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stories of someone with whom one has spent one’s childhood. When I think of all

the games we played together and our tricks and jokes— and then I think of her

being murdered— I can’t grasp it. Perhaps that is why I cannot believe she is

dead.’

The King said: ‘We cannot allow the Princess Royal to marry a man who has

a wife living.’

Caroline thought:
No. But I was married to a man who, in the eyes of some,

already had a wife.

‘I think,’ she said, ‘that it is remarkable what strange adventures can fall to the lot of princesses.’

‘I shall need to have proof of your sister’s death before I can consent to this

marriage.’

‘My father will give you a copy of the letter he received from the Empress

and doubtless the Prince of Würtemburg will too. Your Majesty will consider that

proof?’

‘There is no other proof I could hope for.’

‘And would that suffice?’

‘I am not sure.’

————————

The Princess Royal was ill; her skin had turned yellow and her eyes were

tinged with the same colour.

She lay listlessly on her bed. She had felt the sickness coming on her but she

would not go to bed until she had finished her wedding gown. There it was

hanging in her wardrobe— like a white satin ghost.

‘At least I had a wedding dress if I don’t get a husband,’ she said to her sister Elizabeth.

Her mother came to see her. She folded her arms and stood looking down at

her daughter, her wide mouth grim. The girl was sick through anxiety, so much

did she wish for marriage. Queen Charlotte thought of her own marriage— that

astounding message which had come from England to say that she had been

chosen for the future King of England. She would never forget it— and

remembering it, she could have some sympathy for her daughter.

‘You understand,’ she said, ‘that we must make sure he is free to marry you.’

‘I understand, Mamma.’

‘And when we have satisfied ourselves, there is no reason why we should not

go ahead with the marriage.’ She went to the cupboard and examined the wedding

dress.

‘You have stitched it very fine,’ she said. ‘I am sure the reward for such

diligence will be that you will wear it for what it was intended.’

The Queen came back to the bed and looked at her daughter. The Princess

Royal was indeed sick— sick with fear that she might not get a husband.

The Queen would tell the King that it was essential that the Princess Royal

married. There were enough daughters at home.

The King was uncertain. He had received letters from the Duke of Brunswick

and the Prince of Würtemburg. They had no doubt that the Prince’s first wife was

dead. ‘And yet,’ mused the King, ‘I don’t know.’

He did not in fact wish his daughter to have a husband at all; but the idea of

giving her to a man who could not be her husband shocked him deeply.

‘I am uncertain,’ he said. ‘I wish the offer had never been made. Better to

have heard nothing about it, eh, what?’

The Queen replied that she did not care for the marriage either but the

Princess Royal was set on it and it was hardly likely that they would find another husband for her. There were the other girls, too.

‘They’re happy enough at home.’

‘But they should marry if it is possible.’

‘
H’m,
’ said the King.

‘Princess Royal will be ill if this marriage does not take place. I could see her becoming a confirmed invalid. That sort of thing can happen. We don’t want

sickness in the family.

The Queen stopped abruptly and the King looked alarmed. They were both

thinking of that most terrible of all illnesses— the one to which he was addicted and which robbed him of his sanity.

‘I shall accept these letters,’ he said. ‘We will give our consent. It all

happened a long time ago. The woman must be dead, eh, what?’

‘I think the woman must be dead,’ said the Queen.

————————

The Prince of Würtemburg had arrived in England for his marriage. The

Princess Royal rose from her sick bed. She had quickly recovered although her

skin was still yellow.

She put on the wedding dress and in the Chapel Royal to St. James’s she made

her marriage vows with the Archbishops of Canterbury and York presiding, and

the King giving the bride away.

She was radiant and the bridegroom seemed well satisfied; but the King was

so ill at ease that many who watched the ceremony wondered whether he was

sickening for another bout of his illness. Later in the Queen’s drawing room, he

talked incessantly and it was clear that he did not like parting with his daughter.

The Princess Royal suffered no qualms at parting with her family. She was at

last married and all the fears and omens had come to nothing.

She embraced her brothers and sisters with affection; then she left St. James’s

to spend a few days at Windsor before setting off with her husband for her new

life in a strange country; and it seemed that the ghost of his first wife troubled neither of them.

Caroline, who had attended the marriage, remembered him from all those

years ago; but he did not wish to remember.

Caroline grimaced inwardly.
I’m the outsider, she told
herself. The family
don’t want me here.
But perhaps the one who was most anxious for her absence was the bridegroom from Würtemburg.

