Виктория Холт - Queen in waiting

Molly Lepel and Mary Bellenden, and of Sophie Howes of whom many verses had been written, of Henrietta Howard, the Prince's mistress, who was on the best of terms with the Princess, and of other personalities of the Court.

If the last month had been a foretaste of what the future reign would be like the people certainly would not mourn the passing of George I.

Caroline was a little sad. She had wanted to lie in at Hampton but Townsend had warned her that the child she was going to bear could be an heir to the throne, and heirs to the throne were not born at Hampton. The last thing Caroline wanted to do was ignore English custom, so regretfully she gave up the idea of staying at Hampton, and she could not throw off this feeling of sadness because she knew that when she left the Thames-side mansion, with its scarlet-bricked walls and its magnificent state apartments, and most delightful of all its gardens with its fountains and flowers, its greens and pavilions, its wilderness and maze, she was leaving more than a country house. This was the end of a phase—the most delightful phase of her life.

Moreover she felt ill, for a few weeks before she had almost miscarried. She wanted children—many more—but the months of discomfort while she awaited their arrival were very trying.

So to London and St. James's, and soon she hoped her child would be born.

I shall feel better then, she promised herself. More ready to face the storm which will inevitably come when the King returns.

A week after the royal party had returned to St. James's Palace, on a dark November Sunday Caroline's pains started.

All through the day officials were arriving at the Palace and the Prince summoned certain members of the Cabinet that they might be present when the child was born.

The German midwife, who could speak no English, but whom the Prince had commanded to attend to his wife, was growing anxious. As the labour was going on and on and there was no sign of the child, Mrs. Clayton and Lady Cowper were apprehensive.

"This is no ordinary confinement," said Mrs. Clayton.

"The Princess's are always difficult," Lady Cowper reminded her, "and for that reason it is folly to leave her in the hands of this old German woman."

"An old country midwife!" agreed Mrs. Clayton. "We should call Sir David Hamilton."

"I will speak to the Princess," said the forthright Lady Cowper.

She went into the apartment where Caroline was walking up and down clearly in great pain. With her was the old German woman who was obviously very worried.

"Your Highness, would you allow me to send for Sir David Hamilton?" asked Lady Cowper.

Caroline stopped in her perambulations and stared at Lady Cowper.

"For vat reason?"

"Your Highness may have need of him. He is a trained accoucheur."

"I do not vish a man to be here at this time," said the Princess.

"Your Highness ..."

But Caroline had turned away, but as Lady Cowper went to the door she gripped the bedpost in a spasm of fresh agony. The midwife was shaking her head and letting out a stream of German.

"This is folly," said Lady Cowper; and went back to consult with Mrs. Clayton.

"But if the Princess will not have a man to attend her confinement, what can we do?"

All through Monday and Tuesday the Princess continued in labour. She lay on her bed exhausted and still the child could not be brought forth.

"This is madness!" said Lady Cowper. "She cannot go on like this. Her life is in danger."

The Princess's ladies waited in their apartment for news. terrified and tearful. Lady Cowper raged that she had never heard such folly. The Princess's life was in danger and the only one she would have to attend her was that old fool of a midwife.

Selecting one of the Princess's German attendants, the Countess of Biickeburg, Lady Cowper commanded that she go to the Prince and tell him that the Princess needed the expert attention of Sir David Hamilton and that he must be sent for without delay.

The Countess went to the Prince where he was waiting with his Council.

As he listened to her his face grew red with anger—and with fear.

How dared they suggest that all was not well. Life had become so good. He was treated as a King; he was popular; he had sliown himself to be a virile man. His wife was fruitful; he had a mistress. Very soon he would have another for Mary Bellendcn would not hold out much longer. Everything was well.

"Nonsense," he said. "The Princess's confinements are al-vays like this. Ve alvays think the child vill come earlier . . . it is alvays so. She is veil ... veil ... I tell you."

The Countess retreated in haste and when she reported back to Lady Cowper, the latter with Mrs. Clayton to support her, decided that something would have to be done.

They were certain that the Princess's life was in danger.

Lady Cowper went into the lying-in chamber and called to the midwife.

"What is happening?" she demanded in German.

The old woman raised her eyes to the ceiling. "It is a difficult confinement... very difficult."

"And you are not competent enough to deal with it ... you know it."

"I do my best."

"Admit you're afraid."

"It's a difficult confinement."

"Go to the Prince and tell him you can't manage ... tell him you need help. Ask that a trained accoucheur be sent."

"It is a difficult confinement. The Princess's confinements are always difficult."

"And you are incompetent. I tell you this ... if the Princess miscarries you will be hanged by the neck until you're dead."

The midwife screamed and ran into the ante-room which was thronged with many people who stared at the screaming woman, not understanding a word of what she was saying.

The Prince and Townsend came hurrying into the room followed by several of the ministers who had assembled for the birth.

"What is wrong?" demanded the Prince.

The midwife burst out that she wanted to go away. She could not proceed when the ladies had threatened to hang her.

