Victoria in the Wings

Victoria and Uncle King

THE KING LAY in bed in that house in Windsor Park which was called – with mock modesty – the King’s Cottage. He wore a rather grubby silk jacket and his nightcap of peacock blue satin was a little greasy. He was becoming so blind now – for he had lost the sight in one eye – that he was for great periods of time unaware even of what he looked like.

One of the actresses from Drury Lane sat at his bedside reading to him. He did not go to the theatre now. How could he face his people? But his love of the drama had not abated and it consoled him to have a woman with a beautiful voice to read to him, particularly as she could inject life into the parts as she spoke them. Miss Elizabeth Chester read most days until commanded to stop, although he never allowed her to tire her voice; he might be old, almost blind; he might even forget to be aware of his appearance, but he never forgot the courtesy due to a woman.

Now she was reading The Winter’s Tale. He had asked for it specially. What memories it conjured up; and as he listened he was no longer an old man lying in his bed but a handsome young prince in a balcony box at Drury Lane Theatre and on the stage was Perdita Robinson – as exquisite a woman as ever graced the theatre of her day – or for that matter anyone else’s day.

He closed his eyes and it was Perdita’s voice he heard but not her face he saw, for he could not clearly remember what she had looked like; it was Maria’s, for hers was one that was engraved on his memory for ever – Maria with the fine eyes and the unpowdered golden hair and the finest of fair skins to put all others to shame, for it had never needed artful aids. Her nose, he thought tenderly, was aggressive enough to add character to her beauty – the imperfection which was more fascinating than perfection could ever be.

So he lay dreaming of the past and Miss Chester’s lovely voice was Perdita’s and Florizel’s in turn. In those days they had called him Florizel and Mary Robinson had been Perdita ever since. But he was no longer Prince Florizel.

He sighed and Miss Chester paused to glance at him.

‘You read beautifully … beautifully …’ he murmured.

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘And perhaps now you are a little tired?’

‘No, Sir, if it is Your Majesty’s wish that I continue.’

‘I must not be selfish.’

She thought how charming he was – even lying there in his bed, without an elegant neckcloth to hide his swollen neck, a mountain of flesh under the silk coverlet; his voice was musical still and he had the power to make any woman feel she was important to him.

‘Have I Your Majesty’s leave to retire?’

‘Please do, and come again tomorrow.’

When she had gone he dozed a little and was startled to be awakened by a servant at his bedside.

‘Sir, the Duke of Cumberland is here.’

‘Cumberland! From Germany? Where is he?’

‘He is in the drawing-room, Sir. I have told him that I will acquaint Your Majesty of his arrival.’

‘Bring him in. No, wait.’ His fingers touched the silk coat he was wearing. Cumberland must not see him like this for the first time after so long. ‘Bring me my robe. And my wig. The nut-brown one.’

He was helped out of bed; he looked different and felt different in wig and robe. He only needed the clothes and he was every inch of him a king. He peered at himself in the looking-glass. He looked pale and it had never suited him to be pale.

‘A touch of colour in the cheeks,’ he said.

‘Yes, Sir.’

There, that was better.

‘I will go into my dressing-room,’ he said. ‘Bring the Duke of Cumberland to me there.’

They faced each other. He did not wish Ernest to know how bad his eyesight had become and that his brother was a blurred figure to him. Ernest looked astonishingly sinister, but he always had; it was due to having lost an eye.

‘Ernest, my dear fellow.’ He held out his arms and they embraced.

‘George! You’re looking better than I was led to believe.’

‘Oh, these rumours. It is good to see you. I did not know you were in England. Tell me, how is Frederica? How is my young namesake, eh?’

‘Well, and they send their respects and affection to Your Majesty. They have made me swear that I shall ask you to receive them … soon.’

‘They are here?’

‘Not yet. I came on in advance. I had heard such tales of your illness. It seems so long since we had been in each other’s company. I thought that now that Frederick had gone … you might have been feeling the need of a little brotherly companionship.’

‘I miss him sorely. We were devoted as you know.’

‘Ah, it was always you two. I’ll confess now, George, I was always a little jealous.’

‘Not you, Ernest!’

