Queen in Waiting: (Georgian Series) (39 page)

She believed there might be a faint possibility that he would. She prayed that it might come true. But while his father lived, George Augustus could not be king. Still, to live as pleasantly as they had been living for this wonderful summer would be very delightful while they waited.

Yet as the days grew shorter her apprehension grew. There were no longer charming afternoons in the pavilion. The wind was too chilly. Walks had to be taken early in the afternoon if she was to be back in her apartments by dusk. It was not so exciting playing cards by candle-light as in the fresh air.

It cannot go on, of course, she thought, sighing.

News came from Hanover which saddened her.

Leibniz had approached the King and begged leave to come to England, and this had been curtly refused. Poor Leibniz! He had been unpopular enough in the past but he was more so now. Then he had merely been disliked as a man of intellect and a friend of the Princess’s, when the King had considered her to be an unimportant woman whose only function was to bear children. Now he would know that she was not so stupid. Bothmer
would have reported how Townsend had first approached her; and she would have her full share of the King’s animosity.

Leibniz had not been wise to approach the King at such a time.

‘The King has been so incensed by what was happening at home,’ she read, ‘that he could not endure to look on Leibniz who has always been a supporter of the Princess of Wales. He turned his back on him and in consequence of this action Leibniz had no alternative but to leave court.’

Poor lonely old Leibniz, whose only fault was that he was loyal to his old pupil and that he was a man of wit and understanding! So he had gone to his home in Hanover and lived there. He had left court for ever and he despaired of ever coming to England.

Caroline pictured him, thinking of all those talks he had had with the Electress Sophia when she had imbued him with her love of a country neither of them had ever seen.

He was heartbroken – deprived of his work, deprived of his friends, despised because he had a good brain and liked to use it.

Could a man die of a broken heart? Perhaps, thought Caroline, for Leibniz had died in Leibnizhaus, his house in Hanover, and had been buried quietly, for the King had had no wish that he should be remembered.

‘He was buried,’ ran the letter, ‘more like a robber than an ornament to his country.’

Dear Leibniz, who had tutored her, who had reproved her, and who had loved her!

It was another link with the old life broken; and at the same time it was an evil augury for the future.

George was harsh to those he believed did not serve him well. So poor Leibniz had suffered.

How much more harsh he would be to those who had deliberately flouted him – his own son and daughter-in-law! What would happen when he returned? That was what Caroline wondered as she sat awaiting the first signs of her child’s arrival on those rapidly shortening days.

The crimson-decked barge made its way slowly up the river. On the banks the people cheered while the Prince, his hand on his heart, bowed and smiled, and the Princess, who looked as though
she might give birth at any moment, sat back, with smiles as gracious as those of the Prince. The young Princesses, Anne, Amelia and Caroline, were with their mother and there was a special cheer for them; and on the elaborately decorated barge it was possible to catch a glimpse of those rival beauties, Molly Lepel and Mary Bellenden, and of Sophie Howe, of whom many verses had been written, of Henrietta Howard, the Prince’s mistress, who was on the best of terms with the Princess, and of other personalities of the court.

If the last month had been a foretaste of what the future reign would be like the people certainly would not mourn the passing of George I.

Caroline was a little sad. She had wanted to lie in at Hampton, but Townsend had warned her that the child she was going to bear could be an heir to the throne, and heirs to the throne were not born at Hampton. The last thing Caroline wanted to do was ignore English custom, so regretfully she gave up the idea of staying at Hampton, and she could not throw off this feeling of sadness because she knew that when she left the Thames-side mansion, with its scarlet-bricked walls and its magnificent state apartments, and most delightful of all its gardens with its fountains and flowers, its greens and pavilions, its wilderness and maze, she was leaving more than a country house. This was the end of a phase – the most delightful phase of her life.

Moreover she felt ill, for a few weeks before she had almost miscarried. She wanted children – many more – but the months of discomfort while she awaited their arrival were very trying.

