The Captive of Kensington Palace, page 8
‘Yes, as though I were a child who had done a good piece of work.’
‘He never believed anyone could write music but Handel. Oh, Augusta, how different everything might have been if Papa and Mamma had been different. The Princesses of the Royal Court. It sounds so wonderful, does it not? And how dull it was … how unbelievably dull. And yet …’
Augusta went to the harpsichord and began to play. Sophia picked up the purse she was netting.
Augusta was right. It would pass. It was just one of the scandals which were hurled now and then at the royal family.
But Cumberland! How revolting! As if it could have been anyone else but dear Colonel Garth – as he had been in those days. So tender, so loving, so devoted. She would remember the romance of her youth, forget the disgusting construction people were putting on it in their newspapers.
She would live in her quiet corner of Kensington Palace and perhaps it would be wise for the boy not to come for a while. And after that it would pass … perhaps. At least people would cease to talk of it.
‘It is time,’ said the Duchess of Kent to Sir John Conroy, ‘that we were given apartments away from Kensington Palace. Why should I be expected to live here with the Princess Sophia – and indeed these rumours shock me deeply – on one side and the Duke of Sussex on the other and we know how irregularly he is living with that Buggin woman. How he can possibly live with a woman with such a name, I cannot imagine. And under the same roof, I am expected to live with the heiress to the throne.’
‘My dear Duchess,’ said Sir John soothingly, ‘it is iniquitous, I grant you, but I doubt you would be wise to approach His Majesty at this juncture.’
‘His Majesty! A fine example he sets. He has insulted me twice. Once at Victoria’s christening and again at Feodora’s wedding.’
‘Let us do nothing to provoke a third occasion.’ Sir John’s mouth twisted into that expression which was half a smile, half a sneer and which so many women, including the Duchess, found devastatingly attractive.
‘At the earliest possible moment I shall demand recognition for Victoria.’
‘At the earliest possible moment,’ agreed Sir John.
‘Are you sure that I am right in not doing so now? This disgusting scandal …’
‘Serves us well,’ murmured Sir John. ‘Cumberland is in such ill repute that the nation would rise up in wrath if it were suggested that Victoria was sent to Windsor while he was there.’
The Duchess began to smile. ‘That’s true,’ she said.
‘So let us not rail against this new scandal which is to our advantage since it means protection for our Princess. I am always afraid that His Majesty might send a command that she be removed to Windsor.’
‘I should never have permitted it.’
‘I know. But it would have been difficult if the King had made it a command and the Parliament had agreed to it.’
‘I would have taken her out of the country.’
‘But Your Grace would realise how unwise that would be. It is imperative that our Princess remains in England. Heaven alone knows what plot Cumberland might hatch if she were not here.’
The Duchess laid a hand on his arm. ‘Oh dear, what should I do without you.’
He smiled tenderly. Indeed, she thought, I am relying on him even more than I do on Leopold. Leopold has changed lately. It is that Bauer woman. Who would have thought it of Leopold! And he is tiresome sometimes with all his imaginary ailments.
That was sacrilege of course. One did not criticise Leopold in the Saxe-Coburg family. All the same she did find herself relying more and more on Sir John.
‘You can rely on me … for ever,’ he told her. He briskly changed the subject. ‘Our Princess misses her sister sadly. I was wondering if my own little Victoire might help to comfort her.’
‘I am sure she does,’ said the Duchess. His daughter was her godchild – Victoire named after herself and called Victoire so that she should not be confused in the household with Victoria.
‘But even more so,’ persisted Sir John. ‘Perhaps my daughter could share her dancing lessons.’
‘She must of course,’ said the Duchess.
Sir John was well pleased. The two old Baronesses would not be.
Two bundles of German rubbish, he thought. It was time they were neatly packed up and sent off to their native land.
No sooner had the scandal concerning Sophia’s child begun to die down than a fresh one arose. This too concerned Cumberland. It was well known that he was having a love affair with the wife of Lord Graves who was one of the King’s Lords of the Bedchamber.
As the sins of Cumberland had been so much in the public eye this was given more prominence than it would normally have had and Lord Graves declared that he did not believe his wife was being unfaithful to him.
A few days after he had made this announcement he was found in his bed with his throat cut.
He had died, was the report of the newspapers, because of the Duke of Cumberland. And how strange was the manner of his dying. Did their readers remember – it must be nearly twenty years ago – how the Duke’s valet had been found in his bed with his throat cut? It was a similar case.
The Duke’s valet had had a young and pretty wife; and if Lady Graves could scarcely be so described – she was well into her fifties – the Duke had been reputed to be her lover and he was no longer young.
It was very strange. What was the secret of Lord Graves’s death? What was the secret of the Duke’s valet? The Duke had been interested in their wives; they had both been discovered dead in their beds with their throats cut.
It was very, very strange.
This was a hint at murder. It was remembered that the Duke’s wife had had two husbands who had died mysteriously. Royal Dukes might have special names for certain crimes, but people would draw their own conclusions.
