‘I wish she would hurry up and die. What’s she waiting for?’
Caroline’s laugh rang around the gardens of Herrenhausen, bouncing off the clipped hornbeam to join the tinkling fountain. ‘Oh Grandmamma, you do not mean it. Poor Queen Anne. Give her a few more days.’
Sophia scowled, deepening the wrinkles in her face. ‘In a few days she can change her mind. Cut the House of Hanover from the British succession completely.’
‘If she does that, she will not have to wait long for death,’ Caroline pointed out. ‘For I’m sure you would kill her.’
Sophia chuckled, but the trouble didn’t leave her watery brown eyes.
It wasn’t fair. Britain’s throne was so close to Hanover now, you could practically taste it. But even as Queen Anne’s life trickled away, death was snapping at the heels of her successor. Caroline’s stomach pitched as she considered her husband’s frail grandmother beside the vibrant gardens. Spring bloomed; flowers opened, shedding their scent on the balmy air, yet Sophia curled and decayed. Every day scored her, marking a living tally of years on her skin. Achieving her dream should be simple: all she had to do was live. But even Sophia’s indomitable spirit would struggle to keep this scraggly, bony body alive.
Caroline sighed and looked over to her children playing beside the topiary figures. Frederick, her eldest, tickled his sisters and made them squeal. The familiar ambition surged through her as she watched him. Here was her contribution to the glory of their house – a vessel to keep her blood forever in the veins of the British monarchy. If he could. Maternal affection did not blind her; Fred was not the son she had hoped for. She wanted a ruddy-faced, harum-scarum boy with a powerful presence. But as Fred grew older, he looked less and less like a future king, with a narrow chest that heaved as he ran and legs slender as twigs beneath his stockings. Even out in the sun, his skin was so pale. She chewed her lip. She needed another boy. There was no guarantee this sapling would grow to take his place.
As they walked on, a palette of foliage spread before them: white and pink blossom, purple leaves, the dark emerald of the Cyprus, all shot through with sticky buds. It was a peaceful, beautiful scene, but Caroline couldn’t appreciate it. Sophia kept fidgeting at her side.
‘If death took me tomorrow, I would go content so long as it said Queen of England on my tombstone.’ Sophia twisted the curls of her wig around a finger. ‘I’ll settle for outliving Anne a day – an hour.’
Caroline saw her own prickling desires reflected in Sophia’s aged face. ‘It will happen,’ she said. ‘I will always have hope for our house. You and your grandson are destined for great things.’
A childish shriek rang out. Caroline’s eldest daughter, Anne, dodged Frederick’s advances and shoved him into a hedge. She looked so triumphant, dusting off her little gloves, that Caroline did not have the heart to scold her. Better her daughter learnt to push men about than be pushed by them.
Sophia sniggered as Frederick wormed his way back onto his feet, green sprigs stuck to his hair. ‘And your little Fretz? Is he destined for great things?’
‘Fred,’ Caroline corrected. ‘The English will think Fretz sounds too German – we will start calling him Fred.’ One of the many changes she planned. In England, show was everything. Military force would not be enough to impose a new dynasty on the country – the House of Hanover needed to win the people heart and soul.
‘Excellent!’ Sophia clapped her gnarly hands. ‘Let us make him English! We cannot be too English for my taste. Speaking of which . . .’ She flicked her eyes over the train of ladies and dogs dawdling in their wake. ‘I have a new English lady. Did you see her?’
‘Really, how would I know? You have a new English lady each week. I wonder if poor Queen Anne has any courtiers left.’
Sophia grinned; even this was a small victory over her rival. A breeze fluttered past them, making the flowers bob. ‘This one is not from the court, I think. Look toward the back, you will spot her instantly.’
Caroline turned her head and pretended to admire a statue. Her eyes darted forward and back like the wasps sipping nectar from the flowers. Yes, she saw the lady at once; you could not miss her. That dress, so remarkably plain in this court of gold and silk. The bodice sagged a little over her chest; her waist seemed slim, but the gown failed to shape it. Perhaps it was second-hand. Were they really starting to admit waifs and strays like this into their court?
