The Queen and Lord M Read online

  ‘She has the title but not the dignity of a Baroness,’ commented Lady Flora.

  ‘Sir John always wanted to be rid of her, but Victoria went into a storm at the merest mention of her departure and although she was malleable in some ways she was adamant in this.’

  ‘The pastor’s daughter always had a great influence with Her Majesty.’

  ‘Has, Flora, has!’

  ‘But Your Grace will not allow her influence with the Queen to supersede your own?’

  ‘I had thought that impossible, Flora, but to move her bed … without consulting me!’

  ‘If Her Majesty wishes to be alone she will not want the company of the Baroness.’

  ‘That’s true. But I feel there is a special animus towards me.’

  ‘Forgive me, Your Grace, but surely not towards her own mother!’

  ‘Victoria can be so stubborn and she is in the hands of these people. I had to protect her from that old buffoon William and insipid Adelaide. Heaven knows what ideas they would have put into her head … and now this!’

  The Duchess was so distressed that Lady Flora suggested calling in Sir John, to which the Duchess readily agreed.

  * * *

  Without question Victoria’s bed had been removed.

  I am truly the Queen! she thought triumphantly.

  Lord Melbourne was asking if she would do him the honour of granting another audience.

  ‘With the utmost pleasure,’ she cried.

  And there he was, her good Prime Minister, tears in his eyes, as he congratulated her on her performance at the Council meeting.

  ‘One would have thought Your Majesty had been attending Council Meetings every day of your life.’

  ‘If I did well it was entirely due to my Prime Minister’s thoughtful instructions.’

  ‘Everyone is commenting on your magnificent performance. You were every inch a queen.’

  ‘I fear there are very few inches. How I wish I were taller!’

  ‘Your small stature is very appealing, Ma’am. It but adds to your dignity. Now have I your permission to mention a little business?’

  ‘Pray do, Lord Melbourne.’

  ‘I must be brief as others of Your Majesty’s servants are waiting to present themselves. I hope you will give me permission to call on you later. This evening at half past eight o’clock would be agreeable to me if that suited Your Majesty.’

  ‘It would suit me very well, Lord Melbourne.’

  ‘Then we can talk comfortably, if Your Majesty wishes.’

  She glowed with pleasure. What could be more enjoyable than a comfortable talk with her dear Prime Minister?

  ‘Your Majesty will wish to name your physician. Perhaps Sir James Clark? If you find him to your taste.’

  ‘I do indeed.’

  ‘And your Master of Horse – Albemarle perhaps?’

  She was ready to think that anything Lord Melbourne suggested must be for the best.

  ‘Lord John Russell is waiting for an audience. So is the Archbishop of Canterbury. I fear Your Majesty is being overwhelmed by these duties.’

  ‘By no means, Lord Melbourne. Indeed, if I were not so sorrowful on account of Uncle’s death, I could feel stimulated … elated almost.’

  Lord Melbourne’s eyes glazed with the inevitable tears and she thought: Oh, you dear good man!

  ‘Your Majesty was born to be a queen,’ he said with emotion.

  ‘Did you know, Lord Melbourne, that before I was born a gypsy told my father that his child would be a girl – he hoped for a boy of course – but, said the gypsy, a girl and a queen.’

  Lord Melbourne did know of course. Lord Melbourne knew everything.

  He added: ‘And I will tell Your Majesty something else. She also said: “A great Queen!” and now it is my turn to make a prophecy. It is this: Hers will be fulfilled in its entirety.’

  How happy he made her feel and how sad that this interview must be short! And though worthy, how dull were Lord John, Albemarle and the Archbishop in comparison with dear Lord Melbourne!

  * * *

  The long day was drawing to its end. So many duties had been performed; she had seen all her important ministers and all alone (as I shall always see my ministers in future, she assured herself). She fancied that she had (prompted by Lord Melbourne, of course) made a favourable impression; she had written several letters and noted the day’s events in her Journal.

  ‘And now,’ she announced to the Baroness Lehzen. ‘I will take my dinner alone upstairs.’

  No one questioned her order. How glorious to be a queen!

  After dinner Baron Stockmar called and congratulated her on the day’s activities. She had done well and everyone was applauding her.

  ‘Lord Melbourne has already told me,’ she assured the Baron; and she could not help thinking how much more graciously and with what telling compliments and without ridiculous flattery. Of course, one could not expect poor Stockmar to compare with Lord Melbourne. Poor Stockmar? It was the first time she had ever thought of him thus. It must be because she was comparing him with the incomparable Lord Melbourne.

  ‘It is a great credit to yourself and to us all,’ said the Baron.

  She wished they would not keep reminding her of all they had done for her.

  The Baron went on: ‘You will have had time to think of that matter we discussed earlier today?’

  ‘Which matter?’

  ‘We agreed that you would need a secretary.’

  ‘My dear Baron, I have had no time to think of anything but my duties this day.’

  ‘Of course. Of course.’

  And then because she could never prevaricate she said: ‘But it may well be that the people, knowing your connection with my Uncle Leopold and he being the King of a foreign power, might not feel that you would be a wise choice.’

