‘How they spoil Bernhard!’ grimaced Ida.

But Adelaide pointed out that they should. He was a boy and as the Crown Prince he was naturally the most important person in the nurseries. He would one day have to rule Saxe-Meiningen whereas they …

‘What shall we do?’ Ida wanted to know.

Adelaide was suddenly sad. ‘I think we may have husbands and go away.’

Go away from this castle stronghold in the beautiful forests with the Rhine Mountains in the distance, and the cold snowy winters and the warm summers, and dearest Mamma who loved them in her cool restrained way and Papa who was so good and wanted them to be the same. Adelaide shivered slightly; but Ida had started to dance, seeing herself as glittering with jewels as Mamma was on State occasions.

She was, after all, barely seven years old, and she had never had to be serious like her sister.

Adelaide would have liked to be gay like Ida. To dance round – though not on Sundays, as Ida sometimes disobediently did – to laugh and refuse to do her lessons, but the habit of obedience was strong in her. She was set in her ways.

Even shorn of her immense responsibilities Adelaide continued to be the good child of the nursery.

The happy days came to an abrupt end when Bernhard was three years old.

It had been a bad winter. The snow had started early and the Duke, who never neglected his duty, had gone among his subjects as was his usual practice, advising them, helping them, and being the good ruler he prided himself on being.

One day his sledge was overturned and he was almost buried in a snowdrift but soaked to the skin he had continued his journey. When much later he returned to the castle he was shivering with the cold and although the Duchess herself got him to bed and brought him one of the possets she had prepared herself, during the next few days he had developed a very bad cold; this would not be cured and in a week had turned to bronchitis and from that to a congestion of the lungs. On the most dismal day of Adelaide’s life her father died.

There was grief and consternation not only in the castle but also throughout the land.

The new Duke was but three years old; the Princesses Adelaide and Ida eleven and nine; the Duchess Eleanor must become the Regent until her son was able to govern.

But to the children this was more than the loss of a ruler; they had loved their father who, in spite of his sternness and the strict rules which he had insisted should be obeyed, had been the benign arbiter of their lives.

‘What shall we do without him?’ cried the Duchess Eleanor.

She called a meeting of her husband’s ministers and told them that she was to some extent at their mercy. She needed their help. It was fortunate that her husband had consulted her, kept her informed of his plans, and indeed sometimes had asked her advice. She believed that now, with their assistance, she could be their Regent until such time as the little Duke could take on his duties.

She was warmly applauded. Everyone was eager to do what the late Duke would have wished. They had seen how the Duchy had prospered from his wise rule and they knew that his wife, who had been beside him throughout their married life, was the one who could best take on his mantle until her son was old enough to wear it himself.

When the ministers had gone Duchess Eleanor sent for her eldest daughter.

She was grateful for this calm, serious girl.

‘My dear Adelaide,’ she said, ‘you know that nothing will ever be the same again. We have lost dearest Papa who was so wise and good. We have to think now of what he would have wished, and until little Bernhard is ready I have to rule in his place.’

They wept together and it was Adelaide who comforted her mother.

‘You have always been a good child, my dearest Adelaide, but now you must be even more serious. We must remember all the time what Papa would have wished. I shall rely on you to help me. You will do that by being good, by guiding your sister, by loving your brother. I want Papa when he looks down from Heaven to see his good little Adelaide behaving just as he would wish. It is a great responsibility.’

So after being briefly relieved of her duties Adelaide found herself once more burdened with them.

It was doubly necessary now to work hard, never to disobey, to be an example to her sister and brother.

One could grow accustomed to anything, Adelaide supposed. As the months began to pass, life in the castle settled down. The Duchess Eleanor tried to be as calm and wise as her husband had been; and she succeeded by following the laws he had made; nor did she neglect her children.

The days were full and as their grief receded they began to be happy again.

Ida was gay and attractive, growing prettier every day. Adelaide believed she herself grew more plain. Her skin was not clear and fresh like Ida’s; her nose was too long. ‘I shall never be a beauty,’ she said ruefully.

‘Never mind, darling Adelaide,’ cried Ida. ‘You will always be the good one.’

They had grown closer together after their father’s death; and Ida, though still loving to sing and dance and amuse herself, recognized the qualities of her sister and loved her for them, just as Adelaide adored Ida; and while she knew that it was necessary to consider one’s responsibilities she frequently wished that she were like the gay and volatile Ida.

She often wondered when they would have to leave the castle; for it was the inevitable fate of all princesses to leave their homes. She could not bear the thought of it and was sometimes glad when she looked in her mirror.

‘I am too plain for anyone to want to marry me,’ she told Ida.

At which Ida declared that marriages were arranged for people such as they were and neither bride nor bridegroom knew what they were getting until they were presented with their partner. So looks were not all that important.

‘They always will be important,’ said Adelaide sadly. ‘And even if marriages are arranged pictures are sent and a bridegroom would have to approve of the picture before he accepted his bride.’

Ida kissed her sister. ‘How you exaggerate! You are really quite good looking. I mean good looking – and that is very unusual. Your eyes are nice and your hair isn’t bad.’ Ida studied their faces side by side in the mirror and she could not hide the look of satisfaction as she studied her own pretty one.

Perhaps, thought Adelaide, it is only in comparison with Ida that I seem so plain.

Nothing remained the same for long. Soon there was a shadow looming across the castle. The whole of Europe was trembling in fear of the man who had determined to dominate it. Napoleon was on the march.

Nearer and nearer came the terror as one small State after another fell into his hands.

‘If only your father were alive,’ cried the Duchess Eleanor.

But she knew and so did everyone else that even the Duke would not have had the power to stop Napoleon’s armies.

The French soldiers were in the streets of Meiningen, which fortunately was too small a Duchy to interest Napoleon, who was on the way to bigger objectives. But the Duchy was no longer free; the people must receive the soldiers in their houses; they must cook for them and work for them during their stay.

Their commander had sent a message to the castle. Providing the people fed and housed the soldiers no property would be destroyed and no one harmed.

There was nothing to do but comply. It was occupation of a sort.

The French passed on and the Prussians came; and although they were not enemies, their demands were the same.

War had come to Saxe-Meiningen and it brought with it all its terrible consequences.

The good old days when the Duke had ridden out into the forests to learn the needs of his people were gone.

Such days, it was said, would never come back.

Meanwhile the Duchess Eleanor lived in the castle, the Crown Prince growing into lusty boyhood, while his sisters left their childhood behind them.

There were long afternoons when Adelaide and Ida sat together making bandages for the wounded soldiers, sewing garments for them and sometimes attending the wounded who were brought to the castle.

Even Ida lost some of her gaiety; the sights they saw were so depressing; and since there was this war which devastated the land and from which no one was safe, how could there be those balls and festivities at the castle which in ordinary times would have been considered necessary for two young women who were about to be launched on the world? How could there be visits to other Duchies where they might have found suitors?

War put an end to such activities. Instead they must sit making their bandages, waiting for messengers to arrive with news of the fighting, asking themselves when there was going to be a halt to the wicked Napoleon’s conquests and life was going to return to normal.

They were growing up. Adelaide was twenty-three; Ida was twenty-one; even Bernhard was fifteen. They were no longer children and still the dreary war went on.

And suddenly there was change. The bells were ringing all over Europe. The soldiers of Saxe-Meiningen who had gone to fight in the Prussian Army returned home and there were victory parades through the streets. What had seemed the impossible had become the possible; it had in fact actually happened.

Napoleon had been beaten at Waterloo by Blücher and Wellington. England and Germany had rid the world of that megalomaniac and the world was free again.

No more bandages. No more occupation. The war was over.