The Captive of Kensington Palace Page 18

  ‘Pray, child, you forget yourself,’ she whispered in a shocked voice; and for a moment that resentment flared up again.

  Mamma disapproved. Victoria would hear more of this, and she would have to be taught to remember her dignity in all circumstances.

  Victoria noticed with glee that it was nearly twelve o’clock before she went to bed.

  * * *

  After Chatsworth there were many other country houses to be visited, but the weather was changing. Autumn had come and soon travelling would be impossible. Already they had suffered from heavy rainfall and there had been too much mud on the road. They had now turned southwards and were on the return journey.

  They drove through Woodstock and Oxford, where they stayed with the Earl and Countess of Abingdon in their lovely residence, Wytham Abbey. Of course they must visit Oxford and the colleges, and Mamma took most of the honours, although one great one came to Sir John who was made a Doctor of Civil Law. But everyone was delighted to see them and Victoria was very interested in Queen Elizabeth’s Latin exercise book which she had used, Lehzen pointed out, when she was thirteen years old.

  It was very absorbing, but Victoria’s feelings were mixed as they came closer to London. It would be pleasant to be home again, she mused. Perhaps now that she was so travelled she would be allowed to go out more often; perhaps the next time the Queen invited her she would be permitted to accept the invitation. Thirteen was no longer so young.

  And on a misty November day they came riding into Kensington. The Palace looked just the same as ever and the mist which hung about the trees in the park touched with a blue haziness moved her deeply. It was good to be home.

  Lord Liverpool was there waiting to receive them and the Duchess said they should all dine together, including Victoria, which they did.

  Almost before dinner was over the Princess Sophia left her apartments in the Palace to call. She embraced Victoria almost nervously. She seemed to have grown much older since they had been away. Ever since the resuscitated scandal about her illegitimate son had been the talk of the town she had grown furtive, as though she were wondering what would happen next.

  She whispered to the Duchess that she had come to warn her.

  ‘Warn me!’ cried the Duchess imperiously. The last months of travel when she had demanded and received so many honours had made her more arrogant than ever.

  ‘His Majesty,’ whispered Sophia. ‘William …’

  ‘What of the King?’

  ‘He is not very pleased. He has said so often that you had no right to travel as though Victoria were already the Queen. He said he would have you remember that there is a King on the throne and the honours you insisted on are for the Sovereign alone.’

  ‘If,’ said the Duchess, her eyes flashing, her feathers shaking, ‘I were to borrow His Majesty’s own inelegant method of expressing himself I should say “Stuff!”’

  Victoria was listening. Oh dear, so the King was angry. Mamma was wrong really. She had known that they should never have been treated as though they were the most important people in the country. Even Uncle William who, she secretly believed, was a very kind man indeed, would be angry.

  ‘I think Victoria is tired,’ said the Duchess.

  ‘Oh no, Mamma, I …’

  ‘You are longing for your bed, I know.’

  ‘Indeed not, Mamma. Why, at Chatsworth I was up until nearly twelve. Do you remember … the night of the charade …’

  ‘This,’ said the Duchess, ‘is not Chatsworth.’ She signed to one of her women. ‘Pray send for Lehzen.’

  Lehzen arrived. She must have been waiting outside. She was never far away from Victoria.

  ‘Pray conduct the Princess to her room,’ said the Duchess. ‘It has been such a long, tiring day.’

  Victoria said good night to Lord Liverpool, the Conroy girls and their father and to the Princess Sophia.

  The Princess kissed her warmly. ‘Don’t you worry,’ she whispered. ‘The King will not blame you.’

  ‘I know, Aunt Sophia,’ she whispered back and then was ashamed because it was as though she were in a conspiracy against Mamma.

  When she was in her bed she saw that it was only a quarter to nine.

  She lay still watching Lehzen working on her sewing close to the candelabrum.

