Caroline the Queen Read online

  ‘Good people,’ he said, ‘I agree with you. This should never have been offered. You shall all have your money back and come tomorrow when we will have a good play to offer you.’

  ‘Hurrah! ‘ shouted someone.

  Wilks was relieved; he had averted a riot and he had thought at one moment that his theatre was going to be destroyed.

  Frederick and Hervey left the theatre crestfallen. Hervey had had a good opinion of his own work; as for Frederick he could not understand how what had seemed a work of genius in the privacy of his apartments could become banal verbose dialogues on a stage.

  Although he would have been ready to claim his share of the credit had the play been a success, he now assured himself that the main work had been Hervey’s.

  Hervey did not know it but Frederick, that night, began to look at his friend a little critically.

  * * *

  Hervey could not endure failure and during the next day had an attack of vertigo while he was waiting on the Queen.

  He explained afterwards to Frederick that he had successfully hidden this from Her Majesty by gripping a table to steady himself until the attack had passed.

  The fact was however brought home to him that he needed a rest. His medical adviser, Dr Cheyne, had suggested he retire to the country for a few weeks and there exist on a strict milk, seed, and vegetable diet. He was going to ask Stephen Fox to accompany him because his family were so healthy they did not understand illness; and Stephen was such a good nurse.

  He trusted to be back with His Highness feeling well again in the shortest possible time.

  Frederick said that his dear friend must of course go to the country; his health must be their first concern.

  So to Ickworth went Hervey, and when he had gone the Prince realized how much he missed him and wondered what he could do to pass the time.

  * * *

  Anne Vane was wondering too. Strangely enough Hervey excited her more than any of her lovers and she was piqued because he had not even bothered to let her know he was going to the country. This was not the treatment she expected and she wondered how she could pay him for his neglect.

  She had an idea when she saw Frederick disconsolately sitting by one of the fountains in the palace gardens ... alone.

  She walked past him and dropped her kerchief, letting it flutter close to his feet. He did not see it so she approached with a show of timidity and sweeping a curtsey asked if she had His Highness’s permission to retrieve her kerchief.

  Frederick was always charming and gracious to his father’s subjects. In fact in public he was charming and gracious to his family. This won him much popularity which the King was fast forfeiting now that he never failed, when the opportunity arose, to praise Hanover to the detriment of England.

  He took the kerchief and rising and bowing presented it to Anne Vane.

  She took it and let it drop again.

  ‘How careless of me! I ... I am overwhelmed by Your Highness’s graciousness.’

  ‘Oh ... it is nothing.’

  ‘But Your Highness is always so kind.’ She had raised her eyes to gaze at him with adoration.

  ‘I have seen you often ... and admired you.’

  ‘Not as often as I’ve seen you ... and I’ll swear you didn’t bestow as much admiration on me as I did on you.’ ‘You are very kind.’

  She giggled slightly. It was an invitation. Anne Vane had never believed in delay. Once she had made up her mind she was ready. One of the advantages of losing one’s virtue, she often said, was that one was so often spared the anguish of decision : Should one? Shouldn’t one? Why not? Was always the answer. What was one more among so many?

  ‘It is Your Highness who is kind.’

  ‘Would you care to sit a while?’

  She would esteem it the greatest honour.

  So she sat and they talked. She did not mention Hervey. She was the most sensuously inviting woman he had ever met, her great virtue being that she always believed the love affair of the moment was going to be the best she had ever known, and was able to get her partner to share that belief.

  Frederick was delighted. He ceased to miss Hervey.

  He had a companion very much to his taste and that very day Anne Vane became his mistress.

  * * *

  How pleasant to be in Ickworth! Hervey wondered why he did not come more often. Molly was as coolly aloof as ever, never reproaching him, the perfect wife for a man such as he was.

  It was amusing to write his poems and pieces. Pulteney had never forgiven him for that last little difference between them when he had thought he could persuade Hervey to give up his allegiance to Walpole and thus his post as Chamberlain to the Queen.

