Caroline the Queen

The Late King’s Will

THE new King, his speech in his hand, entered the council chamber where his ministers were assembled.

George noted with pleasure the new deference they accorded him. They were wary too, a little apprehensive, wondering whether in the past they had sided too openly with his father against him.

I shall not forget! George gleefully told himself. They shall regret their mistakes.

Already Walpole was regretting. He had heard the fellow only had to enter a room and all backs would be turned on him. Now he must be wishing that he had remembered that a Prince of Wales, however out of favour with the reigning monarch, in turn becomes the King.

He acknowledged their homage and read his speech of regret for his father, and if any of them felt like tittering they made no sign but composed their faces into attitudes of respectful melancholy.

He went on to say how he loved England and how he intended to devote himself to the service of his country.

It was the speech of tradition—no better, no worse than its predecessors, but it had the virtue of being what was expected and was greeted with applause.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Wake, was a timid man who was a little unsure of his position, having been completely submissive to the previous king, and anyone who had been so must almost inevitably be on bad terms with the new one. But Dr Wake had contrived not to offend the new King while being on good terms with his father. In any case such a man made little trouble and George’s feeling for him were neutral.

He now approached the King and put a document into his hands.

‘Your Majesty, this is your father’s will which he entrusted with me, asking that I would present it to you on the event of his death. This I now do.’

George looked at the document. A will! The old scoundrel had decided to outwit him at the end. Who knew ‘what was in that document. He could be certain though that it would be something to cause embarrassment to the son he had hated.

His ministers were watching him expectantly. The Archbishop was holding the will. Clearly he was awaiting the formal command to open it and make its contents known.

Everything was according to the tradition which had been followed through centuries. Now was the moment to read the late King’s will.

But his son held out his hand for the document, scarcely glanced at it, and thrust it into his pocket.

‘Now,’ he said gruffly, ‘ye have some business to discuss.’

The Archbishop was astounded; the members of the Council could scarcely believe what they had actually seen; but the King was testily waiting to continue with the meeting, as though the will was of no importance to him.

The King made his way to the Queen’s apartment, and as soon as he entered she recognized that he was deeply disturbed, so she dismissed her attendants and waited patiently for the outburst.

He was not as choleric as usual, which might be a bad sign, for it could mean he was too disturbed for an outward display of anger.

He stood for some seconds rocking on his heels, his face which had been pink when he entered growing red; his blue eyes seeming to bulge more with every passing moment.

Still she did not speak.

Then slowly he took a document from his pocket and held it before her eyes.

‘The old scoundrel’s vill,’ he said.

He saw her catch her breath; he saw the faint colour touch her face and neck. There was no need to explain to Caroline the importance of this paper.

‘Vat does it contain?’ she whispered. Wild thoughts were running through her mind. He would pursue them even after death. Did they think that they were rid of him? That document could deprive them of their inheritance. But could it? George Augustus had already become George II; would it be possible for the old man to have his grandson Frederick substituted for his son? Frederick! The son for whom in the past she had so longed and had now almost forgotten—because the old scoundrel had decreed that they should live apart. No, not that. But it was certain there would be something to plague them in that will. Money they needed would be directed elsewhere. The Duchess of Kendal would be given a large part of the wealth which by right belonged to the King and Queen of England.

She was watching her husband anxiously, and he shook his head while a slow smile of triumph spread across his features.

‘No one living knows. Let him keep his secret. He is dead now.’

‘But ... surely it was read at the Council?’

There was pride in his face. He was the King now; he would know how to rule and no one should be allowed to forget that.

‘I did not ask it to be read. I took it when Vake gave it to me and put it into my pocket.’

Now she was smiling—approval, admiration. How he loved her! They would stand together against all their enemies.

‘And they said nothing?’

‘To the King!’

Then she laughed. ‘No, of course, they vould not dare ... not to the King. And now?’

‘You know vat he did to my mother’s vill?’ demanded the King. ‘Do you think she vould have left all she had to him ... her enemy? Do you think she vould have forgotten me and my sister? She loved us alvays. Ven my Grandmother Celle visited her the first thing she wanted to know was “How is my son George Augustus? How is my daughter Sophia Dorothea? Are they yell, are they happy?” And she was rich. Vat did he do vith her vill? He destroyed it. Vat did he do vith the vill of my Grandfather Celle which you can depend left much to me and none to him? He destroyed it. And now vat shall I do vith his vill, eh? I tell you this. I shall treat him as he treated others.’

The King went to a lighted candle and held the document in the flame.

For a few seconds it seemed as though it refused to burn; then the thick paper suddenly leaped into flame.

The King smilingly watched it until he could hold it no more; then he threw it into the fireplace and together he and the Queen watched it blacken and writhe until there was nothing left but the charred remains.

The King was peevish. The Queen understood why and was not displeased. Secretly she was determined to set Walpole back in his place for she realized that the imperative need of a king such as her husband was a strong government. There was one man she wanted to see at the head of that government and that was Walpole.

