Caroline the Queen

The Queen’s Secret

IT had always been clear to Caroline that a king and queen who did not show themselves frequently would not be popular with the English people. The money paid to the present King far exceeded that which had been given to his father and the people wanted something in exchange.

They wanted a Court—a gay Court; they wanted to be amused; they wanted to see their King and to enjoy a little gossip at the expense of the royal family.

Walpole visited the Queen in her closet as he always did before an audience with the King; it was a tacit agreement. They would talk almost casually about matters which Walpole considered important, and between them decide on a line of action. Caroline’s task would be to bring the King to their point of view in such a manner that he would think that the project they wished to put into action was entirely his idea. This was not always an easy matter. But Caroline had grown in tact and skill and she was greatly aided by the conceit and blindness of the King.

Caroline would as if by chance be in the King’s closet when Walpole called; they would even make silent signs to each other—when to stress a point, when to speak, when to be silent.

It was a wonderful game of power and politics and Caroline delighted in it. Everything that she had been forced to suffer was of no consequence if only she could keep the position she now held. She and Walpole between them would make England great; and the only concession they must make was to let the King imagine he was the prime mover in all their schemes. Even this difficulty added zest to the game.

‘There should be a tour of the royal palaces,’ Walpole suggested. ‘The people expect it. It is a long time since royalty have used Windsor Castle.’

‘Neither the King nor his father ever liked the place,’ declared Caroline.

‘Even so, it would be wise if Your Majesties visited it for a while.’

It was not easy to persuade the King.

‘I believe the people of other parts of the country must be jealous of those who see you so frequently,’ Caroline told her husband.

He was sitting down, and crossing his legs he smiled with pleasure.

‘Ah, but I cannot in all places be at vonce.’

‘That is true, but they forget it. I’ll swear they vish much to see their King.’

She saw the expression in his eyes; he was imagining himself riding through towns and villages and the people running out to cheer him, perhaps throwing flowers in his path—buxom women, comely girls. Perhaps he should have a new mistress, He was weary of Henrietta. She was getting deafer every day.

‘Perhaps you vould decide you might visit some of your palaces.’

‘I might this do,’ he said.

The people of Vindsor never see you.’

‘I do not like the place. It is too big ... too much a castle.

The forest is goot ... for the hunt. That I like. But no more.’

‘Then you do not vish to go to Vindsor.’

‘I do not vish it. You look disappointed.’

‘No. I was thinking of the people of Vindsor.’

He did not speak any more but later when Walpole called and Caroline was in the King’s closet with him, the King said: ‘I have come to a decision. My people vish to see me and I believe it is time I visited them all. I shall go to all the palaces ... and this vill include Vindsor. I do not like the place but the people vill expect it.’

‘I am glad Your Majesty has had the idea of paying these visits,’ said Walpole. ‘It is a brilliant notion and I am sure it will do much good.’

The King was smiling complacently. Neither Walpole nor the Queen looked each other’s way.

It was exactly as they planned. And what did it matter if the King thought the plan was his? What did anything matter as long as he did what they desired?

‘In the past,’ said Walpole, ‘the royal family dined every Sunday in public. It was an occasion to which the people looked forward eagerly. It should be revived.’

‘Is it necessary?’ asked the Queen.

‘Your Majesty, it is very necessary to retain the popularity you and the King have won during the coronation.’

‘But to dine in public...!’

‘A small concession, Madam, for popularity. His Majesty should be made to conceive the idea.’

The Queen looked at him sharply. Was it wise to allow him to speak slightingly of the King, even to her? He read her thoughts and answered them with a look. If they were to work together they must dispense with subterfuge. She was the Queen, but he was a great statesman and her adviser; without him she could not expect to hold her position; and although he needed her, perhaps she was not quite so necessary to him as he was to her.

She decided that she would ask only absolute frankness from Walpole. He recognized this and was satisfied. They understood each other so well that often there was no need of verbal explanation.

She said: ‘I vill speak to the King. I doubt not that ere long you vill hear him say that ve must dine in public on Sundays.’

‘And, Madam, there is one other matter. The Prince of Wales cannot stay indefinitely in Hanover.’

‘Oh ... he has much to do there.’

‘He is the Prince of Wales. His place is here. The people will not wish him to remain abroad.’

‘The people vill say he is von German. Perhaps it is better he does not come.’

‘Your Majesty cannot mean you would keep him in Hanover for ever!’

‘He could be the Elector ... vy not?’

‘Elector of Hanover when he is Prince of Wales! I fear, Madam, that would not please the people.’

‘I have another son.’

Walpole looked shocked.

‘Madam, the Prince of Wales is the Prince of Wales ... and nothing can alter that.’

‘Because it vonce vas, must it alvays be?’

‘Always, Madam. Perhaps Your Majesty would speak to the King ...’

‘Oh ... sometime. The King vill not vish to have Frederick here.’

‘Madam, the people will wish it. Only today on the way to the Palace I heard the question: “Where is Fred?” Your Majesty the people are apt to be disrespectful when they think themselves unheard.’

‘And often ven they are heard.’

He smiled deprecatingly. ‘It is well to remember, Madam, that the will of the people should be the first consideration of us all.’

