The Third George: (Georgian Series) (39 page)

This was not the issue at stake, which was that the Americans refused to be taxed or governed by the Mother Country. It violated their rights, they insisted, and there were members of the British Government who agreed with them, notably Chatham.

Disaster was threatening, but neither the King nor Lord North could see this; they lacked the vision to put themselves
in the place of the colonists and were being dragged farther and farther into a disaster which was all the more to be deplored because it was unnecessary.

That the colonists were in a fighting mood was apparent when a party of young men, disguised as Mohawk Indians, boarded a vessel belonging to the East India Company and which was carrying a consignment of Bohea tea to the value of £18,000 and tipped it into Boston harbour.

It was a sign for dis9rder to break out throughout the American Colonies.

George and Lord North discussed the matter together and decided that a firm hand was needed. There must be no conciliatory measures. Those of the past, they agreed, were responsible for what was happening now.

There was a storm of protest in the Government. Charles James Fox was using his considerable talents to oppose Lord North.

Chatham, wrapped in flannel, arrived to make a protest in which he cried: ‘Let the Mother Country act like an affectionate parent towards a beloved child, pass an amnesty on their youthful errors, and clasp them once more in her arms.’

North raged against the feeble conduct of the Opposition and a great problem faced the Government: to give the Colony independence in the hope that it would remain loyal to the Crown, or to force it to remain subservient to the Mother Country by force of arms.

North and the King chose the second alternative, and it was decided to send Lieutenant General Thomas Gage to subdue the colonists. He told the King that the colonists would be lions if they were lambs, but that if they themselves were resolute the colonists would be very meek.

This misconception was not proved until too late, and George was soon writing to North: ‘The die is now cast and the Colonies must either submit or triumph. I do not wish to come to severer measures, but we must not retreat.’ The die was indeed cast; and George was about to commit that error of judgement which was to haunt him for the rest of his life.

*

Then there was a further tragedy.

In her exile at Celle Caroline Matilda had settled down to a
not uncomfortable existence. It was a relief to be free of the Danish Court and not to have to see Christian, that husband who disgusted her and had become almost a lunatic by now. All she regretted was the loss of her children and for them she did pine. News was, however, brought to her of them from time to time and she tried to make the best of life.

Remembering the old days when they had all practised amateur theatricals she arranged for a theatre to be constructed in the castle; and this was done. There she gathered together a little band of actors and they performed plays in which Caroline Matilda took a prominent part. She would tell them of her childhood when her family had all enjoyed amateur theatricals and how Lord Bute, who had been almost like a father to them – for she had never known her own, having been born after his death – had been so clever at stage-managing and acting, in fact everything concerned with the theatre.

She read a great deal and was visited often by people who came from England. They brought her news from home which she welcomed.

Her resignation ended when she received a visit one day from a young Englishman, a Mr Wraxall, who was gay, handsome and in search of adventure.

It was pleasant to have such a charming and amusing young man at her Court and when he told Caroline Matilda that he believed there were many people in Denmark who would welcome her back, they put their heads together to try to work out a scheme to bring about her return.

Caroline Matilda was not certain that she wished to go; but she was only twenty-three and although she had put on a great deal of weight she was still attractive; she was so fair that her hair was almost white and her eyes, so like George’s, were blue and sparkling.

She was attracted to Mr Wraxall and his devotion gave her great pleasure, so she found herself drawn more and more into his schemes.

They would sit together in the French garden within the castle grounds, and talk of the days when she would again mount the throne of Denmark.

‘It will be wonderful,’ she told Mr Wraxall, ‘to see my children again. Little Frederick must miss me and Louisa … she
will not remember, but she will hear tales of me … perhaps unpleasant tales. They will turn her against me.’

‘They will not do that,’ Mr Wraxall assured her, ‘because you are going to be there with them … before long.’

It was so pleasant to bask in Mr Wraxall’s admiration and dream of the future that she wondered why she had ever been content to remain in exile.

They talked constantly of the glory that would be hers when she was back in her rightful place. She would start again; she would be the great Queen of the Danes; and when her little Frederick ruled she would be beside him. It was a very alluring picture … pleasant to imagine, exciting to talk of.

Sometimes when she was alone, though, she thought of the charms of Celle, of her delightful French garden, of her theatre, of the little world of which she was the centre. Apart from the fact that she was separated from her children she could have been perfectly happy here.

She thought of England where she had led an extremely sheltered life, shut away from fun, kept behind the scenes by a stern mother. Her mother was dead now, but she had heard that the English Court was dull. She had never greatly cared for Charlotte who had always seemed so insignificant. She loved George, of course, but he was scarcely the most exciting person in the world. That was England. And then Denmark. Exciting, yes,-when she and Struensee had been lovers; but what had been the end of that? She shivered; she had come rather near to losing her life.

But she was young and she did not want to be like her great-grandmother and spend twenty years in exile.

When she next saw Mr Wraxall she pointed out to him that their plan could not possibly succeed unless they had money, and the only place where they could hope for that was from England.

‘My brother,’ she said, ‘is the only one who could help us. If he gave his approval to this scheme I would be ready to act without delay.’

Mr Wraxall looked dismayed, but he had to agree that she was right. If the plan were to succeed, they would need money.

‘And you think your brother would help us?’

She was thoughtful. Would George help? George was just a
little mean, but was that over the small household matters? As for Charlotte, she had the reputation of being a miser, but Charlotte was not involved in this. She, poor insignificant creature, had no say in anything.

She did not really believe anything would come of the affair; it was something to dream about as one sat in the spring sunshine in the French garden.

