The Captive of Kensington Palace Read online

  ‘The Queen and I are very quiet people,’ he would say. ‘She sits over her embroidery after dinner and I’ll doze and nod a bit.’

  He had a talent for making the kind of remarks which could be seized on by the press and those who liked to report the eccentricities of the King. For instance when he had asked a guest to attend a ceremony the man replied that he could not do so as he did not possess the required kind of breeches. ‘Nonsense … ceremony … stuff!’ cried the King. ‘Let him come without.’ ‘Stuff’ was one of his favourite words for that etiquette which he wished to sweep away and he applied it to anything of which he did not approve.

  Not only was he completely lacking in royal dignity, he was tactless in the extreme. He was constantly telling Adelaide that he did not know what he would do without her and that she was more to him than any beautiful and attractive woman could ever have been. He gave people lifts in his carriage. He shook hands affably like any visiting squire; he told the Freemasons whom he was addressing on one occasion: ‘Gentlemen, if my love for you equalled my ignorance of everything concerning you, it would indeed be unbounded.’ He behaved in every way that was unkingly; but all knew that he meant to be kind.

  He had made it clear that he would not allow his brother Cumberland to dominate him as he had dominated the late King. Cumberland was deprived of his Gold Stick, told to remove his horses from the Windsor stables because the Queen needed them for her carriage, and at a dinner the King had toasted the country and glaring at his brother had added: ‘And let those who don’t like it leave it.’

  As Cumberland was at the height of his unpopularity this further endeared William to his people.

  He was a blundering old man, but as long as he kept his sanity, the people were pleased with him.

  Adelaide, who had become very fond of him since her marriage and suffered from a terrible sense of failure because she had failed to give him an heir, grew more and more nervous. When the people became over-excited she was afraid there would be riots. She had never understood the exuberance of the English; and she was well aware that there was terrible unrest throughout the country. The affairs of France were once more in chaos; what happened in that country could happen in England, so Adelaide believed. There was one word which was constantly being used in all circles: Reform.

  The people throughout the country were dissatisfied with their lot. The differences between the rich and the poor were too great. The harvest had been bad; food was dear and there was no money to buy bread. The silk weavers of Spitalfields were in revolt; the farm labourers of Kent were demanding more money; and the mill hands farther north were restive. Hay-ricks were burned down in the night; barns set on fire. Through the country men were threatening dire consequences if there were not Reform.

  All this worried Adelaide.

  ‘Trouble?’ said William. ‘There’s always been trouble. My father was nearly assassinated several times.’

  ‘But you must take great care.’

  Dear Adelaide! He wouldn’t have changed her for any one of his brother’s beauties in their prime.

  There was a change of attitude in the FitzClarence children which Adelaide was quick to detect. Now that their father was King they believed all sorts of honours should come their way. They didn’t see why they should be left out simply because their father hadn’t married their mother and she was an actress. They were the acknowledged sons and daughters of the King.

  William had done so much for them and he loved them all dearly, and Adelaide thought them ungrateful. She was glad – and so was William – that the dear little grandchildren were too young to understand the greatness which had descended on their grandpapa.

  So at Brighton she had hoped for a little respite from the glare of publicity. As if this could be found at that most glittering of towns! Brighton welcomed its new sovereign as it had always welcomed the late one, to whom it must for ever be grateful for making it what it was – rich, fashionable, elegant Brighton in place of Little Brighthelmstone which had nothing to recommend it but a little fishing.

  The Pavilion – home of the late King’s most brilliant entertainments – was scarcely the place in which to relax. But they would rest here, said William. They would have no reclining on sofas to listen to music like so many Eastern worthies. There would be no brilliant banquets with people vying with each other to show off their silks and satins and brocades. A homely atmosphere should be brought into the Pavilion.

  So the King chatted freely with his guests; and he breakfasted with his wife precisely every morning at nine – no lying abed all through the day as his brother had done – and Adelaide herself made the tea at one end of the table while one of her maids of honour made coffee at the other end.

