Caroline the Queen

Lord Fanny

LORD HERVEY lay back languidly as the carriage rattled along the road to Ickworth. He had been long away from home and was pleased to be back; he would not, of course, stay long at Ickworth. A few weeks would suffice with his wife and children; then he and Stephen Fox would go to Court. That was where the excitement lay nowadays.

He gazed across at Stephen—his beautiful beloved companion. All the Fox family were noted for their beauty, but Stephen was surely the most beautiful of them all. Stephen caught his eyes and gave him a look of adoration. Theirs was a relationship on which some might frown. Let them! thought Hervey. What did he care? He was glad to provide gossip, for when a man ceased to be gossiped about, that man might as well be dead. That was his philosophy.

He studied the tips of his elegant shoes with the diamond studded buckles. Everything about Hervey was elegant. The frilly front of his muslin shirt rippled over his brocade waistcoat; his almost—though not quite—knee length velvet coat with the turn back embroidered cuffs, his exquisite lace cravat were all in the latest fashion and his three-cornered hat perched on top of his flowing wig was a masterpiece of millinery. From his person there rose a delicate but none the less pronounced scent and his cheeks were delicately touched with rouge. Stephen said he was as beautiful as he had been in those days ten years ago when he had first appeared to dazzle the Court of the Prince and Princess of Wales who had now become the King and the Queen.

Those days seemed far back in time. Much had happened since. Hervey had fallen in love with beautiful Molly Lepel and married her, for he was proud to be both a lover of men and women. He imagined it gave him a two-edged personality which was interesting.

Molly had suited him. For one thing she had been the most beautiful, most written about, woman of the Court. At least she had shared that honour with Mary Bellenden and there had been a constant controversy in those days as to which of the girls were more beautiful. Molly had beauty and charm. Moreover her personality fitted his. She was a strange woman, his Molly. She had shared his life for those first years without intruding on it. It had appeared to be a perfect marriage—and a fruitful one. Sons and daughters had been born to them and there would doubtless be more for they were both young. He was in his early thirties and Molly was four years younger than he was. She stayed with the children at Ickworth and had no desire to return to Court. She had lived her early life in Courts and had had enough of them. In the country she entertained a great deal, looked after her children, and her life was complete in the world she had made for herself. Hervey visited her now and then as a close friend might; she never questioned the scandals which surrounded him; she never criticized his friends. The fact was that Molly did not care.

Molly was a cold woman without jealousy. Hervey could have his lovers—male and female—and Molly implied it was no concern of hers. When he came to Ickworth he was welcome. It was his home; she bore his name and his children. His preference for others was no slur on her because she had been recognized as one of the most beautiful and attractive women of her day; she could have had lovers by the score; but Molly did not want lovers. She wanted her life to go on as she had arranged that it should; that did not include any emotional disturbance, for Molly had no time in her life for emotion.

A strange ménage, some people thought. But it satisfied Molly and John Hervey. What man, he was asking himself now as the carriage was coming into Ickworth, could have gone off travelling abroad with a beloved friend, and return with that friend to his wife and be received with a cool cordiality which was more comforting in the circumstances than any warmth could have been.

His thoughts were going on ahead of Ickworth, for he had decided that it should be a short stay. And then ... to Court. It would be amusing to renew his acquaintance with the Prince of Wales. He and Frederick had become good friends when he had visited Hanover before the Prince had come to England; in fact Frederick had been quite overwhelmed by the polished manners and elegant charm of Lord Hervey. Later they had resumed that friendship and if Hervey had not had to travel abroad for the sake of his health, it would have progressed still farther.

The thought of his health made Hervey feel a little wan and Stephen immediately noticed this.

‘You are feeling ill?’

‘A little faint.’

‘My dear soul, lie back and close your eyes. I fear the jolting of the coach ...’

The jolting of the coach,’ said Hervey quietly, enjoying his friend’s concern. ‘Nothing more.’

‘Did you take your spa water before we set out?’ ‘I did, I swear.’

‘It should raise the spirits.’

‘My spirits are high enough, dear boy. It is the flesh that is weak. I think I will try that mixture of crabs’ eyes, asses milk, and oyster shells. I have reports that it sweetens the blood.’

‘I will see that you have it.’

