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back.’

‘I see that you have not heard the rumours.’

‘Rumours? What rumours?’

‘He’s in debt again. His creditors have to be appeased. The King and Mr. Pitt

have put their heads together and are offering him a condition.’

‘Them and their conditions! They always make conditions!’

‘This time it is marriage.’

‘Marriage. How can he marry? He’s married already.’

‘The State would not say so.’

‘Then the State would be lying. Have you and he not made your vows before

a priest?’

‘We have, but if the State does not recognize them— Remember the case of

the Duke of Sussex. He had made his vows but the courts decided he was not

married.’

‘I know. It’s wicked.’

‘But it’s fact. I am only the Prince’s wife while he acknowledges me as such.’

‘That’s nonsense.’

‘I know that in the eyes of God and my church, I am the Prince’s wife. But he

does not accept that. That is why he has agreed to marry.’

‘Agreed to marry. It’s lies.’

‘So I told myself, but rumour persists.’

‘There’ll always be rumours.’

‘But this rumour is on very firm foundation. I even know the name of the

Princess of Wales elect.’

‘What?’

‘Caroline of Brunswick. Niece of the King.’

‘It’s all a pack of nonsense,’ said Miss Pigot.

But Maria only shook her head. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘And it’s the end. I have

really lost him now.’

————————

In the Queen’s Lodge at Kew the Queen was having her hair curled and

reading the papers at the same time. She supposed now there would be a spate of

lampoons and cartoons about the Prince’s proposed marriage once it was

announced. At the time it was, of course, a secret; but it would not be so much

longer.

She sighed. She did hope that nothing would happen to upset the King; since

that last illness of his— she shuddered. One could scarcely call it an ordinary

illness. All those months when his mind had been deranged and she had suddenly

come into power had been most uneasy. It was not that she did not wish for

power; she did. She was beginning to grasp it, and she had the King’s condition to thank for it— if thank was the right word in such circumstances. But she faced the fact that the King terrified her. Whenever she heard him begin to gabble; when

she saw those veins projecting at his temples; she was afraid that he was going to break out into madness— and violent madness at that.

Dear little Kew, as she always thought of it, had lost its serenity. She had been delighted with it from the first day when she had gone to live in the Queen’s

Lodge which was really one of the houses on the Green. The Dutch House was

close by and there the Prince of Wales had lived before he had his own

establishment— first apartments in Buckingham House and then with greater

freedom in Carlton House. There across the bridge along Strand-on-the-Green

many of the members of the household lodged. Certainly Kew was not like living

at Court; it was even not like a King’s residence. Perhaps that was why she and

the King had always been so fond of it.

But Kew had changed; it was full of memories. She remembered how they

had brought the King from Windsor when it had first been known that he was

mad, and sometimes at night in her sleep she was disturbed by the sounds of that

rambling voice going on and on, growing more and more hoarse; she thought of

that occasion when the King had seized the Prince of Wales by the neck and tried

to strangle him and how the hatred shone in those mad eyes of his; she

remembered a time when he had embraced their youngest daughter Amelia until

the child had screamed aloud in terror because she thought he was going to

suffocate her. And that was love!

She would never forget the agonized look in those poor mad eyes when his

beloved child had been dragged from him and they had tried to force him into a

strait-jacket.

Memories of Kew! The King walking the grounds with his doctors, shouting

himself hoarse, beating in time to imaginary music, shaking hands with an oak

tree which he thought was the Emperor of Prussia. This had changed the face of

dear little Kew.

And, thought the Queen
— how can we know when it will break out again,

and if it does and there should be a Regency— the Prince will do everything he
can to curb my power.

But she would not let him because Mr. Pitt was on her side and Mr. ‘Pitt was

Prime Minister and cared little for the Prince of Wales. The Prince had allied

himself with Fox and the Whigs and that was enough to make Pitt stand against

him.

Mr. Pitt and I will rule between us,
thought Queen Charlotte; and she

wondered how she could have come to hate her eldest son so much, he, whom

when he was a baby and a young boy, she had idolized. The others altogether had

not meant half so much to her as her first-born; and now she hated him.

Strong feelings for a mother— and such a plain little woman. Ah, but then it

was everyone. had thought her plain and insignificant for so many years that now

she saw the chance of exerting her power she seized it.

The King who had determined to keep her in her place— which meant

constantly bearing children— had had his way since their marriage. She had given

him fifteen children. Surely, she had done her duty? But now he was a poor

shambling than his living in creature— older than his years,

living in constant

fear that his madness would return.

And this had given the Queen her chance.

But the Prince was determined to flout her. He must marry, and he had chosen

Caroline of Brunswick when her brother’s charming daughter was available.

Was it possible even yet to get him to change his mind?

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. They had now placed the

triangular cushion on. the crown of her head, and started to frizz her hair and

build it up round the cushion.

How ugly it is! she thought.
And nothing they can ever do to me will beautify
me. And what does it matter if they did. I am an old woman in any case.

‘Your Majesty, we are ready for the powdering—’

The powdering robe was wrapped about her and they began.

The powder seemed to get up her nose and into her throat today. It was all so

tiresome.

But now she was ready and she would go to her drawing room where the

Princesses were waiting for her.

