The Third George: (Georgian Series) (3 page)

‘He sounds a very virtuous king.’

‘I believe Your Highness would think him the best king in the world.’

‘If he loves peace, I should. But His Majesty of England will care little for my opinion.’

‘I believe His Majesty would be deeply gratified by Your Highness’s good opinion.’

Colonel Graeme was indeed a courtier, thought Charlotte.

*

She was not sorry for Christina’s sake when they returned to Mecklenburg.

It was pleasant to be back, for the summer was now with them and they could spend a great deal of time in the gardens.

They must not think the sun was an excuse for idleness, said Madame de Grabow; they must not sit about, their hands in their laps, merely because the sun was shining.’ Such a sybarite existence was to be deplored. They could read in the sunshine, study their Latin verbs, answer Madame de Grabow’s questions on history or geography; they could set up a table and make maps of the world; and there was always the needle. When their garments were all repaired they could take up their embroidery or lace; but not before.

Christina was a little anxious.

‘I cannot understand why there must be all this delay.’

‘Does the Duke know why?’ asked Charlotte.

‘He is as puzzled as I. Why, before we went to Pyrmont it was as good as settled. Now it is: “Wait … You must be patient.” We have been patient long enough.’

Poor Christina! She had lost the look which love had put upon her, for the anxiety took the sparkle from her eyes.

It can’t go wrong, thought Charlotte. It must not go wrong. And why should it?

Madame de Grabow had ordered them to set up the table and their sewing was laid on it in little bundles. Not much today, Charlotte was thinking. She would soon be working on her embroidery.

It was very pleasant stitching in the sunshine; she had almost forgotten that letter she had written to the King of Prussia, and when she did think of it she assured herself that it had never reached him. Had she not been a little naïve to imagine it would? She pictured the scene; the messenger arriving and the letters being taken from him by one of the King’s secretaries. And what was this one? A letter from the Princess Charlotte Sophia of Mecklenburg-Strelitz! Who was she? A girl of sixteen! She pictured the secretary opening the letter, casting his
eye over it and, laughing, tearing it up and throwing it in the waste-paper basket or holding it in the flame of a candle.

She had been foolish to worry.

‘You’re thoughtful,’ whispered Ida. ‘I can guess what you’re thinking. You’re wondering when there will be a suitor for you.’

Charlotte did not answer for a moment; she carefully threaded a pale blue strand of silk; she loved working with beautiful colours.

‘Oh come, Ida,’ she said, when her needle was threaded and she was plying it again, ‘do you really think a husband will ever be found for me?’

‘He may find you.’

‘You are too romantic. I believe you read romances.’

‘Well, they’re more interesting than your Greek and Latin.’

‘How can you tell since you don’t know Greek and Latin. At least they teach me to be realistic, whereas your romances teach you to dream impossible dreams.’

‘Why impossible? Why shouldn’t you have a husband? Many people do … particularly princesses.’

Charlotte looked across the table where Christina’s head was bent over her sewing. She desperately hoped that everything would work out well for Christina.

‘Now who,’ said Charlotte almost testily, ‘would want to marry a poor little princess like me! Be realistic, Ida, for once. My mouth is too large and my person too small, I have neither attractions nor fortune. No man whom my brother and my mother would consider worthy would consider me worthy, so there’s an end of the matter.’

Just as she finished speaking the sound of the postman’s horn was heard in the distance.

‘Letters from afar,’ said Christina, lifting her head.

Ida’s eyes sparkled. ‘Perhaps this is a sweetheart come to claim you, Princess,’ she whispered to Charlotte.

Charlotte laughed at her; and they were all silent. Again the postman’s horn was heard – this time nearer.

They listened to it until it was right at the door of the
schloss
.

*

A page was coming across the gardens, straight to the table where the girls sat at their sewing.

Christina was watching eagerly. Poor Christina. She was
always believing that she would be summoned to her brother’s presence and there told that she had his consent to her marriage.

‘His Highness commands the presence of the Princess Charlotte without delay.’

