Caroline the Queen

The Secret Betrayed

IT was a misty November morning when the Queen decided that she would go to inspect the new library she was having built in the stable yard of St James’s.

The King, strangely enough, had raised no objection, and Walpole had somehow found the money from the treasury to enable this project to become a reality. She had been wise, Caroline told herself, to have started the library after the King had returned chastened from Hanover.

Now she was watching it grow with real pleasure and she and her daughter Caroline came every day to inspect it.

It was pleasant, she said to Caroline, to have something that was a comfort to contemplate.

Caroline agreed; they were both thinking of Fred who, since the birth of his daughter, had behaved so badly, particularly to the Queen whom he seemed to dislike more than he did his father. If he had a chance of slighting her, he would seize it and the situation between them all had become so bad that the King had exiled Frederick, his wife, and child from St James’s, declaring he would not have him under the same roof.

This was exactly what Frederick and the Opposition wanted. He had taken up residence at Kew and started a new Court there. The Opposition was behind him, seeing in him the King who would very soon be on the throne. The young Tories believed that once the King was dead, that would be the end of Walpole and the Whigs; they would have their chance. Therefore the Prince’s Court was to be feared and neither the King nor the Queen knew when the next trouble would appear.

So, as Caroline said, it was very comforting to inspect the growing library.

But while she stood there the smiles on her face became fixed and the Princess Caroline, herself something of an invalid for her rheumatic pains were showing signs of returning now that damp cold weather was back, noticed that something was wrong.

‘Mamma,’ she said, ‘are you well?’

‘I think,’ said the Queen, leaning heavily on her daughter, ‘I should go back to my apartments.’

‘It is an attack of colic,’ said the Queen, looking at Lady Sundon as though daring her to suggest otherwise.

‘I have sent for Dr Tesier, Mamma,’ said the Princess.

‘I will lie down until he comes. I shall feel better then.’

Dr Tesier arrived and asked the Queen many questions. ‘It is my tiresome colic back again. The same as before, you remember, doctor?’

He did remember. It was a most unpleasant complaint while it lasted and after a bout of it the Queen often felt in better health.

‘Take a little Daffy’s Elixir, Madam,’ he said. ‘It cured you before. It will do so again.’

Lady Sundon brought the Elixir and when she had taken it the Queen said she would rest a while.

The King came bursting into the bedchamber.

‘What’s this?’ he said. ‘What’s this?’

‘Her Majesty was taken ill at the library.’

‘A waste of money! Who wants libraries! ‘ Then he saw the Queen’s pale face and a look of fear came to his face. ‘You’re a fool,’ he shouted, ‘to tire yourself with these stupid things. Making libraries for a lot of boobies to gape at. No wonder you feel faint.’

The Queen knew that his abuse in a way measured his devotion for her. He attacked her because he was frightened.

So, she thought, I must look ill.

‘We shall cancel the drawing room,’ he said.

‘No,’ insisted the Queen. ‘I shall be well in an hour or so. If I sleep now I shall be fully recovered. It has been so before.’

The King was immediately cheered.

‘Stupid libraries for a lot of boobies! ‘ he muttered as he left her.

In the drawing room Lord Hervey approached the Queen’s table.

‘My God, Madam,’ he said, ‘are you ill?’

‘I have had a touch of my old enemy, the colic. I was at the library this morning when it started, so I came back and went to bed.’

‘You are still in pain, Madam. What did you take?’

‘Daffy’s Elixir. Dr Tesier recommended it.’

‘Madam, you should not be here. For God’s sake, go to your room.’

‘You are very vehement, my lord.’

‘I fear for you, Madam.’

The Queen did not meet his eyes. She tried to smile at someone who was approaching. Oh, God, she thought, let this pass. Let the King dismiss these people and let me get to my bed.

Lord Hervey stayed by her side.

God bless him, thought the Queen. He is a cynical man, worldly, perhaps a little wicked, but I love and bless him.

She was watching the King, eagerly waiting for him to retire. And now ... he was doing so and at last she was free.

Oh, the comfort of bed!

Lady Sundon was efficiently helping her to it.

‘Rest, Sundon. I need rest. Oh, my God, I feel so ill.’

‘Yes, Madam. I think I should send for the doctors.’

The Queen was very ill. There was no denying it. Many remedies had been tried; she had been given snake root and brandy, more Daffy’s Elixir, mint-water, and usequebaugh; she had been given clysters, and blooded, and nothing eased her.

The King was frantic with anxiety, cursing the Queen, the doctors, and all those who came near him.

‘She’ll be better soon,’ he insisted. ‘It’s a colic ... nothing more. She’s had colics before.’

She seemed a little quieter and the Princess Caroline sat by her bed with Lord Hervey, for although she wandered a little in her mind she seemed comforted to have them there.

She spoke suddenly to them and said: ‘I have an ill which no one knows of.’ And then she closed her eyes and seemed to sleep.

After that she seemed a little better and expressed her anxiety about the Princess Caroline who was herself ill and should not be sitting up; whereupon Lord Hervey said that he would keep watch by her bedside, and if there was any change in her condition he himself would tell the Princess Caroline without any disguise exactly how the Queen was.

Only then would the Princess leave her mother’s bedside.

The King said he would sit in the Queen’s bedroom with Lord Hervey and Sir Hans Sloane was sent for and, with Dr Hulse, ordered purging and blooding. Princess Amelia lay on a couch in the Queen’s bedroom; and once or twice during the night Lord Hervey went to report to the Princess Caroline what was happening in the sick room.

In the morning the Queen seemed a little better.

As the days passed it began to be believed that the Queen was dying.

The Prince of Wales came from Kew to Carlton House.

