The Captive of Kensington Palace (29 page)

The King hesitated. ‘Do it how you like,’ he said, ‘but the salutes are to be stopped.’

Adelaide was relieved. She did hope the matter could be settled amicably.

‘Do you think,’ said the Duchess to Sir John, ‘that too much adulation is going to Victoria’s head?’

‘There is certainly a change in her since the arrival of the Princes.’

‘She is too fond of admiration.’

Sir John looked slyly at his Duchess. ‘It’s a common enough failing.’

‘There is no room in the life of a Queen for common failings. She is becoming vain. I have caught her twice looking in the looking-glass; and worse than that, she seemed to have quite an idea of her own importance.’

‘Since she receives royal salutes wherever she goes and the people cheer her and make much of her, and she has two handsome young men both eager to be chosen as her husband – to say nothing of those paternal cousins whom the King and Queen would favour – I suppose a little vanity is understandable.’

‘She frowned when I criticised her. I do believe she thinks that she is of more consequence than
I
am.’

‘That may well be,’ said Sir John.

‘She will have to be checked.’

‘Lehzen spoils her.’

‘In her own stern way perhaps.’

‘Nevertheless it is spoiling.’

‘My dear, she would make such trouble if I sent Lehzen away. She would appeal to William and Adelaide.’

‘You have snapped your fingers at
them
quite often.’

‘Yes, but we must remember that until William is acknowledged to be mad he is still the King and he could be difficult. Nevertheless I am determined not to allow Victoria to imagine she can command us all … yet.’

A messenger had arrived with a letter for the Duchess. Sir John watched her while she opened it and read it.

When she had done so she threw it on to the table with a sarcastic laugh. Sir John picked it up and read it.

‘They suggest that you stop the salutes.’

‘Impertinence,’ said the Duchess.

‘Well, hardly that.’

‘I shall certainly not stop them. Victoria has every right to be saluted. She will be the Queen as soon as William is dead.’

‘My dear Duchess has overlooked one factor. William is not dead.’

‘I shall write back and tell them that I have no intention of depriving my daughter of her rights. As soon as this pier is opened I shall write to this … er … person and tell him so. Now I believe it is time we left.’

Victoria was seated in the carriage with the Duchess who was regarding her critically. The child was smiling at the people who were cheering her and looking decidedly complacent. Yes, that was the word. Indeed, she was getting out of hand and it would have to be stopped.

‘Mamma, when I open the pier …’

‘
We
are opening the pier.’

‘Oh,’ said Victoria, and stopped herself saying more. She had heard that the pier was to be opened by the Princess Victoria; there had been no mention of the Duchess of Kent.

‘You must not imagine,’ went on the Duchess, ‘that the people are cheering
you
.’

Victoria, who must have the truth at all costs, said: ‘But, Mamma, they call my name.’

‘It is the Crown they are saluting.’

‘But that is Uncle William’s.’

‘You’re in a most perverse mood, and I must warn you against arrogance.’

‘But I don’t
feel
arrogant … only pleased that the people are so loyal and seem to like me.’

‘You think
that
because you are arrogant. You seem to forget that they are cheering me as well as you. And the Princes and … er … the rest of the party.’

‘But they say Victoria,’ said the Princess stubbornly.

‘Really, you are becoming most difficult.’

The carriage had stopped at the pier and the Mayor was waiting to greet them. The Duchess was helped from the carriage, followed by Victoria, and there was the Mayor seeming not to see the Duchess and going straight to Victoria all smiles, followed by the town Councillors.

‘Long live the Princess!’ called someone in the crowd. ‘Long live our little Princess Victoria.’

The Duchess might have been one of the Princess’s ladies-in-waiting for all the attention they paid to her. They hadn’t a thought beyond Victoria. It was preposterous.

She waved an imperious hand at the Mayor.

‘I have decided,’ she said, ‘that my daughter shall
not
open the pier. I will do it myself.’

