Queen in waiting

The Shadow of Murder

Dresden, where Caroline joined her mother, was very opulent; it was said to be one of the most licentious courts in Germany and since the Elector's marriage had become even more so. Having obeyed the wishes of his ministers by marrying a woman he did not want, John George made it clear, that as far as they were concerned that was an end of the matter. The woman they had chosen for him might live in his palace but he wanted nothing to do with her. It was only on state occasions that he saw her and then he treated her as though she were not there. At the same time he made no secret of his unflagging devotion to Magdalen von Roohlitz, and as her mother scarcely gave her daughter a moment's peace, instilling into her mind that she had been betrayed by her lover, that she should have, besides everything else her lover had given her, the supreme gift, the title of Electress—even Magdalen was beginning to grow ambitious for that one thing he could not give her, and he grew more and more resentful against his wife.

Caroline very quickly discovered that as the daughter of her mother she shared the resentment; and this knowledge made the court of Dresden an alarming place for an eight-year-old girl.

Yet it was very beautiful. The gardens were laid out in the French fashion with fountains, statues and colonnades; they and the court throughout were an imitation of Versailles; and the Elector behaved as though he were the Sun King himself. There were lavish banquets, balls, garden fetes and entertainments in the palace. It only had to be said that this or that was done at the French court and it was done in Dresden. And everything was presided over by a dark-haired woman whom Caroline's stepfather could not bear out of his sight and whom everyone said was the Electress in all but name.

At first she had been puzzled, for her mother should have borne that title. Of course she did; and on state occasions she would be dressed in her robes and stand beside the Elector; and then immediately afterwards she would go to her apartments, take off her robes, dismiss her attendants, lie on her bed and weep. Caroline knew because she had seen her do this. No one took very much notice of the child; she was expected to remain in the small apartments assigned to her, with her nurse, her governess and one or two attendants. No one was the least bit interested in her; she was merely an appendage of the woman whom nobody wanted. She was even less significant than her mother who was at least actively resented. She might have been one of the benches in the ante room, one of the flowers in the beds about the fountains. Not so useful as the bench, not so decorative as the flower—but any of them could have been removed and cause no comment.

The Electress Sophia Charlotte had talked of Dresden as though she would be very happy there. She could certainly never have been to Dresden. But since Sophia Charlotte had thought it would be so different surely it should have been if something had not gone wrong. Caroline had an enquiring nature. Passionately she wanted to understand what was going on around her—particularly when it concerned herself. Her mother's unhappiness worried her, for although she had never been a gay woman, although she had never been brilliant like Sophia Charlotte, she had never been as sad as she was now.

She had seemed older since she had come to Dresden; dark circles had appeared under her eyes; she had grown pale and thin. '

It was disturbing to be so young and so defenceless; but Caroline knew that before she could do anything to strengthen her position and that of her mother she must understand what it was all about.

She had alert eyes and sharp ears so she decided to put them to use. When servants and attendants whispered together she listened and often scraps of conversation not intended for her came her way. She was secretly amused that grown up people could deceive themselves into thinking that firstly she was deaf and secondly she was stupid; for often they would glance her way, warning each other with a look that they must watch their tongues in her presence; but the desire to talk was almost always—fortunately for Caroline—irresistible.

"They say he has never yet shared her bed."

"Not he! He can't spare the time from his Magdalen."

"Well, she can't say she didn't know before. He made that clear."

"Oh yes, she knew he had no wish to marry a widow with a couple of brats."

A couple of brats! Caroline's natural dignity was offended. She wanted to confront the gossipers and demand to know how they dared refer to a Princess of Ansbach as a brat. As for her brother, he was the heir presumptive to Ansbach, for if their stepbrother had no sons he would be Margrave one day; this was the reason why he remained at Ansbach, otherwise he would be with her to help her fight her mother's battles. And the servants dared refer to him as a brat!

She was on the point of calling to them when she hesitated. What use would that be? She knew exactly how they would act. First they would swear that she had been mistaken; then they would take great care never to say anything in her hearing again which would mean that she would be completely in the dark. So how foolish it would be just for the sake of temporarily asserting her dignity, to lose an opportunity of understanding this peculiar situation.

Meanwhile the voices went on.

"I wouldn't be in Madam's shoes for all the wealth of Germany."

"Nor me, poor soul. Why it wouldn't surprise me what those two got up to ... with Mamma in the background."

"There's one I should want to watch. No, it certainly wouldn't surprise me either. She's capable of anything to get rid of Madam Eleanor and set up her darling little Magdalen in her place. If I were Madam Eleanor I'd be watchful ... very watchful indeed."

Caroline put her hand over her heart which had begun to leap uncomfortably. What did they mean? Her mother must be watchful. Could they mean that she was in danger? And if so, did she know it?

Caroline had already begun to realize that her mother was somewhat ineffectual and would never be capable of looking after herself. Someone then would have to do it for her. Who? Her eight-year-old daughter?

How could that be when she was only a child, when she was only vaguely aware of the meaning behind the intrigue which was going on about her.

How careful she would have to be! She would have to stop being a child immediately, for children could make so many mistakes. Suppose she had rushed out and protested just now, as her first impulse had directed her to do. What she would have missed! She must remember that in future. Before she did anything rash she must stop and think.

