The Captive of Kensington Palace

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 England – 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 Leopold 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.

Lehzen replied shortly that they were.

‘And the Princess saved her money for it,’ went on Sir John. ‘That is quite admirable. I know how careful she is with her money. She is getting more and more like her Grandmamma Queen Charlotte. She was very careful with money.’

Victoria coloured hotly and pulled at Lehzen’s hand. I hate him, she thought. I wish he would go.

Like Queen Charlotte! Queen Charlotte was ugly; she was unattractive. Nobody had liked her. Although poor Aunt Sophia and Augusta never actually said so, one could tell when they talked of their Mamma that they had not really loved her.

‘Am I like Queen Charlotte?’ she demanded as they walked through the gardens.

‘Not in the least,’ comforted Lehzen.

‘He once said I was like the Duke of Gloucester.’

‘I do not think,’ said Lehzen in a chilly tone, ‘that we should take any notice of what that man says.’

Lehzen could not have told her more clearly that she disliked Sir John, and Victoria was comforted. If Lehzen disliked him, then she could do so and know that she was right to. Only Mamma did not dislike him. That was the odd thing. Mamma liked him in a strange sort of way.

But they were getting near to the shop and the thought of clasping the doll in her arms at last, of seeing it in the nursery with Queen Elizabeth and the rest drove from her mind such unpleasant thoughts as those conjured up by brooding on Mamma’s relationship with Sir John.

‘I have the money,’ she told the man in the shop and he was so pleased, not she was sure because he wanted to sell the doll but because he knew how pleased she was to have her.

She laid the money carefully on the counter and the doll was taken out of the window.

Would the Princess like it wrapped, or would she carry it?

Wrapped! She could not bear it to be wrapped. The doll was for her a living person. One did not wrap up people.

‘I will carry her,’ she said.

And the doll was laid in her arms and Lehzen touched its face lovingly and said it was a very fine doll indeed, and compared favourably with the Big Doll.

The man at the door opened it with a bow and Victoria holding the precious doll, smilingly happily, walked out. She was glad, she told Lehzen, that it had taken so long to save up the money because this made the doll more precious.

It was a good lesson learned, said Lehzen; and then Victoria was staring in horror at the beggar in the road. His clothes were so ragged that she could see the flesh of his poor thin legs and arms, which was blue with the cold. He looked hungry. Such sights affected her deeply. Louisa Lewis had told her how Princess Charlotte felt the same and used to give all the money she had to the poor people she met, going without what she wanted herself to do so.

And there was this poor man – cold and hungry and his eyes were on the plump little girl in her warm cloak and her pretty bonnet, holding in her arms the smiling beautifully dressed doll.

She said to the man: ‘You are hungry, I believe.’

He nodded.

‘Wait here a moment.’

‘Princess,’ said Lehzen, ‘what are you thinking of?’

But Victoria had gone into the shop. ‘Please,’ she said to the shopman, ‘may I have my six shillings? You may take the doll and put her back in the window, but please put the ticket Sold on her. I will start to save again for her but I must have my six shillings.’

Lehzen looked on smiling softly; and Victoria, taking the six shillings, went out of the shop and gave them to the beggar man.

‘It was a most affecting incident,’ said the Baroness Lehzen to the Baroness Späth.

‘I am sure it was. The dear sweet soul!’

‘And she needed no prompting.’

‘The people will love her. She has so much heart.’

‘That man sneered when he heard of it.’

‘He would. What a pity he has so much influence with the Duchess.’

The two Baronesses sighed.

‘He will have no influence with the Princess, of that I’m sure,’ said Lehzen. ‘She already begins to dislike him.’

‘Do you think she is aware …’

‘She is so innocent, but I believe she senses something.’

‘Prince Leopold dislikes him.’

‘Oh yes, there is discord there.’

They nodded and the Baroness Späth looked hopefully at the Baroness Lehzen hoping for confidences. But Lehzen, while recognising the trustworthiness of Späth and her great desire to serve Victoria, thought her something of a fool. She remembered how stupidly she had behaved over the affair of Feodora and Augustus d’Este. Foolishly romantic, that was Späth and Lehzen was far from that; and if they shared an antipathy towards that man who was trying to rule the household, that did not mean that Lehzen was prepared to take Späth into her confidence over other matters.

They talked for a while of Feodora who, Späth believed, was already pregnant.