So to London and St James’s, and soon she hoped her child would be born.

I shall feel better then, she promised herself. More ready to face the storm which will inevitably come when the King returns.

A week after the royal party had returned to St James’s Palace, on a dark November Sunday Caroline’s pains started.

All through the day officials were arriving at the Palace and the Prince summoned certain members of the Cabinet that they might be present when the child was born.

The German midwife, who could speak no English, but
whom the Prince had commanded to attend to his wife, was growing anxious. As the labour was going on and on and there was no sign of the child, Mrs Clayton and Lady Cowper were apprehensive.

‘This is no ordinary confinement,’ said Mrs Clayton.

‘The Princess’s are always difficult,’ Lady Cowper reminded her, ‘and for that reason it is folly to leave her in the hands of this old German woman.’

‘An old country midwife!’ agreed Mrs Clayton. ‘We should call Sir David Hamilton.’

‘I will speak to the Princess,’ said the forthright Lady Cowper.

She went into the apartment where Caroline was walking up and down, clearly in great pain. With her was the old German woman who was obviously very worried.

‘Your Highness, would you allow me to send for Sir David Hamilton?’ asked Lady Cowper.

Caroline stopped in her perambulations and stared at Lady Cowper.

‘For vat reason?’

‘Your Highness may have need of him. He is a trained
accoucheur
.’

‘I do not vish a man to be here at this time,’ said the Princess.

‘Your Highness…’

Caroline had turned away, but as Lady Cowper went to the door she gripped the bedpost in a spasm of fresh agony. The midwife was shaking her head and letting out a stream of German.

‘This is folly,’ said Lady Cowper; and went back to consult with Mrs Clayton.

‘But if the Princess will not have a man to attend her confinement, what can we do?’

All through Monday and Tuesday the Princess continued in labour. She lay on her bed exhausted and still the child could not be brought forth.

‘This is madness!’ said Lady Cowper. ‘She cannot go on like this. Her life is in danger.’

The Princess’s ladies waited in their apartment for news, terrified and tearful. Lady Cowper raged that she had never heard
such folly. The Princess’s life was in danger and the only one she would have to attend her was that old fool of a midwife.

Selecting one of the Princess’s German attendants, the Countess of Bückeburg, Lady Cowper commanded that she go to the Prince and tell him that the Princess needed the expert attention of Sir David Hamilton and that he must be sent for without delay.

The Countess went to the Prince where he was waiting with his Council.

As he listened to her his face grew red with anger – and with fear.

How dared they suggest that all was not well. Life had become so good. He was treated as a king; he was popular; he had shown himself to be a virile man. His wife was fruitful; he had a mistress. Very soon he would have another, for Mary Bellenden would not hold out much longer. Everything was well.

‘Nonsense,” he said. ‘The Princess’s confinements are alvays like this. Ve alvays think the child vill come earlier… it is alvays so. She is vell… vell… I tell you.’

The Countess retreated in haste and when she reported back to Lady Cowper, the latter, with Mrs Clayton to support her, decided that something would have to be done.

They were certain that the Princess’s life was in danger.

Lady Cowper went into the lying-in chamber and called to the midwife.

‘What is happening?’ she demanded in German.

The old woman raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘It is a difficult confinement… very difficult.’

‘And you are not competent enough to deal with it… you know it.’

‘I do my best.’

‘Admit you’re afraid.’

‘It’s a difficult confinement.’

‘Go to the Prince and tell him you can’t manage… tell him you need help. Ask that a trained
accoucheur
be sent.’

‘It is a difficult confinement. The Princess’s confinements are always difficult.’

‘And you are incompetent. I tell you this… if the Princess miscarries you will be hanged by the neck until you’re dead.’

The midwife screamed and ran into the ante-room which was thronged with many people who stared at the screaming woman, not understanding a word of what she was saying.

The Prince and Townsend came hurrying into the room followed by several of the ministers who had assembled for the birth.

‘What is wrong?’ demanded the Prince.

