The Captive of Kensington Palace

Chapter X ROYAL PROGRESS

Victoria, waking at half past seven, sat up in bed and looked about the strange room wondering where she was. Then she remembered. Chatsworth! They had arrived here on the previous night and it had been dark so that she had been unable to see the house. The Duke of Devonshire had welcomed them at the door and been very respectful to Mamma and herself, declaring that he was honoured to receive them. These receptions always delighted Mamma and put her into a good temper; and if their hosts and hostesses were especially welcoming to Sir John Conroy, Mamma was even more pleased.

There was no doubt about it that she enjoyed travel. They had been moving from one place to another since August. How excited she had been on that day when they had left Kensington Palace and taken the new road to Regent’s Park, through such pretty country! Such good progress they had made, leaving the Palace at six minutes past seven and arriving at Barnet, where they changed horses, at twenty minutes to nine. She could be precise about the details because she had written it all down in her Journal.

How right Mamma had been about the pleasures of a Journal! One could recall what had happened so vividly. Of course, she must always remember that Mamma would read her Journal and that meant that she could not write exactly what she felt. In fact she was not always sure what she did feel – about Sir John for one thing. But if she could have written down these vague doubts it would have been rather exciting.

But there were so many things one must not do – far more it seemed than those one could. So it was best to enjoy what one was allowed to and keep the rest for the days when she would be free.

And now here she was on this sunny October day lying in bed in Chatsworth. The door was open and Mamma was sleeping in the room beyond. There was no escape. ‘Chatsworth is a very fine mansion,’ Mamma had said when they drove towards it; she was looking forward to seeing it in detail. Last night she and Lehzen had dined alone in this room while Mamma was entertained at a grand dinner which Victoria was considered too young to attend. Oh dear, it would not always be so!

What a great deal of England she was seeing! Of course she already knew Ramsgate very well and she had been to Brighton; but this was different; this was travelling all over England which, Mamma had said, ‘will one day be yours’.

So fascinating, she thought. I have been very much amused.

They had journeyed right up to the Midlands and seen the Black Country – where everything indeed did look black. She had been rather worried about some of the poor ragged children, but Mamma had said that they were necessary. She wondered why, but one did not argue with Mamma. They had been received in great houses wherever they went; some of the castles had been a little draughty, but there had always been fires in her room. Everyone seemed anxious to placate her, even though Mamma insisted that she was only a child and in great need of guidance.

Wales had been exciting – particularly when she had explored the ruins of Carnarvon Castle and a royal salute had been fired. In fact royal salutes were fired everywhere and this seemed to make Mamma very pleased, while Sir John had that strange rather mischievous twinkle in his eyes which she had begun to notice.

She heard him say to Mamma: ‘This will give His Majesty the greatest pleasure when he hears of it,’ and she knew by the tone of his voice that he meant exactly the opposite – which was to say the least deceitful – and deceit was a trait which Victoria particularly disliked.

Then they had gone on board the Emerald which was lying off-shore. And how she loved the ship! They had just heard that Uncle Leopold had married. Mamma said it was a Good Thing, but she was not quite sure in her mind of this. She and Uncle Leopold had loved each other fondly, and she had always believed that she had been his dearest; but if he had a wife could this be so? There again, that was something one could not write in one’s Journal. ‘Your welfare is the nearest thing to my heart,’ Uncle Leopold had said many times. But how could that be if he had a wife? Of course she was only a little girl – thirteen years old and Uncle Leopold was a man who had already been married. It was quite impossible that she could marry Uncle Leopold, but if she could have … It was something which it was absurd to think of and which she would never write in her Journal, but she had to admit that she did love him more than anyone else in the world and that was how one should feel about one’s husband. And now he had a wife … a new wife to take the place of that hoyden Princess Charlotte who was long since dead but who lived on in dear Louisa Lewis’s memory in haunted Claremont.

‘It’s a good marriage,’ Mamma had said. ‘I believe Louise to be the favourite daughter of the King of France.’

Oh yes, it appeared to be a very good marriage. Louise of Orleans, daughter of Louis Philippe. She would be the Queen of the Belgians now. And Victoria hoped she would be worthy of dearest Uncle Leopold – although she gravely doubted that anyone could be that.

That was August 9th; and she would always remember it as Uncle Leopold’s wedding day.

Her feelings had changed little, for she and her uncle still exchanged loving letters. She was longing to meet her new Aunt and she felt that she was going to love her because Uncle Leopold did.

Well, they had travelled through Wales and been much fêted, but her pleasure had been marred by the sad news about George Cumberland. Poor George! There were grave fears that he would go blind and his Mamma was frantic about it and was talking about taking him to Germany for an operation.

