The Queen was in the drawing room with her daughters, and of course Lord Hervey was in attendance, when the King came in. He looked at his watch testily as though to ask what they were all doing in this particular place at this particular hour.

The Queen looked at him nervously. He had always been of a violent temper, but it had never flared up quite so frequently—and for such trifles—as it had since his return from Hanover. She could tell that he was in pain, although the fever had subsided.

‘Gossip, gossip, gossip! ‘ he said. ‘That’s all that seems to go on in this Court. I can tell you it is different in Hanover.’

He scowled at them all and kicked a footstool out of his way; the effort clearly gave him a stab of pain which made him glare at the stool. But that inanimate object could not soothe his irritation, so he turned to the Queen.

‘Your Majesty breakfasted well?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Breakfasted well! When, Madam, did I ever breakfast well in this country? Tell me this: Is there an Englishman living who knows how to cook? Or an English woman for that matter? The English are the worst cooks in the world.’

Lord Hervey tried to soothe matters by saying that he would send his own cook to His Majesty’s kitchens for he was sure that the man could not fail to please.

‘I beg of you do no such thing,’ snapped the King. ‘There is no man in England who can cook to my satisfaction. There is no servant, sir, who knows his duty. Look at those chairs! I will not have them placed near the window thus. I have said so a hundred times. The English servants have no sense.’

The Princess Caroline hurriedly changed the position of the chairs. The King watched her with derision.

‘No Englishwoman knows how to walk across a room. They should take a lesson from the people of Hanover. And you’re getting fat like your mother. That gown is too drab. It makes you look sallow. My God, the women of England should go to Hanover and learn how to dress.’

‘Your Majesty is fortunate to possess such a paradise among your dominions,’ murmured Hervey.

The Queen was startled at the hint of sarcasm, but the King missed it; his eyes became slightly glazed with fond memories. The Queen was relieved for a moment and then it immediately occurred to her that he had never been quite like this before; he was more under the influence of that Walmoden woman than she had realized.

The King came out of his reverie and noticed the pictures. He stared as though he could not believe his eyes.

‘What has happened to the pictures?’ he asked. Everyone stared blankly at the walls.

‘Have you all turned silly?’ he shouted. ‘These are not my pictures.’

The Queen said: ‘We thought a change would be pleasant. We decided to put these Vandycks here instead of the old ones.’

‘I don’t find the change pleasant.’

‘These are very excellent pictures,’ ventured the Queen. ‘The others were of no great value.’

‘I do not find them excellent and I want the old pictures back here ... at once, do you understand.’ He looked at Hervey and said: ‘See to it....’

Hervey was startled, for some of the old pictures had been so worthless that he and the Queen had decided they were no good for anything and had given them away; others the Queen had said should be sent to Windsor.

Hervey murmured that some of the pictures had gone to Windsor and that it would not be easy to get them back quickly. ‘Would Your Majesty allow the two Vandycks to remain ... for a while. I am sure Your Majesty will agree that they are very fine.’

The King’s eyes looked red as they did when he was angry.

‘I’ll swear that you have been giving your fine advice to the Queen when she was pulling my house to pieces and spoiling all my furniture. I suppose I should be grateful that she has left the walls standing. Keep those two Vandycks if you like, but take away those nasty little children hanging over the door. I will not have them, I tell you, I will not have them. And do this quickly. I want to see it done before I leave for London tomorrow, for I know if I do not see a thing done with my own eyes it will not be done.’

‘Your Majesty cannot mean that he wants the fat Venus put back over the door.’

‘And why cannot I mean that, pray? I tell you, my lord, that is exactly what I do want ... and what I mean to have. Oh, I have not such nice taste as your lordship. I happen to like my fat Venus better than anything you have given me. See that my orders are carried out.’

‘At Your Majesty’s service now ... as always,’ said Lord Hervey.

The King turned to the Queen.

‘It is time that we walked.’

She rose immediately and he carried her off to the gardens to scold her for pulling down his house in his absence, for daring to suggest he hadn’t her fine taste, for stuffing so much chocolate that she looked like a pig, for planting too many flowers in the garden; in fact he must give way to his anger that Kensington was not Herrenhausen and Caroline not Amelia Sophia de Walmoden.

Sir Robert came to the Queen’s closet to talk to her very privately.

There was no use hiding from the truth, he said; he was a man who must speak the truth and he knew that the Queen respected frankness. In fact it was the only way in Which they could be of use to each other. The Queen assured him that she was of this opinion.

‘There is no doubt,’ said Sir Robert, that in Madame de Walmoden we have a danger which we have never had to face before.’

‘I believe,’ replied the Queen, ‘that in time he will forget her.’

Sir Robert cleared his throat. ‘And how has he been with ... Your Majesty since his return?’

The Queen hesitated and Sir Robert went on, ‘I understand. Previously the King has always been your devoted admirer. Now there is a threat in this younger woman. She is three-and-twenty and Your Majesty is three-and-fifty. You cannot compete against youth, Madam.’

Caroline was startled, but she was accustomed not only to the minister’s frankness but his crudeness of expression.

‘Before,’ he went on, ‘the King has been enamoured of your person and such feelings are of great use when it is necessary to revert to the art of persuasion. I am sure that your success with the King has been due to the effect you have had on him in the boudoir. Let us face the fact. Your Majesty can no longer hope to exert the same influence in that respect. You must now rely entirely on your intellect.’

The Queen clearly disliked this conversation and was steeling herself to remember that Walpole was only concerned with the good of their alliance and that they should not fail to carry the King with them in spite of her loosening physical hold on him.

‘He always declared that however many mistresses he has makes no difference to his feelings for me.’

‘That was in the past, Madam. That was when he desired you along with the others and you had the additional value of being his wife which to his reasoning is a fillip rather than an obstruction to passion. But now we have Madame de Walmoden.’

‘And you think that he is so enamoured of her that it has completely changed his outlook?’

Walpole nodded grimly. Had not something similar happened to him. There had been no greater rake in London than Sir Robert Walpole until he met Maria Skerrett; and now he was so enamoured of her that he was almost ready to throw up politics for her sake. At least he did not care if the whole world knew what she meant to him. And if that could happen to an old cynic like Sir Robert Walpole, how much more easily could it catch a sentimental man like George II.

‘We must try to turn his thoughts from her,’ said Walpole. ‘After all, we have an advantage in the fact that she is miles away and he cannot visit her. At least without our knowing. And we must do all in our power to prevent little trips to Hanover. That should not be difficult. I can move Parliament to put obstructions in his way. But ... he is dissatisfied and will continue to think of this woman unless we can divert his thoughts. Has he visited Lady Deloraine?’