‘We must go on,’ she insisted.
‘Yes, Your Highness, but not on this road.’
‘Well, is there another?’
‘If we make a detour.’
‘Should we get there before dark?’
‘Your Highness, it’s an impossibility … and we don’t know what other roads will be like.’
‘I tell you you must get me there tonight.’
‘Yes, Your Highness. If you will excuse me, Your Highness …’
She sank back against the padded seat. The possibility of delay maddened her – she, who such a short time ago had had to be persuaded to take this step! Now that she had seen a way of vanquishing her enemy she longed to succeed. There would be a match between Celle and Hanover. Only let her get to Celle.
The coach lurched. She sat waiting. One of the men was at the window.
‘We have pulled out of the slush, Your Highness. We’re turning back and we’ll strike off in another direction.’
‘Tell them not to waste a moment.’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
‘They’ll be well rewarded if they get me to Celle before morning. If not …’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
The coach was rattling along at a good speed. She planned what she would say. It must be to George William alone; she would find some way of excluding the Duchess. Language, of course! She would not speak in French nor in German, but in low Dutch of which the Duchess could not understand a word.
Darkness had fallen but she did not stop the coach to ask how near they were. She sat upright, her lips growing grimmer as she rehearsed her part … in low Dutch.
The night was long; the jolting of the coach irksome; and when she saw the faint sign of light in the sky she despaired. Then she heard the shout and looking from her window saw the castle rising out of the mist and at that moment the coach was riding through the narrow streets of the town, past the sleeping houses – though here and there a head appeared at a window to see who the early visitors were.
The castle sentinels saw the Hanover coach which they recognized by the coat of arms and the liveries. The drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis raised; and the Duchess Sophia came into the castle of Celle.
The Duchess Sophia left the coach and entered the castle. The guards stared at her in wonder. They knew her, of course and Were overawed. But at such a time and unannounced! What could it mean?
Sophia peremptorily demanded: ‘Where is the Duke?’
‘Your Highness, he has not yet risen.’
‘Take me to him.’
‘Madam, he is in his bedchamber.’
‘Take me to him,’ insisted Sophia.
‘But …’
Sophia looked surprised. ‘Take me at once to his apartment,’ she ordered, and the trembling page dared do nothing but obey.
In the ducal sleeping apartments the Duke, who was an early riser, was up and at his dressing table. When the page scratched at the door, one of his servants opened the door and was about to reprimand the page when he saw the Duchess of Sophia. He stood staring as though petrified.
‘What is it?’ demanded the Duke.
But Sophia was already striding into the dressing room, and it was George William’s turn to stare.
‘Your Highness,’ he stammered, ‘what does this honour …’
‘It means,’ said Sophia briskly, ‘that I must speak to you. I have come to congratulate you on the birthday of your daughter.’
‘This is a great honour, but so unexpected … and …’
‘And at such a time,’ finished Sophia grimly. ‘I have been riding all night.’
‘Then you must be exhausted. You must be given an apartment where you can rest and refresh yourself.’
‘The road was impassable. Hence my arriving at such a time. I should have been here yesterday.’
‘We can only rejoice that you have come,’ he said. He was about to summon a servant, but Sophia laid a hand on his arm.
‘One moment. I have to talk to you on a matter of great importance. Where is your wife?’
‘She has not yet risen.’ George William waved his hand to an open door. Sophia looked towards it and rage filled her. They had always used this apartment like the devoted married couple they were. He had just left the big bed which he had shared with her for seventeen years … ever since he left Osnabrück – the faithful husband, who had once been as reckless a rake as Ernest Augustus. Well, Madame Eléonore was going to get a shock now.
‘George William,’ called Eléonore, ‘who has arrived?’
Sophia went to the door and looked in at the bedchamber. It was magnificent – furnished in the French style; and there in bed was Eléonore, her abundant dark hair falling about the pillows, her magnificent shoulders and arms bare, her luminous eyes startled. It was a shock to discover how beautiful she was; even more so, it seemed to Sophia, than she had been in the days of her youth. Now she was poised and serene. Those years of married happiness had given her that – love, happiness, the assurance that the man she had married was devoted to her.