‘How I should like to be with her,’ sighed Späth. ‘But alas that would mean leaving our darling Victoria.’

‘It had to be,’ said Lehzen. ‘The time had come for Feodora to marry.’ She looked at Späth severely … ‘How anyone could have imagined a marriage with that Augustus d’Este would have been desirable I cannot imagine.’

The Baroness Späth looked suitably discomfited and hinted at some duty she had to perform. She could not endure another lecture over her folly on that occasion. The Baroness Lehzen, knowing that Victoria was safely taking an arithmetic lesson with Mr Steward of Westminster School, went off to make sure that the new supply of caraway seeds which she used liberally on all her food, had arrived.

Something strange was going on. Victoria was aware of it. There were whispers which ceased when she appeared. It was something very shocking and she believed it concerned that bogy Uncle Cumberland. When someone had mentioned his name Mamma had visibly shuddered; and on another occasion when someone had said his name Lehzen had pursed her lips in the way which told Victoria she thought it unwise even to talk of him.

Wicked Uncle Cumberland was like the witch in a fairy story; the evil ogre, the bad fairy. She had seen him once or twice and he certainly looked frightening, with that dreadful face, and he was so tall and thin that he looked like a shadow. When she thought of Uncle King with his bulky body – like a feather bed she had thought it when she had sat on his knee – and his kind face with all the pouches and hanging chins, she had to admit that although he was King and therefore very important he did not frighten her in the least. But Uncle Cumberland … he was the wicked magician whom the good fairies had to be fighting all the time.

She had met George Cumberland and she had liked him very much. She was delighted to have cousins; and she was growing very fond of George Cambridge who was living with Aunt Adelaide now that he had come to England to be educated. He liked to tell her about his Mamma and Papa in Hanover and how he missed them and how they missed him. He was certain of this because his Mamma, the Duchess of Cambridge, was constantly writing and telling him so. He would be very unhappy, he assured Victoria, but for the fact that he had his Aunt Adelaide whom he loved so much that it really made up for being without his mother.

Victoria listened eagerly; she too loved Aunt Adelaide and, although she would not admit this to anyone, secretly thought what a pleasant Mamma she would make and how strange it was that she should not have children of her own.

So George Cumberland was quite different from his father; and she wished that she could ask her cousins what it was that people were whispering about. Bui Aunt Adelaide was at Bushy and she was not allowed to go to Bushy. There was some reason why she must not and she knew too that Uncle William was not very pleased about this.

What a lot she discovered; and yet she could not quite understand what it was that made so much shocking.

Suddenly she discovered this matter not only concerned Uncle Cumberland but also Aunt Sophia.

The Princess Sophia kept to her apartments in the Palace. She wished to see no one. It was all so distressing.

Her sister Augusta called on her. Augusta was nine years older than Sophia and she was beginning to look her age, which was sixty.

She embraced Sophia compassionately. She did not blame her for this new scandal which was now being whispered in all the Clubs and in fact throughout the Court and the City of London. Augusta knew it was not true. ‘My dear Sophia!’

Augusta had become more reconciled to her position than her sisters. It had always been so. She had her music and this had absorbed her; her compositions were delightful and gave a great deal of pleasure to herself as well as others. Being a musician Augusta had not minded so much being kept in captivity as the others had. Nor did she seem to care that they were the only two who had not – however late in life – found husbands.

‘This is terrible for you, my dear,’ she said.

‘I am afraid to look at the papers,’ Sophia admitted. ‘And yet if I do not I imagine the worst.’

‘It is dreadful … dreadful.’

‘How could such a rumour have been spread?’

‘I believe it was whispered long ago. George’s wife started it, I’ve heard.’

‘What could Caroline have known about it?’

‘It wasn’t what she knew. It was what she made up.’

‘But she’s been dead nearly ten years.’

‘Rumours sometimes don’t die entirely and this is directed more against Cumberland than against you. He did himself a great deal of harm when he set loose stories of Victoria’s infirmity. Her mother soon proved them false and people began to ask why he should have done such a thing. To plot against an innocent child was a wicked thing to do. That’s why people think he is capable of anything.’

‘Even … incest,’ said Sophia.

‘Even incest.’

‘It’s so … stupid. General Garth is the boy’s father. You know it, Augusta.’

‘I know it. But many want to believe that Cumberland is his father.’

‘My own brother … the father of my child.’

