Why, oh why had not Charles been the first-born! She believed that she could have faced with serenity the prospect of seeing herself too old to ascend the throne of England if she could have contemplated Charles taking her place.
When the boys talked to her contemptuously of their eldest brother, when they deplored the fact that the bulk of their father’s possessions would go to him, they were very dissatisfied, and how could she help but commiserate with them?
If Sophia Dorothea found her husband growing more and more uncongenial, at least she found pleasure in the society of his brothers. Her two special friends were Charles, who was the most charming, and Max, who was amusing; and she enjoyed entertaining these two in her apartments.
It was no use trying to hide from them that she suffered from the boorish treatment of her husband. They knew and condemned his behaviour.
‘Where he picked up his manners I can’t imagine,’ said Charles.
‘In the army,’ answered Maximilian, springing to his feet, saluting and marching round the apartment managing to look so much like George Lewis they were all helpless with laughter.
‘Max … you shouldn’t!’ reproved Sophia Dorothea, for of course they were not entirely alone; they never were, and in the antechamber some of her women and the Prince’s servants would be together. Eléonore von Knesebeck was with them too although very often she sat with her mistress, being no ordinary attendant, but, as Sophia Dorothea called her, ‘the confidante’. No one was more indignant about the behaviour of George Lewis than Fraulein von Knesebeck and she was apt to complain – not always with discretion – about it to people who would delight in carrying tales either to the spies of Clara von Platen or to the friends of George Lewis.
‘I made you laugh at least,’ retorted Maximilian, settling himself on a stool and looking up at her. ‘And to think that he will one day be the ruler of us all. We will be nothing and be forced to obey him … George Lewis!’
‘You talk too much, Max,’ Charles warned him.
‘It’s my open nature. There are intrigues going on all about us. Why shouldn’t we talk of them? Grievances should be brought out of the dark places and examined. How otherwise can we have the remotest chance of rectifying them?’
‘How can you rectify the law of the land?’ asked Sophia Dorothea.
‘Sweet sister,’ cried Maximilian, kissing her hand, ‘it has been done.’
‘My mother would be with us, I believe,’ said Charles.
‘Depend upon it!’ replied Maximilian. ‘Whither her sweet Charles goes there would she be.’
‘Indeed she would not – if she felt him to be in the wrong.’
‘Would she fight for her rights?’ asked Maximilian. ‘She accepts die böse Platen almost as a friend.’
‘She is watchful,’ suggested Charles.
‘Yes, but to see the way that woman leads our father would infuriate most wives.’
‘Our mother is not merely our father’s wife.’
‘No, no! Whisper it. She may be the future Queen of England!’
‘Hush. Indeed you talk too much, Max.’
‘Very well, we will leave our mother and talk of Platen. I would like to see her put away. Who would not? She is clever. Sometimes I think that there are women who far exceed our sex in cleverness. My mother, cultured, shrewd, aloof. I am sure she rarely fails to get her way. And Platen, that painted whore of Babylon … that …’
‘Hush!’
‘I will not hush, brother. Is she not painted? Is she not a whore? And has she not made a Babylon of Hanover? It is not even that she is our father’s faithful mistress. She is the one to watch. She blooms most youthfully. Have you noticed how her complexion grows ruddier and ruddier … and more like a rose every day.’
‘She becomes raddled,’ said Charles.
‘Yet she would have us believe it is just the glory of youth. They say though that a good test of whether a lady be rouged or not is to apply water in which peas have been boiled to her cheeks. The water is squirted into the victim’s face and the rouge immediately turns to green or some such shade.’
‘What nonsense!’ cried Sophia Dorothea laughing. ‘And why put to the test what we well know to be truth.’
‘To discountenance a fiend who has done her best to harm a sweet princess,’ cried Max, bowing low and kissing the hand of his sister-in-law.
‘I advise you not to incur the anger of Madame Platen. Have you never heard what happened to a serving girl of hers named Ilse?’
‘Sweet sister, I am no serving girl. I am a Prince of Hanover who is about to be robbed of his rights because of some old custom of our land. Now if I were passing over my inheritance to our handsome Charles here perhaps I should not be so enraged . . or should I? Who shall know because I am not. I am passing it to George Lewis … who, Madam, although he be your husband, an honour which he has done nothing to deserve, I find the most loathsome toad in Hanover.’
‘Stop making speeches, Max,’ commanded Charles. ‘I will call some of them to make up a card party.’
There was a large assembly in the great hall. Supper was over and there would be some dancing and games of ombre or quadrille. Clara was magnificently gowned and behaved as though she were the Duchess, for neither Ernest Augustus nor the Duchess Sophia were present. As for the Crown Prince and Princess, Clara had little regard for them, and since everyone knew by now that if they wished for any concessions it was well to obtain them through the Platens – which meant through the Baroness naturally – they were all prepared to pay her homage.
Her velvet and satin gown was of a deep scarlet shade which made her dark hair look magnificent; she was certainly the most colourful woman in the room, her cheeks aflame, her eyes blackened, her lips scarlet.
George Lewis had arrived with his wife, but he was soon slouching in a corner having no desire either to dance or play cards.
Sophia Dorothea had decided to play and was settling down with Fraulein von Knesebeck and Charles Philip when Maximilian approached Clara. Clara was unsure of Maximilian. She suspected him of being an enemy and tales of his disrespectful comments concerning herself had been brought to her.
He bowed over her hand, and lifting eyes which were full of mischief cried: ‘How beautiful you are tonight, Baroness!’
‘Thank you,’ she answered cautiously.
‘Such blooming health. Tell me how do you acquire it? I should dearly love to know.’
Then lifting his right hand in which he was holding a bottle he squirted what she believed to be water into her face.
There was a tense silence through the hall. Sophia Dorothea had half risen in her chair and murmured: ‘Oh no, Max …’
‘A little test,’ Maximilian was saying. ‘Pea water, Madam, which I found in the kitchen.’
Clara put her hand to her face and hurriedly left. As she went she heard the irrepressible titters; she ran to her apartment eager to shut out the roar of laughter which she knew must be filling the hall.
She faced Ernest Augustus.
‘I have been insulted by that boy. I’ll not endure it. Pea water! And right in my face! My dress is ruined. He must be severely punished for this.’
‘Max is a problem,’ murmured Ernest Augustus.
‘He is, and I am learning quite a lot about that young man. But in the meantime I want the whole court to know that no one insults me and escapes punishment.’
‘What can one do with such a boy?’
‘Boy indeed! He is old enough to know better. But let him be treated like a child. That will wound his dignity more than anything. Shut him in his room and let him live like a prisoner on bread and water. It should help to curb his spirits.’