‘Oh, I know I didn’t show it. I was proud. I was arrogant. But I had such a high opinion of myself that I couldn’t understand why you had selected Fred as your favourite brother.’

The King laughed. He was feeling better. Family friendships were good. He had always wanted to be on the best of terms with his brothers. He had never had much to do with Ernest, but that was doubtless because Ernest had not been much at home. After that disastrous affair in his apartments when the valet had committed suicide – for that was what had happened in spite of attempts by the press and Ernest’s enemies to blacken his character and make him out a murderer – it was to Brighton he had come to recuperate, at his brother George’s request. The only brother the King had not liked was the Duke of Kent; and that was largely due to the fact that he believed he had been instrumental in exposing the scandal about Frederick and his mistress Mary Anne Clarke which had upset Fred so much and resulted in his losing command of the Army.

‘Well,’ said the King, ‘Fred and I were of an age. Only a year between us. We were in the nursery together. You’re a little younger.’

‘Six years.’

‘So I was quite a big fellow when you came along.’

‘Indeed you were. I remember first being aware of you. I thought you were the most important person in the world.’

‘I am sure I would have agreed with you,’ said the King with a laugh.

It was easy, thought Ernest; there was no resistance to friendship. George had become rather pathetic. He was still George, of course, larger than life – in more senses than one – but what was he doing here in the Cottage … living a life of seclusion? It was not like George to hide himself from the world of fashion. But he could no longer compete with the dandies, and he kept away from the wits and the adventurers because he was old and tired and constantly ill.

Poor old George, thought Ernest. I’d only give him a year or so at the most.

‘Do you propose to stay in England?’ asked the King.

‘It depends on your wishes.’

‘Mine?’

‘I’ve been thinking. We’re a family. Fred has gone, we’re all getting older. It seems a pity we were not more together. I shall delay my decision to return until you have had a chance to see a little of me. If you find me a bore and a nuisance, you only have to say so.’

‘My dear Ernest, as if I ever should! It would be pleasant if you stayed here.’

‘It was what I was hoping you’d say. I have not allowed myself to remain ignorant of what has been happening while I have been out of the country. I shall be able to discuss affairs with you if you wish me to … oh, only as a figure in the background.’

‘It would be a comfort. It’s always advisable to discuss matters with friends outside the government.’

Ernest nodded. He was longing to take part in affairs, to offer advice to the King, to guide him, to lead him; to be the King in the background until he could step forward and wear the crown openly.

‘I have been thinking of William,’ went on Ernest, ‘and wondering how he is. I have heard some rather disturbing reports.’

‘About William?’

‘You know what rumours are. I heard he had been acting in a strange manner – showing unbecoming hilarity, even at Frederick’s funeral. I don’t believe it, of course. But I’ve heard it said that Frederick’s death has gone to William’s head. He’s almost calling himself King William.’

‘It’s nonsense. William is too fond of me, I’m sure. I flatter myself I mean more to him than a crown, and by God, Ernest, I can assure you of this: Shakespeare was not far wrong. Uneasy does lie the head that wears a crown. If I thought there was anything in these rumours about William I’d let him know that … quickly.’

‘Poor William, he was always a bit of a buffoon.’

Ernest was watching the King closely. How fond was he of William? How far could he go in his criticism?

The King was smiling affectionately. ‘William ought to have some recognition of his position certainly,’ he said. ‘I have been discussing with Canning the possibility of reviving the title of Lord High Admiral. Why not? It would suit William. He always fancied himself a sailor.’

Lord High Admiral? thought Ernest. That was a good idea. It would keep William occupied in a sphere that interested him; and no doubt give him plenty of opportunities to make a fool of himself. That was what he wanted William to do – make a fool of himself again and again and again. And then in due course he could be shown to be suffering from his father’s malady. They had taken King George Ill’s throne from him, so why not William IV’s – if he were to get it?

And then … that child Victoria. All his plans were foiled by her.

‘I think that would be a highly suitable post for William.’

The King nodded. ‘I remember how he was whisked away from us all at Kew to join the Navy. He was only thirteen or fourteen. I can see his face now – woebegone and wretched. Poor William!’

