She recoiled while the red mark appeared on her cheek. Then she said: ‘How like you. You cannot speak reasonably. You can only brawl. You belong in a tavern … you and your silly Schulenburg… .’
George Lewis was really angry. She could defeat him in a battle of words but physically he was the master and he would show her. He caught her by the throat; she screamed as she saw what he was about to do; she was on her knees; his hands were squeezing her throat and she was gasping for breath.
He was killing her; she saw the hatred in his bulging eyes. She tried to catch at his hands but there was nothing she could do; she was fainting. This, she thought, is the end. He is murdering me.
Somone had burst in from the ante-room. There were cries of dismay. George Lewis released her; she fell fainting to the floor and lay there unconscious.
What a scandal! A quarrel between the Crown Prince and Princess which had almost led to his murdering her!
‘She is such a violent creature!’ Clara told Ernest Augustus. ‘It is her French blood.’
‘It seems that the violence came from George Lewis,’ Ernest Augustus pointed out.
‘He happened to be the stronger, naturally. I’m afraid we brought trouble to the court when we brought that creature into it.’
Although Ernest Augustus was inclined to be lenient, the Duchess Sophia blamed Sophia Dorothea. ‘It seems that she was making a scene because of her husband’s mistress,’ said Sophia. ‘Does she not realize that this trivial matter is of no importance? She is failing in her duty as a wife when she acts so foolishly.’
Sophia Dorothea herself lay listlessly in her bedchamber where George Lewis was advised by his father to visit her, and this he did. He asked her how she was, as though he were repeating an unpleasant lesson, paid scarcely any attention to the reply and then sat in silence by her bed for ten minutes – presumably the time he was told he should – after which he leaped up with obvious relief and left.
Sophia Dorothea was weeping quietly when her mother-in-law came to her bedside.
‘Please, do be calm,’ said the Duchess Sophia. ‘We know where that other bout of temper led you. I have come to tell you that as soon as you are fit to travel – which the doctors tell me will be in a day or so – you are coming with me to Herrenhausen for a rest. I am sure that is what you need.’
Herrenhausen! And with the Duchess Sophia!
If she were not so listless that she did not much care what became of her she would have laughed with bitterness or wept with despair.
Herrenhausen – that little schloss surrounded by parkland and approached by avenues of limes – was greatly loved by the Duchess Sophia, and since there had been more money to spare she had enlarged it and beautified it to some extent, although she had by no means done all she intended to. She was happier at Herrenhausen than anywhere else; there she could lead a life which appealed to her; there she could invite men and women whom she admired for their intellectual attainments and who would have no place at Hanover where, it might be said, Clara von Platen ruled. Here she could read the literature of many countries, for she was a skilled linguist and besides German spoke Dutch, French and Italian – and of course – and best of all – English. She liked to discuss art, philosophy and literature and it was always at Herrenhausen that she had an opportunity of doing this.
To Herrenhausen she came with Sophia Dorothea. Perhaps, she thought, I could make something of the girl. She is intelligent, more so than George Lewis ever could be; and she has been brought up to have an appreciation of art. But the girl was what Sophia called hysterical, which she believed was due to her upbringing at Celle. The Duchess Eléonore of Celle might be much admired for her culture, but she had brought up her only child in a sheltered atmosphere leading her to believe that life was much simpler than it was. Sophia Dorothea was expecting every marriage to be like that of her parents. In the days when Sophia Dorothea had lived at Celle her father had doted on her mother and there was complete accord between them. It had taken years of hard work and careful planning to smash that harmony and it was being done, but Sophia Dorothea was not there to see it and she still looked for that perfection in her own marriage which she had seen in her parents’.
The Duchess Sophia did not invite guests to Herrenhausen at this time. She wanted to talk very seriously to her daughter-in-law, to imbue her with a sense of her position not only in regard to George Lewis but as the future Electress of Hanover.
They talked as they did their needlework, for the Duchess believed in sewing for the poor and that no time should be wasted.
‘You have been very foolish,’ she told Sophia Dorothea. ‘George Lewis might have harmed you.’
‘He has already done so.’
‘Nonsense, you’ll soon recover from a few bruises.’
‘The indignity … the humiliation!’
‘Nonsense. We shall order that the incident is forgotten and so it shall be.’
‘His behaviour with Fraulein von Schulenburg will not be easily forgotten.’
‘There you are foolish. I cannot understand how wives become dissatisfied with their husbands. No amount of infidelity on the part of my husband would disturb me. It is not bad taste for a man to associate with mistresses – particularly if he be in a high position.’
Sophia Dorothea stared at her mother-in-law. ‘I have never heard such views expressed, nor did I ever expect to.’
‘That is because you have not been brought up in accordance with the rank which is now yours.’
‘I had a very happy childhood. I love my parents dearly and they love me. What could be a better upbringing than that?’
‘To be given an understanding of reality and what actually goes on in the world. Now you have been handicapped by your home life, but you have learned your lesson. I should like you to understand that I will not tolerate your quarrelling with your husband on the trifling matter of his keeping mistresses. It shows obstinacy and bad temper and is most unbecoming.’
‘And what of George Lewis? Was his behaviour becoming?’
‘He is a man, and not to be judged by his wife. You acted foolishly and I must beg of you not to do so again.’
‘I want to go and see my parents. I believe I should quickly be well again if I could.’
‘We shall see about that. I shall ask the Duke if he will allow it.’
‘Let me go back to Hanover and speak to the Duke.’
‘There is no need for that. I will tell him of your wish and we will ask for his consent. Now I beg of you, continue with your work. These garments are taking far too long. We will beguile the time in conversation, and I will tell you what is happening in England now.’
Sophia Dorothea was thinking: Yes, that is the answer. I will go home to Celle. I will take the children with me and I will tell them everything that has taken place. Then they will not let me return. Oh, yes, I shall go home to Celle.
‘And is it not an extraordinary state of affairs,’ the Duchess was saying. ‘James fled … and William … the man to whom he married his daughter … now on the throne. Of course if Charles had had a legitimate son, this would never have happened. I knew there would be trouble when Charles died. Now, listen carefully: If William and Mary are without children and Anne is. too … do you know what that would mean to you?’
If I told dearest Maman and Papa everything they would not refuse to let me go back, Sophia Dorothea was thinking. When they know that he came near to murdering me …
‘Are you listening? Or is it too much for you to contemplate? I admit it could be quite bewildering when it is first presented to you. I am next in line of succession, for James’s boy doesn’t count. After Anne, I should be Queen of England. I can think of no greater honour. And the point is that when I die George Lewis would be King and that would make you Queen of England.’