They were whispering together now. Could it be about him? He had made a discovery about Anne Vane. He had his friends about the Court and her secret was one which she could not expect to hide for long.

Anne Vane was pregnant.

What an interesting situation. It was just possible that he himself might be the father. Harrington might be too, but of course the young woman would almost certainly bestow paternity on the Prince of Wales.

It would discountenance Mistress Vane considerably if she were dismissed from Court because of her condition.

Hervey could never resist maliciously attacking his enemies and with a sudden feeling of spite he leaned closer to the Queen and whispered: ‘I’ll swear Your Majesty is disturbed about the condition of that young woman.’

‘What young woman is this?’

‘Anne Vane. She is enceinte.’

‘Enceinte!’ Caroline began to fan herself rapidly. ‘How inconsiderate of her! ‘

‘Very inconsiderate, Your Majesty. Well brought up young ladies should know it is an unpardonable offence. To err is natural, but to make public that which should be private is such vulgarity. Still, I am not surprised considering the company the young woman keeps.’

The Queen looked astonished for even from Hervey she would not take insults to the Prince of Wales.

‘I mean that mountain of flesh, that vulgar tradesman, that adorner of his vile and unwieldly person ... Bubb Dodington. Any man who gets himself born with such a name has no right to enter polite society.’

The Queen looked relieved. ‘I believe Mr Bubb Dodington to be a Member of Parliament and a respected citizen.’

‘He is respected by sellers of brocade, jewels, and building materials, Madam. They wrest a good living from his extravagances. Miss Vane is a close friend of his ... and I repeat that it is small wonder that she has behaved in this indecorous vulgar way.’

‘You think Mr Dodington is the father?’

‘I think, Madam, that there are a number who could claim that not very creditable role, but I do not think that gentleman’s mistress would allow him the opportunities which would be necessary if he were to share Miss Vane’s ubiquitous favours.’

The Queen smiled, but she was almost immediately serious.

‘I want no scandal at the Court.’

‘Then in that case Your Majesty will want no Miss Vane.’

‘You are right, Lord Hervey. I shall consider her case immediately.’


* * *

Caroline meant what she said. Frederick was mistaken if he thought she was going to have his mistress growing obviously more and more pregnant in evidence at her Court.

She considered very carefully how she would rid herself of Anne Vane.

She was at Kensington which was her favourite palace because it seemed to her more homely than St James’s or Hampton Court.

In her rooms on the first floor on the eastern side of the palace she lay in bed and thought that she would lose no time. She would act this very day.

She often thought this was one of the most enjoyable times of the day. She would lie in bed and rest her limbs—and she always felt better when she was lying down—and very often she would give audience from her bed. If her visitor were a man he would stand outside the door and talk to her from there, for she was determined that no scandal should touch her name. That would be immediately to alienate the King for the one thing that would be unforgivable to him would be to besmirch his supremacy in any way.

Then there would be the ceremony of dressing which took place all too soon, presided over by Charlotte Clayton who on some mornings seemed to give herself such airs of authority that the others resented it, particularly Henrietta Howard who, the Queen often noticed with relief, now made no objections about kneeling with the basin and ewer.

When she was dressed she stood at one of the six great windows looking down on the gardens. Such a pleasant sight and how she loved those gardens She delighted to walk in them; she was sorry she could not walk more often, but her legs did swell so much and there was that other unmentionable trouble. Whenever she thought of it she would give Charlotte a quick look. Sometimes Charlotte intercepted that look and an expression of reassurance would come over her face. Or did the Queen imagine that? Your secret is safe with me.

The children were waiting to join her at breakfast in Queen Mary’s gallery.

They greeted her formally and she sat down and Mrs Purcell, her retiring woman, hovered to adjust the kerchief about her neck. Charlotte’s sharp eyes were on Mrs Purcell, always watchful that none of the women should take too much upon themselves.