Mr Wraxall said he would go to London to see if he could arrange an interview with the King, which he was sure he would be able to do when the King knew he had come from his sister. Then he would ask George for his help and when they had it, they would go triumphantly ahead with their plan.

‘Pray do that,’ said Caroline Matilda. ‘And I will await your return with the good news.’

So Mr Wraxall left for London and Caroline Matilda waited, without any great enthusiasm, for her brother’s response.

*

The King’s equerry stood before him.

‘A gentleman, Your Majesty, who asks an audience. He says his name is Wraxall and that he comes from the Queen of Denmark.’

George’s emotions were in revolt. There had been so much trouble already, that he had come to expect nothing else from his relations.

Caroline Matilda with some request. He could guess what that request would be. She was tired of her exile; she wanted to return to Denmark or to come to England. She was tired of living in the shadows. But only there was she safe.

She was his little sister though, and he remembered her as a chubby baby and afterwards as the little girl with the bright eyes and eager smile who was always clamouring for a part in the family plays. He smiled fondly. But she was not the same. She had become the woman who had indulged in an adulterous intrigue and who had nearly involved her country in war. The scandal of her behaviour had swept through Europe.

‘No, no,’ said George. ‘If people will not learn restraint, they must take the consequences.’

He had had to restrain
his
impulses; he had had to give up Hannah, give up Sarah and marry Charlotte. Others had to make sacrifices.

His mouth was primly set.

‘I do not know Mr Wraxall,’ he said, ‘and I cannot see him.’

But as usual his conscience would not let him rest. Caroline Matilda’s face was constantly before him. He kept thinking of the day she had been born when he had first seen her and his mother had said: ‘You must take care of your little sister always, George, for remember she has no father.’

And he had vowed he would take care of her.

He asked one of his gentlemen-in-waiting to see Mr Wraxall and find out what he wanted.

He listened to the plan. His help and money was needed to bring Caroline back to Denmark.

What a child she was! Did she not understand that she might be asking him to involve his country in war?

Had he not enough troubles? His two brothers had made unsatisfactory marriages; they were not received at Court because of this; and the eternal American question was in his mind day and night.

‘Mr Wraxall should be told that there is nothing England can do until the Queen of Denmark is securely back on the throne of Denmark. If she were, we would support her. You think you can make him understand, eh? What?’

And Mr Wraxall, being the most optimistic of gentlemen, stayed on in London hoping that the King would change his mind.

*

Caroline Matilda waited listlessly in Celle for the return of Wraxall. She guessed that George would do nothing. George did not approve of the scheme; he knew it was doomed to failure right from the start.

One morning in May she arose early and sat at her window looking out over the gardens. The trees were in bud and some were already showing a glimpse of tiny leaves.

Oh, she thought, it is very beautiful here in Celle.

One of her women came to her with an expression half shocked, half excited.

‘Madam,’ she said, ‘one of the pages is dead.’

‘Dead! Where is he?’

‘He is in the pages’ room.’

Caroline Matilda went straight there and looked at the young
boy who was lying on a couch. She shivered and turned away.

‘How did it happen?’

‘We do not know, Your Majesty,’ was the answer. ‘We can only believe it must have been something he ate.’

‘Have the doctors been called?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty. They say it may well be something he has eaten.’

‘Poor child,’ she said, and lightly touched his forehead.

She could not get him out of her mind. Something he ate? Something tainted, by accident or by design?

How could one be sure? Poor child. What harm had he done anyone?

*

She lay in her bed; her women had come to help her dress.

‘No news from England then?’ she asked.

‘None, Your Majesty.’

‘I doubt not we shall soon have Mr Wraxall with us,’ she said.

They dressed her hair; they put on her gown; and she went walking in the French garden. One must take a little exercise. George had always said that the family had a tendency to fatness, and how right he was. She was beginning to feel the inconvenience of too much weight; it made one so breathless.

When she came in from the garden she felt a little unwell; so she retired to her apartments and lay down. Her throat felt hot and dry.

Her women came in and were alarmed at the sight of her; the rich colour which was characteristic of her family had left her cheeks; she looked oddly different.

‘I am a little unwell,’ she said.

‘Madame, should we call the doctors?’

She shook her head.

‘It is like a red hot vice grasping my throat.’

They did not say that the little page who had died recently had complained of the same symptoms.

When she allowed the doctors to come to her they saw at once that she was very ill.

*

George was a worried king. Events were not going as he and North had believed they should in North America. He regarded
the Opposition’s attitude as little short of treason. It was their continual haranguing of the Government and disagreement with its American policy which gave heart to the Colonists.

Chatham was making a nuisance of himself in the Lords.

‘We shall be forced,’ he declared, ‘ultimately to retract. Let us retract while we can, not when we must.’

Withdraw the troops from America? ‘Impossible!’ said North. ‘Impossible!’ echoed the King.

Chatham, Charles Fox and Edmund Burke were against the King and the Government. John Wilkes, who had become Lord Mayor of London, drew up a petition with the Livery of the City suggesting that the King dismiss his government because they were responsible for the existing bad relations between the Country and America. George, who had always hated Wilkes, retorted that when he wanted advice he would go to his government for it.

Meanwhile the conflict was going from bad to worse. Gage, as Commander in Chief, had attempted to seize the colonists’ arms at Concord and was defeated at Lexington, and shortly after there followed the disaster of Bunkers Hill.

And it was while George was tormented and distressed by this alarming event that news was brought to him from Celle.

When he read the letter he stared at it and tears filled his eyes.

His sister Caroline Matilda … dead!

It could not be. She was only twenty-four years old. It was true she had lived through a great deal but she was little more than a child.

He questioned the messenger.

‘How, eh? Tell me. How did it happen … what?’