Meanwhile at Hampton Court, the King and Queen, all unsuspecting, passed their evening as usual: the King played commerce below stairs with Lady Deloraine and the maids of honour; the Queen and the Princess Amelia played quadrille above; the Princess Caroline and Lord Hervey had their nightly game of cribbage. The party broke up, and all retired at eleven, without having heard a whisper of what had been going on in the Prince of Wales’s apartments. The King and Queen had gone to bed and to sleep, when about half-past one they were aroused by the arrival of a courier from St. James’s Palace with a message that brooked no delay. The Queen, startled at being aroused at so unusual an hour, asked whether the palace was on fire, but Mrs. Tichburne, her dresser, in fear and trembling explained that the Prince of Wales had sent to let their Majesties know that the Princess was in labour. The Queen jumped up immediately and cried out: “My God! My night-gown, I’ll go to her this moment.” “Your night-gown, madam,” said the worthy Tichburne, “aye, and your coaches too; the Princess is at St. James’s.” “Are you mad?” exclaimed the Queen, “or are you asleep, my good Tichburne? you dream.” Then Mrs. Tichburne told the whole tale of the Princess’s flight, so far as she understood it. The King raged and swore, and began to abuse the Queen, saying: “You see, now, with all your wisdom, how they have outwitted you. This is all your fault. There will be a false child put upon you, and how will you answer for it to all your children? This has been fine care and fine management for your son, William; he is mightily obliged to you; and as for Anne, I hope she will come over and scold you herself; I am sure you deserve anything she can say to you.”