was so much here to remind her and at Hampton, Greenwich and Richmond. How thrilling to have been so often in fear of her life when she was young – and what triumph for her when at last she was proclaimed Queen of England. And those menwho danced attendance on her and whom she would not accept as her lovers!
Charlotte laughed aloud. I will be like her, I think, if I am ever queen.
If! Why should she say that? She would be queen one day for her father and mother would never have a son – and no one could ever believe that that horrible child her mother doted on at Montague House could possibly have been sired by the Prince of Wales. So why should she say If? Because she had made a will recently? Because there was something eerie about the castle and the great forest? Because strange things happened to members of her family?
‘I shall be queen,’ she said aloud. And then looked about her almost defiantly. It was rather a wicked thing to have said because not only Grandpapa but her father would have to die first.
No one had heard. There was no one near. She looked towards the forest and thought of Herne the Hunter. He would not be abroad by day – if he ever was. She did not believe in such legends … not by day at any rate.
There was no Herne the Hunter; no one had ever seen him. But she did know that people were afraid to be alone in the forest by night lest they should come face to face with the ghost of Herne with the stag horns on his head. It was death to see him. She shivered. What dreadful things had Herne the Hunter done which had made him hang himself on an oak tree and haunt the forest for evermore?
There was so much romance at Windsor and yet living here was so dull … made so since she was not allowed to see her mother, because she was under the constant supervision of the Queen.
And now if she did not go in and allow them to prepare her for the Drawing Room she would be late and in disgrace – and not only herself but her attendants.
She grimaced. Who would be a princess? And yet … how angry she had been at the thought of that horrid little Willie Austin robbing her of her inheritance!
No, she would be a queen … as shrewd and clever … and perhaps as wicked as Elizabeth.
I wished they’d named me after her instead of after the old Begum, she thought.
The King was seated at his table turning over some State papers. He could not keep his mind on them; he could not keep his mind on anything. And it is getting worse, he admitted. What’s happening to me, eh, what? Perhaps I ought to abdicate. Give it over to George, eh?
He frowned; his face was scarlet and that made his white brows look whiter; they jutted out ferociously above his protuberant eyes. He was not in the least fierce; he was the mildest of men; he only wanted to live in peace – but events would not let him; and there was his family to plague him.
His sight was failing him; he could not read the papers without holding them closer to his eyes and then his mind would not concentrate on what was written there.
A poor fellow, he thought. And there’s no respect for me … not with my ministers, my people nor my family.
Yet there were some members of his family … his daughters for instance. Amelia most of all. Blessed Amelia, the delight of his life, who gave him so much pleasure and so much anxiety. Yet as long as he had Amelia he could find life worth living. The others too he was fond of … Augusta, Elizabeth, Mary and Sophia. Charlotte, his eldest, was living happily with her husband, which was more than he had hoped for, in Wurtemberg with her Prince, once the husband of Caroline’s sister Charlotte who had died mysteriously … at least they hoped she was dead, poor girl, for if she were not then that other Charlotte, Princess Royal of England and his eldest daughter, was not married at all. But the first Charlotte had disappeared mysteriously in Russia. She must have been rather like Caroline … the sort of eccentric
Charlotte laughed aloud. I will be like her, I think, if I am ever queen.
If! Why should she say that? She would be queen one day for her father and mother would never have a son – and no one could ever believe that that horrible child her mother doted on at Montague House could possibly have been sired by the Prince of Wales. So why should she say If? Because she had made a will recently? Because there was something eerie about the castle and the great forest? Because strange things happened to members of her family?
‘I shall be queen,’ she said aloud. And then looked about her almost defiantly. It was rather a wicked thing to have said because not only Grandpapa but her father would have to die first.
No one had heard. There was no one near. She looked towards the forest and thought of Herne the Hunter. He would not be abroad by day – if he ever was. She did not believe in such legends … not by day at any rate.
There was no Herne the Hunter; no one had ever seen him. But she did know that people were afraid to be alone in the forest by night lest they should come face to face with the ghost of Herne with the stag horns on his head. It was death to see him. She shivered. What dreadful things had Herne the Hunter done which had made him hang himself on an oak tree and haunt the forest for evermore?
There was so much romance at Windsor and yet living here was so dull … made so since she was not allowed to see her mother, because she was under the constant supervision of the Queen.
And now if she did not go in and allow them to prepare her for the Drawing Room she would be late and in disgrace – and not only herself but her attendants.
She grimaced. Who would be a princess? And yet … how angry she had been at the thought of that horrid little Willie Austin robbing her of her inheritance!
No, she would be a queen … as shrewd and clever … and perhaps as wicked as Elizabeth.
I wished they’d named me after her instead of after the old Begum, she thought.
The King was seated at his table turning over some State papers. He could not keep his mind on them; he could not keep his mind on anything. And it is getting worse, he admitted. What’s happening to me, eh, what? Perhaps I ought to abdicate. Give it over to George, eh?
He frowned; his face was scarlet and that made his white brows look whiter; they jutted out ferociously above his protuberant eyes. He was not in the least fierce; he was the mildest of men; he only wanted to live in peace – but events would not let him; and there was his family to plague him.
His sight was failing him; he could not read the papers without holding them closer to his eyes and then his mind would not concentrate on what was written there.
A poor fellow, he thought. And there’s no respect for me … not with my ministers, my people nor my family.
Yet there were some members of his family … his daughters for instance. Amelia most of all. Blessed Amelia, the delight of his life, who gave him so much pleasure and so much anxiety. Yet as long as he had Amelia he could find life worth living. The others too he was fond of … Augusta, Elizabeth, Mary and Sophia. Charlotte, his eldest, was living happily with her husband, which was more than he had hoped for, in Wurtemberg with her Prince, once the husband of Caroline’s sister Charlotte who had died mysteriously … at least they hoped she was dead, poor girl, for if she were not then that other Charlotte, Princess Royal of England and his eldest daughter, was not married at all. But the first Charlotte had disappeared mysteriously in Russia. She must have been rather like Caroline … the sort of eccentric
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