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a child. She longed for news of her. Charlotte wrote to her now and then and she

was always the affectionate daughter. Caroline was melancholy sometimes

thinking of her.

She would repeat again and again to Pergami the story how Charlotte had left

her father to run away to her mother.

‘She loved me, my, little Charlotte. There was no doubt, that. Nothing he

could do could alter it.’

Dear headstrong creature, she had jilted the Prince of Orange and married a

Prince whom she loved— Leopold Saxe-Coburg.

Charlotte had written to her of her joy in the marriage. Leopold was handsome

and good, he was her choice and she was the happiest of Princesses.

Happy indeed, thought Caroline and rejoiced.

She would talk of her daughter to the Countess Oldi with whom she had

become very friendly during her eastern travels.

‘I’m so happy because my dearest daughter will know the joy that has been

denied to me. She loves her husband and he her, and I think that must be the

greatest blessing in the world I missed it, dear Oldi, and I am so happy that she has found it. How can I be sure? Oh, I know my Charlotte. She would never

pretend. Her letters overflow with happiness it makes me laugh aloud just to read them— real laughter this time, Oldi— the laughter that means you are happy.’

The married pair, she learned, had acquired Claremont as their country house

and there they were spending the happy months of waiting. For Charlotte had

written the glad news; she was going to have a child.

Dearest Charlotte,
mused Caroline.
To think of my baby with a little baby.

This is all she needs to make her happiness complete. I hope this child will be the
first of many. I can imagine the excitement in England about the birth. You see,
this child could be a King or Queen of England. The bells will ring; the guns will
boom; and there’ll be bonfires In the streets. The people loved my Charlotte. And
her father— oh, he’ll be pleased too and so will the old Begum though she

disapproved of darling Charlotte— because she was my daughter, I suppose. And
Charlotte disapproved of her. But she’ll be glad. And the King— poor mad King.

I don’t supposed he will even know. I could weep to think of him. He was the only
one in the whole family who showed me kindness., Oh, it makes me wish I was

there. For the first time, Oldi, I wish I were back in England.

Each day when she rose she would sit at the window overlooking the sea.

‘I wonder how Charlotte is,’ she would say. ‘Her time must be near. She will

write to me and tell me all about her little baby. Poor darling, I hope it is not a difficult labour.’

When any messengers came the first thing she thought of was letters from

England.

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‘Any day now,’ she said to the Countess. ‘It must be soon. Unless of course

she miscalculated. How like Charlotte. But over this, I should not have thought

so. She has become more serious since her marriage— I sense it in her letters.

Fancy! It is three years since I saw my daughter. There’ll be news soon. She’ll

write. I shall hear all the news about the most wonderful baby in the world.’

And still she waited to hear.

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She would never forget that morning.

She liked to glance through the English newspapers and had them brought to

her. They lay on her table for some time before she picked them up and then she

settled idly to skim through them.

She opened one and stared at the page.
No!
She was dreaming.

This could not be true.

‘On November 5th after a long labour the Princess Charlotte was delivered of

a fine large dead boy. She died shortly afterwards.’

THE whole country was in mourning for the Princess Charlotte. The Prince

Regent shut himself in his apartments.

He could face nobody— not even Lady Hertford. He wept bitterly. He forgot

his disagreements with his daughter; he only saw her now as his beloved child.

Sir Richard Croft, the
accoucheur
, had come to him in an utmost demented

state. The Prince had tried to comfort him and himself at the same time.

‘They tell me the child was perfect— perfect— and a boy.’

‘It was so, sir. And his features were undoubtedly those of your family.’

The Prince turned away and wiped his eyes. ‘I cannot bear to think of it. Pray

leave me to my grief.’

Sir Richard went away and in the streets the people recognized his carriage

and booed him. The rumours were already spreading through the town that he had

been careless; he had not done his job as he should; he was responsible for the

death of their beloved Princess.

The Regent gave way to tears and at the back of his mind was the thought:
It

is even more important now to rid myself of that woman. It’s not too late. But for
her, I could marry again, get another son. They must bring me news of her

misconduct. Why can’t the obvious be proved?

But it is necessary now— necessary.

————————

The Queen was at Bath taking the waters. She had been unwell lately, and her

doctors had suggested the visit. Her daughter Elizabeth had accompanied her and

they had taken three houses in Sydney Place for themselves and their attendants.

She was glad that her relationship with the Prince Regent was better than it

had been for many years. The old battles were done with. He had mellowed, she

told herself, and perhaps she was no longer seeking power. It was all his now,.

and her feelings towards him were like those she had had when he was a child,

when he had been her favourite.

He had married that odious woman and she would like to see him free of her;

not that he needed to marry now that he had a child and this child was about to

bear another. She hoped it would be a boy which would please the people and

make them love their royal family again. There was nothing like a child to do that.

She remembered how they used to crowd round young George when he was a

baby and cheered when he was wheeled into the Park.

How different they were towards him now. Only a few months ago when he

returned from the opening of Parliament the mob had surrounded his carriage and

thrown mud and all sorts of ill smelling rubbish at it. He had sat in it, ignoring the smell, his scented handkerchief at his nose, a figure of elegance and disdain.

