The Captive of Kensington Palace (16 page)

‘I was of the opinion that the King ruled his kingdom and as Kensington Palace is part of that kingdom I cannot see that it should be outside his rule.’

‘Oh,’ said the Duchess, ‘so we are to have a little storm, are we?’

‘A storm, yes, Mamma,’ replied Victoria, ‘but it will not be a little one if any attempt is made to part me from the Baroness Lehzen.’

With that she swept out of the room.

The Duchess stared after her in fury; but Sir John merely smiled.

‘Her Majesty is in a regal mood today.’

‘The impertinence …’ cried the Duchess. ‘I shall send for her. She will be severely taken to task. I …’

He laid a hand on her arm.

‘She is no longer a child.’

‘She is twelve years old.’

‘She has been made aware of her destiny. We shall have to be careful now.’

‘Careful … of my own daughter!’

‘The Queen-to-be! And she is shrewd too. She would have Adelaide on her side and Adelaide would bring in William. I am convinced that we should receive a royal command to keep Lehzen in the household.’

‘This is
my
household,’ spluttered the Duchess.

‘Yes … yes … it’s true. But William could issue an order. And then where should we be? Our best plan is to be astonished that she took us so seriously. We had no real intention of sending Lehzen away. It was a complete misunderstanding.’ The Duchess stared in amazement at Sir John, but he only smiled at her tenderly.

‘You will see that this is the wise course to take,’ he said.

After a little persuasion she came round to his view as she always did.

Lehzen stayed in the household.

The Duchess and Sir John had requested the presence of Victoria in the Duchess’s drawing-room. There was a subtle difference in their attitude towards her since the Lehzen affair. Victoria, always frank, was unable to hide a vague antipathy towards her mother and a decided one towards Sir John.

‘She will grow out of it,’ said Sir John; and implored the Duchess not to show that she was aware of it.

‘Sometimes I think she forgets that I am her mother,’ said the Duchess indignantly. ‘She is more devoted to Lehzen and her affection for Leopold is positively sickening at times. And yet towards me …’

‘She is going through a certain phase,’ Sir John assured her.

‘I am not sure that
I
am going to allow her tantrums.’

‘I am sure you will know exactly how to deal with them,’ he said smiling fondly.

And now there was this matter of changing her name.

‘It was the late King’s fault,’ said the Duchess. ‘I wanted her christened Georgiana. I even mentioned Elizabeth. He would have none of it. He said she was to be named after me.’

‘She couldn’t have had a more charming name.’

‘She needed a
Queen’s
name. And now they want her to have it.’

Victoria entered the room. There was a faintly wary look in her eyes. She was never at ease when she was alone with her mother and Sir John.

The Duchess held out her cheek to be kissed; and Victoria dutifully kissed it. The Duchess overawed her and so in a way did Sir John. It was only when she had to fight for some worthy cause that she could stand against them.

‘My dear child,’ said the Duchess, ‘pray sit down. You know that you are now accepted as the heiress to the throne.’

‘The heiress presumptive, Mamma,’ corrected Victoria.

‘Oh, why harp on that horrible word.’

‘Do you mean “presumptive”?’ asked Victoria. ‘It is a very important word. It means …’

‘I think we know what it means, don’t we, Sir John?’

Sir John assured Victoria that he did; and the Duchess continued. ‘Now that you are accepted as the heiress to the throne, two Members of Parliament, Sir Robert Inglis and Sir Matthew White Ridley, have suggested you change your name.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘Because, my dear, when you are Queen the people will wish you to have a queenly name. There has never been a Victoria who was Queen of England.’

‘Then, if I am Queen, there will be one.’

‘They suggest that you change your name to Elizabeth.’

‘Elizabeth. I should hate to do that.’

‘Perhaps you would, but the people would like it. Elizabeth was a great Queen; she would be known as Elizabeth I and you would be Elizabeth II.’

‘I refuse.’

‘Another storm?’

‘Yes, another storm.’

‘We seem to be enduring some very stormy weather,’ said Sir John facetiously.

‘I shall inform these gentlemen that I shall not change my name. Elizabeth! I would never be Elizabeth.’

‘Why not? Elizabeth was a great Queen.’

‘
I
do not admire her.’

‘Others do.’

‘But they are not expected to take her name.’

‘If the Parliament decide that it is a good thing for you to change your name …’

‘They must be told that I refuse to do so.’

‘You would do well to remember that you are very young. You are in great need of guidance.’

‘I know that, Mamma, and I trust that when the time comes I shall receive that guidance. But this is something I know in my heart to be wrong. I will not be Elizabeth II. If I am to be Queen I shall be Victoria. It is my name and I refuse to have another.’