  Then they chatted for a while and the King went off to receive some of his ministers who had come to see him, or he would take a drive with the Queen. In the afternoons he sometimes walked out alone. He liked to do this without attendants, and the children of the town, recognising him, would run up and call: ‘Hello, King!’ which amused him; and he would very often take them into one of the shops and buy sweets for them.

  He was a most unusual monarch, but a source of amusement to the people; and there was nothing they liked better than to be amused.

  As for the ceremonies and elegance of the last reign – ‘Stuff!’ said the King.

  But in spite of his popularity those uneasy murmurs were rumbling through the country. There would have to be Reform.

  When the royal pair could stay no longer in Brighton they returned to St James’s, and Adelaide pointed out to the King that it would be necessary for him to see more of Victoria now. They must not forget that she was heiress to the throne.

  ‘We might supplant her even yet, eh?’

  ‘Ah, if that were possible! But I greatly fear we shall never have a child. It is some fault in me.’

  ‘Now, now, you don’t want to fret yourself. There’s this little girl at Kensington. Nice little creature. Don’t like her mother, though. My God, what a handful of a woman. And to think I might have had her! They gave her to Edward because she had to be wooed and they thought I’d make a mess of the wooing. So they gave me you, Adelaide … who had no choice. So you see we had no choice, either of us.’

  ‘So we should be grateful that we were not displeased.’

  ‘So you weren’t displeased, eh?’

  ‘I thank God every night for my good husband.’

  His eyes filled with tears. ‘And I for my good wife. Couldn’t have a better. You could give me all the beauties in the land …’

  That reminded him of those days when having deserted Dorothy Jordan he had sought to marry and been flouted by the heiresses he had chosen except Miss Wykeham, who had accepted him only to learn that her hopes of becoming Duchess of Clarence were dashed as his family rejected her. He smiled. What a scene there had been at the time with George – the Regent then – and his mother, Queen Charlotte, explaining why he couldn’t have Miss Wykeham for all her money and must take the German Princess Adelaide instead.

  He went on thinking aloud – a habit to which Adelaide had become accustomed. ‘Should do something for Miss Wykeham. She hoped to marry me. But they wouldn’t have it. She was the only one who agreed to marry me. Yes, should do something for her. Give her a peerage, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adelaide, ‘give her a peerage, but we must see something of Victoria now. She ought to appear at Court.’

  ‘Could have seen more of her years ago but for that stuck-up mother of hers. She won’t let Victoria mix with my children! By God, does she realise that my children are the children of the King!’

  ‘She will now,’ said Adelaide soothingly. ‘But I think I shall take the first opportunity of calling at Kensington Palace. I’ll go and see Sophia first. She will know what is happening in the Kent apartments. But Victoria must be present at the next Drawing-Room.’

  ‘You go, my dear. And tell that woman that her daughter will be commanded to c
ome to Court no matter who is there. It’s for the King to decide who shall or who shall not come to his Court.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adelaide, ‘I will go to Kensington.’

  * * *

  The Princess Sophia laid aside her netting to embrace Adelaide.

  ‘It is so good of you to come, my dear. There must be so much to do. How is the King?’

  ‘He is very well, thank you.’

  ‘I’m glad, I’m glad. William was always a little excitable.’

  Sophia was looking sideways at her sister-in-law. Oh dear, thought Adelaide, people who lived lonely uneventful lives were avid for every bit of gossip; and if it were not good news they seemed to enjoy it the more.

  What had Sophia heard about William’s unbalanced state?

  ‘Oh, he is becoming accustomed to being the King now,’ said Adelaide. ‘At first it is a little bewildering.’

  ‘And he has the Duke to help him.’

  ‘Oh yes, the King relies on Wellington.’

  ‘You have heard the news from there.’ Sophia nodded towards the wall in the direction of the Kent apartments.

  ‘News?’

  ‘Späth is going.’

  ‘The Baroness Späth … to leave!’

