‘Don’t stay away too long,’ Lord Hervey instructed.

She passionately assured him that she would not and that very soon they would resume their exciting adventures.

This they did not do, however, for Anne had not been long in Bath when her little son died of a convulsion fit. When she received this news Anne had an attack of what she called the colic. It was rather more severe than the previous ones and her doctor ordered her to keep to her bed for a few days.

In a week she was dead.

The Prince of Wales was overcome with grief at the loss of the little boy whom he claimed to be his son.

‘I should not have thought him capable of such emotion,’ said the Queen.

The King’s Temper

MEANWHILE the King was finding it more and more difficult to delay his departure from Hanover, for with each day Madame de Walmoden seemed to grow more irresistible.

There were despatches from Walpole. His presence was needed in England. His Majesty had not forgotten his birthday and that his subjects would take it ill if he was not in London on that day, which was one of universal celebration.

He knew it—yet he delayed. But the time came when he could delay no longer if he were to be in England in time for the birthday. He had already given himself the minimum of time to reach home, not accounting for any delays which could so easily occur on the way.

Madame de Walmoden declared that she did not know what she would do without him. He meant everything to her. He was the most handsome, charming, intelligent man she had ever met and if he were the humblest servant in his own household she would still love him.

George basked in this admiration and believed it. His mistress was so convincing. She had also told him that she was pregnant and she could not bear that he should not be there when their child was born.

‘I will soon be here again,’ he promised.

‘Do you mean that?’ she asked tearfully. ‘Will you swear?’

‘I swear,’ he declared solemnly.

‘I must have a date to look forward to.’

He sighed. November ... December ... January....

She shivered. ‘You must not attempt to cross the sea during such months. I should die of fear.’

He kissed her and assured her that that fat old man in London would try to put a chain on him and certainly not let him off it so soon. ‘But ... by May ... the end of May, then I shall come. No matter what they say, I shall come in May.’

‘Seven whole months! ‘ she sighed.

‘My dearest, they do not want me to come once a year. They are going to do everything they can to prevent me in May.’

She did not press the matter but she constantly talked of the 29th May.

The night before he left Hanover there was a banquet over which he presided with a great deal of melancholy which the Hanoverians found very flattering, although they knew that the reason why he was so sad was because he must part from his mistress. Still, she was a Hanoverian —one of them; and the King made it clear twenty times a day that he loved their country and hated the one of which he was King.

Madame de Walmoden toasted him with tears in her eyes.

‘The 29th of May!’ she cried, and everyone present took up the cry.

‘The 29th of May!’ responded George.

After a night of passionate love and protestations of fidelity on both sides, the King left Hanover next morning, realizing that if he were to make the journey in time for his birthday he must travel fast.

Caroline was returning to the Palace after morning chapel when a messenger hurried to her to tell her that the King was on his way to Kensington and would be there very shortly.

She hastily summoned the Court and went to meet him.

As George alighted from his coach he managed to suppress the pain he felt. He was wretched, uncomfortable, and unhappy. It had been a trying journey for he had made it in less than five days by riding far through the night and scarcely stopping at all for rest and food. As a consequence this had brought on an attack of haemorrhoids from which he suffered intermittently; he was tired, and in pain, and moreover he was angry because he had left his mistress and wouldn’t see her for a long time, and as he grew farther and farther from Hanover and nearer to England he realized that there were going to be lifted eyebrows and worse still remonstrances when he suggested returning to Hanover as they would say ‘so soon’.

All this did not make a very happy homecoming.

And here he was at Kensington. Too grand, he thought. Too ostentatious compared with dear Herrenhausen. And Caroline. She was fat. Doubtless she had been guzzling chocolate more freely than ever since he had been away. His dearest Amelia Sophia managed to have exactly the right amount of warm, soft flesh without being fat.

But this was his dear wife and he loved her. She was his comfort and he would never forget that. She was smiling and so happy because he was home.

She bent and kissed his hand and with a gesture of tenderness he took her arm and they went into the Palace together.

He wondered how he managed to keep his temper while all the ceremonies went on. There were as many ceremonies in Hanover—but somehow they seemed more reasonable and in any case he was in pain and he wanted to go to bed and he hated being ill because he always felt that Was a slur on his manhood.

At last he was alone with the Queen.

She was anxious, but one did not suggest that the King might be ill.

She said that it must have been a tiring journey.

He told her exactly how long it had taken between each stage and grew quite animated doing this. He doubted the journey had ever been done so quickly.

‘It must have meant long hours sitting in the coach,’ she said. He looked at her sharply. So she guessed.

He said gruffly: ‘I had better see one of the physicians. Have him brought here without fuss. Let no one know that I have sent for him.’

The Queen nodded. This distressing complaint! She sympathized. He hated her to know of his humiliating illness; and she was determined to keep the knowledge of hers from everyone—except of course Charlotte Clayton. And she would never have known if she had not guessed.

‘I will see that the physician comes with as little fuss as possible. I will tell Hervey to arrange it.’

The King grunted his satisfaction and lay on the bed. She took his hand and was alarmed to find how feverish he was. How foolish of him to exhaust himself with such a journey unnecessarily. He could have taken ten days—had he given himself time.

Well, dear Lord Hervey would see that everything was conducted with the utmost secrecy.

She was right. The physician came and treated the King; but when he suggested that His Majesty should take to his bed for a few days until the fever subsided the King told him not to be a fool and he would take orders from no one.

He rested until the next morning, then he was up at precisely the same time that he rose every morning. No matter what pain he suffered, how much fever he had, no one at Court was going to know it. But there was an outward sign of his disorders which he made no effort to suppress. His temper flared up at the slightest thing; not only that, he seemed to look for trouble, as though abusing everyone around him soothed the pain he was suffering.

A pity he hadn’t remained in Hanover with his darling mistress, said the Court. That was where he wanted to be and Heaven knew no one wanted the disgruntled little man here.