The Queen and Lord M

Chapter I ONE EARLY MORNING

That solemnity which etiquette, decorum and decency insisted should prevail could scarcely hide the excited expectation in the Palace of Kensington on that June morning in the year 1837.

The old King was dying. Ever since he had come to the throne seven years before it had been expected that either the tomb or the straitjacket would be his imminent fate, but he had survived those seven years as King of England largely due to the devotion of his Queen – the meek and virtuous Adelaide – who on account of her imperfect complexion had been known slightingly as ‘Her Spotted Majesty’ and whose gentle and unselfish nature had caused her to be regarded as insignificant, which was far from the case.

The girl to whom the King’s condition was of greater importance than to anyone else in the kingdom was very much aware of what was happening. She sat before a mirror while the Baroness Lehzen dressed her hair and there was a book on her lap from which she had been reading aloud, and trying to pretend that she was interested in it. She was no good at pretence of any kind, but perhaps on such an occasion a little duplicity could be forgiven. Oh dear, she thought, how shut in I am! I’m hardly allowed to think for myself.

It would be very different when she was Queen. She was of age now, having, a month before, on the 24th May, reached her eighteenth birthday; but it had made very little difference and she still thought of herself as a captive. But not for long. Perhaps, she thought, the best thing about being Queen will be that I am free.

‘Lehzen,’ she said, ‘I wonder how he is.’

‘He is dying,’ said the Baroness.

‘Poor dear Aunt Adelaide!’

‘She has been a good wife to him.’

‘And a good aunt to me, Lehzen. How I wish that I could have seen more of her. But of course …’

She sighed and Lehzen allowed the subject to lapse. The antagonism between the Baroness Lehzen and the Duchess of Kent was undoubted, but it was not to be mentioned. Victoria herself shared her dear Lehzen’s resentment; and how unfortunate it was that she should feel thus about her own Mamma! Victoria wanted to be good; it was the object of her life; and surely it was a duty to love one’s mother; but if that mother was a domineering flamboyant egoist, who really seemed to believe that she, not her daughter, was heiress to the throne, and if she was very friendly, far too friendly, with the most odious man in the world, what could even the most dutiful daughter be expected to do?

When I am Queen, thought Victoria, I shall have to show Mamma that I will not be coerced or persuaded by her and made to do anything I do not wish. The choice shall be mine.

‘Poor Uncle William,’ she mused. ‘A kind gentleman but rather odd, don’t you agree, Lehzen? His intentions are often ill interpreted. I suppose he is what one would call eccentric, and I do not think that is a good thing for a king to be … or a queen.’

Lehzen said that His Majesty had never shown anything but kindness towards his niece.

‘It was so good of him to send me that lovely piano for my birthday,’ said the Princess. ‘I think of him whenever I play on it. Oh dear, how sad that there should be these quarrels.’

Lehzen agreed that it was more than sad; it was tragic.

They were not exactly talking about the Duchess of Kent, which would have been disloyal, but they were skirting round the subject of her shortcomings; and not least of these was her attitude towards the Queen. She had been, quite rightly, so sure that nothing the King could do would oust her daughter Victoria from her position as heiress to the throne that she had been positively rude to him and had shown very obviously that she could not wait for him to die and leave the way clear for her daughter, by which she meant clear for herself; for the Duchess of Kent believed that when William died, although her daughter Victoria would be Queen in name, the real ruler would be the Duchess of Kent with that man as her chief adviser.

It shall not be, said Victoria firmly to herself.

She was silent, gazing down at the book while Lehzen went on doing her hair. It was fitting on such an occasion that she should think of the past – of early memories in this Palace where she had been born and lived ever since, with visits of course to the sea and Uncle Leopold’s home, Claremont; she thought of visiting Uncle King George at Windsor – a charming old gentleman, rouged, witty and very kind to his little niece Victoria, although being rather an amorous gentleman he preferred her half-sister Feodora who had been in her teens then, and very, very pretty; still he had taken Victoria into his carriage and been amused by her and she had been charmed by him; then she thought of the day when she had found the genealogical table concerning her family in her history book with her own name printed on it in large black letters and the sudden understanding of what that meant. When old Uncle George died, he would be followed by poor Uncle William and if William had no children then Victoria would mount the throne. She would never forget that moment when the significance of this was brought home to her. She had stared at the printed paper and Lehzen had come over to stand beside her, and placing a plump finger on the paper she had said: ‘I could be the Queen.’ Lehzen had replied that this was true. And she had said the first words which had come into her mind: ‘I will be good.’ And she must be good. For now William was dying and he had no children and when he died she, Victoria, just eighteen years old, would be Queen.

