The Captive of Kensington Palace Page 16

  She felt sick and ill. Reform or Revolution. That was what Grey thought. But Adelaide believed that Reform was Revolution.

  She sat down in her chair.

  ‘You are feeling faint?’ asked Howe kneeling beside her.

  She shook her head. ‘Please do not stay. If you were to be seen … what construction would they put on that? Please … send my women to me.’

  He stood up and before he went laid the keys on the table.

  * * *

  The mood of the people grew more ugly. The windows of Apsley House were broken by the mob. Anyone who opposed the Bill was the enemy of the People. Effigies of the Queen were burned in public places, but the people still retained an affection for the King who continued to be represented as a foolish old man led astray by his scheming Queen. ‘Oh, I’m a poor weak old man,’ he was reputed to say in the cartoons. ‘They know I’m not able to do anything.’

  Earl Grey came to the King. The Bill must be passed through the Lords. If the King would not create new peers who would support it, the Whig Ministry must resign.

  ‘Resign, then,’ said the King.

  * * *

  William sent for the Duke of Wellington and asked him to form a government. There was a menacing lull in the streets. If Wellington was at the helm with his Tories this would mean disaster for the Bill, and the people would not see the Bill thrown out. They had become obsessed by the Bill; they looked upon it as a magic formula and believed that once it was passed Utopia would be established in England; everything they had hoped for would come to pass.

  It was said that young ladies imagined they would be at once married … when the Bill was passed; schoolboys believed that grammar would be abolished; poets believed that the public would clamour for their works; soldiers would receive double their pay; and the price of pies and cakes would be halved … all that was needed to bring about this miracle was that the Bill should become law.

  The Bill was discussed in every tavern by many who did not understand a word of it. To them it was merely the key to paradise on Earth.

  If Wellington formed a new Tory government opposed to the Bill it would be the sign for the mob to march. There was not a politician who did not know this, and Wellington’s plan was to bring in a new Bill – a Reform Bill yes, but a modified one. Even this would not do; and because there was not a man among them who did not realise that a change of government at that time would mean that the people would rise, it was impossible for Wellington to form a government.

  The Bill must be passed; and since the King would not create the necessary peers to pass it through the Lords, those peers who would not vote for it must abstain from voting at all. It was the only way to pass the Bill.

  So … with London ready to rise and destroy the existing regime which would not bring about reform, the Bill was again presented. Breathlessly people waited for the result. In the House of Lords it was put to the vote. As the members of that House were aware of what would happen if the Bill was rejected, the Tory benches were half empty. So those who opposed, refrained from voting and on June 4th of that year 1832 the Reform Bill was passed.

  * * *

  Adelaide was terrified, expecting revolution at any moment. The King tried to soothe her. ‘Devil take them all,’ he said. ‘By God, if I hear the word Reform again I shall never speak to the man who says it.’

  He refused to give his assent in person, which was foolish as this was only a matter of form, and royal confirmation was given by the commission.

  London was jubilant; there was carousing in the streets and bonfires at every corner.

  Reform was coming. Now all they had to do was wait for the miracle.

  The King had refused his personal assent. Then the King was no friend of the people. It was not his fault at all; it was that German Queen of his. She was the real villainess. But Billy should be taught a lesson.

  When William drove through the streets on his way to dissolve Parliament, the people refused to take off their hats; they came close to his coach and jeered at him. Silly Billy, who did what his wicked wife told him. He had been against Reform.

  William was unperturbed. He had faced death during his life at sea and he lacked the imagination to worry about the harm an angry mob might do to him.

  He was annoyed by these people who no longer loved him. They were threatening him; they would start throwing stones in a moment. Adelaide seated beside him was trembling. Poor Adelaide, she didn’t understand these people. They wouldn’t really harm him; they were just an ill-mannered crowd.

  To show his contempt for them he leaned out of the window and spat at them.

