The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) Page 17

  ‘I don’t know that I shall like her,’ went on George Lewis.

  ‘Not like her! Don’t be a fool, nephew. She’s the best match that could come your way.’

  ‘Well, we have something to offer, you know.’

  A brash boy! thought Rupert. Hanover! Was that to be compared with the possibilities of the crown of England!

  ‘It is rumoured that Mary may never have a child. And in that case …’

  ‘Anne will be Queen and I the consort. But I don’t know whether it is not more gratifying to be a Duke in my own right in Hanover than a Queen’s consort in England.’

  ‘They might make you King, since you are in the line of succession and William and Mary have no children and your son and Anne’s might be the heir to the throne. What do you think of that?’

  ‘I’d like to see something of the country before giving my opinion.’

  ‘You are very sure of yourself, nephew.’

  ‘If I’m not sure of myself no one else will be.’

  Arrogant! Vain! Quite unaware how uncouth he was. Charles would poke sly fun at him. The whole court would laugh at him behind his back. And he would be too stupid to know it. What chance had he of marrying Anne?

  ‘I think,’ said Rupert, ‘that I had better prepare the King for your arrival. Then I will take you to court. In the meantime you had better make my house in Spring Gardens your lodging.’

  Thus George Lewis landed in England.

  George Lewis’s plan was to look for a house in England but no sooner had the King heard of his arrival than he sent a messenger to the house in Spring Gardens to say that on no account must George Lewis look for a lodging. One was already waiting for him at Whitehall and here Charles would receive him as soon as he arrived and it was His Majesty’s wish that during his stay in England he should live at Whitehall ‘en cousin’ as he expressed it.

  George Lewis was pleased to hear this, but Rupert looked on with a rather sardonic smile, for the more he saw of George Lewis, the more he wondered how he would fare at Whitehall.

  So, in company with Prince Rupert, George Lewis went to Whitehall, and as soon as he arrived he was conducted to the King’s presence chamber. There surrounding the King were some of his ministers and courtiers – all bejewelled and beribboned, bewigged and befeathered. The makers of ribbons, feathers and lace must be reaping fortunes in England, thought George Lewis; also the makers of rouge patches and such aids to beauty if the appearance of the women – and some of the men – whom he had passed on his way to Court were any indication. The people of England had determined to deck themselves in fine feathers after the homespun years of puritan rule, and even after some twenty years they still seemed to delight in show.

  George Lewis was aware of Rupert’s stern eyes upon him as he approached the King and looked up into the merriest pair of black eyes he had ever seen; they were set in a brown face, marked with signs of high living and laughter. The mouth was cynical yet whimsical, worldly yet kind. It was the most distinctive face George Lewis had ever seen.

  ‘Welcome to England,’ said Charles. ‘Now you must give me news of my cousin, the Duchess Sophia. How fares she in far off Hanover. It is most generous of her to spare you for our pleasure.’

  George Lewis mumbled in French – the language in which Charles had spoken – that his mother was well and that she had given him a letter which he was to hand to the King and no other.

  Charles held out a white ringed hand.

  ‘I shall take it to my private apartments where I may read it in solitude.’

  George Lewis was staring goggle-eyed at the women. He had heard of these women. Louise de Kéroualle the French spy; the Mancini woman who was said to be the most beautiful in the world; and Nell Gwyn the saucy play-actress. All different, yet all arrestingly attractive, they made a background for this King, notorious for his love of wit and women.

  The black eyes were summing up George Lewis; the King was thinking: Poor Anne. It will be sad for the child if she takes this one. He’ll be as bad in his way as William is in his. Rough as a stable boy. Crude in manners, lusty as … a King of England without his finesse, without his adoration of the opposite sex. No, I cannot allow my dear little Anne to go to this one.

  ‘Now you will give us news of your parents and of Hanover. We are all eager to hear.’