The Mayor and his astounded councillors stared at her unable to hide their dismay. The Princess stood very still; her face had turned pale; there was glitter in her eyes, but she was determined that no one should know of the sudden fury which had seized her.

‘Your Grace,’ stammered the Mayor, ‘the people are gathered to see the Princess perform this ceremony.’

‘Then they will see me perform it instead.’

‘But the people …’

‘Come,’ said the Duchess, ‘let us proceed with the affair. Our time is limited, you know.’

In silence the ceremony was performed. Victoria could not believe that Mamma would so humiliate her in public; but she knew that the Mayor and all those present were as angry with the Duchess as she was.

Sir John, watching, thought it a mistake; but he shrugged his shoulders; nothing could alter Victoria’s accession and the more cowed she was the easier she would be to handle.

There was to be a luncheon to follow the ceremony and the Duchess coolly said that she would be unable to attend this. As the ceremony had taken place in Southampton and she was staying in the Isle of Wight it had been necessary to cross the water and that had not agreed with her. Therefore she did not feel she could take luncheon. ‘Perhaps the Princess …’ began the unfortunate Mayor. ‘The Princess cannot attend ceremonies without her mother,’ said the Duchess coldly.

It was a disastrous occasion. It would be talked of, written of, and Victoria was heartily ashamed.

Mamma had spoilt this wonderful time they were having; as long as she lived she would remember the humiliation of being treated like a child in public.

A voice inside her said: ‘You hate Mamma. You know you do. Why not admit it?’

But she had sworn to be good and good people did not hate their Mammas. At least they silenced little voices within them that insisted that they did.

The Duchess was in a bad temper which was not improved when they returned to Norris Castle and found a letter from Earl Grey. There was a new regulation regarding salutes to royal people. In future the Royal Standard must only be saluted when the King and Queen were in residence.

What a sad day, thought Victoria. Her cousins were leaving.

They were still in the Isle of Wight and she loved the place but it would not be the same without them. How I shall miss dear Ernest and even dearer Alexander! she sighed. How sad that they must go! But they had stayed for about a month and it had seemed like a week. Such fun they had had! She could not wait to write in her Journal:

‘They were so amiable and pleasant … they were always
satisfied, always good-humoured
. Alexander took such care of me getting in and out of the boat; so did Ernest. They talked about such
interesting
things … We shall miss them at breakfast, at luncheon, at dinner, riding, sailing, driving, walking, in fact everywhere.’

But one must say good-bye quietly and whisper to dear Alexander – and Ernest – ‘Please come and see us again soon.’

Alexander looked at her with longing in his eyes and said he would not be happy again until he did.

And so the visit of the Württemberg cousins came to an end and she missed them sadly.

But she seemed much older than she had before they arrived. That month had changed her. She wanted the society of amusing young people; and although she tried not to, sometimes she thought of Mamma in a manner which shocked her because she was sure it was not good to dislike one’s own mother.

  Chapter XIII  

THE BEAUTIFUL BLIND BOY

T
he King and Queen were at Kew and this was a very sad occasion – a farewell dinner to the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland and their son.

The King was subdued; he was a family man and all the resentment he had previously felt towards his brother Cumberland was now suppressed because of this terrible tragedy which had overcome him and his Duchess.

‘Their only son,’ he said to Adelaide. ‘I feel for them.’

‘Oh, William,’ replied the tender-hearted Adelaide, ‘if only I could believe that this Baron Graefe could do something for the boy!’

‘We can only hope he will. They say he’s a clever fellow; and he didn’t do badly with Ernest.’

‘But Ernest lost his eye. He couldn’t save that.’

‘No. Well, we’ll see. We’ve got to speed them on their way and hope, that’s all, my dear.’

‘Poor Frederica. This has changed her.’

‘For the better,’ said William bluntly. ‘I always wondered whether she had a hand in murdering those husbands of hers.’

‘There are always rumours,’ said Adelaide sadly. ‘Few of us escape.’ She was thinking of Earl Howe, still attached to the Household but no longer in the position of Chamberlain.

