Charlotte looked obliquely at her grandmother.

If she thought she was going to spoil her friendship with Mercer, she was very much mistaken.

Nothing was done to prevent the friendship, which strengthened as the months passed. Then a series of tragedies struck the royal family and it seemed to Charlotte that she was jerked out of her childhood and nothing was ever quite the same again.

The trouble appeared to start because of a conflict between two of her uncles, Edward, Duke of Kent, whom she had never liked, and her favourite of them all, Uncle Fred, Duke of York.

It was such a scandal that try as they might they could not keep it from her; and that was the beginning.

The rival Dukes and Mary Anne

EDWARD, DUKE OF KENT, was a frustrated man. His military career had been a bitter disappointment and the only one in the world who understood how he suffered was Julie – known as Madame de St Laurent. She was the only person in the world for whom he cared; for years now he had regarded her as his wife; and he wanted no other. The family accepted her, for it was realized that as he was a royal duke there could be no marriage ceremony, and Edward therefore must dispense with it. The affairs of the Prince of Wales and Mrs Fitzherbert and the Duke of Sussex with his Goosey had shown how worthless such ceremonies were.

Julie was beautiful, discreet and in every way except one, worthy to marry into the royal family; and that one reason was that she was not royal. She would not allow this fact to give Edward the smallest cause for anxiety. Julie made it clear that she was content with her lot; and she wanted Edward to be the same. He was certainly content with Julie; it was the way in which he had been treated which angered him.

He was unlike the Prince of Wales in that he lacked that easy charm which was so much a part of his elder brother’s character. Edward was a soldier who had been trained in the grimmest of schools. He was without humour; he behaved like a Prussian; and that had made him unpopular with Englishmen.

It was his Prussian attitudes which were responsible for his recall from Gibraltar.

Only to Julie could he talk of this matter; only to her could he explain the frustration. Julie understood it and it alarmed her because she sensed his growing jealousy of his brother, Frederick. ‘Frederick, Duke of York, Commander-in-Chief of the Army!’ He always gave him his full title when he spoke of him; and the bitterness he revealed made her shiver.

It would have been too wounding to point out that Frederick’s easy-going nature ensured his popularity with the men – something which Edward, good soldier though he was, could never win.

He had begun to talk constantly of his brothers. ‘George,’ he would say with a sneer, ‘thinks of nothing but his own pleasure. He’s seen about with that ridiculous dandy Brummell and they discuss coats and neckcloths ad nauseam. And now he is creating a scandal with that Hertford woman, behaving like a lovesick schoolboy, following her round, gazing at her like a sick cow … tears in his eyes … and all the time living with Maria Fitzherbert. And this is the man who could one day be king … any day … by the state of my father’s health. But Frederick … Commander-in-Chief of the Army …’ He could not go on. His anger choked him.

‘I think you should be careful not to quarrel with your brothers, Edward,’ said Julie gently.

‘My dear, I must say what I mean. I’m a blunt soldier. My feelings have not been considered. My father has treated me like a boy in the nursery.’

Julie tried to soothe him.

He had been sent from home when he was eighteen to Hanover, Luneburg and afterwards to Geneva because his father had believed that no young man could receive education or military instruction in England to compare with what he could get in Germany. Julie had heard all about the life he had led and the strictness of Baron Wangenheim’s regime. But Edward always said with grudging admiration: ‘He taught me how to be a soldier and I learned something that Frederick, Commander-in-Chief, never did.’

He had hated Geneva so much that he came home without permission and had been sent at once to Gibraltar where he had not been popular and his Prussian methods had almost caused a revolt. ‘How like them,’ he used to say, ‘to send me to Prussia to learn German methods and then revile me for putting them into practice.’ He had been recalled from Gibraltar and sent to Canada.

‘The only piece of luck I ever had,’ he used to say; for it was there that he met Mademoiselle de Montgenet – Julie herself – with whom he fell in love and who lived with him as his wife and changed her name then to Madame de St Laurent after the St Lawrence river, the scene of their blissful courtship.

Seventeen years they had been together and they still hated to be apart; when he was sick she nursed him; and when for health reasons he returned to England to take the waters of Bath she came with him.

He had to admit that his brothers, led by the Prince of Wales, rallied round him when he and Julie set up house in Knightsbridge, and Maria Fitzherbert became a particular friend of Julie’s; and when Maria wanted to sell her house, Castle Hill in Ealing, Edward bought it and it became their home. Julie was the Duchess of Kent in all but name.

But of course he could not remain idle. He was a soldier and Frederick, Commander-in-Chief, had wanted to do something for him. Discipline on the rock of Gibraltar was bad and Edward was noted for his discipline. The Commander-in-Chief had talked to his brother – very jocular, very friendly, explaining to him the need to deal tactfully with the situation and reminding him of his unpopularity previously on the Rock.

He then began to scorn Frederick, who was in his opinion no true soldier; but he had believed he could reinstate himself in the eyes of the Army and the family and had accepted the challenge.

And the result was disaster.

He had quickly discovered that the reason for the trouble was drink. The soldiers spent half their time in the liquor shops and he found many drunk on duty. These he ordered to be severely flogged. He closed half the wine shops and forbade any but commissioned officers to go into those which remained open. His unpopularity soared. He did not realize how dangerously.