When the King heard this he shouted: ‘If the puppy should, in one of his impertinent affected airs of duty and affection, dare to come to St James’s he shall be told I wonder at his impudence. I am in no humour to bear with his impertinence and I shall tell him to get out of my house.’

But soon the Prince was letting it be known that he had come to Carlton House so that he might be near his mother, and this again set the King in a fury.

‘This is one of his scoundrel’s tricks,’ he cried. ‘I always hated the rascal and now I hate him more than ever. He wants to come here and insult his dying mother, but he shall not come here and act his silly parts, false, lying, cowardly, nauseous puppy. And suppose the Queen loved him as much as she hates him, she is not in a condition to bear the emotion.’

The King went to the Queen and sat down by her bed, scowling at her. Get well, that scowl seemed to say. How can I live without you?

She smiled at him and said she was surprised that the Prince had not sent to ask after her. ‘Sooner or later,’ she said, ‘I shall be plagued by some message because he will think it will look well to ask after me. No doubt he hopes I’ll be fool enough to let him come and give him the pleasure of seeing my last breath got out of my body, by which means he will have the joy of knowing I was dead five minutes sooner than he would in Pall Mall.’

‘You need not fear he will come here,’ said the King. ‘I have taken steps to prevent that.’

‘He is a sad wretch, and if I should grow worse and be weak enough in my ravings to ask for him, I beg of you understand that I am raving. Promise me now that you will not let him come to me.’

‘I promise,’ said the King.

The King bent over the Queen’s bed.

‘Caroline! ‘ he whispered.

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

‘I’m afraid your illness comes from a thing I have given you my promise never to speak of. I can no longer keep that secret.’

Caroline started out of her languor.

‘You must. You must.’

‘I cannot. My dearest, I must tell the doctors. They must act. It may not be too late.’

‘I beg of you ...’

There were tears on his cheeks. ‘I cannot, my dear. I must not. It is a chance. Do you not see that I will take any chance....’

‘Please … please....’

But he had turned away. She saw him talking to the doctors.

She saw the doctors approaching the bed; and she turned her face to the wall and wept.

An operation had been performed on the Queen, but the doctors feared they were too late to save her life. Now there could be no doubt that the Queen was dying.

The King was stricken with grief, roaring his rage one moment, breaking down and weeping the next.

The Queen was in great pain, and now that her secret was known she showed no desire to live. She seemed as though she were eagerly awaiting death.

The King would not leave her. He slept on her bed, giving her restless nights and enduring them himself.

‘I must be near her. She will be happier to know that I am near.’

He told everyone how good the Queen was, how there had never been another woman in his life whom he cared for as he cared for her.

He would sit by her bed and remind her of how he had come to court her. ‘I loved you then ... I love you now.

‘You cannot leave me, Caroline. What shall I do without you?’

Then he would grow angry because she was restless. ‘You should sleep,’ he would shout at her. ‘How can you expect to rest when you won’t lie still a moment?’ Then he would go back to the days of their youth.

Did she remember when she had first come to Hanover ... the first days of their marriage? Monsieur de Busch ... the ardent young man who had come in disguise to court her ... and he turned out to be the Prince of Hanover, later to be King of England. Did she remember those days at Herrenhausen, at the Leine Schloss?

He would see her as she was then, young and very handsome . . . and this poor woman in the bed was what she had become.

‘Don’t lie there staring before you like a calf waiting to have its throat cut!’ he called out angrily.

Then he was tender again and he would berate the women for not being quiet enough in the sick chamber. And the Queen continued to cling to life.

Sir Robert Walpole came to her; he had been in the country and had ridden up with all speed when he heard the news.

He was weeping as he knelt by her bed and kissed her hand.

‘My good Sir Robert, we have been friends.’

‘We are friends ... Madam, friends always.’

‘I have not much time left, Sir Robert.’

‘I beg of Your Majesty, conserve your strength.’

‘Ah, you see me in a different situation. I have nothing to say to you, good Sir Robert, but to recommend the King, my children, and the kingdom to your care.’

‘You must recover your health, Madam. We need you ... the country needs you.’

She smiled and said: ‘May God bless you.’

She lingered on in pain and often delirious. The King was constantly at her side, forcing food into her mouth because the doctors had said she needed her strength to be built up. She was pleased to have him there, though; for she knew in those days that in spite of all she had suffered through him, in spite of the fact that she had seen so clearly all his conceits and vanities, his follies and his tantrums, yet she loved him, and he was in her thoughts more than anyone else.

She had been ill for eleven days and she knew that her end was rapidly approaching.

She wanted her family about her. She wanted to tell Caroline to take care of her little sisters; she wanted to take her last farewell of Amelia and her beloved William; and then she wanted the last moment of her life to be the King’s.

At the last she put her hand in his and said: ‘Farewell, my beloved King and husband. Farewell.’

Then she took the ruby ring from her finger and gave it to him. It was the one he had put on at the time of the coronation.

‘This is the last thing I have to give you. Naked I came to you; naked I go from you. I had everything I possessed from you and to you everything I have, I return.’

The tears were falling down the King’s cheeks. He tried to speak, but he was too overcome by grief.

‘Do not grieve too long for me,’ she said. ‘When I am gone you should marry again.’

‘No,’ cried the King. ‘Never. I shall have mistresses.’ And her dying face was twisted suddenly in a smile as she said, ‘That would not stop you.’

Then the King began to weep again and to tell her that he had never loved as he loved her. That he would never know happiness again when she was lost to him.

She rallied and sank, but the end was in sight.

The King was at her bedside when she died. Frantically he kissed her face and hands as though by doing so he could persuade her to return. Then he sent for a picture of her and shut himself in his room with it and stayed there for two hours.

After that he came out and said: ‘Take the picture away. There was never a woman worthy to buckle her shoe.’