The Duchess of Kent was delighted by the news. She took Sir John’s view now and realised that the more that man’s character was blackened the safer they were from his interference.
‘Why,’ said Sir John, ‘if he attempted to force us to hand over Victoria now the people would tear him apart. We should have them on our side.’
He was right, of course. Späth and Lehzen might try to poison her mind against him but they would never succeed. They were a pair of jealous old women. They were devoted, of course, and she liked to have them with her; she trusted them; but they were wrong if they thought they were going to break up her friendship with Sir John.
The Duchess of Cumberland was very uneasy.
‘How could this have happened?’ she demanded of her husband.
‘How could I know the fool was going to cut his throat?’
‘It is certainly very inconvenient of him … at such a time when people are only just stopping to talk of you and Sophia.’
‘Let them talk.’
‘No, Ernest, I do not agree. Let us face the facts. This is not good for us. You will never get Victoria away from Kensington now. The Duchess would have the people on her side. They would never allow their fat little infant to be put into the hands of a murderer who has committed incest with his own sister.’
‘It’s all lies.’
‘It’s what people believe that matters in cases like this. For heaven’s sake choose women with sensible husbands in future. We have to stop these rumours. Why if it were possible … suppose George died tomorrow, suppose William really did go mad, suppose Victoria went into a decline … they might be against you even then. You know how absurdly sentimental people can be.’
‘They like a strong man. They like a mystery. They don’t think any the worse of me for this.’
But the Duchess was not so sure.
She was hoping that her son George would bring about the miracle. They must abandon plans for removing Victoria. There would be revolution if anything happened to that child and it was certain that even if they were innocent they would be blamed for it.
The safest plan was a marriage between George and Victoria. Their son would be the Consort and their grandson would be the future King of England.
It was a circuitous way of arriving at an ambition – but it seemed to the Duchess not only the safest but the only way.
Chapter IV
VICTORIA’S VOW
So much was happening and it was infuriating to be only half aware of it. They would insist on calling her a child. There she was in her nursery, never alone, even sleeping in Mamma’s room and having Lehzen sit with her until Mamma came to bed, growing up rapidly and knowing things were happening, startling things, exciting things, and yet not being told.
Her only companion of her own age was Victoire Conroy, except when she went to Aunt Adelaide’s parties; and she missed almost all of those because they were at Bushy where something disgraceful was going on – or had gone on. Victoria could not believe that Aunt Adelaide had ever behaved disgracefully in her life, although she was doing something at Bushy of which Mamma did not approve.
First her brother Charles had displeased everybody by marrying Maria Klebelsberg which was apparently not very suitable, but because Charles was the Prince of Leiningen, and the ruler now that his father was dead – and he had died long ago when Charles was young, for how could Mamma have married the Duke of Kent if he had not? – no one could forbid him. So Charles was one who had married whom he wished.
After his marriage he had visited Feodora in her husband’s castle which sounded frightening but which Feodora was now beginning to love. He was very happy, wrote Feodora, and they had talked of their dear little sister and wished she was with them. Feodora’s secret was out. She was going to have a baby.
That was very exciting. A baby! It would be like a doll … only a living one. And Victoria would be the child’s aunt. How very strange to be an aunt!
When she went to Claremont she told Louisa Lewis all about it and they laughed together and Louisa called her Aunt Victoria. Then she was sad talking of how excited the Princess Charlotte had been when she knew she was going to have a child and how the months had led to that great tragedy … the greatest of Louisa’s life.
Uncle Leopold talked of it too and they wept together. It was his greatest tragedy; but it was very enjoyable weeping with Uncle Leopold over Charlotte. He said his dear little Victoria was his great consolation and it delighted him that she was so tender-hearted.
So waiting for Feodora’s baby was a happy time – particularly at Claremont where she and Louisa and Uncle Leopold could indulge in such tearful memories of Charlotte.
And in due course Feodora’s baby was born – a little boy who was named Charles Louis William Leopold.
‘He is named after you, dearest Uncle,’ cried Victoria. ‘That makes him doubly dear to me.’
Leopold grudgingly admitted this and was glad it endeared the child to Victoria; but it was clear that he thought Leopold should have been the child’s first name.
It was wonderful receiving letters from Feodora. They were all about the baby now. And Victoria thought it would be pleasant to send the child the mug and porringer which she had herself used as a baby.
Feodora was delighted. Her little Charles could not have had a more delightful gift, she wrote; and she was sure that when he was old enough to understand he would love his Aunt Victoria for sending it.
It was very pleasant to be an aunt. She wondered whether in the circumstances she was too old to play with dolls. She asked Lehzen this and Lehzen, rather reluctantly, agreed that this might be the case.
Victoria sat at the schoolroom table. It was time for the history lesson and Baroness Lehzen was ready to begin. The Rev. George Davys had prepared the lesson as he usually did, for it was he who decided what she should be taught; but he had left the Palace and it was Lehzen’s task to follow his instructions as far as teaching was concerned.
History! She wished it was music or dancing or riding. She smiled secretly, thinking of how alarmed her attendants were when she rode with them. She was so daring, they said; they were always terrified that she would break into a gallop and take a toss. As if she would! She was an expert rider.
