But a change was coming. He and his brother were growing up. William would soon be sent to sea. And because of this William was half excited, half apprehensive. ‘At least,’ William had said, ‘it’ll be an escape from Kew and Buckingham House.’ Lucky William, thought Frederick.

The King was in fact giving only half an ear to the music. He was thinking that soon he would have to leave Kew for London. He could not enjoy the sequestered life for long at a time. The dark, clever, rather gross face of Charles James Fox came into his mind. Always plaguing him. The Foxes always had. As though they bore him a grudge for not marrying Sarah. Charles James Fox was her nephew and if ever there was a troublemaker it was that man.

And the American affair … and the French and the Spaniards … and the Government …

I’ll put them from my mind, he told himself. I’ll feel all the better for a little respite from affairs. Work all the better when I do get back to business, eh, what? Ought to be on better terms with young George. Can’t have trouble in the family. He didn’t want to talk to George. George was too smart with words. Had an answer for everything. A pleasant game of chess, that was what he would like. Even so, George invariably beat him nowadays. Nevertheless they could get a good game.

Where was George? George ought to be present on a family occasion like this.

Mr Papendiek’s solo was over; the King led the applause and when that came to an end and the musicians waited for his further instructions he declared: ‘I should like a game of chess. Tell the Prince of Wales that I wish him to join me in a game of chess.’

Frederick was dismayed. They were going to search for the Prince of Wales and would be unable to find him, unless they went to that remote spot in the gardens and then … what would they discover? He had feared something like this. He had wanted George to make some provision for such an emergency but George had merely shrugged aside the possibility of discovery. And now … it seemed inevitable.

‘Where is the Prince, eh, what?’ the King was already demanding as the chess board had been set out and he himself was putting the ivory pieces in their places.

One of the Prince’s attendants came in looking harassed.

‘Well, well, where is he? Eh? Eh?’ demanded the King.

‘Your Majesty, the Prince is not in his apartments.’

Frederick waited for no more. He slipped out of the drawing room and out of the Lodge and made his way with all speed to that remote spot in the gardens. It was dark now but there was enough light from the moon to show Frederick the two figures embracing.

‘George! George!’ cried Frederick. ‘For God’s sake … George.’

The lovers parted and George, seeing his brother, cried: ‘Good God, Fred, what is it?’

The King is demanding your presence immediately. He wants a game of chess.’

George cursed chess vehemently and stopped himself in time cursing the King. Harriot, trembling with anxiety, looked appealingly at her lover.

‘There’s nothing to be done but return with all speed and play this game of chess,’ muttered the Prince. ‘Here, Fred, take this.’ It was Lord Maiden’s greatcoat with which he had disguised himself. He turned to Harriot and embraced her warmly. George would be a lover in any circumstances, thought Frederick admiringly. Even now while he was on the verge of exposure he was charmingly protective to the lady. ‘Fred, see that Miss Vernon reaches her apartments in safety.’ Frederick bowed. If he were involved in this affair he would not blame George. It had always been thus between them. They had always protected each other, at whatever cost to themselves, and took loyalty for granted.

So with Lord Maiden’s overcoat over one arm Frederick conducted the lady to a back staircase of the maids’ house while George hurried to the Queen’s drawing room where the King was impatiently glowering at the chess board.

‘Takes you a long time to get here, eh, what?’ He looked into the flushed face of his son. The elegant boots were just a little muddy. Many eyes noted this. There was a whispering behind fans, a few quietly spoken words among the attendants.

The Prince had for some time been ogling the only pretty maid of honour in his mother’s entourage and already someone had reported seeing Prince Frederick sneaking out of the King’s presence to warn his brother and later conducting the lady back to her apartments.

The Prince played a reckless game of chess which gave the King the advantage. But the latter did not enjoy this. What’s the young blade up to, eh, what? the King asked himself.

And all through the household they were whispering of the Prince’s love affair.

The next day in the same spot the Prince successfully accomplished the seduction of Miss Vernon; but by this time the affair was palace gossip.