During the months which followed Caroline learned more of the state of affairs between her mother and step-father. She knew that it was a miserable marriage, undertaken with reluctance on both sides—on his because he had been forced into it for state reasons, on hers because she had been obliged to seek position and security for herself and her daughter.

In a way, thought Caroline, I am responsible; for perhaps she would never have married him but for me.

There were lessons to be done, but no one cared very much whether she did them or not. Her mother was too much engulfed in her own misery; and why should servants care whether the little girl from Ansbach grew up an ignoramus or not. She would ride a little with her few attendants, taking care to keep well out of the way; she would walk and sit in the magnificent gardens, slinking away when she heard the approach of a party; from the window of her bedchamber she would watch the open air entertainments; she would listen to the music from the ballrooms, going as near as possible but always making sure that there was a way of escape should she need it.

She kept well out of the way of her stepfather whom she regarded as an ogre and he naturally never noticed her absence; in fact he had forgotten her existence and only remembered it when, on those rare occasions when he was in the presence of his wife, he wanted to taunt her with her uselessness; and those occasions were growing less for she bored him so much that he found no pleasure even in quarrelling with her.

Caroline found little enjoyment in her mother's company either for Eleanor was in such a state of nervous tension that she could not pay much attention to her daughter; her mind was dominated by her own depressing situation and as she did not believe she could discuss this with her daughter had nothing to say to her.

A whole year had gone by since Caroline's arrival at Dresden, but she felt more than a year older. Nine years old but very knowledgeable in the ways of men and women. She had seen her stepfather with his mistress revelling in the gardens at some fete; she had watched their crude caresses. She had to grow up quickly for there was no one else to protect her mother from a fate which was none the less horrifying because her daughter did not fully understand it.

There was one at the Dresden Court of whom Magdalen von Roohlitz was in awe and that was her mother. She would never forget that it was her mother who had first put her in the Elector's way and who, once the liaison had started, conducted it so cleverly from the shadows that she had made what might have been a fleeting affaire into what it was at this time.

The extremely ambitious Madam von Roohlitz was the widow of a Colonel of the Guards; not a position in which she could have had high social ambitions if she had not possessed an outstandingly beautiful daughter. She had been the first to appreciate Magdalen's charms and assess their value. She had always known that Magdalen's brains did not match her beauty; but since she had a very clever mother this was not an insurmountable difficulty—in fact, it was proving an asset. Magdalen could make full use of her erotic genius while her mother planned calmly behind the scenes.

Magdalen had little to complain of so far. She was, in fact, astonished how easily she could please her lover when all she had to do was satisfy his sexual desires, and as hers were as eager for fulfilment as his, that was no hardship. Mother arranged all the tiresome details and was very happy to do so. That seemed a pleasant enough arrangement to Magdalen; and she was surprised to discover that Mother was not pleased.

She had come to her daughter's apartment because it was time they had a little talk.

"You need not frown, daughter. If you will do exactly as I say it will be easy enough."

Magdalen nodded and stretched her limbs luxuriously.

What a magnificent creature she is! thought her mother. It would be churlish to reproach her for not being able to think, when she is so expert in other matters.

"That man would do a great deal for you."

"He always says so."

"Talk is one thing, actions another."

Magdalen yawned.

"You must listen to me because this is important. You are a Countess now, my dear; you are very rich, and that is as it should be. I'm delighted. But things could be so much better."

"Could they?" asked Magdalen.

"Of course. What happens when important visitors arrive? Who has to receive them? You or her? Then she is brought forward, isn't she? She is after all the Electress of Saxony and his legal wife."

"He's never with her."

"That is not my point, Magdalen. She is received. She is accepted. I wish that for you."

"Well, she's his wife."

"You should tell him how humiliated you feel."

Magdalen raised her eyebrows. "How humiliated do I feel?"

"You, whom he swears he loves as he can never love another woman are snubbed, covertly insulted by visitors from other courts."

"But I'm not. Mother."

"They say, *Oh she's only his mistress.' And they pay Court to Madam Electress."

"Oh no, Mother..."

"Listen to me. You could become Electress."

"How?"

"By insisting that he marry you, of course."

"He's married already."

"You are determined to see the obstacles."

Magdalen looked puzzled. "Well, she is his wife, isn't she? They were married in Leipzig."

"Oh yes, their dear friends the Brandenburgs saw to that."

"Because you had been too busy with your dear friends the Austrians."

"Because you, my dear, were not subtle enough. I had to find money from somewhere and you betrayed the fact that we had friends in Austria who had been kind to us. But never mind. That's all behind us. Let's think of the future. How would you like to be the Electress of Saxony?"

"I shouldn't mind it. I shouldn't mind it at all."

Madam von Roohlitz gave her daughter a playful slap.

"Well, listen to me. I have an idea. Pay close attention."

"Yes, Mother."

Caroline was in her mother's bedchamber reading aloud to Eleanor who lay on her bed, her nervous fingers pulling at the coverlet; Caroline knew that she was not listening. Yet if she stopped she would realize it and ask her gently to go on.

It seemed useless and ineffectual; for Caroline was not really paying attention either.

Caroline stopped reading and said: "We were happier than this in Ansbach."

"What did you say?" asked Eleanor.

Caroline said: "Mamma, couldn't we go away somewhere for a little change?"

