Caroline was alarmed. If he had put to sea he might well be drowned, for how could any ship survive in the storms which were sweeping the seas?

The King’s name was on every lip throughout the country. Where was he? Why was there no news of him? He must be drowned ... drowned coming from his whore, said the people, with all his sins on him.

The Prince of Wales showed no regret, but he gave himself airs; he was receiving more attention than he had ever received before. The general opinion was that he was in fact no longer Prince of Wales but King of England.

The Princess Amelia went about tight-lipped. If Frederick were King there would be changes. The Princess Caroline frankly declared her horror. This was the worst thing that could possibly happen to them. Fred would have no respect for any of them. He would humiliate them in every way he could think of ... particularly Mamma. William was making secret plans, wondering how he could discredit Fred and take the throne from him.

And the Queen waited for news and thought of him, the little man who had lived so close to her for so many years, who had snubbed her and bullied her and had declared always that he loved her. What would she do without him? Did she love him? How could she love one who humiliated her as he did, who so recently had planned to subject her to the greatest humiliation of all, who told her the intimate details of his love affairs because he believed she loved him so much that she was delighted to hear them? He was obtuse; he had no love for the things of the mind which once had been so precious to her; he was a silly little man, a bad-tempered, vain, little man—and yet to lose him would be like losing part of herself.

The Prince of Wales came to see the Queen.

He could not hide his delight, so she knew he brought bad news.

‘I have a letter which I think you should see, Madam,’ he said. ‘It is from a friend at Harwich who a few days after that when we believe the King must have set sail, heard distress signals fired at sea. There can be no doubt that these came from some ships of the King’s fleet.’

‘There must have been many ships at sea on that day,’ said the Queen, reading the letter.

‘Not many, Madam. I am convinced that this was one of the King’s fleet and that we must reconcile ourselves to his loss.’

‘I do not think—in that unhappy event—you will have much difficulty,’ said Caroline coldly; and she turned away indicating that the interview was at an end.

But by the end of that day a messenger arrived with a letter from the King.

The messenger had been several days at sea in a fearful storm, but the King wanted the Queen to know that he had not set sail as arranged and was awaiting a good wind at Helvoetsluys.

The Prince’s discomfiture was as obvious as the Queen’s delight. But the position was very quickly in reverse, for no sooner had the King set sail than a storm came up more violently than ever and now there could be no doubt that the King was drowned.

But yet again came the news that although the King had set sail his Captain had prevailed on him to go back to land when the storm threatened and the King had reluctantly allowed himself to be persuaded.

Thus he still lived though the sea parted them.

So overjoyed was the Queen when she heard this news that she wrote to him and told him how she had suffered through her fears that she had lost him. The King, always responding to sentiment, wrote a long letter to her—a passionate love letter, for the first time omitting any mention of Madame de Walmoden. She was the perfect wife; for her he had love which was all her own and could never be shared by any other person. She was his perfect Venus; and the reason he had allowed the Captain to overrule him was because he could not risk the chance of never seeing her again.

When Caroline read the letter she wept with joy. It was the kind of letter he had written in the days of their courtship, for he had always loved to pour out his sentiments on paper.

She could not resist showing it to Walpole who had told her so bluntly that she could no longer hope to appeal to the King’s senses.

Walpole smiled cynically. He knew his King, and he was not surprised that the dramatic circumstances had produced such an epistle. Still he was ready to concede that it was a good sign that the King could still write so to his wife.

Now there was the King waiting for a fair wind at Helvoetsluys and the nation was caught up in the drama, as it so liked to be.

‘How is the wind with the King?’ was the catch-phrase of the day.

And the answer was : ‘Like the nation, against him.’

In time the wind turned favourable and the King immediately set sail.

It was mid-January before he reached England and more than eight months since he had left.

The Queen, with all the family, were waiting to welcome him in the courtyard as his coach trundled into the Palace.

Even the Prince of Wales was there, but there were only cold looks for him. The King had eyes for no one but the Queen and with tears in his eyes he embraced her with the utmost affection that all might see in what love and devotion he held her.

Accouchement at Midnight

‘THE King is dying!’

This was the theme of conversation in the Prince’s apartments. The change in Frederick was being noticed and many people who had followed the King’s habit and ignored him, now found him worthy of their attentions.

It would not be long, it was said, before the Prince of Wales was King.

George had returned from Hanover this time in a very different mood from last. The irritable temper flared up now and then, it was true, but it was mingled with moods of subdued affection towards his wife. Whenever he mentioned her, tears filled his eyes and he said again and again that she was the best wife in the world.

He did not mention Madame de Walmoden and Walpole wondered whether that little affair had come to an end; but according to his brother, Horace, the King’s farewells to his mistress had been as touching as ever and he had sworn to return to her; and when it was considered that he had delayed leaving her so long that he had not had time to see his daughter who was, it had been thought, at the point of death, it was strange that he should have forgotten his mistress.

The fact was that the King was ill. The trying journey had had its effects on him and he suffered as well from all the depressing ailments which attacked him intermittently.

In fact when it was believed he was with the Queen he was actually keeping to his bed. He would get up, dress for a levee, and come back to bed, so anxious was he to keep the state of his health from his subjects.

Walpole asked the Queen to tell him the truth about the King’s condition, and she replied that the journey had been too much even for him and he was merely feeling the consequences of it; but the minister was not entirely convinced; and as he believed the King to be suffering from some malady about which he had forced his doctors to be silent, he was forming all sorts of conjectures.

The King saw that the Queen was anxious and wanted to know why.

She told him that Walpole was suspicious and thought he was suffering from some fatal complaint.

When he heard this George got from his bed and insisted on dressing.

‘You should not do this,’ cried the Queen. ‘You know you need to rest.’

‘You know who is putting these rumours about. It’s that young puppy. He thinks he is King already. I will show him.’