‘My dear Stephen! ‘

Such devotion was pleasant; it was for its sake that he had taken Stephen with him on his travels. Dear Stephen! Quite his favourite person at the moment. Stephen had cosseted him, remembered his medicines, listened to his poetry, adored everything he did. He was so much warmer than Molly. Not that he would criticize Molly one little bit. Molly was just the wife for a man such as he was.

‘Close your eyes,’ commanded Stephen. The only time the dear boy commanded was when he was acting the nurse. ‘You should rest for the remainder of the journey.’

Hervey obeyed, and allowed himself to drift into a pleasant state of semi-consciousness when the impressions of Venice and Florence became slightly jumbled together and he was not sure whether he was walking beside the Arno or the Grand Canal. The sun had been so welcome, and he had written a great deal of poetry which he so enjoyed reading to the appreciative Stephen. Sometimes he felt he would ask nothing more but to stay at Ickworth with his family—and Stephen—and spend his days writing.

That would never suit him for long though. He was a mischievous sprite; he must be at the core of life; he must be at Court, stirring up trouble, seeking a high place in the confidence of people through whom he could make himself important—important in politics which played their part in history.

He was too egotistical, too vain, too mischievous to spend his days in retirement.

There would be fun to be had at Court now. Walpole was supreme some said and Pulteney was determined to pull him down. It would be fun to live close to such a battle, to work in the shadows, to use his pen as some men used their swords. Oh, yes, there was a great deal of amusement to be had at Court.

Therefore it would be just a short respite at Ickworth and then away to adventure.

He himself was no politician of fixed ideas. He had been returned as a Member of the House of Commons for Bury St Edmunds some years before and since he had in those days belonged to the Court of the Prince and Princess of Wales and Walpole had at that time been the King’s minister—and that King was George I—he had joined Pulteney’s Opposition.

But George I had died and the Prince of Wales had become George II and although George II had at first rejected Walpole he had afterwards reinstated him. This meant that Walpole was the confidant of the Queen; and as Pulteney was still in opposition against Walpole, there was only one thing Hervey could do and that was change sides. He had become a Walpole man.

He was evidently not a man to be despised. His pen could be vitriolic, his tongue sharp; and Walpole was so pleased to have him on his side that he had asked the Queen to receive him in her household as Chamberlain. This was a source of great pleasure to Hervey; it meant he could be constantly near the Queen, and as he had his duties at Court he could keep in close touch with the Prince of Wales.

Very satisfactory, he was telling himself now. So, after a little respite, to Court he would go.

The carriage was approaching the Ickworth mansion. Hervey opened his eyes. Stephen looked at him anxiously to make sure he was not going to faint and with a little sigh Hervey sat up straight, adjusted his cravat, and smiled at his friend.

‘I feel better,’ he said, ‘but I should like to try the blood sweetener.’

They left the carriage and went into the big hall. Lady Hervey, looking very cool and outstandingly beautiful, was calmly waiting to greet him, her children about her and beside her to Lord Hervey’s astonishment, and some chagrin, William Pulteney.

Hervey patted the heads of his eldest son, George William, and his eldest daughter whom they had named Lepel. The children had been well trained by their mother and received him as coolly as she did. He was pleased with his family.

‘William guessed that you would be arriving today, and he and Anna Maria are staying here. William is anxious to have talks with you.’

‘Is that so?’ replied Hervey languidly. ‘Stephen will be staying until I return to Court.’

Mary gave Stephen her beautiful smile which meant that she allowed her lips to curl a little and her eyes to open wider.

‘That will indeed be a pleasure,’ she said.

‘Stephen will unpack for me,’ murmured Hervey. ‘I do not trust the servants with some of my precious things.’

‘Of course,’ replied Molly.

As he went to his rooms Hervey was wondering what proposition Pulteney had to put before him. He no longer felt so friendly towards Pulteney as he once had; his friendships did wane quickly. And Pulteney could scarcely feel so kindly towards him now that he had made it clear that he was a Walpole man. Still, it was gratifying that Pulteney should seek to bring him back to the fold. And Molly was evidently eager to help in the change.

Oh, no, thought Hervey. If I am going to Court I must be a Walpole man, for Walpole has managed to become the friend of the King and the Queen.

He turned to smile at Stephen.

‘I do wonder why Pulteney has come here,’ he said. ‘And, oh dear, he has that vixen of his with him! She’s a good looking woman but has nothing to recommend her but her looks. I should like to know the purpose of his visit.’