He was right; she acknowledged it; but although she soon persuaded the King to return to the habit of dining in public on Sundays, Walpole heard no more about the return of Frederick.

In the state chamber at St James’s Palace the table was laid for dinner.

Those who were privileged to see the royal family eat were already in their places. The officials in the royal livery had collected their tickets and they now stood expectantly behind the rail gaping with wonder at the magnificent plate that decorated the table, waiting for that ceremonial moment when the trumpets would announce the arrival of the King, the Queen, and their daughters.

At last they came—splendid glittering figures—smiling, bowing while the watchers cheered. They seated themselves at the table and the food was brought in. The band played softly while the meal progressed and the people stared in wonder to see the King and Queen served by kneeling ladies and gentlemen. It was a wondrous sight and people pointed out the Princess Royal as the haughty one who was not nearly so good looking as her sister Amelia who might have been called pretty even if she were not a royal princess; and the small pale one was Caroline.

The other children were too young to come to the table, but the people saw them on certain occasions and they were very interested in them.

Now they pressed about the rail which divided them from the diners, longing to be nearer, to hear what was said.

And then suddenly a voice from the back of the crowd shouted: ‘Where’s Fred?’

The King grew a shade pinker and the Queen pretended not to hear.

One of the officials was looking for the man who had spoken and there was silence in the crowd, for no one wanted to be thrown out.

The royal family went on eating as though nothing had happened.

The Queen retired early that night. She was very tired and her legs were swollen. What distressed her most was that voice she had heard at dinner.

Walpole was right, of course. He almost always was. The people were asking when Frederick was coming home. How much longer would they be able to keep him away? The King had been in a bad mood for he hated the thought of Frederick’s coming home. It seemed to be a foregone conclusion that Frederick would hate his father as George had hated his.

Perhaps, thought the Queen, we shall grow to love him. But how could she love anyone who displaced her darling William? She was being foolish. Frederick would not displace William for William had never been in a position to be displaced. Yet she was as resentful as the King.

Why did they have to talk continually of Frederick? Why could they not let him stay in Hanover where he was apparently enjoying life?

She was tired suddenly. She had felt quite ill at dinner. She would retire early. They could say she had letters to write.

As she rose her legs seemed quite numb; she stumbled and fell.

Charlotte Clayton was at her side.

‘Your Majesty.’

The Queen smiled faintly. ‘I slipped. I am a little tired. I think I vill go to bed.’

Charlotte Clayton had been watching the growing friendship between the Queen and Sir Robert Walpole. It seemed to her that whenever she wished for a little tête-à-tête with Her Majesty, Sir Robert was either with her or on the point of calling.

Charlotte did not approve of Walpole. The man was a notorious lecher; he drank to excess; his conversation was crude; he was, in Charlotte’s eyes, not worthy of the Queen’s friendship.

In the past she and the Queen had been very close. They agreed about so many matters. They had had many interesting theological discussions; but since the coronation and the closer friendship between the Queen and Walpole, Charlotte felt shut out.

Moreover, she had always guessed that Walpole did not like her. There would come a day when he would poison the Queen’s mind against her and the Queen would become so besotted by the man that she would be ready to believe all he told her.

That must not happen. But how prevent it? Was she, Charlotte Clayton, going to stand out against the chief minister?

Something would have to be done.

It was definitely wrong for the Queen to be closely attended by the King’s mistress—and for all the woman’s soft ways and meekness Charlotte would never like Henrietta Howard—and a lecher like Walpole. One good godfearing companion had to be close at hand.

She was growing really alarmed. Only a few days ago she had heard Walpole speak of her disparagingly. He had called her ‘that old viper’. He never guarded his tongue but there was something in the tone of his voice which made her realize his dislike of her.

She was not going to be pushed aside at ‘Walpole’s decree. The Queen needed her ... and she needed the Queen.

The Queen was lying on her bed. Charlotte stood at the foot looking at her, her eyes were round with horror, her face pale.

‘Your Majesty ...’

‘It is nothing ... nothing....’ said the Queen.

‘But madam, I saw ...’

‘Nothing at all ... nothing....’

‘Madam ... I should call your physician.’

‘Please say nothing about it.’

‘But ...’

The Queen was almost pleading. ‘You know, Charlotte, what is wrong.’

‘I can only guess, Your Majesty.’

‘It is something which many women suffer from.’ ‘But the physician ...’

‘Do not speak to me of physicians. Listen Charlotte. I have had this ... affliction since the birth of Louisa.’

‘But Your Majesty should have treatment.’

‘No. No one must know. Do you understand that? It will pass, I tell you. It will pass. Charlotte I ask you ... I command you....’

‘Your Majesty!’ Charlotte bowed her head.

‘No one must know. I should feel so ... ashamed. It is such an unfortunate affliction. The King...’

‘Oh, Madam!’

‘Listen to me, Charlotte, I command you.’

‘Your Majesty, I would never disobey your command. This shall be our secret.’

Our secret. Sorry as she was for the Queen, Charlotte felt a thrill of triumph. She shared a secret with the Queen; always Caroline would remember it.

A secret, thought Charlotte, which she would share with no one ... not even Robert Walpole.