  This unkingly act had such an effect on the crowd that it fell back in amazement. A king to spit on his subjects! The mob could spit; it was a common habit of the lower orders, but for a king to do so … was unheard of.

  They could think of nothing to say or do; and then a voice was distinctly heard to say: ‘George IV would never have done that. George IV always remembered that he was a king.’

  And by that time the royal coach had driven on.

  The King was on his way to dissolve Parliament. And what did it matter? The Reform Bill was passed.

  Chapter IX

  AN ACCIDENT AT KEW

  The Duchess of Kent was discussing with Sir John Conroy the new arrival to her household.

  ‘Of very good family,’ she said. ‘The eldest daughter of the first Marquis of Hastings and second Earl of Moira.’ The Duchess was knowledgeable about the family connections of those who served her, as, she assured herself, one needed to be when these people would live under the same roof as the future Queen. ‘The Marquis you know made quite a name for himself in the Army and he was a friend of the late King. So I think Flora will be quite suitable.’

  Sir John Conroy agreed with the Duchess that this was so.

  ‘And since it is the King’s wish that Victoria should meet more people, I do not see why this should not be achieved in her own household.’

  ‘There is no reason at all.’

  ‘Lady Flora is not exactly young. She is twenty-six years of age and serious.’

  ‘And an excellent addition to the household!’

  ‘She knows that although she is a member of my retinue her main duty is to accompany Victoria.’

  ‘And how does Victoria like her?’

  ‘You know the child. She is overflowing with affection. She really must practise a little restraint.’

  ‘She does not overflow for all,’ said Sir John, smiling not very pleasantly as he recalled the Princess’s coolness towards himself. The Duchess sighed. She understood. Victoria could be difficult. She, too, was aware of her daughter’s coldness not only towards Sir John. Sometimes she could believe that the child was critical of her own Mamma – but this, of course, could not be possible. The Duchess felt sure that Victoria must love and admire her unquestioningly.

  ‘I cannot think where she gets her ideas,’ she said vaguely.

  ‘The Princess is aware of her destiny,’ replied Sir John. ‘So I suppose a little arrogance must be forgiven now and then.’

  ‘But not in her own home,’ declared the Duchess. ‘She must be guided and I believe that Lady Flora will have a good influence.’

  ‘A mild one, at any rate,’ said Sir John. ‘As usual, my dearest Duchess has chosen wisely.’

  ‘I will send for Victoria and ask how she likes her new companion.’

  Victoria came and immediately felt embarrassed as she always did when in the presence of her mother and Sir John.

  ‘Oh, Victoria. Do stand up straight, child. You will be like the Princess Charlotte if you do not. She had to have one pocket loaded with heavy stones to stop her from being lopsided. How would you like that?’

  ‘I daresay it would be no worse, Mamma, than having a piece of holly tied round one’s neck to make one hold one’s chin up.’

  ‘Aha!’ said the Duchess. ‘You should be grateful, should she not, Sir John, to have a Mamma who
cared so much for you to walk straight that she devised such plans.’

  Victoria touched her chin recalling the jabs she had received from the branches of holly. She would never see the plant without remembering that particular discipline of her youth.

  Yes, thought the Duchess, Victoria was becoming a little arrogant. She would have to be persuaded to be otherwise. It was difficult to remind her that she would soon be a Queen at one moment and then the next to teach her to be humble.

  What a task! sighed the Duchess inwardly; and then remembered that she had dear Sir John to help her.

  ‘Victoria, I trust you will find the company of Lady Flora congenial. She is of very good family and suited to her new post. I have made sure of that.’

  ‘Yes, Mamma, I do like Lady Flora.’

  The Duchess folded her hands together and with the pious expression of one who has done her duty added: ‘Perhaps that will satisfy His Majesty.’ She spoke the title with a touch of contempt which was of course not directed towards that but to the man who now bore it.