Charlotte’s knees were trembling as she rose. This was how she had imagined it a hundred times. The letters arriving from Prussia, The King’s fury; his angry letters to the Duke who allowed his sister to be so disrespectful to the King of whom every little German duke must stand in awe.

Christina and Ida looked alarmed; even Madame de Grabow was ill at ease. The letters had just arrived. It seemed strange that Charlotte should have been summoned so soon. This could not have happened unless it was a matter of the utmost importance.

She followed the page into the castle. It was so hot out of doors, so cool behind those thick walls; but it was not the change of temperature which made her shiver; it was apprehension.

She was saying to herself: I don’t care. It was right to do it. I know it was right.

The door was flung open. There they stood; her brother and her mother, side by side. Oh, this was a very important occasion.

‘Charlotte!’ It was her mother who spoke. She approached, still rehearsing her excuses. ‘Charlotte, my dear child.’ Her mother embraced her. ‘I have wonderful news for you. This is one of the happiest days of my life.’

Charlotte looked from her mother to her brother. He, too, was smiling.

The Duke said almost teasingly: ‘So you thought fit to write a letter to the King of Prussia?’

‘Yes,’ answered Charlotte, trying to be bold but hearing her voice end on a squeak which betrayed her fear.

‘Telling His Majesty how to conduct his armies.’

‘No, that was not so. I merely told him of what the war had done to us here. I begged him to stop his soldiers pillaging the land – which was doing no good to any of us.’

‘It was an impertinent letter,’ said the Duke.

‘But,’ added the Dowager Duchess with a smile, ‘it amused His Majesty.’

‘It … it was not meant to amuse.’

‘It touched him too. He has given orders that his armies shall
not plunder the villages through which they pass.’

Charlotte clasped her, hands and smiled. She did not care now. She had achieved her purpose. They could punish her if they wished. She would sew a hundred of the coarsest shirts to be distributed among the poor; she would not care; she would rejoice as she pricked her fingers as one always did with that coarse stuff. And she would think all the time of the King of Prussia, reading her letter and deciding that she was right.

‘The King thought it a remarkable letter for a sixteen-year-old girl to write. Though you are seventeen now, Charlotte.’

‘Yes, Mamma.’

‘That is good too. It is a pleasant age. Now for my news. The King of Prussia had copies of your letter made and showed them to his friends. He even sent one to the Dowager Princess of England – the mother of the King.’

‘To England! So far!’

‘It was the biggest stroke of good fortune that has come to our House for a long time,’ said the Duke.

‘Your Highness means my letter …’

‘Your letter,’ said her mother. She smiled at her son. ‘The Princess Dowager thought it a remarkable letter; so did her son.’

‘The King! The King of England?’

‘He read it, they tell me, and tears filled his eyes. He said: “What a remarkable girl the Princess Charlotte must be.” And so he sent Colonel Graeme to see you and to report to him what he thought of you. It seems that Colonel Graeme thought very highly of you.’

‘Mamma … what are you telling me?’

‘That you are fortunate beyond our wildest hopes and dreams. The King of England is asking for your hand in marriage.’

*

‘What did I say?’ demanded Ida. ‘Did I not say it was a sweetheart? I never thought it would be the King of England, though.’

‘But Ida … he has not seen me!’

‘Colonel Graeme has seen you. And he evidently liked what he saw.’

‘What a strange way in which to choose a bride!’

‘All royal brides are chosen in that way.’

‘Colonel Graeme must have flattered me. I hope it won’t be a shock for the King when he sees me.’

‘Perhaps he’s not as handsome as he’s been made out to be,’ comforted Ida.

Christina came in.

She said: ‘So you’ll be the first to be married after all.’

*

There was talk of nothing else but Charlotte’s coming marriage. There was to be no delay. The English were sending Lord Harcourt to Strelitz immediately and as soon as he arrived the proxy ceremony was to take place, and immediately it was over she was to sail for England.

‘It seems there is an undue haste,’ whispered Charlotte to Ida. ‘Do you think they are afraid the King will hear the truth and not want me after all?’

‘What truth? He’s heard the truth.’

‘I think they’ve told him I’m a beauty.’

