Some people said that a bullet had been fired at him although the sound of it was not heard, so loudly was the mob shouting. They found a hole in the woodwork of the coach though.

Such scenes were frightening. One could never be sure when the mob would get out of hand.

But all that was over for a while. The people would be thinking of the new royal child. The bells would be ringing out and there would be general rejoicing.

She hoped she might have a hand in bringing up the child. It certainly should not be left to flighty Charlotte.

She was eagerly awaiting news of the birth. It must be soon now.

Lady Ancaster, one of her ladies-in-waiting, had come to read to her as she did at this time every day. How strange she looked.

‘Is anything wrong, Lady Ancaster?’

‘Your Majesty—’ Lady Ancaster had begun to sob.

‘It is Charlotte— is it?’

Lady Ancaster tried to speak but could not do so. ‘Something has gone wrong.

The child—’

Lady Ancaster looked at her helplessly. ‘Born dead—’ murmured the Queen.

And she knew the answer.

‘Charlotte—’

Still that look of blank misery.

‘No! No!’ cried the Queen.

But he knew it was true. Charlotte was dead.

Lady Ancaster was startled into action. She ran to get assistance, for the Queen had fainted.

They were saying in the streets that wicked old Queen Charlotte had planned this. She had always hated her young namesake. Why should one so young and healthy die in childbirth?

And what had Sir Richard Croft to do with it?

Why, the old Queen and the accoucheur had plotted together. They were determined that Charlotte should die so they had poisoned her. Sir Richard had neglected her. He had bled her too much. He had weakened her when he should have strengthened her. Who was Sir Richard Croft anyway? The son of a chancery clerk who had become a fashionable doctor.

Wait till they could lay their hands on the old Queen. Wait until they could meet Richard Croft face to face. They had been hoping for a royal birth and the accompanying festivities— and all they would get was a funeral.

Sir Richard Croft blew out his brains and the people were satisfied. After that there was no more talk about the murder of Princess Charlotte and her child.

When the funeral was over the Prince Regent retired to Brighton there to think of the future. He wandered through his ornate rooms and took comfort from all the splendour which was his creation. And all the time he was haunted by a shadow— the shadow of the woman who was his wife. While he was married to her he would know no peace and he longed as never before to be rid of her.

Why would no one help him? Why was it impossible to find just the evidence they needed?

He was determined that he would rid himself of Caroline.

No price was too high to be paid to be free of that woman. He would marry again. This time he would choose his bride.

He often thought of Maria. The greatest mistake of his life might have been marrying Caroline but to leave Maria was almost as grave. They should have been together. She would have comforted him now. He still thought of her at times like these. Lady Hertford— nor any of them— had ever had the solace Maria had to offer.

But it was too late to think of Maria now. She was older than he was and he was no longer young. But not too old to beget a child. And he must. The country needed an heir and he must provide it.

And how?

Now here he was back to the beginning. He must rid himself of that woman.

He went to see the Queen. She received him with great affection. It was pleasant to contemplate that the enmity between them was over. Now they were in perfect accord and she knew why he had come to her.

‘If I died tomorrow, the Duke of York would be King.’

‘With a barren wife who is not long for this world,’ remarked the Queen.

‘And William— he’s living with his large family of Fitzclarences at Bushey.’

‘He, should marry and so should Kent,’ said the Queens ‘This sad affair has brought home to us how necessary it is for every member of the family to do his duty.’

‘I will summon them all,’ said the Regent. ‘Their duty must be pointed out to them.’

‘So many children,’ mused the Queen, ‘and not an heir among them.’

‘If Charlotte and the child had lived—’

‘Ah, yes, you did your duty, painful as it was.’

‘Painful, indeed,’ echoed the Prince.

‘I always thought it was a pity you took that one instead of my niece Louise. I knew it was wrong at the time. Alas!’

‘Alas!’ repeated the Prince. Then he added briskly: ‘I will speak to my brothers. They must marry without delay. As for myself—’

‘As for yourself—’

‘I don’t give up hope. She is behaving in the most outrageous manner. We must have proof soon.’

