Frederick had sworn that he would give Lamotte three weeks to prepare the way before he himself left Hanover for Berlin; by the end of the time he expected Lamotte to have found out what his reception would be—but, he had pointed out emphatically, he intended to come in any case. If they were prepared to welcome him all well and good; he would come and marry Wilhelmina. If not he would come in secret and elope with her.
The Prince must be welcomed to Berlin, thought Lamotte. An elopement would be disastrous; in any case Wilhelmina might decide against such a measure. Lamotte was not as certain that she was as eager for the marriage as Frederick was.
Lamotte had a friend who was a chamberlain to the Queen of Prussia and to this young man, whose name was Sastot, he decided to present himself. If Sastot could arrange a meeting with the Queen that would be the best move because of one thing Lamotte was certain: the Queen of Prussia was as eager for this marriage as Frederick himself.
But the affair must be kept an absolute secret for it could be disastrous if a hint of what was happening reached the ears of the King of England.
He presented himself at Sastot’s residence telling the servants that he was a nobleman travelling for pleasure and had just arrived in Berlin so thought he would call on an old friend.
Sastot was delighted to see him and when they were alone together Lamotte asked him if it would be possible for him to obtain an interview with the Queen.
‘A gentleman travelling for pleasure wishes to be presented to the Queen! What are you thinking of, Lamotte. You know that’s not possible.’
Lamotte sighed. ‘I feared not. I shall have to disclose the nature of my business for I have no doubt that that will secure me an interview.’
‘Your business? What business is this?’
‘You must keep this secret. If it became known why I am here the whole plan would founder.’
‘I can’t wait to hear.’
‘Now, Sastot, you swear secrecy?’
Sastot swore.
‘I come from Frederick, Prince of Wales.’
‘I guessed it.’
‘He is impatient for marriage with the Princess Wilhelmina and as his father seems to have forgotten his existence he has decided to take steps on his own.’
‘I don’t think there will be any difficulty in my obtaining an interview for you with the Queen if that is your mission.’
‘But remember, Sastot, the most absolute secrecy. If this became known the King of England would certainly take action and heaven alone knows what the King of Prussia would do.’
‘Lock his daughter away and starve her to death most likely. On the other hand I heard him shout at her only last week that it was time she married and stopped being a burden to him.’
‘Poor Princess! She will be devoted to the Prince if he rescues her from that. So you will go to the Queen without delay, tell her I am here, and impress on her the need for speed.’
‘I will. She will be delighted.’
Guessing his mission, Queen Sophia Dorothea could scarcely wait to receive the ambassador from Hanover.
If this marriage could come about it would be wonderful. It had always been her most cherished ambition; and once it was completed she would have Fritz married to his cousin Amelia and Amelia would come here in Wilhelmina’s place when Wilhelmina went to England. What better arrangement could there be?
Poor Wilhelmina, she had suffered a great deal from her father’s violence. Her shoulders were still black and blue from the blows he had given her only a few days ago. She always wanted to cry out: Don’t stand there, Wilhelmina, looking indifferent. It only makes him worse. If you’d only whimper and cry he’d stop. He wants to subjugate everyone ... including me, and when he has he loses interest.
Fritz suffered most from the King. Why the boy didn’t turn on his father astonished her. He could have put up a good fight, but he meekly accepted abuse and violence and longed for escape. Perhaps it was because this fearsome husband of hers was the King that they were afraid of him—all, of course, except Sophia Dorothea.
She smiled, remembering those occasions when he had come at her, arms uplifted, eyes ablaze with rage; and she would defy him, or perhaps pick up whatever object was nearest preparing to throw it at him—on one occasion there had been a knife. He had laughed at her, spat at her, kicked her stool across the room, and shouted: ‘You ... you with your puny strength! So you would fight me!’ Then he would laugh as though the idea was too ludicrous to be treated seriously, and stride out of the room.
One thing she knew; he would never harm her. She was too important to him. In his way he loved her, odd as that might seem. And she—well at least she would find life dull without him.
He supplied the excitement in her life; but to her children she was tender and loving; and because they had such a father, they turned to her and were devoted to her.
She was contented; she had her wild mad husband who, she knew, could no more do without her than she could without him; and her two beloved children. There was no fear of the King’s encroaching on the affection they gave her. They loathed him. As for him he didn’t want love from them, only fear. He spoke of them to their mother with contempt. ‘Your daughter, Madam. Your Fritz.’ As thought he had had no part in producing them.
Dear to her heart was her double marriage plan and she believed this would have come to fruition by now if her father had lived. But when George I died, the plan had been shelved, although he had promised that when he next came to Berlin his grandson Frederick should be betrothed to Wilhelmina and Fritz to Amelia. It would have been perfect. The cousins would have been well matched. She would have welcomed Amelia to Berlin; and she was sure that Caroline and George would have welcomed Wilhelmina to England.
And then unexpectedly her father had died, and of course the King of Prussia and the King of England hated each other.
Her brother—strange to think of George Augustus as the King of England—had always been a conceited little popinjay; and he could have his violent moments too. She laughed, remembering how he used to kick his wig round the room in moments of rage. But she did not remember his ever attacking anyone, so perhaps Caroline and his children were safe in that respect. And by all accounts Caroline knew how to manage him. She had always known Caroline was a clever woman from the days when she had first come to Hanover as her brother’s bride. They had liked each other then, but their acquaintance had been brief because very soon after the marriage of George Augustus and Caroline, she herself had married and come to Berlin.
In England Wilhelmina would be happier than in Berlin, for she could trust her daughter with Caroline, and Frederick by all accounts was a young man rather like his father had been. If Wilhelmina was clever she would manage Frederick as Caroline managed George Augustus.
Therefore the Queen gave immediate audience to Lamotte and when he stated his case she told him that nothing could please her more than to further this match; she would see her daughter at once and point out to her her good fortune.
‘Wilhelmina, my child.’
The Queen came quietly into her daughter’s apartment.
‘Oh, Mother!’ Wilhelmina rose and embraced the Queen. She was a tall girl, not beautiful, yet by no means plain; she had a bright intelligent face and at the moment it was softened by the tenderness she always showed towards her mother.
‘You are excited,’ said Wilhelmina, looking into her mother’s face. ‘What has happened?’
‘Such news! I am delighted. Oh, my poor sweet child, how it has grieved me to see you suffer.’
‘Oh ... father?’ said Wilhelmina with a shrug. ‘That is nothing new.’