The Captive of Kensington Palace Read online

  There was the figure in stiff farthingale and ruff. ‘Certainly I shall not take your name,’ said Victoria sternly. ‘It would be as though you had laid a spell on me. And that, as you know, I should never allow. I am myself. And if dear Aunt Adelaide does not have a child and I become a Queen, then I shall be Victoria.’

  Chapter VII

  THE KING’S DRAWING-ROOM

  How pleasant it was to go to Ramsgate. She missed Uncle Leopold because the last time she had visited the place he had been with her. They used to walk along by the sea together, he holding her hand, and the people scarcely noticing them, while he told her about dear Charlotte and how he had loved her and had had to control her – and how grateful she was to be controlled. (‘As you must be, my darling.’ ‘Oh yes, yes, dearest Uncle. I am sure you know best.’)

  And now Uncle Leopold was in Belgium being a King and there were only his letters which she looked for, and they came regularly; she treasured every one and read them again and again. Perhaps, she told herself, one day he will come and see me.

  In the meantime, here she was at Ramsgate without him, but with dear Lehzen and her new governess the Duchess of Northumberland, who interfered very little, and Mamma and Sir John and the rest of the household.

  She wrote to Feodora and Uncle Leopold and told them all about it. What a pleasure it was to write. It makes one’s experiences so much more vivid, she told Lehzen; and Lehzen said it was a very good exercise.

  Life was exciting. She was growing up. There was a great deal of talk about what she should do. When they returned to Kensington she might go to the opera. Uncle William had hinted that he wished her to make public appearances. Perhaps she would be allowed to go to some of Aunt Adelaide’s parties, and share in the fun which her cousins enjoyed.

  In the meantime Mamma gave orders that the Royal standard should be flown over the house in which they were staying.

  ‘Is that right, Lehzen?’ asked Victoria. ‘I thought the Royal Standard only flew over the Sovereign’s residence.’

  ‘That is true. But your Mamma regards you as the Sovereign and therefore has given this order.’

  Victoria frowned. ‘I don’t think Uncle William will be very pleased when he hears of it. Mamma should not have done it.’

  Oh dear, there were so many things which Mamma did and which she really had no right to do.

  * * *

  At precisely a quarter to eight the King’s valet knocked at the door of the bedroom William shared with Adelaide.

  The King sighed, stretched his legs and remembered the irritating thoughts on which he had gone to sleep the previous night. That woman. She would have to be stopped. The idea of flying the Royal Standard over the house in Ramsgate! It was as though she had killed him off and buried him already.

  It would not do. And she should be told so.

  He allowed himself five minutes before he rose. He looked over at the Queen’s bed; Adelaide was still sleeping. They did not share a bed nowadays, although they slept in the same room.

  ‘Work to be done,’ he said to himself; and getting out of bed put on his flannel dressing-gown.

  In his dressing-room his valet was waiting for him.

  ‘Good morning, Your Majesty.’

  The King nodded. He looked about him slyly, knowing what was expected of him.

  ‘No visitors this morning, Jemmett?’

  ‘Well, Sir, not that I’ve seen.’

  ‘Better begin, eh, without them.’

  ‘If that is Your Majesty’s wish, Sir.’

  The King sat down and winked at Jemmett, who began to fix the towel about his neck.

  There was a sudden whispering of ‘No … let me. It’s my turn.’ ‘You said …’ All of which William pretended not to notice. Then a pair of small hands were put over his eyes; someone was standing on the chair Jemmett had discreetly placed at the appropriate spot.

  ‘Guess who? Guess who!’

  ‘My goodness me!’ cried the King. ‘What is this? What is this, eh?’ As though he did not know and that it did not happen every morning in the King’s dressing-room.

  ‘Guess who, Grandpapa.’

  ‘Then let me see. It is George.’

  ‘No, it is not.’

  ‘Then it is Adelaide …’

  ‘No … no … no.’