Eleanor looked startled. Then she said: "Where could we go?"

"To Ansbach perhaps."

"We should not be welcome there."

"We are not welcome here."

"Caroline, what do you mean? This is our home?"

Home! thought Caroline. Where you were unhappy! Where no one wanted you! Where people whispered about you in corners.

"Perhaps," she said, "we could go to Berlin."

"To Berlin. I doubt whether they would want us there either."

"Mamma, how can you know? The Electress Sophia Charlotte was so kind. She talked to me about lessons and things like that."

"I hope you are getting on well with your studies, Caroline." That worried look was in her eyes. She was thinking: I neglect my daughter. She is allowed to run wild. Oli what will become of us?

"I try to work at them," answered Caroline gravely. "The Electress Sophia Charlotte said I should. Do you think she will ever come here to see us?"

"Nobody ever comes here to see us."

There was no bitterness in the tone, only a sad resignation.

Nothing will ever change, thought Caroline.

But even as the thought entered her mind one of her mother's attendants came into the room. She was agitated and showed clearly that something had happened to upset her.

She did not seem to see Caroline sitting in her chair, but went straight to the bed, and handed a paper to Eleanor. "I couldn't believe this when I read it, Your Highness. It is ... terrible."

Eleanor took up the paper in trembling hands.

"What ... Oh, I had heard ... Oh, no."

"They are saying that it could not have been circulated without the Elector's consent. Your Highness."

"I am sure that is so."

Caroline shrank back into her chair and watched her mother intently.

She threw the paper on to the bed. "This is the end," she said wearily. "He is determined to be rid of me."

"They will never allow such a law. Your Highness."

"If he insists ..."

"No. It can't be. It's another plot of that von Roohlitz woman. Nothing can come of it."

"A great deal has come of her plans. I feel very faint."

"It's the shock. Lie still. Your Highness."

"Lie still," murmured Eleanor. "Yes, for what else can I do. Just be still and wait ... for whatever they plan against me."

Caroline sitting in her chair wanted to run to her mother, shake her and cry out: It's not the way. You shouldn't allow them to hurt you. You should fight them as they fight you.

But she sat still while the woman brought an unguent from a cupboard and rubbed into her mother's forehead.

"That's comforting," said Eleanor.

The pamphlet fluttered to the floor not far from Caroline's feet. She picked it up and read it. It was obscurely phrased but the gist was that it might be advantageous for men who could afford to support more than one wife to have another.

So the Elector thought this a good idea! The reason was plain. He was able to support another wife, he was not satisfied with the one he had, and there was someone he would like to set up in her place.

Yes, she could understand why her mother was disturbed.

Eleanor was saying in a sad tired voice: "I feel so ... alone, and I know they are determined to be rid of me by one means or another."

"Your Highness should not distress yourself."

"How can I help it? They are getting restive. They have endured me long enough."

"Your Highness, this could never be. There would be an outcry. It is against religion as well as the laws of the state."

"They're desperate," said Eleanor. "This could be a safer way ... than some."

She was aware of Caroline standing there with the pamphlet in her hand.

"Oh ... Caroline. Put that paper down. I want to rest. Go now."

Caroline laid the pamphlet on the table and went out.

They thought she understood nothing; they thought she was a child still.

Magdalen told all her friends that very soon she would be the Electress. The Elector was going to marry her. He had a wife already? Oh, but the Elector believed that in certain circumstances a man should have two wives.

Madam von Roohlitz had discreetly let it be known that anyone seeking honours should come to her. Magdalen would be able to arrange anything with the Elector she considered desirable, but as she would be very busily occupied her mother would shoulder some of her daughter's responsibilities.

Madam von Roohlitz was almost delirious with the new sense of power.

Her suggestion of another marriage had worked very well. Magdalen had learned her part adequately; she had told her lover how much she desired to be his wife and he yearned to grant her wish.

She assured herself that the plot was succeeding far better than at first she had thought possible. The fact was that the Electress was such a spineless creature that no one cared to defend her. Her only friends, the Brandenburgs, were far away; but she must impress on Magdalen the need to get this matter settled as quickly as possible.

However she was soon disappointed for although the Elector would willingly have married Magdalen, his ministers had refused to consider the question.

"It strikes at the very tenets of our Faith," they declared. "It is quite impossible."

"Nothing is impossible if I decide it shall be done," shouted John George.

"Your Highness," he was told, "a man who has one wife in the eyes of God cannot have another until her death. That is the law of the Church and the State."

"I will be my own law! " he cried.

But he knew they would not allow Magdalen to be his wife and he would remain married to that woman whom he had come to loathe ... until death parted them.

He was angry but not so deeply as Madam von Roohlitz. He still had his mistress even though he could not make her his wife. As for Madam von Roohlitz, what had become of the lucrative business she was going to build up by selling honours to those who could pay well enough for them?

She shut herself in her apartments and would see no one ... not even Magdalen.

Till death parts them! she murmured and seemed to derive a little comfort from the thought.

Someone was standing by Caroline's bed.

"Wake up your mother has sent for you."

Caroline scrambled up. It was dark and the candle threw the long shadow of her nurse on the wall.

"What is it?" she asked, her teeth beginning to chatter because she was conscious of a sense of doom.

"Your mother has been taken ill and is asking for. you."

"How... ill?"