‘But he enjoyed life afloat. He likes to think of himself as the Merry Tar.’

‘He’ll enjoy being Lord High Admiral. And he can plague them at the Admiralty.’

That was just what he would do, thought Ernest. And it would not be difficult for William to prove himself a fool.

‘Do you see much of Edward’s wife?’

‘I can’t bear the woman. I never did like the Coburg family. I find Leopold a bore. It surprises me what that actress sees in him. She’s a charming woman, I hear. It’s amusing though to find that Leopold is human after all.’

‘And what of Madam Kent?’

‘I call her the Swiss Governess. She’s an intolerable woman. She guards Victoria like a dragon.’

‘Do you see much of the child?’

‘No, but I should and I shall. I shouldn’t blame her for her mother’s sins.’

‘I hear she enjoys robust health.’

‘I believe so. She’s healthier than Charlotte ever was. My daughter suffered from constant ailments – although people forget it now. From what I hear of our young princess it is quite another matter.’

Ernest forced his lips into a smile.

‘I should like to see the child. I suppose I might pay my respects at Kensington Palace.’

‘Certainly you should. And you remind me of my duty. She is a very important little person and we shouldn’t forget it.’

‘It is indeed good to be home,’ said Ernest smiling malevolently. ‘I feel I am once more in the heart of the family.’

The Duchess of Kent summoned her daughter to her presence, and as soon as Victoria lifted her eyes to her mother’s face, having given her a deep and respectful curtsy, she saw that Mamma was excited.

‘His Majesty, the King, has invited you to call at Windsor Lodge.’

‘Oh, Mamma, so I am to visit Uncle King!’

‘Pray do not use that ridiculous appellation when referring to His Majesty.’

‘No, Mamma.’

‘You must behave perfectly. His Majesty is very particular about good manners. He will be watchful of you, and if you behave badly in the smallest way I have no doubt that he will be contemptuous of you.’

Victoria was apprehensive. She had always found Uncle King – on the few occasions they had met – particularly charming and not in the least prone to find fault. But perhaps she had been younger then and not so much was expected of her.

‘I think,’ went on the Duchess, ‘that this is an occasion to remind you of the importance of your position.’

‘I had not forgotten it, Mamma.’

‘Pray do not interrupt, child. You will see that His Majesty is a very old man and you are old enough now to know that if he should die only Uncle William stands between you and the throne. And Uncle William is an old man, too. Keep that in mind.’

Victoria was puzzled. Must she while she was with Uncle King keep remembering that he soon must die? She must be very careful not to mention it, for, as dearest Louisa Lewis at Claremont said, she was like Cousin Charlotte in that her tongue was apt to run away with her.

‘Pray don’t frown,’ said the Duchess. ‘It is most unbecoming and leaves lines. Now go along and they will prepare you. I have given instructions as to your costume.’

When Victoria had gone the Duchess sent for Fräulein Lehzen.

‘This visit to Royal Lodge,’ she said. ‘Of course it is right and proper that she should go, but it is a somewhat unusual household.’

Fräulein Lehzen raised her hands to the ceiling. Like the Duchess she wondered greatly at the manner in which the English conducted their affairs. Sometimes she thought they were completely lacking in discipline. That was why she was most anxious that Victoria should be brought up in the Teutonic manner. The Duchess and Fräulein Lehzen saw eye to eye on most matters; they were two Germans in an alien land.

‘That woman is living at the Lodge, although they say that she would rather not be there.’

‘What is so shocking, Your Highness, is that her family should be there too.’

‘It is disgraceful! Lady Conyngham, her husband and children, all living there under the same roof with the King! I consider it most improper. If he lived openly with her at Court that would be another matter. But he shuts himself away and lives alternately, they say, between the squalor of the Cottage, where he spends most of the time in bed, and the oriental splendour of the Pavilion or Carlton House like some … some Sultan.’

Fräulein Lehzen cast down her eyes. One did not join in criticism of the royal family even when it was by the royal family, unless specially asked to do so.

‘And it is to this … this household … that Victoria is going!’

‘I trust, Your Highness, that Lady Conyngham will be absent.’

