"Veil, poor child she was very frightened."

"We shall have all of them seeking adventures with highwaymen."

"Oh I don't think so. They vouldn't risk their lives for the sake of a few trinkets which after all might not adequately replace vat they had lost."

"The fact that they are given by Your Highness enhances their value."

"You flatter, Henrietta. Send for the little Carteret and afterwards bring my shoes and clock. I vill go for a valk. I must make the most of the Richmond air."

"It is very overcast, Your Highness."

"I vill keep close to the Lodge."

Bridget Carteret was delighted with the gifts and gave Caroline a graphic description of her adventure. While she was doing so it had become almost as dark as night outside, and the first raindrops had begun to fall.

"This is going to be a bad storm, I fancy," said Caroline going to the window and at that moment a flash of lightning lit up the room. The immediate crack of thunder showed it to be right overhead.

"Your Highness should come away from the window," said Bridget. "I've heard ..."

Caroline turned to smile at her lady-in-waiting.

"It's only a passing storm," she said.

"In your condition. Madam..." began Henrietta; and at that moment a flash more vivid than the last made Caroline step back from the window; but just at that moment one of the elm trees came crashing down and there was a sound of breaking glass mingling with the roar of thunder.

Caroline cried out in alarm, stepped back hastily and tripped.

She was aware of the branches of the tree coming through the broken window, of the scream of Bridget Carteret, and Henrietta bending over her before she lost consciousness.

She was lying in bed. The Prince was seated at her bedside, fussily attentive.

"Vot have happened?"

"You're all right, my tear. The doctors haf assured me "

He held her hand. "I haf been so anxious. You are tearer to me than my life. But it is all right. They have me told."

"The child...."

"There vill be children. You vill not be upset now. You vill soon be veil ... and that is my only concern."

So she had lost the child!

Was there some curse on her? The children she had were taken from her; and it seemed that fate had decided she was not to bear another.

In time the Princess recovered from her disappointment. There would be another child, for George Augustus was as regular in his attentions to her as he was to his mistress. I cannot go on being so unfortunate she told herself. And she must be grateful for her good health which helped her to recover from these disappointments more readily than most.

She fretted constantly for the children. She heard that Fritzchen was drinking too much, and was getting a taste for gambling; she heard too that he was not very strong. He was subject to fever; his back was weak so he was obliged to wear whalebone stays—not steel, which would have pressed uncomfortably on his nerves. He had glandular trouble. His doctors ordered a diet of asses* milk. What was happening to Fritzchen? How unnatural that all these years should be allowed to pass and a mother not be permitted to see her son!

And the little girls? She heard that they had danced for their grandfather at Hampton; that they were treated with respect by ambassadors—different from the way in which that unnatural man insisted his son and daughter-in-law should be treated! They did meet occasionally; but how difficult it was when George Augustus was not allowed to visit Hampton and they were surrounded by spies. The girls were growing up and one could not expect them to be unaffected by the conflict in the family.

How different was this summer from that glorious one at Hampton !

In Hampton George tried to forget that he had a son and daughter-in-law! He regarded Frederick Lewis his grandson in Hanover as his heir; and although he had no tenderness for his grandchildren he liked to see them now and then to remind himself of their existence and the power he had to take them from their parents.

From time to time he heard how the Princess grieved for them and that gave him a grim pleasure. The woman had flouted him; she was far too clever, luring men to her court and winning the affection of the people. She should pay for that as anyone who offended him had to pay.

He had no intention of trying to make Hampton like Richmond. His Court would be as he liked it. Some might say it was dull but what did he care. His Duchesses of Kendal and Darlington—in other words Schulemburg and Kielmansegge— pleased him, particularly the former without whom he never liked to go far. Ermengarda was to him as a wife—a good placid wife who never stood in the way of anything he wanted. In his youth his hobbies had been war and women; now he was getting too old for war so it was merely women. But although he liked occasional variety he went back and back again to Ermengarda. She was a rich woman in her own right now, for since she had been to England she had developed an unsuspected talent for amassing money, but that made no difference to their relationship. She was still his placid Ermengarda, always ready to obey.

There was one thing he did enjoy in England and that was the theatre.

He therefore had the great hall at Hampton fitted up as a theatre and sent to Colley Gibber and his company to come down to entertain him.

Gibber played Henry VIII and other Shakespearian plays, of which the King was especially fond; Gibber provided German translations which the King read beforehand that he might follow the action on the stage and so delighted the King; and the King delighted Gibber.

This to the King was a pleasant existence: to see the play, with the Duchess of Kendal and Darlington on either side of him—the three of them had long formed a habit of going about together—and then to retire with one of them, or a fancy of the moment, to what he called a seasonable bedtime.

So passed the summer months.

To see the King going to Drury Lane was a sight which amused the people of London. His Sedan chair would be carried from St. James's Palace preceded by his beefeaters and guards. Immediately behind would be two other chairs, and if the people were lucky they would catch a glimpse of the red and black wigs above what they considered to be two of the most grotesquely ugly faces in the kingdom.