"Don't talk so much. She's waiting."

As she was hurried into her robe she was thinking: She is going to die. She will tell me what I have to do when I am alone.

Then a feeling of desolation struck her and she knew that she had rarely been so frightened. She was so lonely. She had no friends in this alien court. Because she was her mother's daughter nobody wanted her.

"Hurry?"

"I'm ready," she said.

She was taken to her mother's bedchamber where Eleanor lay in her bed looking exhausted, her skin yellow, her eyes glassy.

"My child..." she began and Caroline ran to the bed and kneeling took her hand.

"Mamma, what has happened. You are ill."

"I have been very ill, daughter. I think I am going to die."

"No ... no ... you must not."

"I have no place in this world, child. Life has not been very kind to me. I trust it will be kinder to you."

Caroline gripped the bedclothes and thought: I will never let people treat me as they have treated you! But how prevent it. There must be a way. She was sure of it and she was going to find it.

"Mamma, you are not going to die."

"If this attempt has failed, there will be others."

"Attempt ... failed ..."

"I ramble, child."

It was a lie, of course. She was not rambling. Why would they treat her as a child? It was true she was only nine years old but the last year at the Court of Saxony had taught her more than most children learn in ten. She knew how frightening marriage could be; but she thought: Had I been Mamma, I would not have allowed it to happen. What would she have done? She was not sure. But she believed she would have found some way of avoiding a position which was degrading, wretched and had now become very sinister indeed.

"If anything should happen to me, Caroline ... are you listening?"

"Yes, Mamma."

"You should go back to Ansbach."

"Yes, Mamma."

"You could write to the Electress of Brandenburg. She was my good friend until she persuaded me to this marriage."

Caroline spoke hotly in defence of her beloved Sophia Charlotte. "But, Mamma, you need not have married had you not wished to."

"You are a child. What do you understand? I would to God I had remained a widow ... for he will do nothing for you ... nothing for me and nothing for you. No, you had best go back to Ansbach. Your brother will help you."

"I am two years older than he is, Mamma. Perhaps I can help him."

Eleanor smiled wanly. "Go and call someone," she said. "I'm beginning to feel ill again. And don't come back till I send for you."

"Yes, Mamma."

She called the attendants and then went to sit in the ante room.

She heard her mother groaning and retching.

She thought: What will become of me when she is dead?

It was not now a question of trying to listen. Caroline could not escape the whispers.

"It was an attempt to poison the Electress Eleanor."

"By whom?"

"Come, are you serious? Surely you can guess."

"Well if there is to be a new law that a man can have two wives why bother to rid themselves of the first?"

"It'll never be a law. That's why. They know it. They will keep to the old ways. It's been used often enough and is the most successful."

"Poor lady. I wouldn't be in her shoes."

"Nor I. He'll have the Roohlitz ... never fear. He's set on it and so is her mother."

"Poor Electress Eleanor, she should watch who hands her her plate."

They were planning to poison her mother. They had tried once and failed. But they would try again.

She was frantic with anxiety, but to whom could she turn? She, a nine-year-old girl without a single friend in the palace— what could she do?

If only the Electress Sophia Charlotte were here, she could go to her, explain her fears, be listened to with attention; she would be told what to do and it would be the right thing she was sure. But Sophia Charlotte was miles away and there was no one to help her.

She went to her mother's apartments. Eleanor was in her bed, recovering from her attack and she looked exhausted.

Caroline threw herself into her arms and clung to her.

"Oh Mamma, Mamma, what shall we do?"

Her mother stroked her hair and signed to the attendants to leave them. When they were alone, she said: "What is it, my child?"

"They are trying to kill you, Mamma."

"Hush, my child, you must not say such things."

"But it's true. And what are we going to do."

"It is in God's hands," said Eleanor.

"But unless we do something. He won't help us."

"My child, what are you saying?"

"I know it sounds wicked, but I'm frightened."

"Where did you hear this?"

"They are all saying it. I overheard them."

"So ... they are talking! "

"Mamma, you don't seem to want to do anything."

Eleanor lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes. "What can I do? This is my home now ... and yours."

Caroline clenched her fists, her exasperation overcoming her fear.

"Why don't we run away?"

"Run away! To where?"

"Let us think. I here must be something we can do. This is a hateful home in any case. I should be glad to leave it ... and so would you."

"My place is with my husband."

With a murderer! thought Caroline and stopped herself in time from saying the words aloud.

"We could go to Berlin. Perhaps they would let us live with them ... for a while ... until we knew what to do."

"We should have to wait to be invited. You shouldn't listen to gossip, my child. It's not ... true."

Caroline sighed wearily. It was useless to try to make her mother take action. She was well aware of the danger; but it seemed that she preferred meekly to be murdered than make any effort to avoid such a fate.

"You see, Caroline," said Eleanor, "this is where we belong."

"Can we belong where they are trying to be rid of us?"

In that moment Eleanor was as frightened for her daughter as for herself. What would become of Caroline? The child was growing up and in what an atmosphere! Her licentious stepfather made no secret of the life he led; he would sit with his friends at the banqueting table and they would discuss their conquests—not of wars but of women—in crude detail, seeking to cap each other's stories and provoke that rollicking laughter which could be heard even in the upper rooms of the palace; he could often be seen caressing the bold Countess von Roohlitz in public; while equally publicly he insulted his wife and sought to replace her. Now he was advocating polygamy because he wished to discard his wife—if he could not have been said to have discarded her from the moment he married her— and set up another in her place. And because his plans were not proceeding fast enough it might be that he had tried to poison her.