  There had been sly little digs at him in The Craftsman and that venomous little Mr Pope had referred to him under a thin veil of disguise which didn’t deceive any as ‘Lord Fanny’. A slur of course on the feminine side of his nature. Fools! They didn’t realize that to be both masculine and feminine was to have the best of both worlds and was a matter for congratulation rather than ridicule. And when with it went a title, money, leisure, and a pretty wit, the possessor of all these was to be envied.

  He was very pleased with the manner in which he arranged his life, and he meant it to be more and more entertaining. In time Frederick would be the King, and his closest friend and adviser was going to be John, Lord Hervey.

  At the moment he was busy writing the dedication to a pamphlet which was entitled Sedition and Defamation Displayed. The dedication was to his enemies, the promoters of The Craftsman, headed by Pulteney. This would teach the man to be more careful when he set his writers to work on Lord Fanny, who might paint his cheeks, who might suffer vertigo at levees, but who none the less was a man who could face the wiliest politicians on an equal footing.

  Stephen Fox came into the room, quietly, reverently. ‘I disturb you....’

  ‘Never, dear boy. Come here and read this.’

  Stephen read with absorption now and then chuckling aloud.

  ‘It’s sheer genius,’ he said.

  ‘I trust it will make Pulteney writhe.’

  ‘I’m not surprised Walpole is eager to keep you on his side.’

  ‘Ah, the power of the pen, Stephen boy. Never forget it.’

  ‘You have made that plain to me. But ... I have news from the Court.’ Stephen looked anxious. ‘Anne Vane has become the Prince’s mistress.’

  Hervey was silent for a while; then he burst out laughing.

  ‘Fred will always follow me. Really, I don’t think the poor fool has an original idea in his head.’

  ‘You ... you have no objections?’

  ‘My dear boy, what is Anne Vane to me? Nothing. What is Fred to me? As little. No, that’s not true. I respect the title Prince of Wales even when it’s attached to poor fool Fred. As for Anne Vane, the creature adores me. This is pique, Stephen, pure pique. But it offers opportunities. I shall use her to keep her eye on our little Prince for me. She shall report all his doings. Then I shall not have to return to the Court so soon. This is good news. I will write to the woman and you must send a messenger to deliver the letter to her. She shall tell us all that is in his mind. I will write to her without delay.’

  * * *

  At Ickworth Hervey continued to enjoy his days. He was writing a good deal; he was pleased to be with his wife and family; and Stephen was with him.

  ‘I do declare,’ he said, ‘that Frederick is a great trial to me. He is false, silly, and plagues me. My dearest Stephen, there was never a man less like your dear self than our silly Prince.’

  That delighted Stephen and Hervey enjoyed pleasing him. Molly liked him to stay with the family now and then. It looked well; and in view of the fact that he did attract a certain amount of scandal when he was at Court it was necessary to become a respectable married man now and then. It showed everyone that Molly was not concerned in these scandals and that her marriage was as firm now as it had been in those early days when
she and her husband had been content to live at Ickworth together and the children had begun to appear.

  But peace was suddenly shattered.

  Hervey like everyone else avidly read The Craftsmanw hen it made its appearance and since his Dedication to the Patrons of The Craftsman in that pamphlet Sedition andDefamation Displayed, he had been expecting some reaction.

  Yet when he saw it he knew that it was so damaging that he would have to take some action.

  He called Stephen to him. He was trembling with rage —as he held out the paper to his friend.

  It was written by Pulteney and was titled A Proper Reply to a Late Scurrilous Libel.

  ‘At first [wrote Pulteney], I was at a loss to imagine who could have composed this little work, but the little quaint antitheses, the laboured jingle of the periods, the great variety of rhetorical flourishes, affected metaphors and puerile witticisms proclaim this to be the production of pretty Mr Fainlove.’

