‘You are a friend of my son Charles?’
He was taken by surprise and recovering himself assured her that he was.
‘You are older than he is, and I believe you have a fondness for him.’
‘This is so,’ Königsmarck assured her.
‘His father is sending him to Morea. I am uneasy. He is young yet, and although it is our duty to fight our battles I should like to know that he had a good friend at hand. It would give me pleasure if you would volunteer to go with him.’
Königsmarck’s heart had begun to beat a little faster. He raised his eyes to the Duchess’s face and tried to read her mind. Everyone knew that she doted on Charles and the fact that she was not by nature a doting woman emphasized the depth of her emotion for this favourite son. Yet on the other hand what did she know of the intrigues of the court? Was she aware of his liaison with Clara and that at the same time he was involved with the Princess Sophia Dorothea? Was she warning him to get out of Hanover? Yet why should she care what trouble he involved himself in? No, it was real anxiety for her son that he saw in her face.
What could he reply to her? She was a woman who expected obedience.
He was experienced enough to know that he was going to find it very difficult to evade Clara von Platen during the next weeks. How much easier if he left Hanover for a while. When he returned, doubtless she would have found a lover to absorb her as he once had.
It would be one way of easing a delicate situation.
‘Since Your Highness asks it of me, I can only have pleasure in doing as you bid me.’
‘Thank you, Count Königsmarck,’ said the Duchess Sophia.
Very shortly after that interview Prince Charles left for Morea and with him went Count Königsmarck.
The Stolen Glove
ALL THROUGH THE winter, while Königsmarck was in Morea, Sophia Dorothea’s spirits were kept up by the letters which he sent her. It was bitterly cold and enormous fires burned in the grates; the wind whistled about the Alte Palais and in the streets the people grumbled. Many of the men were away at the war – a war which had little meaning for them and for which they had to pay through the taxes.
Ernest Augustus anxiously awaited news from Morea and Sophia was constantly reproaching him for sending her dearest son so far from home to fight the Turk. It would have been different fighting in Flanders with George Lewis, she complained. Ernest Augustus tried to soothe her, but he too was uneasy. He was paying a big price for his Electorate.
Clara was at hand to amuse him, holding brilliant courts in the palace and at her own mansion Monplaisir. She was restless, eager for news from Morea, for, she said, she was as anxious for that Electorate as he was, knowing that he had set his heart on it. In truth she was thinking of Königsmarck and longing for his return. She did not lack lovers, but they failed to satisfy her. There was, she regretfully admitted, for her only one Königsmarck.
Eléonore von Knesebeck was in her element; it was her great task to see that the letters Königsmarck sent to Sophia Dorothea reached her and that those of Sophia Dorothea reached Königsmarck. She enjoyed threading her way through Clara’s network of spies, and she congratulated herself that the Countess had no notion that her one-time lover was now writing the most passionate letters to her rival, assuring her that to her and her only could he give his heart.
One day Sophia Dorothea was in the act of writing a letter to Königsmarck when messengers arrived from Morea. A hush had fallen on the palace; it was Eléonore von Knesebeck who came hurrying in to tell her news.
‘What is it?’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘You look … stricken.’
Eléonore could not speak for a few seconds; her teeth had begun to chatter.
‘It’s … Charles,’ she said. ‘He’s been killed in Morea.’
Sophia Dorothea clasped her hands together to steady herself. ‘Charles,’ she whispered.
‘It’s been a terrible disaster and …’
‘And … Königsmarck?’
‘I don’t know. I …’
Sophia Dorothea had run to her and was shaking her frantically. ‘You know … you know and you won’t tell me.’
‘I don’t know. I swear it. Only Charles. They found his body on the battlefield … his men were with him … all dead!’
‘Königsmarck?’
‘They did not say Königsmarck.’
‘Then what of him …?’
‘I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.’
Sophia Dorothea pushed Eléonore von Knesebeck aside and hurried down to the great hall.
The court of Hanover was in mourning for Prince Charles. Ernest Augustus shut himself into his apartments and brooded, but the Duchess Sophia was so heartbroken that she collapsed and had to take to her bed; the doctors were called but could not diagnose her illness; yet because she had lost all zest for life they feared she might die; and those about her knew how deeply she loved this son.
From Celle came George William and Duchess Eléonore to offer condolences. Celle was in mourning too, said George William, for everyone had loved Prince Charles.
Gloom settled in the palace. Not only had they lost Prince Charles but there had been utter defeat at Morea. The Duke of Wolfenbüttel had suffered terrible losses in the contingent he had sent; and it was agreed that it would have been better if the expedition had never been undertaken.
The Duchess Eléonore spent a great deal of time with her daughter who mourned Charles sincerely for he had always been a good friend to her; and in the days following that when the grim news had been brought to Hanover she had thought she would die of grief, for then the fate of Königsmarck had not been known. She had endured terrible anxiety each hour expecting to hear bad news.
Only to Eléonore von Knesebeck could she confide her grief.
‘I never surrendered to him,’ she said. ‘I denied him myself. He wanted to be my lover more than anything on Earth, Knesebeck, and I denied him that. If only he would come back … I would deny him nothing, nothing …’
Eléonore von Knesebeck tried to comfort her. ‘One should not brood on the past; one must hope for the future; after all hope did remain.’
Yes, hope remained.
It was a bright April day when Königsmarck came back to Hanover bringing with him a fraction of the troops he had taken with him to Morea.
Königsmarck is back! thought Clara. In fact she thought of nothing else. He was more gaunt than when he had gone away; he seemed a little older, but none the less attractive thought Clara. There’ll never be another man like him for me. How did I put up with the others? Never mind. Now he is back.
Königsmarck! thought Sophia Dorothea. He has changed. He has suffered hardship. He is more serious; and when his eyes met hers in the great hall, she knew that he was even more ardent.
He would tell her now that life was short; that was a fact which had been brought home to him in Morea. She had seen the young and handsome Charles go forth to war, but she had not seen him lying on the battlefield his body shattered by a Turkish lance. If she had she would understand that life was a precious gift which could be lost at any time. Who would have thought Charles’s end would come so soon, he who had been full of health and life? They must enjoy living; there must be an end to dreams.
It was not easy to meet alone, for there was danger in secret meetings, but Eléonore von Knesebeck was at hand to scheme, and with her help they could be together … alone for an hour or so.
He came to her apartment and Eléonore was there to take him to her, to guard them while they were together. They could trust their confidante Knesebeck, they assured each other.