Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

The Waiting Years

MY DISCOVERY COULD NOT FAIL TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE. THE possibility of being Queen was dazzling. I daresay I assumed new airs and graces. That was inevitable; however, I tried to remind myself that although all the balls and banquets, riding through the streets in a splendid carriage, and waving to the loyal people would be the greatest of pleasures, I must remember the responsibilities too. I recalled the poor man to whom I had given six shillings. He and many like him would be my subjects. I wanted to make them all happy, as well as to live in a pleasant state myself.

I became more restless. I hated the restrictions of life in the Palace. Uncle Cumberland was out of favor now. The new King, William, had denounced him and made it clear that he would not have him trying to guide him as he had their brother George. I was free now of that threat. Cumberland would not dare to harm one whose ascension to the throne was imminent. Uncle George's death had made a great difference.

I used to lie in my white-painted French bed with the chintz curtains and pretend to be asleep when Lehzen sat there waiting for Mama to come to bed, and tell myself that I was nothing more than a captive. They watched everything I did.

It was a great trial to be heir presumptive to the throne, to be guarded day and night and be only eleven years old. I felt there was so much I ought to know and there was no one except Lehzen and Spath in whom I could confide. I loved Spath very much, and Lehzen more than anyone else, but if I broached certain subjects, a barrier would always be drawn up and I could see in their eyes—even dear Spath's who was much more inclined to be indiscreet than Lehzen—that it was Not Good for the Child to Know … just yet. If Feodore had been there it would have been different. Oh, how I missed Feodore! But when people are absent for a long time they grow away from one; and I could read in dear Feodore's letters that she was becoming more and more accustomed to life with her Ernest, of whom she seemed to grow more and more fond, and was not only reconciled but was enjoying married life with its prospect of motherhood.

So surrounded as I was by people who were determined to protect me, and never let me be by myself, oddly enough I often felt alone.

I was very careful how I behaved, and tried not to show any difference in my conduct from what it had been before I knew of my possible future.

I smiled to remember how arrogant I had been when I was about six years old and I had already been aware that I belonged to the royal family. When little Lady Jane Ellice had been brought to play with me, I had adopted a superior attitude to her and told her she must not play with the toys that were mine. “Though I may call you Jane,” I informed her, “you must not call me Victoria, but Princess or Highness.” I still remember the blank look on little Jane's face, and how she turned away and started to play by herself.

There must be nothing like that now that I was older and wiser. But eleven is still not very old, less still a wise age.

Ever since I had met Dr. Stockmar's cousin in the grounds, Mama had not been quite so effusively fond of Uncle Leopold. I sensed this because, I suppose, at that time Uncle Leopold was the most important person in my life—with perhaps the exception of Lehzen.

I was a little uneasy and meant to ask Uncle Leopold why Mama was displeased with him because Dr. Stockmar's cousin was at Claremont, but before I had the opportunity a matter of great importance drove it from my mind.

I was paying one of my cherished visits to Claremont.

Uncle Leopold greeted me with great pleasure, and there was dear Louisa Lewis looking so happy because I had come. I was delighted to be there but I noticed immediately that Uncle Leopold was looking a little strained. I asked after his health and he told me he suffered cruelly from insomnia.

“Dear Uncle, you work too hard.”

“I could not be happy if I did not do my duty.”

“But I must insist that you rest more.”

“My dearest little Doctor Victoria, rest is not so easily come by. My rheumatism is particularly painful at night.”

“It is so wrong that you who are so good should suffer so.”

Uncle Leopold sighed. “It is my fate, dear child, I fear.”

He looked at me sadly and I thought tenderly of all his ailments: his built-up shoes which gave comfort to his feet; his wig to keep his head warm; and the feather boa he sometimes wore to keep the cold from his shoulders. Yet in spite of all these weaknesses Uncle Leopold did not look in the least like an invalid.

I should never forget that he had given up the crown of Greece to be with me. He had reminded me of it many times.

“How many men would give a great deal to be a king!” he had said. “I happen to think that life would be more rewarding guiding one who is dearer to me than anyone else since my beloved Charlotte died.”

Dear Uncle Leopold, who had given me so much!