William was lounging by the window; young Caroline sat hunched over the table; Anne looked sullen; Amelia was already dressed for riding. The little girls were in their nursery presided over by Lady Deloraine. Oh dear, she hoped the King was not paying too much attention in that quarter. She believed that lady might become a little difficult ... not on her own account, of course; she was far too stupid. But she had heard that the Prince and Mr Dodington visited her apartments frequently. That might mean trouble. Still, that was for the future. The immediate problem was the dismissal of her son’s mistress.

The sight of Amelia made her uneasy. How far, she wondered, had her daughter’s flirtation with Grafton gone. Amelia was so arrogant, almost as arrogant as Anne, although in a less sour manner. Anne was a great trial to her. Poor girl, she should be married. She needed to be married. But whom could she marry? Only a prince would suit Anne and where was that prince?

Some kings and queens had longed for children; she and George, it seemed, had too many.

Not that she did not care for them as a mother. If only they had not been royal, how easy it would have been to have made suitable matches for them. She was sure Amelia would have willingly married Grafton.

She felt impelled to speak to her daughter and that delay might be dangerous.

‘I noticed,’ she said, ‘that you spent last evening at the side of the Duke of Grafton and scarcely spoke to anyone else.’

‘His conversation was more interesting than that of others, Madam.’

Arrogant, almost insolent. If I had had the care of them when they were young it would have been different. Resentment flared within her against the late King who had taken her children from her and refused to let them meet their parents without his permission. Therein lay the root of all the trouble. If Frederick had been allowed to live with them instead of being kept away in Hanover all those years, might there not have been a better understanding between him and his parents? Most assuredly. The troubles of the family lay within its own circle. An alarming thought.

‘I think you should be careful not to give a wrong impression with that young man,’ said the Queen.

‘Scarcely young,’ mocked Anne. ‘He’s old enough to be your father, Amelia.’

‘He is certainly more attractive than my own.’

‘Amelia!’ The Queen was horrified. If such remarks should reach the ears of the King they would never be forgotten, nor forgiven.

‘Oh, Mamma, we don’t have to flatter him when he’s not here, surely.’

Caroline glanced at the women. ‘The King does not need flattery,’ she said. ‘One only has to speak the truth.’

That made them titter. They saw their father too clearly, and they were too rebellious to pretend otherwise. One had to remember that with the exception of William—and he was precocious—and Louisa and Mary in the nursery they were no longer children.

The Queen, anxious to change the subject from this dangerous criticism of their father, turned on Amelia. ‘Your conduct with that man is causing comment. I find it disgraceful.’

‘Nothing to what it was at Windsor,’ commented William, making a face at his sister.

‘Be silent, you spoilt little beast.’

‘Mamma, did you hear what she called me?’

Anne said: ‘I endorse it. The Duke of Cumberland is a spoilt little beast.’

The Princess Caroline looked anxiously at her mother. Dear child! thought the Queen. She hates this family bickering as much as I do, and it is chiefly because she fears the effect on me.

William lunged towards his sister as though he would strike her. Caroline called him sharply to order and he thrust out his lip sullenly.

‘Now you do look beautiful,’ commented Amelia. ‘The handsome Duke of Cumberland! ‘

‘I will not have this,’ said the Queen. ‘Purcell, bring breakfast. I am hungry today.’

‘What would Your Majesty like?’

‘Chocolate, of course, and some fruit with sour cream.’ Purcell retired to bring the food and the Queen turned once more to Amelia.

‘I shall speak to Grafton,’ she said. ‘He shall come to my first drawing room.’

She was already rehearsing what she would say to that arrogant man who tried to remind her every time he met her that he was a direct descendant of King Charles II and she was merely married to a member of an odd sprig of the royal tree. Insufferable man. And now he was trying to—or possibly had—seduced Amelia.

Amelia was looking smug, certain of the manner in which her lover would discomfit her mother. It was intolerable that the Queen should submit to such humiliation. Nor would she from any but her own rebellious brood.

‘Mamma,’ said William, ‘when Amelia and Grafton were hunting in Windsor Forest they left the hunt and went into a private house in the forest. They stayed there for some hours. Everyone wondered where they were and thought it so odd that they had both disappeared ... and without attendants.’