  And he would go through the names of the grandchildren until he said the one expected of him; and knowing who it was he always left that one till last.

  That little game over, the children came to stand round the silver ewer which Jemmett was placing on the table in front of the King.

  ‘Now you’ve got to bend your head over … hasn’t he, Jemmett?’

  ‘It’s true,’ Jemmett agreed.

  ‘And whish … over it goes all over Grandpapa’s poor old head.’

  ‘It smells nice though.’

  ‘Oh yes, it smells lovely.’

  ‘I shall have first smell.’

  ‘No, me …’

  The King’s eyes filled with tears as he watched them – his dear, dear grandchildren who enlivened his days and made him forget the minor irritations of adult life: the growing cupidity of his children – the parents of these little ones; the arrogance of that Kensington woman; the inability of Adelaide to bear a child; and worst of all the growing unrest in the country and the continual cry for Reform.

  Intent eyes watched him; little pink faces glowed with anticipation. One would have thought it was the first time they had ever seen his valet wash him. Dorothy’s grandchildren! he thought. How proud she would be to see them now! So lively and healthy, so much a part of the royal household. Adelaide loved them no less than he did, bless her.

  He bent his head over the bowl and there were squeals of delight as the rose water was poured over his head. Jemmett rubbed the liquid into his hair and over his face and then dried it vigorously.

  ‘There,’ said William. ‘Now I am a clean old man.’

  ‘Grandpapa is a clean old man,’ cried the children.

  ‘Where’s my coat, Jemmett?’ asked the King.

  He was dressed while the children looked on. Then he sat down and one by one they came up and gave him a smacking kiss.

  When the last kiss had been exchanged, the King rose.

  ‘I think it is time we went to breakfast.’

  ‘Queeny will be waiting,’ one of the children said.

  ‘Then let us waste no more time. I am hungry if you are not.’

  ‘Oh we are, Grandpapa.’

  They jostled each other for the possession of a hand and clustered round him they went into breakfast.

  * * *

  The Queen, seated at one end of the breakfast table received a good morning kiss from each of the children.

  ‘Just a dish of coffee, William?’ she asked.

  ‘Just that.’

  ‘And the usual two fingers of bread. My dear William, you do not eat enough.’

  The children had seated themselves at the table; at the other end, opposite Adelaide, one of the maids of honour was making the tea.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Adelaide.

  The King nodded. ‘But I had that woman on my mind.’

  The children were listening intently so Adelaide made the usual ‘not before them’ sign which William constantly provoked.

  ‘Grandpapa doesn’t eat enough,’ said young Adelaide.

  ‘My father used to say that people ate too much and there was a tendency in the family to run to fat,’ said the King.

  ‘Run to fat.’ Some of the little ones were bewildered. ‘How do you run to fat, Grandpapa?’

  ‘Now you have some explaining to do,’ said Adelaide, glad that the conversation had turned from William’s father, who in himself was a dangerous subject. Soon these little ones would be learning why they were not always received at certain functions, why the difficult Duchess of Kent would not allow her daughter to mix with them. There were so many secrets in the family.

  But William w
as happy while the children were with him; he could throw himself into playing games with them, amusing them, being one of them. If only, sighed Adelaide, we had had children. If only we could live the lives of simple people.

  But very soon some of the King’s ministers would be arriving and State business would begin, and there was all this dreadful trouble in the country. Adelaide was often fearful when she contemplated what had happened in France. Oh dear, if there should be revolution here!

  But William was popular, or he had been in the first weeks of his accession. The people’s mood changed quickly, though.

  Dear William! He was doing his utmost to be a good King and he did enjoy the role. There was no doubt about that. Even when he had to sign countless papers – a monarch’s less majestic task – he enjoyed it. And what a stack of papers his brother had left unsigned! She would never forget the sight of poor William spending his evenings trying to catch up with the unsigned documents, and how she and the Princess Augusta had had to bathe and massage his poor fingers because they grew so stiff with holding the pen. How much happier he would have been playing a game of Pope Joan!