“My dear little Victoria,” he said. “I want to talk to you…very seriously.”

I was surprised because it seemed to me that Uncle Leopold never talked in any other way than seriously.

“I have pondered long over this matter and have at last come to a conclusion. I am deeply concerned about the Belgian people who have severed their connection with Holland.”

“Is that a bad thing, Uncle?”

“It could be a very good thing. You see they need a ruler…a strong ruler. They need a king.”

“Perhaps they will have one.”

“Yes, my child, they are going to have one. You see him before you.”

I looked round sharply.

“No, my dearest. Here.”

“You, Uncle Leopold?”

“None other.”

“You are the King of the Belgians! But Uncle…”

“They have offered me the crown. I have had sleepless nights thinking of the matter.”

“You often have sleepless nights, Uncle.”

“Yes…yes… but more since this proposition was made to me.”

I waited. I was beginning to feel very apprehensive.

“I know now where my duty lies. The saddest thing will be to say goodbye to my dear little niece.”

“So…you are going away?”

“I must, my child. All my inclinations are to stay here…to be near you…to guide you…as I have done all these years. But I know in my heart that my duty is to my Belgian subjects. So, my dearest Victoria, I am going away. Oh, we shall be in constant contact. You write such interesting letters. They will sustain me in all my tasks. I shall watch for them …Indeed I shall watch over you…I shall never be far away from you… and I shall want to know all that goes on.”

Desolation swept over me and Uncle Leopold and I wept together.

I was going to lose him. There would be no more visits to Claremont. And if by some chance there were, how empty the place would be without him.

I went back to the Palace and told Lehzen. She was dismayed too.

Mama did not seem as unhappy as I thought she might be. Of course she admired Uncle Leopold greatly and always discussed important matters with him, but since the visit of Caroline Bauer and her mother to Claremont, she had not been quite the same.

I overheard Lehzen and Spath discussing Uncle Leopold's departure.

Spath said in a voice of foreboding, “This means that that man will have more and more sway.”

Growing up made one knowledgeable so I knew she was referring to Sir John Conroy.

I was very melancholy. Life could become sad so unexpectedly. First I had lost my beloved sister and now—devastating blow—my dear, dear Uncle Leopold.

I WAS BECOMING more and more aware of Sir John Conroy.

Now that Uncle Leopold had gone Mama seemed constantly in his company. My Aunt Sophia often came from her apartments in the Palace to ours, and she, too, seemed to like him very much. They were always laughing together and Mama seemed quite different when he was there; her expression softened and her voice changed when she spoke to him.

When I mentioned this to Lehzen she said sharply, “Nonsense!”

I wished that Feodore was there so that I could talk about it with her.

I had always found it difficult to veil my feelings and while I was perhaps overflowing with affection for those I liked and was—Mama said— too demonstrative, when I disliked people I could not help showing that either.

I must have shown that I did not like Sir John.

I knew that Lehzen and Spath also did not like him. He used to look at them very sardonically, with a rather unpleasant expression in his eyes. I heard him speak of them both quite disparagingly to Mama when I was present. He said Spath was a silly blundering old woman, and he sneered at Lehzen's plebeian habit of munching caraway seeds. What shocked me was that Mama laughed with him, which I thought was disloyal to dear Lehzen who had been such a good friend to us both.

Sir John was a man who had a very high opinion of himself. I found out quite a lot about him because since the departure of Uncle Leopold he seemed to be forcing himself on my attention. He had abandoned his career in the Army to enter my father's service. He was half Irish and had an estate in Ireland that brought him a small income. He was an adventurer really; and had a swaggering way with him and seemed very confident that people—particularly women—were going to find him irresistible. He might have had some cause for this because Mama did seem to like him very much, and so did Aunt Sophia and several women of the household. I did not dislike Lady Conroy, but she was so insignificant that one hardly noticed her. His daughter Victoire gave herself airs and was certainly not my favorite companion. I felt I had continually to remind the Conroys that I did not regard them as of any great importance.

Victoire in particular was constantly referring to her father as though he were the head of the household. “My father says this …”

“My father says that …” And she behaved as though these pronouncements were law.

It was through her that I learned of the sneering remarks he made about my father's relations.