  * * *

  He had, he wrote, made efforts to discover the author and had been told the secret by someone who had asked him not to treat the gentleman too harshly. ‘He is young and innocent. What would the ladies say? Ah, but you know he is a Lady himself, or at least such a nice composition of the two sexes that it is difficult to distinguish which is most predominant.’

  Stephen winced. He could not bear to read any more. But there was more. There was a hint of the practices in which Mr Fainlove indulged; and these were such which he could not allow to go unchallenged.

  He said: ‘You will write a reply.’

  ‘It needs more than a written reply, Stephen.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There is only one answer to this. I must call him out. This is death ... to one of us.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘My dear boy, that is what Pulteney intends, and I should be called a coward if I did not meet the challenge. I could not face the Court again if I allowed this to pass.’

  ‘But he does not mention you by name.’

  ‘My dear Stephen, you are wilfully blind. There is no one at Court who will read this ... and you can be sure everyone is reading it at this moment ... who will not know that Mr Fainlove is John Hervey.’

  ‘But ... a duel! You cannot.... You must not! ‘ ‘You seem to think that I shall be the loser.’

  ‘This is not a battle of words.’

  ‘No ... of swords. Have no fear. I shall give a good account of myself. And it is the only answer, for the girlish creature he makes me out to be would not be capable of crossing swords with such an opponent.’

  ‘I am ... terrified.’

  ‘You shall be my second. Now do not try to persuade me from this. It is inevitable. The battle has gone beyond words, and only the sword will defend me now.’

  * * *

  In the Park, behind Arlington Street on a bitterly cold morning, Pulteney and Hervey faced each other.

  In an agony of fear Stephen Fox looked on, too disturbed to feel the cold cutting January wind which whistled across the park.

  Lord Hervey had been very cool and had declared that nothing would make him give in now although all the way to the scene Stephen had been urging him to turn back.

  Pulteney looked equally grim. The fact that they had once been friends made them both the more bitter.

  They approached each other; they drew their swords; the signal was given and for the first few seconds no sound was heard but the clash of weapons on the still morning air.

  Stephen felt himself ready to swoon as Pulteney’s sword caught Hervey’s arm and a dark stain was visible on his friend’s sleeve.

  But now Pulteney was showing blood. Hervey’s sword had touched his neck. There was grim determination in their faces. On this cold and snowy morning one of them was going to die.

  Pulteney was the better swordsman; that became evident to the watchers. Stephen was almost fainting with fear; but Hervey seemed unconcerned. At least if this were the end, it would be a dramatic exit—the sort that would be expected of Lord Hervey.

  Pulteney believed the victory was his. At any moment he would run his adversary through the heart. He thought of Molly of whom he was fond. What would her reaction be to the man who had murdered her husband? And what happened to a man who killed another in a duel? Would he be obliged to flee the country?

  This was folly, madness! How had they allowed this matter to come to this point?

  He was ready now, the advantage was his. His sword was poised. In a few seconds Lord Hervey would be a dying man.

  Pulteney’s foot slipped on the snow. Was it by accident? None of the watchers could be absolutely sure. But the moment of decision had come ... and passed.

  Pulteney’s sword had gone wide of its mark. Hervey gave a little shout of triumphant relief. And then Stephen had run out and placed himself between the two opponents.

  ‘This has gone far enough,’ he said. ‘You have both proved your courage. No good can come of proceeding further.’

  Pulteney’s second joined his voice to Stephen’s. This was the best way in which to end a duel. Each had been wounded; none was the victor. But they had both shown that they were ready to die to defend their honour. Wise men ended at this point. No good could come of continuing.

  Pulteney was only too glad to end the affair. He had no wish to kill Hervey, nor to be killed by him.

  He held out his hand. Hervey was secretly exultant too. Who wanted to die in one’s prime when life offered so much that was exciting? But Pulteney had made wounding ... and damaging comments.

  He ignored the extended hand, bowed stiffly and leaning on Stephen’s arm walked away.