‘You will soon discover, however he tries to hide it from you.’

Hervey sat down on the bed as though exhausted. ‘You are feeling ill?’

‘A touch of the vertigo; I think I may have to go back to the seed and vegetable diet.’

‘Oh dear, it has such a weakening effect. Perhaps you should rest here at Ickworth for a while.’

‘The diet works wonders,’ replied Hervey. ‘I shall be well in a few days. Put out my pomade and my powder, dear boy. Then you can help me repair the ravages of the journey.’

Dinner was over and they sat in the drawing room—an intimate family party. There was Molly in flowered silk gathered up at the sides to show her very elaborate blue satin petticoat, the sleeves of her gown billowing at the elbows and ending in frills of soft lace; a patch near her eyes called attention to their beauty; she was now sitting with the utmost grace with which she performed every duty of the hostess. Anna Maria Pulteney was less elaborately dressed. She and Pulteney were very wealthy but Anna Maria did not like spending money and not only was very careful in her own expenditure but saw that her husband was too.

Pulteney was soberly dressed, but Lord Hervey looked like a gorgeous dragon fly in lavender lace and satin; and Stephen, more simply dressed but very handsome, sat back in the shadows ready to show his devotion whenever his dearest friend demanded it.

Pulteney was wondering how far he could trust Hervey. He would have to trust him because he needed him. A man with a pen like Hervey’s should be on one’s side; and the fact that Walpole had been so eager to welcome him into his fold and had secured him the post of Chamberlain to the Queen was an indication of how his services were regarded.

During Hervey’s absence abroad Pulteney had been bringing Lady Hervey to his point of view and as she disliked Sir Robert Walpole intensely she was delighted to help him.

Together, thought Pulteney, we will persuade him.

Conversation was desultory—all knew, except perhaps Stephen, that they were skirting about the subject they wished to discuss. They talked of Venice and Florence. Pulteney was a great talker, one of the most eloquent of men; and he liked to air his knowledge of the classics and throw in a latin tag here and there. Hervey was not surprised that he could not endure coarse Sir Robert. He was highly amused, waiting for Pulteney to come into the attack while he skilfully hedged him off with the beauties of the sunset on the Grand Canal and a discussion of the merits of Michelangelo and Tintoretto.

Pulteney represented Heydon, a borough in Yorkshire, and was one of the leading Whigs. When he had married Anna Maria Gumley, of low birth and high fortune, he became one of the richest men in the country; but Anna Maria had turned out to be a vixen who kept a tight hold on their income and invested it in such a manner that it increased rapidly. At the beginning of his career he had worked with Walpole until Sir Robert had offended him in the year 1721 by not offering him a post in his Ministry. He refused the peerage which was offered him and very soon afterwards became one of Walpole’s deadly enemies. He joined forces with Bolingbroke and that was indeed a formidable alliance, for between them they set up a journal which they calledThe Craftsmanand with this they began their attack. In it they wrote of a certain Robin (Sir Robert) and the object of the journal was to discredit him and to expose his sly ways to readers. Pulteney was a brilliant writer and Bolingbroke had years before discovered the power of the written word.

Sir William Wyndham, a firm Jacobite, joined with them and the three formed a new party which was made up of discontented Whigs and Jacobites; they called themselves the Patriots and their aim was, they declared, to work for the good of the country and expose the evil clings of those in high places.

And now, thought Hervey, Pulteney is here to attempt to lure me away from Walpole to his Patriots, perhaps to add my literary skill to his in The Craftsman.

Oh, no, certainly not. I have no intention of working under Pulteney and Bolingbroke. I am going to work alone and go my own way; and I shall begin through my friendship with Frederick, the Prince of Wales.

‘William has been a frequent visitor during your absence,’ said Molly at length when there was a pause in the description of European scenic grandeur.

‘How kind of him to relieve the tedium of Ickworth.’ ‘How could there ever be tedium where Molly is?’ asked Pulteney, smiling at his hostess.

Hervey saw the familiar lift of the lips, the opening of the eyes which remained cold and serene.

‘We discussed your talents,’ she said. ‘They are too great to be wasted.’

‘How kind.’

‘If you could persuade Lord Hervey to read his latest poem to you ...’ began Stephen.

But Hervey silenced him with a loving smile.

‘Let us discuss my talents,’ said Hervey. ‘I thrive on flattery.’