Sir John looked at the Duchess as to say: ‘Very well. It is not an important matter.’

‘I have a letter here from your Uncle Leopold.’

Victoria’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘May I read it, Mamma?’

‘You may. He thinks you should see something of the country. You should know something of the people you will one day govern. He believes that a series of little trips would enhance your popularity with the people and teach you a great deal.’

‘Are you going to object to that?’ Sir John asked, his voice faintly tinged with sarcasm.

‘Oh, indeed no. I am sure Uncle Leopold is right.’

‘It is more important than the name,’ Sir John told the Duchess after Victoria had left them. ‘It is not a bad thing for her to refuse to change. The people know her as Victoria and they will think of her as that. Besides, they will tell themselves they don’t want another Queen Bess; they want a Queen who is herself.’

Meanwhile Victoria took the dolls from the drawer in which she kept them. She had not played with them for a long time.

There was the figure in stiff farthingale and ruff. ‘Certainly I shall not take your name,’ said Victoria sternly. ‘It would be as though you had laid a spell on me. And that, as you know, I should never allow. I am myself. And if dear Aunt Adelaide does not have a child and I become a Queen, then I shall be Victoria.’

  Chapter VII  

THE KING’S DRAWING-ROOM

H
ow pleasant it was to go to Ramsgate. She missed Uncle Leopold because the last time she had visited the place he had been with her. They used to walk along by the sea together, he holding her hand, and the people scarcely noticing them, while he told her about dear Charlotte and how he had loved her and had had to control her – and how grateful she was to be controlled. (‘As you must be, my darling.’ ‘Oh yes, yes, dearest Uncle. I am sure you know best.’)

And now Uncle Leopold was in Belgium being a King and there were only his letters which she looked for, and they came regularly; she treasured every one and read them again and again. Perhaps, she told herself, one day he will come and see me.

In the meantime, here she was at Ramsgate without him, but with dear Lehzen and her new governess the Duchess of Northumberland, who interfered very little, and Mamma and Sir John and the rest of the household.

She wrote to Feodora and Uncle Leopold and told them all about it. What a pleasure it was to write. It makes one’s experiences so much more vivid, she told Lehzen; and Lehzen said it was a very good exercise.

Life was exciting. She was growing up. There was a great deal of talk about what she should do. When they returned to Kensington she might go to the opera. Uncle William had hinted that he wished her to make public appearances. Perhaps she would be allowed to go to some of Aunt Adelaide’s parties, and share in the fun which her cousins enjoyed.

In the meantime Mamma gave orders that the Royal standard should be flown over the house in which they were staying.

‘Is that right, Lehzen?’ asked Victoria. ‘I thought the Royal Standard only flew over the Sovereign’s residence.’

‘That is true. But your Mamma regards you as the Sovereign and therefore has given this order.’

Victoria frowned. ‘I don’t think Uncle William will be very pleased when he hears of it. Mamma should not have done it.’

Oh dear, there were so many things which Mamma did and which she really had no right to do.

At precisely a quarter to eight the King’s valet knocked at the door of the bedroom William shared with Adelaide.

The King sighed, stretched his legs and remembered the irritating thoughts on which he had gone to sleep the previous night. That woman. She would have to be stopped. The idea of flying the Royal Standard over the house in Ramsgate! It was as though she had killed him off and buried him already.

It would not do. And she should be told so.

He allowed himself five minutes before he rose. He looked over at the Queen’s bed; Adelaide was still sleeping. They did not share a bed nowadays, although they slept in the same room.

‘Work to be done,’ he said to himself; and getting out of bed put on his flannel dressing-gown.

In his dressing-room his valet was waiting for him.

‘Good morning, Your Majesty.’

The King nodded. He looked about him slyly, knowing what was expected of him.

‘No visitors this morning, Jemmett?’

‘Well, Sir, not that I’ve seen.’

‘Better begin, eh, without them.’

‘If that is Your Majesty’s wish, Sir.’

The King sat down and winked at Jemmett, who began to fix the towel about his neck.

There was a sudden whispering of ‘No … let me. It’s my turn.’ ‘You said …’ All of which William pretended not to notice. Then a pair of small hands were put over his eyes; someone was standing on the chair Jemmett had discreetly placed at the appropriate spot.

‘Guess who? Guess who!’

‘My goodness me!’ cried the King. ‘What is this? What is this, eh?’ As though he did not know and that it did not happen every morning in the King’s dressing-room.

‘Guess who, Grandpapa.’

‘Then let me see. It is George.’