The King was mad, said Victoire to me; and she referred to Aunt Adelaide as “Her Spotted Majesty,” which was because Aunt Adelaide's skin was not very clear and there were sometimes blotches on it—a remark that must have come from her father because it was just the spiteful sort of thing he would say. She also told me that Aunt Adelaide wanted me to marry one of those horrid little Georges, and that her father was going to see that that never happened.

Victoire was always talking about the Bâtards who were trying to get all they could out of the King. She meant the FitzClarence children. She said it was disgraceful that they were allowed to come to Court, and her father had said that I should be forbidden to mingle with them.

It was infuriating to be told these things through Victoire and when I said this to Mama all she said was, “Oh, she is only a child and you should control your temper.”

I mentioned it to Lehzen, too. She was very distressed and poor old Spath said, “I don't know what things are coming to in this household. Now that the good King of the Belgians is no longer with us, things have changed for the worse.”

It was not only my relations whom Sir John sneered at. He made fun of me because he knew I did not like him.

“And how are the little dollies?” he would say, and there was a snigger in his voice as though he were implying what a child I was to be playing with dolls at my age. One could not explain to such a man that they were not ordinary dolls.

Then he would make fun of me. “You are getting more and more like the Duke of Gloucester every day.”

The Duke of Gloucester, who had married my Aunt Mary, was the most unprepossessing of men, and he was commonly known as Silly Billy because he was not very bright.

He could have reduced me to tears if he had not made me so very angry.

But these were small irritations, and I was to learn what real trouble this man could make.

One day when I was to present myself to Mama I went to her apartments. Spath was with me, but I ran on ahead.

When I entered the room Sir John Conroy was with Mama and they were talking together. I heard the words, “…a Regency… for the old man cannot live till she is of age…”

My mother was standing very close to Sir John and he was holding her hand.

I heard him say, “What a beautiful Regent you will make!”

I gasped because I thought he was going to kiss her.

Mama saw me then. Spath had come in and was hovering behind me.

Mama's color was very high and her earrings shook angrily. She seemed to quiver more than usual.

“Victoria,” she said in an angry voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Mama, it is my time for coming to you.”

“Dear me! You should not walk about so stealthily.”

I was often accused of boisterousness. This was something new. I felt very uneasy.

“Well, now you are here…”

“I see the Princess is not unaccompanied,” said Sir John in his sneering voice.

My mother frowned. “Oh …Spath …” The very way in which she said the poor Baroness's name was contemptuous. “It's you. Well, you will not be needed.”

Poor Spath, scarlet with embarrassment faded away and I was left with them. Mama seemed in an odd mood but Sir John was just the same as he always was, very composed, regarding me with that unpleasantly critical look as though I amused him because of some deficiency. I began to wonder whether I was getting too fat, as he was always hinting that I was.

When I saw Spath shortly afterward she seemed in a state of shock. I wanted to hear what she thought of the incident, for I could not get it out of my mind.

“Spath,” I said. “Did you think Mama was standing very close to Sir John Conroy?”

Spath looked at me with wide troubled eyes and as she did not reply I went on, “It did occur to me that he was on the point of kissing her.”

Spath caught her breath and still continued to look at me in silence.

“I think perhaps,” I went on, “Mama did not like our being there and seeing them, er… like that, because she immediately began scolding me, which people do sometimes when they are doing something about which they feel uncomfortable.”

Spath took a few more seconds to recover.

“My dear Princess, you must say nothing of this…of course that was not the case. The Duchess was no doubt asking his advice… about some…er, document… some matter… and it was necessary for her to stand close to him to show it to him.”

“I saw no document,” I said. “It was her hand he was holding…not a document.”

“Oh, you have been mistaken and I should say no more of this… not to anyone.”

I was very disturbed and that made me more alert. Poor Spath became so absent-minded that I knew she could not forget it either. I heard her whispering with Lehzen. I could not hear what was said but I knew from Lehzen's manner that she was giving Spath stern advice.

AUNT SOPHIA WAS having a little party in her rooms at Kensington Palace. There would be music and my two cousins George Cambridge and George Cumberland would be there, and so would Aunt Adelaide.

Aunt Adelaide, now Queen Adelaide, had come to ask Mama's permission for me to attend.