The Princesses were there— all six of them. They curtsied and her sharp eyes

took in every detail to see that they did so in the approved manner. Twelve-year-

old Amelia was not as graceful as she should be; but one did not reproach Amelia; she was her father’s favourite and he could not bear her to be scolded. And

considering the soothing effect she had on him, thought the Queen, I suppose we

should all be grateful to the child and forgive Amelia her small weaknesses.

The Princess Royal was looking discontented. Poor Princess Royal, she was a

disappointed young woman. Young woman— well, she would not be that much

longer. She was twenty-nine and still no husband had been found for her. And

where could they find a husband for her when there was such a dearth of

Protestant Princes? The great difficulty was that any husband for the Princesses

must be both Royal and Protestant. It was a grave handicap. And when one

considered that there were five others all waiting hopefully for husbands— Oh

dear, how depressing! What a fearful problem marriage was. The sons did it

where they should not and the daughters looked for it in vain.

Perhaps it was not so clever to have had quite so many of them.

The Queen looked along the line of faces. Her little girls. She loved them.

They were so much more amenable than their brothers. They did not defy her and

the King. But perhaps they would if they had the opportunity,

‘My snuff box,’ she said sternly, looking at her eldest daughter, for it was

Princess Royal’s duty to present her with her snuff box on occasions like this and to see that it had been adequately replenished.

The Princess Royal presented it with a curtsey and the Queen took a pinch.

Ah, that was better! There was nothing like a pinch of snuff to revive the spirits.

‘Who is going to read to us this morning?’ asked the Queen, looking round.

‘Is it going to be you, Gouly?’

Miss Goldsworthy— Gouly, to the royal family— replied that since it was

Her Majesty’s wish she would be happy to begin the reading; and the work was

brought out, the Princesses and their ladies seated and the reading began.

How utterly boring!
thought Charlotte, the Princess Royal.
And this is how it
goes on day after dreary day. And it will never change— unless the miracle

happens and I escape there was only one way in which a princess could escape—

through marriage, and who knew what that would bring Well, let it come

whatever it was.
Anything was better than this complete and utter monotony.

She was twenty-nine years old and she had been twenty-six before she had

been allowed to meet anyone who had not been presented by the Queen. Now

having exceeded that ripe age she was allowed what they called a little freedom.

She might speak to people without Mamma’s consent. What freedom! It was

enough to make a young woman take the first lover that came along. And, thought

Princess Royal,
soon I shall become so desperate that that is what I shall do
. At twenty-six she had been permitted to select the books she wished to read; before

that she had been allowed only those which had been chosen by her mother

She had never forgotten how humiliated she had felt when she had

discovered Fanny Burney, the novelist who had for a time been a member of her

mother’s household, censoring Swift’s John Bull for her. And meanwhile her

brothers— Oh, her brothers! George most of all with his women and all the

country asking, is he married or is he not? And whispering the name of that

woman, Maria Fitzherbert And before that he had had that affair with the actress

known as Perdita Robinson who had threatened to publish his letters and had had

to be bought off with a pension for life. And all this before he was twenty-one.

Now there was this scandal about Augustus; and there was William not caring for

the disapproval of his parents setting up house with a play actress. All this for the boys, while the girls were treated like nuns in a convent.

Small wonder that she was exasperated.

Soon I shall be thirty,
she mourned.
Thirty— forty— fifty. Who would be a
princess at the dismal Court of George III?

The Princess Royal glanced at her sisters. Augusta was less conscious of their

plight. She was in any case two years younger; she was careless too of the manner in which she dressed— a little bit of a hoyden. She did not care so much for the

restrictions as Princess Royal did but shrugged her shoulders and accepted.

Twenty-five-year-old Elizabeth had a drawing block on a little table beside

her; she was sketching the group and was oblivious of Charlotte’s dissatisfaction Elizabeth wanted to be an artist, and although this was not taken seriously by the King and Queen, they saw no harm in her pursuing her little hobby. The King

kindly often asked to see her drawings and congratulated her on them.

Mary and Sophia— nineteen and eighteen— were just beginning to fret

under restraint; and Amelia at twelve had not begun to be aware of it. Papa’s

darling, she felt herself to be a very special member of the household and seemed quite content with her fate. She had not yet discovered the boring routine to be so tiresome walking with the dogs, bringing them into the Queen’s drawing room,

taking them out, making sure that Mamma’s snuff box was always filled each day

and that it was placed on the table beside her.

Oh the inanity of it all! The parade on the terrace in the evening when the

public came to look at them. There they were specially dressed for the occasion,

fluttering their fans and smiling and bowing to the occasional expressions of

approval.

All eyes were on Amelia, of course. That child would become quite conceited

And she furled and unfurled her fan and went through her special antics for their benefit, and if Papa were there he would be unable to take his eyes from her. She was never subjected to the harsh criticism which had come the way of the others.

One almost longed for Thursdays which was Court Day when the King and

the Queen had to be at St James’s. Not that there was anything exciting about that, it’s only virtue was that it was different.

Then Mamma would be dressed with special ceremony and travel to London

with her tippet and ruffles in a paper bag, as she said, to prevent their getting on the way. She behaved like some humble squire’s lady instead of a queen. And we

are expected to endure this just because it is their way of living. If the Prince of Wales were king, what a different Court that would be! She had heard Frederick

say that George had once told him that one of the first things he would do when

he came to the throne would be to find husbands for his sisters.

She believed he would. For at heart, in spite of the gay and romantic life he

led, George was kind; and while he wanted to enjoy his own life to the full and