And she was sad again, thinking of those days ahead when she would be grown up and no longer in need of Lehzen’s services. Poor Lehzen!

  It seemed that one could not love people without suffering with them. All the same one must be grateful for dear friends and relations.

  ‘It will soon be Victoria’s fifteenth birthday,’ said the Queen to the King. ‘Do you remember last year’s ball? It was a great success. Victoria enjoyed it so much. I shall do the same again this year.’

  ‘Excellent, excellent,’ said the King. ‘Like to see the children enjoy themselves. You remember the ball you gave for those Württemberg boys and how That Woman behaved.’

  ‘I shall never forget it,’ said Adelaide.

  ‘Who but Madam Kent would have the effrontery …’ began William, his face beginning to redden.

  Adelaide said quickly: ‘It is Victoria of whom we must think. That child has a great capacity for enjoyment, and that is rather pleasant.’

  When the Duchess of Kent was told that the Queen was arranging a ball for Victoria’s birthday, she told Sir John that although she had allowed Victoria to write a note of thanks to the Queen, she was determined that the Princess was not going to the ball.

  ‘But what excuse can you make?’

  ‘I shall find one. Leave it to me. You know what would happen at this ball … if she went. She would open the dancing with George Cambridge. Leopold has written to me that he feels a husband from our side of the family is essential. It is to be either Alexander or Ernest Württemberg or Ernest or Albert Saxe-Coburg. They are so much more suitable, Leopold says. And I agree with him.’

  Sir John agreed with the Duchess. Victoria must be kept in leading strings. She must make him her secretary when the time came, and the Duchess would be Regent if she were under age – if not her chief adviser; and if she had a husband who owed his success to the Princess’s mother he would have to be grateful to her – and Sir John, the Duchess, with Leopold in the background would continue to control the Princess … or Queen as she would then be.

  The Duchess soon found her excuse.

  ‘My poor brother has lost his child. We must go into mourning and that of course means no frivolities for a while.’

  She wrote to the Queen. The Princess Victoria was grateful to Her Majesty for offering her a birthday ball but in view of the fact that Kensington Palace was in mourning for the Princess’s little cousin, she could not accept it.

  When the King heard this he stormed; and Adelaide was terrified that he was going completely mad. Other people infuriated him temporarily but the exasperation and dislike with which he regarded the Duchess of Kent was perpetual.

  ‘Let’s forget it,’ said Adelaide. ‘After all, neither of us wants to entertain the Duchess. It was Victoria we were thinking of.’

  ‘One of these days,’ said the King, ‘I shall tell that woman exactly what I think of her. I’ll banish her from England. Why should the King be constantly insulted by this … this … upstart of a Duchess?’

  ‘She is the most difficult of women,’ sighed Adelaide, and began to talk about one of the grandchildren to turn his thoughts to a more pleasant subject. And as he was vitally interested in everything that concerned these young people she managed it successfully.

  Poor Victoria, thought the Queen when she was alone. She was no doubt going to have a wretched birthday and all because of this stupid idea of mourning, which Adelaide knew full well had been thought up so that the invitation need not be accepted. If Victoria were not the heiress to the throne and it was their duty to bring her forward as much as possible, Adelaide would have washed her hands of Kensington Palace and its most troublesome inmate. But she often thought of that young girl who looked so wistful sometimes.

  She wrote to the Duchess of Kent. Since there could be no ball for the Princess’s birthday she would call at Kensington Palace on that day to give the good wishes of herself and the King to the Princess in person.

  Who would believe anyone could be capable of such discourteous, ungrateful and arrogant behaviour? The Duchess of Kent apparently could; for she wrote back to the Queen. It was so kind of her to offer to call at Kensington Palace, but being in such deep mourning for her brother’s child the Duchess was unable to receive anyone.

  So there was no ball for the fifteenth birthday; but there was a letter which made Victoria very happy. It was from her sister Feodora, who wrote that she longed to be with her sister on this important day but the reunion would not be long delayed. A few days after Victoria’s birthday, Feodora with her husband and two elder children would set out on the journey to England.

