He went on to say how he loved England and how he intended to devote himself to the service of his country.

It was the speech of tradition—no better, no worse than its predecessors, but it had the virtue of being what was expected and was greeted with applause.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Wake, was a timid man who was a little unsure of his position, having been completely submissive to the previous king, and anyone who had been so must almost inevitably be on bad terms with the new one. But Dr Wake had contrived not to offend the new King while being on good terms with his father. In any case such a man made little trouble and George’s feeling for him were neutral.

He now approached the King and put a document into his hands.

‘Your Majesty, this is your father’s will which he entrusted with me, asking that I would present it to you on the event of his death. This I now do.’

George looked at the document. A will! The old scoundrel had decided to outwit him at the end. Who knew ‘what was in that document. He could be certain though that it would be something to cause embarrassment to the son he had hated.

His ministers were watching him expectantly. The Archbishop was holding the will. Clearly he was awaiting the formal command to open it and make its contents known.

Everything was according to the tradition which had been followed through centuries. Now was the moment to read the late King’s will.

But his son held out his hand for the document, scarcely glanced at it, and thrust it into his pocket.

‘Now,’ he said gruffly, ‘ye have some business to discuss.’

The Archbishop was astounded; the members of the Council could scarcely believe what they had actually seen; but the King was testily waiting to continue with the meeting, as though the will was of no importance to him.

The King made his way to the Queen’s apartment, and as soon as he entered she recognized that he was deeply disturbed, so she dismissed her attendants and waited patiently for the outburst.

He was not as choleric as usual, which might be a bad sign, for it could mean he was too disturbed for an outward display of anger.

He stood for some seconds rocking on his heels, his face which had been pink when he entered growing red; his blue eyes seeming to bulge more with every passing moment.

Still she did not speak.

Then slowly he took a document from his pocket and held it before her eyes.

‘The old scoundrel’s vill,’ he said.

He saw her catch her breath; he saw the faint colour touch her face and neck. There was no need to explain to Caroline the importance of this paper.

‘Vat does it contain?’ she whispered. Wild thoughts were running through her mind. He would pursue them even after death. Did they think that they were rid of him? That document could deprive them of their inheritance. But could it? George Augustus had already become George II; would it be possible for the old man to have his grandson Frederick substituted for his son? Frederick! The son for whom in the past she had so longed and had now almost forgotten—because the old scoundrel had decreed that they should live apart. No, not that. But it was certain there would be something to plague them in that will. Money they needed would be directed elsewhere. The Duchess of Kendal would be given a large part of the wealth which by right belonged to the King and Queen of England.

She was watching her husband anxiously, and he shook his head while a slow smile of triumph spread across his features.

‘No one living knows. Let him keep his secret. He is dead now.’

‘But ... surely it was read at the Council?’

There was pride in his face. He was the King now; he would know how to rule and no one should be allowed to forget that.

‘I did not ask it to be read. I took it when Vake gave it to me and put it into my pocket.’

Now she was smiling—approval, admiration. How he loved her! They would stand together against all their enemies.

‘And they said nothing?’

‘To the King!’

Then she laughed. ‘No, of course, they vould not dare ... not to the King. And now?’

‘You know vat he did to my mother’s vill?’ demanded the King. ‘Do you think she vould have left all she had to him ... her enemy? Do you think she vould have forgotten me and my sister? She loved us alvays. Ven my Grandmother Celle visited her the first thing she wanted to know was “How is my son George Augustus? How is my daughter Sophia Dorothea? Are they yell, are they happy?” And she was rich. Vat did he do vith her vill? He destroyed it. Vat did he do vith the vill of my Grandfather Celle which you can depend left much to me and none to him? He destroyed it. And now vat shall I do vith his vill, eh? I tell you this. I shall treat him as he treated others.’

The King went to a lighted candle and held the document in the flame.

For a few seconds it seemed as though it refused to burn; then the thick paper suddenly leaped into flame.

The King smilingly watched it until he could hold it no more; then he threw it into the fireplace and together he and the Queen watched it blacken and writhe until there was nothing left but the charred remains.

The King was peevish. The Queen understood why and was not displeased. Secretly she was determined to set Walpole back in his place for she realized that the imperative need of a king such as her husband was a strong government. There was one man she wanted to see at the head of that government and that was Walpole.

‘Walpole, that fat old ox!’ cried the King every time his name was mentioned. Then she would laugh and agree that he was a fat old ox; she would admit that he had not fulfilled his promises to either of them; but in her heart she knew that they must not harp on old grievances; they needed the most able statesman in the land to head their government and that man was Walpole.

She came to her husband’s apartment and when they were alone she asked him how Compton was acting with regard to some of thc important matters which needed prompt settlement.

George scowled. ‘It is delay ... delay ...’

‘The Civil List is the most important. Perhaps he does not delay with that.’

George’s face grew red; his hands went to his wig. He did not snatch it from his head, she noticed, which had been a favourite habit in the days when he was Prince of ‘Wales, stamp on it, and kick it round the room; kingship had given him some dignity.

‘He vants me to accept vat my father had. And I have this big family.’

‘It vill not do.’

‘This I tell him. But he say the Parliament vill not agree.’

‘They must be made to see ...’

‘They vill. I shall insist.’

He drew himself up to his full height and inwardly Caroline sighed. The little man must know in his heart that he could not stand against his Parliament.

‘They vill give me vat my father had and for Frederick ... because he is Prince of Vales now, he shall hav the £100,000 which I had.’

‘Frederick to have £100,000 But that is a nonsense.’ ‘It is a nonsense. For vat should he vant so much?’

‘Frederick to have £100,000 and you to have just the same as your father who had no big family.’

‘I tell him it is a nonsense ... and he say that he vill a difficulty have in getting the Parliament to agree to anything else.’

Momentarily Caroline thought of Frederick. He would have to come home now. The prospect filled her with some dismay. How strange! Once her dearest wish had been to have her little Fritzchen with her; but that was thirteen years ago. All those years she had not seen her son; he was Frederick now, no longer dear little Fritzchen. A German, she feared, who had never seen England; and she had her little William now and she desired for him the honours which would be Frederick’s.