All these things were talked of; and this young girl heard what was said.

I should never have brought her here, thought Eleanor. Better to have stayed at Ansbach—poor and without prospects. For what prospects have we now?

"My poor child," she whispered.

"But what are we going to do?" demanded Caroline.

"There is nothing we can do."

"So you would stay here and let them kill you?"

"That is only rumour."

"Mamma, you know it isn't. Let us go away. We mustn't stay here. It isn't safe."

Sighing, Eleanor turned her face away. "You must not listen to servants' gossip, my child. It is beneath the dignity of one in your position."

What can I do? wondered Caroline in desperation. She won't help herself!

"Go now, my dear," said Eleanor. "I want to sleep."

Caroline went away. It was no use warning her mother; it was no use planning for her. She would do nothing. Could it be that in some way she was responsible for what was happening to her? If I had a husband who was planning to murder me, I would not stay and let him do it.

What will happen to us? wondered Caroline. It seemed inevitable that her mother would be murdered, for although she knew the murderers were at her door she made no attempt to escape from them.

If I were older, thought Caroline, I should know what to do.

It occurred to her that she might write to the Electress Sophia Charlotte and explain what was happening. Even if it was a bold and ill-mannered thing to do, the Electress would forgive her for she was so kind.

Surely when one knew that a murder was about to be committed a breach of etiquette would be forgiven.

In any case something would have to be done. If only she were a little older, a little wiser. If only she knew what to do for the best.

She began to compose the letter in her mind. "My mother is about to be murdered. Please come and stop it "

It sounded so incredible. They would say she was a ridiculous child, a wicked one to suggest such a thing. What if her letter went astray and was taken to the Elector or that fierce Madam von Roohlitz? Doubtless they would murder her too. There were not only murderers in the palace, there were spies too. But surely they would not spy on insignificant Caroline. Yet if she attempted to foil their plans she would not be insignificant.

If only there were someone. If her brother were here he might help. But he was such a child. Two years younger than she was and living at Ansbach he would not have learned as quickly about the wickedness of the world as she had.

I don't want to be murdered before I've had a chance to live, thought Caroline.

But something must be done. Perhaps even now they were slipping the powder or the drops into her mother's food or drink.

And her mother knew this could happen; yet she lay on her bed patiently waiting. When they offered her the poison cup she would meekly sip it and tell herself it was God's will.

The will of a wicked husband and his mistress was not God's will.

But God helped those who helped themselves, so there must be something which could be done.

"What?" cried Caroline. "Please God tell me what?"

She felt so helpless, shut in by her own youth and inexperience.

That night another attempt was made to poison Eleanor. She was very ill and she knew that this time it would have been certain death if she had eaten more than a mouthful of the food which had been brought to her room.

All through her delirium she had been conscious of her daughter. She had imagined that the girl was standing at her bedside, her eyes reproachful.

"What have you done. Mamma? What have you done to me?"

"It was for your sake It was for your sake "

And the Caroline of her delirium shook her head in sorrow.

When she was a little better her thoughts clarified. Caroline was right when she had said they must go away. Perhaps if they left the Court of Dresden her husband would cease to persecute her. If she placed herself where he did not have to see her he might forget about her. Perhaps he would pass the law for which he was agitating and she would no longer be the Electress of Saxony. That would be a happy day. She would eagerly throw away the title that marriage had brought her for the sake of preserving her life. There were the children to care for. If she were dead who would care what became of them? No, she must make an attempt to fight for her life. Her little daughter had taught her that.

With a firmness which astonished her attendants she asked that her husband be brought to her.

When the message was taken to John George he was first of all surprised and then exultant. She was dying and she wanted to see him before she passed away for ever. Well, he did not object to seeing her once more since it would be the last time.

When he looked at the pallid creature in the bed his hopes were high. She was a very sick woman. He was surprised how she clung to life, but he would soon be a widower ... though not for long. Magdalen and her mother would see to that.

"You are ill," he said, standing at the end of the bed and looking at her with distaste.

"I am much enfeebled. I had a bad attack during the night."

He bowed his head lest she see the speculation in his eyes.

"I know," she went on determinedly, "that the best news you could hear of me would be that I were dead. It seems possible that that pleasure will not long be denied you. I would, however, ask your indulgence."

He looked steadily at her. "Well?"

"I would prefer to die in some place other than this palace. I should like your permission to leave."

She saw the curl of his lips and she knew he was thinking: Escape me and my murderers! Go right away ... perhaps to Berlin ... to her dear friends who would nurse her back to health, and she remain an encumbrance, though a distant one, to prevent his giving Magdalen what she so passionately desired! What a fool the woman was if she thought he would agree to that!

He was about to tell her she would remain where she was when she said: "I would not wish to go farther than the Dower House at Pretsch. I know I have not long to live ... something tells me it is only a matter of a few weeks. I could die peacefully there." Her eyes were wild and glassy. "It is, one might say, a dying request."