‘This is no flattery,’ said Pulteney.

Anna Maria who hated prevarication said bluntly: ‘They want you to join the Patriots.’

Hervey took a kerchief from his sleeve and waved it before his face. Stephen half rose in alarm; Molly sat smiling and Pulteney was very alert.

‘That would be far from simple,’ murmured Hervey. ‘Why so?’ asked Pulteney sharply.

‘I have my appointment to serve the Queen.’

‘Why should you not continue in it?’

‘Do you think Walpole would allow one who was no longer a friend to hold a post so close to the Queen?’

‘That would be for the Queen to decide,’ said Anna Maria.

‘The Queen and Walpole share each other’s views, Madam. What Walpole thinks today the Queen thinks tomorrow.’

There was silence.

‘I should be the loser by one thousand pounds a year,’ declared Hervey languidly.

‘Your father would be delighted to give you a thousand a year,’ suggested Molly.

He smiled at his wife tenderly.

‘My dearest, you think all have as high an opinion of me as you have.’

‘I dislike Walpole,’ said Molly. ‘He is a coarse creature. He tried to seduce me once when I was at Court.’ ‘Unsuccessfully?’ enquired Hervey.

‘Certainly unsuccessfully.’

‘The fool! ‘ said Pulteney. ‘He is a disgrace to the country.’

‘A disgrace who has brought peace,’ suggested Hervey. ‘It was time for peace. There is always a time for peace after wars.’

‘He is credited for the peaceful times and the new prosperity.’

Molly said: ‘If your father would make up the loss of the stipend you receive as the Queen’s Chamberlain would you consider leaving Walpole?’

There was silence in the room.

Hervey looked at them; Pulteney so flatteringly eager; Anna Maria suspicious, the vixen; and Molly, cool, seeming impartial. She wanted him to say yes. She did not care that her husband should be the crony of the man who had tried to seduce her. Fastidious Molly, how she must have hated the coarse old man. Was she capable of feeling elated at the thought of his fury when he knew he had lost such and important adherent as Hervey? It would be interest. ing to see.

‘My father would not do so,’ he said.

‘But if he did ...’

Hervey lifted his shoulders; the assumption was that his loyalty to Walpole hung on his stipend he received as the Queen’s Chamberlain.

Stephen was alarmed, for he knew more of the secret plans of his dear friend than anyone.

‘If you gave up your post you would hardly be received intimately at the Court.’

‘That’s so, dear Stephen.’

‘But ... it is necessary ... that you are at Court.’

‘Entirely necessary.’

‘And yet ...’

‘Dear boy, you disturb yourself unnecessarily. There is no question of my giving up my post. My father will never agree to pay me the thousand a year.’

‘And if had ...’

‘He never will. My dear boy, do you imagine that I would give up this brilliant chance of being in close Court circles. Never! But if I say to my wife I wish to be on friendly terms with your would-be-seducer, she will be displeased. And if I say to William Pulteney: You are a clever fellow but I prefer to stand in the good graces of one whom I think is more clever—he will be offended. But if I say I do what I do for the sake of one thousand pounds a year, they are only disappointed; they understand and in a way they approve. Madam Vixen also. She has always such respect for money. It’s the line of least resistance. I shall go back to Court, sighing because I must smile at the man who would have seduced my wife, I must call my friend the enemy of one who believes himself to be my true friend. Oh, blessed thousand a year.’

Stephen smiled.

‘How clever you are!’

Hervey nodded. ‘And growing a little tired of the country life. This intrigue here in Ickworth has made me eager to plunge into others. Our stay will be shorter than I had at first planned.’

Lord Hervey had miscalculated. His father, Lord Bristol, who disliked Walpole intensely, was pleased that his son was considering severing his connection with him.

Molly had written to him explaining that her husband would have allied himself with Pulteney but for the fact that he had to consider the thousand pounds he received each year in payment for his duties as Chamberlain to the Queen. It went without saying that to turn from Walpole would be to lose the post, and it was for this reason only that dear John did not raise his voice against Sir Robert.

The Earl replied to his dearest daughter-in-law that he understood the predicament and was ready to do anything that would help his dear Jack. Therefore he need have no fear of relinquishing his post for his father would make up for all that he lost.

When Molly received the letter she did not run out to the gardens where Hervey was walking in deep conversation with Pulteney; that would have been showing an eagerness and Molly never did that.