  She felt angry. I am so tired of being treated like a child, she told herself. But let them wait …

  * * *

  Almost as soon as they reached home Christmas was with them and there was the excitement of buying and making Christmas presents and all the secrecy that went with it. Victoria was making a white bag for the Duchess under Lehzen’s guidance and it added a thrill to the days to have to thrust it out of sight whenever her mother approached. For Lehzen she was making a pin-cushion in white and gold which was very very pretty; and she had bought a pin with two gold hearts attached to it with which to ornament it. She knew that Lehzen would love it because the hearts were symbolic – hers and Lehzen’s. She believed she loved dear Lehzen best in the world next to Uncle Leopold and of course … Mamma. She believed she would love Aunt Adelaide if she were allowed to see her. Oh dear, now she was feeling angry again which one must not do at Christmas time.

  Sir John, however, was behaving in a much more likeable way. For instance, a few days before Christmas Eve he came into the room where she was sewing with Lehzen and Flora Hastings looking excited and conspiratorial.

  ‘I want to share a secret with you,’ he told Victoria; and she could not help being excited at the thought of sharing a secret – even with Sir John.

  He was carrying a little basket. ‘It is a present,’ he told her, ‘for the Duchess.’ And lifting the lid he disclosed a little dog.

  Victoria cried out with pleasure. She loved animals and in particular dogs and horses.

  ‘But he is beautiful,’ she cried.

  ‘She,’ corrected Sir John, ‘is a present for the Duchess.’

  ‘Mamma will be delighted.’

  ‘I thought she would be. But I have to keep the little creature in hiding until Christmas Eve and I thought I would tell you of her existence just in case you discovered it. So …’ Sir John put his fingers to his lips.

  Victoria, with a laugh, did the same.

  ‘What is her name?’

  ‘She hasn’t got one at the moment. Doubtless the Duchess will give her one.’

  ‘Oh, but you should say “This is …” whatever her name is. Everyone should have a name and the poor little mite can’t be nameless until Christmas.’

  ‘The Princess has spoken,’ said Sir John raising his eyes to the ceiling with one of those expressions Victoria disliked; but she was too excited about the dog to notice it now.

  She thought: How I should love the darling to be named after me! But of course Mamma would never allow that because it would be undignified. She looked at Lehzen. Louise. No, that was not very suitable for a dog. But Flora …

  ‘I think Flora should be her name. You would not mind Lady Flora, if this dear little dog had the same name as you?’

  Lady Flora, the most acquiescent of ladies, said that she would have no objection.

  ‘I name you … Flora,’ said Sir John in sepulchral tones like a Bishop at the christening of a royal infant which made Victoria laugh aloud. Sir John was studying her closely and looking rather pleased with himself.

  When he had gone and Lehzen was restored to that equanimity which the presence of Sir John always seemed to destroy, Victoria said: ‘I have an idea. Besides her bag Mamma shall have a collar and a steel chain for Flora.’

  Christmas Eve was the day for giving presents and the Duchess, like the Queen, liked to practise the German custom of decorating the rooms with fir trees. Victoria had found it difficult to get through the day because presents were given in the evening after dinner which as usual was taken with the Conroy family.

  Afterwards the Duchess took them all to her drawing-room and there Victoria cried out with pleasure. There were t
wo big tables and one or two little ones on all of which were fir trees hung with lighted candles and little sweetmeat favours in the form of animals and hearts and all kinds of shapes, and which Victoria knew to be delicious; and best of all piled under the trees were the presents. One of the big tables was entirely Victoria’s, the other was for the Conroy family.

  What joy! thought Victoria. Mamma’s presents must be opened first. A lovely cloak lined with fur and a pink satin dress.

  ‘Oh, Mamma, but how lovely!’

  The Duchess allowed herself to be embraced and forgot to remind Victoria of her rank in the excitement of the moment. And that was not all. Mamma had worked with her own hands a lovely pink bag the same colour as the dress; and there was an opal brooch and ear-rings.

  ‘What lovely … lovely presents.’