  Poor Baron! He looked so crestfallen but Lord Melbourne was certainly right. She went on kindly: ‘It is so different now that I am the Queen. I have to be very careful and you, dear Baron, will be the first to realise this.’

  The Baron took a somewhat bewildered leave. He feared that the King of the Belgians would not be pleased. So did Victoria. But it is different now, she told herself; and of course Lord Melbourne is right.

  She was delighted when that dear good lord himself appeared at twenty minutes to nine and after kissing her hand with such courteous gallantry settled down for a cosy talk. And it really was cosy. He was like an uncle or even a father far more than a Prime Minister. He complimented her again on her performance and begged her to let him know if at any time he could be of service to her in any capacity whatsoever. They would naturally have State business to discuss and as her Prime Minister he would wait on her every day. She had no secretary and he believed that for a while she should delay appointing one to that post for why should she need a secretary when her Prime Minister was at hand to explain all State business, to read all documents to her and to give her his counsel on any matter over which she felt she needed it. Certainly she did not need a secretary as yet.

  ‘In any matters of difficulty consult Lord Melbourne,’ he said with a gay laugh. He laughed a great deal, being not at all solemn. That was one of the things she liked so much; and he had a most amusing way of expressing himself. But best of all he made her feel that when he was beside her she had nothing to fear whatsoever.

  Yes, that was a very comfortable interview.

  She went straight to her room when he left at ten o’clock and wrote in her Journal:‘Each time I see him I feel more confidence in him. I find him very kind in his manner.’

  Her thoughts were full of him. What, without him, would have seemed a formidable task, with him was an exciting adventure.

  Lehzen came in and said anxiously that it had been such a long tiring day and she must be exhausted.

  ‘I feel exhilarated, Lehzen,’ replied Victoria. ‘But I agree that it has been the strangest day of my life. I thank God that I have the best of Prime Ministers to guid
e me. Lehzen, you must have some post in my household.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be right,’ said Lehzen slowly.

  ‘Lehzen! You’re not thinking of leaving me!’

  ‘Never while I can be of the slightest use to you.’

  ‘Use! Don’t talk of use! You are my friend and always will be. Do not imagine that the Queen will forget the Princess’s dearest friend.’

  ‘Your generosity and good nature touches me as always. Let me remain with you as your friend, to help you when you need help, to comfort you when you need comfort. That’s all I ask.’

  Victoria threw her arms round Lehzen’s neck. ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘You shall always remain with me as my friend.’

  Victoria suddenly remembered her mother.

  ‘I should go down to Mamma and say goodnight, I suppose, for after all she is my mother.’

  Lehzen agreed, secretly delighting in the humiliation of the Duchess.

  So the Queen descended to the Duchess’s apartments and bade goodnight to her mother. There was some display of affection because that was necessary, Victoria decided, but it was a very formal goodnight.

  Then Victoria ascended the stairs to her own room. Gleefully she looked at the bed – the only bed in the room.

  ‘Fancy,’ she murmured. ‘I had to be eighteen and a queen before I was allowed to have a room to myself.’

  Then to bed, her thoughts full of that strange day and they were dominated, of course, by her handsome though ageing Prime Minister who was undoubtedly the most charming and attractive man she had ever met.

  Chapter III

  THE SENSATIONAL PAST OF A PRIME MINISTER

  On his way to Melbourne House from Kensington, Lord Melbourne considered the events of the day and felt exhausted by his own emotions. He was extremely sensitive and if his feelings were somewhat superficial while he suffered them they were real enough. The tears came easily to his eyes – as Victoria had noticed and had warmed towards him because of this – but they did not spring from very deep wells. At the same time he had been deeply touched today by the prospect of this young girl who had never really emerged from the schoolroom, yet who had become overnight the Queen of England.

  An enchanting creature he thought her, so natural, so honest. Caroline had been much younger when he had first met her. What a contrast! Caroline seemed to materialise on the carriage seat beside him to mock him as she had so often during the years when they were together. A mischievous sprite – he had always thought her, not entirely human – with her enormous hazel eyes and her hair the colour of ripe corn. How she had shocked everyone by cutting it off and wearing it like a boy’s! Caroline was unique. There would never be anyone else like her. Thank God, said the cynical Melbourne. No one could afford two Carolines in one lifetime, few could survive one; but he being himself – suave, civilised, intellectually superior to so many of his colleagues – had done so. Not without some cost. He shuddered faintly to recall the days of passion, of hopes, of quarrels and reconciliations, and the wild mad fascination of Caroline Lamb.

  A new reign was about to begin and he had lived through three of them already: not a very admirable trio, he thought with a smile. Victoria’s grandfather, poor mad George III; her gouty extravagant uncle George IV – who though he might have been a Prince Charming in his youth had become a pitiable, querulous be-rouged mountain of decaying flesh by the time he was King – and William IV, certainly the most unkingly of them all, a man whom his people tolerated with a certain indulgence but who was suspected often of suffering from his father’s malady and certainly behaved in a manner to suggest this was true.

  So was it not moving after a succession of unprepossessing half or wholly crazy old men, to find on the throne an eager young girl, anxious to do what was right and showing a willingness – one might say eagerness – to be guided?

