The Captive of Kensington Palace, page 15
‘Lot of stuff,’ he said. ‘It’ll pass.’
When they went to the play they were received in the theatre by silence but when they drove home mud was thrown at their carriage and a stone broke the window.
Adelaide was trembling and William was red with fury.
‘This is an inconvenience,’ he shouted. ‘If people are going to throw stones through the windows of my coach it will constantly have to be repaired and I’m always going somewhere.’
The uneasy weeks went on. There was undoubtedly revolution in the air. And in due course the Reform Bill was passed through the Commons and was rejected by the Lords.
The Duchess of Kent and her Comptroller were watching events with great attention.
The Duchess’s great fear was Adelaide’s friendship with Earl Howe.
‘For,’ as she whispered to Sir John, ‘what if she should have a child by that man? What fearful complications! What a terrible thing!’
‘I’m sure she will never do that. She is far too prim.’
‘Of course if she did become pregnant I should want to be very sure who was the father.’
Lights of cupidity were in the Duchess’s eyes. Suppose the dreaded event should come to pass. Suppose Adelaide was with child. She would swear that it was Earl Howe’s. There would be a revolution. There would have to be. It would be the only way to get Victoria where she belonged … on the throne.
Sir John smiled at her indulgently. ‘Don’t let us face this terrible fact until it has happened,’ he said. ‘I am convinced that it never will.’
‘Dear Sir John, such a comfort. But I do declare I shall have to make the King see reason. I believe he thinks of nothing but how to mortify me.’
‘He may well be equally concerned with the trouble over the Reform Bill,’ suggested Sir John with that irony that always passed over the Duchess’s ornate head.
‘And serve him right. I hear they threw mud at his carriage. He is really most unpopular. And can you wonder at it. A foolish old man. And they hate Adelaide. She becomes more and more unpopular.’
Sir John said that the people did not like German ladies and the Duchess agreed, seeming to forget that she was one.
‘And now that Buggin person. Because she changes her name to Underwood does that alter the fact that she is a Buggin?’
‘She was an Underwood before her marriage.’
‘But she is a Buggin now; and even though the Duke of Sussex has gone through a ceremony of marriage with her that does not make her his wife. She will never be accepted. Victoria will never receive her. I shall see to that. And I am expected to live at Kensington Palace under the same roof with a Buggin!’
‘The Duke I have heard dotes on her and likes to smother her with jewels.’
‘Then she must look like a decorated barrel. She is so short and fat. I wonder what he sees in her?’
‘I was going to suggest,’ said Sir John, tactfully changing the subject, ‘that since the Princess is so refreshed by sea breezes we take a little trip to the sea.’
‘What an excellent idea. I should enjoy to get away from Kensington for a while. People talk of nothing here but reform. And the people in the streets are getting so disgusting. So many dirty people standing about and they come too close to the Palace to please me.’
‘Then let us take a little trip. It is as well for the Princess to be seen about the country. She should travel like the heiress to the throne. And whatever objections there are the royal standard should fly over her residence and the guns give the royal salute.’
The Duchess nodded.
Trust Sir John to soothe her.
As the Reform Bill had been passed through the Commons – though it still had to go through the Lords – William decided that his coronation should take place.
The people were always beguiled by ceremonies; and it would be a change to have a bit of pageantry in the streets. They might well find it much more to their taste than a lot of sordid riots. Earl Grey applauded this decision; he felt it would do a great deal of good in conjunction with the fact that the Bill’s passing through the Commons had put the people in a good mood.
‘Mind you,’ said the King, ‘I don’t care for too much ceremony, I don’t want any Bishops kissing me, and I think that we don’t want to spend too much money on the business.’
‘If it is going to please the people it should be done in appropriate style, Sir.’
‘I’ll not have money wasted,’ said the King.
The people were of course delighted at the prospect of a coronation. The disgruntled Tories said that it was a great mistake to try to economise on this, and they would not wish to attend a coronation which was tawdry and over which there had been obvious economy.
‘All right, all right,’ said the King. ‘And what do they propose to do about it?’
Wellington told him that his colleagues would not attend unless a required amount of money was lavished on the necessary details.
‘By God,’ cried the King. ‘So they’ll stay away, eh? That’s good news. It’ll avoid the crush.’
There was no way of making a King of William.
Then came trouble from the Duchess of Kent.
She wrote to the King to say that she was delighted to hear he had at last agreed to be crowned. He would, of course, wish Victoria to take her rightful place immediately behind him.
When William received this letter he was furious. He went into Adelaide’s sanctum where she was enjoying a pleasant tête-à-tête with Earl Howe.
‘That woman!’ he cried. ‘That damned woman!’
‘Is it the Duchess of Kent?’ asked Adelaide.
‘Is it the Duchess of Kent! Of course it is that damned irritating woman.’
‘What is the trouble now?’ asked Adelaide.
‘She’s giving me instructions about the coronation. Her daughter is to walk immediately behind me, to show everyone that she is second only to the King. Did you ever hear such … such … impertinence.’
