Read The Third George: (Georgian Series) Online
Authors: Jean Plaidy
The Third George: (Georgian Series)
Contents
Conflict with the Princess Dowager
The Princess Dowager Takes her Leave
Loss of Sister, Colony and Statesman
About the Book
George III was certain that the shadowy charm of Hannah, the vital beauty of Sarah, would cease to torment him once he was married to Charlotte. But Charlotte was unexciting, and he could not help his heart beating faster every time he saw a beautiful woman.
Surrounded by the great and the notorious, the King was beset by political anxieties, humiliated by the loss of the American colonies, and distressed at the scandals in the royal family.
The King’s sister was tried for treason and adultery, but the greatest scandal of all was created by his eldest son – the handsome, willful, pleasure-seeking Prince of Wales…
About the Author
Jean Plaidy, one of the preeminent authors of historical fiction for most of the twentieth century, is the pen name of the prolific English author Eleanor Hibbert, also know as Victoria Holt. Jean Plaidy’s novels had sold more than 14 million copies worldwide by the time of her death in 1993.
Also by Jean Plaidy
THE TUDOR SAGA
Uneasy Lies the Head
Katharine, the Virgin Widow
The Shadow of the Pomegranate
The King’s Secret Matter
Murder Most Royal
St Thomas’s Eve
The Sixth Wife
The Thistle and the Rose
Mary, Queen of France
Lord Robert
Royal Road to Fotheringay
The Captive Queen of Scots
The Spanish Bridegroom
THE CATHERINE DE MEDICI TRILOGY
Madame Serpent
The Italian Woman
Queen Jezebel
THE STUART SAGA
The Murder in the Tower
The Wandering Prince
A Health Unto His Majesty
Here Lies Our Sovereign Lord
The Three Crowns
The Haunted Sisters
The Queen’s Favourites
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION SERIES
Louis the Well-Beloved
The Road to Compiègne
Flaunting, Extravagant Queen
The Battle of the Queens
THE LUCREZIA BORGIA SERIES
Madonna of the Seven Hills
Light on Lucrezia
ISABELLA AND FERDINAND TRILOGY
Castile for Isabella
Spain for the Sovereigns
Daughters of Spain
THE GEORGIAN SAGA
The Princess of Celle
Queen in Waiting
Caroline, the Queen
The Prince and the Quakeress
Perdita’s Prince
Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill
Indiscretions of the Queen
The Regent’s Daughter
Goddess of the Green Room
Victoria in the Wings
THE QUEEN VICTORIA SERIES
The Captive of Kensington
The Queen and Lord M
The Queen’s Husband
The Widow of Windsor
THE NORMAN TRILOGY
The Bastard King
The Lion of Justice
The Passionate Enemies
THE PLANTAGENET SAGA
The Plantagenet Prelude
The Revolt of the Eaglets
The Heart of the Lion
The Prince of Darkness
The Battle of the Queens
The Queen from Provence
The Hammer of the Scots
The Follies of the King
The Vow of the Heron
Passage to Pontefract
The Star of Lancaster
Epitaph for Three Women
Red Rose of Anjou
The Sun in Splendour
QUEEN OF ENGLAND SERIES
Myself, My Enemy
Queen of this Realm: The Story of Elizabeth I
Victoria, Victorious
The Lady in the Tower
The Goldsmith’s Wife
The Queen’s Secret
The Rose without a Thorn
OTHER TITLES
The Queen of Diamonds
Daughter of Satan
The Scarlet Cloak
The Third George
The fifth book in the Georgian Saga
Jean Plaidy
The Fateful Letter
ONE DAY IN
the year 1760, when she was sixteen years old, the Princess Charlotte Sophia of Mecklenburg-Strelitz wrote a letter which many believed set in motion those events which lifted her from a little German principality, where she would doubtless have spent her days in obscurity, to the throne of England.
Charlotte had been out driving in the company of her elder sister, the Princess Christina. Once a week – on Sundays – they took their places in the coach drawn by six horses and drove through the countryside with as much state as they were ever allowed, which merely meant that they were escorted by guards. They were dressed in their best gowns, which they were only permitted to wear on Sundays, and they had been warned constantly by their mother, the Dowager Grand Duchess, as well as their governess, the admirable Madame de Grabow, that they must be careful not to soil them as there was no money available to buy more.
Both Princesses were made aware of their poverty, being obliged to mend their own garments and darn their stockings for as long as there was any possibility of continuing to wear them; and as the Grand Duchess – and Madame de Grabow – believed in discipline and that it was always necessary to have
a piece of work in the hands, they must perform these tasks themselves.