  Victoria was thinking that Lady Flora was friendly enough and pleasant in her way, but old. Why could she not have young people about her, and of the opposite sex at that? They were so much more interesting, she thought. She fancied she liked a little flirtation. And what boys did she ever see other than Sir John’s young sons? And the only companions of her own age were Victoire and Jane Conroy.

  There is too much Conroy in this household, she thought.

  ‘Sir John believes you should undertake some journeys,’ the Duchess was saying.

  ‘Journeys, Mamma?’

  ‘That you should travel a little.’

  ‘To the sea?’ Victoria’s eyes began to sparkle. How she loved the sea!

  ‘The sea and the countryside as well. It is fitting that you should know something of the kingdom you are to rule.’

  ‘Oh, Mamma, I should enjoy these journeys.’

  The Duchess smiled. ‘You must not think of them as pleasure only, although I am convinced that you will derive some enjoyment from them. You will know that you are doing your duty, and that is always – or should be – a source of pleasure. Sir John and I have decided that you shall pay a round of visits. We are now deciding when you shall start and where you shall go.’

  ‘Oh, Mamma, who will come with me?’

  ‘You need not fear that I and Sir John will not accompany you.’

  Victoria tried to compose her features so that she did not show her disappointment. Journeys had sounded so exciting. She had pictured herself visiting the King and the Queen, and perhaps sharing in Aunt Adelaide’s parties. But it was to be different from that. She was to travel with Mamma and Sir John, which meant of course that they would not be visiting the King and Queen.

  ‘You will hear more of this later,’ said the Duchess. ‘In the meantime I have a present for you.’

  ‘Oh, Mamma, how exciting!’

  ‘I hope you will appreciate it.’

  The Duchess went to a table and picked up a leather-bound book.

  ‘Thank you, Mamma.’

  ‘Open it,’ commanded the Duchess.

  Victoria did so and looked at the blank pages in some astonishment.

  ‘It is a Journal,’ said the Duchess. ‘You must write your impressions in it. I shall wish to see it at regular intervals so you will have to write your best. I am sure you will find it a rewarding exercise both at the time and in the future.’

  Victoria was pink with pleasure. Yes, she would enjoy a Journal. What fun to write in it what she felt. Perhaps she could do some sketches in it. She did enjoy sketching and was really rather good. No, it would be for writing only. Oh dear, Mamma would have to see it, which would mean she would have to be very careful of what she wrote.

  ‘You may take it away now,’ said the Duchess, ‘and start writing your impressions on the day we leave. Very soon we shall have news for you.’

  Victoria went from the room. Lehzen was waiting outside for her. They would never allow her to be alone even in the apartments. I’m nothing but a prisoner, thought Victoria resentfully, as she had done a hundred times before.

  She told Lehzen about the Journal and Lehzen of course thought it would be an excellent exercise.

  In the schoolroom Victoire Conroy was sitting on the floor blowing bubbles. Victoria caught a beautiful one which reflected the windows in a lovely reddish blue light.

  ‘I want to blow bubbles,’ she cried.

  She took her clay pipe and sat down with Victoire.

  Lovely soap bubbles, riding up to the ceiling, some reaching it only to burst when they touched it, others fading out before. She laughed with pleasure, vying with Victoire to blow the biggest and send them off farther than hers.

  She dreamed as she always did when she blew bubbles; perhaps that was why she liked doing it. She saw herself growing up, sitting with the young Georges, being flattered by them, dancing with them, and both of them trying so hard to please her.

  But of course Mamma would not allow her to see them. She had cousins but she must not play with them; she was going to be a Queen but she was a prisoner; she was going on journeys but her jailers would be with her, she had a Journal in which she could write everything she felt, but Mamma would see it.

  It will not always be so, she thought; then she exclaimed with joy. She had blown the biggest and most beautiful of bubbles. It rose and fell and went sailing round the room. Victoire had stopped to watch it. There never was such a bubble; and then suddenly it exploded in mid-air and was gone.

  * * *

  The Queen called on the Duchess of Cumberland.