‘That’s the story.’

‘It must be denied.’

‘How? Are you going to come forward and say that you, a royal Princess, thirty years ago gave birth to a child while you were living under the roof of your father, the King, and were unmarried? Are you going to tell the world how you became the mistress of General Garth and how we smuggled you out of the Palace to give birth to a child … a son … ?’

Sophia covered her face with her hands. ‘It’s all so long ago. Why need it be remembered now?’

‘Such things are never forgotten. To have a child …’ Augusta spoke almost wistfully … ‘I mean, there is the living evidence of one’s act.’

‘He is such a dear boy, Augusta. I live to see him.’

‘I know. I understand. And it is wanton wickedness to accuse you of incest. Even Cumberland is not guilty of that.’

‘What can I do?’

‘Nothing. They will get tired … in time.’

‘Oh, Augusta, sometimes I wish I’d died like Amelia. Darling Amelia, what a happy life she had.’

‘Happy. She was constantly in pain!’

‘But she had no worries. Papa adored her. It was her death which finally sent him mad, I believe. Oh, Augusta, think of us … living so quietly as we did at Kew … sitting there with Mamma, one of us reading while the others sewed, or looked after the dogs or saw that Mamma’s snuff-box was always full and at her elbow! It was all so incredibly dull … nothing happened we used to say. And this happened … and now here we are two old women and people are telling these lies about me.’

‘But our lives were not as they seemed, were they, Sophia? No one’s life ever is. There we were, as you say, sitting with Mamma, and all the time we were planning how to smuggle you away so that you might have your baby and no one know …’

‘I shall never forget that time,’ said Sophia, shivering with recollection. ‘It was so frightening … and so exciting. And now … even now … I wouldn’t have it different. Augusta play to me. Sing to me one of your songs.’

‘Is that what you want?’

‘It would comfort me. It takes me back. Do you remember how Papa used to listen to your songs?’

‘Yes, as though I were a child who had done a good piece of work.’

‘He never believed anyone could write music but Handel. Oh, Augusta, how different everything might have been if Papa and Mamma had been different. The Princesses of the Royal Court. It sounds so wonderful, does it not? And how dull it was … how unbelievably dull. And yet …’

Augusta went to the harpsichord and began to play. Sophia picked up the purse she was netting.

Augusta was right. It would pass. It was just one of the scandals which were hurled now and then at the royal family.

But Cumberland! How revolting! As if it could have been anyone else but dear Colonel Garth – as he had been in those days. So tender, so loving, so devoted. She would remember the romance of her youth, forget the disgusting construction people were putting on it in their newspapers.

She would live in her quiet corner of Kensington Palace and perhaps it would be wise for the boy not to come for a while. And after that it would pass … perhaps. At least people would cease to talk of it.

‘It is time,’ said the Duchess of Kent to Sir John Conroy, ‘that we were given apartments away from Kensington Palace. Why should I be expected to live here with the Princess Sophia – and indeed these rumours shock me deeply – on one side and the Duke of Sussex on the other and we know how irregularly he is living with that Buggin woman. How he can possibly live with a woman with such a name, I cannot imagine. And under the same roof, I am expected to live with the heiress to the throne.’

‘My dear Duchess,’ said Sir John soothingly, ‘it is iniquitous, I grant you, but I doubt you would be wise to approach His Majesty at this juncture.’

‘His Majesty! A fine example he sets. He has insulted me twice. Once at Victoria’s christening and again at Feodora’s wedding.’

‘Let us do nothing to provoke a third occasion.’ Sir John’s mouth twisted into that expression which was half a smile, half a sneer and which so many women, including the Duchess, found devastatingly attractive.

‘At the earliest possible moment I shall demand recognition for Victoria.’

‘At the earliest possible moment,’ agreed Sir John.

‘Are you sure that I am right in not doing so now? This disgusting scandal …’

‘Serves us well,’ murmured Sir John. ‘Cumberland is in such ill repute that the nation would rise up in wrath if it were suggested that Victoria was sent to Windsor while he was there.’

The Duchess began to smile. ‘That’s true,’ she said.

‘So let us not rail against this new scandal which is to our advantage since it means protection for our Princess. I am always afraid that His Majesty might send a command that she be removed to Windsor.’

‘I should never have permitted it.’

‘I know. But it would have been difficult if the King had made it a command and the Parliament had agreed to it.’