She was as serene as ever and it was only after they had dined and were seated together in the retiring chamber when she produced the letter from Lord Bristol.

Hervey listened in dismay. Stephen’s large eyes were fixed fearfully on his friend’s face.

‘So,’ said Pulteney, ‘this matter is settled.’

‘No, that is not so,’ answered Hervey.

‘But you can have no objection now. You will lose nothing. Your father is willing to reimburse you.’

‘I do not recollect saying that my decision depended on this thousand a year.’

‘But you distinctly ...’

‘I do not believe I passed an opinion. You assumed. I said nothing.’

Pulteney was furious. Hervey had never seen him so angry.

‘You said ... you implied ...’

‘I implied nothing. As I remarked, and I pray you forgive the repetition, you assumed. And wrongly as it has turned out. I have no intention of relinquishing my post.’

With that Hervey rose and bowing to his wife and Anna Maria declared his intention to retire. He had a great deal to do for he intended to set out for St James’s without delay.

He left the next day, leaving a furious Pulteney who refused to speak to him.

Molly paid him a placid farewell and went back to her social life, giving parties, looking after the poor of the district, caring for her children, as though she had never attempted to persuade him to leave the Walpole party in favour of the Patriots.

Hervey smiled as the carriage rattled through the Suffolk lanes on its way to London. He was singularly blessed in his marriage. As for Pulteney—a plague on him!

As soon as Hervey returned to Court he began to ingratiate himself with Frederick. This was not difficult, for Frederick was always looking for new friends, flattery, and excitement; and Hervey, with his wit and elegance, his knowledge of the world and of politics seemed to the Prince a most engaging companion.

Frederick was restive. There were plenty to tell him that he was not treated fairly by his parents. He was kept short of money which was a bore and a humiliation. His sisters with the exception of Caroline openly disliked him; so did his parents. Whenever he could plague them, he would. And there were plenty to help him do it.

But he was not serious by nature. He did not want to be seriously involved in politics; he liked to surround himself with merry companions and drink together, play cards, or perhaps wander incognito through the town to see what adventures came their way.

After the manner of his father, he believed that it was due to his dignity to take a mistress or two, although the company of his own sex delighted him and it seemed to him that Lord Hervey was the ideal companion.

Very soon they were firm friends.

Stephen Fox was a little jealous of Hervey’s devotion to the Prince but Hervey wrote comfortingly to Stephen that the Prince was a fool and that it was not through friendship that they were so much together. While he was forced to spend his time with Frederick his thoughts were with Stephen, and when he was at a banquet at Lord Harrington’s and Stephen’s name was proposed as a toast, he had felt himself blushing as a man’s favourite mistress would have done on the same occasion. Stephen was the person whom he adored more than all the others in the world bundled together. Stephen should remember this—no matter what gossip he heard of Hervey and his new friend.

Like his father, Frederick enjoyed discussing his love affairs. They were numerous he told Hervey. And what of his?

‘Numerous also,’ replied Hervey languidly.

This delighted Frederick, who went on to explain the charms of the daughter of one of the Court musicians.

‘The hautboy player. She is very charming ... and so humble. Yet it cost me all of fifteen hundred pounds to set her up in her own establishment.’

‘Generous of Your Royal Highness. The honour should have sufficed.’

That delighted Frederick. ‘Oh, I like to be generous with those who please me.’

Over-generous, thought Hervey. There’ll be debts.

‘She is very different from Madame Bartholdi. You know Madame Bartholdi?’

‘An excellent singer. I have heard her at the opera.’ ‘A passionate woman.’

‘My dear Fred, most women in England would feel passion for the Prince of Wales.’

How easy it was to please. He liked Hervey to call him Fred. He prided himself on his democratic attitude. That was why he liked to roam the streets at night incognito.

His latest acquisition was the daughter of an apothecary at Kingston and he was constantly taking boat there to see her.

So tiresome! thought Hervey.

He himself had his duties in the Queen’s apartments. Caroline had always liked him; she reminded him of how he used to ride along beside her chaise when the hunt was on and amuse her with his conversation.

‘Are you still as witty as you were then, Lord Hervey?’ she asked.

‘I trust Your Majesty will give me opportunities of assuring you that I am more so.’

She laughed. ‘I hope it is not venomous wit like little Mr Pope’s and so many of his sort. It is so much more clever to be witty and kind, Lord Hervey, than witty and cruel.’

