Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

The Wicked Uncles

IF MY COUSIN CHARLOTTE HAD NOT DIED SO TRAGICALLY—AND her baby with her—I should never have been born and there would never have been a Queen Victoria. I suppose there is a big element of chance in everybody's life, but I always thought this was especially so in mine. But for that sad event, over which the whole nation mourned, my father would have gone on living in respectable sin—if sin can ever be respectable—with Madame St. Laurent, who had been his companion for twenty-five years; my mother would have stayed in Leiningen, though she might have married someone else, for although she was a widow with two children, she was only thirty-one years old and therefore of an age to bear more children. And I should never have been born.

It is hard to imagine a world without oneself, as I remarked to my governess, Baroness Lehzen, when she told me all this. She was a gossip and she liked to talk about the scandals that seemed perpetually to circulate about my family. She excused herself by pointing out that it was history, and because of what lay before me—although it was not certain at that time that I should come to the throne—it was something I should know.

It was unfortunate that my family, on my father's side, had a flair for creating scandal—although this made those conversations with Lehzen more interesting than if they had been models for virtue. Almost all the uncles behaved without the decorum expected of a royal family; there were even rumors about the aunts. Poor Grandpapa, who had been a faithful husband and kept strictly within the moral code—so different from his sons—had to be put under restraint because he was mad; and Grandmama Queen Charlotte, even though she had been equally virtuous, had never found favor with the people. So many queens in our history had failed to win approval because they could not produce an heir; Queen Charlotte had overdone her duty in that respect and fifteen children had been born to her. “Encumbrances,” “A Drain on the Exchequer,” it was said. How difficult it was to please the people!

I was always interested in hearing of my cousin Princess Charlotte, which was natural since I owed my life to her death. Her father, who was the Prince Regent when I was born and became King George IV when I was about seven months old, had created more scandal than any of his brothers, and one of the greatest scandals in that family of scandals was the relationship between Charlotte's parents.

Charlotte had married my mother's brother, Prince Leopold, and Louisa Lewis, who had lived at Claremont with Charlotte and Leopold, told me they had been true lovers. Charlotte had been a hoyden. “There was no other word for it,” said Louisa, her lips twitching, implying that the frailties of Charlotte made her all the more lovable. That puzzled me considerably and I wondered why some people's faults made them endearing, when virtues did not always arouse the same kindly feelings.

Charlotte, however, this flouter of conventions, this wild untamed girl, had won the hearts of all about her, and chiefly that of Prince Leopold, her young husband, whose character and temperament were so different from her own.

“He was heartbroken when she died,” Louisa told me. “Everyone was heartbroken.”

Discussing this later with Lehzen, I remarked that perhaps people loved her because she was dead, for I had noticed that when people died they did seem to become more lovable than when they were alive.

However, the story was that Charlotte was the hope of the nation for she was the Regent's only child, and heiress to the throne, for although his brothers had many children, they were illegitimate. Therefore when the much-loved Charlotte died, and her baby with her, there was great consternation throughout the family, for without an heir the House of Hanover would come to an end. Much later I talked of this with Lehzen and she confirmed what Louisa had told me of Charlotte's popularity.

“Her death was unexpected,” she said. “What was to be done? The Regent was married, though unhappily, and he refused to live with his wife, so there was no hope there. And what of the others? There was Frederick, Duke of York, the second son.” She shook her head. “He was the Regent's favorite brother and a gentleman much respected, although there had been a scandal…”

“Of course there was a scandal,” I said. “There is always a scandal.”

“Well, we will pass over that…”

“Oh no, Lehzen, we will not pass over that.”

When this conversation took place I was in my early teens and already developing a certain imperiousness—which was so deplored by my mother. But although I was bubbling over with affection for those I loved, and could be equally vehement in my dislikes, I was at this moment aware of my destiny, and I was determined to have obedience from those about me…even my dear old Lehzen… just as I had made up my mind that I would not be frustrated by my mother or the odious John Conroy. So I insisted that she tell me of the scandal attached to Uncle Frederick.

“It was a woman of course. It was often women with your uncles— almost always in fact. He was Commander in Chief of the Army and she was an adventuress, Mary Anne Clarke by name, born in Ball and Pin Alley, a little byway near Chancery Lane, so they say. She married first a compositor and his master fell in love with her and sent her to be educated. I do not know what happened to the first husband, but there was a second named Clarke. Well, a woman like that will have lovers by the score, and somehow she came to the notice of your Uncle Frederick.” Lehzen pursed her lips. “It's her sort who make the money fly when they get a chance. You'd think they would respect it. But oh no, my lady Mary Anne was eating off the best plate. The Duke promised her a thousand pounds a year so that she could live in a style she thought suited to her talents, but money was always a problem in the family and when Mary Anne did not receive her money she looked around for means of adding to her income. She had the idea that she would accept bribes for the service of getting commissions for those who paid her.”

“And did my uncle assist her in this?”

“That's how it seemed. Charges were brought against him and there was a great scandal. She threatened to publish his letters…”

I nodded and remained silent. I knew from experience that if I spoke too often and betrayed too much interest, Lehzen would remember she was talking too freely and that would be an end—temporarily—to these interesting revelations.

“Then of course… his marriage. He was separated from the Princess Frederica almost as soon as he was married to her, and, as you know, the Duchess went to live at Oaklands Park with her dogs and other animals where she stayed till she died. So although Frederick was the next in line, he was old and could not be expected to produce an heir…”

I loved this saga of the uncles. But because they were a scandal and a disgrace to the family, as my mother said, I found it hard to get information about them and had to prize what I did learn from Lehzen over a long period.

Next to Uncle Frederick came Uncle William. He was the Duke of Clarence, who was in time to become King William IV. He had always been a rather ridiculous figure. He was different from all the other uncles, for whatever else they were, they were highly cultivated, courtly, with exquisite manners. Not so Uncle William. He had been brought up differently and sent to sea at an early age; he prided himself on being a bluff sailor. He was garrulous and fond of making public speeches that were often diatribes against this and that, and sometimes quite incoherent. In his youth he must have been quite a romantic figure because he entered into a relationship with Dorothy Jordan, an actress, and by her had ten children. He had set up house in Bushey where he and Dorothy Jordan lived harmoniously albeit without benefit of clergy, just as my father had with Madame St. Laurent. The uncles seemed to have a flair for that sort of relationship. But with the death of Charlotte he had to find a wife quickly, just as my father had. In the end he had treated Dorothy Jordan badly. She went to France and died there unhappily. Uncle William had made a fool of himself on several occasions by asking the hand in marriage of certain ladies—none of them royal—and being publicly refused, except by one, a certain Miss Wykeham, who did accept him; but when Charlotte died and the need for an heir was imperative, he had to abandon her and be married to Adelaide, the daughter of the Duke of SaxeMeiningen. I grew to love her dearly.

Well, that was Uncle Clarence who was to conflict so bitterly with my mother. Next to Clarence came my father. I often wished that I did not have to rely on other people's pictures of him. It is sad never to have seen one's own father. I loved to hear stories of him, although, of course, they were not all flattering.

I knew he wished to marry Madame St. Laurent, and I came to believe that the Royal Marriage Act was responsible for a great deal of the immorality in my family, for this act forbade sons and daughters of the King who were under the age of twenty-five to marry without royal consent; and when they were past that age, they had to have the consent of Parliament. It was a cruel act in a way, but because of the nature of the Princes, I suppose it was necessary.

So my father knew he would never be allowed to marry Madame St. Laurent. I heard that she was not only beautiful but kind and wise. She had escaped from the revolution in France and must have been a very romantic figure.

The Regent had honored her. He had always been lenient with his brothers' misdemeanors—and quite rightly so, because he had committed many himself. Poor Madame St. Laurent! I was sorry for her, but I suppose it is what women must expect if they enter into irregular relationships.

My father must marry. An heir was of the greatest importance if the family was to survive. Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen and Victoria of Leiningen, widow of the ruler of that principality, were available. Which was for which did not seem to matter very much. I have often thought how different my life would have been if Adelaide had been my mother. But then I suppose I should have been different, so that is a futile conjecture.

It was decided that my father, being more cultivated and princely in his manners than William, should have Victoria because she would have to be wooed, whereas Adelaide, no longer in the first flush of youth, and there having been a dearth of suitors for her hand, would be obliged to take what was given her. Victoria, on the other hand, as a widow once married for reasons of state, would have the right to choose her next husband.

So it was to be Victoria for Kent and Adelaide for Clarence.

And after Kent, Cumberland. From my earliest days I had thought of him as wicked Uncle Ernest. His appearance was enough to strike terror into the bravest child. This was largely because he had lost his left eye, and I was not sure what was more terrifying—the glimpse of that empty socket or the black mask he sometimes wore over it. But perhaps it was not so much Uncle Ernest's appearance as his reputation that struck those chords of alarm in my youthful heart.

But his reputation fitted his appearance and this was largely due to the fact that about nine years before my birth he had been involved in a very unsavory case when his valet, a man called Sellis, was found in his bed with his throat cut. The Duke himself was wounded in the head, and this could have been fatal if the weapon that had struck him had not come into contact with his sword. There was no explanation of what happened but Sellis did have a beautiful wife and Ernest's reputation with regard to women was rather shady. The general belief was that Uncle Ernest had quarreled with his valet over the latter's wife and had wounded himself in the affray. It was a most unpleasant case and never forgotten.

About three years before Charlotte's death he had married a woman whose reputation was as sinister as his own. This was his cousin Frederica, daughter of the Duke of Mecklenburg—so her aunt was Queen Charlotte of England—who had been married twice, once to Frederick of Prussia and once to Frederick of Solms-Braunfels, both of whom had died mysteriously.

So there was Uncle Ernest with Aunt Frederica, and suspicion of murder had been attached to them both; and it was not entirely due to my mother's hatred of them that I felt this repugnance.

Uncle Sussex was the sixth son and ninth child of King George and Queen Charlotte. He lived in Kensington Palace so I saw him now and then during my childhood. He was what is known as an eccentric; and his contribution to the family scandal was, as had come to be expected, through marriage. He was not promiscuous. As a matter of fact, that was not really a great sin of the uncles. Even George IV was faithful—more or less—to his women while they kept their positions. Uncle Sussex fell in love with Lady Augusta Murray when he was on the Continent and they were married there; and when they came to England they went through the ceremony once more. Alas, although it was a love match it was not approved of by the King and Parliament, so it was not recognized as a marriage. The happy pair did not mind that at first. But such considerations blight a marriage, I suppose. Sussex had always been a rebel. I remembered hearing that when he was very young he had been locked in his bedroom for wearing Admiral Keppel's colors at the time of an election—and the King was against Admiral Keppel. It may have been that there was such a strict rule in the household that the children were certain to rebel. Uncle Sussex went on rebelling all his life.

When King George was put away and his eldest son became Regent, Sussex was welcomed back to Court. He had made a second marriage to Lady Cecelia Buggins, the widow of Sir George Buggins, and that was when they were at Kensington Palace. Being eccentric, Sussex never considered what people thought of his actions, and as he was an intellectual he was looked on with suspicion by most members of the family—except the Regent, of course; but Sussex was in a way a good man and gave his support to benevolent causes. It was only his marriages that had brought him notoriety.