  ‘Open the others,’ said Mamma. She did. Lehzen’s first because dear Lehzen was there and she was determined to love whatever Lehzen gave her. A music book! ‘Oh, Lehzen, just what I wanted.’ More embraces and emotion. The tears come too easily, thought the Duchess. That must be curbed. Just like her father’s side of the family.

  The Princess Sophia had embroidered a dress for her and from Aunt Mary Gloucester there were amethyst ear-rings; Sir John gave her a lovely silver brush and Victoire a white bag which she herself had made.

  What lovely presents – and she knew that there would be more to come. But perhaps watching the other people open theirs was equally delightful.

  And Mamma was kissing little Flora and loving her already and lifting her grateful eyes to Sir John.

  Anyone would love Flora, thought Victoria; but perhaps Mamma would love her especially because she was a present from Sir John?

  What a happy time was Christmas – more exciting really than travelling. And when Christmas was over, she thought, it will soon be the New Year, and in May she would have another birthday.

  She was growing up.

  Chapter XI

  A BIRTHDAY BALL

  The Queen sat beside the bedside of her niece Louise, Princess of Saxe-Weimar, and tried to persuade herself that the child was not dying.

  This was the girl whom she had looked on as her own, who had done so much to comfort her when she had despaired of having children. Of all the young people whom she had gathered about her it was Louise and George Cambridge who had seemed most like her own; they had lived with her; she had mothered them both because their parents were far away; she still had George, but how long would Louise remain with her?

  She had spoken to the doctors, begging them to tell her the truth, so she knew the worst. It was to be expected, they warned her. Louise had always been an invalid and now the end was in sight.

  ‘My dear child,’ whispered Adelaide; and Louise could only look at her with loving eyes mutely thanking her for all the kindness she had received from her.

  ‘Is there anything you want, darling?’

  Louise’s lips moved and Adelaide bent over her. ‘Only that you stay near me, Aunt Adelaide.’

  ‘I shall be here, my dearest.’

  Louise smiled serenely and Adelaide sat silent while the tears gathered in her eyes and began to brim over.

  * * *

  She was buried at Windsor and Adelaide wrote sorrowfully to her sister Ida; but Ida had her own busy life and other children to comfort her. In any case Louise had always been more Adelaide’s child than Ida’s.

  There was no point in brooding over the death of this dear child. There were the living to think of and Adelaide went to see the Duchess of Cumberland who was facing another tragedy.

  ‘Oh, my dear Frederica, how is dearest George?’ she asked.

  Frederica shook her head. ‘His sight seems to grow more dim each day.’

  ‘And George himself?’

  ‘It seems so strange but he bears it all with such fortitude. He comforts me, Adelaide.’

  ‘Dear child!’

  ‘Yes, he bids me not to fret. He says his sight will come back.’

  ‘That this should have happened,’ sighed Adelaide. ‘It seems such a short time ago that he was playing with Louise. He was always so gentle with her … more gentle, I think, than any of the others, though my dear George is such a good, kind boy.’

  ‘He was too good,’ said Frederica almost angrily.

  ‘And Ernest? How is Ernest taking it?’

  ‘As he takes everything. He believes the boy will recover his sight.’

  ‘And the doctors?’

  ‘You know what doctors are. But, Adelaide, I am thinking of taking him to see Baron Graefe. I believe him to be the best eye specialist in the world. You know he operated on Ernest most successfully. I am sure he could do something for George.’

  ‘My dear Frederica, how I hope so!’

  ‘And you, my poor Adelaide, have suffered a great loss.’

  ‘I knew it had to come. There was really no hope for my poor Louise. Yet she used to be so happy.’

  ‘You have a gift for making the children happy, Adelaide. George will want to see you before you go.’

  So Adelaide spent an hour with George who laughed with her and behaved as though he was not disturbed by this terrible tragedy which had overtaken him.

  ‘He is an example to us all,’ said Frederica, strangely subdued, unlike herself, thought Adelaide.