I might have been in her place! thought Sophia.
Perhaps she was more perceptive than Eléonore. She knew that Ernest Augustus was the shrewder ruler, that he was mentally more brilliant than his elder brother. George William was weak in comparison – brave on the battlefield but weak in his emotions. But Sophia was in no doubt which she would have chosen as her husband had she been permitted such a choice.
And so she hated the beautiful woman in the bed – hated the elaborate room with its elegant furniture and the ceiling decorated with the Leda and the Swan legend; if she had been determined when she endured that difficult journey between Celle and Hanover she was doubly so now.
‘I have come to congratulate you on your daughter’s birthday,’ she said, and without giving Eléonore a chance to reply she turned to George William and said in low Dutch: ‘I must speak to you at once … and alone. It is of the utmost importance.’
‘My wife …’ he began.
‘Alone,’ insisted Sophia.
‘But …’
‘I beg of you, listen,’ She glanced towards the half-open door and then to the dressing table. She advanced to this and sat down; he followed her.
‘This is of the utmost importance,’ she said quickly, ‘to you and to your brother. First I want your promise that if you do not agree with me, you will say nothing of what I am about to suggest.’
‘I promise,’ answered George William.
Sophia went on: ‘We have always been weakened by this enmity between our houses. I want it ended and it is for this reason that I am here. I know that you, too, deplore it. So does Ernest Augustus. Then why should it exist?’
‘I have always wanted friendship with Hanover!’
‘It can be achieved, immediately and forever by a marriage.’
George William drew away from her, but she was not easily defeated. She then began to expound on all the advantages which would come to Celle and to Hanover. It had always seemed unfortunate that he had thrown away his birthright. But Celle and Hanover would be as one – one government – and Sophia Dorothea would be the Duchess of Hanover so that she would have lost nothing by that long-ago arrangement. George William must see the advantages. She had ridden all through the night to tell him; she implored him not to make a mistake. He could so easily do so now. She believed that if he gave his daughter to the Wolfenbüttels that would be the end of his power. Ernest Augustus who so wanted the girl for his son would never be reconciled.
There was another point. Both George William and Ernest Augustus had fought well for the Emperor and he was pleased with them. Jointly they might be granted an Electorate. What glory for the House of Brunswick–Lüneberg! They could not both receive an Electorate and it would only be if they could be simultaneously rewarded that this could be so. And how could this come about but through a marriage between Celle and Hanover?
She was triumphant seeing him wavering. He longed for reunion with Hanover. He had been devoted to Ernest Augustus and wanted a return to the old relationship. Sophia noticed as she went on talking, that although he had at first cast uneasy glances towards the communicating door, he had ceased to do so.
He was coming round.
She plunged in again – stressing the advantages. He saw them very well, for who could not, since they existed. He had always been attracted by the alliance with Hanover. It was simply because his Duchess had decided against it that he had allowed himself to be persuaded.
‘You know, George Wiliam, in your heart that if you do not agree to this you will regret it all the days of your life.’
He hesitated.
‘Why do you falter? It is the Duchess. I know she is friendly with Anton Ulrich. He was respectful to her before your state marriage and she cannot forget it. But we must not allow such petty things to spoil the chances of our children. It is for you to decide … for you …’
‘Yes,’ answered the Duke. ‘It is for me.’
A door had opened and Bernstorff, his eyes alight with speculation stood on the threshold.
‘My lord …’
‘Let him come in,’ said Sophia rapidly. ‘He is a man of good sense and we will hear what he has to say.’
‘Come in,’ said the Duke.
Bernstorff feigned great surprise as he bowed low but he could not hide the triumph in his eyes. George William quickly explained why Sophia was here.
‘God be praised!’ cried Bernstorff.
‘So you will join with me in persuading His Highness?’ said Sophia.
‘Your Highness, I shall for ever thank God and you for this day.’
Yes, he thought, when I ride round my acres, when I gloat over my posessions, I will thank the Duchess Sophia, for we had all but lost and now we shall succeed.
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