The last uncle was Uncle Adolphus, the Duke of Cambridge, and it seemed that the younger uncles were less wild. Uncle Adolphus was the seventh son and the tenth in the family; he had gone to Germany and distinguished himself in the army. When Clarence had been floundering around, looking for a wife, he had promised to keep an eye open for a suitable one for him and his questing eye had fallen on Princess Augusta, the daughter of the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel. He had written to Clarence extolling her beauty. The letters grew more and more adulatory until it was obvious that Adolphus himself was in love with the lady. This was actually the case, for he married her himself. Yes, Cambridge was really the most ordinary of the uncles.

So there they were, my rather disreputable uncles, the princes of the House of Hanover, which must be kept going at all cost. So any eligible uncle must do his duty and build up the succession. Ambition, which had lain dormant when it seemed that healthy bouncing Charlotte would live and produce a batch of healthy sons, as her grandmother had done, had been fanned into a bright blaze. There was not one of the eligible dukes who did not aspire to producing the heir to the throne.

Clarence, Kent, Cumberland, and Cambridge were on their marks, as it were. There was speculation throughout the family… and the country. Who was going to reach the coveted goal?

Poor Aunt Adelaide produced and lost her child, so Clarence had set off to a bad start. Both Cumberland and Cambridge produced sons— both christened George, a good name for a king; but they were the younger sons, and if Clarence failed and the Duchess of Kent was fruitful, the palm would go to the Kents.

How exciting it must have been! I could imagine poor blustering Uncle William urging on Aunt Adelaide; and Cumberland grinding his teeth and plotting Heaven knew what with his sinister wife whose reputation matched his own. Cambridge? Well, he would be gently hopeful, I supposed; but his chances were a little remote as it was hardly possible that the others would fail completely.

I heard of a strange thing that had happened to my father. It was remembered when I was born and he found that, instead of the longed for son, he had a daughter. He had been in the forest of Leiningen, before his marriage, when I think he must have been beset by doubts and anxiously considering the suffering he was about to inflict on Madame St. Laurent. He had been on his way to visit my mother, and put up for the night at an inn. While he was seated with a few members of his company, a gypsy came in, and selecting him from the group, asked if she might tell his fortune.

They laughed and feigned their disbelief in such arts as people do, while at the same time, they find them irresistible. The gypsy took his hand and told him he was going to marry shortly and that he would be the father of a great queen.

This amazed him, for if she had read his thoughts and was trying to give him what he wanted, it would have been a king.

He said, “No. A king.”

But the gypsy shook her head. “A queen,” she insisted.

He was much impressed. So much so that his mind was made up. He must recognize his duty to the family and the State; he must marry Victoria and make sure that Madame St. Laurent was well looked after.

There was no Salic law in England and the gypsy had said a great queen.

Well, that was the prophecy, and, as I believe first and foremost in honesty, I will say that it came as near true as any prophecy can.

The year 1819 dawned. It was the year of royal babies. In March the Clarences had a little girl who did not survive. The Cambridges had a boy. May saw two more babies. The Cumberlands' George was born on the 27th, but before that, on the 19th, I made my appearance.

My father was exultant. He was sure then that the gypsy's prophecy was coming true.

I LIKED TO imagine my nursery. There was such rejoicing. It would have been pleasant to know what an important baby I was. But perhaps that would not have been good for me and I should have been even more wilful and petulant than I actually was in those early years.

Louise Lehzen, who was to have charge of me, had brought her pupil, the Princess Feodore, my half-sister, over to England to live with us. It was from her and from Feodore—and I came to love both dearly—that I learned so much of those early days.

There I was, a healthy baby—“plump as a partridge,” some said. “Determined right at the start,” said Lehzen, with a twitch of her lips and a nod of her head, “to have your own way.”

Feodore said that I was the most adorable baby that ever was. I daresay when she had her own she changed her mind about that! And I did wonder how many babies she had been acquainted with—but no matter. That she should think so was a sign of her love. Not only was there excitement in Kensington but in Saxe-Coburg too. The Coburg relations always stuck together and rejoiced in the advancement of the family; they were very different from my English relations who were always in conflict with each other.

My maternal grandmother, the Duchess of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, referred to me as the May Blossom, which I thought rather charming when I heard it. “The English like queens,” she added, “and the niece— and also the first cousin—of the ever-lamented and beloved Charlotte will be most dear to them.” It was true that the English had liked queens ever since the reign of Elizabeth. How the people had revered that one! The greatest monarch ever to sit on the throne, some said—and a woman! Yes, after Elizabeth, the English must like queens.

There was a great deal of controversy about my name and that ended with a scene in the Cupola Room.

My uncle, the Regent, had taken a great dislike to my mother—so had Uncle William. Feodore told me that our mother said it was because she was young and healthy, and they, poor things, were decrepit old gentlemen who had no hope of getting healthy children. The Regent even hated the way my mother dressed. She loved feathers and rustling silks and lots of flounces, which the Regent said was Bad Taste. He was known throughout the kingdom, in spite of all his failings, as the arbiter of Good Taste. I have never known much about that, noticing that people are apt to believe that what they like is good taste and that all those who have different opinions have bad. However, that dislike was there and my mother—such a forceful lady—would always feel that there was something very wrong with those who criticized her.

There had, so Feodore told me, been a great deal of trouble about choosing my names. My father was so sure that I was going to be a queen that it was imperative that I should have a name suitable for one. After a great deal of thought it was decided that my first name should be Georgiana. There had been three Georges and likely to be a fourth, so that seemed the best choice. This was to be followed by Charlotte (after the Princess who had made this possible), Augusta Alexandrina (after the Tsar), and Victoria after my mother.

Etiquette, of course, demanded that the names be submitted to the Regent for his approval. My mother had argued, so said Feodore. “Why all this fuss about a name?” One might have asked the same of her. Of course my name was important and I have no doubt that the Regent regarded me with suspicion. After all, when one holds a position, it is not the most pleasant thing in the world to view one's successor. There is a feeling of being edged toward the grave. All monarchs feel it at some time—and particularly when one is obese, overcome with gout and other ailments, desperately trying to appear young and handsome as one has been in one's youth.

My parents knew that there would be trouble because on the very evening before the ceremony he sent a brief note saying that the name of Georgiana could not be placed before that of the Emperor of Russia; and he could not allow it to follow.

I am sorry that I cannot recall that scene from personal experience— although I was at the center of it. The Cupola Room must have looked very grand with the golden font that had been brought from the Tower and the crimson velvet curtains that had come from the chapel in St. James's. I had three distinguished sponsors, the most important of these being Alexander the First, the Tsar of Russia; the second was my Aunt Charlotte, the Queen of Württemberg (who had been the Princess Royal of England); and the third my maternal grandmother, the Duchess of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld. These illustrious sponsors were not present in person, of course, but were represented by my uncle, the Duke of York, and my aunts, the Princess Augusta and the Duchess of Gloucester.

The Prince Regent at length arrived and from that moment there was trouble. I can imagine the animosity that must have flashed between him and my mother. There we were assembled in that splendid room before the golden font, my mother preparing for battle. Many times have I seen her in the mood she must have been in on that occasion.

The Archbishop held me in his arms waiting. He asked the Regent to announce my first name.

“Alexandrina,” he said, and then he paused.

The Archbishop was waiting.

“Charlotte,” whispered my father.

But the Regent shook his head reproachfully to show definite disapproval.

“Augusta?”

“Indeed not,” said the Regent. “Let her be named after her mother. Alexandrina Victoria.”

So, to the fury of my mother and the consternation of my father, I, who was to have emerged from the Cupola Room enriched by so many grand names suited to a future queen, came out with only two.

The Regent had shown his disapproval of what he called my parents' presumption. He was not dead yet, and he clearly hoped that one of his other brothers would provide the heir to the throne, for his animosity toward my frilled and feathered mother—as I believe he called her—was great.

And there I was—“plump as a partridge”—full of lusty health and ready to start my life—a possible heir to the throne.

WE WERE VERY poor. My father had many debts. Indeed, the hope of getting these settled was one of the reasons for his marriage—a secondary one, it is true, but nonetheless a reason. He was apparently disappointed in his hopes in that direction and the need for economy was urgent.

As was to be expected, Uncle Leopold—dear Uncle Leopold—came to the rescue. Uncle Leopold, who was to mean so much to me, was my mother's brother—and he it was who had been the devoted husband of Princess Charlotte. He had won her affections so wholeheartedly and kept her in restraint so admirably that he had become a person of some standing in England, although he was no favorite of the Prince Regent and Uncle William. Uncle Leopold was abstemious, careful, so right in everything he did, and people of less moral rectitude are inclined to dislike such people, I suppose because they bring home to them too forcibly their own shortcomings. One of the accusations Uncle William brought against Uncle Leopold was that he did not drink wine at dinner. He was quite angry about it and on one occasion said severely, “Sir, gentlemen do not drink water at my table.” Some might have been cowed but Uncle Leopold was quite unperturbed and went on drinking water.

However, Uncle Leopold had retained Claremont, where he had lived in such amity with Princess Charlotte, and because we were in such financial difficulties he lent us the house. So to Claremont we came.

When I grew older I came to love my visits to Claremont dearly. It was small as royal residences go, but Uncle Leopold told me once how delighted Charlotte had been when she had first come to it. She had said it was the perfect setting for married lovers for they could shut themselves away from the fashionable world and live there simply. I loved it, partly for itself, partly because it was Uncle Leopold's and I loved everything about him. Looking back over a great many years, I see that he was the first man to win that devotion which I was so eager to give. I think now that it was because I needed a man in my life to be all important to me, a father when I was a child, a husband later. He had to be there, because although I was most imperious, so certain of my destiny, which was to rule, in a way I wanted to be ruled—and thus it ever was. How strange people are, and how little we know ourselves. But when one looks back in serenity tempered by sorrow and perhaps wisdom gleaned over the years, one sees so much that one missed before.

So to Claremont we went—Claremont with its thirteen steps to the entrance. I always counted them when I ran up eager to be greeted by Uncle Leopold. I loved the Corinthian pillars that held up the pediment, and it thrilled me to enter the large rooms on the ground floor. There were eight of them, I remembered. Uncle Leopold used to take me through them and talk of what he and Charlotte had done and said to each other; and we would mingle our tears, for Uncle Leopold cried easily, which I always felt showed deep sensitivity in a man.

I know my mother was very resentful about the incident at the christening. It seemed to her so shocking—Lehzen told me afterward—that I should have only two names, and names that were not well known in England. Alexandrina was very foreign. They called me Drina in those days and it was only later that it was changed to Victoria.

There was a great deal of resentment from the uncles—Cumberland particularly—because he had a son and I came before him; and Uncle William, of course, for all his wife's efforts to bear children came to nothing. The tension had by no means ceased with the royal marriages. It had become like a race. Perhaps more than any the Regent resented it. It seemed as though they were all waiting eagerly for his departure.

When my father took me to a military review the Regent was furious. He demanded loudly, “What is that infant doing here?”

I am sure my father smiled complacently. The possibility of my being the heir to the throne could not have escaped anybody—least of all the Regent.

I was vaccinated, which caused quite a stir. Some years before, Dr. Edward Jenner had discovered that by injecting a person with cow pox he could prevent their catching smallpox. Many people were uncertain about this, but if it was considered good for a Princess they decided it was good enough for them. It was interesting, said Lehzen, how popular these injections became after I had set the fashion.

As we were so poor, my parents thought it would be cheaper to live in Germany than in England and they were contemplating making the move. In the meantime it seemed a good idea to rent a house by the sea where not only could we save ourselves expense but profit from the sea breezes—so good for us all and particularly for Baby Drina.