  He thought of her dispassionately not as a queen but as a girl. She was by no means beautiful, though at moments she could look almost pretty; her blue eyes were too prominent, her chin too small and receding; her nose was a trifle arrogant and when she laughed she showed her gums in a way which was not very attractive. But there was a determination there. Was it an obstinacy? There was an eagerness and above all an innocence. The Queen knew little of the world; she was too ready to trust; she was sentimental; life seen through her eyes would be a simple matter of right and wrong. What delightful material for a man satiated with experience, having lived life to the point beyond which there had seemed little of novelty to attract him, to mould into a queen! Here was a new interest in life. He was convinced that he knew exactly how to handle Victoria and he had not been so excited since the day he had married Caroline.

  As soon as he had come face to face with the Queen he had been aware of the possibilities of a new relationship. He was a man who was very fond of the society of women; all his life he had had many friends among the opposite sex, which had on two occasions – three counting his marriage – brought him to the edge of disaster. It was due to his own inimitable insouciance that he had come through these scandals unscathed; and it was due to that same characteristic that the little Queen had met him and decided without preamble that he was the man she would choose for her favour and her confidence.

  It was gratifying to know that the old charm was not lost and at the age of fifty-eight he could have this effect on a young girl.

  There had been three great influences in his life – politics, literature and women; and perhaps women came first. It was not that he was a particularly sensual man; he indulged in female friendships and nothing could be proved against him in two divorce cases in which he had figured. When his wife had shocked London society with Lord Byron he had remained at home studying the classics; no man in Parliament had so many Greek and Latin quotations at his fingertips. His conversation was both racy and erudite; he peppered it with oaths and salted it with quotations; hostesses clamoured for his company knowing that any party at which Lord Melbourne was a guest would certainly be stimulating.

  He could not have felt the same interest in the new monarch if her sex had been different. A young boy would not have been half as appealing, nor so susceptible to the charms of Lord Melbourne, he was sure. Therefore he was glad that the new monarch was a girl, but was he being premature to find a few short meetings in one day so significant? He did not really think so. They had in truth been overwhelmed by each other. But for the differences of age and the fact that she was a queen and he a Prime Minister one might have called it love at first sight. The phrase brought a smile to his lips.

  How fanciful and yet not exactly untrue. He was looking forward with the greatest exhilaration to further meetings. It was just the fillip he needed to resume his appetite for living.

  He had not been altogether surprised by his success although he had not expected it to be so unreserved. She really was a delightful young creature. It was that candour, that innocence, which made her so; all young, intelligent girls were attractive for their very youth if nothing else; but Victoria had a great deal besides youth – including a crown.

  He supposed his life had been dominated by women. First there had been his mother. An unusual woman, brilliant and attractive, though scarcely moral, she had guided him through his childhood, surrounding him with cultivated people, made him into the man of fastidious taste that he had become. He could not say the same for Peniston Lamb, the first Viscount Melbourne who as his mother’s husband was reputed to be his father, but his mother (according to some reports) had obligingly supplied him with a sire far more distinguished than her own husband. It had been a long-standing matter of gossip that his real father was the Earl of Egremont. Well, he considered, it might well be so, for who the devil could tell who was anyone’s father? And the first Viscount Melbourne had never had the same feeling for his second son as he had for the other members of the family; but his mother had made up for any lack of affection her husband may have felt towards the boy whom he no doubt considered
to be a changeling.

  Yes, he owed a great deal to his mother. What an amazing woman and one to be proud of. Her salons were a centre for the wits of the day and she had entertained lavishly in both Melbourne Hall, near Derby, and her London residence, Melbourne House. The Prince of Wales had been a frequent guest and it was said the friendship between him and Lady Melbourne was of a very intimate nature.

  Lady Melbourne doted on William, who was far more intelligent than Peniston her firstborn. Gracefully he had passed through Eton and Cambridge and had spent a year or so at Glasgow University where work was taken more seriously than at Oxford and Cambridge. He emerged as cultured a product as Lady Melbourne could wish, ready to take his place in the world of high society.

  He remembered the talk they had had together in her boudoir at Melbourne House where he supposed she had entertained a lover or so. The Prince of Wales perhaps? The Earl of Egremont? How proud of her he had been! She was such a fascinating woman with sharp wit and knowledge of affairs.

  ‘William,’ she had said, ‘you are a son of whom to be proud, but a second son, alas.’

  He murmured that she was deuced hard on poor Peniston who had done nothing but get himself born first.

  ‘A second son, William,’ she had said. ‘It’s not what I would have wished for you. I’d like to see you inherit the title and that which goes with it.’

  ‘Well, that will be Pen’s, of course.’

  She had looked up at the picture of herself and Peniston at the age of one year. Poor Pen in chubby nudity was embracing her and she was looking serene and presumably at Sir Joshua Reynolds who was responsible for the painting.

  ‘A pity,’ she had said briefly. ‘Because it means, William, that you will have to have a career. I have been thinking a great deal about it.’

  He had waited without undue concern. He was lazy by nature he supposed; and at that time would cheerfully have adopted almost any career she chose for him.