  Now the nurses were coming in to remove the grandchildren who set up wails of protest at being removed, much to William’s secret delight.

  ‘Later we’ll have a game,’ he said.

  ‘Promise, Grandpapa. Promise!’

  And the King gave his solemn promise.

  ‘Rascals,’ said the King indulgently, smiling at Adelaide.

  ‘They adore you.’

  ‘You too, my dear. You’ve been good to them, Adelaide.’

  The newspapers were brought in. This was an uneasy hour. Who could know what he was going to find? He sat growling over them. Now and then an exclamation would break from him. ‘Stuff!’ ‘Damned lie!’

  Adelaide was glad when the Duke of Wellington arrived.

  * * *

  George FitzClarence, William’s eldest son, looked in to join them at luncheon. The King was proud of his handsome firstborn. George was now interesting himself in politics having retired two years ago from the Army as lieutenant-colonel. Adelaide felt rather uneasy. The ‘children’ as she called them had changed since William had become King. In the old days when she had first married they had been as her own children; she had nursed this very George during her honeymoon when he had broken his leg and William had brought him to her. They had been great friends, but now George and his brothers and sisters had become rather sullen, resenting the fact that they were not legitimate. The Duchess of Kent was responsible for a great deal of this. She had given instructions that Victoria was not to come into contact with the FitzClarences. It was all very silly – and worse, it made trouble. Adelaide hated trouble.

  It was brewing now, she could see by George’s expression. Oh dear, he was going to upset William, but the King cheerfully eating his two cutlets and disposing of his two glasses of sherry was as yet unaware of it.

  Luncheon over, William decided that he would take a walk in the gardens and that George should accompany him. This suited George for it would give him an opportunity of saying what he wanted to.

  As soon as they were alone, George said: ‘It’s ridiculous, Father, that you as the King should have an untitled eldest son.’

  William sighed. ‘My dear George, I have looked after you children well … as your mother would have wished. You shall have honours, in time. These things have to be arranged.’

  ‘That’s an old story,’ said George rudely – since William had become King he and his brothers had delighted in being rude to the old man. ‘It’s easy enough if you want to.’

  ‘I’ve looked after you all. And I shan’t forget you.’

  ‘I want a title. I should be an Earl. I am the King’s son.’

  ‘I tell you you’ll have to wait.’

  ‘I don’t feel inclined to wait. I’ve waited long enough.’

  ‘By God,’ cried the King. ‘The Crown hasn’t been mine for a year yet.’

  ‘It doesn’t take a year to recognise your son.’

  ‘When have I failed to accept you as my son?’

  ‘As your bastard … perhaps.’

  ‘My dear George, that’s exactly what you are.’

  George strode off in a fury. William looked after him with the tears starting to his eyes.

  He could not bear to quarrel with his children. He would have to see what could be done to satisfy George.

  * * *

  ‘You must never forget your position,’ said the Duchess of Kent. ‘The King and Queen are apt to act in the homeliest way; and this may have its effect on you. However they behave, you must always remember who you are.’

  ‘Yes, Mamma,’ said Victoria.

  ‘Now this is one of your first public appearances. Don’t forget that everyone will be watching you.’

  ‘Yes, Mamma.’

  ‘We have to uphold our dignity, you realise that, I hope.’

  Victoria did realise this.

  ‘You will stand on the left of the Queen, and you must never forget that you are the heiress to the throne.’

  ‘I should not be allowed to if I wished it,’ said Victoria with some irony.

  Driving to St James’s was pleasant, although the people did not notice her as Mamma wished. She would have liked them to shout: ‘God save the Queen-to-be.’ Mamma seemed to forget that it was possible for Aunt Adelaide to have a child. And if she did? Victoria sometimes thought that it might be rather pleasant to be like the Georges, Cumberland and Cambridge, and not have to be constantly watched and primed.