George cared nothing for the jeers of his subjects. Nor did his two mistresses, who in any case had grown accustomed to them.

And when he reached the theatre and was welcomed by the manager he would refuse the royal box and ask for one where he could not be so easily seen.

Then he would sit at the back of this, a Duchess on either side of him and prepare to enjoy the play.

One evening that autumn as his chair came out of the palace a young man leaped out of the crowd and ran towards the chair. If one of the guards had not seen him, he would have shot the King; as it was the bullet merely grazed the top of the chair.

The young man was seized and dragged away. The King went on to the theatre.

In the cart the young man was being taken to Tyburn. His name was James Shepherd and he was only eighteen years old.

He shouted to the crowd: ''There is only one true King of England. He is James III. Down with the German I "

"Down with the German!" echoed many in the crowd.

"He's young to die," said others. "The King should have shown mercy."

The Jacobites watched sullenly and said the King was a monster. His own wife, the Queen of England, was languishing in prison; he had quarrelled with his son; his daughter-in-law was deprived of her children. They hadn't a King on the throne. They had a monster.

Some remembered that the Princess of Wales had pleaded for the boy. He was young, she said; he was doubtless led astray. Let him be punished in some slight way and cautioned.

But the King had ignored the pleas of the Princess of Wales, and James Shepherd was taken to Tyburn and the rope was placed about his neck.

Even the staunchest Hanoverians said as they watched that young body hanging there: "He is young to die."

The King was aware of the murmurs against him. It was not often that he cared about public opinion. It had always been his comment that if the English didn't want him here he would willingly go back to Hanover.

But he was angry that even out of such an incident as an attempt on his life and the—to him—perfectly just punishment of such an act, the Princess should squeeze a little popularity.

She was kind, they were saying now. She was humane. She had pleaded with the King to spare the life of the young man who had attempted to kill him. Of course she did I Doubtless she thought the fellow some sort of hero.

And the people admired her for it.

He was in this mood of resentment when Henry Howard, the husband of the Prince's mistress, who was one of the grooms of his bedchamber, caught his eyes and he summoned him to him.

"Is it not a rule," he said, "that the wives of men in my service should leave that of the Prince and Princess of Wales if they happen to be with them?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And what of your wife?"

"She has refused. Your Majesty."

The King knew of this and he had not insisted at the time because he had thought it would plague Caroline, and do George Augustus no good in the eyes of the people, to keep his mistress.

But the affair seemed to be accepted and Caroline no doubt saw that it was conducted with decorum.

The King nodded. He saw the chance of making trouble with a little scandal.

"It is your duty to insist that your wife leaves Leicester House and comes to you here."

Henry Howard bowed and said he would obey the King's orders.

When Henrietta received a letter from her husband demanding that she return to him and leave the household of the Prince and Princess of Wales, she did not take the matter seriously. She knew that Henry was drinking heavily, that he did not want her and was in fact glad to be rid of her; so she ignored the letter and forgot about it. But a few nights later there was a disturbance at the gates of Leicester House. Next morning everyone was talking about it and when Henrietta went into the apartment where the maids-of-honour were noisily discussing it, there was a silence.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Did you hear the noise last night?" asked Molly Lepel.

"Yes. What was it?"

"A ... a man ... the worse for drink. The doorman turned him away but he was shouting for a long time."

Mary Bellenden said gravely: "It was your husband, Mrs. Howard. He was asking for you. He said he wanted to take you away with him."

Henrietta turned pale and said: "There is some mistake."

No one answered; and Henrietta went to Caroline's apartment to tell her what she had heard.

Caroline listened gravely. "Do you think he really vants you to return to him, Henrietta?"

"No." Henrietta was shivering with apprehension and Caroline had never seen her so before.

"You're frightened, Henrietta."

"I could not live with him, Madam. He is a drunkard. He's a brute. He ill treated me before. I have never been so happy as I am here with you ... and the Prince."

And the Prince! thought Caroline. How much does he mean to her? Can she really care for him? Surely not! She wanted peace and comfort; she did not seek power or great riches, but this life suited her and she was in terror of losing it.

"It is strange that he should come here. There must be some meaning behind it."

Caroline did not say that she suspected the King, for poor Henrietta was in such a state of anxiety to which this could only add.

"Don't fret," said Caroline ."I shall not let you go. If I send this brute avay ... avay he must go. Do not fret, Henrietta. Here shall you stay."

Henrietta was comforted; but she was uneasy. So was Caroline. Could the man force his wife to live with him? And if he took this matter to court and if the court decided that a husband had rights over his wife, must Henrietta go? And then would George Augustus be seeking a new mistress ... or mistresses? Young girls of the bedchamber who lacked the tact of Henrietta, who might have to be taught that familiarity with the Prince did not mean that liberties could be taken with the Princess?

A few days later Caroline received a letter from the Archbishop of Canterbury.