  What joy, wrote Feodora, awaited her. Her little sister who had been but nine years old when she last saw her was now a young lady of fifteen. What changes there would be; and she had heard that Victoria had grown very pretty. As for herself she was grown stouter and was really an old Mamma. She feared Victoria would get a great surprise when she saw her; but she would not wait for the day.

  The great day turned out to be June 5th. Victoria was up early awaiting the arrival of her sister and her family long before they were due.

  She chattered to Lehzen while her hair was being done. ‘Have I changed much, Lehzen? Do you really think I have grown prettier? Of course I am not very tall. But then nor is darling Feodora. Oh, I wonder if she has changed! And how I long to see the dear, dear children.’

  Lehzen was moved too. She had been Feodora’s governess before she had been Victoria’s, and she loved the elder sister only a little less than her present charge.

  ‘You must curb your impatience,’ she said.

  Victoria laughed and threw her arms about her governess. ‘And you, my dear Lehzen, are finding it very hard to curb yours.’

  At eleven o’clock the visitors arrived at Kensington Palace. The Duchess was there insisting on a little ceremony and that she be greeted first; but her maternal instincts were strong and she was delighted to see her elder daughter. Her love for Feodora being less calculated was more spontaneous and as she embraced her daughter and exclaimed with delight at the children she was genuinely moved.

  Feodora’s eyes were on Victoria. They flew at each other and hugged and kissed, tears in their eyes. Tears of happiness, said Victoria, for it was the most wonderful thing to see her darling sister again.

  And the babies. They were enchanting. How tall little Charles was – and only four and a half! Who would believe it! He studied his Aunt Victoria very intently. ‘He has heard so much about you,’ Feodora explained.

  ‘Oh, the darling.’

  ‘He remembers the whip you sent him. He talked about it for days before it arrived. Oh … but Eliza wants your attention. She does not intend to be left out.’

  Victoria had knelt down to embrace the little girl who was a year younger than Charles. Such a little beauty! Those enormous brown eyes, so big for her age and with such a merry, happy smile!

  ‘What adorable children!’ cried Victoria. ‘Oh, Feodora my dearest sister; how happy you must be.’

  ‘And never more so since I left Kensington than at this moment.’

  ‘You must see your rooms,’ said the Duchess, for once like any humble hostess. ‘Come, we will all go together.’ So the Duchess took young Charles by the hand, and Victoria held little Eliza’s and with her arm linked in that of Feodora they went to the apartments which had been assigned for the family.

  Feodora’s husband, Ernest, Prince of Hohenlohe-Langenburg, looked quite old, Victoria thought, but he was kind to Feodora who loved him and he loved her and the children adored him, so Victoria was very ready to take him to her own affectionate heart.

  The children were a source of amusement and delight; they were so well behaved and far from shy. They chattered away and were already very fond of their Aunt Victoria. They thanked her for all the presents she had sent them – no doubt primed to do this by Feodora and their nurses – but they did it so prettily that Victoria was very touched.

  ‘I daresay,’ said the Duchess that afternoon, ‘that Lehzen would like to have her two girls to herself for a while. Victoria, you could take your sister for a drive and Lehzen could accompany you.’

  So off they went through the park with Lehzen sitting with them, laughing and recalling incidents from the past. ‘Do you remember?’ they were constantly asking each other; and Lehzen sat there, her cheeks flushed, her lips quivering now and then with emotion and her eyes unnaturally bright as she listened to the light-hearted chatter of the two she loved so dearly.

  Feodora was happy in her marriage. She saw that and was grateful. May Victoria find happiness as great was her prayer.

  Back at the Palace they dined and during dinner Charles and Eliza were brought in to say good night. How excited they were to be in England with the relations they had never before seen. How gay and happy they were! Eliza was much taken with her Grandmamma’s appearance; she loved all the bows and ribbons and the jewels which adorned the Duchess’s person. Victoria had rarely seen her mother so naturally happy as she was with these darling grandchildren.