Caroline had to concede that the woman’s figure was good; slender and just above average height. There was little else to recommend her. Hunks of short, chestnut hair stuck out beneath the saucer of her hat. As if aware of her failings, she kept a little apart from the other ladies, her eyes trained on the gravel.
Abandoning the statue, Caroline walked forward. She splayed her fan and whispered to Sophia. ‘Good Heavens! What is that?’
‘That is The Honourable Mrs Howard, my dear.’
Caroline baulked. She recognised the name, but surely she was mistaken . . . ‘Howard? Was that one in our book of English peers? I seem to remember . . . ’
Sophia raised her eyebrows, ploughing furrows into her forehead. ‘You are right to look surprised. The Howards are Earls of Suffolk. They own a grand house in Essex.’
The ancient name of Howard, yet dressed like a pauper? It didn’t make any sense. ‘And she always wears a dress like that?’
‘That dress. She has been here a week and I have seen no other.’
Caroline chuckled, but in truth she was uneasy. The poor creature must have fallen on hard times indeed. It would take a lot of courage – or desperation – to turn up day after day in that outfit and be sneered at. ‘Perhaps she is one of those English eccentrics?’
Sophia plucked a fallen petal from the hedge and ran it through her fingers. ‘Actually, she is rather sweet. Very eager to please. Learned, certainly. I rather think I might keep her.’
‘Yes, you would.’ She smiled. ‘You do love a good puzzle. What of her husband?’
Sophia moistened her lips. Before she could speak, a cry rent the air. A page ran cringing from the palace with his arms clasped in a protective arch over his head.
‘Ruined! The whole blasted thing is ruined!’ It was a voice that could flay skin. A wig sailed from the window and bounced off the page into a hedge. ‘What did you do, use it to dust the shelves? I’ve seen more powder on a baby’s arse!’
Caroline and Sophia exchanged a look.
‘Perhaps it is time you returned to George,’ said Sophia.
One hour – she left him a single hour and he fell apart. No doubt his father had been stirring the cauldron in her absence, prodding him with fresh slights and malicious words. She groaned. ‘It is Georg Ludwig, your dearest son.’ Sophia smirked – she did not love him any more than Caroline. ‘He is the cause of this.’
‘Ah. I suppose he won’t let George go to England and receive his honorary titles?’
‘No. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since he found out. It’s been like appeasing a baited bear.’
Objects tumbled from the window in quick succession; a hat, a book, a pair of gloves. The ladies tittered. Mrs Howard stood at the back, her eyes wide.
Sophia’s face twitched as she struggled to contain her amusement. ‘Well, you had better go to him now. I would like some servants left alive.’
Caroline sucked in a breath and girded herself. She had weathered many such storms before. Taking the wig from a tangle of branches, she brushed off the leaves and started toward the palace.
Henrietta pulled another stitch through the embroidery silk and secured it with a knot. At least her blistered, calloused hands were good for something; she worked with more speed and accuracy than the other ladies. Not that it made them like her any better. She was careful to keep her eye fixed on the needle so that she did not see their scathing looks, the hard grins that told her she was beneath their contempt. Humiliation was a constant companion. She had never felt so much like a dog begging for scraps at the table. Were it not for Sophia’s kindness, she believed she would flee the court entirely.
Sophia sighed as she leant back in her chair, already bored from inactivity. ‘Look at him there, my grandfather, staring down at me.’ As one, the ladies gazed at the portrait brooding above the mantelpiece. James I of England stared back at them in oil paint with his pointed beard and knowing eyes. ‘I wonder what he would make of all this. Would he want me on his throne?’ She turned. ‘Mrs Howard, I’ve seen you with a history book on your lap. What do you think?’
Silk rustled as everyone swivelled to stare at Henrietta. Her tongue suddenly felt too large for her mouth. ‘I . . . I am sure he would feel for you, madam. He had to introduce a new ruling dynasty to Britain too, did he not?’
Sophia’s face became a map of wrinkles. ‘Yes. But the people tried to blow him up, and then they beheaded his son.’
The ladies laughed. Each jangling note was a pinprick in Henrietta’s skin. As if these Hanoverians knew the least thing about English history. She cleared her throat. ‘How right you are. Perhaps you should ask the Princess Caroline. I am sure her knowledge is superior to mine.’