‘William, my dear, I beg of you to sit down,’ said the Queen. ‘The Duchess is merely being her tiresome self.’
‘And if she thinks I’m going to have that … that chit …’
‘She is only a child. She should not be blamed.’
‘I don’t blame her. Nice little thing. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let her mother poke her interfering finger into royal affairs. Certainly not, I say. Certainly she shall not walk immediately behind me. Every brother and sister of mine – and I’m not exactly short of them – shall take precedence over Victoria.’
‘Is that right …’ began Adelaide. ‘I mean is that the way to treat the heiress presumptive to the throne?’
‘It’s the way I am treating her,’ said the King. His lips were stubborn. ‘That child will come to the coronation and walk where she is told.’
‘Oh, it is monstrous!’ cried the Duchess. ‘If I were not so angry I should faint with fury.’
‘Pray do not do that,’ said Sir John. ‘We need all our wits to deal with this situation.’
‘Victoria shall not be exposed to indignity, which she would be if she followed those stupid old aunts and uncles of hers.’
‘She must not do it.’
‘Then how … ?’
Sir John smiled, delighted that once again the Duchess was at loggerheads with her family. The more isolated she was, the more power for Sir John. As it was he was almost constantly in her company; his home was Kensington Palace, and to give respectability to the situation, Lady Conroy and the children were there also. His daughters Jane and Victoire were the companions of the Princess Victoria and he endeavoured to arrange that she saw as little as possible of the young people of her own family. The fact that the King had said she must make more public appearances had worried him; he had had visions of Victoria’s affection for the Queen – which was already considerable – being a real stumbling block. So he welcomed controversies such as this and encouraged the Duchess in her truculent attitude.
‘If the King will not give her her rightful place,’ said Sir John, ‘she must refuse to attend the coronation.’
‘The heiress to the throne not present at the coronation!’
‘If it is regrettably necessary, yes. The people will notice her absence and they will blame the King for it. Moreover, the King wishes Victoria to be under the charge of his sisters and not to walk with you, which is significant.’
‘Significant,’ cried the Duchess.
‘It means that on this important occasion he is taking your daughter from your care. Don’t you see what meaning people will attach to this?’
‘I do indeed and my mind is made up. Victoria shall not attend the coronation.’
‘I should write and tell His Majesty that you believe you should stay in the Isle of Wight as to leave it now might be detrimental to your daughter’s health.’
The Duchess nodded sagely.
‘This will show the old fool,’ she said.
‘Let her stay away,’ growled the King. ‘I tell you this, Adelaide: my great hope is that I live long enough to prevent that woman ever becoming Regent.’
‘Of course you will. There are many years left to you.’
William’s eyes glinted. ‘God help the country if she was ever Regent. I’m going to live long enough to see Victoria stand alone.’
‘You will if you take care of yourself.’
He smiled at her, his eyes glazed with sudden sentiment. ‘You’re a good woman, Adelaide. I’m glad I was able to make a Queen of you.’
‘It’s enough that you are a very good husband to me.’
William was pleased. Momentarily he had forgotten that maddening sister-in-law of his.
It was not a very bright September morning but the crowds were already lining the streets. They chatted about the odd but not unlovable ways of the King; some murmured a little about the Queen – why must we always bring these German women into the country? – but after all it was Coronation Day and the Reform Bill had passed through the Commons and better times they believed lay ahead, so for this day they were prepared to forget their grievances.
When the King and Queen drove past on the way to Westminster Abbey a cheer went up for them. William wore his Admiral’s uniform and looked exactly like a weatherbeaten sailor which amused the crowd; and the Queen looked almost beautiful in gold gauze over white satin.
‘Good old William,’ the cry went up, and although no one cheered Adelaide there were no hostile shouts.
But where was the Princess Victoria? One of the most delightful sights at such functions was usually provided by the children and the little heiress to the throne was very popular. Her absence was immediately noticed and whispered about.
‘They say that the Duchess and the King hate each other.’
‘They say the Duchess won’t bring Victoria to Court because she is afraid of Cumberland.’
Rumours multiplied; there were always quarrels in the royal family.
Meanwhile the King and Queen had reached the Abbey and the Archbishop was presiding over the ceremony of crowning them. William who looked upon all such occasions as ‘stuff’ showed his impatience with the ceremony and so robbed it of much of its dignity; but Adelaide behaved with charming grace and many present commented on the fact that although she might not be the most beautiful of Queens she was kindly, gracious and peace-loving.
During the ceremony the rain pelted down and the wind howled along the river; however, when the royal pair emerged the rain stopped and the sun shone, so they were able to ride back in comfort through the streets to St James’s.
The people cheered. He was not such a bad old King, they decided, and if he was ready to put up with his spotted wife they would too.
William was grumbling all the way back about Victoria’s absence. It had been noticed; it had been commented on.
‘It’s time,’ he said, ‘that someone taught that woman a lesson.’
