The Third George: (Georgian Series) Read online

  Charlotte held up the gown. ‘There is not much life left in it,’ she declared. ‘I may patch the skirt but I shall be out at the elbows the next time I wear it.’

  ‘A waste of time, Princess,’ agreed Ida.

  ‘But,’ went on Charlotte, smiling a little wickedly and imitating Madame de Grabow’s voice to the life, ‘at least I am occupied. Idle hands are the outward manifestation of an idle mind.’

  Ida laughed but Charlotte went on judiciously: ‘Madame de Grabow is right. I am indeed fortunate that she should be my governess.’

  ‘Very fortunate.’

  ‘I must always remember it. Oh dear, I don’t think I can do any more with this gown. If only …’

  ‘You will not get a new one until the war is over.’

  The war. She daren’t think of it. What would he say when he received her letter? Whenever the door opened she started, expecting to see a page there summoning her to her mother … or worse still to her brother.

  Ida must be regarding her curiously so she threw aside the gown and picked up a piece of embroidery. ‘That’s better. It’s a pretty pattern. Don’t you agree, Ida? But of course you always agree. Ida, how deeply do you think my sister is in love?’

  Ida gave a spurt of merriment. ‘She couldn’t be in deeper.’

  ‘Do you think she will be allowed to marry the gentleman?’

  Ida thought it likely. Christina was ten years older than Charlotte. If she did not find a husband now she never would; and an English duke would not be an impossible match. The daughter of a minor German duke could not hope for European royalty. Yes, Ida thought an English duke might do very nicely.

  ‘I do hope so, Ida,’ said Charlotte fervently. ‘Although I should miss her. She would go to England.’

  ‘And they are our allies in the war …’

  Charlotte wanted to put her fingers into her ears. Phrases from that most impertinent letter kept ringing in her head. Sometimes she would awake in the night and hear them. Did I really write that? Did I? And did I really send it to the King of Prussia?

  ‘I heard it was very grand at the English Court,’ she said quickly. ‘And Christina would of course go to Court. Ida, perhaps it is a good thing that we are a poor little dukedom because that means that no great king would ever ask for our hands … and therefore Christina may be allowed to marry her duke. Be careful. Here she comes.’

  The Princess Christina came into the apartment. There was a resemblance between them, but she was more handsome than Charlotte and being in love had transformed her.

  ‘What news?’ cried Charlotte.

  ‘News of what?’ demanded Christina. ‘The war …’

  ‘No, no, no! Of you … and your duke.’

  ‘What news should there be?’

  ‘That Mamma and our brother have given their consent to your marriage.’

  ‘Not yet, but …’

  ‘They will,’ said Charlotte. ‘They must. Christina, when you are an English duchess will you invite me to visit you in England?’

  ‘You may be sure I shall.’

  ‘I wonder what it’s like there. I wonder if all the stories we hear of it are true.’

  ‘Some are.’ Christina was knowledgeable through conversations with her lover. ‘The new King is very young – only twenty or so. And the people have long been waiting for the old one to die. They believe everything will be different now he is gone. It will be a change for the better for the King is a very good young man … modest and virtuous. Unusual qualities for a king.’

  Charlotte shuddered, thinking of that other king whom she could not get out of her mind.

  ‘I have heard manners are free and easy at the English Court,’ said Ida.

  ‘Oh, the English!’ laughed Christina. ‘They are not so … disciplined as we are. If they disapprove of the royal family they don’t hesitate to say so.’

  ‘That is good,’ said Charlotte with vehemence.

  ‘Charlotte!’

  ‘I … I believe that people should speak their minds.’

  ‘But to kings!’

  ‘Yes, to kings.’

  Christina went on: ‘Oh, yes, there are lampoons and songs always being circulated. The people get together in the coffee and chocolate houses. They are all over the town, these houses … and people go there to drink coffee and chocolate and stronger things and talk … and talk …’

  Madame de Grabow came into the room.