"Vat is this! " cried the Prince, his face purple with rage.

The midwife cried that she would not go near the lying-in chamber, for if the Princess miscarried they were going to hang her. She had done no harm. Was it her fault that the Princess's labours were difficult?

"Who says they will hang you?" yelled the Prince.

"The ladies ... all the ladies of the Princess. They say they will blame me because I am here and it should be Sir David Hamilton. They say they will kill me..."

In the lying-in chamber the Princess was moaning in her agony.

"You must go to her," said the Prince.

"No ... no ... I dare not. They are going to hang me. I will not stay to be hanged."

"The Princess needs you," said the Prince. "Oh, we know her labours are always difficult. Go in now and attend her."

The midwife went on screaming that she dared not for they were going to hang her. They had said she should have Sir David ... and they were going to hang the poor midwife.

The Prince shouted at the top of his voice. "Of this meddling I am sick. If anyvon meddles more I throw him out of this vindow."

There was silence in the room; the Prince's wig was awry his face a choleric purple, his eyes blazing with hot anger.

Both he and the Princess had decided she should not have a man to attend her—trained accoucheur that he was. She should have the midwife, as Germans always had.

But the midwife was terrified. "They will hang me," she said.

Townsend took her by the arm. He could not speak German but he smiled at her reassuringly and tried to draw her towards the Princess's chamber. But she kept screaming that they were going to hang her.

Everyone gathered round her and began talking at once. German and English mingled; an effort was made to push the woman forward but she would only whimper that they were going to hang her.

A woman's voice was heard shouting above the noise.

"Will you come at once. The Princess is lying very still." There was a deep silence. Then the midwife forgot her fears. She ran into the lying-in chamber followed by the Prince and Townsend.

After five days of labour the Princess had at last given birth.

Her child—a boy—was born dead and she herself was critically ill.

Considering how near death she had been Caroline recovered quickly. Deeply she regretted that she had lost her child but she consoled herself that there would be others.

There was news from Hanover. The king was pleased with his grandson Frederick and had created him Duke of Gloucester.

All very well, thought Caroline, but when is he coming to England? Perhaps the boy would return with his grandfather. If that were so she might almost look forward to the King's return.

But whenever she thought of that—which could not now be far distant—she shivered with apprehension. What had been happening during his absence was almost an open declaration of war between them.

While she lay recovering from her ordeal Townsend came to see her.

The Prince was with her and as soon as the minister entered the apartment George Augustus dismissed their attendants, for both he and Caroline saw at once that something was wrong,

Townsend lost no time in telling them.

"I am dismissed from office," he said. "On the King's orders. Stanhope is now Prime Minister."

"Dismissed! " cried the Prince.

"Townsend nodded. "Bothmer has been reporting to Hanover. The King does not approve of our friendship. It was the last straw when I asked that you might have special powers to open Parliament since he was so long away."

The Prince was speechless.

Caroline lay back on her pillows and thought: The battle has begun.

The King was coming back to England, and the Christmas celebrations had been soured by this knowledge. It could not be long now. The days of glory were coming to an end.

The Prince, clinging to power as long as possible, strutted in the Park reviewing the troops. He made more public appearances than ever, bowing, smiling, showing the people how he loved them; and his popularity was at its height. One early morning when a fire broke out near the Palace he rose from his bed and helped to put it out. Not content with that he sent money to people who had lost their homes. Everyone was talking of his bravery and consideration for his father's subjects; when the news that the mad man who had tried to shoot him at Drury Lane had made an attack on his warders in Newgate, the story of his courage was recalled.

"This is truly the Guardian of the Realm," said one newspaper.

The Prince was pleased and more able to live in the present than Caroline, who now fully recovered in health awaited the return of the King with growing apprehension.

And one day at the end of January George I returned to England.

The Prince met him at Blackheath. When his coach came to a halt the Prince alighted and went to that of the King.

As a crowd had gathered to see the meeting the King could do nothing but alight.

They faced each other and embraced while the people cheered.

Then they got into the King's coach together as though they were the best of friends. But the Prince had caught the cold dislike in the eyes of his father.

They continued the journey to St. James's in stony silence.

It was once more summer at Hampton Court. But how different was this summer from the last! There was common talk now of the Prince's Party and the King's Party and it was well known, not only at Court, but throughout the country that the King and his son were enemies.

The only way in which peace was maintained was by seeing that the Prince and the King were kept out of each other's way, and as they had no wish to see each other this was not difficult. The King declared himself most dissatisfied with his son; the Prince made no secret of the fact that he hated his father.

Caroline alone kept up a pretence that all was well; and however vehemently she expressed her dislike of her father-in-law in private, she always behaved with the utmost respect in public.

They had moved to Hampton Court for the summer; the King was not as displeased to be back in England now as he had been in the winter, for he had promised himself another trip to Hanover in the not too distant future while he resigned himself to the fact that as King of England he must spend some of his time in that country.