessary. We have to be very sure.

  We have to have proof. You understand that, eh, what? Can’t have our Princess Royal going off to a strange country unmarried, eh, what?’

  The Princess Royal felt limp with misery. ‘I feared it was too good to be true,’

  she sighed.

  The King looked a little shocked. Did marriage mean so much to his daughter? After all this was not love for a man. How could it be when she had never seen him? It was merely the desire to be married, to escape from home.

  He liked to think of his girls unsullied. He could never bear to contemplate them in the marriage bed, particularly Amelia. I shall never part with her, he thought. Nor any of the others. They are my girls— my pure girls. They shall never be sullied if I can help it. He thought of the life he had led— the good pure life with his Queen— plain, unattractive Charlotte whom he had had to accept when he burned for Sarah Lennox. But he had subdued all his desires in order to do his duty, and as a result he had had thirteen children— fifteen if Octavius and Alfred had lived. He had never been unfaithful to his wife in deed although he had often dreamed of beautiful women. Sometimes in his less lucid moments he thought he had mistresses— beautiful women like those favoured by his brothers and his sons who had lacked his sense of duty. He dreamed erotic dreams— but they were only dreams.

  And he was anxious that his daughters should remain pure. He would keep them under his roof, growing older perhaps— but they would always be children to him.

  So now, although he was sorry for his daughter’s tragic looks, in his heart he would be pleased if this marriage came to nothing.

  The King visited Caroline at Blackheath. ‘You are happily settled here?’ he asked.

  ‘I could enjoy my stay, Your Majesty, but I miss my daughter.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the young rogue! I was with her yesterday. She grows apace and is into everything.’

  The King smiled affectionately. He loved babies. Caroline smiled with him and gave him an account of young Charlotte’s amazingly clever conduct in the days when she was at Carlton House with her.

  ‘She misses her mother,’ said Caroline. ‘But not as much as her mother misses her.’

  The King smiled. This was the sort of conversation he loved— happy domestic conversation. He discussed the food the Princess should be given and what rules should be made for her household.

  Then he came to the real point of his visit.

  ‘As you know there is a betrothal between the Prince of Würtemberg and our Princess Royal.’

  ‘Yes, I had heard of this.’

  ‘You will have met the Prince?’

  ‘I met him when he came to Brunswick to marry my sister.’

  ‘And your sister, Caroline, what of her?’

  ‘I had never believed her to be dead. I have always felt that she was alive and there were rumours—’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘My father believed her dead and so did Madame de Hertzfeldt and my mother. But perhaps that was what they wished.’

  ‘Do you remember what happened?’

  ‘Yes. There was a letter to say that my sister had died of a terrible disease which made it necessary for her to be buried without delay.’

  ‘And you did not believe this.’

  Caroline shrugged her shoulders. ‘Perhaps I did not wish to believe it. I had been brought up with her. She was always so full of life. I could not imagine her — dead. Her maid came back to us. She said she had been dismissed by my sister and sent back home. She became my maid and she told me that my sister had fallen in love with one of the Empress’s lovers.’

  The King shuddered; he could not bear hearing stories of other people’s profligate habits because when he was alone he could not stop thinking of them.

  Caroline had no notion of this and went on, ‘This maid told me that my sister had a child by this man and that the Empress had her sent away and imprisoned her. Perhaps she had her murdered in prison.’

  The King did not speak and Caroline went on: ‘One cannot believe these stories of someone with whom one has spent one’s childhood. When I think of all the games we played together and our tricks and jokes— and then I think of her being murdered— I can’t grasp it. Perhaps that is why I cannot believe she is dead.’

  The King said: ‘We cannot allow the Princess Royal to marry a man who has a wife living.’

  Caroline thought: No. But I was married to a man who, in the eyes of some, already had a wife. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that it is remarkable what strange adventures can fall to the lot of princesses.’

  ‘I shall need to have proof of your sister’s death before I can consent to this marriage.’

  ‘My father will give you a copy of the letter he received from the Empress and doubtless the Prince of Würtemburg will too. Your Majesty will consider that proof?’

  ‘There is no other proof I could hope for.’

  ‘And would that suffice?’

  ‘I am not sure.’

  The Princess Royal was ill; her skin had turned yellow and her eyes were tinged with the same colour.