  She said: ‘I have just come from the Grand Duchess. I have orders to prepare us to leave for Pyrmont to take the waters.’

  Christina looked a little downcast, guessing this would mean a temporary separation from her duke.

  Charlotte, watching her, thought wistfully: I wonder if I shall ever have a lover. I wonder if I shall ever marry.

  ‘Come,’ said the efficient Madame de Grabow, ‘there is much to do. The Grand Duchess is anxious to leave without delay.’

  *

  It was pleasant at Pyrmont. The Grand Duchess took her daughters to the pump rooms and it was certain that they benefited by the change. They lived simply, staying at a nearby country house and partaking in the life of the place – like any noble family on holiday.

  Christina was a little sad, regretting the parting from her lover who had stayed in Mecklenburg, for he had no excuse for following them there; but she confided to Charlotte that she was very hopeful that soon after their return the betrothal would be announced.

  In the rooms where they mingled with other visitors after taking the waters a Colonel Graeme was presented to them. He was a charming Scotsman who was, the Grand Duchess was informed, a great friend of Lord Bute who in his turn was a close friend of the King and the Princess Dowager of England.

  Colonel Graeme was very courteous and made a point of speaking to Charlotte. In fact he seemed very interested in Charlotte who was surprised that her mother allowed him to spend so much time with her.

  ‘It can scarcely be that he has fallen in love with you,’ cried Christina.

  That made Charlotte laugh. ‘You think of nothing but love. No. He is just a nice old gentleman who likes to talk.’

  And how he talked! It was all about England. He seemed determined to make her see St James’s and Kensington, Hampton and Kew; but chiefly he talked of the young King.

  ‘He is not only extremely handsome,’ he told Charlotte, ‘but good. I can tell you that there was great rejoicing when he came to the throne. We looked forward to a time of prosperity, for the King cares, as few have before him, for the good of his people.’

  ‘He sounds a very worthy king,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘Is he … warlike?’

  Colonel Graeme looked at her oddly and she flushed. She said quickly: ‘I hate war. You will see what it has done to our country. But kings seem to take to it mightily. I was wondering whether the King of England enjoys going to war.’

  ‘Indeed he does not,’ replied Colonel Graeme. ‘The King of England is opposed to war. He hates suffering of any sort. He wants to see his subjects happily at peace. When his father, the Prince of Wales, died, he was deeply affected. He scarcely touched food for days and we feared for his health. He loved his father; but when two gardeners fell off a ladder in the gardens at Kew he was upset for days.’

  ‘He sounds a very virtuous king.’

  ‘I believe Your Highness would think him the best king in the world.’

  ‘If he loves peace, I should. But His Majesty of England will care little for my opinion.’

  ‘I believe His Majesty would be deeply gratified by Your Highness’s good opinion.’

  Colonel Graeme was indeed a courtier, thought Charlotte.

  *

  She was not sorry for Christina’s sake when they returned to Mecklenburg.

  It was pleasant to be back, for the summer was now with them and they could spend a great deal of time in the gardens.

  They must not think the sun was an excuse for idleness, said Madame de Grabow; they must not sit about, their hands in their
laps, merely because the sun was shining.’ Such a sybarite existence was to be deplored. They could read in the sunshine, study their Latin verbs, answer Madame de Grabow’s questions on history or geography; they could set up a table and make maps of the world; and there was always the needle. When their garments were all repaired they could take up their embroidery or lace; but not before.

  Christina was a little anxious.

  ‘I cannot understand why there must be all this delay.’

  ‘Does the Duke know why?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘He is as puzzled as I. Why, before we went to Pyrmont it was as good as settled. Now it is: “Wait … You must be patient.” We have been patient long enough.’

  Poor Christina! She had lost the look which love had put upon her, for the anxiety took the sparkle from her eyes.

  It can’t go wrong, thought Charlotte. It must not go wrong. And why should it?