“Victoria sings so prettily,” said Aunt Adelaide. “We do want her to come.”

Mama graciously said I might go.

Mama never treated Aunt Adelaide as though she were the Queen. Indeed seeing them together one would have thought that Mama was of superior rank. Some might have resented that; Aunt Adelaide did not. She was all for peace and for overcoming family quarrels and getting us all together. I often thought that if they had all been like her we should have been a happier family.

I practiced singing with Mr. Sale all the morning; Lehzen had said other lessons might be set aside for once; and Mr. Sale said I was in good voice and was sure they would all enjoy my singing.

Lehzen helped me dress in my lovely white silk dress with the blue sash and white satin slippers.

“Lehzen,” I said, “do I look too fat?”

“You look lovely.”

“But fat! Sir John said I was a plump little princess.”

“That man! If you are plump, my dearest, then it is good to be plump. They will all think how beautiful you are and when they hear you sing…well, they will be astounded.”

“Oh Lehzen, you are the dearest person in the world.”

“Now, now. Stay calm. Remember you have to give a performance.”

What a pleasant afternoon! I did like my two cousins, they were both very attentive, and after my performance, which was very much applauded, Aunt Adelaide kissed me and said I sang like an angel. She also whispered how delighted she was that I had come and that the King wanted me to go and see him; and she was sure, if my Mama would allow it, there could be many happy gatherings like this with all the children.

I supposed that meant the little FitzClarences. I was sure Mama would not allow that; and it struck me as strange that a queen could love little children whereas a mere duchess thought herself too good for them.

I said, “I should love to come and to see the King.”

She smiled as though we shared a secret and said she would do her best to arrange it.

When I arrived back in our apartments it was to find Lehzen distraught and Spath almost hysterical with grief.

“What has happened?” I cried.

Spath could not speak but Lehzen came to me and put her arms round me.

“The Baroness is to leave us,” she said.

“To leave us!”

“Yes, she is going to your sister. Feodore needs her now that she is a mother. The Duchess thinks that Feodore needs her more than you do.”

“But I can't lose Spath.”

Spath emerged from her grief to give me a loving look. I dashed to her, “Oh dear, dear Spath… what does it mean? I will go to Mama…I will not have it. I am going to the Queen. I will not have it, Spath.”

Lehzen said quickly, “You must not talk like that. It is unseemly to talk of seeing the Queen. Neither the King nor the Queen would like it. It is very wrong. Baroness Spath is going, and sad as that makes us, we must think of the joy your sister will have in welcoming her. She needs help with her babies.”

“I am sure Feodore could find someone to help her with the babies and she would not want me to lose dear Spath. I will go to Mama.”

“It is already settled. Your mother and … er … Sir John have decided.”

“That odious man.”

Neither Lehzen nor Spath contradicted me. They hated him as much as I did.

I embraced Spath and we clung together, mingling our tears. I knew, and she knew, that there was nothing we could do.

One day, I told myself, it will be different.

THERE WAS GLOOM in our apartments. Mama pursed her lips and when I spoke of Spath, said she was an interfering gossiping old woman and she was not really suitable to be in the household.

“But I love her,” I said defiantly.

“You must not be so vehement,” said Mama. “You are a little vulgar in your expressions of affection for these people.”

“These people! We are talking about darling Spath.”

“Oh dear, we are going to have a storm, are we? Listen to me, Victoria. I have done everything possible to bring you up in a manner befitting your position. You know now that you have to be careful… far more careful than others. You have your destiny to fulfill. That is why I have devoted my life to bringing you up.”

It is always disconcerting to be the object of so much self-sacrifice and I could not deny that Mama had taken great pains to be with me all the time. Often I had wished she was less zealous, but that did not lessen the sacrifices she had made.

I could see I was no match for her so I continued to brood in silence.

Lehzen was worried. I know now that she was thinking: It is Spath today. It could be me tomorrow.

It was a good thing that I did not know that then. I should have been completely terrified if I had. The thought of losing Lehzen too would have been intolerable.

It was from Spath that I heard more of what had happened. I supposed that when she had her marching orders she felt justified in being indiscreet.