  ‘Oh yes, she is being sent to Feodora. She will be so useful in the nursery there, so says the Duchess.’

  ‘But surely she is needed here.’

  Princess Sophia lifted her shoulders. She was not going to mention the real reason for the dismissal of Späth. She felt it was in some way disloyal to Sir John; and in any case she did not like to think of his being on familiar terms with the Duchess.

  ‘They say Lehzen will be going next.’

  ‘Lehzen. They could not lose her. Where would they find another like her?’

  ‘We don’t want another like her. She makes too much of the child. Victoria has too much sense of her own importance.’

  ‘Poor child, I fear it is a great responsibility for her. And she is so young.’

  ‘She is watched all the time. If it isn’t her mother, it’s Lehzen.’

  ‘I always believed Lehzen was devoted to the child.’

  Sophia laughed. ‘You know there have always been complaints about the Germans surrounding the Princess. I think the people would like to see some English women there.’

  ‘So Späth is going because she is to be replaced by some Englishwoman?’

  ‘That I can’t say,’ replied Sophia, ‘but it may well be the case.’

  She wondered whether Adelaide would hear the rumour about Sir John and the Duchess. At least she had given no hint of it.

  ‘We shall expect to see Victoria more often now,’ went on Adelaide. ‘It is time she came out of seclusion.’

  ‘Ha! You’ll have to see what her Mamma has to say about that.’ Sophia went on to ask after George Cambridge and Adelaide, always ready to talk of the children, settled down to a long discussion about them.

  Then she went to see the Duchess of Kent.

  * * *

  The Duchess greeted the Queen not without some condescension. Adelaide might be the Queen, but she was only Queen Consort, whereas Victoria Duchess of Kent was the mother of the future Queen.

  After the first pleasantries were exchanged Adelaide asked after Victoria and learned that she was very well.

  ‘That is good. She is always in such blooming health, and what vitality she has! Our little Victoria is a credit to you.’

  The Duchess radiated momentary contentment. Victoria was indeed well, indeed she was a credit; and so she should be. Nothing had been spared in Victoria’s upbringing. When the time came she would make a perfect Queen.

  ‘The King and I have been saying that we should see more of her at Court.’

  The Duchess’s eyes had narrowed slightly.

  ‘She is young yet.’

  ‘But she is eleven years old; soon she will be twelve. It is quite time that she made a few appearances. The people expect it. Have you forgotten that she is heiress presumptive to the throne?’

  Heiress presumptive! What a horrible title. It reminded one so clearly that something could go wrong. And by wrong the Duchess meant Adelaide might have a child. What a dreadful possibility! This woman – this Queen – was not old; she could still bear a child; and the Duchess could be sure that she was making every attempt to do so. What if she did? She had had several attempts. It was true they had failed but what if there should be another attempt and that be successful? Heiress Presumptive! No, Heiress Apparent was so much better. And how much better still: the Queen. But this woman’s wretched husband had to die first and on no account must Adelaide be pregnant.

  ‘I have certainly not forgotten,’ said the Duchess coldly. ‘It is for this reason that I have had to protect my daughter for so long.’

  ‘Well, I trust now that she is growing up we shall see more of her. The King would like to see her at Bushy.’

  ‘If His Majesty wishes to see her, he knows what he must do!’

  Adelaide was amazed that the Duchess could speak so of the King. No wonder William disliked her.

  ‘I … don’t fully understand,’ said Adelaide hesitantly.

  ‘His Majesty is surrounded by his bastards at Bushy. I think it would be extremely unsuitable for the … er … Heiress Presumptive … to mix with them.’

  ‘They are the King’s own children, and he as King has them living with him en famille.’

  ‘I should never allow Victoria to come into contact with these people.’

  ‘But the King wishes to see more of her and as he has no intention of dismissing his own family, it is almost certain that she will.’