Caroline’s Little Family

CAROLINE had accepted her life. The Prince would always hate her; he

would, if he could, separate her from their daughter but this was not in his power while the King remained her friend. She was grateful to the King, the only

member of the royal family whom she could trust, but naturally the most

important, for in the end if he insisted that something be done so it must be.

He visited her often; they talked of the Princess Charlotte and he told her how

worried he was about Amelia’s health. Caroline always listened intently and

although the King had to admit that her manners were too free and her

conversation a little coarse and that she laughed too loudly and was too familiar, he always added a rider: She was affectionate and he liked to feel affection in the family.

The Queen ignored her— more than that, she would do her harm if she could.

Caroline retaliated by laughing behind Her Majesty’s back at her odd little habits of which she read in the press. Her snuff-taking, her careful scrutiny of accounts, how she kept her tippet in a paper bag to prevent its getting dusty— as though she were some farmer’s wife. But Caroline knew that the Queen was not merely a

figure of fun; she was a sinister power in her life. ‘The old Begum,’ she would

say, ‘what is she up to now?’

But the days she spent with baby Charlotte made up for any disappointments

in her life. How she loved to romp with the child! They would crawl about the

floor together and Charlotte would give imperious orders and show quite clearly

that she adored her mother. If she could only have the child with her she would

have been perfectly happy; but she had to realize that as a royal princess, a

possible Queen of England, Charlotte would had to receive an education which it

was not in Caroline’s power to give her.

But she was a baby yet and there were happy time together.

Caroline was not allowed to return to Carlton House and Charlotte continued

to live there with her governess and nurses; but the King arranged that Caroline

should oft visit her daughter and that Charlotte should often stay Charlton with

her mother.

‘Dear old George,’ said Caroline to Miss Hayman, who was a very special

friend. ‘A pity he had to marry the old Begum. He deserves better.’

Miss Hayman, like everyone else, thought Caroline’s speech and manners

very wild and free; but that did not disturb Miss Hayman; and she often visited

Caroline at Charlton to tell her what Charlotte had been doing and to repeat her

clever sayings.

When the Prince heard of the friendship between Caroline and Miss Hayman

he dismissed the latter from Princess Charlotte’s household, so Miss Hayman

went to serve that of Caroline.

The Princess was becoming extremely popular. She only had to ride out into

the streets and a little crowd would gather to cheer her. When he heard of this it infuriated the Prince, for the more people liked her the less they liked him.

He could not understand why this rather slovenly, non-too-clean creature with

her too-ready and too-loud laughter, her flamboyant manner of dressing, her

tactlessness and whole lack of grace should have so caught the public imagination But the fact remained that she had.

He was ashamed of her; and while he determined to shut her out of his life as

much as he could he was desperately longing to bring Maria Fitzherbert back into

it.

Caroline meanwhile had moved to Montague House, near Greenwich Park,

which was more suited to her rank than the little house in Charlton and she set out to make this an inviting centre for amusing people. Strangely enough she did

attract to it some of the most brilliant men of the day. The chief of these was the great politician, George Canning. This further enraged the Prince, who could not

understand how such a man could find anything in Caroline’s household to attract

him. Other important influential people followed Canning’s example and it

seemed inevitable that Montague House should become a rendezvous for those

who disapproved of the Prince.

But Caroline longed for her daughter and since she could not have her all the

time she took up a hobby which had been hers in Brunswick and
adopted
children from the surrounding neighbourhood. She would call at any house, however

humble, if there were children there; and she only had to hear of an orphan to take the child into her special care.

This project filled a great deal of her time because she made it her duty to see

that the children were placed in households where they would be well looked

after; she founded a little school where they could be taught; she treated them as though she were their mother and no matter how poor and sick they were, she

cuddled and kissed them, showering her affection on them.

People were surprised to see her pick up a child with open sores on its face

and tend them herself.

She loved children. She adored her own daughter; but since she was allowed

to see her only occasionally she created her own little family about her.

This was one of the reasons why she was so loved by the people who saw in

her a good kind woman who had been badly treated by their profligate Prince.

And so the next few years passed.

Maria read the appeal. She must come back to him. She was his dear wife, his

angel. He did not know how she could be so cruel to him. He admitted that he had

been the victim of a mental aberration when he had thought he could do without

her. But she had been a little cross with him at time, she had lost her temper, she would admit. Not that he did not deserve all the abuse she had showered on him.

She was his angel and he was foolish and in need of forgiveness.

But how could she have believed he had been serious when he had sent that

note telling her he did not want to see her again! Why hadn’t she realized it was meant as a joke? Why hadn’t she laughed at him and refused to believe it? Did

she not know that he was her faithful husband until death did them part?

Maria wept as she read the letter recalling that period of desolation when he