  It was very grand at the Drawing-Room. The King couldn’t look anything else but a weatherbeaten jolly old gentleman and all the silks and satins and jewels couldn’t make Aunt Adelaide into a beautiful Queen; but Victoria standing on the Queen’s left looking very young in her white silk dress with her pearl necklace and the diamond clasp in her hair attracted some attention. There was something so fresh and young about her which was very appealing.

  Aunt Adelaide whispered to her that it was a bit of an ordeal but it would soon be over and she was behaving charmingly so that all the people would love her.

  Dear Aunt Adelaide, who was also so kind and sympathetic towards the young, and showed no resentment at all because her own little Elizabeth had not lived to stand in the place where Victoria now stood today. Sometimes Victoria even now felt a desire to cling to Aunt Adelaide and talk to her as she could not talk to her own mother – not even to Lehzen. The Duchess was too ambitious; Lehzen just a little stern; as for Uncle Leopold he was too perfect and therefore somewhat remote. But Aunt Adelaide with her plain face and her nose that was a little pink at the tip and the rather spotty complexion seemed to shine with a motherliness which offered infinite comfort – even to a little girl whose mother had been rude to her.

  ‘You are managing splendidly,’ whispered Aunt Adelaide.

  ‘Oh, dear Aunt Adelaide, I love you so much.’

  Aunt Adelaide’s eyes filled with tears; and Mamma was watching. ‘Don’t be too friendly with the King and Queen,’ had been Mamma’s injunctions, ‘otherwise they will try to impose. There is no need to feel that you must placate them. Nothing can alter the fact that you are the heiress to the throne.’

  But she wanted to be friendly with them because they were such friendly people. Oh dear, she wished she did not feel so uncertain. Obeying Mamma had become a habit. It was usually easier in the end to do as she wished, rather than make storms.

  Mamma was watching her now; she had seen the exchange between her daughter and Aunt Adelaide, and was displeased.

  Family quarrels are so tiresome, thought Victoria. And surely the Queen-to-be should be able to decide on whom she will bestow her friendship.

  The King was smiling at her, but Mamma was watching and she met his smile stonily. William reddened a little and turned away.

  Oh dear, thought Victoria, is the King angry? He is a nice kind old man really and my uncle. Why should I have to be un
pleasant to him? I won’t do it. I’ll smile at him next time.

  But the King did not look her way again.

  When the Drawing-Room was over the royal party remained to talk together, and Victoria found herself sitting between her two cousins George Cumberland and George Cambridge.

  They were both eyeing her with approval. She knew she looked quite pretty with her cheeks flushed and her eyes exceptionally blue which they always were when she was excited. The two boys were definitely interested in her and it was pleasant to bask in masculine admiration.

  ‘I wonder you never come to the Queen’s parties,’ said Cumberland.

  ‘You miss a great deal of fun,’ added Cambridge.

  ‘I know,’ sighed Victoria. ‘But my Mamma does not think I should.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ demanded Cambridge.

  ‘There is some reason.’

  ‘There must be a reason,’ put in Cumberland. ‘Nothing happens without reason, does it?’

  ‘But what can it be?’ asked Cambridge.

  ‘That is something I should like to know,’ said Victoria.

  ‘The house is always full of FitzClarence children,’ George Cambridge told her.

  He could not take his eyes from Victoria because he had heard the King say to the Queen that he thought it might not be a bad idea to arrange a match between them. Imagine this little girl, his wife. And she would be Queen of England if the King and Queen did not have a child. George Cambridge imagined that would be rather pleasant, because the Queen’s husband would really be the King and living with Uncle William made him feel that life as King could be very enjoyable.

  He must not mention this to Victoria now. It was obviously something of which one did not speak, but it was very pleasant to contemplate the prospect.

  He wanted to discover more about Victoria; so did George Cumberland. His parents were constantly speaking of her.

  ‘You must be very lonely at Kensington,’ said Cumberland.