The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (25 page)

‘That would come automatically with his death when Celle will go to George Lewis.’

‘But he wants to make sure that his daughter loses nothing. In every respect the alliance between Celle and Hanover is perfect; and George William realizes it.’

‘But the Duchess …’

‘A sentimental woman. She imagines her daughter
loves
this Wolfenbüttel boy. And you must admit that George Lewis is scarcely the sort to attract a girl who has been brought up as Sophia Dorothea has.’

‘He might have done more to make himself agreeable.’

‘You ask the impossible. He could not make himself agreeable however he tried … that is to a girl brought up like the Princess of Celle. I believe he gives a good account of himself in some quarters. But we waste time. What can we do? Someone must go to Celle.’

‘Who?’

‘Someone who is strong enough to make George William see how important this match would be. Someone strong enough to make him forget his sentimental desire to please his wife and spoon-feed his daughter.’

Ernest Augustus was looking at her. He thought her magnificent with her alert brain, her grasp of affairs, and coupled with it that overpowering sensuality, that skill and knowledge-ability which made her as deep a joy to a man such as he was in the bedchamber as in council.

She was the one who would put the case to George William – but how could he send his mistress? George William, like the faithful married man he was, would object to her, before he saw her; he might even refuse to receive her. No, for all her brilliance Clara would not stand a chance.

Clara was looking at him speculatively. He was the obvious choice. Clara narrowed her eyes, picturing Ernest Augustus ordering that the coach be prepared for him to go to Celle. News of his arrival might well reach the castle before he did and Eléonore would have no doubt of the reason for his journey. She would be prepared, and if she had an opportunity of making her husband promise not to give way, she would surely succeed.

Clara said: ‘The Duchess Sophia must go.’

‘Are you mad? She knows nothing of this. She hates the Duchess of Celle. She has never forgotten that the Duke refused to marry her, turned her over to me, even giving me his birthright to elude marriage, and then fell in love with Eléonore and made such efforts to marry her. You know women. Do you think Sophia will ever forgive that? Besides, she wants an English bride for George Lewis.’

‘She has seen that she cannot get one.’

‘But this proposed match between George Lewis and Sophia Dorothea has always been kept a secret from her. She has no notion.’

‘Then she must have a notion … quickly. For she is the one. If she will go to Celle, if she will talk to George William he would not be able to resist her.’

‘She would never do it.’

‘She would if she were made to see the importance to Hanover of this marriage.’

‘And who could make her see that?’

‘You … her husband.’

‘Do you think …?’

‘My dear, you are no George William. Sophia is the daughter of a Queen and doesn’t forget it. Morever, her mother was the daughter of a King of England – which to her is the highest honour in the world. Her beliefs give her an unsurpassable dignity. She and she alone could bring George William to our side … even now … providing she is able to do so before Eléonore discovers what is going on.’

‘I should have to explain to her what we have been planning these last months.’

‘Never mind. She accepts you as the master. There you have been wiser than your brother. She … the great Sophia … has never sought to meddle unduly in your affairs. She did over this English visit and see what a failure that was! It is something to bear in mind when you talk to her. She is humble at the moment because of it. You could explain to her the desirability of this match; you could make her see the part she has to play. This is the right moment while she remembers the disaster of the English visit and all the money it cost you. Rarely has she been so humble as she is at this moment – nor will ever be again. You must go to her. There is no time to lose. You must bring her to our side and she must not waste a minute. The sooner we can get her riding to Celle, determined to make that marriage, the better.’

Ernest Augustus looked at his mistress. Clara had genius; he had never been more sure of it than at this moment.

Sophia looked at her husband with astonishment. ‘A marriage with Celle! Have you lost your senses. Celle! Our enemies.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘That woman who calls herself the Duchess would never agree.’

‘She has to be made to.’

‘It is absurd. I’ll have nothing to do with such a plan.’