‘I would have taken her out of the country.’

‘But Your Grace would realise how unwise that would be. It is imperative that our Princess remains in England. Heaven alone knows what plot Cumberland might hatch if she were not here.’

The Duchess laid a hand on his arm. ‘Oh dear, what should I do without you.’

He smiled tenderly. Indeed, she thought, I am relying on him even more than I do on Leopold. Leopold has changed lately. It is that Bauer woman. Who would have thought it of Leopold! And he is tiresome sometimes with all his imaginary ailments.

That was sacrilege of course. One did not criticise Leopold in the Saxe-Coburg family. All the same she did find herself relying more and more on Sir John.

‘You can rely on me … for ever,’ he told her. He briskly changed the subject. ‘Our Princess misses her sister sadly. I was wondering if my own little Victoire might help to comfort her.’

‘I am sure she does,’ said the Duchess. His daughter was her godchild – Victoire named after herself and called Victoire so that she should not be confused in the household with Victoria.

‘But even more so,’ persisted Sir John. ‘Perhaps my daughter could share her dancing lessons.’

‘She must of course,’ said the Duchess.

Sir John was well pleased. The two old Baronesses would not be.

Two bundles of German rubbish, he thought. It was time they were neatly packed up and sent off to their native land.

No sooner had the scandal concerning Sophia’s child begun to die down than a fresh one arose. This too concerned Cumberland. It was well known that he was having a love affair with the wife of Lord Graves who was one of the King’s Lords of the Bedchamber.

As the sins of Cumberland had been so much in the public eye this was given more prominence than it would normally have had and Lord Graves declared that he did not believe his wife was being unfaithful to him.

A few days after he had made this announcement he was found in his bed with his throat cut.

He had died, was the report of the newspapers, because of the Duke of Cumberland. And how strange was the manner of his dying. Did their readers remember – it must be nearly twenty years ago – how the Duke’s valet had been found in his bed with his throat cut? It was a similar case.

The Duke’s valet had had a young and pretty wife; and if Lady Graves could scarcely be so described – she was well into her fifties – the Duke had been reputed to be her lover and he was no longer young.

It was very strange. What was the secret of Lord Graves’s death? What was the secret of the Duke’s valet? The Duke had been interested in their wives; they had both been discovered dead in their beds with their throats cut.

It was very, very strange.

This was a hint at murder. It was remembered that the Duke’s wife had had two husbands who had died mysteriously. Royal Dukes might have special names for certain crimes, but people would draw their own conclusions.

The Duchess of Kent was delighted by the news. She took Sir John’s view now and realised that the more that man’s character was blackened the safer they were from his interference.

‘Why,’ said Sir John, ‘if he attempted to force us to hand over Victoria now the people would tear him apart. We should have them on our side.’

He was right, of course. Späth and Lehzen might try to poison her mind against him but they would never succeed. They were a pair of jealous old women. They were devoted, of course, and she liked to have them with her; she trusted them; but they were wrong if they thought they were going to break up her friendship with Sir John.

The Duchess of Cumberland was very uneasy.

‘How could this have happened?’ she demanded of her husband.

‘How could I know the fool was going to cut his throat?’

‘It is certainly very inconvenient of him … at such a time when people are only just stopping to talk of you and Sophia.’

‘Let them talk.’

‘No, Ernest, I do not agree. Let us face the facts. This is not good for us. You will never get Victoria away from Kensington now. The Duchess would have the people on her side. They would never allow their fat little infant to be put into the hands of a murderer who has committed incest with his own sister.’

‘It’s all lies.’

‘It’s what people believe that matters in cases like this. For heaven’s sake choose women with sensible husbands in future. We have to stop these rumours. Why if it were possible … suppose George died tomorrow, suppose William really did go mad, suppose Victoria went into a decline … they might be against you even then. You know how absurdly sentimental people can be.’

‘They like a strong man. They like a mystery. They don’t think any the worse of me for this.’

But the Duchess was not so sure.

She was hoping that her son George would bring about the miracle. They must abandon plans for removing Victoria. There would be revolution if anything happened to that child and it was certain that even if they were innocent they would be blamed for it.

The safest plan was a marriage between George and Victoria. Their son would be the Consort and their grandson would be the future King of England.

It was a circuitous way of arriving at an ambition – but it seemed to the Duchess not only the safest but the only way.