‘Yes!’ Sophia clapped her hands. ‘Come. Let us go to her.’ She was up and out of her chair before Henrietta had a chance to lay down her sewing. Astonishing, that an eighty-two-year-old woman could move with such speed.
Used to their volatile mistress, the other ladies rose and followed, blocking Henrietta’s passage with their hoops. She hung behind and walked alone, at the very back. She was always at the back.
As they made their way down the corridor, a window opened upon the gardens. Through the glass the Elector Georg Ludwig and his mistress, Madame Melusine Schulenburg, could be seen taking the air. They made a strange couple; serious and unattractive. Georg Ludwig walked as if he were late for an appointment. Heeding neither the flowers nor the butterflies, he kept his head high and straight. The lady minced after him. She was so thin she looked almost ill.
Sophia glowered at them as she swept past. ‘Pah! Look at that maukin! I never thought my son would conceive a passion for such a scarecrow!’
There was certainly no love lost in this family. Henrietta could not keep track of the petty jealousies that wreathed the palace. The only person on good terms with all was the Princess Caroline. That was understandable; she was not a woman Henrietta would want to cross.
Since first glimpsing the princess, Henrietta had held her in a state of church-like awe. Oh, she was cordial enough, offering a ready smile and tinkling laughter to every gathering. But there was something behind that cheerful expression that pierced like a blade.
As they sailed into Caroline’s private chambers, they saw the princess sitting beside her husband on a damask sofa. Pale blue silk stretched over her buxom figure and frothed into lace around her bosom. The curves of her ample breasts showed creamy white. She had a prominent, sloping nose and tilted feline eyes. They flashed over the ladies for a second but gave nothing away.
The prince’s face was slim and earnest looking, dominated by round blue eyes. He would be handsome but for the mottled colour of his skin and the veins that stood out like cords in his neck.
Caroline rose and smiled with even white teeth. ‘Ah, Grandmamma. What a pleasant surprise.’ Long blonde hair tumbled down her back in waves, powdered to the hue of winter sun.
Sophia hobbled over, infusing the space with her scent of dried lavender and faded roses. ‘My dear.’ She looked at Prince George, sitting on the sofa. ‘Have I interrupted you?’
‘No.’ It was clear from the speed of his answer that she had. ‘I am leaving now. I must take my exercise before it gets too hot.’
‘Your father is in the gardens,’ Sophia warned.
‘Then I shall ride.’ Springing to his feet, he made a brief nod to the ladies and sped through the door.
Caroline fell back on the sofa with a sigh. ‘You may guess what that was about. The same argument, again and again.’
‘I can understand his frustration.’ Sophia sat down beside her. ‘It would do us so much good to have a presence in England at this time. If he could only go and receive his titles, it would be one foot in the door.’
Henrietta nodded. Much as the British wanted to keep Queen Anne’s Catholic brother away from the throne, they were unnerved by the idea of bestowing their crown upon a foreign power. These Hanoverians were strangers who did not understand the customs, the history – even what it meant to be British. The longer they stayed away, the more alien they seemed.
‘You agree, madam? You nod very decidedly?’
Henrietta jumped to see Caroline looking at her with those piercing blue eyes. She suddenly felt naked. ‘I . . . ’
Sophia smiled. ‘Ah, yes. I have not presented Mrs Howard, have I? Come forward, dear, meet the Princess Caroline.’
She took a few wobbling steps, aware of every eye upon her. As she curtsied, the dull material of her cheap gown pooled on the floor beside Caroline’s cornflower silk. She could not bring herself to raise her eyes. Sophia might be charitable enough to see past oddities of dress and appearance, but she had a feeling this glamorous princess was not.
‘Why, you look fit to faint, child. Come, give me your hand. I do not bite.’ A few ladies tittered. Gingerly, Henrietta took the princess’s fingers and kissed them. They had the honeyed scent of attar of roses. ‘The Dowager Electress tells me you are recently arrived from England. You will be best suited to tell me about the political situation there. I saw you nod so earnestly as we spoke of sending my husband over. Do you think it would be a good plan?’