It was a sobering thought. She was not sure whether she wanted it or not. Would she have been happier if she had not been so near the throne? Then she would not have been watched over day and night. Really, she thought resentfully, I can’t move without one of them beside me! Would she have been allowed to go to Queen Adelaide’s parties which Mamma had never permitted her to attend because always present were members of the FitzClarence family, Uncle William’s sons and daughters by the actress Dorothy Jordan? The King doted on them and Queen Adelaide accepted them as though they were her own. Oh dear, thought Victoria, we are a very eccentric family I fear – particularly the Uncles. Everyone knew that Uncle George had lived scandalously; Uncle William of course was moderately respectable, at least he had been since he married Aunt Adelaide – if you could forget his living in sin with an actress for many years and raising a family of ten children with her. Comparatively respectable, temporised Victoria, and thought how shocked Mamma would be if she knew that Victoria was aware of such things.

Mamma would have to learn that as a Queen she must understand the significance of what went on around her. Mamma would have to learn a great deal. And one thing she must quickly understand was that her daughter had no intention of being treated as a child when she was a queen.

She would have many to advise her. One was Uncle Leopold, whom she regarded as her father – never having known her own. How, when she was a child, she had doted on Uncle Leopold! They used to walk together in the gardens of Claremont and he would tell her of his brief but ecstatic marriage with Charlotte, Uncle George’s only daughter and heiress to the throne, of how she had loved him, how she had relied on him and how most tragically she had died having the child who would in turn have inherited the throne. And instead of being the husband of a Queen of England he would now be the uncle of one. Dear beautiful Uncle Leopold who was so delicate and who had told her that he had given up the crown of Greece to be near her, his little Victoria. But later he had accepted the crown of Belgium, which had meant that he was not so close to his little Victoria. Still, he wrote beautiful letters and he wanted her to know that he would always be beside her when she needed him. There had been such happy days at Claremont when after wallowing in an exchange of sentiment with Uncle Leopold she could go to dear old Louie who had been the devoted attendant of Princess Charlotte and had remained at Claremont afterwards as a kind of housekeeper. Louie talked endlessly of Charlotte, the naughtiness of Charlotte who was something of a hoyden, how she had struck ungraceful attitudes, had torn her clothes, had laughed very loudly, but who was adorable. More adorable than anyone else could ever be in Louie’s opinion. Even Victoria, who had taken her place in Louie’s affections, did not quite match up to Charlotte. It is very difficult to compete with the dead, Victoria consoled herself.

Everything must be different soon. When one had been merely a princess and suddenly became a queen this must be so. She was thinking of Uncle Leopold’s last letter to her, received only a few days ago. She knew phrases from it off by heart.‘My beloved child (she was always his beloved or his dearest child) I shall today enter on the subject of what is to be done when the King ceases to live. The moment you get official communication of it you will entrust Lord Melbourne with the office of retaining the present Administration as your ministers …’

Lord Melbourne! The Prime Minister! He was an extremely handsome man and he had had such an adventurous life. There was something very exciting about Lord Melbourne. He was essentially of that world from which all her life she had been shut away. His marriage had been a disaster; many people had said that his young wife, long since dead, had been mad; he had had a son who was not quite normal; he had been cited as co-respondent in two divorce cases. And yet he had come through all this victoriously. He was unscathed; in fact scandals had enhanced him. He was a magnificent man and the thought of sending for him and telling him that he was to continue as the chief of her ministers made her shiver with delight and apprehension.

With Lord Melbourne to advise her at home and Uncle Leopold with a benign, watchful eye and a ready pen from his Belgian kingdom she need have no fears. All she had to do was stand firm and not allow Mamma and That Man to dictate or attempt to persuade.

I shall decide on all matters, Victoria promised herself. I and my ministers.

My ministers! How wonderful that sounded. But as yet she must only say it to herself. She blushed at the thought of poor Uncle William on his death bed hearing her say that aloud.

‘Dear Uncle William,’ she said. ‘How I wish that I might see him. But I suppose that is forbidden.’

And so she was back at Mamma.

Much better to think of Uncle Leopold who had ended his letter by saying that he would not come to her immediately, although at any time she desired his presence he would be there. If he came now people might think that he had come to enslave her; they might think that he had come to take a part in ruling the kingdom for his own advantage.

As if anyone could think that! she demanded of herself indignantly. But people could be difficult. There was Mamma’s Comptroller of her Household, Sir John Conroy. ‘That man’, as she and Lehzen called him.

‘He is capable of anything,’ she said.

Lehzen said, ‘Who is that?’ And Victoria realised she had spoken aloud.

‘I was thinking of Uncle Leopold’s letter in which he says that if he came to me now his actions might be misconstrued and I am sure Sir John Conroy would be the first to misconstrue them.’

Lehzen’s lips tightened. She would never forgive Sir John for trying to send her back to Germany. She had fought hard to remain and Victoria – dear faithful princess – had threatened ‘storms’ and interference from the King, and so they had won an uneasy victory. But Lehzen did not share Victoria’s blind adoration for Leopold. She often suspected his motives; she knew that he was very ambitious. She had deplored his departure for Belgium because that had made Sir John Conroy more powerful; but the truth was that Lehzen could not bear to share Victoria’s affections with anyone. Fiercely possessive, she lived for her charge.

‘My dearest,’ she said, ‘when you are Queen, and who knows, you may be at this moment, you will have to tread very carefully and it may be difficult to know who is your friend.’