He shivered a little. He believed she was telling him that if he did not grant it she would haunt him after death. He was no more superstitious than most, yet the accusing eyes of a victim whom one was sending to an early grave could be alarming. Pretsch, he thought. With trusted servants to see that she had no opportunity to escape to Berlin. To see that his orders were more effectively carried out than they had been here, for if what he had commanded had been done she would not have been fixing those wild eyes on him and making this request.

It was not a bad idea. Magdalen would be happier when his wife was no longer at the Palace. Then she could act as Electress as much as she wished and would be more readily accepted when the real Electress was out of the way.

To Pretsch to die. It was not a bad idea.

He gave his permission and the next day, to Caroline's relief, she left with her mother and a few attendants for the Dower House.

Death, like a mischievous trickster, was threatening where it was least expected.

News of the death of Eleanor would have caused no surprise but, although enfeebled and ill, she continued to exist at Pretsch and it was in the palace at Dresden that tragedy struck.

Magdalen von Roohlitz kept to her apartments, seeing no one and the rumour was flying round the court and the whole of Dresden that she was suffering from the smallpox.

This was God's answer to her wickedness, said the whispers. She had planned to take the life of another and now her own was in jeopardy; she had planned to put on the robes of an Electress—instead it could well be a shroud.

And even if she survived would the Elector be so passionately devoted to her when she emerged from the sick room pitted with pox?

Madam von Roohlitz was in despair. All her ambitions lay in her daughter; she had schemed; she had dreamed; she had seen her dearest hopes about to be realized for surely even if John George's plan to bring in polygamy failed, the attempts to poison Eleanor must sooner or later succeed; and now here was everything about to be ruined.

Caroline listening to the rumours, which had reached the Pretsch Dower House, wondered whether her prayers had been answered. She had prayed that something would happen to save them. Could this really be an answer to prayer?

Life was unaccountable. A few days before her mother had seemed doomed and Magdalen von Roohlitz triumphant; now by one little stroke of fate the position had been reversed.

It seemed as though everyone was caught up in this almost unbearable suspense.

In the Dower House Eleanor no longer thought of imminent death. In her apartments Madam von Roohlitz rallied against her ill fortune; in her bedroom Magdalen lay restless and delirious, blessedly unconscious of her plight.

John George summoned the doctors, and demanded that they tell him it was not the dreaded scourge which had attacked his mistress. They were sorry they could not obey him because there was no doubt that the Countess was suffering from smallpox. He stormed at them; he gave way to fury; then he wept. His beautiful Magdalen ravaged by the scourge which destroyed life or on those occasions when life was spared almost always destroyed beauty. This could not happen to him and his Magdalen when they had such wonderful plans for the future.

But it had happened.

"She must not die. Anything rather than that. I must see her. I must talk to her."

"Your Highness," said the doctors, "you must not go into her apartments. That would be very dangerous. You know the nature of this terrible disease."

But he would not listen to them. He went to her apartments; he took her into his arms.

"Listen to me, Magdalen," he cried. "You must get well. It will not matter if the pox disfigures you. I will not care. I want you to live. Do you understand that?"

But she only looked at him with glazed eyes; and throughout the palace they heard him shouting in his grief.

Magdalen von Roohlitz was dead.

When the news was brought to the Dower House it was like a reprieve. Those servants who had received their orders from the Elector were stunned and did not know how to act.

Eleanor's health immediately began to improve. Caroline, alert, fully aware of the situation, waited for what would happen next.

She heard that the Court of Dresden was in mourning, that the Elector was so stricken with grief for the loss of his mistress that he kept in his apartments and would see no one.

But there was more startling news to come.

John George had caught the smallpox from his mistress and was suffering from a major attack.

A few days later he was dead.

The shadow of murder was lifted from the Dower House and Eleanor was once more a widow.

There was a new Elector at Dresden. Augustus Frederick had taken his brother's place and was determined to make the Court even more notorious than before. He had no time to consider his brother's widow and as long as she and her family did not make nuisances of themselves he had no objection to their continuing to take possession of the Dower House. Though just outside Dresden, this was far enough away not to bother him, so the Dowager Electress could stay there as long as she wished.

Eleanor rose from her sick bed but the treatment she had received from her late husband had left its mark and she remained an invalid.

But it was a great joy to her and her daughter not to live in perpetual fear; and as the days passed, the nightmare receded. Life at the Dower House was uneventful and peace was something which was only fully appreciated when it had been missed.

One day Eleanor said: "Your brother should join us. It is not good for families to be separated."

So William Frederick arrived at Pretsch—a charming little boy of nine. He was affectionate and happy to be reunited with his mother and sister.

How young he is, thought Caroline. And then the experiences at the Court of her stepfather came back more vividly to her mind.

She thought: After having lived through that, I could never really be young again.

She worked hard at lessons, for it was rather boring to play truant from the schoolroom and she had a fear of being ignorant.

Life was so different now that simple matters had become important. Could she find the correct answers to mathematical problems? Had she cobbled her needlework? Did she know when to speak and when not to speak, when to bow and when to curtsey?

No one cared very much whether she was in the schoolroom or playing in the gardens of the Dower House. She could have escaped and wandered off alone into the country if she cared to. But she must not neglect her lessons, she knew. One day she would meet the Electress Sophia Charlotte once more and that lady would be very shocked to find her ignorant.

She would sit over her books. Her handwriting was bad; her spelling worse.