Soon after the coronation Adelaide went to Brighton with her niece Louise of Saxe-Weimar, the daughter of her sister Ida, for whom the Queen had very special love among her family of other people’s children because Louise was a cripple. Adelaide had had this child in her care for most of her life and this made her seem like her own daughter, just as George Cambridge was like her own son.
But Louise was growing weaker as the years passed and this saddened her. Louise’s mother was now paying a visit to England and to her Adelaide was able to talk of her anxieties – the state to which the country had been reduced and her fears (quoting Earl Howe) that if this dreaded Reform Bill was passed it would be the beginning of the end for the Monarchy.
Ida listened sympathetically and admitted that she was glad to be the wife of a man who was not the ruler of a great country. She was not rich and not really very important but she would not wish for Adelaide’s anxieties.
‘I had the Crown and was barren,’ said Adelaide. ‘But I have been happier than I would have believed I could possibly be … without children.’
‘You have other people’s,’ said Ida. ‘And how is the little girl at Kensington?’
‘We scarcely ever see her although William has expressly told her mother that as heiress to the throne she must appear with him in public’
‘The Saxe-Coburgs give themselves such airs. Though why they should, I can’t imagine. There was all that scandal about Louise of Saxe-Coburg. They kept very quiet about that. And I believe they are hoping that Victoria will marry one of the two boys – Ernest or Albert.’
‘William has decided that she shall have George Cambridge. He is already rather taken with her.’
‘He’s a diplomat already, then.’
‘I don’t think he thinks of her position so much. She is not without charm, you know. Such a dignified young lady. I declare that it is not right that she should be shut away there in Kensington and scarcely ever allowed any fun.’
‘Oh, that Saxe-Coburg woman!’
‘She really is trying and William is becoming incensed at the very mention of her name.’
‘I dare say the Cumberlands are hoping that their George will win the prize.’
Adelaide laughed. ‘He is a delightful boy, too. It surprises me that …’ She stopped. She had rarely been heard to make a malicious comment even about her enemies.
‘Surprise you that such parents could have such a son?’ said the forthright Ida.
‘Well, it is a little odd. And he is a charming boy. Of course if Victoria loved him I daresay there would be no objection; but we are hoping it will be his cousin.’
‘Your special protégé. Oh, Adelaide, how long ago it seems when we were together in Saxe-Meiningen wondering what would happen to us and who our husbands would be.’
‘And when the Duke of Saxe-Weimar came riding to the castle to seek his bride who was supposed to be the elder sister no one was very surprised – certainly not that elder sister – that he chose the younger.’
‘You were always the sweetest and most modest of sisters. The Duke of Saxe-Weimar was stupid. He would have been so much wiser to have chosen you.’
At which Adelaide laughed and began to talk of the baths which she thought might be beneficial for Louise. She would take her to them the next day.
‘I believe,’ said Ida, ‘that if I wanted to take her back with me you would refuse to let me do so.’
‘I would have Louise choose where she wishes to be.’
‘And you know where that is,’ laughed Ida.
It was true that Adelaide knew, and she could not help being pleased. She was born to be a mother, for her fiercest inclination was to care for children. How happy she would have been with a nursery full of them. Instead of which she had had to make do with a family of stepchildren, all of whom were now proving to be rather ungrateful. But she did have William’s grandchildren and like all young people they were devoted to her. In addition there was George Cambridge and Louise … and George Cumberland too who was constantly visiting her – and it would have been the same with Victoria if the Duchess had permitted it.
She smiled thinking of them. They took her mind off other matters; and this was a few days respite in Brighton with her dear sister, when they could talk of the days of their youth during which they had been so happy together.
It took her away from the stark reality of the uneasy days through which they were living. Revolution was a fact on the Continent and a possibility in England. Her dreams were haunted by memories of riding through the streets in her carriage and the faces of the mob leering in at her. She dreamed of the mud spattering the windows, of the stones that broke the glass. She heard their comments: ‘Go back to Germany, dowdy hausfrau.’ She knew that they called her the ‘frow’; and they whispered unpleasant things about her and Earl Howe.
She must enjoy these days in Brighton before returning to London where everyone would be thinking of and talking about that Reform Bill.
London was seething with rage. Although a strong majority had passed the Bill through the Commons, the Lords rejected it by a majority of forty-one.
Earl Grey came to see William.
‘If the Bill is not passed, Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘there will be a revolution.’
‘Bills have to pass through the Commons and the Lords and receive my signature before they become law.’
‘This one must become law,’ insisted Grey.
‘And how do you propose it should?’
‘Your Majesty must create new peers who will support it.’
‘I’ll be damned if I will,’ said the King. ‘I’m against that measure in any case. They’ll have to forget about reform.’
‘That is something I fear they will never do, Sir. The people are intent on reform and reform they’ll have.’
‘But if the Bill is thrown out …’
‘By the Lords, Sir? The Commons have passed it. Something will have to be done, and I think it would be wise if Earl Howe were dismissed from his post of Chamberlain to the Queen.’
‘Howe dismissed? The Queen will never hear of it.’