On the way down to the coast we stopped at Salisbury where, on a bitterly cold day, my father went for a tour of the cathedral. He caught a cold and by the time we reached Sidmouth it had not improved.

An alarming incident occurred there that might have been the end of me. I was in my cradle when suddenly the glass of the window was shattered and an arrow sped into the room coming so close to me that it pierced the sleeve of my nightgown. By a miracle—Providence, they all said—I was not hurt, but if the arrow had pierced my body, as it might well have done, it would most certainly have killed me.

I could imagine the consternation that must have spread through the household. Some must have given thought to the uncles, particularly Cumberland and his wife, who had both been involved in mysterious deaths. But finally it was discovered that the arrow had been shot by a mischievous boy. He had meant no harm, he insisted; he had only been playing wars.

Everyone was so relieved that I was unharmed that after being sternly reprimanded, the boy was forgiven.

Meanwhile my father's cold was developing into something worse; in a week it had turned to pneumonia and he had taken to his bed. Uncle Leopold came hurrying down to Sidmouth with young Dr. Stockmar, in whom he had the utmost trust, but it soon became clear that my father could not survive.

It was a great shock to all for he had always been more healthy than any of his brothers.

What disturbed him more than anything was the prospect of leaving us. He had had such hopes of grooming me for the throne; and he was very worried as to what would happen to my mother with a young child—and in the position that I was—to care for.

Naturally he turned to Uncle Leopold.

It was from my mother that I heard of those anxious days. She was always dramatically vehement in her hatred of her husband's family, tearfully affectionate toward her own. In those days when I was very young I thought of my father's family as monsters and the Saxe-Coburg relations as angels.

“There we were,” my mother told me, “in that little house in Sidmouth…your father dead. What was to become of us? We had so little… not even enough to travel back to Claremont. And Claremont, of course, was not our home. It had only been lent to us by your dear Uncle Leopold. I was frantic. There was one matter that gave me some relief. Your father had appointed me your sole guardian, which shows what trust he had in me. Do you know, his last words to me were ‘Do not forget me.' So you see he was thinking of me until the last.”

I wept with her and wished as I always have done that he had lived long enough for me to have known him.

“He was a great soldier,” she told me. “He wanted you always to remember that you are a soldier's child.”

“Oh I will, Mama,” I said. “I will.”

“He was a great liberal too… and a friend of the reformer, Robert Owen. He was talking about visiting him at New Lanark just before his death. For him to die… he, who was so strong…His hair was black and so was his beard. Mind you, he did color them a bit…but never mind. They looked fine and so did he. So young, so full of vigour…and there he was…in such a short time… dead.”

Mama loved drama and although at that time I wept with her I did wonder afterward whether she really did feel so strongly about his death. She was one who liked to have her own way, although she did bend a little to Sir John Conroy. I was told that Sir John looked something like my father, so perhaps that was one of the reasons why she thought so highly of him.

Mama went on to tell me how she was left bereft … no husband, very little money, in a strange land where she could scarcely speak the language.

“I could hope for little help from your father's family,” she said with that snort of contempt she often used when speaking of them. “True, the miserly Parliament had granted me six thousand pounds a year in the event of my widowhood. I daresay when they granted me that—it was a year before you were born—they had thought they would not have to pay it for a long time.”

“Mama,” I said. “They did give you our home in Kensington Palace.”

“A few miserable rooms!” she retorted. “And there I was… with so little and all your father's debts on my shoulders. I shall of course do my very best to settle them … in time.”

That was very honorable of her, I thought. She was very good, I was sure; but I did wish she was not so venomous toward my father's family.

“I had thought there was only one thing for us,” she had gone on, “and that was to go back to Germany, but your dear Uncle Leopold was against that. He said, ‘In view of her prospects the child must stay in England. She must speak English. She must be English. There must be no trace of anything else. The people here like their own kind.' And so I stayed here and dear Leopold…he gave up so much to stay with us! What I should have done without him I cannot imagine.”

“Dear dear Uncle Leopold,” I murmured.

“He is wonderful. You are fortunate indeed to have such an uncle and such a mother to care for you. True, you are fatherless, but you have had so much to make up for that.”

I replied fervently that I had, but I was thinking of Uncle Leopold rather than my mother, for I was just moving into that state when I was beginning to draw away from her.

“He is so careful of both you and your dear cousin Albert, who has the same reason to be grateful to him as you have. He is three months younger than you so you could say that you are of an age.”

“I am hoping one day I shall meet Albert.”

“I am sure your Uncle Leopold, who so likes to please you as well as instruct you, will arrange a meeting one day.”

“That will be wonderful.” I spoke with honest fervor, but I could not know then how wonderful it was going to prove to be.

Of course Uncle Leopold was right. And because we had not enough money to make the journey from Sidmouth, he paid for our transport to Kensington Palace and there we remained for some years to come.

It appeared that my father had appointed Sir John Conroy as one of the executors of his will and that seemed to me, as I grew older, not a very good choice. My mother did not share that opinion, but it was very repugnant to me that Sir John should actually live in our household.

My mother relied on him a great deal. She was always saying that she had few friends, but while she had Uncle Leopold and Sir John Conroy she felt ready to face the hostile country in which—on my account—she was forced to live.

There were some members of my father's family who tried to be friends. There were my two aunts, Princess Sophia and the Duchess of Gloucester. They were old then. Sophia had never married but long ago she had been at the center of a scandal. A certain General Garth had fallen in love with her and she with him. The consequences were grave and Sophia had to be hustled out of the palace to give birth to a child. The voluminous skirts proved useful and her sisters helped to smuggle her to Weymouth where she was delivered of a boy. Sophia was unrepentant; she had loved the general and she loved her son, who still came to see her. The children of George III had been brought up so oddly that they all seemed to be involved in scandalous situations. My grandfather had refused to allow any of his girls to marry. He had loved them dearly… too dearly. Poor Grandpapa! He must have been mad for a long time before people realized it. Well, Sophia offered friendship to my mother and so did Aunt Mary of Gloucester, who had married Silly Billy Gloucester late in life.

Another one who would have been kind to her was Adelaide, at that time Duchess of Clarence; but my mother regarded the Clarences as the enemy and was very suspicious of Adelaide who, when she was Queen, I came to know as one of the kindest ladies it had ever been my good fortune to meet. But there was no overcoming Mama's prejudices. So she need not have been so entirely without friends as she liked to believe herself to be.

Nine days after my father's death, there occurred another one of the greatest importance.

Poor Grandpapa, blind and mad, passed away, and the Prince Regent became King George IV.

LOOKING BACK IT is difficult to decide between what I remember and what was told me. There are certain things though, which stand out very clearly in my mind and one was the visit to Windsor and my meeting with the King.

I was playing with the dolls and talking to Feodore about them. I adored my sister. She was very pretty and twelve years older than I, so she seemed very grown up. I was about seven at this time, so she must have been nineteen. I also had a half-brother, Charles, who was three years older than Feodore, but he was in Leiningen looking after his estates there, although he did come to England now and then. Feodore was with us all the time, and I do believe she loved to be with me as much as I did with her.

She was very interested in the dolls—almost as interested as Lehzen. Lehzen thought they were wonderful. It had been her idea that I should start the collection in the first place; and she and I made some of the costumes together.

Being Lehzen, who always had her eyes on education, she pointed out that the dolls represented historical characters. Of course we had Queen Elizabeth. “The great Queen,” Lehzen called her, but when I learned more about her, I did not like her so very much. She seemed to have acted in a way that was not always good.

Aunt Adelaide, who always showed affection for me and would have liked to see me more often if Mama would have permitted it, gave me a beautiful doll. It was bigger than all the others and it had such splendid clothes that Lehzen said we should not attempt to dress it in any other way. So among my collection of historical dolls, it was just the Big Doll, and she always reminded me of kind Aunt Adelaide.

Feodore was saying that Queen Elizabeth's dress had a little rent in it. I knew this. I had torn it myself when I had thrown her down rather roughly. I had just heard that when she had died there had been three thousand dresses in her wardrobe, which was an excessive number. She had clearly been very vain and I was going to let her have a rent in her skirt for a while.

“She is the most beautiful of the dolls,” said Feodore. “I am sure Lehzen will mend that tear very soon.”

“It won't hurt her to have a torn skirt for a while, the vain creature.”

Feodore laughed. “I believe you do not like Queen Elizabeth very much,” she said.

At that moment Mama came in. She was quivering. Mama often seemed to quiver, either in rage or excitement. It was because of all the feathers she wore, and the pendants about her neck and in her ears, the frills on her bodices and the rustling of her skirts. It gave an impression of perpetual violent emotion.

She had something to tell us. Normally she would have sent for us and we should have had to go to her, not forgetting to curtsy respectfully. We must always show our respect for Mama, always remember what she had done for us, sacrificing herself all the time for our good.

But as this was a matter of great importance, she had dispensed with the usual formalities.

“At last,” she announced, “that man has seen fit to invite us to Windsor.”

I knew at once that she was talking of my uncle, the King, for he lived at Windsor.

“I am of two minds as to whether I shall accept the invitation, but …” began Mama.

I knew she meant that she would accept the invitation and I happened to have gleaned that it was a source of irritation to her that we had not been invited before.

“I suppose, as after all he does call himself King…”

“Do not other people call him King?” I asked innocently. I was very direct, and as Mama and Lehzen constantly told me, at this stage of my development I took what people said too literally. In any case, Mama had implied that it was only the King who called himself King.

“You must learn not to make foolish interjections,” said Mama, quivering more than before. “The fact is we are going to Windsor. I shall insist that we are treated with due respect. Hold your head up. Have you been wearing your holly necklace?”

“Yes, Mama, but I think I can manage without it.”

“It does not appear to be so. I shall decide when you may dispense with it. Why are you not wearing it now?”

“Lehzen said that when I was playing with the dolls I could leave it off.”

She was referring to the sprig of holly attached to a cord that I had to wear around my neck to induce me to hold my head high, for when I did not my chin came into contact with the prickles. It was a form of torture that I greatly disliked, and whenever I could I would inveigle Lehzen into letting me go without it.

I could see that Mama's annoyance with me was really her dislike of the King; but at the same time she was pleased that he had invited us to Windsor.

She looked at her elder daughter and said, “You shall accompany us, Feodore.”

“That will be lovely, won't it, Sissy?” I said.

Feodore hugged me. I sometimes felt that she wanted to protect me from Mama's severity.

“You will enjoy the visit,” she said.

“Yes, especially if you are there.”

Mama softened a little. She liked to see the affection between us two.

“Well then,” she went on. “I shall make plans. Victoria, you must remember to behave perfectly so that there can be no criticism. The King is very insistent on good manners. It is the one virtue he himself has managed to retain. People will be watching you. Any little slip will be noticed, you can be sure. There will be malicious eyes on you and tongues to wag if you misbehave.”

I was already beginning to feel nervous. But Feodore pressed my hand reassuringly and I thought: She will be there, so it will be all right.

That this was a most important visit was obvious. Mama might express her contempt for all my paternal uncles—the King among them—but when all was said and done he was the King and we were all—even Mama—his subjects.

Lehzen tried to prepare me.

At Windsor Lodge, where I should be presented to the King, I should meet a lady in his company whom it would be quite important not to offend.

“A lady? Do you mean the Queen, Lehzen?”

“Well no… not the Queen, a lady. Lady Conyngham. She is a very great friend of the King.”

“I do know that the King and Queen don't like each other very much.”