  George Lewis began to talk of Hanover, giving a factual account of such details which could only bring yawns to the lips of his listeners until Charles said: ‘I see you are such an entertainer that you will enchant my friends all through the night if I do not stop your narrative.’ He added in English: ‘And I see too that you have deluded some of them into the belief that it is already night. Buckingham, pray suppress your snores; they are scarcely elegant.’

  ‘Your gracious Majesty, I have discovered a cure for sleeplessness.’

  ‘His Grace is complimenting you on your discourse,’ said Charles to George Lewis.

  ‘I do not understand the tongue you speak,’ muttered George Lewis.

  Buckingham went on: ‘His Highness should talk of Hanover. ’Twould be of greater service to the sleepless world than opium.’

  ‘I will conduct you to the Queen,’ Charles told George Lewis. ‘She will wish to greet you.’

  So in company with Charles, George Lewis strolled through the apartments of Whitehall until they came to the Queen’s; and there was the black-eyed Portuguese lady – Queen of England. Barren, thought George Lewis, which was her most interesting characteristic in his eyes because it was the reason why he found this visit so important. She was gentle and kindly and when he attempted to kiss her robe, she made a show of struggling gracefully with him as though to prevent him and gave him her hand to kiss instead. It all seemed rather foolish to George Lewis who in any case considered it undignified for a man to kiss the hem of a woman’s gown; but it seemed it was the practice here and the black-eyed King, whom he was beginning to distrust because he could not understand him, seemed to expect it.

  Charles slipped his arm through that of George Lewis after the latter had attempted a little conversation with the Queen and her ladies and said that he guessed he was eager to meet the Princess Anne. But perhaps he had met enough of the family for the time being, so if he would present himself in the royal apartments the following day, his niece would be very happy to greet her kinsman.

  London was attractive, thought George Lewis. He liked the glitter and excitement of the streets. He liked the women with their exposed bosoms, their faces painted and patched and their eyes welcoming. They displayed themselves at windows, while fat comfortable looking women below urged him to enter their houses as he passed by. He did not understand their language but in this sort of barter speech was unnecessary. His uncle Rupert had warned him not to get into trouble over women, because that was exactly what had happened to William of Orange when he had come over to this court. There had been quite a scandal when William – made drunk by some of the King’s mischievous friends – had broken the windows of the maids of honour’s apartments and tried to get at them. And that was William of Orange – a man not greatly enamoured of woman. What was likely to happen to the lusty stable boy from Hanover!

  ‘These people,’ warned Prince Rupert from his bed, for he spent much time in bed of late, he told George Lewis, since he was troubled with his legs, ‘like to play their jokes; and never so readily as on naïve young foreigners. So beware.’

  George Lewis would take care. That was why the streets attracted him more than the court, particularly the fashionable Mall where the King appeared in the mornings, either showing his skill at the game of pell-mell, or walking among the people who addressed him without ceremony while the hawkers called their wares. The flower-girls, milk-maids and orange-girls strolled through the crowds; and all seemed concerned with some game of flirtation and assignation.

  It was a fascinating city, George Lewis decided. The stalls with the goods for sale, which naturally included a surplus of ribbons
and laces and patches for the face; the ballad sellers who sang their songs as the printed sheets fluttered in the breeze; the playhouses and the excitement always surrounding them; the coaches which trundled through the crowds with their patched and painted occupants often pulling down a window to shout to a friend or drop a handkerchief to someone in the crowd with whom an acquaintance was desired.

  It was colourful, foreign, exciting – and there was nothing like it in Hanover.

  All the same George Lewis was wary. He had no wish to be made a fool of as his kinsman William of Orange had been.

  He was eager to see the Princess Anne for he had begun to wonder what it would be like to live in this city and fancied it would be a little to his taste.

  Charles greeted him with affection.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘now to the Princess Anne. I shall show my fondness for you by giving you leave to kiss her.’

  ‘To kiss her cheek?’ asked George Lewis.