Some people said that a bullet had been fired at him although the sound of it was not heard, so loudly was the mob shouting. They found a hole in the woodwork of

the coach though.

Such scenes were frightening. One could never be sure when the mob would

get out of hand.

But all that was over for a while. The people would be thinking of the new

royal child. The bells would be ringing out and there would be general rejoicing.

She hoped she might have a hand in bringing up the child. It certainly should not be left to flighty Charlotte.

She was eagerly awaiting news of the birth. It must be soon now.

Lady Ancaster, one of her ladies-in-waiting, had come to read to her as she

did at this time every day. How strange she looked.

‘Is anything wrong, Lady Ancaster?’

‘Your Majesty—’ Lady Ancaster had begun to sob.

‘It is Charlotte— is it?’

Lady Ancaster tried to speak but could not do so. ‘Something has gone wrong.

The child—’

Lady Ancaster looked at her helplessly. ‘Born dead—’ murmured the Queen.

And she knew the answer.

‘Charlotte—’

Still that look of blank misery.

‘No! No!’ cried the Queen.

But he knew it was true. Charlotte was dead.

Lady Ancaster was startled into action. She ran to get assistance, for the

Queen had fainted.

————————

They were saying in the streets that wicked old Queen Charlotte had planned

this. She had always hated her young namesake. Why should one so young and

healthy die in childbirth?

And what had Sir Richard Croft to do with it?

Why, the old Queen and the
accoucheur
had plotted together. They were

determined that Charlotte should die so they had poisoned her. Sir Richard had

neglected her. He had bled her too much. He had weakened her when he should

have strengthened her. Who was Sir Richard Croft anyway? The son of a

chancery clerk who had become a fashionable doctor.

Wait till they could lay their hands on the old Queen. Wait until they could

meet Richard Croft face to face. They had been hoping for a royal birth and the

accompanying festivities— and all they would get was a funeral.

Sir Richard Croft blew out his brains and the people were satisfied. After that

there was no more talk about the murder of Princess Charlotte and her child.

————————

When the funeral was over the Prince Regent retired to Brighton there to think

of the future. He wandered through his ornate rooms and took comfort from all

the splendour which was his creation. And all the time he was haunted by a

shadow— the shadow of the woman who was his wife. While he was married to

her he would know no peace and he longed as never before to be rid of her.

Why would no one help him? Why was it impossible to find just the evidence

they needed?

He was determined that he would rid himself of Caroline.

No price was too high to be paid to be free of that woman. He would marry

again. This time he would choose his bride.

He often thought of Maria. The greatest mistake of his life might have been

marrying Caroline but to leave Maria was almost as grave. They should have been

together. She would have comforted him now. He still thought of her at times like these. Lady Hertford— nor any of them— had ever had the solace Maria had to

offer.

But it was too late to think of Maria now. She was older than he was and he

was no longer young. But not too old to beget a child. And he must. The country

needed an heir and he must provide it.

And how?

Now here he was back to the beginning. He must rid himself of that woman.

He went to see the Queen. She received him with great affection. It was

pleasant to contemplate that the enmity between them was over. Now they were

in perfect accord and she knew why he had come to her.

‘If I died tomorrow, the Duke of York would be King.’

‘With a barren wife who is not long for this world,’ remarked the Queen.

‘And William— he’s living with his large family of Fitzclarences at Bushey.’

‘He, should marry and so should Kent,’ said the Queens ‘This sad affair has

brought home to us how necessary it is for every member of the family to do his

duty.’

‘I will summon them all,’ said the Regent. ‘Their duty must be pointed out to

them.’

‘So many children,’ mused the Queen, ‘and not an heir among them.’

‘If Charlotte and the child had lived—’

‘Ah, yes, you did your duty, painful as it was.’

‘Painful, indeed,’ echoed the Prince.

‘I always thought it was a pity you took that one instead of my niece Louise. I

knew it was wrong at the time. Alas!’

‘Alas!’ repeated the Prince. Then he added briskly: ‘I will speak to my

brothers. They must marry without delay. As for myself—’

‘As for yourself—’

‘I don’t give up hope. She is behaving in the most outrageous manner. We

must have proof soon.’

‘Oh pray God it will come,’ said the Queen piously.

————————

It was not difficult to persuade the Dukes of the need for them to find wives as

quickly as possible. They were no longer very young, any of them— and marriage

was a duty of which they had been very neglectful. The Duke of Kent was a little

disturbed because he was devoted to his mistress, Madame St. Laurent, with

whom he had been living for the last twenty-seven years; but like his brother, the Duke of Clarence, he was prepared to do his duty.

Very soon the public learned that there was to be a double wedding at Kew.

The Duke of Clarence had been accepted by Princess Adelaide of Saxe-Coburg

Meiningen who was very beautiful and thirty years younger than he was, so it

seemed likely that they would be able- to provide the country with its heir. But

just in case they were unable to, the Duke of Kent had chosen for his bride Mary

Louisa Victoria, a widow of the Prince of Leiningen.

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