The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (30 page)

Looking out at the limes and acacias, which made the banks of the river Leine so lovely in the spring, she thought that her child would bud and blossom with them; and that when the child was born she could be happy again.

Thus Sophia Dorothea began to be reconciled to her new life.

There was one who watched the progress of Sophia Dorothea with suppressed fury. Clara, now Baroness von Platen, had had a shock. In the beginning she had believed that she would have no difficulty in dealing with the newcomer. A foolish frivolous young girl, she had called her; a silly child who thought of nothing but pretty clothes and admiration; who hadn’t the wits to placate her husband, the heir of Hanover.

I will soon put her in her place, Clara had promised herself. Marie shall come back and we shall be as we were.

But the girl was not as she seemed. For one thing she had been well educated under the supervision of her mother and was far more knowledgeable in languages and the arts than Clara could ever be.

And what use are they? asked Clara. I could show her things she had never dreamed existed.

Clara laughed at her own thoughts. She was a witch, said Ernest Augustus. She was skilled in the art of eroticism as no other woman he had ever known – not in France or in Italy. She could always surprise him. Thus she kept her hold on him.

If he accused her of infidelity she would retort: ‘Well, how am I to practise that I may appear perfect with you if I cannot make use of others?’

And that amused him. Ernest Augustus could forgive anyone who amused him. Besides, he was too much of a man of the world to expect fidelity from such a skilled woman as Clara.

Clara had the court in her hands. Clara could command and rule. At least so she had believed.

She had said: ‘Marie pines to be back at court. It is unfair to keep her away.’

‘It was in the agreement that she should be banished.’

‘Well, she was. Let her return now.’

‘Impossible, my dear. Besides, it would scarcely be fair to the Princess.’

Fair to the Princess! What had that to do with it!
She
wanted it and it had to be denied her because it would not be fair to the Princess!

‘She’ll fight her own battles.’

‘Later yes, but she’s a charming creature and I think beginning to settle.’

‘Poor George Lewis. He wants Marie back. After all, you have Marie’s sister. Should you deny him his fun.’

‘To tell you the truth, Clara, I think he is beginning to enjoy his wife.’

‘But Marie amused him! Marie knows how to please a man. Surely you don’t think Madame Prudery’s daughter was brought up to do that.’

‘No, I don’t. But I like to see her happier. She’s a pretty creature.’

He was smiling almost tenderly. That was what had sent up the danger signals.

So he too was a little taken with the fresh charm of the young bride! Clara would have to be very careful. She knew it was no use attempting to talk of bringing back Marie just yet.

She was a rich woman now, for her new title had brought estates with it and Ernest Augustus had been generous to one who had helped bring about the Celle marriage. The Baron von Platen was a useful man; not only was he an absolutely complacent husband but knew how to do as he was told – which was what Clara and Ernest Augustus told him. Such a minister was to be cherished. It was also pleasant to reward Clara so
respectably through her husband. Clara naturally had the spending of the newly acquired fortune and she bought a house between Hanover and Herrenhausen which she called Monplaisir. She had added to it and entertained there so lavishly that she lured many worldly people to it from the court itself.

Ernest Augustus had looked on with amusement, and was often a guest at Monplaisir.

It was while she was staying at Monplaisir that she first realized what progress Sophia Dorothea was making. She had encouraged her attendant at Monplaisir, a girl named Ilse, to talk freely with her, for thus she learned trends and secrets it would not have been easy to discover otherwise although she had her spies everywhere.

Ilse herself was a good-looking young woman and enjoyed her position, and often she had been rewarded for her frankness.

But Ilse made her mistake.

There had been a ball at the Leine Schloss at which both Clara and Sophia Dorothea had been present. Sophia Dorothea representing Spring at this ball, had worn a plain clinging gown of green silk with flowers instead of jewels in her hair. Clara had been magnificent as the goddess of Plenty, jewels agleam, pearls sewn into a gown of great splendour.

She wanted to hear what had been said of the ball and what comments had been made about the magnificence of her gown.

Ilse told her she had heard that never had such a dress been seen before in Hanover. It was the most splendid gown of the ball.