Their poverty had increased since the war, which had been going on now for four years, and it was the effects of this war of which she was made deeply aware on that particular Sunday afternoon, which made Charlotte act in such an unprecedented manner.
The coach pulled ‘up suddenly to avoid a woman who had stepped right in its path and Charlotte saw her quite distinctly as she shook her fist at the coachman.
‘You’d run us down,’ cried the woman. ‘We’re of no account. You take our men for the wars and our money for the taxes … so what matter if you run us down!’
Charlotte noticed that her eyes seemed as though they were sunk deep in her head and that her flesh showed through her torn dress.
She had seen the Princesses in their Sunday gowns and she came to the window of the coach and went on: ‘That was our farm.’ She pointed vaguely. ‘Who’s going to till the land now, eh? They’ve taken my man. They’ve taken my sons. And the Prussians come marching through.’
The guards were about to arrest her, but Charlotte cried: ‘No. Drive on! Drive on.’ And she and her sister were thrown back against the upholstery of the coach as it jerked into action.
Charlotte was looking out of the window watching the woman.
‘It was … terrible,’ she said. ‘Did you see her face, Christina?’
Christina shook her head.
‘It was so … tragic,’ burst out Charlotte. ‘You heard what she said. This war … this
fearful
war! What good is it doing the country? We’re all poor because of it. Not that that is important. They’d taken that woman’s husband and son. You heard what she said.’
‘You are too vehement, Charlotte.’
‘What else can one be … when that is happening?’
Charlotte stared gloomily out of the window while Christina quickly dismissed the incident and continued to smile at her own thoughts. It was no use trying to interest Christina in anything since the Duke of Roxburgh had come to Mecklenburg.
So Charlotte gave up the attempt. Perhaps if she had talked
to her she would not have felt compelled to give vent to her indignation on paper. She could have expressed it to Christina, could have discussed with her what they could do about it. But Christina was too absorbed in her own delicious thoughts.
The effects of this terrible war are everywhere, thought Charlotte. Yet never had they seemed so obvious as they did on this afternoon. When she had looked into that woman’s face she had seen something which she would never forget – a reproach, an appeal. She must do something.
It was not easy when one was sixteen. Her mother would tell her that the war was no affair of hers; and Madame de Grabow would agree with her mother. As for her brother, the ruler of Strelitz, he never had time for her, so she would soon be sent back to the schoolroom if she attempted to talk to him. Her friend and companion Ida von Bülow was too frivolous. She would agree – she always agreed – but she would sigh and say ‘Yes, Princess, but what can we do about it?’
‘There must be something I can do,’ she said aloud.
‘What?’ asked Christina idly.
Charlotte did not answer, and Christina did not notice that she had not.
So Charlotte gave herself up to studying the countryside and was appalled afresh by the effects the war had had on it.
She saw the people inadequately clad, inadequately fed; she saw villages through which the soldiers had passed, and plundered as they went. They had even desecrated the churches and in doing so robbed them of some of the sacred ornaments. And these were the Germans, their own people – the Prussians, the most brilliant makers of war in the world.
When the coach arrived back at the castle Charlotte was in a militant mood.
*
The castle, like the villages through which they had passed, was in a state of crumbling decay. There was a rampart, but the tower was almost in ruins and the old grenadier who was supposed to guard the drawbridge had laid his musket down beside him so that he could get on with knitting a stocking.
He looked up and nodded a greeting as the coach rattled over the bridge and into the courtyard.
Charlotte, to whom the
schloss
had been home ever since her
brother had inherited the ducal crown eight years ago, noticed for the first time how shabby it was. Only the glass lamps over the gateway and the two cranes set there like guards reminded one that this was the ducal residence.
We are all poor, thought Charlotte, and it is all due to this terrible war.
Never before this afternoon had the war seemed so terrible. She had followed its progress on the maps her governess Madame de Grabow had made – for Madame de Grabow was an expert map-maker and had a passion for geography which she had imparted to Charlotte. She knew that the war was due to the desires of Frederick of Prussia to dominate Europe and of Maria Theresa of Austria to take back from Frederick the province of Silesia. On Maria Theresa’s side were France, Russia and Poland, while the English had promised assistance to Frederick. There were strong family ties between the English and the Germans and Madame de Grabow was constantly referring to the island off the coast of Europe which was becoming increasingly powerful and was even at this time at war with the French over their colonies.