The midwife burst out that she wanted to go away. She could not proceed when the ladies had threatened to hang her.

‘Vat is this!’ cried the Prince, his face purple with rage.

The midwife cried that she would not go near the lying-in chamber, for if the Princess miscarried they were going to hang her. She had done no harm. Was it her fault that the Princess’s labours were difficult?

‘Who says they will hang you?’ yelled the Prince.

‘The ladies… all the ladies of the Princess. They say they will blame me because I am here and it should be Sir David Hamilton. They say they will kill me…’

In the lying-in chamber the Princess was moaning in her agony.

‘You must go to her,’ said the Prince.

‘No… no… I dare not. They are going to hang me. I will not stay to be hanged.’

‘The Princess needs you,’ said the Prince. ‘Oh, we know her labours are always difficult. Go in now and attend her.’

The midwife went on screaming that she dared not for they were going to hang her. They had said she should have Sir David… and they were going to hang the poor midwife.

The Prince shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Of this meddling I am sick. If anyvon meddles more I throw him out of this vindow.’

There was silence in the room; the Prince’s wig was awry, his face a choleric purple, his eyes blazing with hot anger.

Both he and the Princess had decided she should not have a man to attend her – trained
accoucheur
that he was. She should have the midwife, as Germans always had.

But the midwife was terrified. ‘They will hang me,’ she said.

Townsend took her by the arm. He could not speak German
but he smiled at her reassuringly and tried to draw her towards the Princess’s chamber. But she kept screaming that they were going to hang her.

Everyone gathered round her and began talking at once. German and English mingled; an effort was made to push the woman forward but she would only whimper that they were going to hang her.

A woman’s voice was heard shouting above the noise.

‘Will you come at once. The Princess is lying very still.’ There was a deep silence. Then the midwife forgot her fears. She ran into the lying-in chamber followed by the Prince and Townsend.

After five days of labour the Princess had at last given birth.

Her child – a boy – was born dead and she herself was critically ill.

Considering how near death she had been, Caroline recovered quickly. Deeply she regretted that she had lost her child but she consoled herself that there would be others.

There was news from Hanover. The King was pleased with his grandson Frederick and had created him Duke of Gloucester.

All very well, thought Caroline, but when is he coming to England? Perhaps the boy would return with his grandfather. If that were so she might almost look forward to the King’s return.

But whenever she thought of that – which could not now be far distant – she shivered with apprehension. What had been happening during his absence was almost an open declaration of war between them.

While she lay recovering from her ordeal Townsend came to see her.

The Prince was with her and as soon as the minister entered the apartment George Augustus dismissed their attendants, for both he and Caroline saw at once that something was wrong.

Townsend lost no time in telling them.

‘I am dismissed from office,’ he said. ‘On the King’s orders. Stanhope is now Prime Minister.’

‘Dismissed!’ cried the Prince.

Townsend nodded. ‘Bothmer has been reporting to Hanover.
The King does not approve of our friendship. It was the last straw when I asked that you might have special powers to open Parliament since he was so long away.’

The Prince was speechless.

Caroline lay back on her pillows and thought: The battle has begun.

The King was coming back to England, and the Christmas celebrations had been soured by this knowledge. It could not be long now. The days of glory were coming to an end.

The Prince, clinging to power as long as possible, strutted in the Park reviewing the troops. He made more public appearances than ever, bowing, smiling, showing the people how he loved them; and his popularity was at its height. Early one morning when a fire broke out near the Palace he rose from his bed and helped to put it out. Not content with that, he sent money to people who had lost their homes. Everyone was talking of his bravery and consideration for his father’s subjects; when the news that the madman who had tried to shoot him at Drury Lane had made an attack on his warders in Newgate, the story of his courage was recalled.

‘This is truly the Guardian of the Realm,’ said one newspaper.

The Prince was pleased and more able to live in the present than Caroline, who – now fully recovered in health – awaited the return of the King with growing apprehension.