The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) Read online

  Even on such a day she must recall her enemies and when she thought of them it was not Ernest Augustus whom she dreaded but Sophia.

  But this was a day for rejoicing. A day of triumph and perfect happiness.

  Her triumph was even greater when the Emperor Leopold came to the neighbourhood and Eléonore was presented to him. He was charmed by her; he was delighted with her success; and he bestowed upon her the title of Duchess of Celle.

  Now she had everything. There was nothing more to fear. She was invulnerable; no one would dare cast slights at her again.

  But the Duchess Sophia was going to lose no opportunity of keeping the newly created Duchess of Celle where she, Sophia, considered she belonged.

  Clara Triumphant

  CLARA VON PLATEN was awaiting her opportunity; she had no doubt that when it came she would step right into the place she had chosen for herself even before she had come to Osnabrück. Having married Platen she was committed to Osnabrück; there could now be no packing of bags and going on to seek her fortune. Why should she? Although she had had to wait longer than she had first thought, she was very near now to her dream’s fulfilment.

  The court at Osnabrück was suited to her taste. It seemed that every petty Duke and Princeling imagined himself to be a Grand Monarque. Louis had a great deal to answer for! Everywhere there were attempts to turn German castles into palaces of Versailles, and the glitter and allure of the French Court – albeit that Louis was an enemy – was slavishly imitated. There were fireworks displays, masques, banquets, plays in the gardens and the great halls. When news seeped through that this and that had been done at Versailles, sure enough there would be an attempt to produce it at Osnabrück or Hanover where Duke John Frederick, the third brother, now reigned. In fact, John Frederick was the biggest Frankophile of them all. He had even become a Catholic, had put up statues in the gardens of the Palace at Hanover, commanded that Mass be sung in the churches and invited French singers and dancers to be his guests.

  Ernest Augustus did not go so far as that, but he had his love of ostentation. He could not afford to spend as lavishly as John Frederick because he had a large family of six sons and one daughter, whereas John Frederick had no son and of his four daughters only two were living. George William was the only brother who did not set out to make a small Versailles of his castle; and this was strange considering he had a French wife. All was good taste and charm at Celle in contrast to the often vulgar displays of Osnabrück and Hanover.

  But Clara was pleased with the manner in which the Osnabrück court was conducted. She herself loved display; and she did not forget that it was due to the fact that she and her sister had recently come from France that they had been given an opportunity to display their talents.

  Now as waiting woman to the Duchess Sophia she had an occasional opportunity to study her quarry. Ernest Augustus pleased her. He was a man of lusty appetites and she would know how to satisfy them. Her sensuality was second only to her ambition; and she did not see why she should not indulge the former while serving the latter. Once Ernest Augustus had tried her, her fortune would be made; for she would make sure that he should discover her to be unique. The experience must be such as he had never enjoyed before. But how make sure of that? If his eyes rested on her lightly as they had done on the unfortunate Esther – unfortunate because Clara had decided that her reign would soon be over – he would make up his mind that here was another of his light o’ loves and that would be all she could ever hope to be. A man had to be made aware that he was getting something special before he would believe he was.

  ‘How?’ she asked herself.

  She would wear some entirely French and exciting garment. Yes, that – but clothes were not enough. She had to seduce his mind before she seduced his body.

  For this purpose during those first weeks in the service of the Duchess Sophia, she actually kept out of Ernest Augustus’s way; and instead ingratiated herself with Duchess Sophia.

  An intelligent woman, thought Sophia. Discreet and oddly modest. She complimented Platen on his marriage; and remarked to Ernest Augustus that George Lewis’s governor was cleverer than she had thought.

  Ernest Augustus while commenting that he had not made such a good job of George Lewis, fairly admitted that he doubted whether anyone could. He was glad that she had a high opinion of Platen because he was thinking of making a minister of him. A quiet efficient fellow – those were the sort he liked to have about him.

  This was triumph, Clara decided, as well as a sign for her to go forward, and when Platen received his promotion she insisted on hearing everything that took place. She was astute, shrewd and single-minded; and she was working to one end, to attract Ernest Augustus and to set up in Osnabrück that institution which was so much a part of the admired Court of France, the maîtresse en titre. Clara was yearning for that role – the woman who by wit, charm, brains and beauty, ruled the King and therefore ruled the country.

  It was naturally simpler here than it would have been at Versailles. There were no rivals for one thing. Silly little girls who giggled together about what had happened to them in the Bishop’s bedchamber were welcome to their brief triumph.

  She saw that she had been wise to marry. Frank Platen was no fool; he was merely a coward. He wanted a peaceful existence, free from conflict. In a few weeks she had dominated him; and while he was a little disappointed to find his marriage was not what he had hoped it would be, he was continually being astonished by the astuteness of his wife.

  ‘We are working together,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to make you the chief minister. I’m going to get you a resounding title. A count, I imagine. Yes, I would like to be a countess.’

  He had laughed. ‘The things you say, Clara.’

  ‘I say what I mean,’ she told him fiercely.

  She listened to his accounts of meetings; she told him what he should say; she even phrased his speeches for him, pithily, wittily.

