‘To save Your Highness from disaster,’ said Sir Robert Walpole.

They sat facing each other and there was no longer need for speech.

He could not go. He was a prisoner although discreetly guarded.

‘It would be unwise,’ said Sir Robert, ‘for this to be publicly known. We will keep it as quiet as possible.’

He had argued at first. He would make his own decisions. But the marriage of the Prince of Wales was a decision for the King and his council, not for the Prince himself.

‘I shall choose when and whom I marry,’ the Prince had said defiantly.

But Walpole had only smiled benevolently. One did not take any notice of childish observations.

But the Prince was a prisoner. He would not go to Windsor. And now Walpole was on his guard and would take precautions against such a contingency ever arising again.

Frederick felt defeated and his hatred was doubled. Not so much for Walpole as for his parents.

In Windsor Lodge the Duchess waited. Lady Di waited with her.

‘Grandmother,’ said Lady Di at length, ‘I don’t believe he is coming.’

‘Spineless idiot,’ cried the Duchess. ‘He is his cockerel of a father all over again.’

‘He may have been prevented.’

‘He’s been talking too much. I’ll warrant. God damn these Germans.’

In spite of her fury the Duchess was a pathetic sight as she sat slumped forward in her chair.

If only Marl were here, she was thinking. We’d send the guards. We’d bring him here by force. We’d make him marry her.

But that was nonsense. Even Marl couldn’t do that if he were here and at the height of his glory.

And he is gone, gone, she thought, gone with the glory, and taken with him my only reason for being alive.

Walpole in Danger

THE King was happy because he was going to Hanover.

There had been opposition to the visit. It was, pointed out his ministers, an unpopular move. The people of England could not understand why their King should want to leave his country for the sake of some little German state. It was noticed that he was more affable, that he did not snub his wife so humiliatingly in public, that he was tolerant to his children and now and then even affable to the Prince of Wales. No one could doubt that the King was looking forward to going to Hanover.

Walpole’s feelings were mixed. It was easier to deal with business when the King was away; on the other hand the popularity of the Royal House was important and so cleverly had the Queen worked on the King that George was almost as devoted to his first minister as Caroline was.

Still George was determined to go.

When he was dressed after his afternoon sleep he came into the Queen’s apartments to take her for their walk and he was smiling pleasantly.

This time next week he would be on his way.

‘You are ready, my dear?’

Of course she was ready. She knew better than to keep him waiting.

He led her out to the gardens and he walked by her side to the Upper Paddock to look at the deer. Caroline was very proud of the gardens of Kensington because when her father-in-law had died she had taken an immense interest in them and had even had a hand in the planning. Often she thought that if there were not so many state duties, if she felt as well as she once did, she would be happy to devote a great deal of time to gardening.

She had had the parterres removed and it had been a great pleasure to plan the gardens. The Broad Walk was becoming one of her favourite sauntering grounds; and she was glad that she had had the Round Pond set in the middle of the lawns.

‘The gardens are beginning to look so beautiful now,’ she said.

The King replied. ‘We have nothing here to compare with the statues and linden avenues at Herrenhausen.’

She did not agree, but of course one did not question any statement of the King’s.

‘I hope all will be well there.’

‘You are concerned for me, my dear. All will be well, I tell you. You must not be sad because I leave you.’

‘You would not expect me to be happy?’

He smiled complacently. ‘Oh, no, no. But you shall be Regent while I am gone. That is good for you and I feel everything is safe in your hands. I said to Walpole, I leave everything safe in your hands and those of the Queen.’

‘I shall do my best,’ said the Queen.

‘Ah, it is good for you. You like to be the Regent. Confess it. You like it, my dear, and for me, I am a man you know ... and I must be a bachelor now and then. It is the way of the world. But rest assured, my dear, that no mistress will ever be to me as you are.’

She looked at the winding stream which they called the Serpentine and sighed.

‘No,’ he went on, ‘there are some very attractive women at the Court and I have honoured them ... but always I say: They are not the Queen. For me there is only one woman although I may have—as is natural to a man, my dear—many mistresses. So for me the bachelor existence and for you the Regency, eh?’

She smiled at him wanly. Her legs were beginning to ache. If only she could reduce the swelling.

‘I shall write to you,’ he said.

Oh, yes, he would write long letters telling her intimate details of his love affairs. She could well do without such letters.

And I shall expect you to write to me,’ he went on.

‘You may be sure that you will be informed of all that happens.’

‘I trust my Regent. So ... for you the Regency ... for me the bachelor’s life.’

When he was gone she found her health improving. When there was no longer the need to hide all signs of fatigue, that fatigue lessened considerably. She walked at a slower pace, stopping to examine the flowers or comment on the growth of the trees she had planted and which she hoped posterity would be grateful for. There was no need now to keep up with the King.

She now had time to learn more about the nation.

She told Walpole that Kings and Queens were often sheltered from the truth. When her carriage was driven through the city she had seen beggars and stallholders and had wondered how they lived.

Walpole smiled benignly. ‘Everyone knows what a good heart Your Majesty has.’

She knew of course that he wanted her to remember that their task was to rule the state; they were surrounded by enemies and they could not take their minds from the matter in hand.

‘Yet it seems to me the way the people live is our concern,’ said the Queen.

Walpole nodded gravely, waited a few seconds, and then began to explain that a need would soon arrive to take action about the land tax which needed revision. He was working out a scheme and as soon as it was ready he would put it to the Queen who could then acquaint the King of whatever decision they should come to.

The Queen nodded; but her thoughts were with the poor people whom she had seen on her drive.

She was in her apartments reading the documents which had been laid before her, and suddenly she paused. She held in her hand a death warrant.

She stared at it and wondered whose life she would be signing away. She put down her pen and went to the window. Away in the Upper Paddock she caught sight of the deer; it all seemed so beautiful, but she could not get out of her mind the picture of a cell in Newgate Jail where a man whose name was on that death warrant was waiting for her to sign away his life.