Her mouth was suddenly full of ashes. It had been so long since she had been pressed for her opinion that she had forgotten how to give it. The clock ticked, accentuating every second of her silence. ‘I . . . I do not know how much Your Highness already understands about the state of my country.’ She darted a glance up. Caroline watched her with unblinking concentration. ‘Perhaps you have heard of the two political groups, the Whigs and the Tories?’
‘Oh, yes. But I do not thoroughly understand them at present. Do go on.’
That was the last thing she wanted to do. It was as if someone had wiped the slate of her mind perfectly clean. Had Caroline asked Henrietta her name, she would have struggled to answer. ‘Well . . . The Tories are in power. They have been loyal to Queen Anne. But – but they stand by the Stuarts. They are not . . . It is the Whig party that favours your family’s claim to the throne.’ She ploughed through her thoughts, turning up nothing but thick soil. She could not decide if it would be less foolish to speak or stay silent, but her mouth kept moving and made the choice for her. ‘In general the Tories represent the interests of the landed squires. The Church of England. But you see there are so many schisms and factions, it is hard to explain . . . The Whigs favour freedom. That is, they believe the constitution is more important than the rights of kings . . .’ She blushed, wishing the carpet would let her sink into its plush folds. ‘Forgive me, I am not making much sense. I am trying to remember what my father told me. He was a Whig, but he died when I was nine. I do not perfectly recall his words.’
Actually, her only memory of her father’s political forays was the noise of raised voices travelling through the house up to the nursery storey; her mother’s high-pitched scold about the huge sums of money spent in the previous election.
Caroline wore the false, closed-lipped smile of indulgence that she conferred upon her children. ‘Never mind, Mrs Howard. I am sure you will be able to tell me more when you are not taken by surprise. I have rather put you on the spot.’
Her nervous laugh gurgled in her throat. ‘All I meant to say was that the Tories can suggest many things about your family while you are not there to contradict them. Seeing a prince in the flesh would put many rumours to rest.’
‘I agree. But the Elector does not mean to let my husband go.’
‘Nor does my cousin Queen Anne,’ Sophia pointed out. ‘I am sure she would have found an excuse to stop the visit. She does not want us over there, reminding her she must die.’ She snickered. ‘Ah, if only she and my son had made a match of it. They are both pig-headed and stubborn. What a couple they would have been!’
Caroline adjusted her position on the sofa. ‘But the Countess d’Eke looks as if she has an opinion. Pray, tell me what it is?’
Henrietta slipped back to allow the countess her place in the sun. The others shouldered her behind them without a second glance. Failure left her hollow. If only she had spoken to her brother John and found out more about the state of parliament before she came. But that had been next to impossible; Charles forbade any visits to John until he relinquished her dowry. Their correspondence could only continue in secret; long letters were too much of a risk.
She took her place on the edge of the group, hidden from view. The sun shifted outside and cast a shadow across her. Disappointment drained her until all that remained was a bitter tang of self-loathing. She had been given her chance to impress – and fallen at the first fence.
Company packed the salon. Rivulets of sweat trickled down Henrietta’s legs as she took another warm and unpleasantly sweet sip of ratafia. She had always imagined the inner sanctum of court to be like a paradise, but it was as hot and stinking as a circle of hell. Dice clattered against the tables, followed by cheers and groans. Red, laughing faces swirled past her eyes. She wondered what Charles was doing, back in their tiny rooms. If he knew how freely the wine flowed here, perhaps he would come to court after all.
Most of the ladies played at cards with the princess. Caroline sat with a hand fanned before her face, masking all but her dancing eyes. Her gown glowed emerald in the candlelight.
Henrietta rubbed at her ear, pressing through the folds of lace and hair that covered it. If she could overhear a conversation, she might join in. But on one side of her head there was nothing but a high-pitched whine. It had been that way for a few weeks now. She recalled Charles’s heavy hands and the blood brought away on her fingertips. She shuddered. Perhaps this time he had damaged her beyond repair.
‘Mrs Howard, isn’t it?’
She jumped round, almost spilling her drink. To her astonishment George, the Electoral Prince, stood before her. He cut a handsome figure in his long coat frosted with silver. His features were pointed and almost feminine as they opened up in greeting.
