Caroline the Queen

And while she rode she would be thinking of how she could make the new King see that he must not dismiss his most brilliant statesman for the sake of settling old grudges.

The news was spreading quickly through the city. The apprentices scarcely waited for their masters’ permission to run into the streets; the merchants were close on their heels; from windows women leaned out shouting to each other.

The new King and Queen were coming this way.

The ballad singers were at every corner; there was not a Sedan chair to be had for the nobility were all on their way to Leicester House to pay quick homage. They were part of the jostling crowds which filled the streets about Leicester Fields to which it was believed the new rulers would make their way.

The habitually noisy streets were now deafening with shouts and cries; the tin trumpets of the newsmen were heard now and then above the babel; the long brooms of the crossing sweepers had become formidable weapons; the gingerbread woman was doing good business in contrast to the knife and scissors grinder whose services nobody wanted on a day such as this. Old Colly-Molly-Puff the pie-man had sold out his trayful and was fighting his way back to his home for more; the pickpockets were busy and the crowd was screaming with laughter at the man whose wig had been stolen, he couldn’t tell how; but those in the know understood that the man who was carrying a small boy on his shoulder might know something of its whereabouts, for the small boy carried a basket and it was very likely that the wig had been whipped off its owner’s head and placed in that basket and was now being carried fast to the wigmaker who would pay a good price for it. The little shoe-black was almost crushed to death; the even smaller chimney-sweep could see nothing either. But at least they were part of the merry, roistering street scene which had become charged with a new hilarity and excitement because the old King was dead and a new reign was about to begin.

And then there was a shout for silence.

‘They’re coming. They’re coming.’

And there was the carriage with the little King in his tall wig and a touch of mourning, looking solemn yet secretly delighted, as well he might, for everyone knew how his father had hated and humiliated him—and now old George was dead and here was young George to take his place.

He was a German too, but at least he knew how to smile and he could speak English—after a fashion. He was fond of England, which was more than his old father had been; and he had a wife living with him and giving him children. The old one had had a wife too, but he’d treated her badly so it was said, sent her into exile because she took a lover. Who could blame her after taking one look at George! And there was the old man making no secret of his scandalous relationship with his two comic German mistresses, known in the London crowds as the Maypole and the Elephant—one tall and thin, the other short and fat, both old, both ugly—and a few young and pretty ones to make a bit of variety. That was all very well. It gave them something to laugh at; but they’d never liked German George; and they were prepared to like this George, who seemed half English anyway.

And the Queen? Yes, they had an affection for the Queen. She was always affable; she loved the English, she said; she’d rather live on a dunghill in England than return to Hanover. That was what they liked to hear. When she had walked—and she walked often—she would talk to anyone she met and however humble they were, she would show an interest in them and their lives. Moreover, they had been sorry for her when the old King took her children from her and only allowed her to see them when he permitted it.

A cheer for the Queen.

So, on through the streets to Leicester House rode the new King and Queen.

In St James’s Palace three girls were impatiently awaiting a summons.

A

‘This will make all the difference to us. We shall no longer be kept here like children. We shall live gaily as princesses should.’

Amelia who was two years younger than her sister A

A

‘Husbands, of course,’ said A

‘Do you think they will find enough kings for us all?’ asked Caroline.

‘Of course,’ snapped A

‘Mamma will be delighted to have us back with her,’ said Caroline. ‘And how glad I shall be It’ll be wonderful to live under the same roof with them ... as we always should have—but for Grandfather.’

‘I’m not sure that it will be wonderful,’ put in Amelia slowly.

The others turned to her. Amelia was the beauty of the family; she had inherited a little of the Stuart features and she had her mother’s fine complexion and abundant hair; she lacked A

‘But why not?’ asked Caroline.

‘I am not sure of Papa. The things one has heard ...’ A

Everyone knows it. But Mamma is well respected.’

‘A

The two elder girls began to laugh.

‘It’s true,’ said A

‘We shall all be together,’ said Caroline. The whole family ...’

‘Don’t hope for too much,’ warned Amelia.

‘Well, we shall join our brother and sisters—but young Mary and Louisa are just silly babies,’ said A

‘They could hardly be much else being four and three,’ put in Amelia.

‘So very much younger than we ar!’ sighed Caroline. ‘As for William, everyone knows that he is a spoilt little beast.’

‘Mamma adores him, I believe.’

‘And Papa.’

‘Idiot! Papa adores no one but himself. He flies into a temper if his pages don’t powder his periwig as he likes it; and he goes round the Palace complaining because the housemaid has put a chair in the wrong place. This, my sisters, is your future King.’

Caroline giggled obediently as she always did when A

‘Let them spy. We’re the King’s daughters now.’

‘But Papa would be very angry if he heard you. You know how he always has to be flattered.’

‘Never fear, I shall do the flattering when it’s needed, but I must have the joy of saying what I really think behind his back.’

Caroline laughed obediently and A

‘It’s natural that Mamma should love William; after all he’s a boy,’ said Caroline.

‘Which reminds me,’ put in A

‘Fred!’ mused Amelia. ‘I wonder what he’s like.’

‘A horrid little German, you can be sure.’

‘Well, he has spent all his life in Hanover.’

‘Poor Fred!’ sighed Caroline. ‘They call him Fritz over there.’

‘I’ve no doubt he’s a regular little Fritz.’

‘You must not make yourself hate him before you sec him, A

‘I don’t have to make myself. I do already.’

‘But why?’

‘Imagine him. He was seven years old when Papa and Mamma left Hanover and they haven’t seen him since.’