The Captive of Kensington Palace Read online

  Chapter III

  THE CUMBERLAND SCANDALS

  In the Gothic house at Windsor, known somewhat inaccurately as The Cottage, the King was sleeping, scarcely aware of the passing of the days. Servants walked about on tiptoe, certain that this day or perhaps the next week would see the end of the reign.

  The master of the King’s household could be said to be the Duke of Cumberland; he had the ear of the King and indeed George seemed afraid of him. For what reason no one could be sure but in view of Cumberland’s reputation nothing, however sinister or shocking, need be ruled out.

  The Duke of Cumberland was the most feared man in the kingdom. Even his Duchess – herself a formidable character – was somewhat in awe of him, although she was of no one else. Ernest was unlike his brothers; he was tall and thin almost to gauntness, very odd when the family’s tendency to fat was considered. He had lost an eye and the patch he sometimes wore over it made him appear almost as forbidding as he did when the gaunt socket was exposed. His face had been scarred in battle; he was quick-witted, clever, shrewd and ambitious. It was clear that he deplored the fact that he was not the King’s eldest brother; he wanted the throne, and when the Duke of Cumberland wanted something he went out to get it with no lack of enthusiasm.

  His marriage to Frederica of Mecklenburg-Strelitz was, oddly enough, a happy one. He and Frederica were contented with each other; they understood each other. They were two of a kind, both adventurers and both ruthless towards those who stood in their way. The Duchess was reputed to have rid herself of two husbands who had become tiresome; the Duke had been suspected of murdering his valet. Their reputations were considerably tarnished but they did not care. It meant that people thought twice before offending them, a very desirable state of affairs.

  The Duke was amused because the King had not attended the marriage of the Duchess of Kent’s daughter and as he talked of this to his wife, a rare smile appeared on his grotesque face; she was lying back on a couch sharing his amusement.

  ‘How I should have liked to have seen her face,’ said the Duchess. ‘She must have been furious.’

  ‘She’s the most arrogant woman in England.’

  ‘Imagining herself Queen Mother already.’

  Anger showed itself in the twitch of the Duke’s lips. ‘By God, what ill luck. That fat infant … between me and the throne.’

  ‘We are unlucky,’ agreed his Duchess.

  Indeed they were. Dark thoughts of removing the child had been in his mind. He had set rumours in progress concerning her health. But the artful Duchess of Kent only had to parade her child for all to see to make nonsense of that. He had tried to get the young Victoria to Windsor ‘to live under the same roof as the King’, he had said; but that meant living under the same roof as Cumberland, and the Duchess of Kent had sworn that should not be. That old fool Wellington had been on her side and the little scheme had fallen through.

  Frederica was regarding him a trifle cynically. His schemes did seem to fail.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘you have not given enough thought to this important matter.’

  ‘Nonsense. I think of nothing else night and day.’

  ‘Except Lady Graves.’

  ‘That.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I don’t need to take my mind off Victoria for Graves’s wife.’

  ‘Graves is piqued, I hear.’

  ‘Let him be.’

  He looked at her sharply. Was she jealous? They had an understanding. Their ambition was the same – the throne for him and then for their son George. The fact that he amused himself now and then was unimportant. He had thought that perfectly clear. He might amuse himself with other women but there was only one he really cared for – his wife Frederica. She knew that. And he allowed her perfect freedom too.

  ‘We don’t want more scandal,’ said the Duchess. ‘There has been enough. If your reputation was not so … vivid … your schemes might not be perceived until after it is too late to foil them.’

  She was right. His schemes with regard to Victoria had failed and it was partly because people were prepared to suspect his motives.

  It was true that Clarence, the heir to the throne, was generally believed to be unbalanced, verging on insanity; but was that due as much to Clarence’s own odd behaviour as to the rumours his brother Cumberland had set in motion?

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘what do you propose?’

  ‘There is only one safe way. I don’t see why we shouldn’t do it. Introduce the Salic law which excludes the right of females to inherit the throne.’