“What started it,” she told me, “was due to that daughter of his.”

“Victoire?”

“Oh, I could do without those two… her and her sister Jane.”

She lapsed into German, which I understood well enough. Victoire had come to her while she was sitting at her tatting just after I had left for Aunt Sophia's apartments.

Victoire had taunted her. She wanted to know why she, Victoire, had not been invited to sing at the party. Why should Victoria go and she not? It was not fair. Her father was important. He was the most important man in the country. Everybody knew it. He gave the orders.

“It was more than I could bear,” said Spath. “I shouted at her, ‘You illbred monster. You have no right here, you and your upstart father…' She called me an old German woman and said I was a silly old fool, I… and caraway-seed-eating Baroness Lehzen, who had only been made a baroness because she had to mingle with people of high rank where she could not very well be a mere Fraulein.”

“Victoire can be a horrid child,” I said.

“Well, my Princess, I could bear no more, so I went to the Duchess. I was not thinking very clearly. I was so enraged. I said, ‘That Conroy child has been rude to me…' And your mother shrugged it aside and said she was only a child. I then lost my calm.”

“Dear Spath,” I said, “you never had much.”

“I said what I should not have said.”

“What, Spath? Tell me what.”

She shook her head and it took me a little time to prize it out of her.

“I said, ‘And that man, Duchess. The Princess Victoria has noticed… the friendship between you and him …' ”

“You really said that, Spath?”

Spath nodded.

Oh, it was clear to me now, Mama was guilty. Those flirtatious looks which Sir John bestowed on her and on others too …Aunt Sophia for one… but more on Mama… had a meaning. I felt horribly disillusioned.

I tried to comfort poor Spath. I told her that she would love being with Feodore.

“Feodore is the most loving girl in the world. Dear Spath, she is better than I…”

“No one could mean more to me than my dear little Victoria.”

“Oh, Spath you will love it! There won't be any storms… and you know how quickly they blow up. No storms and dear little babies. You know how you love them. And Feodore's will be especially lovely. Oh, you are going to love it. You're going to say it is all for the best. I have got away from the storms to these dear little babies.”

She shook her head. “My darling child, I know you can be willful… but then you can also be the most lovable little girl in the world, and I would rather serve you than any other.”

I wept with her and Lehzen came and found us together. She did not reprove us. She just sat with us, looking very sad. I had lost Feodore, Uncle Leopold, and now Spath.

Fearfully I wondered: Who next?

MY FEELINGS TOWARD Mama were changing rapidly. It was all because of Sir John Conroy. I disliked him more with every day which passed, and I blamed him for taking Spath away from me.

Instinctively I knew that he wanted to remove Lehzen in the same way. But that was something that I should never tolerate.

I began to see very clearly what was going on. Mama was one of those forceful women who want to rule everyone about her. How delighted she would have been if she had been destined to become Queen. In fact if ever I ascended the throne she wanted to be there, not beside me, but ruling in my place.

And with her would be that odious man. They would be King and Queen; they would rule the country as they now ruled the household.

Mama was always talking disparagingly about the King. What an old fool he was; he was doubtless going mad; anyone less like a king she had never known. He went among the people like a common man. Some might be able to behave so. Not bumble-headed William. He looked what he was, a foolish old man teetering on the edge of madness. He had even said on one occasion that he and his wife were quiet people. The Queen and he liked to sit by the fire, she tatting and he “nodding a bit.” If he got bees in his bonnet he would forget all dignity and make speeches about them—incoherent, rambling, boring speeches. That was her opinion of him. She even spoke kindly of Aunt Adelaide in her condemnation of him. “Poor thing, she has a lot to put up with. The best thing he can do is join his forefathers and leave the throne for those better able to manage it.”

That meant Victoria, of course, with Mama in control!

And in control she would be if I were not eighteen years old. When I reached that magic age I could tell Mama: No! You will not do this and that, because it is my wish that you should not. What a day that would be!

Mama was so exuberant now that she talked to me more openly.

“There will be a Regency,” she said. “That is if he dies before you are eighteen. You are not quite twelve yet. Six years. He can't last that long.”

I hated to hear her talk like that of poor Uncle William who had always been so pleasant to me; and I loved Aunt Adelaide who, I was sure, would be very unhappy if Uncle William died.