‘H’m,’ said the King. ‘And there have been some particularly nasty ones surrounding my brother Cumberland and his wife.’

‘The whole world is sorry for him now,’ said Adelaide. ‘But we must go to greet our guests, I shall feel like weeping when I see dear George.’

But she managed to smile when Frederica came towards her leading her poor blind son.

‘My dear, dear George,’ said Adelaide, and kissed him tenderly.

‘Why, Aunt Adelaide, it is good of you to ask us to say goodbye to you before we leave for Germany.’

He was smiling. He had grown beautiful in his blindness; the gentleness had increased and his smile was very sweet. Adelaide had heard him referred to as the ‘Beautiful Blind Boy.’ Dear George, so young and yet to have acquired this special and so admirable quality which enabled him to bear his affliction more easily, it seemed, than those about him.

‘Here is the King, dearest,’ said Frederica.

And George turned to William, who, the tears rising to his eyes and his face growing redder than usual, embraced him warmly.

‘Dear nephew, this German fellow is good … the best in the world.’

‘So they tell me, Uncle William.’

‘You’ll be back … right as rain.’

Adelaide had taken his arm. ‘Come, dear George, we will go into dinner.’

It was an informal party as only a few close friends were fellow-guests and Adelaide and young George talked of the old days and visits to Bushy and Windsor when all the children had had such fun. The King and Cumberland talked politics together; and the Duchess of Cumberland’s eyes scarcely left the face of her beautiful blind boy.

When the meal was over the King rose to his feet and drank the health of the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland.

‘We all know for what purpose they are leaving us and our heartfelt prayers go with them. You will all pray, I know – as the Queen and I do – for the success of this mission. May our nephew return to us with his sight fully restored. I can say – and the Queen is with me in this – nothing would give us greater delight.’

The Duchess of Cumberland was weeping quietly, and the Duke stood up and in a voice rent with emotion thanked the King for his goodness to him, his wife and his son. They would go on their journey with hope in their hearts and they would find comfort in remembering this evening.

All were deeply affected except young George who sat smiling amid their tears – a look of happiness on his face. Adelaide wondered whether this was because he was certain of being cured, or whether it simply meant that the qualities which he had recently discovered in himself had brought him such consolation that he could be happy even in blindness.

How fortunate I am in my relations, thought Victoria. There were the dear Württemberg cousins, those other cousins she had not yet met from Saxe-Coburg but of whom she had heard much – they were already dear Ernest and Albert in her mind – and now there was dearest Feodora who was writing to say that her husband – another Ernest – was talking of a visit they might pay to England. Oh, what joy to see darling Feodora and the dear babies. They were increasing rapidly. Little Charles followed by Eliza, then Hermann and now another baby. Victor. Her brother Charles had upset everyone by marrying Marie Klebelsberg and they had a little son. Such fun it was to think up presents for the children. We are a great present-giving family, thought Victoria. Feodora’s letters were a joy; they were full of the antics of the children who already loved their Tante Victoria. But dearest of all the relations was Uncle Leopold.

It was long since she had seen him but she remembered him as being the most handsome man in the world. He wrote to her regularly, stressing the fact that he wanted to help her, to guide her; she was his ‘dear soul’ and he wanted her to turn to him for any advice she needed. She knew now that she would one day be a great Queen; she was very young, and it was likely that she would still be young when the Crown came to her; he wanted her to know that her Uncle Leopold, though he might be far away, was never far off in spirit. She could write her innermost thoughts to him. They were as one. He had believed that he would always be at her side, but fate had made him the King of the Belgians and that had meant that he could no longer live in England. Thank God, they could both wield a pen with some skill. Thus separation need not be an obstacle, although he would give a great deal to be with her, to embrace her once more. Did she remember how she used to sit on his knee and watch his lips as he talked as though she loved the very words which came forth? He was always at the disposal of his dearest Victoria.