I must improve, she told herself. I must not disappoint the Electress Sophia Charlotte.

One day there was a letter for Eleanor from the Electress Sophia Charlotte.

Eleanor showed it to her daughter.

"How kind she is! " said Caroline.

"Her conscience troubles her. But for her and her husband I should never have married."

"She thought it best for you," cried Caroline.

"It is so easy to see what is best for others."

"They could not have married you against your will."

Eleanor sighed and gave up the discussion.

"Well, she now says we must visit her at Lutzenburg."

Caroline clasped her hands. "When?" she wanted to know.

"Who can say? This is no definite invitation."

"Then you must write and say we shall be happy to go. Ask them when we can come."

"My dear child, that could not be. What a lot you have to learn! I fear you run wild. Sometimes I sit here and worry about you children "

"Don't worry about us. Mamma," said Caroline impatiently. "I can look after myself and William Frederick. But what about Lutzenburg? She says we must visit her."

"It is merely a form of politeness. An invitation is not an invitation unless some date is given. Besides, I am too weak for the journey."

"Then, Mamma, write and tell her so, and perhaps she will come to see us."

Eleanor smiled wanly at her daughter, and because Caroline was so eager at last she agreed to do as she suggested. As a result the Elector and the Electress of Brandenburg paid a visit to the Dower House.

Caroline was rapturous. During the years of terror she had thought a great deal about Sophia Charlotte and had taken great comfort from the fact that she existed. Often when she had felt particularly lost and lonely she had promised herself: I will write to Sophia Charlotte. Or even more wildly, I will run away and go to Sophia Charlotte.

And when Sophia Charlotte arrived she was not disappointed. Her goddess was more beautiful, more dignified and more kind than she remembered. Her adoration shone in her eyes and the Electress was aware of it.

She was all the more beautiful because the Elector her husband was a little man, whose head seemed to rest on his body without a neck to support it; he was pale and small. But how different from the wicked John George, and how he doted on Sophia Charlotte, which was natural for all the world must love her.

When Sophia Charlotte embraced Caroline she told her she had often thought of her during the past and that she hoped they would always be friends.

Always be friends! Caroline would be her slave!

She said with emotion: "I should always wish to serve you. Madam."

A reply which enchanted Sophia Charlotte.

Sophia Charlotte's conscience did worry her. In the private apartments assigned to them in the Dower House she discussed this with her husband.

"Eleanor has become an invalid," she said.

"At least she's still alive," replied the Elector.

"She might so easily have been murdered and we are in a way to blame."

"My dear, you must not think like that."

"But I do. We arranged the marriage. We persuaded hex to it. And that poor child, what she must have suffered."

"And you like the child?"

"I like both children but the girl is enchanting. She attracts me because although she is only a child she has an air of wisdom. I tremble to think that before long she may be an orphan. Frederick, what will become of those children if their mother dies?"

"The boy will go to Ansbach, I daresay. He's the heir presumptive."

"And Caroline?"

"Doubtless she will make her home there too."

"And if the boy does not become Margrave? Oh, it is an uneasy future. In a way we are responsible. My conscience would never let me rest unless..."

He was smiling at her indulgently understanding what she was about to say. She knew this and smiled at him ruefully. It was one of those occasions when she wished she could have given him a deeper affection.

"Go on, my dear."

"Something would have to be done for Caroline."

"I know what is in your mind."

"And you would raise no objection?"

"If it were your wish I daresay it would be mine."

"You are so good to me." There were tears of emotion in her eyes. He took her hand and kissed it. "Thank you," she added.

She was warm in her gratitude and he in his turn was grateful to have kindled that warmth.

To no one else had Caroline ever talked as she did to Sophia Charlotte. They would walk in the gardens of Pretsch and while they talked look down on the valley of the Elbe and beyond to the towers of Wittenburg, once the home of Martin Luther.

Sophia Charlotte talked to Caroline of that great man; she spoke animatedly of how he had defied the Pope and publicly burned the Papal Bull. At the same time she talked judicially for as she pointed out to Caroline one must never be fanatical because as soon as one did the vision became blurred and the judgement impaired. At the same time one could applaud bold men who struck blows at tyranny. She talked earnestly of tolerance, for she thought it necessary to men's dignity that they should have freedom to form their own opinions.

It was fascinating talk and Caroline was glad she had disciplined herself to study because in doing so she had prepared herself for such conversation; and her reward was the approval of Sophia Charlotte.

Everyday the Electress would look for her.

"I shall sadly miss our talks when I leave Pretsch," she said.

And Caroline was torn between the sorrow parting must bring and the joy that the great Electress Sophia Charlotte— beautiful, brilliant and courted—should really want to share the company of an eleven-year-old girl.

Everyone at Pretsch was talking about the scandal of Hanover. Caroline listened and even asked questions of the servants.

She discovered that it concerned the Electoral Prince George Lewis, his wife Sophia Dorothea and a dashing adventurer named Count Konigsmarck. Caroline had seen the Count for when he had visited Dresden she had been there. Very handsome, popular, gay, reckless, everyone at the Dresden Court had been aware of him—even the young girl who had had to keep out of sight.

