But this, of course, he would not admit. Sophia Dorothea was dead—and that was the end of an episode which over the years had become insignificant.
And the time came for him to pay another visit to Hanover. He was going to remonstrate with his daughter, the Queen of Prussia, because she had ordered the deepest mourning at her court for her mother. If she wanted the double marriage this was not the way to get it.
He must go to Hanover; he must show the world—and perhaps himself—that he cared nothing for the death-bed prophecies of the woman whose life he had ruined when he had condemned her to life imprisonment.
It was on a June day, about seven months after the death of Sophia Dorothea, that he set out on his journey.
The crossing was a bad one and Ermengarda always had suffered from sea sickeness.
"You must rest for a day or so at the Hague," said the King. "You can follow me when you have recovered."
She agreed that she must do this and he went on alone with his escort, which included Lord Townsend, and on the borders of Holland and Germany stopped at the mansion of a Count Twittle who was waiting to receive the royal party. Supper was waiting for them, a meal which the King thoroughly enjoyed.
The Count said that his mansion was at the King's disposal for as long as he should need it and Townsend suggested that they should rest there at Delden for a few days which would enable the King to recover from the journey and the Duchess of Kendal to join them.
But the King would not wait; he would not even stay the night. The horses must be saddled, he said, and they would continue their journey to Osnabruck where his brother would be waiting to welcome him.
As the King stepped into his coach he saw a letter lying on the seat. He picked it up; he did not know the handwriting and yet there was something familiar about it.
"Ride on," he ordered; and as his coach rattled out of Delden he read the letter.
His hands began to shake so that he could scarcely hold the letter. As soon as he began to read it he knew why the handwriting had seemed familiar. He had not seen it for years because it was hers.
She was ill, she wrote; she would soon die. But he need not think that he would live much longer than she had. He had ruined her life; he had condemned her to lonely exile. What life did he think she had had ... she who should have shared the throne of England, she who was the true Queen? But his time would come. He should not live long to survive her. As soon as he heard of her death ... he should prepare for his own.
The King lay back in his seat; his heart was beating so fast that it shocked him; a red mist swam before his eyes.
Townsend beside him spoke but the King could not hear his voice clearly.
"Your Majesty ..."
"Drive to Osnabruck ," he whispered. "I must get to Osnabruck."
"Your Majesty is ill. We will drive back to Delden "
"To Osnabruck ," said the King.
"I am afraid for His Majesty..." began Townsend. "We need doctors..."
"To Osnabruck ..." muttered George.
"You had better do as the King commands," said Townsend. "Drive with all speed to Osnabruck."
George lay back in the coach. His eyes were glazed; but his lips moved now and then. "To Osnabruck. To Osnabruck," he whispered.
And by the time his coach reached Osnabruck King George I was dead.
The End of Waiting
In the palace of St. James Anne Brett was giving orders to the workmen.
"I want this door taken away and a new staircase made," she was explaining. "You need have no fear. I have the King's authority to do as I wish."
They hesitated but she was an imperious young woman and they knew how she commanded the King.
But the Princess Anne, almost eighteen years old, was as imperious as Anne Brett and she was supported by a dignity which being born granddaughter of a King had come to her naturally.
"What is being done here?" she demanded.
And when she was told she said: "This door remains and there shall be no new staircase."
Anne Brett came out to face the Princess Anne.
"I have given orders..." said Mistress Brett.
"And I have countermanded them."
"I want that door taken away."
"But I want it to remain."
"We shall see. When I tell the King.. "
"Being the King's whore does not entitle you to rule us all, Madam."
"You will see ... when the King comes home "
"Until then, pray remember without him you are nothing but a common whore and as such should remember your place."
"You are insolent."
"You are mistaken. It is you who are insolent. Have you forgotten that I am a Princess."
Anne swept haughtily away; but the workmen dared not continue the work.
Anne Brett went to her room to rage and await the return of the King.
When the Duchess of Kendal heard the news she refused to believe it; she tore at her wig, pulled her bodice to shreds and threw herself on to her bed where she wailed in her misery.
For so many years they had been together. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. She could not live without him.
Her friends tried to soothe her, but they could not; and they feared for her reason.
In Richmond the Prince was enjoying his after dinner nap. The weather was warm and he had eaten with his usual gusto.
Caroline in her apartments had just risen when she heard the clatter of horses hoofs in the courtyard. She went to the window and saw Sir Robert Walpole.
He looked excited. Something important had happened for him to come riding to Richmond in the hot afternoon.
She went to the Prince's bedroom to tell him that Walpole was below and just as she had awakened him the minister burst into the apartment.
The Prince sat up in bed. Walpole was on his knees.
Caroline heard him say: "Your Majesty..."
And she knew the moment had come. The waiting was over. She was Queen of England.
There was change everywhere.
Caroline went to her daughters.
"We are all together now," she told them, embracing them in tears.
Frederick would come home from Hanover.
The whole family would be reunited.
Anne Brett made a hasty retreat from the Palace. She had nothing to hope for now, so even if she had succeeded in getting the alterations she wanted of what use would they have been to her?
The only one who truly mourned the King was Ermengarda, who went into deep mourning and was melancholy for the rest of her life. After a stay at Brunswick she came back to her house in Isleworth and her only comfort was a raven whom she dressed in sable because she believed it was the King come back to her, as he had promised to do if it were possible.
George Augustus strutted happily about the court. None dared cross him now. The tyrant was dead; and now there was George II to reign over England.
Caroline was beside him, and wise men knew who would be the true ruler. It would not be King George but Queen Caroline.