The rather prominent blue eyes were filled with tears. Victoria threw her arms about Lehzen’s neck crying: ‘There is one whom I shall never doubt. Dearest Lehzen, you and I will never be separated.’

Such demonstrations were the delight of Lehzen’s life. They were not infrequent, for Victoria was affectionate by nature and too fundamentally honest to be able to hide her feelings even if she wished to.

‘I pray that you will always feel as you do now,’ said Lehzen fervently.

‘But of course I shall. My crown will make no difference to my heart. We have been together for so long that it seems forever. Do you remember when I was so ill that my hair fell out in handfuls? Every time you dressed it you would assure me that it was getting thicker. And you made a funny little puff of it to make it seem thicker. Oh dear, dearest Lehzen!’

Lehzen was too moved for words. She composed her features but after a few moments said in her most authoritative governess’s voice: ‘I think it is time we went for our drive.’

‘Yes,’ said Victoria meekly; and as they went out she was thinking: It can’t be long. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps even today. Queen of England … at any moment.

The Duchess of Kent heard the clop-clop of horses’ hoofs.

‘The Princess and the Baroness are going for their morning drive,’ she said to Lady Flora Hastings, one of the most devoted of her attendants. The Princess! mused the Duchess. How long before she was Queen? The thought filled her with an excitement she found difficult to control and the person to whom she could express her jubilation was naturally her dear Sir John Conroy, Comptroller of her Household and intimate friend. All through the difficult years of Victoria’s childhood they had been together and now they should be approaching the culmination of their hopes. But were they?

‘My dearest Duchess should contain her feelings,’ said Sir John gently as she burst into his study. He liked the lack of ceremony and although it was noted throughout the household and caused a certain amount of scandal, that did not altogether displease him either. There was a mischievous streak in his nature which often appeared to force him into some action detrimental to his interests merely for the cynical pleasure it gave him.

‘At such a time!’ cried the Duchess. ‘All our hopes and plans are about to be realised.’

‘Your Grace must take into consideration the child herself.’

‘Victoria! Do you know, my dear, I sometimes think that my daughter is lacking in gratitude.’

‘A common failing,’ smiled Sir John.

‘It is not one I expect from my own daughter.’

‘Alas, realisation often falls short of our expectations. My dear spy tells me that His Majesty is sinking fast.’

‘It is fortunate that the Princess Sophia is so friendly towards us … or perhaps I should say towards you.’

Sir John smirked. It was true that the Princess Sophia adored him and was ready to act as spy at Court. She had begged him to take charge of her accounts in addition to those of the Duchess, and this was well worthwhile, Sir John explained to his Duchess. The Princess Sophia could keep them informed of her brother William’s actions and since the Duchess was on such bad terms with His Majesty that was not such a bad thing. Sir John always had excuses to offer her for his friendships with other women. He was of course very handsome, very clever and so many women seemed to find his somewhat sarcastic cynical manner fascinating. Even Lady Conyngham, George IV’s mistress, had not been indifferent to him. So useful, Sir John had said then, to have a foot in the royal apartments; and so he said now, through the Princess Sophia. But the Duchess was well aware that his first loyalties were to her.

‘He can’t sink fast enough for me, the old buffoon,’ snapped the Duchess.

Sir John raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps we should not speak ill of the dead.’

‘I only hope he is. It’s certainly time he was.’

‘Alas, that it did not happen a year or so earlier. Then we should have been on safer grounds. There have been too many storms lately.’

‘I cannot understand her ingratitude.’

‘She has been made aware of her importance.’

‘I have always striven to make her realise what she owes to us.’

‘Ah, there was a serpent in our Eden.’

‘I’d hardly call that skinny caraway chewing spinster that!’

‘Well our dear Princess herself has not been easy to lead. And now that she is past her eighteenth birthday …’

‘By a month!’

‘Alas that’s of no moment. She has reached the milestone and passed it and if we are not very careful she will be flying away from us.’

‘It must not be, John. After all we have done! Where have we failed?’

‘Our failure is in the character of your daughter. My God, she can be obstinate; when she sets those little lips together and those blue eyes are stormy … one fears the worst.’

‘But a child! Surely …’

‘I have written to Lord Liverpool asking him to advise her to instate a secretary.’

‘Yourself?’

He nodded. ‘She will not have it. She has definitely made it clear there will be no post for me in her household.’

‘And her mother?’ The Duchess’s eyes flashed. ‘Is she to be banished?’

‘She can hardly go as far as that. But we shall have to tread warily. Our little Princess has quite a considerable opinion of herself.’

‘I wrote to her a few days ago, feeling that to set down my feelings in writing might have more effect than mere words. I told her that her popularity with the people is due to the way in which I have brought her up and that she should not have too high an opinion of her own cleverness.’

‘I trust she realised the wisdom of those words, but I fear she did not in view of her actions. Ah, long ago we should have rid the household of the Baroness Lehzen. We should have been firm.’

‘Lehzen has been a good watchdog. She would guard her with her life.’

‘While making sure that she loses nothing by it.’