  He began to be noticed; he, little Frank Platen, who had hitherto not been of any great importance, to be singled out by his fellow ministers, by the Bishop himself.

  ‘If the Bishop asks you who thought of that, tell him your wife.’

  He looked at her in astonishment. ‘I have my reasons,’ she said.

  ‘What reasons are those?’

  ‘You will see.’

  He obeyed her; it had become a habit to obey Clara.

  ‘Your wife seems to be an extraordinary woman, Platen,’ said Ernest Augustus one day.

  ‘She is, my lord.’

  ‘In the Duchess’s bedchamber, is she?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘I believe the Duchess is pleased with her.’

  ‘I think that to be so.’

  ‘Well, you look pleased with yourself. I must meet her one day.’

  Platen reported this conversation to Clara.

  She laughed. ‘He shall,’ she said.

  Ernest Augustus was dozing in his private study. He had eaten too much and had retired hither on the pretext of studying some state papers but actually to sleep.

  I’m getting old, he thought, yawning.

  He could hear the music coming from the great hall. Music was played during meals now. He had always loved music – good stirring German music; but of course the taste now was all for the French.

  Too much red cabbage, he thought; too much beer. The French drank wine. Well, he thought, we don’t want to become as French as that.

  He smiled, thinking as he often did of George William over at Celle. What was he doing now? Sitting down with his wife and child like any peasant. No, not like a peasant, of course. In the utmost luxury, for George William was the richest of all the brothers – and quite a lot of that fortune would go to that little French bastard of his unless he and Sophia could think of a way of preventing it – in the room, made gracious by Madame Eléonore who would be seated in her chair, her delicate white fingers working at her tapestry; and the girl would be seated o
n a tabouret either at his feet or hers; and they would be talking about the affairs of the castle. A charming domestic scene … if one cared for domestic scenes. He could not imagine himself and Sophia indulging in them. Theirs was not that sort of marriage – no idyllic love affair without end, but a good marriage of two people who understood each other. She had her way in anything that did not interfere with his comforts and needs – and the same for him.

  Let George William keep his domestic bliss – his beautiful wife, his pretty – and if accounts were true – coquette of a daughter.

  A gentle scratching on the door. He frowned, having no wish to be disturbed. Who had dared open the door without an invitation to do so?

  A woman stood there. He had seen her before; she was one of Sophia’s women. Good figure, bedworthy, he had marked her down for future dalliance. But when he wanted a woman he would summon her; he did not expect to be disturbed thus.

  ‘My lord …’

  Her voice was low, exciting in a manner new to him.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I heard that Your Highness wished to see me.’

  ‘Then who carried such a message?’

  ‘It was my husband, Frank von Platen.’

  ‘Ah! So you’re Platen’s wife?’

  She came to his chair, bowed before him, making sure that her dress fell away from her full breasts as she did so.

  An invitation? wondered Ernest Augustus, slightly surprised, remembering how demure she had been.

  ‘I didn’t send for you now,’ he said.

  ‘My husband said you would like to meet me some time.’

  He laughed. ‘At a more appropriate time,’ he said.

  ‘My lord, I thought this … a most appropriate time.’

  ‘Most wait until sent for.’

  ‘You will find that I am not like … most.’

  Her eyes were brilliant; she had cleverly made them look bigger than they actually were. What a body! he thought. She would have skills. And she came from France, he remembered, although she was a German. This meant that she had the airs and graces without the pride of his sister-in-law Eléonore. Now, there’s a woman I could never fancy, he thought. He realized that he had already come to the point of fancying Platen’s wife.

  ‘Your husband often mentions you,’ said Ernest Augustus. ‘He seems to value your judgment.’

  ‘At least it is valued by one of Your Highness’s ministers.’

  There was a meaning behind her words. He was a little fascinated and his annoyance at having been disturbed was fast disappearing.

  ‘I see that you have other gifts to bestow on your husband … besides advice.’

  ‘It is a pleasure to give what is appreciated.’

  ‘And you find him appreciative … enough?’ He regarded her lazily.

  ‘Who can ever have enough appreciation?’

  Surely there was no mistaking her meaning? Women were of course eager to please the most important man in the principality, but he sensed this one was different. He would discover later what she wanted. At the moment there was no need to go beyond the obvious step.

  He held out a hand and she took it. He drew her down so that she was forced to kneel before him.

  ‘You have come to offer me … advice?’ he asked smiling.

  ‘If you need it … it is yours.’

  ‘And if I do not?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘All need the help of friends.’

  ‘The Bishop needs it from his minister’s wife?’ he asked.

  ‘He may at some time. He may need other things she has to offer.’

  ‘I think that very likely. And they will be given freely.’

  She bowed her head.

  ‘But it must be remembered that she likes … appreciation?’ he asked.

  ‘She would be wise enough to know it is foolish to ask for what would not be freely given.’

  He brought his face close to hers and looked into her eyes.

  ‘You are a strange woman,’ he said.

  ‘You have quickly discovered that.’

  ‘I would like to know more of you.’

  ‘And I of Your Highness.’

  He put his hand on her shoulder; touching her skin, his fingers probed lightly; but in spite of the lightness he could not hide the fact he was excited.