  How I wish it were always like this! she thought.

  They had arranged to go to the Opera that evening, but Feodora said that she could not keep her eyes open.

  ‘My love,’ said the Duchess tenderly, ‘it has been a very tiring day for you. You must go to bed early. The others can go to the Opera without you. As long as Victoria is present it will be all right.’

  Victoria was glad it had been decided for her because she loved the Opera – in fact Italian Opera gave her more pleasure than anything, even drawing and writing in her Journal – but at the same time she would have enjoyed staying behind to be with Feodora. But as the Duchess said they had weeks ahead of them to chatter and Feodora was tired, so to the Opera went Victoria.

  It was Rossini’s L’Assiedo di Corrinto and Giuletta Grisi – Victoria’s very favourite artist – sang superbly. The Princess was entranced; and when Taglioni danced in Les Sylphides afterwards she felt that she had rarely enjoyed a day as she had enjoyed this one.

  Moreover it was ten minutes to one when the party returned to Kensington Palace – a very late night to end a perfect day.

  It was impossible for the Duchess to decline the Queen’s invitation for her visitors to go to Windsor for the Ascot races. It would indeed have been a slight to her daughter and the Prince of Hohenlohe-Langenburg if they had not been received by the King and Queen.

  The children did not go, but remained at Kensington Palace with their nurses. How sad! thought Victoria. Aunt Adelaide would have loved them.

  Windsor, restored by George IV, was very grand; but Feodora was delighted to find the Queen as homely and kind as ever – although when she had left Adelaide had been merely Duchess of Clarence; and the King was kind too and delighted to see Feodora ‘with a nice little family, eh? Four of them. Good going. Like to see them. You should have brought them. Nothing like a family!’ It was rather a tactless remark to make in the presence of the barren Queen but Adelaide was used to him by now.

  It was going to be very amusing at Windsor, Victoria was sure, as long as Mamma did not offend the King or he her. She found herself becoming very uneasy when they were in the same company and watching them both, which did spoil the enjoyment a little. But the Duchess had changed with the coming of Feodora; she did love the grandchildren so perhaps she was in a happier mood and not worrying all the time that it should be remembered she was the mother of the future Queen.

  They went riding in the park together. How Victoria loved the park, and loved riding and dancing and everything that accompanied a visit to Windsor for the races. Victoria took her sister to see the recently erected statue of George III.

  ‘There is a wonderful view from Snow Hill,’ she said, ‘and really poor Grandpapa does look very grand up there.’

  ‘Poor man!’ said Feodora.

  ‘It was all very sad,’ added Victoria. ‘They didn’t tell me for a long time. In fact I had to find out for myself. They are inclined to treat me as a child.’

  ‘Poor Victoria! I know what it can be like. Now that I have escaped from Kensington …’

  ‘Escaped, Feodora? It sounds as though you think it like a prison.’

  ‘There were so many restrictions.’

  ‘There still are.’

  ‘And you, of course, are specially guarded. But, my dearest little sister, it will be different when you marry.’

  ‘Seeing you with dear Ernest makes me feel that there is a lot to be said for the married state.’

  ‘Our cousins came to see you a little while ago. Did you like them?’

  ‘Oh … immensely.’

  ‘I think you might like the Coburg cousins even better.’

  ‘Do you, Feodora?’

  ‘They are more … what shall I say … manly. Ernest is my favourite of the two.’

  ‘Do tell me why?’

  ‘He is so honest and good-humoured.’

  ‘Oh, isn’t Albert?’

  ‘Oh yes. But he is more handsome and I think much more clever.’

  ‘I like handsome clever people.’

  ‘You will have a chance to see them soon, I daresay.’

  ‘I have not heard that they are coming.’

  ‘They will, Uncle Leopold is very anxious that they should.’

  ‘In that case I shall give them a special welcome.’

  ‘You see, my dear little sister, you are fifteen. It is quite old for a royal person.’