Sir John did not exactly reproach the Duchess but the reminder was in his words that had she followed his advice the Baroness would have been banished to Germany years ago.

The Duchess spread her hands. ‘What can we do now?’

Sir John took them and smiled that cynical smile of his.

‘We’ll wait. When she realises what it means to be the Queen she may discover that she needs help … and we shall be at hand to give it. You, her gracious mother; I her Secretary and Comptroller-to-be; and behind us good Baron Stockmar, who as your brother Leopold’s ally, will surely be on our side. Do you think our German spinster can stand against such as we are?’

‘There is … Victoria,’ said the Duchess.

‘Ah, Victoria!’ murmured Sir John.

The Princess Victoria had retired for the night and the Baroness Lehzen sat in her bedroom reading. Before getting into bed the Princess had opened her wardrobe door and gazed solemnly at the black bombazine dress which was hanging there in readiness.

Her eyes had filled with the tears which came so readily.

‘Oh, Lehzen,’ she said, ‘it seems so heartless to have everything ready like this, as though we can’t wait for it to happen. Poor Uncle William! I hope he doesn’t realise it.’

‘Kings are different from ordinary mortals,’ soothed Lehzen.

‘And queens too,’ sighed Victoria. ‘Lehzen, I fear I shall never sleep tonight.’

But like the child she would always seem to Lehzen, almost as soon as she had laid her head on her pillow she was fast asleep.

Lehzen had straightened the quilt and kissed the warm pink cheek. The Princess looked so young asleep, with those prominent blue eyes, which could be alternately softly sentimental and stormy, closed, and the little mouth with the rather prominent teeth and the receding chin, which mistakenly gave an impression of weakness, in repose.

My poor darling, thought Lehzen, what burdens of state will be laid upon those young shoulders. But I shall be there.

That was one thing on which Lehzen was quite determined. She would be there. She must be. To leave this beloved child would be like dying, for she had dedicated her life to Victoria. Everything that the child had become was due to her upbringing. The Duchess of Kent could take little credit.

It had been a wonderful day when she had come from Germany to serve in the household of the Duchess of Kent – a step upwards for the daughter of a Lutheran clergyman. She had been the governess of Feodora, the Duchess’s elder daughter by her first marriage, but like everyone in that household she had succumbed to the charm of the pink-cheeked, plump little baby. And when that baby was five years old and Louise Lehzen had become her governess she was overjoyed. From that day Victoria was more important to her than anything else on earth. And the most endearing characteristic of this delightful child was her affection and her fidelity. Lehzen was to her the mother she had needed; and although the Duchess of Kent had watched over her daughter with the utmost care, never forgetting for one moment that there was a possibility that she would ascend the throne, she failed to give what Victoria needed most – love. Louise Lehzen was at hand to make up for the Duchess’s deficiency in this respect.

Even the Duchess, who had, under Sir John’s directions, attempted to banish her to Germany, was aware of her devotion to Victoria, and trusted her as she would no one else.

That was why she sat here in the Princess’s bedroom now and would remain there until the Duchess came to bed; for it was a rule of the Palace that Victoria must never be alone; and when she retired for the night, Lehzen must sit in her room until the Duchess came to her bed, which was in the same room as Victoria’s.

From the pocket of her gown she took a handful of caraway seeds and thoughtfully nibbled them. They were sent to her specially from her native Coburg and she rarely took any food without them. They were sprinkled on her bread and on her meat; some of her enemies at the Palace laughed at her and said this caraway seed habit was a loathsome one. She smelt of caraway seeds, they said, although the Baroness did not believe there was any odour attached to her favourite food. She knew she was not attractive; she was constantly unwell, a martyr to migraine; and she knew that many of the Duchess’s women laughed at her behind her back. Never mind. What did it matter? She was dearly loved by the only person she cared about and whenever Victoria talked of her devotion for her dear Lehzen tears would fill her eyes. Lehzen smoothed her cap and stroked her rather hooked nose and let her thoughts dwell in the past and then fell to wondering what was happening in the sick room at Windsor.

In due course the Duchess appeared. This was the sign for Lehzen to depart. The Duchess, a colourful figure in her beribboned head-dress and gown a mass of lace and flounces was, Lehzen supposed, a handsome woman. And the Duchess was well aware of it. No one could have had a higher opinion of herself than the mother of Victoria.

‘She is asleep?’ said the Duchess coldly.

‘Yes, your Grace.’

‘That is good. She is a child still. She cannot realise what this means.’

Lehzen did not contradict the Duchess; but she was aware that Victoria understood very well what this meant.

‘It may be – tomorrow,’ went on the Duchess. ‘Think, Lehzen … it may be at this very moment. It may be that we are in the presence of our Queen.’

The Duchess’s expression was ecstatic. She should, thought Lehzen, show a little more decorum. Still it would have been hypocritical to have pretended remorse because her greatest enemy was dying.

‘You may go now, Lehzen,’ said the Duchess dropping her voice to a whisper, and Lehzen went out, wondering how much longer this custom of the years would continue. When the Princess became a queen surely she would insist on a little privacy? The child had never been alone in a room in the whole of her life; and Lehzen, who knew her so well, was aware that she found this irksome.