Lehzen looked alarmed. “You must never say anything about that.” There were times when she was afraid she had told me too much. I was beginning to recognize signs like that.

“You may be surprised when you see the King,” she went on. “He is rather old.”

“Yes, Lehzen, I know. Mama has often said so.”

Lehzen looked even more alarmed. “You must guard your tongue. It would be wise to speak only when the King speaks to you and then only answer what he asks.”

I was beginning to feel more and more nervous.

“Don't worry,” said Feodore. “Say what is natural to you. I am sure that will be all right.”

Dear, comforting Feodore!

When we were riding in the carriage on the way to Windsor Lodge, Mama was giving instructions. “I hope you have practiced your curtsy. You must be grave. Do not laugh in that really vulgar way you seem to be developing … showing all your gums. Smile. Just lift the corners of your mouth … and remember that although he is the King, you are royal too.”

“Yes, Mama…Yes, Mama…”

I really was not listening. I was admiring the countryside and wondering what Uncle King would be like, and why there was all this pursing of the lips when Lady Conyngham and her family—who seemed to live at Windsor Lodge with the King—were mentioned. I would ask Lehzen. No, not Lehzen. She could be reticent at times. I would ask my other governess Baroness Spath…or Feodore. How wonderful to have such a dear sister who was so much older—grown up and yet not exactly a grown-up. Yes, I would ask Feodore.

My hand crept into hers and she pressed it reassuringly. I loved her so much and thought: We shall always be together.

We had arrived.

At length the great moment came and I was ushered into the presence of the King.

I saw a figure so huge that even the very large and ornate chair in which he sat seemed too small to hold him and he flowed over it as though someone had tried to pour him in and spilt some of him. The analogy made me want to giggle. I restrained myself severely and swept the most profound curtsy I had ever made in my life. It was effective, I am sure. It should have been. I had been practicing it ever since I had known I was to meet him.

“So this is Victoria.” His voice was soft and really musical, and I loved music. “Come here, my dear child.”

So I went and looked up into that huge face; his cravat came right up to his chins and his cheeks seemed to wobble. He had beautiful pink cheeks and his hair was a mass of luxuriant curls. I thought: Some parts of him are so beautiful.

He was watching me as intently as I was watching him.

Then he said, “Give me your little paw.”

Paw! What a strange name to give a hand! It seemed very funny and I forgot Mama's instructions and laughed.

He took my hand in his, which was very large, white, and sparkling with rings.

He laughed with me, so at least he was not annoyed.

“Such a pretty little paw,” he said. He turned to the lady who was standing close to his chair. She was very beautiful though rather fat— but not nearly so fat as the King. Perhaps it was her clothes that made her seem so splendid. He said, “Lift her up, my dear. I want to see her closely.”

So I was set on his knee, which was soft and wobbly like a feather cushion. It was an odd sensation to be so close to his face. I was fascinated by the delicate pink of his cheeks and the curls of his hair, which looked as though they belonged to a young man, and yet the pouches under his eyes made him look like an old one.

He looked at me as though he found my appearance interesting and because of his lovely voice and his kindly looks I began to wonder why Mama hated him so much. He was not nearly so awe-inspiring as I had expected him to be. He seemed as though he wanted to please me as much as I wanted to please him.

He said how delighted he was that I had come to see him. “It was good of you,” he added.

“I was told I must come,” I said.

Then I felt that was the wrong thing to have said because it sounded as though I didn't want to. I went on hurriedly, “I was so excited. But there was a great deal to remember…so I hope I do not do anything wrong.”

He laughed. It was a very friendly laugh. He said, “My dear little Victoria, I very much doubt that anything you did would be wrong in my eyes.”

“But I do do things which are wrong…”

“Perhaps we all do…now and then.”

“Even you, Uncle King?”

There! I had said it! Mama would be listening. Oh dear, there would be a lecture.

He was smiling still. “Yes, even Uncle King.”

“Of course I should have said Your Majesty.”

“Do you know, I like Uncle King better.”

“Do you really…Uncle King?”

Then we both laughed again. I was so relieved and I quite liked sitting on his blubbery knee and watching his old-young face and wishing my hair curled as beautifully as his did, and thinking how different he was from what I had expected.

“You look rather pleased,” he said. “I believe you are enjoying your visit and finding Uncle King not such an old ogre as you may have been led to believe.”

I hunched my shoulders and nodded, for that was exactly the truth.

He asked me questions and I told him about the dolls and how I was rather pleased that Queen Elizabeth's skirt was torn and had been for several days and Lehzen had not noticed it yet. “She was so vain,” I said. “She deserved it.”

He agreed.

Then he said he must give me a little memento of our meeting. I was not sure what that meant but guessed it was some sort of present, and so it proved to be for he said to the plump lady, “Bring it, my dear.”

She brought a miniature of a very beautiful young man set in diamonds.

“It is lovely,” I cried. “What a beautiful young man.”

“You don't recognize him?”

I looked puzzled. I lifted my eyes to his face. The plump lady was nodding and trying to tell me something. I did not understand.

“I daresay I have changed since that was done,” said the King sadly.

Then I knew. I looked closely and I did see a faint resemblance between the face in the picture and that of my benign young-old Uncle King.

I smiled. “It is you …Uncle King. It was because it was so small and you are bigger now …I didn't see it at first.”

It was a little late, but he did not seem to mind so much after all.

He turned to the fat lady. “Pin the miniature on her dress, my dear.”

The fat lady, perfumed and silky, leaned over and smiling at me, obeyed.

“There! That will remind you of this day.”

“Oh, I should not have forgotten… not ever.”

“You are a very nice little girl,” he said. “I have given you a present. What will you give me?”

I thought hard. One of the dolls? Queen Elizabeth perhaps…we could mend her skirt.

He said with a smile, “A kiss would be very nice.”

That was easy. In spite of my disapproval of Queen Elizabeth I was glad I was not going to lose her. He put his face forward and I was so happy because the visit, which I had been dreading so much, had been so easy, and because he was kind and hadn't minded in the least being called Uncle King; and partly because he had been a little hurt because I had not recognized him as the beautiful young man in the picture, I put my arms around his neck and kissed him twice.

There was a brief silence. I had done something terrible. Mama would say I had behaved in a most vulgar way. Lehzen would be hurt because I had disgraced her. I had been warned, time after time, that I should be in the presence of the King. I was only to lift my lips and smile, and I was not to do that often. The King would be furious. He would say I had ignored his royalty. Oh dear, what had I done!

I drew away and then I saw his face. There were tears in his eyes. He seemed suddenly much nicer than the man in the picture. He put his arms around me and held me tightly against him. It was like lying on a feather bed.

He said, “You are a dear little girl and you have given me great pleasure.” Then he kissed me.

And in that moment I loved Uncle King.

WHEN THE AUDIENCE was over and we went to our rooms in Cumberland Lodge which were made ready for us, I was still thinking about Uncle King. Mama said nothing about my behavior, which was very strange. But she was thoughtful.

I longed to be alone with Feodore so that I could ask her why there was this odd silence. There was something else I wanted to ask Feodore. What had she thought of the King? When she had been presented to him, he had shown clearly that he liked her. Her chair had been placed next to his and he had engaged her in conversation for quite a long time. I had heard them laughing together. I think she quite liked him, too. In fact, it was difficult not to like him. He was so pleasant and charming to everyone, and if one did not look at him one could quite imagine someone as handsome as the young man in the miniature.

As Lehzen sat in my bedroom until Mama came to bed, I did not talk, but lay quietly thinking of the visit. I was still not asleep when Mama came up.

She came to my bed and looked down at me. “Not asleep?” she asked. “Why not?”

“I do not know why not,” I answered. “It is just that I am not asleep.”

Mama said, “It has been an exciting day. You were presented to the King.”

I thought: Now it is coming. I am going to hear what a disgrace I was to them all, how badly I had behaved, throwing my arms about the King's neck; and kissing him twice when only one kiss had been asked for was an offense to royalty. I might be sent to the Tower like poor Sir Walter Raleigh, one of the most splendid of the dolls.

“The King was in a good mood today,” said Mama.

I was going to say how much I liked him, but I did not think that was what Mama wanted to hear.

“You should be careful, Victoria.”

“Oh yes, Mama.”

“Remember your uncle is the King.”

“Oh, I won't forget.”

“Sometimes he hardly behaves like one.”

“I thought he was very nice, Mama. He has lovely hair and such pink cheeks… and yet he is very very old.”

“Things are not always what they seem. The hair is not his own. It is a wig and his cheeks are painted.”

I was astounded, and tried to imagine what he would look like without those lovely curls.

“They did look very nice,” I commented, still wanting to speak for him, “and even if the curls were not his own, his kindness was.”

Mama ignored that. She said earnestly, “If he were to make any suggestion to you, you must tell me at once.”

“What suggestion, Mama?”

“I think he liked you.”

“Oh yes, he did. He said I was a dear little girl. He didn't mind that I called him Uncle King. I think he liked it.”

“He would! If ever he should ask you if you would like to live at Windsor, you must tell me at once.”

To live at Windsor! To see the King often! To ride in the park …perhaps to be alone now and then…It did not seem such a terrible prospect.

“To live at Windsor …,” I said excitedly.

“You must tell me at once. It may be that the King will want to take you away from me…from your home… and to keep you at Windsor.”

“Why, Mama?” I asked eagerly. “Why?”

“Never mind why.”

What a constant cry that was! If one never knew why, one remained ignorant about so many things.

She kissed me. “Now go to sleep.”

But I could not sleep. People cannot command sleep any more than they can make people never mind why.

THAT WAS ONLY the beginning. It was very clear that the King was determined I should enjoy my visit to him and that it should be one that I would never forget. Feodore told me that he had asked her what I liked and she had said that I liked dancing and music. He had declared, “Then dancing and music there shall be. At all costs we must please the little Victoria.”

Feodore told me that she thought he was charming also. He was very attentive to her. In fact I began to believe that he preferred her to sit close to him rather than me. Though I could not complain of his treatment of me. His eyes would light up when he saw me in a way I can only describe as tender, and he had that soft look in them that was near to tears but not quite, and his cheeks would wobble and his lips twitch as though he found me rather amusing.

There was an entertainment in the conservatory and I was seated next to him to watch. I could not help clapping my hands in appreciation of the magnificent movement of the dancers and when there was singing I sat there entranced. The King kept looking at me and smiling; and although Mama might disapprove of my obvious delight—once I jumped up and down in my seat—the King seemed very pleased about it; and when I looked at him uncertainly, he said, “Yes, I quite agree. If I were as agile as you, my dear, I should do the same. They are worthy of such appreciation.”

It occurred to me that he made a point of remarking on everything I liked of which Mama would disapprove. Once I caught him looking at her and his expression was very different from that which came my way.

He likes me, I thought, but he does not like Mama.

He leaned toward me and said, “I know you would like to ask the band to play something—a favorite of yours. Would you?”

“Oh yes,” I replied.

“What shall it be?”

I looked at him steadily—his pink cheeks and his lovely curls and his wrinkled, pouchy eyes—and I loved him because he was so kind to me and made me feel that I could be myself and not have to be the little girl Mama wished me to be.

I said, “‘God save the King.' That is a very good song.”

He gave me that strange look again and said, “Yes, I do indeed think you are a very nice little girl. Thank you. I will tell the band that you wish to make a request.”

Then he said loudly, “The Princess Victoria is going to ask the band to play something of her choice. Now, my dear.”