Henrietta bobbed a hurried curtsey. ‘Yes – yes, Your Royal Highness. I am Henrietta Howard.’ Panic spiralled through her. She had only ever seen this man shouting or throwing servants out of the room. His temper was infamous. If she brushed him up the wrong way, she was done for.
‘How do you do? How do you do?’ He took her hand and pumped it in his own. ‘My grandmother speaks of you very often.’
His touch caused a tingle inside. These men of the court dazzled her with their glamour. Such a vivid contrast to the dirty, tatty Charles. Henrietta curtsied again, feeling as if she had two left feet. ‘That is very kind of her.’
‘She was right – you do have a soft, remarkably clear voice.’ Henrietta felt her cheeks grow warmer. ‘She believes – and so does my wife – that you would be the perfect person to help me with my English. What do you think, eh? Can you do anything about my accent?’
A spasm of horror cramped her stomach. How could she spend hours alone with this man without sending him into one of his rages? She would never dare to contradict him for a mistake. ‘How you honour me,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I am, of course, always happy to help where I can.’
She looked down his sharp nose to his full, pouting lips. They broke into a smile. ‘Excellent! I will summon you tomorrow. Only let us not make it too hum-drum. I cannot endure long lessons. They put me in a devil of a mood.’
Henrietta swallowed. She had thought Herrenhausen a haven from Charles, but it seemed she was only swapping one man with a short fuse for another.
As if reading her thoughts, George spoke again. ‘And your husband, madam? Where is he? I should like to meet The Honourable Mr Howard.’
The ringing in her ear picked up a notch. ‘Indisposed, Your Highness. But I’m confident he will be at court very soon.’
‘My wife tells me he’s a soldier?’
‘He was. A Captain of the Light Dragoons.’
The prince’s face lit up. ‘Capital! What uniform did he have?’
‘Uniform?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded vigorously. ‘How many buttons? Gold braiding?’
A painful memory played behind her eyes: Charles, clean-shaven, with his helmet under his arm. The man she had fallen for and never seen since. ‘Dark blue, edged with gold.’
‘Is that all you remember? You women never pay attention to these things!’
She held herself taut, afraid she might have angered him. Thinking quickly, she diverted him down another path. ‘Have you seen military action, sir?’
‘Yes! I had a horse shot out from under me at Oudenarde, poor beast,’ he said with relish. ‘Somersaulted right over him and landed on my feet. I kept on fighting. Wouldn’t let the brutes have the satisfaction of seeing me wounded.’
‘That sounds extremely brave.’
‘It was the War of the Spanish Succession, back in the year eight. We fought to put Archduke Charles of Austria on the throne.’ His voice quickened, warming to his theme. ‘I never thought I would see the day I fought for Archduke Charles! You know, I expect, that he wanted to marry Caroline before I did? If he wasn’t Catholic, he would have been a good match for her.’
His words turned to a gabble in Henrietta’s ear. She nodded politely, but he rambled on about the Archduke’s lineage – obscure royal relations who meant nothing to her. Evidently he was a man who enjoyed the sound of his own voice. She could just envisage these English lessons he proposed: hours of tedium. She would present a few new words, then he would launch into one of his stories and she would not venture to interrupt him.
But was that really so bad? It was a chance, after all. She had failed to impress Caroline, but George was not half as quick. By showing patience, she could worm herself into his good graces. She would be a fool not to latch onto this opportunity like a limpet.
George paused. His bulging blue eyes blinked expectantly.
‘Fascinating,’ Henrietta supplied quickly. ‘Just – fascinating. However do you remember all that?’
He beamed. ‘Wait until I tell you the connection through my mother’s side of the family.’
Henrietta watched the prince’s lips move. She schooled her features into an expression of rapt attention and made encouraging noises. She saw instantly that he was pleased with her.
She was struck by the way he looked into her face, carefully watching the effect of his words. She had not experienced such close attention from a man since . . . she could not remember.
Something flickered inside her, a tinderbox trying to strike a flame. It was a feeling she had almost forgotten. Blushing, she lowered her eyes.