As she came through the Duchess’s apartments the Baroness came face to face with Sir John Conroy and immediately regretted passing this way.

‘Ah, the good Baroness,’ he said. Lehzen always had an idea – which she shared with Victoria – that he was sneering when he spoke to them. He was not alone. One of the Duchess’s ladies was with him. This was Lady Flora, daughter of the Marquis of Hastings, a rather pallid woman in her early thirties whom the Baroness did not greatly care for, largely because she was friendly with Sir John and was a firm supporter of the Duchess.

‘The watchdog is released from her duties,’ went on Sir John. ‘And I’ll swear she’d rather not be.’

‘I hope the dear Princess sleeps well tonight,’ said Lady Flora.

‘The Princess is sleeping peacefully,’ said the Baroness.

‘With such events about to break!’ went on Sir John, raising his handsome eyes to the ceiling. A rogue if ever there was one, thought Lehzen. How could the Duchess be so deceived? But in view of their relationship …

Lehzen refused to go further even in her thoughts. Whether Sir John and the Duchess were lovers was open to conjecture, but many people were certain this was so, and if one were to judge from their behaviour it could be right. How she disliked him! He had tried to have her sent away from her beloved child.

‘And when they do,’ Sir John was saying, ‘our little darling will have to break out from the nursery, will she not?’

Lehzen knew he meant that Victoria would no longer need a governess, but Victoria would never agree to her beloved Baroness’s expulsion. Was it possible that he had not yet learned how stubborn Victoria could be?

‘Baroness,’ said Lady Flora, ‘there is something on your chin … will you allow me?’ She had taken a handkerchief and come closer, and to Lehzen’s annoyance dabbed at her face.

‘It’s caraway seeds, I’ll swear,’ said Sir John laughing unpleasantly as though there was something obscene about them. He shook his finger playfully. ‘We all know your passion, Baroness. Some women love men; some men love women; both women and men love power; but the Baroness remains faithful to her caraway seeds.’

She must get away before she lost her temper. How the Duchess could give her confidence to such a man was past understanding!

‘If you will excuse me I will say goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Baroness Cara … Baroness Lehzen.’

She did not answer; she swept on. She hated them both. As for Lady Flora with her meek expression and gentle voice and delicate air, she was doubtless far from the virtuous spinster she pretended to be if she was so friendly with Sir John Conroy.

In his apartments in the Palace Baron Christian Friedrich von Stockmar found it difficult to sleep. Instead he took pen and paper and started to write to his patron and friend King Leopold of the Belgians. He hesitated. It could only be a few days at the most, he thought, before his real mission began. Perhaps therefore a letter would be a little premature. Exciting times were ahead. He was a man of dignified demeanour and he had spent years in the service of Leopold, sacrificing his own personal life to that of the King. Perhaps it meant a great deal to mould the destiny of nations rather than to share his life with his family. In any case he had chosen this way.

To Leopold he had been a faithful servant; but more than that – he was a king-maker. Ever since he had come to England at the time of Leopold’s marriage to the Princess Charlotte he had had a hand in government. Leopold had quickly acknowledged his doctor’s usefulness, for with his help, this clever, faintly hypocritical hypochondriac (so was Stockmar and this gave them an added interest in common) had become a power in Europe. A young son of the house of Saxe-Coburg, Leopold had somehow succeeded in marrying members of his family into most of the royal houses of Europe. But for a cruel fate he would have been ruling England now, for there was no doubt that the Princess Charlotte had doted on him and would have accepted his rule in everything. But Charlotte had died and Leopold would now rule through Victoria; for he and Stockmar had decided on a husband for her. Who but Prince Albert, Leopold’s nephew, who should be guided by Stockmar, through Leopold of course. His niece and nephew on the throne of England! It would not be quite as satisfactory to be the uncle of the Queen and her Prince Consort as it would have been to be the husband of a queen. But it was no use repining. Charlotte was dead. And to govern England through Victoria and Albert must be the next best thing.

It was not only for political reasons that the Baron enjoyed his role. He was fond of Victoria. Indeed who could help being fond of such a warm-hearted, innocent girl. He remembered her as the child who had visited Claremont years ago, rather solemn for her years, passionately devoted to Uncle Leopold and therefore ready to love anyone whom Leopold commanded her to.

‘Dr Stockmar is a very dear friend of mine, my dearest child,’ Leopold had explained. ‘I want him to be yours too.’

‘He shall be, Uncle.’ The blue eyes brimmed over with love for Leopold and since Leopold commanded it, for Dr Stockmar too.

‘He is the best doctor in the world and more than that, he is my clever friend.’

She believed it. She believed everything Leopold told her. One might have thought she was too pliable; but that was a mistake, as Stockmar had discovered on his return only a few weeks before. She had received him warmly. He had come from dearest Uncle Leopold and therefore was welcome. She remembered him years ago at Claremont and she was delighted to have him back.

He had told her that her uncle had asked him to come to Kensington because he thought his old friend might be of use to her.

