Still the King and Queen preferred Windsor to St. James's, and Buckingham House which had, not so long ago, been made into a home for them at great cost. 'Dear little Kew' was of course the favourite residence, but as both the King and Queen liked living in the country they were often at Windsor.

One knew exactly what was going to happen each day, said some of the bored members of the Court. No one would believe this was a royal household for it was conducted as many houses were in remote districts throughout the country. There was no ton, no excitement, nothing royal. The Queen examined her household accounts with a fervour she showed for nothing else except her habit of taking snuff; the King walked about the neighbourhood like a squire, interesting himself in what crops his tenants were growing and had even been known to take a hand at the butter-making. They were parsimonious both of them, and no one was ever allowed to be late for meals or the King wanted to know the reason why. Every evening there was music—and even this varied very little. There was always some composition by Handel and all the Princesses had to be present—even baby Amelia who must, said the King, be brought up to appreciate the right kind of music—which was of course the kind which appealed to him.

The Royal Court was in the greatest contrast to the Prince's entourage at Carlton House. Often the King and Queen heard their son's establishment spoken of almost reverently. There was the centre of gaiety; there the fashionable, the erudite and the witty gathered. The Princesses listened eagerly for news of their brother; they envied him; they wished he would come to Windsor or Kew or wherever they were. But he rarely did; he was too busy living his exciting life.

The King thought about him constantly and disliked him more intensely every day. The Queen fretted about him. Why had he made this gulf between them? Why could he not be the dutiful son she longed for him to be? She was torn between her love and pride in him and her resentment towards him, and she thought of him more than she did the rest of her children put together. There were very disturbing rumours about him and the Catholic widow, Mrs. Fitzherbert. The only pleasant thing about those rumours was the good opinion everyone seemed to have of the lady.

The Queen discussed him with Lady Harcourt, one of her closest friends as well as one of her Ladies of her Bedchamber.

'I think it is a very good friendship ... nothing more,' she said. 'I remember he had such a friendship with one of the

Princess's attendants—Mary Hamilton. She was a pure girl and I hear that this Mrs. Fitzherbert is the same.'

'I've heard it too, Your Majesty,' agreed Lady Harcourt, 'but...'

Yet how could she disturb the Queen who had so much to disturb her? Lady Harcourt knew how anxiously the Queen watched the King for a return of that strange malady which had attacked him once and in which he had rambled so incoherently that both he and the Queen had thought he was going mad.

Lady Harcourt—who was devoted to the King as well as to the Queen—sincerely hoped that the Prince would not provoke his father so much that he made him ill.

On one cold morning early in the year 1786 the Queen arose as usual, and when she had undergone the ceremony of the early toilette, which took about an hour, had been to the service in the icy chapel and had taken breakfast in the company of the King and her elder daughters she returned to her apartments for the morning toilette, a lengthy matter for her hair had to be dressed and powdered and this was one of the two days in the week when it had to be curled, and this took an hour longer than usual.

She sighed because no matter what attention was paid to her appearance it made little difference. She wished these ridiculous hair styles were not fashionable. They came from France where Marie Antoinette had so exaggerated them as to make them ridiculous.

She sat watching her women as they set the triangular cushion on the crown of her head and, frizzing her hair, built it up over the cushion. Now they would curl it and set it into waves one either side of her head before they wrapped her in her powdering robe and the business of powdering began.

While her hair was dressed her women read to her; she liked to hear what was being written in the papers; and when they had finished those she enjoyed a novel. The readers were constantly passing over little items about the Prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert which could make an awkward pause now and then and the Queen knew the cause of it, and while she wanted to know what was being said of her son was afraid to ask unless it

should be something vulgar, ridiculing or informative—something which her sense of duty would tell her she ought to pass on to the King.

Her hair dressed, her toilette completed, she would send for the elder Princesses and spend a quiet hour with them, sewing or knotting while one of the ladies read aloud to them. The Queen always listened attentively to what was read; she had made a habit of this and it was one of the main reasons why she had mastered the English language so well and spoke it fluently with only a trace of a German accent.

She was pleased to see the girls waiting for her, and that the Princess Royal had remembered to fill her snuff box.

She took a pinch and called for her work; and set them all their duties. The Princess Royal should thread her mother's needles; Augusta should be responsible for bringing in the dogs and taking them out again when the sessions were over; Sophia should hand her her snuff box when she needed it. In the meantime they should sew of course. The others should continue with their sewing or knotting all the time and Miss Planta, the governess, who was a good reader, should read aloud to them, and Miss Goldsworthy who was the sub-governess and who was affectionately known as Gooley by the royal family should take over from Miss Planta when the latter was tired.

The party were busy with their tasks as they had been so many times before when suddenly the door was flung open and a young man burst into the room without ceremony and, looking wildly about him, dashed to the Queen and flung himself on his knees before her.

The Princess Royal jumped to her feet, treading on one of the dogs which had been nestling there so that he gave a loud yelp and went on yelping.

Princess Augusta cried: 'William! Brother William.'

'William?' stammered the Queen.

'Yes, Mamma,' said the young man. 'It is I, William. I have to see you. I have made up my mind. Nothing will deter me. I have come to tell you that I want to marry Sarah and you must make my father agree to the match. I have given my word ... I...'

'One moment,' said the Queen, seeking for her dignity, staring with dismay at her son. What was he talking about? It was George and Mrs. Fitzherbcrt who had been in her mind ... not William and this ... Sarah.

'Pray get up, William,' she said.

But he would not do so. He continued to kneel, catching her knees.

'You must help me, Mamma,' he said. 'I have made up my mind. No one is going to stop me.'

William was shouting; the Princesses and their governesses were looking on with round inquisitive eyes. This was very extraordinary. They were all expecting they knew not what concerning the Prince of Wales—and here was William ... also in love and wanting to marry someone of whom the King and Queen would not approve. Sarah ... who was Sarah and where had William who had been stationed at Portsmouth met her?

The dogs were barking; one of them had become entangled in Augusta's knotting string; Sophia had let the snuff box fall to the floor; and William went on shouting.

'Stop!' cried the Queen. 'Miss La Planta, Gooley, conduct the Princesses to their apartments. They may take their work with them and you may read to them.'