I stood up and said very loudly and clearly, “Please play ‘God Save the King.' ”

People clapped. Everyone was smiling. I heard someone whisper, “She is a little diplomat already.” And I wondered what they meant.

And then the band was playing and everyone except the King stood up; and I felt very pleased and wondered whether Mama would say I had made the right choice.

The King evidently thought so for he suddenly took my hand and pressed it in a way to imply that we were very good friends indeed.

The next day there was a visit to the zoo which the King had established at Sandpit Gate.

It was a very exciting day and one of the reasons why it was so enjoyable was that Mama did not come. She had not been invited to join the party and I fancied that the King knew I should be glad to escape from her critical eyes. I was very perceptive in some ways and I had quickly gathered that although he liked me—and Feodore perhaps even more— he disliked Mama and he was of such a nature—as were all his brothers— to let her know it if the opportunity arose.

So it was a most exciting day looking at the strange animals—zebras, gazelles, and such as I had never seen before.

When I was united with Mama I had to answer endless questions. Who had been there? What had been said? It went on and on but I was still living in that delightful memory of having had such a wonderful day without being watched all the time.

The day after that Mama and I, with Lehzen, were walking toward Virginia Water when we heard the sound of wheels on the road. Mama took my hand and drew me to the side of the road and we waited while a very splendid phaeton came toward us. I had never seen a carriage driven so fast, but as it approached it drew up.

Seated there, with my Aunt Mary, was the King.

He stopped and said it was a fine day. Then he looked at me and gave me that amused smile.

“Pop her in,” he said, and a postilion in silver and blue livery leaped down and put me into the phaeton between the King and Aunt Mary.

“Drive on,” cried the King; and we drove off leaving Mama and Lehzen standing on the side of the road, looking not only angry but rather frightened. I do believe Mama thought the King was kidnapping me. The King was laughing. I think he was rather pleased to see Mama's dismay.

I was a little disturbed but I quickly forgot it because it was so exhilarating driving along in the phaeton at a greater speed than I had ever known before.

“How do you like this?” cried the King, taking my hand in his.

“It is lovely,” I shouted. I suddenly realized that I could shout as much as I liked and I could do and say just what came into my head. In addition to this wonderful ride I was free of Mama's supervision.

The King talked to me all the time and Aunt Mary now and then said something, and she was smiling as though she liked me very much.

The King asked me questions and I told him I loved riding on my dear pony Rosy. She could really go very fast when she wanted to, but sometimes she had to be coaxed a little. I told him about the lessons I had to do and how I hated arithmetic and liked history because my governess, Baroness Lehzen, made that very interesting.

He listened with the utmost sympathy and I confided that what I liked best was dancing and singing.

He was not a bit like a king. When he talked of certain people he changed his face and way of talking. He was very good at imitating people and some of them I recognized.

I said, “I had never thought that talking to a king could be like this.”

“Ah,” he said, “many people speak ill of kings and it is harder for them than most people to win real affection. If they do one thing which pleases some, it displeases others … so there is no way of pleasing everybody all the time.”

I pondered this and said that if one were good, God would be pleased so everyone must be pleased too.

“Except the devil,” he suggested. “He likes sinners, you know. So I am right, am I not?”

“But of course you are right because…”

“Because I am the King?”

“No …” I said judiciously, “because you are right.”

Aunt Mary laughed and said we should go to Virginia Water as it was a lovely drive.

We went to the King's fishing temple where we left the phaeton and went into a barge. Several important people were there. The King presented me to them and they showed me a great deal of respect. One of them was the Duke of Wellington about whom Lehzen had told me a great deal. He was the hero of Waterloo who had played such an important part in our history. He was a very great man, but I did not like him very much. He was rather haughty and I believed was trying to remind everyone of his importance. I supposed that as Waterloo had happened nearly ten years before, he thought they were beginning to forget it and the memory must be constantly revived. He was not so very tall and rather thin, with a hooklike nose and eyes that seemed to look right through one—which made me rather uncomfortable. The King seemed to like him very much—at least to respect him. I supposed because of Waterloo.

There was music and the band played “God Save the King” while I clasped my hands and looked up with affection at my uncle, who noticed this and gave me a very pleasant smile.

But all good things must come to an end and I was taken back to Cumberland Lodge where Mama was waiting for me.

What an interrogation there was! “What did the King say?” “And what did you reply to that?” “And then?” “And then…?” With here and there Mama clicking her tongue. “You shouldn't have said that. You should have said this…or this…”

“But Mama,” I insisted. “I think the King liked me to say what I meant.”

“He wanted to know exactly what was going on. He wanted to trap you.”

“Oh no, Mama. He just wanted me to laugh and enjoy it.”

She shook her head at me. “You are very young, Victoria,” she said.

“But I am getting older. No one stays young forever.”

“You do not listen enough. You are too anxious to say what you think.”

“But, Mama, how can I say what anyone else thinks?”

She turned away and suddenly I felt sorry for her. It was odd to feel sorry for Mama when everyone in our household obeyed her…well perhaps not all. Perhaps not Sir John Conroy and it might well be that sometimes she obeyed him.

The time came when the visit to Windsor was at an end and we must return to Kensington. The King asked them to lift me onto his knee when he said goodbye. He told me how much he had enjoyed my visit and hoped I had too.

“Oh yes, indeed I have,” I said. “It has been particularly wonderful because I had been afraid that it might not be.”

“Why were you afraid?”

“One is afraid of kings.”

“Because of what one has been led to expect?”

“Yes, because of that.”

“And I was not such an ogre after all? In fact I think you and I liked each other rather well.”

“Well, I liked you, Uncle King, and I think you liked me too because you gave me such a wonderful time… besides the picture.”

He smiled and said, “Tell me what you liked best of your stay.”

I hesitated for a moment and then I said, “I liked so many things but I think the best was when you said ‘Pop her in' and we galloped off in the phaeton.”

“Did I say that?”

“Yes. ‘Pop her in.' ”

“It was not really kingly language, was it? But perhaps it was pardonable between an uncle and his niece…even though she is a princess and he a king. And that was what you liked best.”

I nodded.

“You are a dear little girl,” he said. “I trust you will always have the sweet nature you have today, and that events… and those about you… will not succeed in changing you.”

Then I said goodbye and he kissed me again.

I was almost in tears at the thought of leaving him and he was very sad.

Mama wanted to know exactly what he had said and what I had replied. I told her and added, “I think the King must be one of the nicest gentlemen in the world.”

That did not please her, but that visit to the King had changed me a little. I had the impression that it was sometimes better for me to say what I meant rather than what I was expected to say.

The King had thought so in any case.

But there was so much I did not understand. Mama was right when she said I was so young; and quite often I did feel as though I were floundering in the dark.

But I did know that the visit had made Mama very uneasy—not only about me, but about Feodore too.

LIFE SEEMED DULL after the visit to Windsor. There were so many lessons and far too few holidays. If I complained Lehzen told me that it was my duty to acquire knowledge. A princess must not be an ignoramus.

“But there is so much to learn!” I cried.

“Of course there is,” retorted Lehzen. “We all go on learning all our lives.”

“What a dreadful prospect!” I cried. At which she laughed and said that there was little to be compared with the joy of learning.

I wanted to dispute that and say that I knew of many more pleasant things, but Lehzen brought forth her favorite argument. “You are too young to know. In time you will realize.”

And as I was young I could not really say this was not so. But I used to long to escape from the schoolroom. Then I would find Feodore and during the lovely summer days we would go into the gardens where I liked to water the plants. I had a very special watering can and I loved to watch the water spray out so prettily. I used to get my feet wet and Feodore would smuggle me in and Baroness Spath—whom I loved dearly because she was quite indiscreet and very kind—would put me into dry stockings, shoes, and gown, and there would be the added excitement because neither Mama nor Lehzen must know. That was imperative because if they did, the watering would be forbidden.

We often went into my Uncle Sussex's garden and I watered his plants. He had apartments like ours in the Palace and although he was a very odd gentleman—like most of the uncles—he was a very kind one. When I was little I had been frightened of him because when I had screamed on one occasion, someone had said, “Be quiet or your Uncle Sussex will get you.” I suppose it was said because his apartments were near ours. And for a long time after that I regarded him with suspicion until I discovered him to be the last person who would complain, and in any case he would have been too absorbed in his books, his birds, and his music to be aware of my tantrums. But then I had been scared of all the paternal uncles until I came to know them—with the exception of Uncle Cumberland who really did strike terror into me, and I believe not without cause.

However, there we were on those lovely summer days with the Baroness Spath—always so much less stern than Lehzen—in the gardens at Kensington—slipping into that of Uncle Sussex, Feodore with a book, I with the watering can, and Spath sitting on the grass beside Feodore watching me and now and then calling out a warning that I was pouring water onto my feet.

I was so happy smelling the lavender, listening to the hum of bees, hidden away from the windows of our apartments in the Palace.

Every time we were in Uncle Sussex's garden a young man would come to join us. He was Cousin Augustus, son of Uncle Sussex by his first marriage. Cousin Augustus was very handsome in his dragoon's uniform and he liked very much to sit beside Feodore and talk to her and Spath while I did the watering.

It was very pleasant for they laughed a good deal and old Spath sat there nodding and smiling as she did when she was pleased. Such happy afternoons they were and then suddenly they ended; and we were not to go into Uncle Sussex's garden again.

Spath was in disgrace; so was Feodore. I found her crying one day and I begged her to tell me what was wrong.

“Augustus and I had planned to marry,” she said.

“Oh, that will be lovely,” I cried. “You would live so close and I could come and water your garden every day.”

Feodore shook her head. “Mama is very angry. I am going to be sent away.”

“Oh no, Feddie…You mustn't go away!”

She nodded miserably and the sight of her tears set me weeping with her.

“Mama is blaming poor Spath. She may be sent away, too.”

Feodore, in her abject misery, was more communicative than she would otherwise have been.

“Augustus is not considered suitable.”

I was beginning to know something of these matters and I demanded, “Why not? He is my cousin.”

“Well yes, but you see, although the Duke married Lady Augusta Murray, because she was not royal, the marriage was not considered to be a true one and therefore they say that dear Augustus is not legitimate. So I can't marry him.”

“It is so unfair,” I said. “It would have been lovely.”

“I know, little sister. But they won't allow it.”

“Uncle Sussex wouldn't mind.”

“Oh no. He only cares about his books and his clocks, and his bullfinches and canaries. He wouldn't mind. But Mama says we have behaved disgracefully. Oh not you…you are not blamed. It is poor old Spath and I.”

I was right to be concerned. Very soon Feodore came to me, very quiet and sad, and told me that she was going to Germany to pay a visit to our grandmother.

I was desolate and could not be comforted. Poor old Spath went about hanging her head in shame; and Lehzen took up a very superior attitude toward her.

I hugged Spath when we were alone and said, “Never mind. We were all very happy in the gardens. It wasn't your fault about Augustus not being right for Feodore. How were you to know? He is so handsome.”

At which Spath held me tightly and said that her greatest fear was that she should be taken away from me, which I thought very gratifying and which consoled me a little.

I overheard Spath and Lehzen talking together once and although I knew it was very wrong to listen to people when they did not know you were present, I couldn't help doing so because they were talking about Feodore. They talked in an odd sort of language when together. They would have preferred to speak in German but Mama had forbidden German to be spoken because I must speak English as my native tongue. There must be no trace of a German accent in my speech. That was very important. And although I learned German, it must be a secondary language. The English did not like royal people to speak English with a foreign accent. So dear Spath and Lehzen managed very well usually in English but when they were excited—particularly Spath—the odd German word or phrase would be thrown in.