‘Dear Uncle Leopold,’ she had said, ‘is so careful of me.’

She had charm and when she was animated she was almost pretty; at other times she could be quite plain and rather homely; but she had such dignity in spite of her small stature that Stockmar could write to Leopold that he had every confidence in her.

Now she was on the brink of becoming Queen. A pity, thought Stockmar, that she was so young. Yet youth was appealing and he had noticed that the people liked her. What a change from the old King who was so undignified and who was called ‘Pineapple Head’ in some of the less respectable papers, and one only had to look at the King to be aware of the resemblance between his head and that fruit. And different, too, from the previous King, who had grown obese and upset his people by holding aloof from them.

‘There is certainly not much competition from the Uncles,’ wrote Stockmar, ‘and she is so innocent and fresh, so easily moved to tears, that the people will love that.’

There was surely no monarch more appealing than a young female one – particularly after a succession of unattractive men.

It was well worth while, thought Stockmar, although the dampness of the climate did not agree with him and he suffered from rheumatic pains and a hundred mysterious ailments which he as a medical man – for it was as such that he had begun his career – could imagine were indications of dire diseases. And to think that he might be at home in Coburg with his family! Not that the climate there differed much from England and his physical sufferings would not diminish. He did not go so far as to admit that he did not want them to; and that if certain symptoms had disappeared others would have taken their place. One of the first interests he and Leopold had shared was discussing their ailments which Leopold had so much enjoyed – and so had he. But they came a good second to politics.

Stockmar wanted nothing for himself. In that he was rare. He did not ask for great estates. What he wanted was power – power to do good. That gave him immense satisfaction. When he had seen how unhappy Leopold had been on the death of his wife after she had given birth to their still-born child, he had determined that Leopold should be compensated for his loss.

He it was who had advised Leopold not to accept the throne of Greece and had urged him to take that of Belgium. Leopold had had obvious evidence of the wisdom of Stockmar so it was natural that to him he should entrust one of the dearest of his projects – the marriage of Victoria.

So before coming to England he had made a study of Albert – a fine young fellow, as he had written to Leopold.

‘Well grown for his age and agreeable. If things go well he may in time turn out a strong and handsome man of a kind, simple yet dignified manner.’

He was sure he had been wise in advising Leopold not to urge a marriage on Victoria until she had seen the Prince. So last year the Duke of Saxe-Coburg had visited Kensington with his two sons and Victoria had been delighted with them both – particularly Albert.

‘The two young people are agreeable to each other,’ Stockmar had written to Leopold, ‘and that is good. But the Prince cannot receive in Coburg the education fitting to a Prince Consort of the greatest of monarchs.’ So the Prince had gone to Brussels and Paris to study history and modern languages, and after that he had been sent to Bonn. Albert was there now, and being the astute young man Stockmar was sure he was, he would be another who was eagerly watching what was happening in England.

Of course Stockmar had been quick to grasp the friction in the Kensington apartments. The Duchess was Leopold’s sister and one would have thought that the interests of both would have been identical; but it was obvious that what the Duchess wanted to do was guide her daughter in all things and thus become ruler of England … Sir John Conroy to help her.

And the Duchess had not been strictly honest in her dealings with her daughter. There was that affair of the Regency which had taught Stockmar that it was impossible to serve the interests of the Duchess and those of her daughter at the same time; and Stockmar was not a man to divide his loyalties. He knew the Duchess. A vain woman and in many ways a foolish one; he did not care for her friendship with Sir John Conroy. He had come to England to serve Leopold’s interests and now Victoria had engaged not only his interest but his affection.

Melbourne himself had told Stockmar that Victoria wished for a Regency even though she was of age; but Stockmar did not believe this and being on such friendly terms with the Princess it did not take him long to discover that she had made no such request, and that it had come from the Duchess in her daughter’s name.

‘Such action is dishonest,’ cried Stockmar and lost no time in telling Lord Melbourne the truth.

‘My dear fellow,’ said Melbourne, ‘I am astounded. I was led to believe that the request came from the Princess herself.’

‘And now that you know it does not?’

‘It shall receive the attention it deserves,’ said the urbane Melbourne and that was clear enough to Stockmar. There would certainly be no Regency. Victoria would rule with the help of Melbourne … and Stockmar.

No, he thought. He would not write tonight. He would wait until their Princess was indeed a queen.

In the death chamber at Windsor Castle the King lay breathing with difficulty. The Queen sat beside him, her hand in his. On a table close to the bed was the flag which the Duke of Wellington sent to him every year to commemorate the victory at Waterloo. His eyes kept straying to it.

‘Wasn’t at the Waterloo banquet this year, Adelaide,’ he murmured.

‘No, William. But it took place on your orders.’

‘Great victory,’ murmured the King.

His eyes had become glazed, and Adelaide, bending closer, knew that his thoughts were wandering again. Dear William, who had been a good husband to her! She had failed him by not producing the heir for the sake of which they had been thrust into hasty marriage, and that was something she would always regret. She loved children and consequently had had to console herself with other people’s. The palaces had always been full of William’s grandchildren of the FitzClarence family. What a devoted grandfather he had been to them even though they had been far from grateful. She was glad that at such a time as this they had forgotten their differences, and several of them were at Windsor now in case he should ask for them.