Konigsmarck had at one time been a favourite of John George; but when he had left Dresden he had talked very indiscreetly about the shocking way in which John George treated his wife. After that Konigsmarck had not been welcome at Dresden; but when John George had died so suddenly the Count had returned to Dresden to stay awhile with his old friend Augustus the new Elector and there once more he had talked indiscreetly—this time of the notorious Countess von Platen who was the mistress of the Elector of Hanover; he had joked about her and her lover as well as George Lewis, the Electoral Prince, and his mistress. He had boasted rather sentimentally too about his own success with George Lewis's neglected wife, the beautiful Sophia Dorothea.

Now the Count was dead. No one knew how he had died or what had become of his body; but everyone seemed certain that he was dead. It had been discovered that he was the lover of Sophia Dorothea. As for this sad Princess, George Lewis was going to divorce her and make her his prisoner, and declared he would never see her again.

Caroline thought a good deal about Sophia Dorothea and compared her with her own mother, for they had both found great tragedy in marriage. It was alarming to consider that one day—not far distant—she would be grown up and marriageable. Then she would doubtless be obliged to embark on this perilous adventure.

Because she was so curious she ventured to speak of the matter to Sophia Charlotte when they walked together one day in the gardens. She was puzzled; she would like to understand more.

"Who is wrong," she asked. "George Lewis or Sophia Dorothea?"

"So you have heard of this scandal?"

"They talk of it all the time. Not to me, of course. They whisper when they see me near. And that, of course, makes me all the more curious to know."

"Naturally, it would. Tell me what you know."

She told and Sophia Charlotte smiled.

"I see," she said, "that you are by no means ignorant of the ways of the world. From what I have heard George Lewis is a brutal young man, Sophia Dorothea a frivolous and foolish woman. Who then would you say was to blame if disaster overtakes them."

"Both of them?"

"You are wise, Caroline. I am sure both of them is the answer. Although we must remember that even though the blame is shared, the punishment is not."

"She will suffer more than he will."

"She is less powerful, poor creature."

"Could she have avoided this ... trouble?"

"We could by certain actions avoid all our troubles."

Caroline considered this. Yes, even her mother. She need not have married the Elector of Saxony. Perhaps if she had wept less and fought more for her rights ... In any case Sophia Charlotte thought so, and she must be right.

"I daresay you have heard a garbled story," said Sophia Charlotte. "It would be better for you to know the truth. After all, though you are only eleven years old you are much older in wisdom, I know."

Caroline glowed with happiness and taking Sophia Charlotte's hand kissed it.

"My dearest child," murmured Sophia Charlotte deeply moved. "Well," she continued briskly. "George Lewis is a man ... not unlike your late stepfather. There are many like him. It is a pattern of our times. He turned from his wife to other women. She found that intolerable and took a lover. The result—the mysterious disappearance of the lover and punishment for the poor Princess."

"It seems so unfair when he began it and she only did what he did."

"Life is unfair, my dear. More so for women than for men. He took his mistresses as a natural right. Such is the custom. But when she took a lover she dangered the succession. You see what I mean. But of course you do. That is the answer."

"So she was more to blame."

"It is not for us to blame. She was foolish, poor soul; and folly often pays a higher price than greater sins."

"What should she have done when he took his mistresses? Should she have accepted them. My mother ..."

"Your mother was not a proud woman like this Princess. Your mother accepted the position . . . and you see here she is alive and living in peace while her husband and his mistress are dead."

"But that was by accident."

"Life is made up of accidents, luck if you like—good and bad—but often our own actions can decide the course our lives will take. If Sophia Dorothea had accepted her husband's mistresses, if she had not quarrelled with him ..." Sophia Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows what would have happened."

"So one should accept?"

"One should try to discover what is the wisest way for one's own advantage."

"I see," said Caroline.

Sophia Charlotte covered the girl's hand with her own.

"I believe you do," she said.

Even while the Brandenburgs were visiting her Eleanor had to take to her bed. The Dresden interlude had undermined her health and it could not be expected that even though the threat to her life was removed she would easily recover.

Sophia Charlotte visited her in her bedchamber and sent away her servants.

"I have become deeply attached to Caroline," she said.

"That pleases me more than anything else could."

"I know you are anxious for her future. Your son will doubtless be secure in Ansbach but it is little Caroline who worries you."

Eleanor nodded. "I sometimes feel so weak, that I know I have not long to live."

"Nonsense, here you will recover. But..."

"But?" asked Eleanor eagerly.

"If anything should happen to you, you need not fear for Caroline. You know I love the child as my own daughter. My husband and I would be her guardians and she would have a home with us."

"Oh ... how can I thank you! "

"You shouldn't. I love your daughter. It would give me the utmost pleasure to have her with me, to educate her, to launch her in life. And ... I don't forget, Eleanor, that you met John George in Berlin ... that we persuaded you to the match."

"It is all over now "

"It must have been ... a nightmare."

Eleanor stretched out a thin veined hand. "It is over and if you will make yourselves Caroline's guardians I shall die contented.''

"Then it is done."

"And the Elector?"

"He is with me in this."

Eleanor lay back on her pillows. Now, she thought, I can die in peace.

Eleanor lingered for two years in peaceful retirement at Pretsch; and on her death her eleven year old son went to Ansbach to live with his stepbrother, the Margrave, and thirteen year old Caroline to her joy was sent to Berlin to live at the Court of Sophia Charlotte and her husband.