  * * *

  There were further troubles. The FitzClarence children were becoming more and more arrogant. They were rude to Adelaide and did not hesitate to speak their minds to the King. William was unhappy. Frederick as well as George had declared he would resign from the post recently bestowed upon him by the King – because he was not paid enough.

  The papers noted these quarrels between William and his unnatural children and William pretended that there was no quarrel at all.

  He was becoming too excitable again and Adelaide was afraid people would notice. He would suddenly start one of his tirades without warning. At breakfast he would often appear his amiable self, and having entertained the young children at his ablutions, he would joke with the family in the old way; but when he settled down to the papers he would mutter to himself, and sometimes the muttering would grow into a shout.

  Something would happen to remind him of Victoria. ‘Royal progress, that’s what it is. I’m going to put a stop to this. Parading about the country. I believe that woman believes I’m where she’s been longing for me to be these last few years – in my coffin. Well, I’m not. I’m here on the throne … and that’s where I’m going to stay. And by God, I’m going to live until Victoria’s old enough to take over. I’m not going to let that Kent woman have her heart’s desire. For make no mistake about it. That’s what she wants. Royal parades! Royal salutes! That girl is not Queen yet. Nor is she going to be until she can stand without her mother.’

  He would go on and on until Adelaide could think of something to distract him; and she was always afraid that by doing so she would lead him to a subject as irritating to him as that of the Duchess of Kent and her daughter.

  He was at present raging against the Chapter of St Paul’s because they had refused to allow a statue of Dorothy Jordan to be placed in the Cathedral.

  ‘Why? I wanted to know. Eh, why? Why shouldn’t the mother of my children have a statue in my Cathedral, eh? Because she was an actress? Because the union didn’t have the benefit of clergy? The insolent dogs. By God, am I the King of this realm or not?’

  Then his eyes would fill with tears and he would tell Adelaide of the virtues of Dorothy, his eyes glistening with emotion. The happy years … oh, the happy years at Bushy when she was working in her parts and the children were being born. ‘What a woman she was, Adelaide! What a woman!’

  It did not occur to him that his wife might not wish to hear of the perfections of his mistress; nor did Adelaide point this out to him. She was only eager that he should remain calm, accept the Chapter’s verdict and forget that he had wanted a statue of Dorothy in the Cathedral.

  ‘It will be
Victoria’s fourteenth birthday in May,’ she said. ‘I think we should give a ball for her.’

  ‘And what will Madam Kent have to say to that? She seems to think the chit is contaminated by being near us.’

  ‘I think she is only eager that Victoria shall have the respect due to her position.’

  ‘Her position! That woman believes she is Queen already. She has to be made to see that’s not the case.’

  ‘We will make it perfectly clear,’ soothed Adelaide. ‘But I think, don’t you, that her fourteenth birthday – which is a kind of landmark – should be celebrated at St James’s.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He gave her one of his affectionate smiles. ‘You usually are.’

  And talking of the party – for he loved to arrange such entertainments within the family – he grew calmer and forgot his grievance against the Chapter.

  While they were talking a messenger arrived from Kensington Palace. The Duchess of Kent begged the honour of entertaining the King and Queen for dinner.

  Adelaide watched the King fearfully. He was in no mood for friendship with his sister-in-law.

  ‘Damned woman,’ he growled.

  ‘But I think we should accept, William,’ said Adelaide. And as he knew she was usually right, he agreed.

  * * *

  The year so far had been a happy one for Victoria. After his success with Flora, the dog – and the Duchess had declared she could not have had a present that pleased her more, although whether this was due to the present or the donor was debatable – Sir John decided to repeat his success.

  Early in January he gave her another dog – a King Charles’s spaniel whom they had named Dash. Although he was the Duchess’s dog and she adored him – as she must any present of Sir John’s – he followed Victoria everywhere and seemed to have made up his mind that he belonged to her. In a very short time she was devoted to dear little Dashy and Sir John and her mother were not displeased because anything that made her feel more kindly towards Sir John was to be welcomed; and the dog had certainly done this.