‘That would be a great relief.’

‘Do you wish Victoria to be warned?’

‘I have been considering the matter. Perhaps, on second thoughts, it would be wiser to say nothing. I shall do everything in my power to protect her; and for that reason I am arranging for her sister to accompany us.’

‘She will of course grasp the situation,’ began Fräulein Lehzen.

‘Feodore is eighteen; she is worldly enough to be aware of what is going on and she is devoted to Victoria. But I shall be there to keep my eye on the child. Will you send her to me? I wish to see that she is dressed as she should be and to give her some last-minute warnings.’

Victoria enjoyed riding along in the carriage with Mamma and Feodore; she almost forgot in the excitement of looking out of the windows that she was going on a great adventure: to meet Uncle King.

She must remember to call him Your Majesty and Sir, not Uncle King. She must only speak when spoken to; she must be very careful of her curtsy; it must be a very special curtsy and she had practised it until she was weary of curtsying, but Mamma still said it left something to be desired.

A visit to Windsor Lodge! What a prospect! She would sleep in a different room and the dolls would all have to stay at home in Kensington. Poor dolls! Mamma could say it was foolish for one of her age and responsibilities to play with dolls and pretend that they were people, but she didn’t care. She was going to keep on loving her dolls. What defiance! She giggled to herself. Then she remembered that she was on the way to Uncle King and set her face into a serious mask because Mamma was watching.

Feodore caught her eye and smiled. How pretty Feodore was! She looked rather like one of the dolls. Darling Sissi! She had heard that Sissi might go back to Germany to get married. She hoped not. Wouldn’t it be fun if some handsome prince came and married Feodore, an English prince so that she did not have to go away. Perhaps dear Lehzen would make up a story about it and they would make it go on and on together until Feodore and her prince had many adventures and lived happily over after. But of course, Lehzen’s stories – apart from historical ones – did not have happy endings unless the people were good. Only virtue was rewarded. There always had to be a moral because they were for improving the mind.

They had arrived at Windsor Lodge and the great moment had come.

Mamma was tense. She could feel it. Now they were going to be ushered into the presence of Uncle King. Victoria’s eyes were dancing with excitement, which must not show of course. One must be demure and respectful – but at the same time showing dignity remembering that the day would come when she would be a queen and every bit as important as a king.

He was large and his body was a queer shape; his face was enormous, but his cheeks were quite prettily pink and his hair was a mass of nut-brown waves.

She approached and swept the most practised curtsy, more aware perhaps of Mamma’s critical eye even than the figure in the chair.

Then the King said: ‘Give me your little paw.’

Paw! she thought. That was funny and she laughed. He laughed too. All ceremony was over because there was nothing terrifying about him.

‘It’s a very pretty little paw,’ he said.

Paw,’ she said, ‘is a funny word to use for a hand.’

‘I often take liberties with the language,’ he replied.

She didn’t exactly understand but she laughed; and he went on: ‘It was good of you to come to see me.’

‘It was all arranged,’ she told him.

‘And you did not object?’

‘Oh no. I wanted to see you, Uncle King.’

There! She had said it. Mamma must be very angry; but he did not mind at all. He liked it in fact. She knew he did because he said: ‘And Uncle King wanted to see his little niece and now that he has he is charmed with her.’

Oh yes, she thought, she could love Uncle King. He was not in the least strict or stern or critical. He just smiled and his eyes filled with tears and he said that she reminded him of the days when he was her age.

‘That,’ she remarked, ‘must have been a very long time ago.’

‘Alas,’ said the King. ‘A very long time.’

She could not take her eyes from the diamonds on his fingers. They sparkled and glittered more than any diamonds she had ever seen. A king’s diamonds, she supposed.

‘You like jewellery?’ he asked.

‘When it shines and sparkles it’s very pretty.’

‘You must allow me to give you something to wear.’

‘To wear?’ she asked; and she was aware of Mamma, very alert and anxious. Oh dear, she thought. I am not doing it at all as we had planned. But then Uncle King was so different. She had not expected him to behave as though he were a true uncle. He made one forget that one must be on one’s best behaviour more so than anyone else did … except young people like Feodore. He was not as solemn as Uncle Leopold, for instance, so it was difficult to remember that he was the King.

