‘Your husband often mentions you,’ said Ernest Augustus. ‘He seems to value your judgment.’

‘At least it is valued by one of Your Highness’s ministers.’

There was a meaning behind her words. He was a little fascinated and his annoyance at having been disturbed was fast disappearing.

‘I see that you have other gifts to bestow on your husband … besides advice.’

‘It is a pleasure to give what is appreciated.’

‘And you find him appreciative … enough?’ He regarded her lazily.

‘Who can ever have enough appreciation?’

Surely there was no mistaking her meaning? Women were of course eager to please the most important man in the principality, but he sensed this one was different. He would discover later what she wanted. At the moment there was no need to go beyond the obvious step.

He held out a hand and she took it. He drew her down so that she was forced to kneel before him.

‘You have come to offer me … advice?’ he asked smiling.

‘If you need it … it is yours.’

‘And if I do not?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘All need the help of friends.’

‘The Bishop needs it from his minister’s wife?’ he asked.

‘He may at some time. He may need other things she has to offer.’

‘I think that very likely. And they will be given freely.’

She bowed her head.

‘But it must be remembered that she likes … appreciation?’ he asked.

‘She would be wise enough to know it is foolish to ask for what would not be freely given.’

He brought his face close to hers and looked into her eyes.

‘You are a strange woman,’ he said.

‘You have quickly discovered that.’

‘I would like to know more of you.’

‘And I of Your Highness.’

He put his hand on her shoulder; touching her skin, his fingers probed lightly; but in spite of the lightness he could not hide the fact he was excited.

‘Well?’ she said faintly mocking him, he fancied.

He answered with another question. ‘When?’

‘You are the lord and master.’ Again that hint of mockery.

‘Tonight. I shall be in my bedchamber … alone.’

‘It shall be my duty … my pleasant duty … to see that Your Highness is … not alone … for long.’

When Clara came out of the Bishop’s apartment, the first signs of dawn were in the sky; she walked lightly past the sleeping guards; they were aware of a passing figure but paid little heed. A woman coming from the Bishop’s bedchamber was not a very unusual occurrence. It was wiser not to look too closely; she might not like it; she might whisper a word into the Bishop’s ear one night – it was easy enough – and there would go the hope of promotion.

Clara was pleased with herself. There would be no going back now. She had startled him. Hers was a sensuality matching his own and she had given it full rein. It had been amusing. She would not waste her energies on a man like Platen – Ernest Augustus was different. She had been making love to Power and that had aroused all her ardour.

He had let her go reluctantly, but she had insisted. Yes, insisted. It was as well to set the pace from the start. Of course she was not such a fool as to imagine she could arrogantly command him. He had been having his own way too long to accept that. But she would govern – in her own subtle way; and it might well be that he would know and simply not care.

What a night! She wanted to laugh aloud. She had startled herself as much as Ernest Augustus. She had been born to be a courtesan. She knew it. She had all the tricks of the trade; and they were inherent. Louis did not know what he had missed. Poor Louis with his mincing French harlots who would never know the verve and vulgarity of a German whore.

She opened the door of the apartment she shared with Platen. Poor ineffectual Platen! His day was done. She would never share his bed again; and he might as well know it.

‘Clara!’

He was awake, waiting for her. Fool! He might have had the grace to pretend to be asleep. How ridiculous he looked with his thin hair sticking out in all directions from under his night cap, his eyes pale and bulging, his pasty face, his gaping mouth.

‘So I awakened you?’

‘Where have you been?’

‘Employed in useful occupation,’ she said flippantly.

‘Clara, I insist …’

‘You insist. Now, Frank, don’t be foolish. You insist on nothing – nor shall you ever where I am concerned.’

‘I want to know where you have spent the night.’

‘So you shall. I have no intention of making a secret of it. Soon it will be known throughout this court. Soon everyone who wants the smallest favour will know it has to come through me.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Oh yes you do. We’ve hinted it, haven’t we? You wanted it as much as I did … or if you didn’t you’re more of a fool than I take you for.’

‘Do you mean that you’ve been with …’

‘With His Highness, yes.’

‘You have …’

‘I have.’