‘Your Majesty being both witty and kind is the cleverest of us all.’

‘There is no need for flattery. You should save that for the Prince of Wales. Ah, how different everything is now. I remember when you were a very young man and were courting Molly Lepel. How is dear Molly?’

‘Very well and very fruitful.’

‘Somehow I did not think you would be father to so many.’

‘I am delighted to be able to surprise Your Majesty.’

‘And I am delighted to see your friendship with the Prince of Wales. If you can teach him to be a little more serious ...’

He smiled. ‘When I am scarcely serious myself?’

‘A little more ...’ She was going to say like yourself, but perhaps that would be too strong. There were always people within earshot and she did not want to start a scandal about herself and Lord Hervey. He was after all about fourteen years younger than she was but she had always had a fondness for him and she knew she brightened when he stood beside her chair and enlivened her with his conversation. George would be furious if there was so much as a breath of scandal about her. And he was difficult enough to handle as it was.

‘A little more princely,’ she said. ‘I fear he wastes his time in the company of ...’

‘Men like myself?’

‘No, you will be good for him. I am sure of it.’ She turned away. She would have to be careful.

Hervey was well aware of her caution and was amused by it. There was nothing he liked so much as to exert his charm, and to have made the Queen aware of it delighted him.

Perhaps he should spend more time near to her.

He noticed one of her maids regarding him with some interest, and when he left the Queen’s presence he found her at his side. She was very handsome and very voluptuous. He knew of her. She was Anne Vane at present mistress of Lord Harrington, although Harrington was by no means the first man to have been her lover.

‘My lord,’ she said, ‘it is good to see you back at Court. I trust you will stay.’

There was invitation there. Hervey considered it. She interested him, partly because she must be as different from his wife as a woman could be. Molly was as cool as April; this woman was hot August.

Her gaze was flattering: ‘You bring out the male in me,’ he said.

She laughed understanding. Hervey was an interesting character. Two-sided, it was said. There was the feminine side and the masculine. He liked this to be said. It made him seem so interesting. Although he preferred perhaps the company of his men friends, he was, he wanted people to know, not without interest in women.

‘We must talk together sometime.’

Anne Vane opened her mouth and let her tongue appear between her white teeth.

‘Some say there is no time like the present,’ she said. ‘And do you say it?’

‘On this occasion most emphatically? And my lord?’ ‘Slightly less emphatically.’

‘I am sure I should know how to make you more emphatic.’

‘And my Lord Harrington?’

‘Is spending a few days in the country.’

‘That must make you very sad.’

She smiled and laid her hand on his arm.

Hervey found Anne Vane an interesting mistress; and the liaison became more intriguing when Harrington returned. Hervey had no wish to make it known that he was Anne’s lover. Stephen became so jealous and there was always someone to carry such news.

He did not know what Frederick’s reaction would be either, for he and Frederick were drawing closer together every day and the Prince was beginning to tire of the apothecary’s daughter.

To please the Prince he suggested they should write a play together, and this delighted Frederick. Of course, thought Hervey, I shall do all the work; but it was worth it to have people saying that he and the Prince were becoming inseparable.

The play was difficult to write for he had never tried his hand at playwriting before. It required a more sustained effort than the writing of verses or the notes he was accustomed to make in his journal. He had his doubts as to the virtue of the play, but Frederick was enthusiastic about it. Poor Fred! He had no literary taste!

When the play was finished Frederick insisted on sending it to Wilks, the actor-manager at Drury Lane.

‘He must put it on the stage,’ cried Frederick. ‘No one shall know who wrote it. The King and the Queen will come and admire it and then and only then shall they know that the son whom they despise has some talents.’

Hervey regarded the Prince tolerantly. Did he really think Wilks would put on their little piece if he didn’t know the Prince had had a hand in it. Didn’t he see that the only hope of its ever being on a stage was because his name went with it.

But one must placate royalty, which often meant deceiving it.

‘You, my lord, will know exactly how to manage this. I want to go to the theatre and see our play.’

‘Leave it with me,’ said Hervey.

This Frederick was pleased to do, being certain that in a short time he and his dear friend would be sitting in a box incognito watching the audience delight in their work.

‘This is not a play,’ cried Wilks scornfully.

‘I think you should put it on nevertheless,’ Hervey told him.

