The Court in the meantime had removed from Richmond--the old palace down by the river near Kew[44] to Hampton Court, and with it the Prince and Princess of Wales with their household as usual. The Court had gone on its usual humdrum way, one long summer’s day being, in its regular routine of walks, drives, bowls and cards in the evening, as much like another as possible, in the manner so bitterly complained of by Lady Suffolk in her last days at Court. Everything went on as usual, and the accouchement of the Princess was looked upon by everyone as being a yet far off event. So matters stood until Sunday, the 31st of July, 1737. This is the account given by Lord Hervey of the amusements on the evening of that day: “The King played at commerce below stairs, the Queen above at quadrille, the Princess Emily at her commerce table, and the Princess Caroline and Lord Hervey at cribbage, just as usual, and separated all at ten o’clock; and what is incredible to relate, went to bed all at eleven, without hearing one single syllable of the Princess’s being ill, or even of her not being in the house.” So the whole household retired to rest and peace reigned over the ancient mansion of Cardinal Wolsey. But not for long. At half-past one a courier arrived at the Palace, and eventually succeeded in arousing one of the Queen’s Women of the Bedchamber, a certain Mrs. Tichborne, who forthwith, on hearing what the courier had to say, went straight off to their Majesties’ sacred bedroom, and awakened them. The Queen, on her entering the chamber, started up, and very naturally enquired whether the house was on fire. Mrs. Tichborne, having eased the Royal mind on this point, proceeded to give the Queen, as best she could, information on a very delicate subject. She said the Prince had sent to let their Majesties know the Princess was in labour. The suddenness of this communication produced the effect upon the Queen which might have been expected. “My God!” she cried, starting up, “my night gown, I’ll go to her this moment.” “Your night gown, Madam?” repeated Mrs. Tichborne, thinking it about time she should know all, “and your coaches too; the Princess is at St. James’s.” “Are you mad,” interrupted the Queen, “or are you asleep, my good Tichborne? You dream!” Mrs. Tichborne, however, confirmed her first assertion, and an excited little nightcap popped up from the King’s side of the bed, and there came from beneath it a torrent of very guttural German, of which the following is a translation: “You see now, with all your wisdom, how they have outwitted you. This is all your fault. _There is a false child which will be upon you_, and how will you answer it to all your children? This has been fine care and fine management for your son William--he is mightily obliged to you. And for Ann I hope she will come over and scold you herself. I am sure you deserve anything she can say to you.”