The visitors proved to be from England and they were led by a man who announced himself as Colonel Lorne.

‘I must speak privately to Your Highness without delay,’ he said; and the Prince took him into a small chamber close to the ballroom.

‘You have letters for me?’ he asked.

‘From Your Highness’s father. I have them here. I have orders from His Majesty to return to England tomorrow and it is my duty to tell Your Highness that you must accompany me.’

‘Accompany you ... to England.’

‘On the orders of His Majesty your father.’

‘But . . . I am going to Berlin.’

Colonel Lorne coughed deprecatingly. ‘I am sorry to have to inform Your Highness that His Majesty’s orders are that you leave Hanover with me tomorrow, for England.’

Sophia Dorothea spent a great deal of time at the topmost tower of the palace watching the road for visitors. He would come with a small party of friends and followers. She had given orders that he must be entertained royally, and even the King had not objected.

He might pretend that it was because he wished to be rid of his daughter, but he was pleased at the prospect of this marriage. If Wilhelmina married the Prince of Wales and became Queen of England and he no longer had to feed and clothe her he would be delighted.

Sophia Dorothea laughed. The first half of the plan satisfactorily completed. Then she would busy herself with the second.

Soon she would be welcoming the Princess Amelia to Prussia and when Fritz had a wife he would be happier—and his father would not dare flog a married man.

She had thought Frederick would come before this. She had heard such stories of his eagerness.

And then one day she saw the rider. A solitary rider. That was strange. But of course he would come to announce the arrival of his master.

She would tell them they would not have to wait much longer. In the kitchens they could start preparing for the wedding feast—for wedding feast there would be in spite of the King’s objections.

Yes, the rider was in the Hanoverian livery.

She went down to greet him. She wanted to be the first to receive the announcement of the Prince’s arrival.

She took the letter he gave her. She read it. She would not believe it. She could not take it in. Not at this stage. It would be too heartbreaking.

But there were the words staring at her: The Prince of Wales had left Hanover for England on the orders of his father. He would not be coming to Berlin.

So ... there would be no marriage.

The King of Prussia stormed through the Palace. Now it seemed the one thing he had wanted was the marriage of his daughter to the Prince of Wales and it had failed.

He summoned his son and daughter with his wife to his presence.

‘You fools!’ he shouted. ‘You have ruined this between you! By God, I’ll kill the lot of you.’

He had a whip with him and he began flogging his son and daughter.

The Queen shrieked at him to stop; but he shouted back at her to take care he did not use the whip on her. Sick with rage and disappointment she fell fainting to the ground and her women carried her to her bed where she lay in a state of collapse.

The King contented himself with beating his son and daughter in such a manner that they too had to be carried to their beds and their wounds attended to by the Court physician.

He then shut himself in his room and swore at everyone who approached him; the Queen lay sick with disappointment; the Crown Prince stoically thought of the time when his father would be dead and he would be King Frederick of Prussia; and Wilhelmina thought: At least I’m still unmarried.

Meanwhile Frederick Prince of Wales was on his way to England.

IT was about seven o’clock in the evening of a dark December day when Frederick arrived by hackney coach like any private visitor at the Palace of St James’s.

He did not look in the least like a frustrated bridegroom. Indeed he was secretly pleased at the way everything had turned out. He had not wanted marriage so much as to bring home to his parents that he would no longer endure their neglect. After all, what had a young man of twenty-one, who was after all Prince of Wales, to fear from his parents?

Riding from Whitechapel he had seen a little of the city, and dark as it was, it had excited him. As he rode he was telling himself, ‘One day I shall rule this land. What have I to fear?’

The coach had drawn up and Colonel Lorne was saying: ‘This is the Friary, Your Highness. I shall now conduct you to the Queen’s backstairs and you can present yourself to her without delay.’

To his mother, he noticed, not to his father. It was true, he supposed, that his mother was the important member of the family.

Colonel Lorne preceded him up the stairs and scratched on a door which was opened by a middle-aged woman whose appearance was charming if not striking.

‘Mrs Howard, the Queen should be informed without delay that the Prince of Wales is here.’

Mrs Howard looked startled; then she saw the Prince and swept him a deep curtsey which Frederick acknowledged with a gracious bow.

Mrs Howard disappeared and came back in a few seconds.

‘If Your Highness will come this way ...’

He followed her into the apartment and there waiting for him was his mother.

For some seconds they looked at each other, neither speaking. It was after all an important moment in their lives. This was the mother who had said such a tearful farewell to him fourteen years ago and had fought so desperately to have him brought to England for a few years—and then appeared to have become resigned to his absence and after that indifferent. This was the son whom she had lost so long ago that she had forgotten him and now saw only as an impostor come to take what she would prefer her darling William to have.

The emotion they felt was smothered in a resentment on both sides.

‘Welcome home, Frederick,’ said Caroline, extending her hand.

‘Thank you ... Mother.’ Frederick took it and kissed it.

There was nothing she could think of to say to him. She felt cold; it was scarcely possible to believe that this was the child she had borne and cherished with such love and devotion. There was no sign of her little Fritzchen in this young man. He was elegant, she noticed; he had gracious manners; and he was very like his father—at least what George Augustus had been at his age. There were the same full pouting lips, the blue eyes that were too prominent, the neat figure, shapely but too small for manliness. She wondered if he was as conscious of his low stature as his father was of his. She hoped not, for that awareness had helped to make George the difficult man he was.

‘You have had a good journey?’

‘Well, scarcely that, Madam. The crossing was bad. I thought we should all be drowned.’

‘It is bad at this time of year.’

She noticed that he spoke English better than she or the King did. His English tutors had done their work well. That would help him to popularity with the people here. He must not, of course, be too popular.

‘You vill vish to meet your brothers and sisters. And the King vill vish to know that you are here. I vill have him told.’

She gave the order to one of her women.

A strange welcome after all those years! thought Frederick. His mother did not altogether surprise him, for he had heard a great deal about her. She was a tall, buxom woman who was still not without beauty and only slightly marked by smallpox. Her hands were beautiful and neck and shoulders magnificent. She was stately and had an air of queenliness. He wished that she had shown more pleasure in his arrival.