‘The audience wouldn’t sit through it.’

‘I still think you should put it on.’

‘There’s Court interest in this?’

Hervey nodded.

‘Well, I must let the audience know. They’ll not take it otherwise.’

‘Orders are secrecy. Put on the play first. Revelations will come after.’

‘I don’t like it,’ said Wilks. ‘Nor will the audience.’

Frederick and Hervey sat back in their box. The Prince’s eyes were shining with delighted anticipation as he surveyed the audience who had no notion who he was. Even Hervey had disguised his elegance with a big cloak.

‘I love the opening when the players come on to the stage one by one ...’ burbled Frederick.

‘Let us hope the audience do.’

The play began. Frederick watched enchanted, which was more than the audience did. Hervey was aware of their restiveness before Frederick was. They coughed; they shuffled their feet; they talked together and in less than ten minutes they were shouting for Wilks.

‘Take this off and put on a proper play,’ shouted someone from the pit.

Frederick sat back in his seat, his face white.

‘They ... they don’t like it....’

‘They don’t know it was our work,’ replied Hervey cynically. ‘They’re judging it by Gay’s standards ... not by those of royalty.’

‘They ... don’t ... like it!’ repeated Frederick stupidly.

The audience was more than restive; it was angry. Had they paid good money to see nonsense like this? When they compared this with the Beggar’s Opera or Henry VIII there was only one thing they could do.

Someone stood on his seat and shouted it.

‘Give us a play or our money back.’

‘Our money back! Our money back! ‘ screeched the audience.

Someone threw a mouldy orange on to the stage. It was a signal. Missiles were falling thick and fast until Wilks came to stand by the footlights. He held up his hand; there were jeers and catcalls, but Wilks was enough of a man of the theatre to know how to handle an audience.

‘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 different 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.’

She rose from the bed and put a flimsy robe over her naked body. She looked frail and very provocative. Opening a drawer she drew out a letter and began to read it to him.

He could not believe that Hervey had written so about him.

But she insisted on his reading it himself.

Then she snatched it from him and tore it into bits. She flung it up so that it was scattered over the bed; then she threw herself upon him.

‘Does he think I should ever be disloyal to my dearest Prince? Never ... never ... never!’

The Prince was overcome by such devotion, and at the moment could think of nothing but making love.

But later he began to brood on Hervey’s duplicity.

In the next few weeks the main point of discussion between Anne and Frederick was Lord Hervey, and Frederick was beginning to believe that he had been very mistaken in the man he had made his friend.

Hervey continued to write to him amusing doggerel which always made him laugh because it was directed against members of the Court. When Anne saw one of these she said: ‘It’s very funny, but I wonder how he writes about you to others!’ And that made Frederick stop to think.

All the same, as soon as he received a note from Hervey he would begin to feel the old fascination and Anne was aware of this.

Frederick needed a friend of his own sex to replace Hervey and she knew the very man.

George Bubb Dodington was one of the richest young men at Court; he was not really of very good family and would be very grateful to her if she introduced him to the Prince of Wales.

His real name was Bubb, his father being Jeremiah Bubb who had been an Irish apothecary on the look-out for a fortune, when he had discovered the daughter of George Dodington, a member of a rich and ancient family of Somerset. George Bubb was sent to Oxford and in time became Member of Parliament for Winchelsea. He added Dodington to his name and called attention to himself by his lavish spending, mostly on houses. His country mansion in Dorset, said to be as magnificent as a Palace, had been designed by Vanbrugh and contained a James Thornhill ceiling. He had also acquired two houses near London, one at Hammersmith and another in Pall Mall. He had the means at his disposal to entertain a Prince.

He was not without wit; he wielded some influence; but the nobility were inclined to despise him. It was for this reason that Anne Vane selected him to take the place with the Prince which had been Lord Hervey’s, for he was just the man Hervey would despise most, and to be replaced by him would be an additional insult.

Frederick liked George Bubb Dodington as soon as he met him in Anne’s apartments. He called him affectionately Bubb and proceeded to win money from him. Bubb seemed to be delighted to lose to the Prince; money spent in this way seemed a good investment; and as the Prince was always short of it this seemed a basis on which to build the friendship between them.

Frederick was entertained at the Hammersmith villa and was deeply impressed by the magnificence of it. Bubb, large, fleshy, vulgar, not without wit, and humble to his Prince, was the right antidote to languid Hervey.