‘How I should love to go and see him,’ she had said. ‘I should like to tell him that I am thinking of him. I should like to send him flowers every day which I would pick myself.’

‘What nonsense!’ Mamma had said. ‘My dear child, don’t you realise yet that everything you do is significant. As the future Queen you cannot send flowers to boys. In any case it would only arouse hopes which could never come to anything.’

‘I only want him to know how sorry I am, Mamma, about his eyes.’

‘It’s a judgment,’ said Mamma piously, and obscurely as far as Victoria was concerned.

But she did think of poor George Cumberland often, and she would shut her eyes and wonder what it was like not to be able to see at all.

It was now eight o’clock and time to get up. So she did and by nine she was seated at a table in a room overlooking the park where she breakfasted in the company of Lehzen. She studied the room, for she would have to describe it in her Journal. She wished she could make a sketch of it, but Lehzen sitting there with that rather anxious look on her face would be far more interesting to sketch than any room. Why was Lehzen anxious? Was she worried about something Victoria had done, or was it Mamma and Sir John – for she was sure Lehzen did worry about them – or was it because of the royal salutes and all the ceremonies which Mamma and Sir John insisted on and of which the King had expressed his disapproval?

She studied the ceiling painted with figures to represent some mythology, she did not know which, nor would she ask Lehzen for it would only provoke a lecture. The things she really wanted to know were not told her. So she remarked that it was a splendid room and it was a magnificent carpet and the waterfall she could see in the grounds was very lovely. All of which seemed the right sort of conversation to satisfy Lehzen.

‘It is a very fine house,’ she said.

‘It is reckoned one of the finest in the country,’ remarked Lehzen.

‘Finer than Kensington Palace,’ commented Victoria.

‘Later in the morning you will be taken on a tour of the house. Lord and Lady Cavendish are making up a party.’

‘That,’ said Victoria, ‘will amuse me very much.’

And it did and gave her plenty to write about in the Journal; and when they were in the grounds the Duke of Devonshire, who was walking beside her, said: ‘I wonder whether Your Highness would honour us by planting a tree in the grounds.’

‘Oh, I should like that.’

‘I will ask her Grace if you may do so.’

‘But I will do so.’

Oh dear, what had made her say that! She was pink with mortification, for what if Mamma should say ‘No’ and she have to break her word.

But Mamma was already approaching, accompanied by Lord and Lady Cavendish. ‘Victoria,’ she said, ‘you are to plant an oak and I a Spanish chestnut.’ So it was all right.

They planted their trees and she wondered what the world would be like when hers became a great tree; and what fun it would be to come to Chatsworth now and then and examine its progress.

Mamma was in a good mood because she too had planted a tree. Victoria had noticed that although Mamma wanted all possible honours for her daughter she was always a little cross if they were not extended to herself. What Mamma really wanted was Uncle William to die so that Victoria could be a Queen who had no authority. Then Mamma could be Regent. Oh dear, she was becoming very critical of Mamma who, as she was so fond of telling her, had done everything for her.

After luncheon there was a visit to Haddon Hall – a fascinating old house which dated back to the twelfth century; and afterwards they returned to Chatsworth where the Devonshires and their friends had devised a charade for the royal visitors.

Lehzen said: ‘The Duchess tells me that you may be allowed to sit up for the charade.’

‘Oh, that will be wonderful!’

‘It is really,’ went on Lehzen, ‘not to disappoint the Devonshires.’

‘It makes me very happy to know that they would be disappointed if I were not there.’

‘It is not to be taken as a precedent,’ Lehzen warned.

No! thought Victoria. But I am getting older and when I am of age I shall not be told when I must go to bed either by Lehzen, Sir John Conroy or even Mamma.

It was ten o’clock when the charade began. Victoria was seated beside Mamma and chairs were ranged all round them. Most of the candles were put out and the few remaining ones gave only a glimmer of light. Victoria was very excited. She looked at Victoire Conroy who always shared everything and on this occasion she was glad because they would be able to discuss the charade together afterwards.

‘It is to be in three syllables,’ said Mamma, ‘and there will be four acts. In the last, you must listen for the whole word.’

‘I shall, Mamma.’

This, she thought, is the sort of party Aunt Adelaide gives. How I should love to go to them. And once again the resentment towards Mamma was making itself felt. But she must give her entire attention to the charade if she were going to discover the word.

The first act was a scene from Bluebeard. How exciting! And then there was one depicting a scene at the Nile, and after that a scene from Tom Thumb. Best of all was the last act in which Queen Elizabeth figured with the Earl of Leicester and Amy Robsart. Victoria was excited because she guessed the word which was Kenilworth; and there they were in costumes similar to those her dolls had worn. She became so excited that the Duchess laid a restraining hand on her arm.

‘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 two 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.