‘Walpole, that fat old ox!’ cried the King every time his name was mentioned. Then she would laugh and agree that he was a fat old ox; she would admit that he had not fulfilled his promises to either of them; but in her heart she knew that they must not harp on old grievances; they needed the most able statesman in the land to head their government and that man was Walpole.

She came to her husband’s apartment and when they were alone she asked him how Compton was acting with regard to some of thc important matters which needed prompt settlement.

George scowled. ‘It is delay ... delay ...’

‘The Civil List is the most important. Perhaps he does not delay with that.’

George’s face grew red; his hands went to his wig. He did not snatch it from his head, she noticed, which had been a favourite habit in the days when he was Prince of ‘Wales, stamp on it, and kick it round the room; kingship had given him some dignity.

‘He vants me to accept vat my father had. And I have this big family.’

‘It vill not do.’

‘This I tell him. But he say the Parliament vill not agree.’

‘They must be made to see ...’

‘They vill. I shall insist.’

He drew himself up to his full height and inwardly Caroline sighed. The little man must know in his heart that he could not stand against his Parliament.

‘They vill give me vat my father had and for Frederick ... because he is Prince of Vales now, he shall hav the £100,000 which I had.’

‘Frederick to have £100,000 But that is a nonsense.’ ‘It is a nonsense. For vat should he vant so much?’

‘Frederick to have £100,000 and you to have just the same as your father who had no big family.’

‘I tell him it is a nonsense ... and he say that he vill a difficulty have in getting the Parliament to agree to anything else.’

Momentarily Caroline thought of Frederick. He would have to come home now. The prospect filled her with some dismay. How strange! Once her dearest wish had been to have her little Fritzchen with her; but that was thirteen years ago. All those years she had not seen her son; he was Frederick now, no longer dear little Fritzchen. A German, she feared, who had never seen England; and she had her little William now and she desired for him the honours which would be Frederick’s.

He would have to come home now though because he was Prince of Wales. But certainly he should not have £100,000.

‘And Compton is a little slow,’ suggested Caroline tentatively, fearful that her husband might remember that the man was his choice.

But George was too angry to remember. ‘He does nothing ... nothing. He says: “The Parliament ... the Parliament ...” But I vill have them remember I am the King.’

‘Perhaps another man would be of more help to us. Let us think who there might be ... Pulteney

The King scowled and the Queen nodded to show she agreed with his lack of enthusiasm for that one.

‘And who else,’ she went on. ‘Wyndham ...’

‘No,’ said the King promptly.

‘There is Newcastle ...’

‘Newcastle.’ The King’s anger broke out. ‘That ugly baboon. Never! Never.’

The Queen nodded. They were remembering a long ago occasion when the King had forced Newcastle to become sponsor at one of the children’s christening, and the quarrel which had broken out between George and Newcastle at the bedside which had resulted in that bigger quarrel between the King and his son. George scowled now to remember the humiliation of being placed under arrest, while Caroline remembered how she had been parted from her children.

Newcastle was the last man. Yet he was an able statesman, and there were not so many of those.

‘It leaves only Valpole,’ said the Queen, and then feared she had been too bold.

‘Valpole ...’ grumbled the King.

‘He is perhaps the only man who can increase the Civil List . . . and it must be increased. Ve have so many children. Valpole can do it. I remember your father’s saying that this man could turn stones into gold.’

‘For his own benefit he vill do this.’

Tut to do it for us vill be to his benefit. The fat ox vill understand this.’

George was thoughtful. It was true.

‘It is no harm to send for him,’ said the Queen. ‘Then Your Majesty can judge him.’

‘I vill see him,’ said the King.

So Walpole presented himself to the Queen. Caroline was delighted that he should first come to her. George must not know this, but it was how it should be in the future, and it delighted her to know that Walpole understood this.

‘The King is not satisfied with the Civil List,’ she told him. ‘Compton does not seem to be able to make them understand how we are placed. He vill give me only £6o,000 a year and it is not enough.’

‘Your Majesty should have £100,000 a year,’ declared Walpole.

The Queen’s eyes gleamed. £40,000 more than Compton had wanted to provide.

‘You think this could be arranged?’

‘I believe, Your Majesty, that I could arrange it.’

A tacit agreement? wondered the Queen. Give me your support and you shall be well rewarded. £40,000 a year! It was a good sum.

‘You can svay the House, Sir Robert,’ she said with a smile. ‘I know that yell. Perhaps you have some suggestions for the King?’

‘The late King had a Civil List of £700,000, and His Majesty, then Prince of Wales, received £100,000.’

‘This Compton vants to give our son Frederick, now Prince of Vales, this although he is a young man unmarried and the King, when Prince of Vales, had a family to support.’

‘Your Majesty, the £100,000 which was paid to the Prince of Wales should be added to the £700,000 Civil List, arid Your Majesties should decide what you will allow the Prince from it.’

‘That is von good idea.’

‘Then I do not see why a further £130,000 should not be provided. The King’s subjects will rejoice to see him keep a more kingly Court than his father did.’