‘Oh pray God it will come,’ said the Queen piously.

It was not difficult to persuade the Dukes of the need for them to find wives as quickly as possible. They were no longer very young, any of them— and marriage was a duty of which they had been very neglectful. The Duke of Kent was a little disturbed because he was devoted to his mistress, Madame St. Laurent, with whom he had been living for the last twenty-seven years; but like his brother, the Duke of Clarence, he was prepared to do his duty.

Very soon the public learned that there was to be a double wedding at Kew.

The Duke of Clarence had been accepted by Princess Adelaide of Saxe-Coburg Meiningen who was very beautiful and thirty years younger than he was, so it seemed likely that they would be able- to provide the country with its heir. But just in case they were unable to, the Duke of Kent had chosen for his bride Mary Louisa Victoria, a widow of the Prince of Leiningen.

In the Queen’s drawing room overlooking the gardens, the double wedding took place— two middle-aged bride grooms with young wives; at least Mary Louisa Victoria was not old and Adelaide was thirty years younger than the Duke of Clarence.

It was to Clarence and Adelaide that everyone looked for the heir; neither of the husbands was in love with his wife nor the wives with their husbands; the great purpose behind these marriages was to get an heir quickly, and they knew it.

They were fired with ambition, all four of them; and when the Duke of Kent looked at his comely plump widow he was certain that he and she had as much chance as William and this pretty young girl from Saxe-Coburg Meiningen.

And the Prince Regent as he led the congratulations when the ceremony was over was sentimentally dreaming of a bride with whom he would defeat the ambitions of these four people; a beautiful woman— a combination of Perdita Robinson, Maria Fitzherbert, Lady Jersey and Lady Hertford— yet subtly different from any of them— young, tender, adoring. He would marry her and together they would produce a son who would be heir to the throne.

There was time yet if only— But here he was back to that perpetual and frustrating matter.

He must be rid of her soon.

She reasoned with Elizabeth but Elizabeth for once opposed the Queen who at length agreed because she knew that the Regent would be on his sister’s side and would say that if she wished to marry she should do so.

So the marriage took place.

The ceremony in the throne room was very formal and the Queen felt very sad to lose yet another daughter.

The Prince Regent was unable to attend the ceremony because he was ill, and there was no doubt that Charlotte’s death had upset him greatly. He would be well again, thought the Queen, if only he could be rid of that odious woman. If it were his marriage we were celebrating to a young and fertile woman how pleased I should be! Marriage was in the air. The Princesses saw no reason why their brothers should be married and not they. All this time, they had lived under the direction of the Queen, not allowed to stray very far from the closest supervision as though they were children. Their youth was past. Charlotte had married the Prince of Würtemberg and in spite of the mystery which surrounded her husband’s first wife appeared to be living happily; Amelia had died at the age of twenty-seven, unmarried.

It was so unfair, said the Princesses, never to have been given a chance of marriage.

Mary announced that she would marry her cousin, the Duke of Gloucester. He was a little simple and known as ‘Silly Billy’ but she did not care about that. She was past forty anyway and was going to seize this last chance.

The Prince Regent had never been averse to his sisters marrying. Had he been in control earlier he would have done his best to find husbands for them. It was the King who had hated the thought of their marrying. So now no obstacle was put in her way.

Princess Elizabeth was determined not to be left out and when an opportunity came from Homburg she made up her mind to take it. The Prince of Homburg was very fat— but Elizabeth was by no means slim. ‘And at least, she said to Mary, ‘he is a husband.’

The Queen was against the marriage. She saw her daughters disappearing one by one. She had grown so accustomed to having them all about her; and they had made up to a very large extent for the trouble her sons had caused her.

The waters of Bath had done little to alleviate the Queen’s illness and although she had attempted to ignore this during the various marriage celebrations she knew that she was very ill indeed.

I’m getting old, she thought. I’m seventy-five and have had my life. I must expect now to prepare myself to go. She wished that she could have been with the King. He would have been most sympathetic. But he, poor sad man, was living through his clouded days at Windsor and he would not understand if she talked to him. And if he did, it would only upset him.