Now they were talking about Feodore.

“There will be die Berlobung …” That was Spath.

“A betrothal,” corrected Lehzen sternly. “I think that is certain. Her grandmother, the Duchess, will see to that.”

“Poor dear little Feodore…they were so happy.”

“You should have reported what was going on.”

“Ach… wunderbar … the two…so young…Lieben …”

“Baroness Spath, English please.”

“I forget. I am so unhappy. The Duchess blames me. I should have spoken. But they were so happy…”

“And you carried notes from one to the other! Oh, Baroness, you have behaved completely without discretion.”

“Sometimes… for love…it happens.”

“And Victoria was there!”

“Dear innocent child…so happy watering the plants.”

“And getting her feet wet.”

“I always made sure she changed her wet things.”

Spath began to whisper and I could not hear so well but I did gather that they were talking about my brother Charles.

Then I realized that I was eavesdropping, which was a very illmannered thing to do; and if I were caught I should be severely scolded, so I slipped away. I went to the dolls and explained to them that sometimes in the interest of knowledge it was necessary to listen to what was not intended for one's ears.

I thought Lady Jane Grey looked at me rather sadly as though she deplored my frailty. I shook her a little. Some people were too good.

Feodore would be leaving soon to stay with our grandmother in SaxeCoburg. She was very sad, but looked just as pretty melancholy as she did happy. She talked a little more freely than normally. I suppose because she was going away. She was a little resentful toward Mama, for she believed that, but for Mama, she might have married the handsome Augustus. His father would not have minded, but there was every reason why Mama and our Uncle Leopold should object.

“Why are they so set against it?” I asked Feodore.

“It is all so stupid. It is because they don't accept him as legitimate. They don't accept the Duke's present wife either.”

“Mama doesn't like her, I know. She calls her that Buggins woman.”

“That's because she was the widow of Sir George Buggins before she married the Duke. The King would not have objected… nor would anyone except Mama and Uncle Leopold.”

“I am sure Uncle Leopold was thinking of your good…Mama too.”

“But they weren't thinking of my happiness. I love Augustus, Victoria.”

Then she wept and I wept with her. She held me close and said, “There is something wrong with Charles.”

“What?”

“He is in love with Marie Klebelsberg.”

“Is she… unsuitable?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Will they send Charles away?”

“They can't do that.”

“Will they forbid him to marry her?”

“I think Charles may not allow himself to be forbidden.”

“But he is Mama's son and if she says…”

“Well, there comes a time when people are old enough and in a position to have their own way.”

Those words seemed to me full of significance.

I nodded slowly.

I said, “I hope Charles marries Marie Klebelsberg. Don't you think, Feodore, that people should marry for love?”

“Oh, I do indeed, little sister,” she said.

Then she held me more tightly and again we wept together.

WHEN FEODORE LEFT I was desolate. Mama said I moped. Lehzen, putting it more kindly, said I pined. I told the dolls how very unhappy I was and that I could not bear to go into Uncle Sussex's garden again, even though I knew his flowers must be missing the benefits of my watering can.

Life seemed to be all lessons with the Reverend Davys presiding. There was Thomas Steward, who taught me penmanship as well as the hated arithmetic; I learned German from Mr. Barez and French from Monsieur Grandineau. I was quite good at languages and often enjoyed these lessons. I was beginning to learn Italian, which was quite enjoyable. Then there was music with Mr. Sale, who was the organist at St. Margaret's Westminster; drawing with Richard Westall, the academician; and dancing and deportment with Mademoiselle Bourdin. So, with all these excellent people making demands on my time, there was little left for anything else.

I was often not a very good pupil; the poor Reverend Davys sighed over me, I knew. I wanted to please them but it was so tiresome to do lessons all the time. Sometimes I gave way to fits of temper “storms” as Mama called them. On one occasion, when Mr. Sale was in despair over my performance at the piano, he said, “There is no royal road to music. Princesses must practice like everyone else.” I was so frustrated that I shut the lid of the piano with a bang and said, “There! You see, there is no must about it.” Poor Mr. Sale! He was quite taken aback, but that did end the piano lesson for the day.

These people were all quite fond of me, I believe, in spite of my lack of application and my occasional storms. There were quite a number of times when my natural enthusiasms and feelings toward them made me go against Mama's instructions and let them know it. They thought those lapses, which Mama would have called vulgar, charming. So, in spite of everything, we got along very well together, and often when I made an effort to please them, they were so appreciative of that.

But with Feodore gone, I was really melancholy, and nothing— simply nothing—could lift the gloom.

On Wednesdays Uncle Leopold came to Kensington to visit us. These were the red-letter days. I would stand at the window with Lehzen beside me waiting for the sound of carriage wheels which would herald his arrival. I loved to watch him step down from his carriage. He was so handsome. “I think Uncle Leopold must be the most distinguished man in the world,” I told Lehzen.

As soon as I was summoned I would rush down and throw myself into his arms. Mama would stand aside, not at all displeased that, on this occasion, I had allowed natural affection to triumph over dignity.

Uncle Leopold did not mind either.

He would ask me if I loved him as much as ever and I would assure him fervently that I did.

I would sit on his knee and he would talk to me about being good and doing my duty and remembering that it was the only true way to satisfaction.

Mama said, “We have had quite a few storms lately.”

“Storms?” echoed Uncle Leopold. “Oh I do not like to hear that.”

“We are still sulky over the Sussex matter.”

Uncle Leopold looked very sad and that made me almost burst into tears.

“I watered the flowers,” I tried to explain. “They did need it.”

Uncle Leopold sighed.

“There have been many storms because Feodore has gone,” said Mama.

“Dear me,” said Uncle Leopold. “That is not like my princess.”

“Yes, Uncle Leopold,” I corrected. “It is very like your princess.”

“To be stormy when she does not get what she thinks is her due,” supplied Mama.

“My dearest,” said Uncle Leopold, “but it was very necessary for your sister to go away. She had behaved rather foolishly as you now know, and I am sure she will be happy with the new arrangements which are being made for her.”

“She was very happy with the arrangements she and Augustus were making.”

My mother exchanged a look with Uncle Leopold as though to say, “You see.”

Uncle Leopold then began to ask me about my progress with my lessons, a less-than-happy subject, and after that he spoke to me so beautifully about the joys of endeavor, and as I sat on his knee watching his handsome face, my attention strayed from what he was saying and I was thinking how good he was and how lucky I was to have such an uncle.

Finally he said it was time I visited him at Claremont and asked if that were agreeable to me.

“It is the most agreeable thing in the world,” I told him, “apart from Feodore's coming back.”

“I am disappointed that it is not the most agreeable event,” said Uncle Leopold, and I was ashamed because I knew that he always liked to be the first. But it was true that more than anything I wanted Feodore back, and I could not deny that.

He stayed with us for some time talking first to me and then I was sent back to Lehzen while he talked alone with Mama; and when he left I went down to wave him goodbye.

HOW I LOVED Claremont! I bounded up the steps to the front door, counting them as I went until I reached the triumphant thirteen. Uncle Leopold was waiting to take me in his arms. Lehzen kept a discreet distance. She would go back to Kensington afterward so that I should be alone with Uncle Leopold. Louisa Lewis was there to greet me. She looked so happy to see me that I even forgot I had lost Feodore and prepared to enjoy every moment of my stay at Claremont.

“How delighted I am to have my dear little niece in my home,” said Uncle Leopold. “You have brought me the greatest comfort I have known since the loss of my dearest Charlotte.”

So we were sad for a few moments—but rather agreeably so—while Uncle Leopold remembered Charlotte, which I fancied he rather enjoyed doing. This lovely house, surrounded by the beautiful Vale of Esher and which took its name from the Earl of Claremont who had built it, was really a shrine to Charlotte. I knew that I would hear her name constantly mentioned while I was here.

Louisa Lewis took me to my room.

“It's a great joy to have you here,” she told me. “We will have some of our little gossips, shall we not?”

I agreed gleefully. Louisa was one of those gossipy people with whom it is such fun to talk. They are so pleasantly indiscreet.

In every room she kept mementos of Charlotte. Whoever said that Charlotte was dead, was wrong. Charlotte lived on at Claremont. She seemed to be there in every room. Uncle Leopold and Louisa Lewis had kept her alive.

Louisa talked of her constantly. I did not mind. I liked to hear about her. She had been one of those people who had the miraculous ability of turning her faults into virtues. “Such a hoyden,” said Louisa, as though that was a wonderful thing to be. “The dear Prince did what he could to cure her, but he gave up in despair… such loving despair.”

It was fascinating. I learned about the King's objection to Leopold and how he had wanted Charlotte to marry the Prince of Orange. “But she would have Leopold.” Charlotte must have been cleverer than poor Feodore, I thought, and wondered how she had managed it. By being a hoyden? Of course she was the heiress to the throne. Perhaps that had had something to do with it.

“You should have seen her in her wedding dress… silver tissue… and the King had given her those jewels which pass to all the Queens of England. But her favorite was one diamond bracelet. Guess why? Because that was a gift from Prince Leopold…so it was most precious to her.”

I listened with tears in my eyes.

“She loved Claremont. To her it meant more than all the royal palaces. She insisted on living like an ordinary housewife. Oh, she would have her own way, Charlotte would. She even did some cooking…and she was so good to the poor of the neighborhood. They loved her. She looked after Leopold, and he was very amused although he was always trying to remind her of her royal dignity. Useless, of course. Charlotte did not care much for dignity. I remember how she used to comb his hair. Oh, they were so happy. It was such a joy to serve her and then…for her to go like that. She was so well, so delighted because she was to have a child… her baby. She didn't think so much of being a future king or queen. It was just to be her little baby. And then…it happened…so suddenly…I just went stone cold. Something died in me. I could not imagine going on without Charlotte to look after.”

Claremont was a house of mourning still and I wondered why I was so happy in it. But it was not a sad sort of mourning. I had the impression that they would be unhappy if it stopped—particularly Uncle Leopold.

We talked a great deal about Charlotte, how he had guided her, how he had changed her after their marriage. Before that she had been so uncontrollable. She had not had a good relationship with either of her parents. It had been difficult to imagine a child with more unfortunate parents. “Oh, how grateful you should be, dearest, to have your Uncle Leopold always so concerned for your well being… and your Mama also. We shall care for you, dear child, as poor Charlotte was never cared for… until she became my wife, of course.”

“She must have been very happy then.”

Uncle Leopold smiled into the past. “She worshipped me. My dear, dear Charlotte. My child, I hope you never know sorrow such as I did when she went.”

When I come to think of these talks with Uncle Leopold I realize how often they were concerned with melancholy. Life was very serious for Uncle Leopold. I was inclined to think that life could be rather merry. I loved dancing, singing, and laughing—all of which, Mama said, when done to excess, were vulgar. Perhaps I was a little vulgar. No wonder Mama and Lehzen had to keep such a sharp watch on me. And yet I enjoyed these talks with Uncle Leopold. I loved to shed a tear with him over all his sorrows. He was a martyr to many illnesses and he liked to talk about them to me: the mysterious pains, the easy way in which he caught cold. After discovering that the King's luxurious curls were a wig I found myself studying Uncle Leopold's hair. He must have noticed this for he explained, “I wear this thing just to keep my head warm.”