And what had they said of Sophia Dorothea?

Oh, they had said of her that she was the loveliest of all the women and that was it not marvellous that she could be so in nothing but flowers and a piece of green silk.

Clara read the implication behind the words. She brought up her hand and gave the astonished Ilse a stinging blow at the side of her face which sent her reeling.

‘But Baroness, you said … to tell the truth …’

‘The truth. Are you going to tell me that that child in her silly green silk was more beautiful than I in my gown? Do you know what that gown cost, girl?’

‘Yes, Baroness, I know … but you asked what they said and they said she was so fresh and young and that Spring was more beautiful than … than …’

‘Than what?’

‘I do not remember, Baroness … only that Spring was more beautiful.’

‘Get away from me before I flay the skin off you!’ cried Clara.

When the girl had gone she stood in front of her mirror biting her lips. What was the use of pretending? Look at that sagging line … look at those crowsfeet round the eyes – look how sallow she was without her rouge! One could not live the life she lived and remain fresh as spring. The girl was only seventeen in any case. How could she hope to compete?

Narrowing her eyes she saw the features of Ernest Augustus, relaxed, almost tender. ‘I like to see her happier. She’s a pretty creature …’

And he would not let Clara bring Marie back.

There was a time when no one at a court ball had had eyes for anyone but her. She had been the queen in those days – and she would not give up her place to anyone. To think that this girl … this child … who knew nothing of the ways of men and women, should come in and usurp her place just because she had a fresh and pretty face and a few Frenchified manners!

Well, she would see.

At the moment Sophia Dorothea was pregnant. Soon she would be unable to dance at the balls. She would have to stay in her apartments and think of the child. Then Baroness Clara would regain her old position. But that could only be a temporary victory.

She must be watchful; she would have to make plans for Madame Sophia Dorothea if she continued after the birth of her child to try to be the queen of Hanover.

In the meantime she could relax a little. But she must be careful. No one must know how she hated that young woman.

It was Clara’s obsession now to outshine Sophia Dorothea. The entertainments she gave at Monplaisir had become more
lavish than ever; if she discovered that certain people greatly admired Sophia Dorothea she endeavoured to invite them to Monplaisir when she knew Sophia Dorothea would be giving an entertainment in her apartments. Many had learned that it was unwise to offend Clara and that Sophia Dorothea would not blame them if they had a previous engagement; Sophia Dorothea, they had noticed, was sweet natured; she was not continually trying to remind them how important she was; on her her rank sat gracefully. It was not as it was with Clara.

Clara’s gowns became more startling. She would spend hours with her women before her mirror and would emerge at least the most colourful woman at court.

She studied herself for signs of age. Her body had always been a greater asset than her face. It was still beautiful, even after childbearing; and she had had two children. Secretly she was not sure who their father was. It might have been Ernest Augustus or one of the pages whom she had momentarily desired one afternoon and had summoned to her bedchamber. It was of little importance, for Baron von Platen, that most complacent of husbands, obligingly accepted paternity. But the point was that childbearing did not improve the figure, and Clara had always been inclined to be sallow.

She bathed each day in milk and because she wished to earn a reputation for generosity and good deeds among the people, she allowed the milk in which she had bathed to be distributed to the poor – with bread to accompany it.

She liked to linger in her bath of milk for she felt that the longer she remained there the whiter her skin would become and one day as she lay planning what dress she would wear to put Sophia Dorothea into the shade, she called Ilse, but the girl did not come and Clara rose, put a wrap about herself and went into the adjoining chamber. The door was open on to the garden and what she saw horrified her. Ernest Augustus was leaning over Ilse, who was seated under a tree, and he was talking to her most confidentially, his hand resting on her shoulder; he was smiling – so was Ilse.

By God! thought Clara. My own maid!

She stepped into the garden, curbing her fury as she went.

‘I trust I have not kept Your Highness waiting?’

Ernest Augustus turned to smile at her. He was not quick enough though. She saw the lust in his eyes. For Ilse! What had that little slut to offer? Youth! That was the answer. Youth! She was obsessed by youth ever since she had been so blatantly reminded of it by the creature from Celle.