Sophia pressed her lips firmly together and held her head high. She implied that although she made no complaint at the immoral life he led and even allowed herself to be on tolerably good terms with his reigning mistress, he must never forget the respect due to a granddaughter of a King of England.

She rose and would have left him but he barred her way.

‘You will listen to me,’ he said; and detecting the firm tone in his voice, she wavered. In spite of her birth she had no power that did not come from him; and the recent insult from England still rankled. They did not want her son; they did not consider him worthy of marriage with Anne. It was a bitter blow to her pride to know that they did not regard her as an important member of the family. Ernest Augustus had always treated her with respect; he had made only one demand, that she did not interfere with his sexual life. This had suited her, for she only desired him in her bed for the procreation of children and in that respect he had not failed her, for she had her family.

She must be careful not to alienate Ernest Augustus. She must remember that although Clara von Platen never forgot her place in the presence of her mistress, Clara was the real power. Ernest Augustus had come from Clara. This was their plot; and now they needed her.

She said slowly: ‘It could never come about.’

‘It could if you helped.’

‘I? What could I do?’

‘Everything. You underestimate your power if you do not agree. You have rank and dignity. You could talk to George William and he would have to listen to you.’

‘Do you suggest that I should go humbly to your brother and beg him to consider our son for his daughter?’

‘Not humbly, but in the utmost pride. Let me show you what I feel about this marriage. George Lewis must marry soon and where can we find a bride for him? The English project failed’ – Sophia winced – ‘miserably. It has been nothing but an expense and a loss of dignity into the bargain. Everyone is laughing, you can depend upon it, at George Lewis’s attempt to win the Princess Anne. They’re saying he came home a little less
arrogantly than he set out. That is not a pleasant state of affairs. Well, we must show that even if the English refuse him, there are others who are eager to accept him.’

‘And you think they will be eager at Celle, do you?’

‘George William will when you have spoken to him.’

‘
I
… speak to him?’

‘Yes and soon. For if we do not the girl will go to Wolfenbüttel. Now that is another problem. What do you think our position will be with Celle and Wolfenbüttel in alliance against us? We must stop that, if nothing else.’

Sophia was silent. It was true that an alliance between Wolfenbüttel and Celle would not be good for Hanover. They needed money – the exchequer was low; and Sophia Dorothea was a considerable heiress. Sophia imagined the contract which could be drawn up – it might be as beneficial to Ernest Augustus as that long-ago one which gave him the standing of an elder brother although he was a younger. And Eléonore? Eléonore wanted the match with Wolfenbüttel, and to bring off one with Hanover would be the biggest defeat that woman had ever suffered. It would bring the daughter on whom she doted to Hanover; it would put Sophia Dorothea completely in their power.

An opportunity to humiliate the woman for whom George William had pleaded and petitioned, schemed and fought to marry, by the woman whom he had pledged his future to avoid.

Sophia laughed harshly.

‘I see,’ she said, ‘that this marriage with Wolfenbüttel should be prevented. I will order the coach to be prepared and I will leave at once for Celle. There is very little time.’

Ernest Augustus seized her hands and kissed them fervently.

‘I knew I could rely on you.’

Less than half an hour later he and Clara stood side by side watching the coach lumber out of the courtyard and along the road towards Celle.

It was already the afternoon of the fourteenth and it might be that by the morning of the fifteenth Anton Ulrich with his family and retainers would be in Celle. Once he was there and
the announcement made it would be too late.

Sophia sat back impatiently against the upholstery of the coach and rehearsed what she would say … if she arrived in time. She would see George William … alone. If that woman was there it would be impossible. She pictured Eléonore as she had last seen her – elegant and beautiful and so assured of her husband’s devotion. Not only, thought Sophia bitterly, had he married her, but he had been faithful to her. How different was Ernest Augustus! That disgraceful Platen woman was his chief minister, for her husband did what his wife told him, as well as his chief mistress. And even she could not satisfy him completely. How humiliating that many a sly-eyed serving girl among her own household, many a waiting woman had been Ernest Augustus’s mistress – even if only for a night or two. Eléonore had no such degradation to endure. She was supreme in her own home, with a doting husband only too willing to be subservient to her so that it was necessary to pay a skilful spy to attempt to dislodge her.