* * *

Harriot Vernon went about her duties with the rapt expression of one who may have lost her virtue but had gained the whole world; and when the Prince of Wales was not seeking private interviews with the lady he was in his apartments writing verses to her.

How could Charlotte have allowed such a charmer to appear in the Prince’s orbit, people were asking each other. Because she was about to give birth? Nonsense, this little operation was as normal to her as breathing. Still, she had slipped, and there could be a real scandal if the reckless Harriot should prove to be fertile as well as romantic.

Schwellenburg, bustling about her apartments, tending the frogs and toads of which she made pets and kept in glass cages, grumbled to herself about the Prince of Wales. ‘Ah,’ she muttered, ‘you willen zees tricks do.’ And she tapped her snuff box and listened to the croaking which followed. She was proud of having taught her little darlings to croak at the tap of a snuff box. ‘They vise little frogs,’ she would say. ‘Very vise frogs. Good little toads … not like the Prince of Vales. Must talk to the Queen of bad Prince, little frog. Not talk to self.’

And she did talk to the Queen. The Prince of Wales was having a love affair with that wicked young woman Harriot Vernon whom she had never wanted in the royal apartment, and p.p.—2 if the Queen had listened to her would never have been there.

Charlotte was not fond of Schwellenburg, but one must have someone to whom one could speak German now and then. Schwellenburg had been with her ever since she had come to England and in any case was a habit now. The woman was arrogant; she made trouble; she was the most unpopular servant in the royal household … yet she remained in the Queen’s service, bullying the Queen’s women, disgusting them with her ‘pets’, and insisting on their playing long and tedious games of cards with her.

But she was under the delusion that the Queen could not do without her and that she was in charge of the Queen’s household.

‘Harriot Vernon is in dream … forget all … remember nothing. Makes loff with Herr George … in the gardens and in his bed. Disgusting.’

The Queen said: ‘There is some mistake.’

‘No mistake,’ contradicted Schwellenburg with the boldness of an old servant. ‘Haf seen with self’s eyes.’

Charlotte thought: ‘Of course it is true. And what will the King say? There’ll be trouble … great trouble. Of course he is growing up … and so handsome. Surely there never was any young man as handsome as my George. It’s not his fault exactly. He is so attractive. Oh, why doesn’t he tell me what he is doing. He never comes to see me as a son should to his mother. He confides in Frederick … and perhaps William … But never his mother. This must not come to the ears of the King.’

She was loath to believe the affair had gone very far. He was a boy still. He may have been casting eyes on the girl; but that was as far as it had gone, she was sure.

She sent for her son, who came reluctantly and looked a little sulky, she noticed. He had the Hanoverian rather heavy jaw which, unless the Prince was smiling, gave a sullen look to an otherwise charming face.

‘I don’t see enough of you,’ she told him. ‘I daresay you are very occupied.’

‘Your Majesty knows the plans laid down by my father. It gives us little time to do anything but follow his orders.’

Oh, yes, he was resentful. She wondered whether she dare tell the King that the boys were growing up and should no longer be treated as children. When had George ever taken any notice of her? When she had first come to England George’s mother, the Dowager Princess of Wales, had made it very clear that no interference was expected from her. And George had supported his mother. Bear healthy children and that is all that will be expected of you. And they could not say she had not fulfilled their expectations. But listen to her advice on any subject, treat her like an intelligent being? Never. The only place in which she had any power was her own intimate circle. She could dismiss her maids; she could go over the accounts and find them too great; she could make her economies and take her snuff and look after the younger children. There her duty ended. That had been made clear to her. So it was no use her thinking she could speak to the King about George.

But she could speak to George – and she was going to find out if these rumours were true.

‘So you have no time to visit your mother,’ she said wistfully.

‘Very little, Madam, very little.’

How haughty he was and how she loved him! She had difficulty in assuring herself that this glorious young Apollo was the fruit of her plain little body. She and George between them had produced this beautiful creature! Stolid George and plain Charlotte. It seemed incredible to her. If he would confide in her, if he would show a little affection … she would do everything in her power to give him what he wanted.