On his first visit to La Trappe, Bubb made sure that the occasion should be impressive. He himself greeted the Prince and led him up the marble staircase to the marble and lapis lazuli gallery, and presented to His Royal Highness Mrs Behan his mistress who was as sumptuously gowned in rich brocade and jewels as the Queen might have been for a state occasion and even the Prince was dazzled.

Anything that could have been crowded into the mansion had been brought there, except good taste. All Bubb wanted to say to the world was: See how rich I am. Anything I want I can buy.

With Mrs Behan twittering her delight and the sweat gleaming on Bubb’s fleshy face, Frederick was delighted to give such pleasure.

How different from Hervey who always pretended that he were bestowing a favour.

The banquet was served on gold plate with Bubb and Mrs Behan insisting on waiting on the Prince themselves, for, as Bubb said, if it were possible to pay someone enough to do this honour he would willingly, but he reckoned that only the host and hostess should wait on the Prince of Wales.

With Anne beside him Frederick enjoyed the banquet and all the sycophantish laughter every time he made a joke.

It was a most successful evening and when he won several hundred pounds from his host at cards, it grew even more so.

‘I hope,’ declared Bubb when he escorted the Prince through the lapis lazuli and semi-precious stone studded gallery to his carriage, ‘that Your Highness will continue to honour La Trappe.’

‘You may ask me again,’ Frederick told him. ‘I shall be happy to come.’

And he and Anne, embracing in the carriage which took them back to St James’s, agreed that it had been a delightful evening.

‘I think Bubb is a much more pleasant friend than Lord Fanny,’ whispered Anne.

And they laughed together at the antics of Lord Fanny; and Frederick said that he would spend his winnings in buying a piece of jewellery for his dearest Anne.

At La Trappe, Bubb was sprawling in a chair almost bursting out of his brocade jacket.

‘All went well,’ he said.

‘It couldn’t have been better,’ agreed Mrs Behan, perching on his knee.

It’s only the beginning.’

‘Don’t lose too much to him at cards.’

‘It’ll be worth every penny I lose. When did you know me not to get value for money?’

‘The best of us can be caught.’

She was very specially privileged and very determined to see that he was not robbed. In fact she was really his wife although the world thought she was his mistress. That was a necessary subterfuge because he had once become deeply involved with a woman named Strawbridge to whom he had promised marriage. He had been foolish enough to give her a bond for ten thousand pounds which she could turn into cash if he ever betrayed her by marrying another woman.

Mrs Behan was a sensible woman. She didn’t consider the standing of wife to be worth ten thousand pounds, particularly when she had attained that position in fact.

So she was known as his mistress and would be until Mrs Strawbridge no longer existed to plague them.

Therefore to her Bubb could discuss his future plans with the utmost freedom.

When Hervey came back to London and called on the Prince of Wales it was a great shock to be met with the statement that the Prince was unable to see him. And the shock grew greater when he was informed that if he cared to wait in the anteroom with others who wished an audience it might be that his Royal Highness would favour him.

Hervey went white with rage.

‘Does His Highness know that it is Lord Hervey who waits on him?’

His Royal Highness did know, but it made no difference.

He saw the Prince come out of his apartment in the company of Miss Vane and a vulgar person of immense bulk, dressed—or rather overdressed—in brocade and embroidery, with jewels, someone whose name he did not know and, except for the fact that he was in the company of the Prince of Wales, would not have wished to know.

‘Who is the tradesman with the Prince?’ he asked. ‘A merchant in rich materials obviously.’

‘No, my lord,’ was the answer. ‘It is the Prince’s friend, Mr George Bubb Dodington.’

‘Bubb Dodington!’ cried Hervey, looking as though he were going to faint. ‘I never heard of the creature.’

Then he walked soberly away. What had happened during his absence? He knew that he had been a fool to stay away so long.

The situation became clearer to him every day. He was no more than an acquaintance to the Prince, who greeted him civilly when they met but showed no desire to be alone with him.

It was intolerable. That he, the elegant wit, could be replaced by that ... buffoon! It was unendurable. He knew who was behind this. He had seen the malice in her eyes. She had arranged this out of pique. Because he had ceased to become her lover, because he had shown no resentment that Frederick was, she had sought to take her petty revenge.

Well, she should see what happened to those who dared behave so to Lord Hervey.