‘How fortunate I am to have such an uncle,’ said Victoria to Lehzen. ‘I believe him to be the most noble as well as the most handsome man in the world.’

Lehzen was silent. There were facts about Leopold which Victoria did not know. If he had been so devoted to his niece why had he not stayed with her? He should have said ambition rather than fate had made him the King of the Belgians. He had not behaved with what could be called nobility towards that poor girl Caroline Bauer. She must regret the day when she first saw Leopold King of the Belgians, for as far as Lehzen could gather Fräulein Bauer had been a considerable actress on the German stage and fame and fortune were within her grasp. But Leopold had seen her; he spent many hours with her telling her of his sad life and how he had lost his wife so soon after their marriage and that the only woman whom he had ever known who reminded him of her and who could therefore take her place was Caroline Bauer. She was the niece of his friend and physician, Dr Stockmar and the fact that she had her mother with her seemed to give a respectability to the liaison. He had brought her to England, installed her in a little house and when he visited her would give her an account of his ailments and his sorrows; and then he would expect her to read to him for hours to save his eyes until the poor actress and her mother longed to escape the dreary life to which Leopold had condemned them; and when he decided to accept the Belgian crown they had with relief returned to Germany.

Of these matters Victoria knew nothing. Lehzen often wondered whether it was wise for the dear child to retain her fairytale view of life. Perhaps awakening would come fast enough; perhaps the Duchess herself was breaking it; for Lehzen was fully aware of the changing feelings of Victoria towards her mother.

Meanwhile one of the greatest pleasures in Victoria’s life were the letters from dearest Uncle Leopold. She knew that dearest Aunt Louise was a
good
wife to him, and in this she rejoiced. It was her greatest hope that she would see them one day, and this, Leopold assured her, was a certainty.

Aunt Louise was going to have a child and how excited that made Victoria.

‘You see, Lehzen, it will make up to him for Charlotte and her dear baby who never lived at all.’

When Louise lost her baby Victoria wept bitterly for her.

‘Dearest Uncle Leopold, how he must suffer! And I suffer with him.’

Tears fell on to the watch cover she was embroidering for him. It was beautiful, with pansies in a lovely mauve shade.

‘It must be done in time for his birthday,’ she told Lehzen. ‘He loves flowers.’

‘Pansies,’ said Lehzen. ‘They are sometimes called two-faces-under-a-hood.’

‘So they are, Lehzen. And that means a two-faced person, which in its turn could mean a deceitful one.’

‘A very appropriate gift for some statesmen,’ said Lehzen.

‘But not for dear Uncle Leopold. I think I like the French name for them better. Pensées. Thoughts. He will know that I have chosen pansies for his watch cover because all the time I am working them I am thinking of him.’

‘And he will be right.’

‘Dear Uncle! I hope he is not too unhappy. Loving people makes one very sad sometimes because one not only has one’s own troubles but theirs also.’

Lehzen was suddenly emotional – which was rare with her.

‘You are a dear good girl,’ she said.

‘Oh, Lehzen, my dear,
dear
Lehzen, don’t think I don’t appreciate all you do for me.’

Lehzen turned away. She did not want to show her tears. Her darling was growing up. Soon she would have no need of a governess. Victoria seemed to read her thoughts for she said: ‘Oh, Lehzen, you will always be my very dear friend.’

And she was sad again, thinking of those days ahead when she would be grown up and no longer in need of Lehzen’s services. Poor Lehzen!

It seemed that one could not love people without suffering with them. All the same one must be grateful for dear friends and relations.

‘It will soon be Victoria’s fifteenth birthday,’ said the Queen to the King. ‘Do you remember last year’s ball? It was a great success. Victoria enjoyed it so much. I shall do the same again this year.’

‘Excellent, excellent,’ said the King. ‘Like to see the children enjoy themselves. You remember the ball you gave for those Württemberg boys and how That Woman behaved.’

‘I shall never forget it,’ said Adelaide.