  She lay listlessly on her bed. She had felt the sickness coming on her but she would not go to bed until she had finished her wedding gown. There it was hanging in her wardrobe— like a white satin ghost.

  ‘At least I had a wedding dress if I don’t get a husband,’ she said to her sister Elizabeth.

  Her mother came to see her. She folded her arms and stood looking down at her daughter, her wide mouth grim. The girl was sick through anxiety, so much did she wish for marriage. Queen Charlotte thought of her own marriage— that astounding message which had come from England to say that she had been chosen for the future King of England. She would never forget it— and remembering it, she could have some sympathy for her da
ughter.

  ‘You understand,’ she said, ‘that we must make sure he is free to marry you.’

  ‘I understand, Mamma.’

  ‘And when we have satisfied ourselves, there is no reason why we should not go ahead with the marriage.’ She went to the cupboard and examined the wedding dress.

  ‘You have stitched it very fine,’ she said. ‘I am sure the reward for such diligence will be that you will wear it for what it was intended.’

  The Queen came back to the bed and looked at her daughter. The Princess Royal was indeed sick— sick with fear that she might not get a husband.

  The Queen would tell the King that it was essential that the Princess Royal married. There were enough daughters at home.

  The King was uncertain. He had received letters from the Duke of Brunswick and the Prince of Würtemburg. They had no doubt that the Prince’s first wife was dead. ‘And yet,’ mused the King, ‘I don’t know.’

  He did not in fact wish his daughter to have a husband at all; but the idea of giving her to a man who could not be her husband shocked him deeply.

  ‘I am uncertain,’ he said. ‘I wish the offer had never been made. Better to have heard nothing about it, eh, what?’

  The Queen replied that she did not care for the marriage either but the Princess Royal was set on it and it was hardly likely that they would find another husband for her. There were the other girls, too.

  ‘They’re happy enough at home.’

  ‘But they should marry if it is possible.’

  ‘ H’m, ’ said the King.

  ‘Princess Royal will be ill if this marriage does not take place. I could see her becoming a confirmed invalid. That sort of thing can happen. We don’t want sickness in the family.

  The Queen stopped abruptly and the King looked alarmed. They were both thinking of that most terrible of all illnesses— the one to which he was addicted and which robbed him of his sanity.

  ‘I shall accept these letters,’ he said. ‘We will give our consent. It all happened a long time ago. The woman must be dead, eh, what?’

  ‘I think the woman must be dead,’ said the Queen.

  The Prince of Würtemburg had arrived in England for his marriage. The Princess Royal rose from her sick bed. She had quickly recovered although her skin was still yellow.

  She put on the wedding dress and in the Chapel Royal to St. James’s she made her marriage vows with the Archbishops of Canterbury and York presiding, and the King giving the bride away.

  She was radiant and the bridegroom seemed well satisfied; but the King was so ill at ease that many who watched the ceremony wondered whether he was sickening for another bout of his illness. Later in the Queen’s drawing room, he talked incessantly and it was clear that he did not like parting with his daughter.

  The Princess Royal suffered no qualms at parting with her family. She was at last married and all the fears and omens had come to nothing.

  She embraced her brothers and sisters with affection; then she left St. James’s to spend a few days at Windsor before setting off with her husband for her new life in a strange country; and it seemed that the ghost of his first wife troubled neither of them.

  Caroline, who had attended the marriage, remembered him from all those years ago; but he did not wish to remember.

  Caroline grimaced inwardly. I’m the outsider, she told herself. The family don’t want me here. But perhaps the one who was most anxious for her absence was the bridegroom from Würtemburg.

  Caroline’s Little Family

  CAROLINE had accepted her life. The Prince would always hate her; he would, if he could, separate her from their daughter but this was not in his power while the King remained her friend. She was grateful to the King, the only member of the royal family whom she could trust, but naturally the most important, for in the end if he insisted that something be done so it must be.

  He visited her often; they talked of the Princess Charlotte and he told her how worried he was about Amelia’s health. Caroline always listened intently and although the King had to admit that her manners were too free and her conversation a little coarse and that she laughed too loudly and was too familiar, he always added a rider: She was affectionate and he liked to feel affection in the family.

  The Queen ignored her— more than that, she would do her harm if she could.