  It was typical of the King and Queen that they called on their relatives and rarely summoned them regally as other monarchs had done. Imagine George IV calling on them! thought the Duchess of Cumberland. William and Adelaide had little dignity.

  ‘How delightful of you to come,’ said Frederica. ‘You must have known that I needed cheering up.’

  Adelaide smiled. She knew it well enough. She had learned what it meant to have the scandal sheets directed against one.

  ‘And,’ went on Frederica, ‘I feel better already. But pray tell me, how is the King?’

  Adelaide had seated herself comfortably on a sofa as she said: ‘Oh, not very well. His asthma is troubling him and his hay fever is starting again.’

  ‘Poor William. I feel for His Majesty.’

  ‘It is tiresome … with all his duties.’

  She spoke, thought Frederica, like a humble housewife. How ironical that she should be the Queen. Obviously she cared little for the title and would have been happier as plain Duchess of Clarence for the rest of her life. Being fairy godmother to countless children pleased her more than anything else.

  ‘The children are at Kew,’ said Adelaide. ‘The children’ were never long out of her conversation. ‘They enjoy it there so much. The boys can play their wild games in the gardens and the little ones can have plenty of fresh country air.’

  ‘And you will soon be with them, I daresay.’

  ‘The King and I go to Kew tomorrow.’

  ‘How the old King and Queen used to love Kew!’

  ‘William says they always referred to it as “dear little Kew”. I must say I think that is very apt.’

  ‘And my boy is behaving well.’

  ‘Admirably,’ said Adelaide. ‘A dear boy! How proud you must be of him!’

  Frederica admitted this was so. ‘His father is, too.’

  ‘But of course. What a great comfort!’ Adelaide spoke wistfully.

  How amusing, thought Frederica, if Adelaide was with child after all. No, it was not really amusing. Ernest would be furious, because if it were the case their son’s marriage to Victoria would be of little significance. And William was unwell. If William died and Victoria was Queen, the Duchess of Kent would be Regent. That would never do, and what chance had Ernest now of getting in and taking the throne? The people would never let that happen. Circumstances ch
anged one’s desires. At one time Ernest – and she with him – had wanted William put away as insane, but not now. The Duchess of Kent’s regency would be far worse than William’s rule. For that woman would never permit a marriage between Victoria and the Cumberlands’ son, George.

  ‘Our George really is a bright boy,’ went on Frederica. ‘I know all parents think that of their children but I don’t believe Ernest and I are deceiving ourselves.’

  ‘Indeed you are not,’ Adelaide declared warmly. ‘He is a bright and charming boy. As you know, I love him well. It would be impossible not to.’

  ‘And he loves you. You should hear him talk of the perfections of his Aunt Adelaide. Sometimes he calls you Queeny as the little ones do.’

  Adelaide smiled. ‘The darlings!’ she said.

  ‘And Victoria … she is never there,’ said Frederica.

  ‘Never. Such a pity. Poor child. They are bringing her up so strictly. I believe she rarely has any fun.’

  ‘She should be meeting her cousins.’

  ‘That’s what William says. But to tell the truth I rarely broach the subject of Victoria to him. It upsets him.’

  ‘And George Cambridge is well?’

  ‘Very well and happy I’m glad to say.’ Adelaide’s expression softened even further. Young Cambridge was the favourite … he and little crippled Louise. They were the Queen’s special charges because they were always with her, the parents of both those children being overseas.

  And how, wondered Frederica, are we going to oust Cambridge from first place? That will be difficult. The only one who could do it would be Victoria herself. Surely she must prefer her cousin Cumberland. Was there some way of bringing their son to Victoria without young Cambridge’s being there?

  That was something which could not be discussed with Adelaide.

  ‘The two boys are the best of friends … your George and mine,’ said Adelaide.

  Her George! Oh dear! She would try to marry Victoria to Cambridge and the King would do the same. She and Ernest would have to think of something.