‘My dear,’ he said to the plump and handsome lady who had been seated by his side, ‘bring the trinket.’

The trinket was a miniature of the King set in diamonds.

‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s pretty.’

‘A good likeness.’

‘Oh, is it you?’

There was silence. Having to be so careful all the time one developed an extra sense which made one aware of false steps. This was a bad one and everyone was very shocked except Uncle King. But he was a little hurt and she hated that because he was so kind.

‘You are much smaller there,’ she said consolingly.

He leaned forward and patted her shoulder which was a way of telling her not to worry.

‘Pin the miniature on her dress, my dear,’ he said to the plump lady. ‘I am sure it will be most becoming.’

So the lady – Lady Conyngham she learned later – leaned forward and, smiling, pinned the miniature to her dress.

‘There now, you look very grand,’ she said, ‘with His Majesty gracing your shoulder.’

‘Thank you indeed for such a lovely gift,’ said Victoria. Then with a rush of affection: ‘Whenever I see it I shall remember your kindness to me.’ That was genuine at least; for she would remember this occasion, she was sure, for as long as she lived.

‘Am I to have a kiss in exchange for the present?’

She laid her hand on that enormous thigh and lifted her face; but he could not stoop to her nor could she reach to him so that the obliging Lady Conyngham had to lift her up and set her on his knee.

What a strange face – all lines and pouches; and close to she could clearly see the paint on his cheeks. What a strange body; it was so fat; she felt as though she were sinking into a feather bed.

Now what she had to do was kiss that painted cheek. It was not really an ordeal because although he looked so odd and very old so close, he was kind. She knew that if she said something of which the others did not approve, he would understand; she knew that he was not putting her to a test; he was really interested in her; he liked her because she was young and she liked him because he might be old but he was kind.

That was it, she thought: He is kind.

At that she put her arms about his neck and kissed him.

It was wrong and not what was expected. It should have been a quick respectful peck upon the cheek and done in a manner to show that she appreciated the honour of being allowed to kiss the King’s cheek. But she had kissed him as though she wanted to … not because he was a king but because he was a kind old gentleman and she liked him.

He liked the way she did it. An arm hugged her momentarily and he said in a voice slightly shaken with emotion:

‘Thank you, my dear.’

Then she was lifted down and Feodore was being presented.

This was far more formal, but it was quite clear that the King liked Feodore. A chair was brought for her and he would have her sit beside him and talk of Germany.

The King was laughing and looked very pleased with Feodore.

Victoria thought in some astonishment: I do believe he likes Feodore better than he likes me.

When the presentation was over and the Duchess was in the room which had been assigned to her she was very uneasy. She wished that John Conroy was with her so that she might discuss the occasion with him.

In the first place, why had the King suddenly commanded them to come to Windsor? Did he have some plan to take Victoria away from her? That was her constant fear – that Victoria would be taken away from her. If the child were removed she, her mother, would have no say in her upbringing. She would be reduced to a mere nobody. And what would they teach Victoria? To be as they were – dissolute, pleasure-loving, incapable of ruling, to lead an immoral life, to run into debt, to gamble. The Duchess of Kent shuddered.

And he had gone out of his way to charm the child which he had done easily for Victoria, being very young, was naturally susceptible. One could not blame the child, although she had thrown her teaching to the winds and responded to him in what could be called a somewhat unbecoming manner. He, being the man he was, had been charmed by her natural manner, and that was to the good, because the King undoubtedly liked her. But it was a tricky situation and she could not help being full of misgivings.

And what if they were to kidnap the child?

She went to Victoria’s room; the child was drowsy. It had been a day full of excitement.

‘My darling,’ said the Duchess, kissing her forehead.

‘Hello, Mamma.’

‘You are very sleepy, my dear.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘You will have to be careful. You must remember that your Uncle George is the King. You should let me know at once if he makes any suggestion and asks you if you would like to live at Windsor … or …’

Victoria’s lids had fallen over her eyes. She was asleep.

She looked so young – little more than a baby, thought the Duchess tenderly. Oh, my precious lovely child, may God preserve you and bring you safely to your crown.

