They will turn her against me.”

"They will not do that," Mr. Wraxall assured her, 'because you are going to be there with them ...

before long.”

It was so pleasant to bask in Mr. Wraxall's admiration and dream of the future that she wondered why she had ever been content to remain in exile. They talked constantly of the glory that would be hers when she was back in her rightful place. She would start again; she would be the great Queen of the Danes; and when her little Frederick ruled, she would be beside him. It was a very alluring picture ... pleasant to imagine, exciting to talk of.

Sometimes when she was alone, though, she thought of the charms of Celle, of her delightful French garden, of her theatre, of the little world of which she was the centre. Apart from the fact that she was separated from her children she could have been perfectly happy here.

She thought of England where she had led an extremely sheltered life, shut away from fun, kept behind the scenes by a stern mother. Her mother was dead now, but she had heard that the English Court was dull. She had never greatly cared for Charlotte who had always seemed so insignificant. She loved George, of course, but he was scarcely the most exciting person in the world. That was England. And then Denmark. Exciting, yes, when she and Struensee had been lovers; but what had been the end of that? She shivered; she had come rather near to losing her life.

But she was young and she did not want to be like her great-grandmother and spend twenty years in exile. When she next saw Mr. Wraxall she pointed out to him that their plan could not possibly succeed unless they had money, and the only place where they could hope for that was from England.

"My brother," she said, 'is the only one who could help us. If he gave his approval to this scheme I would be ready to act without delay.”

Mr. Wraxall looked dismayed, but he had to agree that she was right. If the plan were to succeed, they would need money. "And you think your brother would help us?”

She was thoughtful. Would George help? George was just a little mean, but was that over the small household matters? As for Charlotte, she had the reputation of being a miser, but Charlotte was not involved in this. She, poor insignificant creature, had no say in anything.

She did not really believe anything would come of the affair; it was something to dream about as one sat in the spring sunshine in the French garden.

Mr. Wraxall said he would go to London to see if he could arrange an interview with the King, which he was sure he would be able to do when the King knew he had come from his sister. Then he would ask George for his help and when they had it, they would go triumphantly ahead with their plan.

"Pray do that," said Caroline Matilda. "And I will await your return with the good news.”

So Mr. Wraxall left for London and Caroline Matilda waited, without any great enthusiasm, for her brother's response.

The King's equerry stood before him.

"A gentleman, Your Majesty, who asks an audience. He says his name is Wraxall and that he comes from the Queen of Denmark.”

George's emotions were in revolt. There had been so much trouble already, that he had come to expect nothing else from his relations. Caroline Matilda with some request. He could guess what that request would be. She was tired of her exile; she wanted to return to Denmark or to come to England. She was tired of living in the shadows. But only there was she safe.

She was his little sister though, and he remembered her as a chubby baby and afterwards as the little girl with the bright eyes and eager smile who was always clamouring for a part in the family plays. He smiled fondly. But she was not the same. She had become the woman who had indulged in an adulterous intrigue and who had nearly involved her country in war. The scandal of her behaviour had swept through Europe.

"No, no," said George. "If people will not learn restraint, they must take the consequences.”

He had had to restrain his impulses; he had had to give up Hannah, give up Sarah and marry Charlotte. Others had to make sacrifices. His mouth was primly set.

"I do not know Mr. Wraxall," he said, 'and I cannot see him." But as usual his conscience would not let him rest. Caroline Matilda's face was constantly before him. He kept thinking of the day she had been born when he had first seen her and his mother had said: "You must take care of your little sister always, George, for remember she has no father." And he had vowed he would take care of her. He asked one of his gentlemen-in-waiting to see Mr. Wraxall and find out what he wanted.

He listened to the plan. His help and money was needed to bring Caroline back to Denmark. What a child she was! Did she not understand that she might be asking him to involve his country in war? Had he not enough troubles? His two brothers had made unsatisfactory marriages; they were not received at Court because of this; and the eternal American question was in his mind day and night.

"Mr. Wraxall should be told that "there is nothing England can do until the Queen of Denmark is securely back on the throne of Denmark. If she were, we would support her. You think you can make him understand, eh? What?”

And Mr. Wraxall, being the most optimistic of gentlemen, stayed on in London hoping that the King would change his mind. Caroline Matilda waited listlessly in Celle for the return of Wraxall.

She guessed that George would do nothing. George did not approve of the scheme; he knew it was doomed to failure right from the start.

One morning in May she arose early and sat at her window looking out over the gardens. The trees were in bud and some were already showing a glimpse of tiny leaves. Oh, she thought, it is very beautiful here in Celle. One of her women came to her with an expression half shocked, half excited.

"Madam," she said, 'one of the pages is dead.”

"Dead! Where is he?”

"He is in the pages' room.”

Caroline Matilda went straight there and looked at the young boy who was lying on a couch. She shivered and turned away.

"How did it happen?”

"We do not know, Your Majesty," was the answer. "We can only believe it must have been something he ate.”

"Have the doctors been called?”

"Yes, Your Majesty. They say it may well be something he has eaten.”

"Poor child," she said, and lightly touched his forehead.

She could not get him out of her mind. Something he ate? Something tainted, by accident or by design? How could one be sure? Poor child. What harm had he done anyone? She lay in her bed; her women had come to help her dress.

"No news from England then?" she asked.

"None, Your Majesty.”

"I doubt not we shall soon have Mr. Wraxall with us," she said.

They dressed her hair; they put on her gown; and she went walking in the French garden. One must take a little exercise. George had always said that the family had a tendency to fatness, and how right he was. She was beginning to feel the inconvenience of too much weight; it made one so breathless.

When she came in from the garden she felt a little unwell; so she retired to her apartments and lay down. Her throat felt hot and dry. Her women came in and were alarmed at the sight of her; the rich colour which was characteristic of her family had left her cheeks; she looked oddly different.

"I am a little unwell," she said.

"Madame, should we call the doctors?”

She shook her head. "It is like a red hot vice grasping my throat.”

They did not say that the little page who had died recently had complained of the same symptoms.

When she allowed the doctors to come to her they saw at once that she was very ill.

**** George was a worried king. Events were not going as he and North had believed they should in North America. He regarded the Opposition's attitude as little short of treason. It was their continual haranguing of the Government and disagreement with its American policy which gave heart to the Colonists. Chatham was making a nuisance of himself in the Lords.

"We shall be forced," he declared, 'ultimately to retract. Let us retract while we can, not when we must.”

Withdraw the troops from America? "Impossible!" said North.

"Impossible!" echoed the King.

Chatham, Charles Fox and Edmund Burke were against the King and the Government. John Wilkes, who had become Lord Mayor of London, drew up a petition with the Livery of the City suggesting that the King dismiss his government because they were responsible for the existing bad relations between the Country and America. George, who had always hated Wilkes, retorted that when he wanted advice he would go to his government for it.

Meanwhile the conflict was going from bad to worse. Gage, as Commander in Chief, had attempted to seize the colonists' arms at Concord and was defeated at Lexington, and shortly after there followed the disaster of Bunkers Hill.

And it was while George was tormented and distressed by this alarming event that news was brought to him from Celle. When he read the letter he stared at it and tears filled his eyes. His sister Caroline Matilda ... dead! It could not be. She was only twenty-four years old. It was true she had lived through a great deal but she was little more than a child.

He questioned the messenger. "How, eh? Tell me. How did it happen ... what?”

There was little to tell. The Queen had fallen sick of an affliction in her throat and in a few days she had died.

"But she was strong ... she was healthy ... and so young.”