What had he done? she wondered. And why? That was the question. Why?

She thought of the child she had seen barefooted, wrapped in a tattered shawl through which the flesh showed blue and mottled. Those people stole. Why? Because they were hungry. They killed, because they had never been taught, because life was so hard that they had to fight and perhaps kill to live.

She decided that she would not sign the death warrant until she knew more of that man.

She felt curiously alive and almost exalted. There were several poor men whose lives she had saved. She had refused to put her signature blithely on those death warrants. She had declared that before she did she wanted to know the nature of the crimes of which they were accused.

When Walpole came to her and wanted to talk about the Land Tax she insisted on discussing the state of the prisons.

‘I want an enquiry set up,’ she said. ‘I want to know what goes on there. I want to discover if there is anything we can do to make the lot of these poor people more bearable.’

‘They are criminals, Madam,’ Walpole reminded her.

‘Yes, but why? That is what I want to know. I want to discover more about these people. Why do they go to prison in the first place? And I’ll begin by knowing what happens to them when they get there.’

She was horrified with what the enquiry disclosed. Poor prisoners were treated with the utmost cruelty whereas on those occasions when a rich man found himself in jail he could live in comfort by bribing his jailors and even escapes were connived at if the rewards were high enough.

She discovered that there were no beds for the sick prisoners, that there was often no food, that many of them died from cold and starvation, and she was deeply distressed and sought a means of reforming the system.

Walpole was impatient. Charitable works were all very well, but there were a great many more important matters on hand. He believed that the best way to reform was through prosperity and even his enemies would have to admit that, through his peaceful policy, he had brought that to England.

He sought to lure the Queen back to more practical matters.

The King was writing long letters to her which arrived almost daily. He was a better writer than speaker and he went into the most minute details of whatever he did. This included his love affairs which, the Queen noticed, with some alarm, were becoming more and more frequent. He would describe the charms of his mistresses down to the most intimate detail; and if he was unable to arouse the passions of any of them he would ask the Queen to give the matter her consideration. As a woman she should understand her own sex.

She would read them through with irritation and exasperation, and a little fear. Was he becoming more in- terested in other women than he had been before?

He had previously felt that he should have a mistress and it used to be said by some of the wits of the Court that he was a man who found pleasure with his wife and took his mistresses for the sake of duty. Would they say that of him now?

When he was with her he was an uxorious husband, one might say. He did not seem to tire of her physically; and even when he snubbed her so humiliatingly in public it was the snub of a husband who is interested in his wife; there had never been any question of his being indifferent to her.

Sometimes the thought of her internal disorder would catch her unaware and send the panic running through her. Was he aware of it? Would it turn him away from her? Would it send him more and more in search of other women?

No, she was a habit with him. More than that he was a sentimental man and she was enshrined in his heart. His wife, the woman he had chosen; the woman he declared he loved beyond all others. Hadn’t she fought all these years to retain that hold on him? Hadn’t she suppressed her superior knowledge, at least keeping it hidden from him; hadn’t she upheld him always in private as well as in public; had she not always outwardly bowed to his will; and it was only when she had brought him round to her opinion that she admitted that opinion was hers. Yes, she was a habit. But so had Henrietta Howard been; and he only visited her now to grumble at her and to show that he was heartily sick of her and that if she had not become involved with a certain time of his day he would have discarded her. In fact, in spite of time he would have discarded her if his wife would let her go.

Henrietta must stay, thought the Queen; for in her mind Henrietta was linked with the old days.

Let a new mistress take her place—someone young, someone gay, someone less discreet, some power-hungry female? No! Henrietta must remain even though she was restive and wanting to go, even though the King was tired of her.

She put aside his letter and picked up the document on her table.

‘Thomas Ricketts,’ she read. ‘Fourteen years transportation for stealing a silver-hilted sword....’

Fourteen years ... away from home and family ... fourteen years to a strange land.

‘John Pritchard ... fourteen years transportation for house-breaking...

What happened to a home when a man was away from it for fourteen years? And how did he return?

She wrote across the documents. ‘The Queen wishes to know more of these cases.’

During those summer months when the King was away in Hanover, Caroline instituted an inspection of prisons and dismissed several jailors who had been caught acting cruelly towards poor prisoners.

She would have liked to reform the prisons, but this, Walpole assured her, was impossible. It would mean raising taxes which would be an unpopular move at the moment.

She must be content with setting up a regular inspection. Then certain evils could be put right providing it was not too costly to do so.

So she had to be satisfied with pardoning several poor wretches who were condemned to the gallows and saving others from transportation. She raised money to pay the debts of certain people who had been languishing for years in the debtors’ prisons.

She would have liked to go on with this work for she was sure there was a great deal to do.

But in September after a four months’ sojourn in Hanover the King returned.

The King left Hanover reluctantly. On his journey to the Palace when the people came out to see him pass he was sullen and scarcely returned their greeting.

‘How hot it is here,’ he said. ‘In Hanover there is a cool breeze.’

Oh dear, thought the Queen, the people are noticing. ‘The dust from the ground makes you cough. In Hanover there is no dust. What a noisy crowd! They could learn manners from us Germans.’

It was incredible that this was the man who had when his father was alive declared himself enamoured of England and all things English. It was not the English he had loved, but his father whom he had hated.

As soon as they sat down to a meal which was taken ceremoniously in public he complained that the food was ill-cooked. It was tasteless. It was not like the food he had had in Hanover.

And when he and the Queen were alone for the night he declared that in Hanover a man was a King even though he was an Elector. But in England though he was called a King he was a slave of his Parliament.

She agreed with him docilely enough and wondered whether he would now tell her that the women of Hanover were far more attractive than the women of England; but this he refrained from doing; and appeared to be satisfied with her.