  Stephen took him to his house and there dressed the wound in his arm; and all the time he was congratulating his friend on his escape from a situation which must never be allowed to arise again and yet had defended Hervey’s honour.

  * * *

  His courage vindicated, Hervey stayed briefly at Court. He saw a little of Frederick but Anne Vane kept out of his way. The Queen was courteous and kind; and quite clearly showed that she was glad he had had the courage to face his adversary; and she was even more glad that he had come through that dangerous affair unscathed.

  He went back to Ickworth where Molly greeted him as usual. She had heard of the duel, but since he had returned safely and suffered no ill she saw no reason to dwell on the matter, and it was forgotten.

  Molly was pregnant and in due course a son was born. Hervey decided that he should be called Frederick after the Prince of Wales and asked Frederick to come down to Ickworth for the christening. This Frederick declared himself delighted to do and the christening was performed to Molly’s satisfaction and the great joy of the neighbourhood.

  Frederick gave no sign of his changed feelings for Hervey. In fact when he was with his old friend he easily slipped into the old habit of friendship and the Herveys had no idea that anything had changed.

  * * *

  When Anne Vane had received Hervey’s letter she had been furious. If he thought she was sitting in her apartments waiting to hear from him he was mistaken. In some respects she preferred Frederick. He was less du monde perhaps; but he was the better for that.

  She re-read the note.

  To act as his spy! This was a joke, and she would teach Mr Hervey a lesson.

  Should she show the letter to the Prince? It might not be a bad idea when she had prepared him. But the impertinence of Lord Fanny!

  In her apartments she was preparing herself to receive the Prince. He came without ceremony, for that was how he liked it. They had a great deal of fun together, riding out in the streets in hack Sedans, being carried side by side and pretending to be on the fringe of the Court. It was much more gratifying to be the Prince’s mistress than any other man’s at Court—not excepting the King. Ugh! Fancy being George’s mistress. Not much fun in that. Poor Henrietta Howard, who had held the post for so long and got all the scandal with none of the glory!

  Oh, yes, it was very diff
erent to be the beloved of the Prince of Wales.

  There was a little trouble looming in the not very distant future. She was certain now, but this of course wasn’t the time to mention it. However, she had made up her mind that the infant was going to be the son ... or daughter ... of a Prince. Neither Harrington nor Hervey were good enough to be named as the father of her child.

  She was setting a tiny black patch close to her eyes when the Prince entered. She leaped from her stool and embraced him.

  ‘My Prince!’

  He was delighted with her. A simple young man really; and she had had such experience of young men, so she knew exactly how to treat him.

  Later when they lay side by side in her bed she talked of Hervey.

  ‘I have a confession to make. I feel that I can no longer keep this to myself. You mean so much to me that I can’t bear to have a secret from you. You are not my first lover.’

  Even inexperienced Frederick had not thought this for one moment. He told her that everything that had gone before in their lives was nothing. The past was over; it was only the present and the future which mattered.

  ‘I was seduced by a man of whom I believe you have rather a high opinion. That is what has made it so difficult for me to tell you.’

  ‘You should not disturb yourself, dear Anne.’

  ‘But I do, my Prince. I think only of you. And I must tell you what is in my mind. I must warn you ...’

  ‘Warn me?’

  ‘Yes, because this man who pretends to be your friend is only using you.’

  ‘Using me!’

  ‘He hopes to. But I shall not allow it. Let me explain. I was seduced by Lord Hervey.’

  The Prince coloured slightly. He was quite clearly devoted to the man. He said: ‘Well ... you are very pretty, Anne, so I suppose we must try to understand....’

  ‘That is not all. He cared for me no more than he cares for you. He merely wanted to use me. He wants me to act as his spy.’

  ‘On whom would you spy? What can you know of the Court more than he does?’

  ‘My dearest, this is hard to say. But he wants me to spy on you. He wants me to lead you the way he wants you to go.

  ‘But he is my friend. He can talk to me himself.’