Small wonder that Ilse had been so insolent lately, telling her how people had thought the simply clad Sophia Dorothea more beautiful than the glorious Platen.

So … Ilse was trying to take her place was she? She would show her!

Coolly she told the girl to go and bring refreshment for His Highness; Ilse obeyed as though in a dream. Then Clara took Ernest Augustus to her bedchamber and made savage love with him, to remind him that he would never find anyone as skilled as she was.

She made sure that Ilse brought the refreshment to them while they were in bed – that was a warning to Ilse.

When he had left she sent for the girl who might have been deceiving herself that her mistress had not noticed her duplicity.

‘Come here, slut,’ said Clara.

Then she took the trembling Ilse by the hair, threw her across the bed and beat her until the girl cried out for mercy.

‘Mercy!’ cried Clara. ‘What mercy do you expect? How far has it gone? You had better tell the truth.’

‘There is nothing, Baroness. Nothing. He noticed me for the first time this afternoon and spoke to me. It was because he was waiting for you.’

‘And you did not come to tell me he was here?’

‘He told me to wait a while.’

‘I see, and during that while …’

‘You came out, Baroness.’

‘In time!’ laughed Clara. ‘You go to your room, girl and stay there. Don’t dare move from it until I say you may.’

Ilse lost no time in running away. She tried to assure herself that the incident was not important. It was merely that the Baroness’s rages were more frequent and more violent now that she was no longer considered to be the most beautiful lady of
the court. Ernest Augustus had implied that he liked her. That was well. It would doubtless only be for a short time, but one did very well even so. Look at Esther! Although she had gone back again and again. Why not Ilse?

The Baroness’s rage would pass. But she knew very well that Ernest Augustus took girls now and then; it did not alter his relationship with the Baroness.

While Ilse was thus musing a guard appeared at her door.

‘What is it?’ she cried.

‘Fraulein,’ he told her, ‘I have orders to arrest you. You will follow me.’

On the orders of the Baroness, Ilse was conveyed to prison.

The guard was sorry for a pretty girl like Ilse. The poor girl seemed quite stunned; it was such a sudden transition from the splendours of Monplaisir to the spinning house of a prison.

She kept saying: ‘I’m innocent … innocent… .’ And he wanted to do something to comfort her.

He took an opportunity of speaking to her the day after she had been admitted, while he was guarding the women at their spinning.

‘What have you done?’ he asked.

‘I’ve done nothing … nothing… . The Duke stopped and spoke to me in the garden, that was all. And she saw us… .’

The guard nodded. He had heard stories of the ruthless Baroness von Platen.

‘He liked you, eh? Well, you could send a message to him telling him where his little chat has landed you. He’s out of Hanover for a few weeks … but when he comes back …’

‘A few weeks!’ cried Ilse. ‘Must I endure this for a few weeks … when I’ve done nothing … when I’ve had no trial … just because the Baroness hates anyone younger than herself.’

‘I don’t reckon she’d want him to know she’d had you put here.’

He looked at her; she was a pretty girl; but she wouldn’t be for long if she stayed here, and he’d like to serve the girl a turn.

‘Leave it to me,’ he said; and winked. He strutted away; he liked to feel he was engaged in intrigue.

It came to Clara’s ears that her serving girl Ilse was going to petition Ernest Augustus explaining that she had been wrongfully imprisoned.

Clara was thoughtful. So far she had been able to manage Ernest Augustus, but he had refused to allow Marie to come back, and was showing a certain fondness for Sophia Dorothea. Undoubtedly he was getting fonder of younger women as he grew older – a natural habit, she supposed; but it did mean she would have to be more careful. As far as Ilse was concerned she realized she had been a little hasty. She should have kept her temper and quietly rid herself of the girl, sending her somewhere where Ernest Augustus would not have seen her again, and that would have been an end of the matter. It was all the fault of Sophia Dorothea whose coming had made a difference and set up this worship of youth in susceptible Ernest Augustus. Well, now she must settle this Ilse matter finally and she did not want the girl petitioning Ernest Augustus, who must quickly forget that he had ever seen the creature.