In return for the information communicated by the King to the Queen on the subject of Madame Walmoden and her charms, Caroline had to inform her husband of the marriage we have spoken of between Lady Suffolk and Mr. George Berkeley. The royal ex-lover noticed the communication in his reply in a coarse way, and expressed his entire satisfaction at being rid of the lady, and at the lady’s disposal of herself.
When Caroline informed her vice-chamberlain, Lord Hervey, of the report of this marriage, his alleged disbelief of the report made her peevish with him, and induced her to call him an ‘obstinate devil,’ who would not believe merely improbable facts to be truths. Caroline then railed at Lady Suffolk in good set terms as a sayer and doer of silly things, entirely unworthy of the reputation she had with some people of being the sayer and doer of wise ones.
It was on this occasion that Caroline herself described to Lord Hervey the farewell interview she had had with Lady Suffolk. The ex-mistress took a sentimental view of her position, and lamented to the wife that she, the mistress, was no longer so kindly treated as formerly by the husband. ‘I told her,’ said the Queen, ‘in reply, that she and I were not of an age to think of these sort of things in such a romantic way, and said, “My good Lady Suffolk, you are the best servant in the world; and, as I should be most extremely sorry to lose you, pray take a week to consider of this business, and give me your word not to read any romances in that time, and then I dare say you will lay aside all thoughts of doing what, believe me, you will repent, and what I am very sure I shall be very sorry for.”’[20] It was at one of these conversations with Lord Hervey that the Queen told him that Lady Suffolk ‘had had 2,000l. a year constantly from the King whilst he was prince, and 3,200l. ever since he was King; besides several little dabs of money both before and since he came to the crown.’
A letter of Lady Pomfret’s will serve to show us not only a picture of the Queen at this time, but an illustration of feeling in a fine lady.
Lady Pomfret, writing to Lady Sundon, in 1735, says: ‘All I can say of Kensington is, that it is just the same as it was, only pared as close as the bishop does the sacrament. My Lord Pomfret and I were the greatest strangers there; no secretary of state, no chamberlain or vice-chamberlain, but Lord Robert, and he just in the same coat, the same spot of ground, and the same words in his mouth that he had when I left there. Mrs. Meadows in the window at work; but, though half an hour after two, the Queen was not quite dressed, so that I had the honour of seeing her before she came out of her little blue room, where I was graciously received, and acquainted her Majesty, to her great sorrow, how ill you had been; and then, to alleviate that sorrow, I informed her how much Sundon was altered for the better, and that it looked like a castle. From thence we proceeded to a very short drawing-room, where the Queen joked much with my Lord Pomfret about Barbadoes. The two ladies of the bedchamber and the governess are yet on so bad a foot, that upon the latter coming into the room to dine with Lady Bristol, the others went away, though just going to sit down, and strangers in the place.’
The writer of this letter soon after lost a son, the Honourable Thomas Fermor. It was a severely felt loss; so severe that some weeks elapsed before the disconsolate mother was able, as she says, ‘to enjoy the kind and obliging concern’ expressed by the Queen’s bedchamber-woman in her late misfortune. Christianity itself, as this charming mother averred, would have authorised her in lamenting such a calamity during the remainder of her life; but then, oh joy! her maternal lamentation was put an end to and Rachel was comforted, and all because—‘It was impossible for any behaviour to be more gracious than that of the Queen on this occasion, who made it quite fashionable to be concerned’ at the death of Lady Pomfret’s son.
But there were more bustling scenes at Kensington than such as those described by this fashionably sorrowing lady and the sympathising sovereign.
On Sunday, the 26th of October, the Queen and her court had just left the little chapel in the palace of Kensington, when intimation was given to her Majesty that the King, who had left Hanover on the previous Wednesday, was approaching the gate. Caroline, at the head of her ladies and the gentlemen of her suite, hastened down to receive him; and, as he alighted from his ponderous coach, she took his hand and kissed it. This ceremony performed by the regent, a very unceremonious, hearty, and honest kiss was impressed on his lips by the wife. The King endured the latter without emotion, and then, taking the Queen-regent by the fingers, he led her upstairs in a very stately and formal manner. In the gallery there was a grand presentation, at which his Majesty exhibited much ill-humour, and conversed with everybody but the Queen.
His ill-humour arose from various sources. He had heated himself by rapid and continual travelling, whereby he had brought on an attack of a complaint to which he was subject, which made him very ill at ease, and which is irritating enough to break down the patience of the most patient of people.
On ordinary occasions of his return from Hanover his most sacred Majesty was generally of as sour disposition as man so little heroic could well be. He loved the Electorate better than he did his kingdom, and would not allow that there was anything in the latter which could not be found in Hanover of a superior quality. There was no exception to this: men, women, artists, philosophers, actors, citizens, the virtues, the sciences, and the wits, the country, its natural beauties and productions, the courage of the men and the attractions of the women—all of these in England seemed to him worthless. In Hanover they assumed the guise of perfection.