“Well,” I replied, “that is a good reason for wearing it, for you do suffer from pains in the head, dear Uncle.”

I noticed, too, that he had high soles and heels on his shoes. I had thought at one time that this was to make him look taller, but I guessed now that it was to help some ailment in his feet.

During that visit Uncle Leopold mentioned quite casually that he had made a great sacrifice for my sake. I was quite alarmed and he went on, “I have been offered the throne of Greece and I have declined it.”

“Do you mean you would have been a king?”

“Yes, I should have been a king. But what of that? The first thing that occurred to me was: I should be separated from little Victoria.”

“Oh, Uncle Leopold, did you give up a crown for me?”

“It was worth it, my love. At least, I believe it was worth it…if I can be proud of my dearest child.”

“Oh, you will be, Uncle. You will be.”

“I know it. Never forget, my dearest, how much I care for you.”

I swore I would not and I felt very happy because he had given up a crown for my sake.

Then he told me about my little cousin who had been born at a beautiful place called Rosenau exactly three months after I made my appearance into the world.

“This dear little boy, who is one of the most beautiful I ever saw, is my nephew … as you are my little niece. I often think how lucky I am to have two such little darlings to care for.”

“Do you care for him then, Uncle?”

“Indeed I do.”

I felt a little jealous of this intruder and wanted to ask if Uncle Leopold cared more for him than for me, but I guessed that would not be a good thing to ask, so I waited to hear more of this boy. I was glad he was younger than I. I felt that gave me an advantage.

“He has a little brother who is not quite a year older than he is.”

“I have a sister who is twelve years older than I.”

Uncle Leopold ignored that. He did not want to go back over Feodore's misfortunes. He wanted to talk about his little nephew.

“His name is Albert and his brother is Ernest.”

“They must be German.”

“Their father is the Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. They are two charming boys.”

“I should like to see them. They are my cousins, are they not?”

“They are indeed your cousins. I have heard from your grandmother that Albert is as quick as a weasel.”

“Yes, I suppose weasels are rather quick.”

Uncle Leopold smiled a little impatiently. “He has big blue eyes and is very good-looking. He is very lively and good-natured.”

“He sounds very good,” I said uneasily.

“He is full of mischief.”

That sounded more likeable and I asked some questions about him.

“I believe you would be very good friends with your cousins,” went on Uncle Leopold. “You see they have no mother now, and you have no father.”

“I see,” I said.

“It makes a bond between you.”

“Shall I meet them? Will they come here? I do not think Mama would want me to go to Germany.”

“You may very likely meet them one day.”

“Oh, I do hope so.”

“In fact,” said Uncle Leopold, smiling, “I am going to make sure that you do.”

And after that he talked to me often about my cousins, and when I asked questions about them he seemed very pleased indeed.

FEODORE RETURNED TO Kensington. She seemed different, no longer the broken-hearted Feodore who had left us. There was an air of serenity about her. Resignation, I supposed.

She was to be married very soon to Count Hohenlohe-Langenburg.

We were so delighted to see each other. I could not bear her to be out of my sight. I showed her all the dolls. There were one or two new ones. Mama had said that I should give up playing with dolls. She did not understand that my dolls were not ordinary dolls. They were real people to me. Lehzen wanted me to keep them. She loved them as much as I did. They were educational, she said, which was her verdict on anything that she liked.

“What changes have there been while I have been away?” Feodore wanted to know.

What changes could there be? Life went on in the same way at Kensington.

In spite of having been separated from Augustus, I believed Feodore enjoyed her stay in Germany for Mama was almost as strict with her as she was with me, and she too felt that she was in a prison. So I supposed the comparative freedom she would get with marriage was agreeable to her although her husband would not be Augustus but the Count of Hohenlohe-Langenburg.

“What was he like?” I asked when we were together with Lehzen sitting in the room sewing. We were never really alone.

“He is very kind.”

“And handsome?”

“Yes, he is handsome.”

“And do you love him?”

“I must love him for he is to be my husband.”

Feodore was talking like Mama or Lehzen. I realized with a little pang that she had changed. She had crossed the line and become a grown-up person and they invariably said not what they meant but what they thought it was right to say.

I was a little saddened and asked no more questions about the Count.

Feodore was to be married at Kensington Palace. It was a great occasion. I had a lovely white dress and Lehzen spent a lot of time curling my hair. The wedding was to take place in the Cupola Room where, Lehzen reminded me, I had been christened.

“Yes,” I said, “and where there was a storm because the King wouldn't have me named Georgiana. Do you know, I think he wouldn't mind my being called after him now. He was so kind to me when we met.”

“And so you became Victoria. Well, that is quite a nice name.”

“I intend it to be a very good name,” I said. “I really don't think Georgiana would have suited me. But perhaps that is because I have got used to Victoria now. After all, I used to be Drina. I am glad that changed.”

Lehzen shook her head and adjusted one of my curls.

“Well, you look very nice.”

“The King is going to give Feodore away,” I said. I giggled. “I do believe he would prefer to keep her for himself.”

“You must not say such things.”

“Well, when we were at Windsor he did seem to like her.”

“I think he liked you too.”

“Oh yes, but Feodore more, and in a different way.”

“Those bright eyes see more than is there sometimes.”

“Dear Lehzen, how could they see what is not there?”

“Come along, my little wiseacre. Let us go and see how the bride is getting on.”

Feodore looked beautiful—not a bit afraid, as I feared she might. She looked more remote, it was true—not quite young any more, secretive perhaps, learning to hide her feelings. I wondered if I should ever be like that. I thought not.

She was wearing a beautiful diamond necklace, I noticed immediately.

“It is a present from the King,” she told me.

“Oh, I knew he liked you! It's lovely. Feodore, I believe he would have liked to marry you.”

“Nonsense! He is an old man.”

“Old men like pretty young women sometimes.”

“How observant you are!”

“Lehzen says I see things which are not there. How could anyone?”

“Ordinary rules don't apply to Victoria.”

That made me laugh.

“Don't say that about the King to anyone,” she advised.

“Why not? I think it is true.”

“Dear little sister, you talk too frankly, you know.”

“You sound just like Mama.”

“Oh no… please not.”

Then we laughed again and it was like the old days again.

We went to the Cupola Room. Through the windows as we passed along I saw the crowds outside the Palace.

“They love a royal wedding,” said Lehzen.

The bells were ringing and everyone seemed very happy. The only regret was that Augustus was not the bridegroom. Well, I thought, one cannot expect everything—although of course the bridegroom was rather an important part of the ceremony.

I looked around for the King as I entered the Cupola Room. He was not there, but Uncle Clarence was. Mama hated Uncle Clarence just as much as she hated the King. I quite liked him. He was so jolly and I think he would have liked to be friendly with us, but Mama would not have it, of course. He always smiled very kindly at me and I was really fond of Aunt Adelaide. She kissed me and asked after the dolls and talked about them just as though they were real people, which made me like her even more. I told her the Big Doll fit in very well. She was bigger than the others and her clothes were just as splendid, although they were merely a court lady's dress. “I think she looks quite as grand as Queen Elizabeth,” I said.

“Oh dear,” said Aunt Adelaide. “Queen Elizabeth will not like that!” which made me laugh. Aunt Adelaide joined in and Mama noticing, frowned. I was not supposed to be on terms of levity with Aunt Adelaide.

I realized then that there was a growing uneasiness in the room. Where was the King? He was supposed to be present to take an important part in the ceremony and they could not proceed without him.

Uncle Clarence said in a loud voice, “The King is clearly not coming. No need to delay further. I'll take his role.”

My mother would have protested but I knew she was undecided whether to wait a little longer for the King and allow herself to be further humiliated, or to ask Uncle Clarence to carry on. It must have been galling to see her daughter given away by a duke when she had been expecting a king to do so.

But it did seem as though the King would not come, so Clarence went on to take his part, and I stepped into my place as bridesmaid.

And so my sister Feodore became the wife of Count HohenloheLangenburg.

Mama had had the idea that I should go among the guests with a basket that contained little gifts for them, and everyone applauded when I presented them.

Then the bride and groom went to Claremont and we went back to our apartments in the Palace. How Mama raged against the King and all her husband's family. They were crude, ill-mannered; they were against a lonely widow. They did all they could to humiliate her and they hated to see her daughter marrying the Count; and they were jealous of her younger daughter who was in such good health.

The King would soon be dead and that pineapple-headed oaf would take his place. He was incapable of getting an heir…he was incapable of anything except stepping into the grave.

She was really angry and I heard her in the room where I sat with Lehzen and Spath. Spath was wide-eyed and seemed rather excited by it, but Lehzen was terrified that I should hear something that was not for my ears.

I heard Sir John Conroy's hated voice, calming her, soothing her, as he often did.

Spath was nodding as though she had secret thoughts, and Lehzen had that tight look about her mouth as she always did when Sir John was near. I was gratified that Lehzen felt the same about Sir John as I did.

A GREAT DEAL was going on of which I knew nothing and only learned later, and piecing little bits of evidence together found out what it was all about.

Uncle Cumberland was suspect. People saw him as the ogre. He really wanted the throne for his son George—such a nice boy whom I had met once or twice—and he did actually want me out of the way. Because my father had been older than he was, I came before George Cumberland, and that irritated his parents. They had such evil reputations that I am not sure now whether the rumors were circulated because of that, or whether they really were menacing my life.

When I was very young they had put it about that I was a weak child and not expected to live, and Mama had to take me for walks very publicly so that all the people were able to see for themselves how strong I was. Indeed I was quite plump and brimming over with good health. I still went for these walks with Mama or Lehzen—usually as far as Apsley House, and the people often stopped and cheered me.

Mama said later that the reason why I was never left alone was because of the forces round me and the need to protect me from them all the time. I was not so sure of that because I became aware that Mama wanted me to do exactly as she wished, so that I should be like a puppet she was controlling.

The Cumberlands were at the center of more than one scandal—and not minor ones either. There was the one long ago concerning the Duke's valet; and at this time there was another when Lord Graves was found dead in bed with his throat cut, the evidence being that he had killed himself. And why had he done this? Because his wife was having a love affair with the Duke of Cumberland, and one must never forget that his Duchess also had a dubious past with two husbands who had died young.

Aunt Sophia, when she was very young had had a child presumed to be by Colonel Garth. Now they were saying that the real father of Sophia's child was her brother, the Duke of Cumberland.

There was no end to the scandal that surrounded that family.

Aunt Adelaide used to call on my mother occasionally, and I always thought Mama behaved very regally toward her, although as the wife of the Duke of Clarence, who was older than my father would have been, Aunt Adelaide should have taken precedence. She might have been put out by this—most people, and certainly Mama, would have been—but she was not. I really think she liked to come to Kensington to see me, because she was always so kind to me, and I noticed a special look on her face when she talked to me. She always asked about my pony, Rosy, and the dolls, and what I was doing. She wanted me to go to visit her at Bushey; she told me something about the parties she gave. The two little Georges came—Cumberland and Cambridge. “Such darling boys,” said Aunt Adelaide. “George Cambridge is with us now, because his mother and father are abroad. He and the other George are great friends. We have singing and dancing and games.” How I should have loved to go to Bushey!

But I was never allowed to. I asked Mama why and she grew very red in the face and muttered something about those dreadful FitzClarences.

Later I discovered they were the children and grandchildren of Uncle William's liaison with the actress Dorothy Jordan and Aunt Adelaide had adopted them as her own family when she married Uncle William. More family scandal!