  Caroline retaliated by laughing behind Her Majesty’s back at her odd little habits of which she read in the press. Her snuff-taking, her careful scrutiny of accounts, how she kept her tippet in a paper bag to prevent its getting dusty— as though she were some farmer’s wife. But Caroline knew that the Queen was not merely a figure of fun; she was a sinister power in her life. ‘The old Begum,’ she would say, ‘what is she up to now?’

  But the days she spent with baby Charlotte made up for any disappointments in her life. How she loved to romp with the child! They would crawl about the floor together and Charlotte would give imperious orders and show quite clearly that she adored her mother. If she could only have the child with her she would have been perfectly happy; but she had to realize that as a royal princess, a possible Queen of England, Charlotte would had to receive an education which it was not in Caroline’s power to give her.

  But she was a baby yet and there were happy time together.

  Caroline was not allowed to return to Carlton House and Charlotte continued to live there with her governess and nurses; but the King arranged that Caroline should oft visit her daughter and that Charlotte should often stay Charlton with her mother.

  ‘Dear old George,’ said Caroline to Miss Hayman, who was a very special friend. ‘A pity he had to marry the old Begum. He deserves better.’

  Miss Hayman, like everyone else, thought Caroline’s speech and manners very wild and free; but that did not disturb Miss Hayman; and she often visited Caroline at Charlton to tell her what Charlotte had been doing and to repeat her clever sayings.

  When the Prince heard of the friendship between Caroline and Miss Hayman he dismissed the latter from Princess Charlotte’s household, so Miss Hayman went to serve that of Caroline.

  The Princess was becoming extremely popular. She only had to ride out into the streets and a little crowd would gather to cheer her. When he heard of this it infuriated the Prince, for the more people liked her the less they liked him.

  He could not understand why this rather slovenly, non-too-clean creature with her too-ready and too-loud laughter, her flamboyant manner of dressing, her tactlessness and whole lack of grace should have so caught the public imagination But the fact remained that she had.

  He was ashamed of her; and while he determined to shut her out of his life as much as he could he was desperately longing to bring Maria Fitzherbert back into it.

  Caroline meanwhile had moved to Montague House, near Greenwich Park, which was more suited to her rank than the little house in Charlton and she set out to make this an inviting centre for amusing people. Strangely enough she did attract to it some of the most brilliant men of the day. The chief of these was the great politician, George Canning. This further enraged the Prince, who could not understand how such a man could find anything in Caroline’s household to attract him. Other important influential people followed Canning’s example and it seemed inevitable that Montague House should become a rendezvous for those who disapproved of the Prince.

  But Caroline longed for her daughter and since she could not have her all the time she took up a hobby which had been hers in Brunswick and adopted children from the surrounding neighbourhood. She would call at any house, however humble, if there were children there; and she only had to hear of an orphan to take the child into her special care.

  This project filled a great deal of her time because she made it her duty to see that the children were placed in households where they would be well looked after; she founded a little school where they could be taught; she treated them as though she were their mother and no matter how poor and sick they were, she cuddled and kiss
ed them, showering her affection on them.

  People were surprised to see her pick up a child with open sores on its face and tend them herself.

  She loved children. She adored her own daughter; but since she was allowed to see her only occasionally she created her own little family about her.

  This was one of the reasons why she was so loved by the people who saw in her a good kind woman who had been badly treated by their profligate Prince.

  And so the next few years passed.

  The Reunion

  Maria read the appeal. She must come back to him. She was his dear wife, his angel. He did not know how she could be so cruel to him. He admitted that he had been the victim of a mental aberration when he had thought he could do without her. But she had been a little cross with him at time, she had lost her temper, she would admit. Not that he did not deserve all the abuse she had showered on him.

  She was his angel and he was foolish and in need of forgiveness.

  But how could she have believed he had been serious when he had sent that note telling her he did not want to see her again! Why hadn’t she realized it was meant as a joke? Why hadn’t she laughed at him and refused to believe it? Did she not know that he was her faithful husband until death did them part?

  Maria wept as she read the letter recalling that period of desolation when he had left her, thinking of the happy times they had shared together at Kempshott when he was so deeply in debt that he had had to close part of Gariton House.

  Could she go back? No, of course she could not. He was married to Caroline of Brunswick and that marriage was accepted in the eyes of the law which meant of course that that ceremony which they had gone through in her house at Park Street was considered to be no true marriage after all.