The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows - Olivia Waite Page 0,38

the summation of two green bags’ worth of evidence against Queen Caroline’s fidelity and character, collected without her knowledge by spies for the king and his government. Naturally, since it was a secret report, everyone was talking about it.

The Queen had composed a petition to the Lords asking that she be permitted to speak in her own defense; instead, Lord Liverpool had presented a Bill of Pains and Penalties.

“Adultery,” Mrs. Koskinen murmured, translating the legalisms. Her plump white hand squeezed her husband’s arm in distracted outrage, and her red curls bobbed as she bounced. “He’s been accusing her of being unfaithful for a decade now.”

“If she is, it’s no wonder,” Mrs. Biswas grumbled. “Not like George has ever done anything to endear himself to his wife. He didn’t even write to tell her when the Princess died. Her own daughter!”

“She’s a wicked woman,” mutter Mr. Painter, huffing out clouds of smoke from his pipe. “The whole thing is an embarrassment to the nation.”

Mr. Biswas continued to read from yesterday’s paper in a clear, carrying voice. His eyes went wide as he scanned ahead and reached the heart of the matter: “A Bill to deprive her Majesty, Caroline Amelia Elizabeth, of the title, prerogatives, rights, privileges, and pretensions, of Queen-consort of this realm, and to dissolve the marriage between his Majesty and the said Queen.”

“Dissolve the marriage!” Mrs. Koskinen gasped.

“Divorce,” Mr. Painter confirmed, in heavy tones. “Though it’s not the usual way such things are done.”

“Can he force one through like this?” Mrs. Koskinen demanded. “Surely the Church will have strong objections—and the people won’t allow it—there’s been one mutiny already in the King’s Mews on her behalf—if the army rises up to defend her—”

Her husband put his large hand over hers, and she bit her lip and subsided.

“The Lords are responding now,” Mr. Biswas went on. “Earl Grey said that it must appear to be a very great disadvantage to the Queen to have allegations made against her by the committee, and a bill afterwards laid on their lordships’ table, and placed before the public, for a considerable time before she was allowed to be heard.”

“Quite right,” Mr. Kitt responded. “Any other criminal on trial has the right to speak in his own defense. Should not our Queen, if she is to stand accused?”

“The King will never permit it,” Mr. Biswas responded. “Nor his friends in the Lords. It would give Caroline a chance to describe George’s even worse failings—under oath, in the public record, ready for any and all scribblers to put into tomorrow’s caricatures.” He caught himself and his brown cheeks went ruddy. “No offense intended to present company, of course.”

“None taken,” Griffin replied pleasantly, toasting him with her ale.

Mr. Biswas continued reading the argument from the Lords, Mrs. Koskinen hanging on every syllable.

Mr. Kitt leaned over to speak to Mr. Thomas, Griffin, and Penelope. “It’s an absolute godsend for the radical press—they’re now free to attack the King all they like under cover of defending the Queen’s good name.”

“My son Sydney nearly had an apoplexy about it yesterday morning,” Griffin said wryly. She was looking rather regal herself, to Penelope’s eye, in a dress of lilac linen, the light fabric a concession to the summer heat. It made the gray in her hair gleam and her eyes shine like jet in the firelight. She tilted her head thoughtfully. “As for myself, I feel terribly uneasy about the whole business. Too many people are calling for too many others to take up arms.”

“Do you believe the Queen is guilty, then?” Mr. Thomas asked.

Griffin snorted. “As if half the Lords haven’t done everything they’re accusing her of, and more. As if the King himself hasn’t been parading mistresses all up and down the country since long before his royal father died. What does guilt even mean, in such a context?”

“You’d think the King would have better followed his father and mother’s example,” Mr. Kitt added gently. “They were the very picture of a happy English marriage.”

“This can’t be only because they are unhappy,” Mrs. Koskinen said. “He was content to leave her alone when she was in Italy.”

“He sent spies!” Mr. Biswas cried.

Mrs. Koskinen folded her arms. “It seems to me that what he wants even more than a divorce is to not share the power of the Crown.”

Arguments multiplied. Volume doubled. Mr. Biswas and Mrs. Koskinen traded words at impossible speed, while Mr. Koskinen’s brow grew more and more craggy with dread. Mr. Kitt and Mr. Thomas were