  ‘Well?’ she said faintly mocking him, he fancied.

  He answered with another question. ‘When?’

  ‘You are the lord and master.’ Again that hint of mockery.

  ‘Tonight. I shall be in my bedchamber … alone.’

  ‘It shall be my duty … my pleasant duty … to see that Your Highness is … not alone … for long.’

  When Clara came out of the Bishop’s apartment, the first signs of dawn were in the sky; she walked lightly past the sleeping guards; they were aware of a passing figure but paid little heed. A woman coming from the Bishop’s bedchamber was not a very unusual occurrence. It was wiser not to look too closely; she might not like it; she might whisper a word into the Bishop’s ear one night – it was easy enough – and there would go the hope of promotion.

  Clara was pleased with herself. There would be no going back now. She had startled him. Hers was a sensuality matching his own and she had given it full rein. It had been amusing. She would not waste her energies on a man like Platen – Ernest Augustus was different. She had been making love to Power and that had aroused all her ardour.

  He had let her go reluctantly, but she had insisted. Yes, insisted. It was as well to set the pace from the start. Of course she was not such a fool as to imagine she could arrogantly command him. He had been having his own way too long to accept that. But she would govern – in her own subtle way; and it might well be that he would know and simply not care.

  What a night! She wanted to laugh aloud. She had startled herself as much as Ernest Augustus. She had been born to be a courtesan. She knew it. She had all the tricks of the trade; and they were inherent. Louis did not know what he had missed. Poor Louis with his mincing French harlots who would never know the verve and vulgarity of a German whore.

  She opened the door of the apartment she shared with Platen. Poor ineffectual Platen! His day was done. She would never share his bed again; and he might as well know it.

  ‘Clara!’

  He was awake, waiting for her. Fool! He might have had the grace to pretend to be asleep. How ridiculous he looked with his thin hair sticking out in all directions from under his night cap, his eyes pale and bulging, his pasty face, his gaping mouth.

  ‘So I awakened you?’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Employed in useful occupation,’ she said flippantly.

  ‘Clara, I insist …’

  ‘You insist. Now, Frank, don’t be foolish. You insist on nothing – nor shall you ever where I am concerned.’

  ‘I want to know where you have spent the night.’

  ‘So you shall. I have no intention of making a secret of it. Soon it will be known throughout this court. Soon everyone who wants the smallest favour will know it has to come through me.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh yes you do. We’ve hinted it, haven’t we? You wanted it as much as I did … or if you didn’t you’re more of a fool than I take you for.’

  ‘Do you mean that you’ve been with …’

  ‘With His Highness, yes.’

  ‘You have …’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Clara!’

  ‘My dear little shocked husband, you are now a cuckold. Don’t look outraged. It’s a pleasant thing to be as you will learn. The best thing to be if you can’t be a noble Duke or Prince or King is a cuckold, as many a man throughout the world has come to realize.’

  ‘Clara, I’m horrified.’

  ‘You don’t appear to be. I can see the speculation glinting in your eyes and well it might. Why do you think I married you? I married you for this. Now listen to me, Platen. We are going to
make our fortunes. I’ll make you the richest man at this court. I’ll make you the Bishop’s chief minister. I will, I tell you. You should go down on your knees and thank me for this night’s work.’

  He was staring at her and she laughed.

  Weak! weak! she thought. And excited. At last he is discovering he has ambition. He was afraid of it before – but now he has someone to tend it for him … he really is rather excited.

  Despicable! she thought.

  Then: Thank goodness. It means we shall not be plagued by petty irritations.

  In the schoolroom with its windows overlooking the moat, Sophia Dorothea sat with her attendant, Eléonore von Knesebeck, idly glancing at the books before them.

  Eléonore von Knesebeck had become her greatest friend; and although she was a few years older than Sophia Dorothea she was less precocious; she had a pleasant face without beauty; and she and her family were very happy that the young Princess had taken such a fancy to her. Sophia Dorothea had felt the need of a friend near her own age and Eléonore von Knesebeck filled that need perfectly. As her father was one of George William’s councillors it had been agreed that Eléonore should share Sophia Dorothea’s lessons and that the friendship between the two girls should be encouraged.

  Since the little Knesebeck had come to her apartments Sophia Dorothea had found life much more interesting, for her friend was more in touch with the world outside the castle than she herself could be and there was nothing she enjoyed so much as startling Sophia Dorothea with news of it. It was from Eléonore von Knesebeck that Sophia Dorothea learned so much about the court of Osnabrück, and that enchanted castle ruled over by the ogress had grown more realistic but none the less sinister. Sophia Dorothea now knew that Clara von Platen had become the Bishop’s mistress-in-chief and everyone at the court was a little afraid of her; she knew that George Lewis, the Crown Prince, was a little monster who was like his father in one way only – and that he indulged this trait with the serving girls in his father’s household. She knew that the Duchess Sophia was a tyrant in her own way, ruling apart from Ernest Augustus.

  Sophia Dorothea liked to listen and shiver ecstatically; and to be thankful for her beloved parents and peaceful Celle.