‘Clara!’

‘My dear little shocked husband, you are now a cuckold. Don’t look outraged. It’s a pleasant thing to be as you will learn. The best thing to be if you can’t be a noble Duke or Prince or King is a cuckold, as many a man throughout the world has come to realize.’

‘Clara, I’m horrified.’

‘You don’t appear to be. I can see the speculation glinting in your eyes and well it might. Why do you think I married you? I married you for this. Now listen to me, Platen. We are going to make our fortunes. I’ll make you the richest man at this court. I’ll make you the Bishop’s chief minister. I will, I tell you. You should go down on your knees and thank me for this night’s work.’

He was staring at her and she laughed.

Weak! weak! she thought. And excited. At last he is discovering he has ambition. He was afraid of it before – but now he has someone to tend it for him … he really is rather excited.

Despicable! she thought.

Then: Thank goodness. It means we shall not be plagued by petty irritations.

In the schoolroom with its windows overlooking the moat, Sophia Dorothea sat with her attendant, Eléonore von Knesebeck, idly glancing at the books before them.

Eléonore von Knesebeck had become her greatest friend; and although she was a few years older than Sophia Dorothea she was less precocious; she had a pleasant face without beauty; and she and her family were very happy that the young Princess had taken such a fancy to her. Sophia Dorothea had felt the need of a friend near her own age and Eléonore von Knesebeck filled that need perfectly. As her father was one of George William’s councillors it had been agreed that Eléonore should share Sophia Dorothea’s lessons and that the friendship between the two girls should be encouraged.

Since the little Knesebeck had come to her apartments Sophia Dorothea had found life much more interesting, for her friend was more in touch with the world outside the castle than she herself could be and there was nothing she enjoyed so much as startling Sophia Dorothea with news of it. It was from Eléonore von Knesebeck that Sophia Dorothea learned so much about the court of Osnabrück, and that enchanted castle ruled over by the ogress had grown more realistic but none the less sinister. Sophia Dorothea now knew that Clara von Platen had become the Bishop’s mistress-in-chief and everyone at the court was a little afraid of her; she knew that George Lewis, the Crown Prince, was a little monster who was like his father in one way only – and that he indulged this trait with the serving girls in his father’s household. She knew that the Duchess Sophia was a tyrant in her own way, ruling apart from Ernest Augustus.

Sophia Dorothea liked to listen and shiver ecstatically; and to be thankful for her beloved parents and peaceful Celle.

The two girls were talking idly now of the court at Osnabrück for it was a subject that fascinated them both.

‘My aunt and uncle never visit us here,’ said Sophia Dorothea. ‘Sometimes I wish they would. I should love to see them.’

‘They are jealous really,’ put in Eléonore. ‘Celle is richer, more cultivated and more beautiful than Osnabrück; and you are more cultivated and more beautiful than any of their children.’

‘They have a lot and poor Maman and Papa have only me.’

‘Quality is better than quantity,’ declared Eléonore; and the two girls laughed.

‘Of course I shall not be here forever,’ sighed Sophia Dorothea. She frowned; she could not visualize a home that was not this castle. The idea of waking up in a bed which was not in the alcove and from which she could not see the mantelpiece supported by four cupids seemed impossible. But it must come, for there was a great deal of talk about her betrothal.

‘You’ll not be far away,’ Eléonore soothed her.

‘You’ll come with me when I marry.’

‘I shall come. We’ve said we’d never be separated, haven’t we?’

‘All the same I shall hate going. I wonder if Augustus Frederick would come here and live?’

‘Well, he’ll be the heir of Wolfenbüttel. Heirs usually live in their own castles. But it is near. You’d be home in a day.’

‘I’d always remember that; and if I didn’t like it, I should just come home.’

‘But you do like Augustus Frederick?’

‘H’m. He’s all right.’ Sophia Dorothea stared dreamily out of the window. ‘Eléonore, do you remember Philip Königsmarck?’

‘Who?’

‘He was a boy who came here once. We were great friends. He went away though. And he didn’t say goodbye properly. I wonder why.’

‘People come and go.’

‘I should have thought he would have said goodbye to me.’