  The dark face was illumined by a brilliant smile. ‘Her lips. It’s an English custom. You’ll find we have some very pleasant English customs. But then doubtless you have equally pleasant ones in Hanover.’

  George Lewis felt awkward, being unsure whether the King was laughing at them.

  And there was the Princess Anne – plump and rosy-cheeked, with short-sighed eyes, quite pretty and yet inclined to view him with suspicion. She was remembering how they had hustled her sister into marriage and was wondering whether they intended to do the same with her. She had heard unfavourable reports of this young man who was the son of her father’s cousin Sophia. Definitely she did not care for him; she compared him with the Earl of Mulgrave for whom she had experienced very romantic feelings and who had recently been sent to Tangiers because of this.

  ‘Now,’ cried Charles. ‘Salute the lady.’

  George Lewis saw the criticism in Anne’s eyes as he surveyed her coolly. If she did not like him, nor did he like her. She ought to know that their meeting had been arranged for political reasons.

  Coldly he touched her lips with his, deeply conscious of the King’s amused glance.

  ‘Well met!’ said Charles. ‘Now perhaps you would care to take the Princess to the alcove there and talk to her of the virtues of Hanover.’

  George looked sullenly at the Princess, who gave him a cold stare.

  They sat down where indicated and he talked in French.

  She answered that she was not fluent in that language and would he please speak in English.

  He had no English, he replied; and she regarded him superciliously as though to say that those who could not speak the English tongue were to be greatly pitied.

  The conversation was spasmodic until the King sent one of his courtiers to rescue them.

  Bernstorff, Chief Minister of Celle, stared into the blazing fire in his private apartment and thought of the future.

  He would be rich. Ernest Augustus had shown that he would reward him amply. Locked away in a drawer of his cabinet was a snuff box of gold and diamonds which would fetch a great price when he sold it; and he would as soon as he found the right buyer, and that was only a foretaste of what was to come, so Clara von Platen had implied; and all knew what close counsels she kept with her lover.

  He would have land of his own; he would be independent of any man – his own master, making his own rules. And it would not be long, for now there were opportunities of wealth from other sources.

  The emissary from Holland had made it clear to him that if he could persuade the Duke of Celle to agree to the marriage of his daughter with her cousin George Lewis, he would be very well rewarded indeed.

  And why not? He would deserve the reward, considering that the Duchess loathed Hanover and everyone connected with it and she would never allow her cherished daughter, her precious ewe lamb, to be offered up as a sacrifice to the whims of others. It was a mighty task: To persuade the Duke against the Duchess and to break off the alliance with Wolfenbüttel and make another with Hanover! Most people would say he was attempting the impossible. And so he might have been – a few years ago, even a few months ago.

  The Duke loved his Duchess as devotedly as ever – as a wife and a woman. Previously though he had looked upon her as a goddess. Bernstorff believed he had succeeded in modifying the Duke’s adoration. Little by little over several years he had gradually worn through that pedestal on which the Duke had set his wife. She was beautiful still; a devoted wife and mother, nothing could alter that. But was she the omniscient being the Duke had one time believed her to be? He was certainly a little resentful because of her; she was the one who dictated the policy of Celle. It was ridiculous that this state of affairs should continue – so Bernstorff had pointed out. Ridiculous was the word – for there would always be ridicule for the man who allowed a woman to rule him. By her attitude the Duchess reduced the Duke to a mere cypher; she should know that it was the Duke’s duty and privilege to rule his own state.

  The Duke had come to see this. Now and then he had insisted on having his way, which was sometimes opposed to the Duchess’s wishes. Not that he necessarily desired it urgently; but it was a matter of principle, as Bernstorff pointed out; as for Bernstorff he was always ranged on the side of the Duke against the Duchess.

  And now this matter of the wedding. What were his Dutch friends thinking of? Didn’t they know that George Lewis was in London for the purpose of meeting the Princess Anne? It was safe therefore to suggest the possibility of the marriage, for it was most unlikely ever to take place.