‘And the Parliament?’

Walpole smiled. ‘I think there is one man who can arrange their acceptance of these proposals.’

‘Sir Robert Valpole?’ asked the Queen.

Walpole bowed. ‘At the service of Your Majesties,’ he answered.

Walpole was triumphant. The King had implied that he should continue in his old office provided he get the Civil List passed through.

There was no subtlety about George.

‘I vant it for life,’ he said; ‘and remember, it is for your life too.’

It had not been difficult. The government knew that Walpole’s future hung on the passing of the Civil List; and it knew too that without Walpole it could not long exist. So there he was, the fat ox of a man, smiling blandly at them, laying the suggestions before them which he knew they could not afford to oppose.

Bribery of a sort—but not unknown in politics.

The King and Queen had their money; and Walpole was returned to power.

He laughed to himself as he rode down to Richmond to ell Maria about it.

‘You, my dear,’ he said triumphantly, ‘are not the only one who can’t do without me.’

While the King and Queen were congratulating themselves on the easy way in which they had acquired a large income a blow struck from an unexpected direction.

Letters were delivered to the King and among them was one from his distant cousin the Duke of Wolfenbüttel.

The Duke had written that he was in a somewhat delicate position, and he hoped the King of England would advise him what should be done.

King George I, His Majesty’s father, had left with him a copy of his will in case the original was lost in some way. He did not want to interfere in his cousin’s arrangements in any way, but he had heard that the King of Prussia had hoped that his wife, Queen Sophia Dorothea, who was after all the daughter of the late King, would have profited from her father’s will. The Duke of Wolfenbüttel was hard pressed at the time and he sent congratulations to his more affluent relative. He was also in a quandary, for on one side was the King of Prussia who, he believed, was ready to pay handsomely for a glimpse of the will, and on the other his friend and cousin George II. He was writing this letter first of all to ascertain the wishes of His Majesty. It gave him great pleasure to have the Duchess of Kendal as his guest at Wolfenbüttel, for he knew full well in what great regard the late King had held that lady....

When the King received this letter his eyes bulged with fury. He took it to the Queen who read it and looked very grave.

Who would have thought the sly old man would have made a copy and deposited it where it was out of the reach of his son’s hands!

And what a stroke of ill luck that the Duchess of Kendal, who would no doubt profit as much as anyone from the late King’s will, should at this time actually be staying as a guest in the house of the man who had a copy of the will.

The promptest action was clearly needed.

‘At least,’ she said, ‘Volfenbüttel has not made its contents known. I suppose Your Majesty will do as he is asking and buy this copy of the vill?’

‘Got damn him!’ cried George.

‘And as soon as possible. He might change his mind. The Duchess of Kendal is actually under his roof. Who knows what pressure she might bring to bear.’

‘She is vithout power.’

‘She is on the spot. And the King of Prussia may yell make a big offer for the vill.’

‘I vill send a trusted man at vonce.’

‘And I vill write to the Duchess assuring her of my friendship. It vould be yell if she came back to England ... and quickly.’

The King despatched a messenger without delay and the Queen went to her apartments and immediately wrote to the Duchess.

‘My first thought, my dear Duchess, has been of you in the misfortune which has befallen us; I know well your devotion and love for the late King, and I fear for your health; only the resignation which you have always shown to the divine will can sustain you under such a loss. I wish I could convey to you how much I feel for you, and how anxious I am about your health, but it is impossible for me to do so adequately. I cannot tell you how greatly this trouble has affected me ...’

Caroline paused to smile cynically. What joy it had brought! No more to he plagued by that old scoundrel, to have her children with her. Would poor Ermengarda see through this hypocrisy? Not she! She had always been simple—except in money matters. Ah, there was the point. If she knew of the existence of that will, she would guess that she would be one of the main beneficiaries and she would no longer be the King’s simple Ermengarda Schulemburg whom he had made Duchess of Kendal. Money had always sharpened Ermengarda’s wits.

Caroline continued:

‘I had the honour of knowing the late King, and you know that to know him was sufficient to make one love him also ...’

Oh, no! That was too much! But in Ermengarda’s present mood she would accept it. George I had been a god to her when he lived; now he would naturally have become a saint. And Ermengarda must come back to England; she must be safely settled in the shadows for ever more.

‘I know that you always tried to render good service to the present King. He knows it too and I hope you realize that I am your friend. It is my pleasure and duty to remind you of the fact and to tell you that I and the King will always be glad to do all we can to help you. Write to me, I beg you, and give me an opportunity to show how much I love you.

Caroline.’

Its falseness was apparent in every line. But Ermengarda might not see this. She was almost out of her wits with grief for the King whose constant companion and devoted mistress she had been for so many years.

Caroline despatched the letter that it might arrive at the same time as the Duke of Wolfenbüttel received the handsome sum George was sending in payment for the will.

There were many anxious days before the copy of his father’s will was in the King’s hands and, once there, immediately given the same treatment as the other copy.