She leaned over and kissed the smooth brow. Victoria opened her eyes and said: ‘I think he liked Feodore … very much.’

And that gave the Duchess something further with which to concern herself.

The King was restless that night. Sleep had deserted him. The child with her youthful freshness had been charming. How delightful was youth! He had not seen her very clearly until she was set on his knee and put her face close to his while she kissed him. Then he had been aware of a smooth unblemished skin, a delicate pink in the cheeks, the clear wondering eyes. Oh, how beautiful was youth – and only appreciated by the aged! And that little one would one day be the Queen – providing Adelaide didn’t have a child which was becoming more and more unlikely with every passing week.

No, it was almost a certainty. And one day that fresh pinkness would fade and she would be a mass of corrupting flesh like the great bulk which lay in this bed. But perhaps not so; perhaps she would lead a different life. I am so because of the way I have lived, he thought.

His fingers closed about the miniature of Maria Fitzherbert which he wore round his neck.

It could have been different.

Thinking of Maria he remembered the charm of Victoria’s sister. What a little beauty – eighteen years old! There were days when he felt well enough to marry again.

Someone young and luscious like Feodore would make him feel young again. Why not! He would discuss it with Ernest who had now settled at Windsor and was in his confidence.

Marriage – with a beautiful young girl like Victoria’s half-sister Feodore.

It was a happy note on which to fall asleep.

Lady Maria Conyngham – Elizabeth’s daughter – and Lord Graves, on the orders of the King, had brought a pony carriage with four lively grey horses to the door of the Lodge. They were going to take Victoria for a drive to the Sandpit Gate.

Lord Graves explained that the King had thought Victoria would be particularly interested in the animals for he had set up a zoo there.

Victoria was wild with delight but the Duchess of Kent was displeased because Maria Conyngham was going with them and she thought it was most unseemly that the daughter of the King’s mistress should be in Victoria’s company.

Victoria enjoyed the animals very much, particularly the giraffe and the gazelles, and she thought how wonderful it was to be a king and own a zoo.

She said so to Lady Maria who laughed and replied that the King would be delighted that his animals had given the Princess Victoria such pleasure.

‘I shall tell him myself,’ said Victoria and wondered why Lord Graves looked so sad. Later she learned that it was because his wife was having a love affair with the Duke of Cumberland – another uncle of whose wickedness Victoria was in time to learn a great deal.

It was a very pleasant day and Victoria was tired out when she returned to Windsor Lodge and her anxious Mamma.

The next day she was walking with Mamma and a few attendants when the King drove up in his carriage. She was enchanted by the speed with which the glittering equipage galloped towards them and the suddenness with which it pulled up. It could not be mistaken for anything but a royal vehicle.

Her mother grasped her hand firmly, but the King called a greeting; then his eyes rested on her and he smiled as though they were old friends.

‘Pop her in,’ he shouted.

Victoria felt Mamma’s hand tighten on hers and for a moment she thought Mamma was going to refuse to let her go. Then she was lifted up and put between the King and Aunt Mary, the Duchess of Gloucester, who was the only other occupant of the phaeton.

They whisked away, leaving Mamma standing there looking somehow forlorn, but she soon forgot them because there was no doubt that it was very exciting to be in the company of the King.

Aunt Mary was kind too and asked her how she was enjoying her visit to Windsor; and she very quickly found that in the company of Uncle King one could forget what should be done and do and say what came naturally. She told him this and it amused him.

‘It’s far more comfortable here than in Kensington,’ she said. And she added, ‘You are a comfortable person in spite of being a king.’ Which made him and Mary laugh.

He seemed much younger than he had when he sat in his chair. His body was more like a body and his cheeks were a less painted pink. He really looked very fine, if you did not look too closely; and although he was so kind and said such funny things, he always seemed like a king – but in the nicest possible way.

He could imitate people in a manner which made her laugh; and because it made her laugh he did more and more of it.

Riding in the King’s carriage with him and Aunt Mary, who clearly loved him dearly and thought he was wonderful, was even more enjoyable than visiting his menagerie with sad Lord Graves and flighty Lady Maria.