  Madame de Grabow had ordered them to set up the table and their sewing was laid on it in little bundles. Not much today, Charlotte was thinking. She would soon be working on her embroidery.

  It was very pleasant stitching in the sunshine; she had almost forgotten that letter she had written to the King of Prussia, and when she did think of it she assured herself that it had never reached him. Had she not been a little naïve to imagine it would? She pictured the scene; the messenger arriving and the letters being taken from him by one of the King’s secretaries. And what was this one? A letter from the Princess Charlotte Sophia of Mecklenburg-Strelitz! Who was she? A girl of sixteen! She pictured the secretary opening the letter, casting his eye over it and, laughing, tearing it up and throwing it in the waste-paper basket or holding it in the flame of a candle.

  She had been foolish to worry.

  ‘You’re thoughtful,’ whispered Ida. ‘I can guess what you’re thinking. You’re wondering when there will be a suitor for you.’

  Charlotte did not answer for a moment; she carefully threaded a pale blue strand of silk; she loved working with beautiful colours.

  ‘Oh come, Ida,’ she said, when her needle was threaded and she was plying it again, ‘do you really think a husband will ever be found for me?’

  ‘He may find you.’

  ‘You are too romantic. I believe you read romances.’

  ‘Well, they’re more interesting than your Greek and Latin.’

  ‘How can you tell since you don’t know Greek and Latin. At least they teach me to be realistic, whereas your romances teach you to dream impossible dreams.’

  ‘Why impossible? Why shouldn’t you have a husband? Many people do … particularly princesses.’

  Charlotte looked across the table where Christina’s head was bent over her sewing. She desperately hoped that everything would work out well for Christina.

  ‘Now who,’ said Charlotte almost testily, ‘would want to marry a poor little princess like me! Be realistic, Ida, for once. My mouth is too large and my person too small, I have neither attractions nor fortune. No man whom my brother and my mother would consider worthy would consider me worthy, so there’s an end of the matter.’

  Just as she finished speaking the sound of the postman’s horn was heard in the distance.

  ‘Letters from afar,’ said Christina, lifting her head.

  Ida’s eyes sparkled. ‘Perhaps this is a sweetheart come to claim you, Princess,’ she whispered to Charlotte.

  Charlotte laughed at her; and they were all silent. Again the postman’s horn was heard – this time nearer.

  They listened to it until it was right at the door of the schloss.

  *

  A page was coming across the gardens, straight to the table where the girls sat at their sewing.

  Christina was watching eagerly. Poor Christina. She was always believing that she would be summoned to her brother’s presence and there told that she had his consent to her marriage.

  ‘His Highness commands the presence of the Princess Charlotte without delay.’

  Charlotte’s knees were trembling as she rose. This was how she had imagined it a hundred times. The letters arriving from Prussia, The King’s fury; his angry letters to the Duke who allowed his sister to be so disrespectful to the King of whom every little German duke must stand in awe.

  Christina and Ida looked alarmed; even Madame de Grabow was ill at ease. The letters had just arrived. It seemed strange that Charlotte should have been summoned so soon. This could not have happened unless it was a matter of the utmost importance.

  She followed the page into the castle. It was so hot out of doors, so cool behind those thick walls; but it was not the change of temperature which made her shiver; it was apprehension.

  She was saying to herself: I don’t care. It was right to do it. I know it was right.

  The door was flung open. There they stood; her brother and her mother, side by side. Oh, this was a very important occasion.

  ‘Charlotte!’ It was her mother who spoke. She approached, still rehearsing her excuses. ‘Charlotte, my dear child.’ Her mother embraced her. ‘I have wonderful news for you. This is one of the happiest days of my life.’

  Charlotte looked from her mother to her brother. He, too, was smiling.

  The Duke said almost teasingly: ‘So you thought fit to write a letter to the King of Prussia?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Charlotte, trying to be bold but hearing her voice end on a squeak which betrayed her fear.

  ‘Telling His Majesty how to conduct his armies.’