  ‘I cannot allow it.’ The Duchess was imperious. Any observer would have thought that she was the Queen, Adelaide the Duchess. She began to walk about the apartment, her bracelets jingling, her impressive bosom heaving, so that the jewels with which she loved to adorn herself glittered in fiery defiance. ‘Nor,’ she went on, ‘do I think that I should be expected to live in these apartments which are entirely inadequate for the Heiress to the throne. I am living under the same roof as that Buggin woman. Oh, I know she has rented Niddry Lodge on Camden Hill there, but she is more often in the apartments of the Duke of Sussex. Buggin! My daughter is expected to live at close quarters with a woman named Buggin.’

  ‘She is hardly responsible for her name.’

  ‘She is entirely responsible. She married it! As the daughter of the Earl of Arran she should have known better.’

  ‘Augustus seems to be delighted with her.’

  ‘Augustus has no right to be.’

  ‘Perhaps he will marry her now that Augusta is dead. He swore that he couldn’t, you know, while he had a wife living, and although Augusta was not recognised as his wife he always regarded himself as married to her, even after they separated. I think it rather noble of him.’

  The Duchess looked with scorn at Adelaide. How mild she was! She had no jealousy of herself which the Duchess could not understand when what Adelaide desired above all else was a child, and she, the Duchess, had her healthy Victoria, Heiress Presumptive to the throne.

  ‘Noble!’ snorted the Duchess. ‘Living with the Buggin woman, which is what he is doing. It’s most irregular. But what I find so disturbing is that he should be doing so under the same roof as Victoria.’

  Oh dear, thought Adelaide. The Duchess of Kent was in a truculent mood. She had better leave her and decide later what should be done. She must be careful not to tell William too much. He was always annoyed with the Duchess; and indeed the woman did give herself airs. But if he knew she was going to set herself up in deliberate defiance he would become very excitable, which was just the state he must most carefully avoid.

  * * *

  When the Queen had gone the Duchess sat at her table and wrote to the Duke of Wellington.

  Now that King George IV was dead and his brother had become King William IV, this meant that the Princess Victoria was heiress to the throne. (She would
not use that horrible word Presumptive.) She believed that it was quite unsuitable for the heiress to the throne to be living in comparative penury. She believed that an income should immediately be settled on her, and that her mother should become the Dowager Princess of Wales.

  When she had written the letter she took it to Sir John and showed it to him.

  He smiled. His tempestuous Duchess was indeed a handful, but he liked her for it; and as long as he could guide her, he had no objection to her arrogance towards others.

  The request was absurd, he knew. Her husband, the Duke of Kent, had never been the Prince of Wales and so it would be quite irregular to bestow a title on her to which she had no right.

  He imagined the Duke’s face when he received such a demand.

  Should he advise her to send it? Why not? It would estrange her farther than ever from the King, and Conroy’s one fear was that the Duchess would become friendly with her late husband’s family. If she did so, they might turn her from Sir John. It was bad enough to have Leopold as a rival, for while Leopold was so close to her, Conroy could never have the complete control he longed for. He always had to be wary of Leopold. But he was determined that no other members of the family should attempt to oust him from his position.

  ‘It is as well to let the King know through Wellington that you are conscious of your position,’ he said; so the note was sent.

  * * *

  When Wellington received the Duchess’s letter he said: ‘The insanity in the royal family has spread to the Duchess. She is certainly mad to think for one moment that such a possibility could be considered.’

  ‘Madam,’ he wrote, ‘your request is not admissible.’

  When the Duchess received his cold reply she was furious. She went with it at once to Conroy.

  ‘This man Wellington gives himself airs. Because he won a battle he thinks he can rule the country. Who is he? Arthur Wellesley! He thinks because he was present at the Battle of Waterloo that entitles him to insult me. It was very likely Blucher who was responsible for that victory. And because of it, he thinks he can command us all. And what of his relationship with Mrs Arbuthnot? I have heard that he neglects his Duchess shamefully for that woman. The Duchess of Wellington may be a fool but it is nothing to his credit that he should treat her as though she does not exist. And this is the man who dares tell me I have no right to the title of Dowager Princess of Wales.’