The soldiers hated him for depriving them of drink; the shopkeepers were furious because he took away their trade. Who was this man? they asked each other. The son of a king. They did not want to be commanded by kings’ sons; they wanted to be commanded by soldiers. Where had he learned his army drill? In Germany. This was not Germany and they would not tolerate German ways.

The revolt was staged for Christmas Eve but it was ill-planned and the Duke, if stern, was competent. He had soon captured the ringleaders and without hesitation stood them up before a firing squad. The sound of those shots sobered themutineers as he had guessed they would.

But within a month he was recalled to England.

‘By God, Edward,’ said Fred – jolly, good-humoured Fred – ‘things are damned awkward at Gib. Worse than they were before you went. Better if you’d stayed at home, perhaps.’

This from Frederick – a careless pleasure-loving Fred – who cared more for his numerous mistresses than he did for the Army. It was an insult; it was a deep wound; it was an open sore. For whichever way he looked at it he had once again been recalled from Gibraltar in disgrace.

The King received him with much shaking of the head. ‘Discipline … very good, but it has to be reasonable discipline, eh, what? You’ve got to have tact, eh, judgement, eh what?’ He glared at his son as he spoke, and those protuberant eyes were wild beneath the bushy white brows. He was half mad, thought Edward, but that did not heal the wound. He had done his best. He could have kept order in Gibraltar; he could have restored discipline; but they had recalled him after he had stifled the revolt because they said he was too severe; when he remembered the disgrace of it, he was furious. And there was Fred – unfit for command if ever anyone was – Commander-in-Chief of the Army!

The incompetence of Fred therefore became an obsession; he had to occupy his mind with something, cut off as he was from the career he loved.

Then one day a certain Colonel Wardle came to him with a startling story.

‘Your Highness,’ said the Colonel, ‘there is a matter which causes me great uneasiness and puts me in a very delicate position, but I have come to the conclusion that it is my duty to bring it to your notice. It concerns certain practices which are being carried out to the detriment of the army which we both serve.’

‘Certainly tell me,’ said Edward.

The Colonel coughed. ‘It is a little embarrassing, Your Highness. This concerns the conduct of the Duke of York.’

Edward tried to suppress his excitement. ‘I trust it is nothing … discreditable.’ His very expression denied the sentiment, showing clearly that he hoped it was.

‘So discreditable, Your Highness, that I think perhaps I should not talk of it.’

‘You have made an accusation against my brother. I must insist.’

‘Not against the Duke, Your Highness. It is a certain woman who was once his mistress.’

Edward licked his lips. ‘I command you to proceed, Colonel.’

‘I know for a fact that a certain Mary Anne Clarke has been selling commissions in the Army. Her position as mistress of the Commander-in-Chief has put her into a position to do this.’

‘Selling commissions? It is monstrous!’

‘So I thought, Your Highness.’

‘And how long has this been going on?’

‘Doubtless it is no longer happening, because His Highness pensioned off the woman some time ago. But it did happen. I have irrefutable evidence of this.’

‘It is something which must not be allowed to pass. It is trickery of the worst kind. Where is this woman now?’

Colonel Wardle-twirled his moustaches. ‘Passing from one man to another in the process of her profession, Your High ness.’

‘And my brother?’

‘They parted good friends. He gave her a pension of four hundred a year but she is in debt. I fear he instilled in her a taste for extravagance.’

‘Coupled with a taste for trickery,’ said Edward, his eyes protruding and his face growing so red that he looked remarkably like his father.

‘You know where to find this woman?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘She should be asked … bribed if need be … to tell the truth.’

‘I will try her out, Your Highness. I think I know how to make her talk.’

‘It is deplorable, highly regrettable, but even though my own brother and a royal Duke is involved I do not see how I can allow this to pass.’

We are in for an exciting scandal, thought Colonel Wardle, and went off to set it in motion.

Mary Anne Clarke, vivacious, extremely pretty and, according to the men of her acquaintance, infinitely desirable though now nearer forty than thirty, was finding it difficult to satisfy her creditors. It was true that though she came from the establishment of a stonemason – her husband – in Snow Hill, that was long ago and she had grown accustomed to living with a duke – and a royal one at that. She had four children – the stonemason’s – to whom she was devoted and she was determined to have the best for them. She would like nice respectable marriages for the three girls and a good career for the boy. If Frederick had stayed with her this could have been achieved but Frederick had left. They had been together for three years – which was a long time for Frederick – and she had always been well aware of his penchant for variety. He had been an easygoing, pleasant lover, not very intelligent, but one must not expect too much; he had royalty to offer and that meant prestige even if there had not been all the money she would have liked. Poor Fred, like his brother the Prince of Wales he was constantly in debt, and although he had promised his dear Mary Anne a good income, it was rarely paid.

‘Simply haven’t the money, my angel,’ he would tell her blithely; and she knew it was true.

But she had insisted on her pension of four hundred pounds a year on which she delicately called her retirement from his service. It had all been arranged legally; she had been determined on that.

Sometimes she read through his letters. They made her laugh, for writing was not one of his accomplishments. They were crude and ill-spelt, but one thing they did show was his devotion, for Fred had been a very devoted lover, while it lasted.