My chief companion at this time was Victoire Conroy whom I never liked because she was her father's daughter, and the older I grew the more resentful I became of his presence in our household. I felt sure I was right to be wary of him because both Lehzen and Spath disliked him too. They did not say much to me—at least Lehzen didn't—but Spath used to purse her lips and mutter “Das Schwein.”

Victoire was like her father; she was a little superior and seemed to forget I was a princess, or perhaps she felt that with such an important father, she was of as much consequence as I was.

Several times I asked Mama why I could not go to Aunt Adelaide's parties and meet gentle George Cambridge, who had the good fortune to live with Aunt Adelaide, and George Cumberland, who might not be as sinister as his parents.

But Mama was adamant. I simply could not go to Bushey because of what I heard her call “The Bastidry.” “And how Adelaide can behave as she does amazes me,” she added.

So I was left to my lessons, the company of Lehzen, my walks, and my dolls.

One day when I was out walking with Lehzen, showing myself to the people, I saw a beautiful doll in a shop window. I stopped and said, “Oh, Lehzen, isn't she lovely!”

Lehzen admitted that she was.

“I should love to have her,” I went on. “I often think the Big Doll does not quite fit in with the others, and that one would be a companion for her.”

The doll was priced at six shillings.

“I will ask your Mama if you may have her,” said Lehzen.

Mama and Lehzen put their heads together to discuss what would be good for me and they came up with the idea that I must not think everything was mine for the asking. I might have the doll if I bought her myself and to do this I must save up my pocket money. In the meantime I could go into the shop and ask them to put the doll on one side until I could pay for it.

That seemed an excellent idea and I liked the thought of buying her myself. It gave me a feeling of independence. The man in the shop was eager to please. He said, certainly he would hold the doll until I had the money to pay for it.

“You won't let anyone else buy her, will you?” I asked anxiously.

His answer was to take a big ticket which he hung around the doll's neck. On it was printed in large letters sold.

I found it exciting to walk past his windows every day and look for the doll. There she was, sitting waiting for me, and with great glee I counted my money each morning. At last I had the six shillings and in great triumph went to collect my darling.

Exultantly I carried her out of the shop but as I was walking along beside Lehzen I saw a poor man sitting on a bench. It always distressed me to see people cold or hungry and I would remember them at night when I was in bed, and think how warm I was, how cosseted, and that made me uneasy because it was so unfair.

I was not allowed to speak to people, only to smile and wave my hand when they cheered me. But I did speak to this man. I said, “Wait a moment.” And to Lehzen's horror I ran back to the shop and asked the man there to take back my beautiful doll and give me my six shillings. “Put the sold ticket back,” I said, “and when I have saved it I will come back for her, but now I want my six shillings back.”

He gave me the money and took the doll, putting the sold ticket round her neck.

“What is this?” called Lehzen breathlessly. But I was already off. I put the six shillings into the poor man's hand.

Lehzen was panting behind me. “Princess,” she cried in shocked tones. She was almost in tears, but not angry.

She took my hand firmly. “You are a good sweet child,” she said, and I thought she was going to cry. “I am proud of you.”

What Mama said when the incident was repeated to her, I did not know. I expected to be scolded. But nothing was said. And I saved up six shillings again and in due course the ticket sold was taken from the beautiful doll's neck and she joined my company much, I imagined, to the joy of the Big Doll.

MAMA AND I were spending a few days at Claremont. What a joy it was to be there! Uncle Leopold devoted so much time to me and I never wearied of listening to him. He talked of being good and the purpose of life, and how one was born to a certain destiny that it was one's bounden duty to fulfill.

He was so good himself that sometimes I felt he was too good for this life and I trembled at the thought, because that was what was said when people died.

But perhaps he was not quite so good, and he, too, may have had secrets in his life. I did not understand what happened at the time, but I was aware of something. That is so frustrating about being young. One is aware of what goes on and yet does not fully understand its significance. People are secretive and make faces at each other when they think you are not looking—Lehzen and Spath were always doing that—and then one began to ponder. What does that mean? And, there is something very secret—and when it is a secret it is often rather shocking.

This incident occurred in Claremont Park.

One early evening Mama and I were out riding and when I rode with her I always liked to ride a little ahead of her. This was permitted as long as I kept in sight.

Well, there I was in the park. There was a clearing among the trees and suddenly two women emerged. They stopped short when they saw me, but I rode up to them and said, “Good evening. Who are you?”

The elder lady looked quite taken aback but the younger, who was very beautiful, was quite self-possessed. “Good evening, Your Highness,” she said. “I am Caroline Bauer, Dr. Stockmar's cousin.”

“Oh, Dr. Stockmar's cousin. My uncle is very attached to Dr. Stockmar.”

Mama had arrived. She was staring stonily at the two women. The elder blushed deeply; the younger held her head higher and looked defiant.

Mama said to me, “Come along.” And without a word to the two women, she turned her horse.

I looked at them, bewildered and apologetic, but of course I had to follow Mama.

“How many times have I told you not to speak to strangers?” she demanded.

“But, Mama, they were not strangers. She was Dr. Stockmar's cousin.”

“I should like to know what she was doing in the park.”

“She was visiting her cousin, I expect.”

“Never do such a thing again.”

Of course I knew there was something special about Caroline Bauer. I would ask Lehzen, but she would probably not tell me. Spath might know.

I did discover a little myself because when we returned, Mama told me to go to my room, but before I could do so Uncle Leopold came into the hall.

“Did you enjoy your ride, my darling?” he asked.

“Oh yes, Uncle. I met Dr. Stockmar's cousin.”

Mama looked angrily at me, and even Uncle Leopold was a little abashed.

“Go to your room, Victoria,” said Mama.

And Uncle Leopold made no effort to detain me.

She went off with him into the drawing-room and I have to admit that I hesitated for a while before going up the stairs so I heard her say, “It is terrible. Victoria met that woman.”

“I see no harm,” said Uncle Leopold.

“No harm! To have her here like that! Here… where you lived with Charlotte!”

“It has been many years since Charlotte died.”

The door was shut and I went upstairs.

What did it mean? And why had Mama been so angry because I had met that really rather pleasant young woman and her companion? It was all very mysterious. But I had discovered that Mama was not very pleased with Uncle Leopold and that was a very strange state of affairs.

Later I discovered that Caroline Bauer was Uncle Leopold's mistress. I was shocked a little because, although by then I knew something of the nature of men, I had always thought my dear Uncle Leopold would have been above that sort of thing.

AUNT ADELAIDE WAS very worried because people were saying that the Duke of Clarence was going mad. When there is madness in a family people are suspect, and they only have to act with a little eccentricity and they will be labeled crazy.

I knew that Uncle William was a little peculiar; he talked and talked, and very often about nothing; and then he would fly into rages; but I also heard that he was very kind to all his children. There were so many FitzClarences because the grandchildren were now coming along. The Bushey household where they lived with Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide was a very noisy one apparently. The little ones used to slide down the banisters and play all sorts of tricks on Uncle William, but he never minded and just laughed with them. There was a great deal that was rather nice about Uncle William. Oh, how I longed to go to Aunt Adelaide's parties at Bushey! I should not have minded in the least playing with the FitzClarences. I wondered what it felt like to slide down banisters; and couldn't help laughing to think of myself doing that in Kensington Palace.

Aunt Adelaide came to see Mama and they were closeted together. I could see Aunt Adelaide was worried.

Lehzen came to me afterward and spoke to me very seriously. I had to be careful, she said. I must always have someone in attendance.

“But I always have to, Lehzen.”

I listened and questioned Spath and through her discovered that they were all worried about Uncle Cumberland. He lived with the King now at Windsor Lodge and the King was geting very old and feeble and relying on Cumberland for everything.

Mama said, “It is Cumberland who is really ruling us all. The King is nothing now … nothing at all. And he is trying to get Clarence put away. We know what that means.”

She was talking to Sir John Conroy, not to me, of course, but I did happen to overhear.

Conroy said, “He would stop at nothing.”

“He has proved that. He is a monster. My God, these brothers… they are mad, all of them.”

“Hush, dear lady,” said Conroy. He had seen me come into the room.

“Where is Lehzen?” Mama demanded of me.

“She is just here, Mama.”

Oh yes, they were very frightened about me, and it was because they thought something dreadful could happen to me. Mama did not care a rap if Uncle William should be put away. In fact I think she would have been rather pleased.

What she feared was that some attempt would be made on my life. I used to have bad dreams in which my one-eyed uncle figured. He would not be the first wicked uncle in history.

Mama said I was not to go up and down stairs without a companion. Did she think someone would creep up behind me and push me down?

Then suddenly the danger was removed.

The King died at Windsor.

Poor Uncle King! I was very sad remembering that drive to Virginia Water, and how he had said, “Pop her in.” I am sure if Mama had been friendly with him, and I had visited him more often I should have loved him.

He had been ill for so long, and quite influenced, it was said, by the wicked Duke of Cumberland. He was half blind and at the end he would lie in bed all day with fires burning during the warm weather and drinking quantities of cherry brandy. When they cleared out his apartments they found that he had hoarded clothes over a long time, and his cupboards were full of pantaloons, coats, and boots which must have been there for years. There were five hundred pocket books, all containing money. When they counted this money it came to ten thousand pounds. There were also locks of women's hair, women's gloves, and many love letters.

Dear Uncle King! I wished I had known him when he was young and handsome and clever and charming. It was a pity that all I had seen was the fat be-wigged, rouged old man, who had somehow managed to charm me just the same.

If I was sad at the King's passing, Mama was not. She could not hide her pleasure.

“And now we have mad William on the throne,” she said, and added with a laugh, “How long will he last, I wonder?”

It was strange to think of Uncle William as King. He was too friendly with everyone. He had no dignity, said Mama. He laughed at his grandchildren—who should never have been there—sliding down the banisters and playing tricks on him. And dear, plain Aunt Adelaide was the Queen.

I could not imagine any pair less like a royal couple.

I WAS SEATED in the schoolroom when Lehzen came in and said, “It is time for our history lesson.”

I was rather pleased. History was one of the subjects that I liked.

Lehzen handed me Howlett's Tables, in which was the genealogical tree of the Kings and Queens of England. I noticed that an extra page had been pinned into the book.

I said, “What is this? I have not seen it before.”

“No,” said Lehzen, faintly mysterious. “You did not see it because it was not there. But now it is believed that it is necessary for you to see it.”

“Why?”

“Just study it, will you?”

My own name seemed to start out of the page. I saw clearly its significance. Uncle William was King of England. He had no legitimate heirs— and next to him came Victoria.

I raised my eyes to Lehzen's face; she was looking at me with a mixture of love and fear, tenderness and anxiety.

“It means,” I said slowly, “that when Uncle William dies, I shall be Queen.”

Lehzen nodded.

I felt dizzy. So many things seemed to be slipping into place. All Mama's care; all Uncle Cumberland's threats; Mama's insistence on my being given my proper dues. I was destined—very likely—to be Queen of England.

I said shakily, “I am nearer to the throne than I thought.”

“Yes, my dearest,” said Lehzen.

“I understand now why you have all been so anxious for me to learn…even Latin. You told me that Latin is the foundation of elegant expression. Oh, Lehzen, I understand now …I do. I do.”

I put my hand into hers and the tears ran down my cheeks.

“My little one,” said Lehzen, “you will do well…very well.”

“Many boast of the splendors of such a position,” I said. “But there are difficulties too.” I raised my hand a little and added solemnly, “I will be good.”