Queen in Waiting - Plaidy Jean (электронную книгу бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

and dignified at the same time; something which neither the Prince nor King could achieve.

They had arrived at the theatre—Caroline in her tight-waisted dress, the bodice of which was cut low enough to give a liberal view of the ''finest bosom in the vorld", her skirt a mass of flounces, jewels at her throat, on her arms and fingers; hair dressed in her favourite style with a curl over her shoulder—not high because that would have added inches and called attention to the fact that she was taller than the Prince. Her heels were low for the same reason.

Drury Lane! And the crowds closing in to have a closer look at the Prince and Princess.

"Who's King and who's Pretender?" cried a voice in the crowd.

"Silence! Three cheers for our Princess."

Still smiling Caroline threw a quick and uneasy glance at George Augustus. He had not noticed the omission, as smilingly he battled his way through the crowd which closed about him.

"Good pipple, I am happy to be here. You are the best pipple in the vorld."

Such blatant flattery, thought Caroline, yet spoken with a beaming sincerity which made it acceptable.

"Long live James IIL"

"Long live King George."

"Damn King George. Go back to Hanover."

There was loud and ribald laughter. One did not take too much notice of the shouts of an excited crowd.

The Prince and Princess were conducted to their box. They seated themselves in full view and Caroline bowed and smiled as she was greeted from the pit. The Prince beside her beamed.

"They love us, I think," he whispered.

The two guards had placed themselves in the shadows at the back of the box; and now that the Prince and Princess were in their places the curtain could go up.

Caroline's eyes were on the stage. The play was interesting; it was called The Wonder, A Woman Who Keeps a Secret; and it had been dedicated to the Prince, therefore there was a special reason for their presence. She was listening for some

allusion to the Prince, perhaps some ridicule, for there was nothing that pleased them so much. The Prince was contented, laughing with the audience, letting them know how much he liked to be among them.

If we had had to go back to Hanover we should have been regretful for the rest of our lives, thought Caroline. Thank God that's over. They've accepted us. James will never make another attempt. He has had his chance and failed. We're safe.

Echoes from the crowd came back to her mind. "Who's the King and who's the Pretender?" That was nothing—merely a quotation from verses which had caught the people's fancy. "Long Live James III I " Oh, these people lived for excitement. One only had to ride through a London crowd to know that. They wanted to laugh and be amused; and one of the duties of royalty was to provide that amusement. They liked to think there was a king across the water; they liked the thought of conflict. But they did not want war; and because they were essentially lazy, they did not greatly care which king was on the throne ... as long as they had their chance to make merry.

We are safe, safe! thought Caroline. This is our home for the rest of our lives. Soon Fritzchen must join us. She had been delighted when little Caroline had arrived in England but she longed for Fritzchen. After all he was her only son; he was their heir—after his father he would be King of England, yet because his sour old grandfather decreed that he should stay in Hanover, there he remained.

Why? she wanted to know. What use to keep him there? How could a boy of nine rule over even a place like Hanover? A figure-head? What nonsense! George I of England was still the Elector of Hanover; ruling over the Electorate was his business; and only the most insensitive of men would separate a boy of nine from his mother.

But then George I was insensitive. I could hate that man, thought Caroline.

But she must not show it, of course. She must still play the gentle game; she must still play the meek woman.

It would not always be so. One day...

One should not wish for another human being's death, of course. But she was ready now to be Queen of England.

George I was no longer young and when he died ... She smiled at the man beside her. He would be the next King of England and when he was she would be Queen. Queen Caroline, the real power in the land!

She was awaiting her time.

It happened without warning. First the loud report; then it was as though in the second or so of silence which followed that the whole of the theatre had become petrified. Silence ... not a sound. George Augustus beside her, his face ashen beneath his towering wig. The actors and actresses on the stage stood as though grouped in a tableau. Then the silence was broken when someone in the pit started to scream.

"Get him! " shouted a voice. "He's shot the Prince."

The cry was taken up all over the theatre.

Then Caroline was aware of the dead man in their box, and she knew that the bullet which had been intended for George Augustus had, by a miracle, missed him and buried itself in the body of one of the guards who were standing at the back of the box.

George Augustus was about to rise, but Caroline put out a hand and gripped his.

What was the mood of those people down there? Riots could be ignited by such an action as had just taken place. She and the Prince were trapped here in a theatre, easy prey for their enemies. One false mood and that could be the end pf all hope, perhaps the end of life.

The manager had come into the box.

"Your Highnesses " He stopped and stared in horror at

the man on the floor.

"The Prince is safe," said Caroline.

"Your Highnesses "

"Let the man be taken away Get him to a doctor "

"He is dead, Your Highness."

"Then take him away."

"And Your Highnesses?"

"We will remain here. Let the play go on."

The manager was astounded. The Prince was looking at his wife. Even at such a time he resented her taking charge.

"Perhaps if you speak to the people they would listen,"

she said. "You could tell them that a man has been killed."

She looked down at the scene below. There was great confusion. The tableau on the stage had sprung to animation; the actors were climbing down into the pit; there were shouts and screams as people began rushing for the doors.

**There'll be a riot," said the manager.

The Prince stood up in his box.

"Good pipple," he shouted, "the trouble is over. A madman tried to shoot me. He has not done so . . . you see. We haf come here to see the play."

He was at his best, for no one had ever been able to call him a coward, and the thought that he had narrowly escaped death even stimulated him. This was what he always wanted to be: the centre of the scene, the hero of the occasion.

He stood there, waiting for silence. It came and all eyes were now on the royal box.

"The murderer is caught," he said. "And now there is the play...."

A man was being hustled out of the theatre and attention was divided between the scuffle and the Prince in the box.

"It is a goot play, eh, my frients?"

There was a short silence during which Caroline felt anything might have happened.

Then the people below began to take their seats. The actors climbed back on to the stage and the play continued.

The King walked in the gardens of Hampton Court discussing an exciting project. His ministers, Townsend, Walpole and Stanhope had never seen him so animated and Walpole was thinking that if the people of England could see him now and know the cause of his pleasure he would be less popular than ever.