‘No, it is
not
.’

‘Then it is Adelaide …’

‘No … no …
no
.’

And he would go through the names of the grandchildren until he said the one expected of him; and knowing who it was he always left that one till last.

That little game over, the children came to stand round the silver ewer which Jemmett was placing on the table in front of the King.

‘Now you’ve got to bend your head over … hasn’t he, Jemmett?’

‘It’s true,’ Jemmett agreed.

‘And whish … over it goes all over Grandpapa’s poor old head.’

‘It smells nice though.’

‘Oh yes, it smells
lovely
.’

‘I shall have first smell.’

‘No, me …’

The King’s eyes filled with tears as he watched them – his dear, dear grandchildren who enlivened his days and made him forget the minor irritations of adult life: the growing cupidity of his children – the parents of these little ones; the arrogance of that Kensington woman; the inability of Adelaide to bear a child; and worst of all the growing unrest in the country and the continual cry for Reform.

Intent eyes watched him; little pink faces glowed with anticipation. One would have thought it was the first time they had ever seen his valet wash him. Dorothy’s grandchildren! he thought. How proud she would be to see them now! So lively and healthy, so much a part of the royal household. Adelaide loved them no less than he did, bless her.

He bent his head over the bowl and there were squeals of delight as the rose water was poured over his head. Jemmett rubbed the liquid into his hair and over his face and then dried it vigorously.

‘There,’ said William. ‘Now I am a clean old man.’

‘Grandpapa is a clean old man,’ cried the children.

‘Where’s my coat, Jemmett?’ asked the King.

He was dressed while the children looked on. Then he sat down and one by one they came up and gave him a smacking kiss.

When the last kiss had been exchanged, the King rose.

‘I think it is time we went to breakfast.’

‘Queeny will be waiting,’ one of the children said.

‘Then let us waste no more time. I am hungry if you are not.’

‘Oh we are, Grandpapa.’

They jostled each other for the possession of a hand and clustered round him they went into breakfast.

The Queen, seated at one end of the breakfast table received a good morning kiss from each of the children.

‘Just a dish of coffee, William?’ she asked.

‘Just that.’

‘And the usual two fingers of bread. My dear William, you do not eat enough.’

The children had seated themselves at the table; at the other end, opposite Adelaide, one of the maids of honour was making the tea.

‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Adelaide.

The King nodded. ‘But I had that woman on my mind.’

The children were listening intently so Adelaide made the usual ‘not before them’ sign which William constantly provoked.

‘Grandpapa doesn’t eat enough,’ said young Adelaide.

‘My father used to say that people ate too much and there was a tendency in the family to run to fat,’ said the King.

‘Run to fat.’ Some of the little ones were bewildered. ‘How do you
run
to fat, Grandpapa?’

‘Now you have some explaining to do,’ said Adelaide, glad that the conversation had turned from William’s father, who in himself was a dangerous subject. Soon these little ones would be learning why they were not always received at certain functions, why the difficult Duchess of Kent would not allow her daughter to mix with them. There were so many secrets in the family.

But William was happy while the children were with him; he could throw himself into playing games with them, amusing them, being one of them. If only, sighed Adelaide, we had had children. If only we could live the lives of simple people.

But very soon some of the King’s ministers would be arriving and State business would begin, and there was all this dreadful trouble in the country. Adelaide was often fearful when she contemplated what had happened in France. Oh dear, if there should be revolution here!

But William was popular, or he had been in the first weeks of his accession. The people’s mood changed quickly, though.

Dear William! He was doing his utmost to be a good King and he did enjoy the role. There was no doubt about that. Even when he had to sign countless papers – a monarch’s less majestic task – he enjoyed it. And what a stack of papers his brother had left unsigned! She would never forget the sight of poor William spending his evenings trying to catch up with the unsigned documents, and how she and the Princess Augusta had had to bathe and massage his poor fingers because they grew so stiff with holding the pen. How much happier he would have been playing a game of Pope Joan!

Now the nurses were coming in to remove the grandchildren who set up wails of protest at being removed, much to William’s secret delight.

‘Later we’ll have a game,’ he said.

‘Promise, Grandpapa. Promise!’

And the King gave his solemn promise.

‘Rascals,’ said the King indulgently, smiling at Adelaide.

‘They adore you.’

‘You too, my dear. You’ve been good to them, Adelaide.’

The newspapers were brought in. This was an uneasy hour. Who could know what he was going to find? He sat growling over them. Now and then an exclamation would break from him. ‘Stuff!’ ‘Damned lie!’

Adelaide was glad when the Duke of Wellington arrived.