‘Adelaide.’

She bent over the bed.

‘You’ve been a good wife …’

‘Don’t talk, William. Lie still. Conserve your strength.’

The tears were on her cheeks. She loved him and he loved her; and that was strange in such a marriage. He had been faithful to her, which was perhaps because he was no longer young, and he would become furious with anyone who criticised her. Her gentle nature had won the regard which her lack of physical charms might have made impossible. It had been a happy marriage as such marriages go, and it was now nearly over.

‘Glad I lived till she was of age,’ murmured the King. ‘Was determined to. I did it, Adelaide. The child will be Queen tomorrow.’

‘William …’

‘You’re crying, Adelaide. Don’t. You’ve been a good wife. Couldn’t have been better. Wasn’t going to let that woman rule the roost.’ He gave a croaking cackle of laughter. ‘She’ll be mad with rage … Adelaide … She’s been hoping I’d die before … Didn’t I always say I’d wait till the child was eighteen?’

‘You did, William.’

‘And I kept my word. She’ll be Queen and she’ll know how to keep that woman where she belongs. England will be great under her. Better than old men … Sailors will love a young queen. I know sailors. They’ll fight the better for her than for a mad old man like my father, or for George and for me. Yes, they’ll love a bonny girl …’

‘William, don’t try to talk …’ It was useless to tell him this. He had always talked too much.

He closed his eyes; his lips moved but she could not hear what he said. She continued to sit by his bed. George FitzClarence came into the room and stood in the shadows. George, his firstborn by Dorothy Jordan, the boy whom William so dearly loved, was now full of contrition for all the anxiety he had caused his father.

‘How is he?’ he whispered.

‘Sinking I fear,’ said Adelaide.

Somewhere a clock in the Castle chimed midnight. The Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham, the Lord Chamberlain, were in the ante-room, waiting.

It couldn’t be long now, they assured each other.

The King’s physician, Sir Henry Halford, joined them.

‘He is very near the end,’ said Halford.

At one o’clock Sir Henry was at the King’s bedside. William’s breathing was stertorous; he was in a coma.

‘There is nothing I can do,’ said the doctor to the Queen, who continued to sit by the King’s bedside.

The doctor joined the Archbishop and the Chamberlain. They talked in whispers of what this would mean at Kensington Palace.

Two o’clock struck.

‘The end is very near,’ said Sir Henry; and at twelve minutes past two William IV was dead.

As the carriage rattled along the highway from Windsor to Kensington, the Archbishop and the Lord Chamberlain talked in whispers although there was no need to do so, only to symbolise the solemnity of the occasion. A new reign was about to begin.

‘A child,’ whispered the Lord Chamberlain.

‘Governed by her mother and that man Conroy!’

‘Melbourne will know how to manage our affairs, I daresay.’

The dawn was beginning to show in the sky, and they could distinctly see the hedgerows now. They would be the first to greet her. Melbourne would say there was no need to wake her and tell her that she was Queen. That duty was for the Prime Minister. No, my lord, thought Lord Conyngham, she is after all the Queen although but a girl, and she will always remember those who first brought the news to her.

They had reached the Palace and as they rode through the gates the startled porter stared at them. He was about to demand their business when he recognised the robes of office of important men.

The bewildered maidservant stood before them.

‘Please acquaint the Princess Victoria that we are here and wish to see her,’ said Lord Conyngham.

‘My lord, she is sleeping.’

‘Tell her at once that the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chamberlain wish to speak to her.’

The maid, trembling and uncertain, made her way to the Duchess’s apartments.

One of the Duchess’s ladies rose sleepily from her bed.

‘What is this?’

‘There are gentlemen to see the Princess.’

‘At this hour! It is only five o’clock. She is asleep.’

‘It is the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Madam.’

‘The Lord Chamberlain! Wait. I’ll tell the Duchess.’

But the Duchess was already awake. She had been expecting something like this which could mean only one thing. She came out of the bedroom she shared with Victoria demanding: ‘What is the meaning of this?’

‘Your Grace, the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop of Canterbury are here demanding to see the Princess.’

To see the Princess! Indeed they would have to learn differently. If they wanted to impart important news to Victoria they must do it through her mother.

‘Go and tell them that they will have to wait. The Princess is sleeping.’

The Duchess went back to her bedroom, her heart beating wildly. She slipped a robe over her nightgown. It has come, she thought, the moment I have waited for all these years. This is the most important day in my life. Everything depends on what happens today. We must start as we intend to go on. The King is dead! Jubilation shone in her eyes. Victoria must be made to obey her mother. Then for herself and John Conroy the years ahead would be glorious.

The lady was back.

‘Your Grace, the Lord Chamberlain demands to see the Queen.’

The Duchess put a hand to her fluttering heart. At last those magic words had been spoken.