They drove round Virginia Water and then the King said he would take her to his Fishing Temple; here they went on a barge and she sat beside the King while he fished and the band played, starting off and finishing with ‘God Save the King’. The Duke of Wellington was there and the King presented him to her. A very important gentleman and, thought Victoria severely, very much aware of it and anxious that everyone else should be too. He was by no means as charming as Uncle King – but then no one else could be as charming as that.

When they arrived home Mamma must be told all that happened. She listened avidly and wanted to know everything the King had said to Victoria and what Victoria had replied. It was not easy to satisfy Mamma’s demands, for when one was enjoying oneself, as she pointed out, one did not think what one was saying nor did one make a point of remembering what others said.

‘I think, Mamma, that Uncle King is the most charming gentleman in the world.’

The most charming gentleman in the world! thought the Duchess. He is setting out to win her. For what purpose? What but to take her away from her mother because charming as he might be to Victoria and correct in his manner towards the Duchess, that did not entirely hide the fact that he did not like her.

Oh, to be back in the comparative safety of Kensington Palace! Now that Victoria is growing up there are dangers on every side.

The wicked Duke of Cumberland was the King’s confidant. He was capable of anything. A rogue and a roué … and even worse, a murderer!

What plans were being made for her precious Victoria?

The King was determined that Victoria’s visit to Windsor should be a memorable one. They must, he said, think up amusements for her. What would be most likely to entertain a child? Something gay and colourful; music, dancing.

There should be a party in the conservatory. Troupes of dancers should be engaged. Victoria should sit beside him and he would make sure that she enjoyed the entertainment.

She did. It was wonderful. Now and then she laughed with delight. The King watched her with the utmost pleasure. He had not felt so contented for a long time.

She loved the band. She thought: When I’m Queen I’ll have a band in all my houses; and they shall play all the time. One thing she had learned from the visit was that it was very exciting to be a ruler. Everyone wished to please you, and you could make everyone so happy by giving them rides and parties.

He was leaning towards her.

‘I believe you are enjoying the music.’

‘I am, thank you, Uncle King.’

‘It’s a custom in our family. Even my father loved music.’

Even? thought Victoria. Why even? His father was her grandfather but she heard very little about him. He had been the King when she was born so it was not so very long ago. She must remember to ask Fräulein Lehzen why she did not hear more of King George III. At least now she knew he liked music.

‘But he would listen to nothing but Handel. Handel has always been a great favourite in the family.’

She was aware of that for she too had been taught to like Handel – only they called it appreciating it.

‘Now tell me,’ he said, ‘what would you like the band to play? They shall play whatever you wish.’

She smiled at him, loving him dearly because he was so comforting to be with.

‘I should like to hear it play God Save the King.’

The King was a shade more pink. She had made the right choice, she knew; and she was very happy.

‘The Princess Victoria will ask the band to play what she most wants to hear,’ said the King; and everyone waited for her to speak.

‘God Save the King,’ she said in a very clear voice.

The King leaned towards her and pressed her hand.

‘That, my dear,’ he said, ‘was a very charming thought of yours.’

There was amusement throughout the conservatory.

‘The Princess Victoria is a diplomat already,’ it was whispered.

The wonderful visit had to come to an end.

There was the final leave-taking which was rather like the opening ceremony. There was the King seated in his chair with Lady Conyngham beside him. There was Victoria making her curtsy.

‘Now tell me,’ said the King, ‘have you enjoyed your visit?’

‘It was the most exciting visit of my life,’ replied Victoria truthfully.

‘Tell me which part you enjoyed most?’

She did not have to think long. ‘The best part,’ she said, ‘was when I was walking with Mamma and you came along in your splendid carriage and you said “Pop her in”.’

‘Did I indeed say that?’

‘Yes indeed you did. “Pop her in”, you said, and I was popped in.’ She laughed and he laughed with her. ‘And we went riding off to Virginia Water and we drove faster than I have ever ridden and the harness jingled and it was such a splendid carriage and we talked and laughed – and that made it the best part of the visit.’

There was no doubt that Victoria knew how to charm the King as readily as he knew how to charm her.