  ‘It certainly seems very old. In three years’ time I shall be of age. Think of that, Feodora. I shall no longer be …’

  She did not finish the sentence. It seemed wrong to criticise Mamma even to Feodora.

  ‘Sir John is always in such evidence,’ said Feodora.

  ‘We cannot escape from that man.’

  ‘He seems to be a permanent inmate of the household.’

  ‘That is exactly what he is. And Lady Conroy too, although she is meek.’

  ‘She would have to be,’ put in Feodora.

  ‘And Jane and Victoire are quite pleasant. But until a little while ago I saw very few young people besides them. The boys are sweet. I quite like them, but …’

  Feodora sighed. ‘Never mind. Three years’ time and … then freedom.’

  Much as she would have enjoyed to carry on this conversation, Victoria felt that it was disloyal in some way, so she began to talk of Sir Richard Westmacott’s bronze statue again and how fine it looked there in the Park, and how Uncle George had done so much for Windsor as well as Buckingham House which she believed was almost ready for occupation.

  ‘Do you remember the time when we came to Windsor and he took me riding in his carriage? “Pop her in,” he said when we met him in the Park, and Mamma was so frightened; but I loved riding so fast between him and Aunt Mary. I called him Uncle King and he was very kind; and he liked you, Feodora … he liked you particularly. I thought he wanted to marry you.’

  Feodora laughed. ‘Fancy if he had.’

  ‘You would have been the Queen of England.’

  ‘And that, my love, is a title reserved for you.’

  Now they had begun the fascinating game of ‘Do you Remember?’ which lasted throughout the ride.

  The company was assembled for dinner with one notable exception. The Duchess of Kent had not appeared. The Queen was waiting for her, because she did not feel that she could lead the guests into the dining-saloon without the Duchess who was one of the most important guests.

  Victoria was growing nervous. Why did Mamma not come? She knew the answer. The Duchess had been angry because not enough respect had been paid to her. Everywhere they went it was always the King, the Queen and Victoria. It was Victoria who sat between the King and the Queen, Victoria whom everyone watched and the Duchess did not like it. Victoria might be the future Queen but she was a child and while she remained a child the Duchess was a deputy for her. Nothing infuriated her more than to be treated as merely an honoured guest. She was the guest of honour – as representative of the heir to the throne. Next to the King and Queen should come the Duchess.

  She believed the King deliberately slighted her and Victoria had heard her remark to Sir John that she had had enough.

  Now she was keeping the house party waiting, to show that they could not go in to dine without her, and therefore must await her pleasure.

  The Queen, who was anxious to avoid any trouble, had at first pretended not to notice her absence; but now of course she could not do so. Dinner could not be postponed for half an hour without there being a reason.

  The King was getting testy. At any moment Adelaide knew he would command that they went in without the Duchess; and that would be an insult. ‘Half an hour late for dinner. Damned bad manners,’ growled the King.

  He said in an audible voice to the Queen: ‘We’re waiting for that woman I suppose.’

  ‘I am sure she will be here very soon now,’ soothed Adelaide.

  ‘If not we’ll go in without her.’ The King’s face had reddened. He shouted: ‘That woman is a nuisance!’ Just as the Duchess, ghttering and feathered, made her entrance.

  Victoria held her breath with horror. What would happen now? The King was glaring at the Duchess who seemed blithely unaware of him and so sure of her right to keep the company waiting if she so wished to.

  Dear kind Aunt Adelaide put an end to the scene in her usual gentle tactful way.

  ‘Let us go into dinner,’ she said, as though nothing upsetting had happened.

  That was the only incident which spoiled the visit.

  What fun to drive off to the races – herself sitting with Mamma and the King and Queen. Mamma was gracious on that day because she was in the first carriage; and although the King did not look at her, the Queen behaved as though nothing had happened and she and Victoria laughed and chatted together which was comforting. Dear Feodora rode in the second carriage followed by the rest of the carriages – so many of them that Victoria did not know the number. There were people of all kinds on the race-course and the royal party aroused great attention as it went on its way to the King’s stand.

 

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