She went back to her bedroom, where Victoria lay sleeping. Bending over her daughter she kissed her.

‘My darling,’ murmured the Duchess.

Victoria opened her eyes. ‘What is it, Mamma?’

‘Your ministers are waiting to see you, my love.’

Her ministers! Victoria was wide awake immediately. Then it had indeed happened. Uncle William was dead and she was the Queen.

She looked at the tortoiseshell clock ticking away on the bedside table. It was not yet six o’clock.

‘I will not keep them waiting,’ she said. She took off her nightcap and let her long fair hair fall about her shoulders. The Duchess put a wrap about her daughter and she thrust her feet into slippers.

Someone else was at the door. It was the Baroness Lehzen carrying a candle and a bottle of smelling salts. Victoria threw a grateful glance at her governess. Trust Lehzen to be there. She would have been sleeping lightly, ready for the call. And there she was like a guardian angel waiting to protect her charge if need be. And smelling salts! Dear, foolish Lehzen! As though she needed those! What sort of a queen would she be if she were to need smelling salts on being told she was one.

‘They are waiting in the sitting-room,’ said the Duchess. ‘We should go to them at once.’

‘I will go alone, Mamma,’ said Victoria firmly in a voice which struck the Duchess like a blow and warmed the heart of Lehzen.

‘My darling!’ began the Duchess.

Victoria said firmly: ‘Yes, Mamma. Alone.’

They went down that awkward staircase, the three of them. Victoria had been forbidden even to walk down it alone and even at such a moment remembered this, for to be a queen meant to be free and freedom was one of the sweetest things her crown would bring her.

She glanced at the two women at the door of the sitting-room and her look was regal. Then alone she entered the room.

The two men were momentarily startled by the sight of the childlike figure, for with her bare feet thrust into heelless slippers she was very tiny indeed; and with her long fair hair hanging about her shoulders and her cotton dressing gown falling loosely about her she looked even less than her eighteen years.

But there was nothing childlike in the manner in which she received these men, and as soon as Lord Conyngham knelt and began ‘Your Majesty’ she held out her hand for him to kiss as though she had all her life been accustomed to the homage paid to a queen.

Conyngham immediately kissed the proffered hand and went on to tell her that His Majesty King William IV had died at ten minutes past two that morning.

Then it was the Archbishop’s turn. He too knelt and was given a small hand to kiss.

‘Queen Adelaide desired that I should come and give Your Majesty details of the King’s last hours,’ said the Archbishop. ‘His sufferings were not great at the end and he died in a happy state of mind.’

‘How relieved I am to hear that!’ She was the affectionate niece then, her eyes full of tears remembering the kindness of dear Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide.

But there was no time for grief. Events would begin to move very fast and she must be prepared.

She thanked the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop for coming so promptly to acquaint her with the sad news from Windsor, and charging the Lord Chamberlain to return at once to the Castle to convey her condolences and sorrow to Queen Adelaide, she left the men.

Her mother was waiting for her at the door, Lehzen hovering, still clutching the smelling salts.

‘Oh, Mamma,’ said Victoria. ‘Poor Uncle William!’

‘My love!’

The Duchess took her daughter into her arms and laying her head on the maternal shoulder Victoria wept.

She needs comfort from her mother, thought the Duchess exultantly, but Victoria’s next words dispelled that hope.

‘I did not say goodbye to him. I did not visit him when he was so ill. He will think I did not care.’

That was a reproach, for who had prevented her visiting her uncle? Who had kept up a feud between Windsor and Kensington? Almost the last time the King had appeared in public he had delivered a reproach to the Duchess which had caused a great scandal.

The Duchess thought: I am losing her. Have I lost her already?

Her Majesty disengaged herself and saw Lehzen waiting.

‘Dearest Lehzen,’ she said, her tone becoming warm and affectionate, ‘come with me. I must dress immediately.’

So she and Lehzen went back to the bedroom shared with the Duchess (for the last time, Victoria assured herself) and Lehzen took the black bombazine from the cupboard.

‘Dear Uncle, I shall mourn him sadly, Lehzen.’

‘Your heart does Your Majesty credit.’

‘Your Majesty!’ Victoria giggled. ‘It’s the first time you’ve said it, Lehzen.’

Lehzen turned away to hide her emotion and Victoria, to whom it never occurred to hide hers, seized her firmly and hugged her.

‘Nothing … simply nothing … will make any difference to us, dear Lehzen.’

Lehzen sobbed. ‘I’m so proud of you … so proud.’

Victoria smiled and was immediately serious. ‘I am so young, Lehzen, and perhaps in many ways – though not in all things – inexperienced. But I shall do my utmost to fulfil my duty to my country. And even though I am young and shall make so many mistakes, nobody could have more goodwill and a desire to do what is right than I have.’

‘Spoken like a queen … my Queen,’ said Lehzen.

And they clung together until Victoria said: ‘Why, Lehzen, how foolish we are. I have business with my ministers. Come, I must dress. They will soon be here and I must be ready for them.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

‘Majesty!’ How nice to hear it. But I suppose, she thought, in time I shall become used to it.