  ‘No, that was not so. I merely told him of what the war had done to us here. I begged him to stop his soldiers pillaging the land – which was doing no good to any of us.’

  ‘It was an impertinent letter,’ said the Duke.

  ‘But,’ added the Dowager Duchess with a smile, ‘it amused His Majesty.’

  ‘It … it was not meant to amuse.’

  ‘It touched him too. He has given orders that his armies shall not plunder the villages through which they pass.’

  Charlotte clasped her, hands and smiled. She did not care now. She had achieved her purpose. They could punish her if they wished. She would sew a hundred of the coarsest shirts to be distributed among the poor; she would not care; she would rejoice as she pricked her fingers as one always did with that coarse stuff. And she would think all the time of the King of Prussia, reading her letter and deciding that she was right.

  ‘The King thought it a remarkable letter for a sixteen-year-old girl to write. Though you are seventeen now, Charlotte.’

  ‘Yes, Mamma.’

  ‘That is good too. It is a pleasant age. Now for my news. The King of Prussia had copies of your letter made and showed them to his friends. He even sent one to the Dowager Princess of England – the mother of the King.’

  ‘To England! So far!’

  ‘It was the biggest stroke of good fortune that has come to our House for a long time,’ said the Duke.

  ‘Your Highness means my letter …’

  ‘Your letter,’ said her mother. She smiled at her son. ‘The Princess Dowager thought it a remarkable letter; so did her son.’

  ‘The King! The King of England?’

  ‘He read it, they tell me, and tears filled his eyes. He said: “What a remarkable girl the Princess Charlotte must be.” And so he sent Colonel Graeme to see you and to report to him what he thought of you. It seems that Colonel Graeme thought very highly of you.’

  ‘Mamma … what are you telling me?’

  ‘That you are fortunate beyond our wildest hopes and dreams. The King of England is asking for your hand in marriage.’

  *

  ‘What did I say?’ demanded Ida. ‘Did I not say it was a sweetheart? I never thought it would be the King of England, though.’

  ‘But Ida … he has not seen me!’

  ‘Colonel Graeme has seen you. And he evidently liked what he saw.’

  ‘What a strange way in which to choose a bride!’

  ‘All royal brides are chosen in that way.’


  ‘Colonel Graeme must have flattered me. I hope it won’t be a shock for the King when he sees me.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s not as handsome as he’s been made out to be,’ comforted Ida.

  Christina came in.

  She said: ‘So you’ll be the first to be married after all.’

  *

  There was talk of nothing else but Charlotte’s coming marriage. There was to be no delay. The English were sending Lord Harcourt to Strelitz immediately and as soon as he arrived the proxy ceremony was to take place, and immediately it was over she was to sail for England.

  ‘It seems there is an undue haste,’ whispered Charlotte to Ida. ‘Do you think they are afraid the King will hear the truth and not want me after all?’

  ‘What truth? He’s heard the truth.’

  ‘I think they’ve told him I’m a beauty.’

  ‘Not they. He read your letter and he knows you’re a wiseacre. He’s more interested in that than a pretty face.’

  At least Ida was honest. Charlotte studied her face in her mirror and her misgivings were great. Homely is the kindest way to describe me, she thought; plain would be more truthful.

  She hoped that the King did not like pretty women.

  Why should the King of England select her … a humble princess of a tiny state without beauty and riches?

  Ida had the answer. ‘Because you’re German and Protestant. There are other princesses in Europe, but don’t forget they’re all Catholics … and they’re not German. English Kings ever since George the First always marry Germans.’

  ‘And I can’t speak his language.’

  ‘Never mind, he’ll speak yours. Remember, he’s German too.’

  ‘That’s a comfort. But I expect I shall have to learn to speak English. Oh, Ida, it’s a terrible thought. I shall leave home. I shall live in a strange country for the rest of my life …’ She looked at Ida. She would doubtless leave her too, for it was hardly likely that she would be allowed to take Ida with her.