But George William was wavering – if Bernstorff could be believed – and indeed he could, for George William had shown some interest in the Hanover alliance to which his Duchess was so vigorously opposed.

Oh yes, Sophia was going to enjoy her mission; and she was determined that it should succeed.

The coach lumbered to a standstill and she was almost thrown from her seat.

‘What has happened?’ she cried, drawing down the window and putting out her head.

Several of the lackeys were standing in the road.

‘The road’s impassable, Your Highness. The recent rains have made a bog of it.’

I shall be too late, she thought. Already the afternoon is drawing to its end; and tomorrow is the birthday.

Celle was only twenty miles from Hanover, but if the road was blocked it might as well be a hundred miles.

‘We must go on,’ she insisted.

‘Yes, Your Highness, but not on this road.’

‘Well, is there another?’

‘If we make a detour.’

‘Should we get there before dark?’

‘Your Highness, it’s an impossibility … and we don’t know what other roads will be like.’

‘I tell you you must get me there tonight.’

‘Yes, Your Highness. If you will excuse me, Your Highness …’

She sank back against the padded seat. The possibility of delay maddened her – she, who such a short time ago had had to be persuaded to take this step! Now that she had seen a way of vanquishing her enemy she longed to succeed. There would be a match between Celle and Hanover. Only let her get to Celle.

The coach lurched. She sat waiting. One of the men was at the window.

‘We have pulled out of the slush, Your Highness. We’re turning back and we’ll strike off in another direction.’

‘Tell them not to waste a moment.’

‘Yes, Your Highness.’

‘They’ll be well rewarded if they get me to Celle before morning. If not …’

‘Yes, Your Highness.’

The coach was rattling along at a good speed. She planned what she would say. It must be to George William alone; she would find some way of excluding the Duchess. Language, of course! She would not speak in French nor in German, but in low Dutch of which the Duchess could not understand a word.

Darkness had fallen but she did not stop the coach to ask how near they were. She sat upright, her lips growing grimmer as she rehearsed her part … in low Dutch.

The night was long; the jolting of the coach irksome; and when she saw the faint sign of light in the sky she despaired. Then she heard the shout and looking from her window saw the castle rising out of the mist and at that moment the coach was riding through the narrow streets of the town, past the sleeping houses – though here and there a head appeared at a window to see who the early visitors were.

The castle sentinels saw the Hanover coach which they
recognized by the coat of arms and the liveries. The drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis raised; and the Duchess Sophia came into the castle of Celle.

The Duchess Sophia left the coach and entered the castle. The guards stared at her in wonder. They knew her, of course and Were overawed. But at such a time and unannounced! What could it mean?

Sophia peremptorily demanded: ‘Where is the Duke?’

‘Your Highness, he has not yet risen.’

‘Take me to him.’

‘Madam, he is in his bedchamber.’

‘Take me to him,’ insisted Sophia.

‘But …’

Sophia looked surprised. ‘Take me at once to his apartment,’ she ordered, and the trembling page dared do nothing but obey.

In the ducal sleeping apartments the Duke, who was an early riser, was up and at his dressing table. When the page scratched at the door, one of his servants opened the door and was about to reprimand the page when he saw the Duchess of Sophia. He stood staring as though petrified.

‘What is it?’ demanded the Duke.

But Sophia was already striding into the dressing room, and it was George William’s turn to stare.

‘Your Highness,’ he stammered, ‘what does this honour …’

‘It means,’ said Sophia briskly, ‘that I must speak to you. I have come to congratulate you on the birthday of your daughter.’

‘This is a great honour, but so unexpected … and …’

‘And at such a time,’ finished Sophia grimly. ‘I have been riding all night.’

‘Then you must be exhausted. You must be given an apartment where you can rest and refresh yourself.’