  He made a few hasty calculations trying to discover how long it would be before he had enough money to become a landowner. If it were possible to bring about a marriage between Celle and Hanover that time would move considerably nearer.

  Why had his Dutch friends asked for this? Had they some special knowledge of affairs? Could it be that all was not going as Sophia and Ernest Augustus had hoped when they sent their son to London?

  He rose from the fire and went along to the private apartments of the Duke, where to his relief he found his master alone.

  ‘Come in, Bernstorff,’ said the Duke, looking up from the book he was reading. How he liked an easy comfortable life! thought his minister. That was why it had been so easy for the Duchess to dominate him. On the other hand it was why it would not be difficult for any strong-minded person to do the same.

  ‘You have something on your mind?’ asked the Duke.

  ‘I have been thinking for some time what a pity it is that there could not be an alliance between Hanover and Celle.’

  ‘Between Hanover and Celle! How would that be possible?’

  ‘If the Crown Prince married our Princess the family quarrels would be over and the two principalities joined as one, and all the Brunswick-Lüneberg estates brought together again as the family always wanted them to be.’

  ‘Impossible,’ smiled George William.

  ‘Not impossible at all … if the two young people married.’

  ‘You can guess why George Lewis is in England now.’

  ‘Hoping for the Princess Anne.’

  ‘Do you think Charles will agree?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘What, Bernstorff?’

  ‘It has occurred to me that you would be glad to see an end to the strife in your house, that you would like to be on the terms you once were with your brother.’

  ‘Well … it’s a dream, Bernstorff.’

  ‘Great and blessed events often begin as dreams.’

  ‘You’re very romantic tonight, Bernstorff.’

  ‘I cannot help thinking how pleasant it would be to see the two Houses in harmony.’

  ‘I admit it would be pleasant, but the Duchess would never agree. She has been too humiliated by the Duchess Sophia and in such a manner as she will never forget. She is determined on an alliance with Wolfenbüttel. Anton Ulrich has always been a good friend to her. Moreover, the Princess herself is becoming accustomed to the young man and her mother will never allow her to
be married where she has no inclination.’

  ‘She could grow to like her cousin.’

  ‘George Lewis is scarcely attractive. But what nonsense we are talking, Bernstorff. Soon we shall have a triumphant announcement from Sophia that her first-born is to become the husband of an English Princess. Won’t that make her happy?’

  Bernstorff laughed. He could see that he had sown speculation in the Duke’s mind. George William would be pleased to see a union with Hanover, for was it not the wish of every German princeling to keep the family estates intact? And he was an easygoing man; he hated being on bad terms with his brother and would welcome an opportunity to get back to the old friendship.

  ‘I think, much as she loves the English, she would be equally happy to see Celle and Hanover united.’

  ‘Never, you don’t know Sophia. And we have been on very bad terms.’

  ‘Only on … account of the Duchess.’

  It was daring; it was underlining a truth. The Duke frowned and Bernstorff wondered if he had gone too far.

  ‘The Duchess has of course suffered great provocation,’ said Bernstorff hurriedly. He laughed a little uneasily. ‘She would not be pleased with me if she knew I had made such a suggestion. I pray you will not betray me, my lord.’

  George William laughed. ‘Rest easy. I shall say nothing.’

  Clara waited for the secrecy of the bedchamber before she made her attack.

  ‘Have you heard the news from England?’ she asked.

  ‘News, what news?’

  ‘They have passed the Exclusion Bill in the Commons but it has been rejected by the Lords and the King has dissolved Parliament. No Exclusion Bill, and James to follow Charles as King of England – Catholic though he may be.’

  ‘Far off politics don’t concern me.’

  ‘With George Lewis trying his luck for the Princess Anne?’

  ‘What do you think this will mean?’

  ‘That George Lewis will be unacceptable as a husband for Anne. As a matter of fact I have heard rumours …’

  ‘Come, Clara, have you spies everywhere?’