‘Not they. He read your letter and he knows you’re a wiseacre. He’s more interested in that than a pretty face.’

At least Ida was honest. Charlotte studied her face in her mirror and her misgivings were great. Homely is the kindest way to describe me, she thought; plain would be more truthful.

She hoped that the King did not like pretty women.

Why should the King of England select her … a humble princess of a tiny state without beauty and riches?

Ida had the answer. ‘Because you’re German and Protestant. There are other princesses in Europe, but don’t forget they’re all Catholics … and they’re not German. English Kings ever since George the First always marry Germans.’

‘And I can’t speak his language.’

‘Never mind, he’ll speak yours. Remember, he’s German too.’

‘That’s a comfort. But I expect I shall have to learn to speak English. Oh, Ida, it’s a terrible thought. I shall leave home. I shall live in a strange country for the rest of my life …’ She looked at Ida. She would doubtless leave her too, for it was hardly likely that she would be allowed to take Ida with her.

‘It’s better than living here, Princess … doing the same thing every day. Why, you’ve never dined publicly yet. You haven’t been living royally at all.’

‘I know, but now I feel I want to go on as I have been for a
little longer at least. I wonder if Christina will come to England with me.’ Her face lightened. ‘Of course she will. She will marry and we’ll go together … perhaps we’ll be married together. That will be a comfort. I shan’t be alone after all.’ She was serious suddenly. ‘I can’t help thinking though, Ida, that there is something extraordinary about all this. I am so humble and
he
is the King of England … and it is all so sudden.’

And although Ida did her best to comfort her, Charlotte could not rid herself of the idea that there was something strange about this good fortune which had been thrust upon her so unexpectedly – and the speedy manner in which affairs were being hurried to their climax.

*

Christina was heartbroken; there was no comforting her.

She walked up and down Charlotte’s bedroom, her eyes wide with misery.

‘There’s nothing to be done,’ she said. ‘No, Charlotte … I know you would do anything, but there is nothing to be done.’

‘Oh, Christina, that it should be due to me!’

‘It’s not your fault. It has to be. I’ve had a feeling lately that we were doomed.’

‘It’s so foolish. Because I am to marry the King of England you may not marry an Englishman! Why? Why?’

‘It’s in the contract. No other member of the family must marry into England. They have their reasons.’

‘There seems no sense in their reasons.’

‘Charlotte, you don’t realize what this means. You will be the Queen of England.’

‘Why should my sister not be Duchess of Roxburgh?’

‘It is in the contract. Our brother has signed it … eagerly. You can guess why. His sister will be Queen of England. Think of that. He would sacrifice a great deal to bring about that state of affairs, and all he has to sacrifice is me.’

‘Oh, Christina, I wish this had not happened.’

‘Wished this piece of luck had passed you by? Don’t let anyone hear you say that! They will say you are mad. The King of England might hear of it and decide not to marry you after all. Do you want to break our brother’s heart … and our mother’s? Oh, no, Charlotte, be content with mine.’

What could she say to Christina? If she could have made the
sacrifice she would most willingly. She was afraid when she thought of going to England. The monotonous routine of her days had become precious; she did not want to leave it … for the unknown.

But both she and Christina knew that it was not for her to make momentous decisions.

When she offered to give up her marriage that Christina might have hers Christina only laughed with the new bitterness which had crept into her voice.

‘Do you want them to marry you by force?’ she asked. ‘Make no mistake, Charlotte. It is not what you want or I want. This is a brilliant marriage – Mecklenburg will be allied with England.
We
are of no importance. Don’t forget it.’

No, there was no comforting Christina.

*

Lord Harcourt had arrived at the
schloss
.

He was a handsome man in his late forties, extremely courteous, and he behaved towards Charlotte as though she were already the Queen of England.

Before his arrival the activity in the
schloss
had reached a feverish pitch; the Dowager Duchess had gone through her trunks and produced dresses which she had been saving for very special occasions. There could not be a more worthy occasion than this. The gowns were altered to fit little Charlotte and she stood patiently while velvets such as she had never worn before were fitted.