‘Now,’ said Lehzen, ‘shall we begin?’
She passed the book to Victoria. It was Howlett’s Tables and contained the genealogical trees of the royal family of England. She had seen it many times.
But as Victoria opened the book a piece of paper fell out of it and on this was a further genealogical tree. She looked at it cursorily and then saw her own name. Alexandrina Victoria, the only child of Edward of Kent. She stared at it; her name was in big black letters. The implication was clear. The King’s only daughter Charlotte had died, her baby with her; Uncle Frederick Duke of York, was dead without heirs; the heir to the throne was William, Duke of Clarence, and Aunt Adelaide would be his Queen. They had no living children, although some had been born to them. Victoria had seen the lovely little statue which Aunt Adelaide kept and wept over. Victoria’s own father was dead and he had only one child – Victoria. That was why her name was in big black letters. There was Uncle William … and after him Victoria.
She looked up and found Lehzen’s eyes upon her.
‘I have not seen this paper before.’
‘No, but it is time you realised the significance of it.’
‘It means that if Uncle William died I should be the Queen.’
Lehzen nodded solemnly.
‘I knew that I was in the line of succession,’ said Victoria gravely, ‘but I did not realise until now how likely it is that I may be the Queen.’
Lehzen did not speak but continued to gaze solemnly at the child.
Then Victoria burst into tears; she was not sure why. Her feelings were prompted by apprehension, and elation, fear yet pride.
Now she knew why she was never allowed to be alone, why the rest of the family frolicked at Aunt Adelaide’s parties and she was not allowed to go. She was important … more so than the other children … because now it seemed almost certain that one day she might be a Queen.
Lehzen allowed her to weep and after a while she dried her eyes.
‘I understand now,’ she said, ‘why you have always urged me to study so hard. I am not so free as my cousins. I must learn history and English and Latin. Oh, I understand so much now.’ She put her hand into Lehzen’s. ‘I will be good,’ she said, as though she were taking an oath of allegiance.
‘My dearest Princess,’ said Lehzen with emotion, ‘when the day comes you will be a great Queen.’
Nothing could be quite the same after that. She no longer played with the dolls. She kept them, though, for she could not bear to part with them; but she stopped her childish conversations with them. She applied herself to her lessons; she was less inclined to indulge in ‘storms’; all the time she was haunted by a crown and sceptre.
She came to the conclusion that one was much happier if one were not so near the throne – like the two Georges, Cumberland and Cambridge. And yet sometimes it was very exciting to contemplate the future. She thought of Uncle King – so old and ill and who would really be rather repulsive if he were not so charming – and she thought: One is always aware that he is the King. He has royal dignity; he has never lost his regality. That was how it must be with Victoria.
‘Queen Victoria.’ She whispered the words to herself sometimes.
Then she would tell herself: But if Aunt Adelaide had a child – and why should she not because she so loved children and longed for one – Victoria would have to stand back. It was not likely but it was not impossible.
She began to dream of her accession to the throne, of the people lining the streets to see her ride to her coronation. She would look after the dear people. She would be a great Queen.
There was one thing of which she was absolutely sure: I will be good.
All through June the King’s death was awaited. He had clung to life for so long; he had been on the point of death for years and always had rallied; but there could be no doubt now.
He lay in his overheated room unconscious of what went on around him; he consumed quantities of cherry brandy; he was almost blind; he suffered from delusions and believed he had won the Battle of Waterloo. Then he would have moments of lucidity when he was his old witty charming self.
But by the beginning of June it was generally believed that the end was near.
Lady Conyngham went through drawers and cupboards; she wanted to miss nothing and now was the last chance to reap the harvest. Once the King was dead her day would be over. She loaded her bags with treasures which she would swear the King had given her, and prepared herself for hasty departure at the appropriate moment.
Cumberland waited. He now had to look to William, for William had managed so far to elude the strait-jacket – thanks to that wise little wife of his. William would be proclaimed King on George’s death and Cumberland was determined to see that he was disqualified. He was sure that would not be difficult. William had shown a most unbecoming impatience and he was over excitable.
Cumberland would get his way, he was sure of it.
But he must be prepared to clear the way to the throne.
So while the old King lay on his deathbed his end was eagerly awaited by those who gazed enviously at his crown.
Victoria in Kensington Palace was told that Uncle King was very ill and there would almost certainly soon be another Uncle King – William instead of George. And Uncle William was very old and often ill and then … Victoria.
And on June 25th King George IV died and the Duke of Clarence became William IV.
Chapter V
THE INDISCRETION OF A BARONESS
William, Duke of Clarence, had arisen early on the morning of Saturday, June 26th, leaving Adelaide in bed. He liked the morning air, he said, and nowhere was it fresher than at Bushy. He was inspecting the flowers when he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs and hurrying across the lawn he saw Sir Henry Halford, his brother’s doctor, dismounting.
He had no need to ask the news. He saw it in Sir Henry’s face. The King was dead.