  The Duchess caught her breath. ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘All things are possible.’

  ‘With Ernest, Duke of Cumberland,’ she added lightly.

  ‘The Orange Lodges are against the female succession.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Duchess. ‘And you are their Grand Master.’

  Cumberland’s one eye was shining with purpose.

  ‘This could mean civil war …’ she began.

  He leaned closer to her. ‘Who’s afraid of war … for the right cause?’

  ‘Do you think it would come to that?’

  ‘I’d have the support of the Lodges. It’s to their advantage to see me on the throne … rather than that girl. Why, her mother and Leopold would rule the country. I’d never have that. Nor would the Lodges.’

  Frederica wondered how powerful the Lodges were. They had been formed by the Peep o’ Day boys, those Ulster Presbyterians who had formed a union to fight the Catholics. Cumberland who, professing to be an ardent Presbyterian, had been elected their Grand Master, had never neglected them and was certain of their allegiance. Obviously they would prefer to see him on the throne than this little girl, with her ridiculous mother as Regent, aided by that hypocrite of a Leopold.

  ‘You think they would make an effective force?’

  ‘There are 145,000 members in England alone; and the Irish would be ready to come in.’

  ‘It’s an ambitious scheme.’

  ‘We need an ambitious scheme.’

  ‘I would rather see Victoria go into a decline.’

  ‘She’s as plump as a partridge they say, and full of blooming health.’

  ‘It’s a different story with Clarence.’

  ‘Oh, he won’t last. He’s half mad, I tell you.’

  ‘I wish I could be sure it was true.’

  ‘Well, you see Adelaide. What do you learn from her?’

  ‘You know Adelaide. She would keep her mouth shut if she thought anything she said might be detrimental to him. Your Orange Lodge is the best idea – but wars don’t always go as one hopes.’

  Cumberland nodded. He would only wish to resort to war if all other methods failed.

  What ill fortune that he had not been born earlier. If only he had been the third son instead of Clarence, or even the fourth.

  His elder brother Frederick, Duke of York, was safely dead; William was destined for the strait-jacket; Edward of Kent was dead and if it were not for that wretched little girl at Kensington Palace … It was the old wearying theme.

  The door opened and a young boy looked in.

  The Duchess’s face softened. She held out a hand: ‘George, my dear.’

  Cumberland watched his son and was proud of him. It would not have been possible to find a more handsome boy; nor a more honest and upright one. He was a continual source of surprise to his parents who marvelled that they should have such a son. He was a few months older than Victoria and whenever he looked at his son the Duke ground his teeth in fury that that girl at Kensington came before this beautiful boy whom he wanted to see on the throne when he himself was forced through death to vacate it.

  ‘You look pleased,’ the Duchess was saying, her voice gentle as it rarely was. ‘Has something pleasant happened?’

  ‘I have an invitation from Aunt Adelaide.’

  How the children loved that woman! She was harmless enough, more suited to be the mother of a large family than a Queen of Eng
land – which she would be if William didn’t go mad before George IV died.

  ‘And you wish to accept it?’

  ‘May I?’

  ‘I believe you would be a little sad if I said no,’ smiled the Duchess.

  ‘Well, Mamma, I should. Aunt Adelaide’s parties are so amusing. She thinks of the most exciting things for us to do.’

  ‘And your cousin Cambridge – how do you like him?’

  ‘Very much, Mamma.’

  ‘I expect he misses his family.’

  ‘He did at first, and now Aunt Adelaide is like his mother. I think he is beginning to feel that Bushy is his home.’

  The Duke said: ‘I trust she remembers that you take precedence over your Cambridge cousin.’

  ‘There is no precedence at Bushy, Papa. We never think of it. It’s great fun there.’

  ‘Well, don’t forget, son, that you come before him; and if there should be any attempt to set him ahead of you … at the table shall we say …’

  ‘There couldn’t be. We just sit anywhere.’

