His mother had talked as usual of England – how everything that was done there was so much better than everywhere else. He remembered how she always had talked like that. It bored him as it did quite a number of people in spite of the fact that she was supposed to be witty and very learned. That in itself of course was of no interest to him.
Beside his father was a woman of whom he had heard – Clara von Platen. He could see that his father was more taken with her than he had ever been by any other mistress; it was understandable; she had personality. Her glittering eyes were alert as though she missed nothing and at the same time she conveyed a deep sensuality which was not lost on George Lewis.
She was not the sort he would go for. But sitting next to her was a very pretty girl. Her gown was cleverly cut to show a seductive figure; her large eyes were soft and what George Lewis always thought of as full of promise. There was a pretty girl indeed.
He asked who she was.
‘She is the Platen’s sister.’
‘Sister of my father’s whore?’
‘Yes, sir. She is married to John von dem Bussche. You remember him?’
‘I do. He tried to teach me languages among other things. He didn’t succeed.’
‘His wife, sir, might be more successful if she tried to teach you.’
‘She’d teach me nothing I don’t know.’
‘She’s aware that we’re talking of her.’
It was true. The beautiful eyes were on them; and they stayed on George Lewis. He felt excited at once. She wasn’t clever like the sister; she was pretty; and, oh yes, he’d enjoy teaching her. Rather amusing that. He reckoned old John von dem Bussche was better in a schoolroom than in a bedchamber; and he hadn’t really had much success in the former, poor man.
Poor man! But he had no right to marry a pretty girl like that.
‘Shall I tell her Your Highness wishes to speak to her?’
‘No,’ said George Lewis. ‘I will arrange that myself.’
The evening had now taken on an interest. He would speak to her soon; he would let her know that he had no intention of making a lot of pretty speeches; he was a man who believed in taking the shortest cut to the bedchamber.
They danced after the meal. It wasn’t easy for him to act secretly because everyone would be watching him, so he made no attempt to.
‘I don’t care for dancing,’ he said, his eyes, taking in the voluptuous curves of her young body, explaining more than words what he did care for.
She lowered hers and said: ‘Nor I, Your Highness.’
‘I’ve been watching you.’
‘I saw you. I … I hope you were not displeased.’
‘Oh, I was pleased. I hope to be more pleased.’
She giggled, understanding.
‘Let’s take a turn in the gardens, shall we? There are too many watching us here.’
She agreed willingly.
‘Come on,’ he said, and they went out.
Clara came to her sister’s apartments.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘All’s well,’ answered Marie.
‘Already?’
‘He’s not one to wait. I was afraid he would get impatient and go elsewhere. You said that wasn’t to happen.’
‘Still … But perhaps you’re right. You must see that you don’t lose your grip on him.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Clara laughed and gave her sister a little push. ‘I can trust you, I know.’
‘And what about John?’
‘Leave John to me. I’ll get Frank to speak to him. This is after all, a family affair.’
Marie was nothing loath. She was tired of John and George Lewis the crude and forthright lover was virile enough to make up for his lack of manners; moreover, Clara was now delighted. The task of ministering to the sexual needs of the house of Hanover – which were considerable – was in the hands of the Meisenburg sisters, which was after all the reason why they had joined this court in the first place, so she might say Mission Accomplished. Only of course the important part in such an operation was not only attaining one’s goal, but holding it against all comers.
That was the task for the future.
Clara recognized the power of the Duchess Sophia and had no wish to challenge it. Now that Marie was firmly established as the mistress of George Lewis and she herself was even more firmly that of Ernest Augustus she was deeply concerned with holding those positions; and she realized that the most likely direction from which such a threat could come would be from the Duchess Sophia.
She was almost modest with Sophia; as soon as she came into the Duchess’s presence she was the demure maid of honour and never betrayed by a look or a gesture the power which was hers.
Clever woman! thought Sophia; and she respected her for it.
Clara would go further. She would let the Duchess see that when she did use her influence with the Duke it was in his wife’s interest.
Sophia’s admiration for England was well known; in the opposite direction was her dislike of Celle. The latter she did not speak of as she did of the former but it was none the less fierce for all that.
Clara therefore allied herself with the Duchess in her dislike of Celle and as she was eager to show Sophia that she stood with her in this, decided to do something about it.
Ernest Augustus’s infidelities were becoming fewer. Occasionally he discovered a pretty girl – usually among his wife’s attendants – and he would take her to bed. His old mistress Esther was not entirely forgotten. On such occasions Clara would spend half the night pacing up and down her room cursing the object of the Duke’s interest, but in the morning she greeted her lover with the same tenderness as she had always shown him.
She knew that the least little resentment on her part would be the beginning of discord between her and Ernest Augustus, and she wanted him to think of her as a woman to whom he could come back; she wanted to be a habit with him … as a wife was. Clara was determined to consolidate her position and nothing must prevent that.
Ernest Augustus, in fact, seemed more fond of her than ever after temporarily straying; and she was coming to believe that it was not a bad thing after all for him to try others and realize her greater worth. These little flights of his did not disturb her as much as they had once done. But she was always alert, determined never to run the risk of becoming a nuisance to him.
For this reason she allied herself with the Duchess in the matter of Celle. Knowing the value of the spy, she had already set several in places where she thought they could be most useful; and when it was reported to her that Minister Bernstorff in Celle was dissatisfied with the influence the Duchess of Celle had over her husband and had shown on more than one occasion that he was attempting to break it, she was very interested.
Bed was the safest place in which to discuss secret matters and it was there that, one night, Clara broached the subject.
‘The harmony of Celle is breaking, I hear. Trouble in paradise … so I am told.’
‘You are like God, Clara,’ laughed Ernest Augustus. ‘Omniscient!’
‘Well, I have my friends to tell me what is going on in places which are important to my lord.’
‘And what do they tell you?’
Clara nuzzled up to him. ‘That Bernstorff hates the Duchess … hates the influence she has with the Duke. That everything has to be approved by her before it can be carried through. He hates her.’
‘He’s jealous of her.’
‘I believe you have a soft spot for her.’
‘She’s a very beautiful woman.’
‘Ha! And that excuses her highhandedness.’
‘I’ve noticed that beautiful women are often highhanded.’
‘In the service of their lords and masters.’
‘It seems to me that some would be the lord and master.’