  The Duke shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘It’s all right while they’re young,’ said the Duchess. She turned to her son. ‘So your Aunt Adelaide has written to you, not to us?’

  ‘She always writes to me, Mamma.’

  ‘It is a little odd. But that’s your Aunt Adelaide.’

  He smiled and he was so beautiful when he did so that the Duchess, hard as she was, was almost moved to tears.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said ‘that is Aunt Adelaide.’

  ‘So you want our permission to accept.’

  ‘Yes, Mamma.’

  ‘Then go along and write your letter and when you have written it bring it back and show it to me.’

  He went off and left them together.

  ‘So,’ said the Duke, ‘he goes off to mingle with the bastidry.’

  ‘It’s true. But he’ll come to no harm through them. Remember William and Adelaide may well be King and Queen.’

  ‘That’s true enough and it does no harm for George to be on good terms with them.’

  ‘What will happen if William gets the Crown? What of the family of bastards?’

  ‘They’ll plague the life out of him, I’ll swear.’

  ‘William is a fool over his bastards.’

  ‘That’s because he can’t get a legitimate child.’

  ‘But we are wise to let our George go to Bushy. You can imagine what would happen if we didn’t. Adelaide would become too fond of George Cambridge and you don’t know what schemes might come into her head.’

  ‘Schemes? How could Adelaide scheme?’

  ‘It may well be that Adelaide thinks George Cambridge might make a suitable husband for Victoria. Oh, I know you don’t think she will ever grow up to need a husband, but we have to take everything into consideration. What if Adelaide makes a match between young Cambridge and Victoria? What I mean Ernest is this: Suppose Victoria does come to the throne … suppose there is no way of stopping her, then her husband should be our George, not George Cambridge.’

  The Duke was silent. He could not with equanimity let himself believe that Victoria would come to the throne; but he saw the wisdom of his wife’s reasoning. Consort would be the second prize if it should prove to be impossible to achieve the first.

  The Duchess went on: ‘George must accept Adelaide’s invitation. I know we are determined that – if it is humanly possible – Adelaide shall never be Queen of England, but just suppose she is. Then she will be powerful; she leads William now. What she says will be the order of the day. So … as my second string … if George can’t be King of England he shall at least be the Queen’s Consort.’ The Duke regarded his wife shrewdly. She was right of course. He was going to fight with all his might to keep Victoria off the throne but if by some evil chance she should reach it, his George should be there to share it with her. ‘Oh yes, it is well to be on good terms with Adelaide,’ he said. The Duchess nodded. They saw eye to eye. Let him have his little philander with Graves’s wife. What did it matter? What was fidelity compared with the ability to share an ambition?

  * * *

  It was very lonely in Kensington Palace without Feodora, but true to her word the older sister wrote regularly to the younger one and it was the delight of those days to have a letter from Feodora. Victoria read them all again and again and could picture the fairy-tale castle which was Feodora’s home. It was Gothic and seemed haunted; there were so many dark, twisted little staircases, so many tall rooms with slits of windows from which Feodora could look on Hohenlohe territory. Her husband was very kind and she was growing more and more fond of him.

  ‘I don’t believe she ever gives a thought to Augustus now,’ Victoria told the dolls.

  She sighed. How much happier it would have been for her if that marriage had taken place. She liked calling on Uncle Sussex and gazing with awe on his collections of rare books and bibles. The clocks were amusing too, particularly when they all chimed together. Victoria especially liked the ones which played the national anthem. She always stood to attention when she heard that and thought of dearest Uncle King and the time when she had asked his band to play it for her. Dear Uncle Sussex; he really was one of the favourite uncles; and how she loved his flowers and still liked to water them, although it made her feel rather sad because darling Feodora was not sitting under the tree. But Lady Buggin was amusing and very kind and nice. It was such a pity that Mamma did not like her and that she was told to keep away when Victoria paid a visit. Victoria liked people who were affectionate and laughed a great deal; and Uncle Sussex seemed much happier when Lady Buggin was there. Uncle Sussex was very tall and he looked grand in his gold-trimmed dressing-gown which he wore a great deal in the house. His little black page was always in attendance – also grandly dressed in royal livery. Uncle Sussex treated him with respect and always called him Mr Blackman. Yes, it would have been much more comforting if Feodora had married Augustus and Uncle Sussex had become her father-in-law.

  But it seemed Feodora was happy enough in her castle. She hoped, she wrote to Victoria, that before long she would be able to tell her some very exciting news. Victoria should rest assured that she should be one of the very first to hear.

  ‘Now I wonder what that can be,’ said Victoria to the dolls.

  Lehzen was seated in the room, ever watchful; this was a little respite after her drawing lesson. Of all lessons she much preferred music and drawing. Mr Westall who was an important artist was very pleased with her; and she loved best of all sketching people. It was fun to send her drawings to Feodora – particularly those of herself which was, Feodora replied, almost like having darling Victoria with her. Mr Westall said that had she not been a young lady of such rank she might have become a distinguished artist. What praise! But when she repeated it to Lehzen that lady had smiled wryly and said: ‘But as it happens you are a young lady of rank.’

  It was the same with singing. Mr Sale of the Chapel Royal was delighted with her voice. It was true and sweet, he told her; lessons with him were always a joy, as were dancing lessons with Madame Bourdin. She would have cheerfully given herself to study if this meant learning subjects like music, dancing, drawing and riding! French, German, Italian and Latin, to say nothing of English and arithmetic, were less inviting; but because she was so much aware of her vague importance – which was never exactly mentioned but constantly implied – she did her best; and the Rev. George Davys who was in charge of her general instruction was pleased with her.

  Victoria had been called a little vixen by some; she admitted to waywardness and storms; but at heart she was determined to do her duty however unpleasant this might be and always she was aware of the watching eye of Lehzen, and the effect her failure would have on dear Uncle Leopold. Mamma too, but it did not hurt in the same way to disappoint Mamma. Indeed there were times when some perverse little spirit rose in her and she felt a desire to plague Mamma. But the thought of losing Lehzen’s approval or saddening Uncle L
eopold always sobered her.

  Lehzen came over and said that it was time for their walk.

  ‘Do you know what I wish to do today, Lehzen?’ said Victoria. ‘I am going to buy the doll.’

  ‘You have the money?’

  ‘Yes. I have now saved enough.’ She thought of the doll. It was as beautiful as the Big Doll which Aunt Adelaide had given her; in fact it bore some resemblance to it and would be a pleasant companion for the Big Doll. As soon as she had seen it she had wanted it. She had pointed it out to Lehzen in the shop window and Lehzen had reported her desire to the Duchess. Together they had decided that it was not good for Victoria to have all she wanted; she must therefore save up her pocket money until she had enough to buy the doll. It was six shillings – a high price for a doll, but then it was a very special one.

  ‘Is she not growing a little old for dolls?’ wondered the Duchess.

  Lehzen could not bear that she should, so she remarked that she thought there was no harm in her fondness for them … for a year or so. Many of the dolls represented historical characters and it was amazing how quickly she learned the history of those who were in the doll family.

  So it was decided that she should save for the doll and add this one to her collection. The owner of the shop, although he had left it in his window, had put a little notice on it to say Sold. Every time she passed Victoria gazed longingly at the doll and exulted over the little ticket; and gradually she was accumulating the money.

  ‘We will go now,’ said Lehzen, ‘and then we shall be back in time for Monsieur Grandineau’s French lesson.’

  They were talking of the doll as they came out of the apartment and there was Sir John Conroy smiling the smile which Victoria could not like.

  ‘Going to buy the doll?’ he asked. What a pity, thought Victoria, that he knew. It was a lesson not to talk too much in future. She sighed. There seemed to be lessons in everything. What tiresome things lessons could be! But perhaps Mamma had told him.