And I thought: A Regency! Mama as Regent! Oh no! Please God don't let Uncle William die until I am eighteen.

I thought I should never get over my sadness at losing Spath, but a greater catastrophe threatened. They were going to send Lehzen away.

I think they both realized that they would have to tread more warily over Lehzen. I had loved Spath but Lehzen was very special to me. She was, I had often said, the best friend I had ever had up to that time—and I meant it. If I faced any difficulties it had always been to Lehzen I had gone, and she had smoothed them out. She had been something of a disciplinarian, of course, but I think I needed that and I respected her for it. It gave me a sense of security. I could not really imagine my life without Lehzen, and as soon as I realized what was going on I became very determined to stop it.

I heard Aunt Adelaide say to Mama, “But you couldn't. It would kill poor Lehzen. Victoria is her life.”

They stopped talking when I came in—but I knew.

They shall never do it, I said to myself firmly.

I was growing up. I was destined to be the Queen; they must realize that they had to go very carefully with me.

Mama said to me one day, “Dear Feodore, she is so happy. Two little babies. What a joy. She needs a very good governess for them.”

I was alert. I said quickly, “I am sure she and the Count will find an excellent governess.”

“There is one Feodore would rather have than any other.”

I waited. Now it was coming.

“Who is that?” I asked in a cold voice.

“Well, there is only one,” replied Mama with a little laugh. “She is a very good governess, and now you are beginning to grow up, you need a different sort of tuition. Feodore would be delighted and so would dear Lehzen. She would be so good for the children.”

I said very firmly, “Mama, I could not do without Lehzen.”

Sir John had come in and I knew that they had discussed this together, arranging it, and he had come to add his voice to my mother's; that enraged me.

My mother laughed. “Oh, come, come. She was very useful to you when you were young, and I know how fond you are of her.”

“You do not know how fond I am of her, Mama,” I said. “She is the best friend I ever had.”

“My dear child, you have many friends and you will have many more.”

“There will never be one like Lehzen,” I said.

Mama laughed again. “Dear me, you are so vehement.”

“Yes, Mama,” I said. “Vehement and determined.”

Sir John said with an unpleasant sneering laugh, “Oh, here is the Queen herself.”

“I am not the Queen…yet, Sir John,” I retorted. “But I will not allow you to send Lehzen away.”

“You will not allow it,” said Mama.

“That is what I said, Mama. I will not.”

“You are only a child.”

“I am old enough… and I am getting older every day.”

“A profound statement,” sneered Sir John, “and one with which we must all agree.”

“If you attempt to send Lehzen away,” I told them, “I shall go to the King and ask him to forbid it.”

“That pineapple-headed old bore,” said Mama contemptuously.

“The King, Mama, whom I respect more than some.” I looked venomously at Sir John. “I am his subject and so are you… both of you. It would be well for us all to remember that.”

They stared at me in amazement and I could see that Mama was trying to reduce me to the child I once was. But I had acquired a new dignity since seeing that table in the history book. I was going to be the Queen, and as heir to the throne these two took their importance through me. But for me what would they be? I was young, it was true; but this was a matter of vital importance to me. I was learning to rule.

I could see that I was making some impression for they were both startled, and yes, I was sure they were a little alarmed.

“Oh,” said Mama, “I see we are in for a little storm.”

“Not a little storm, Mama,” I corrected her. “A big one. Lehzen is not going to leave me.”

“You are arrogant… conceited …,” spluttered Mama, her earrings shaking with the rage she felt.

“I am the heir to the throne,” I said. “I may be Queen very soon, though I hope Uncle William will live for a long time yet. But for now I say this: Lehzen is staying with me. I know the King will forbid you to send her away, and whatever you say about him he is the King and it would be well for us all to remember that we are his subjects.”

With that I walked out of the room. I was trembling with fear.

They were absolutely startled by my firmness—and so was I. But they knew they were defeated, and there was no doubt of it because there was no more mention of Lehzen's leaving.

I HAD SCORED a victory, but that did not mean that I had changed anything very much. Mama was still in command and although she realized that I could be what she called stubborn on matters over which I felt deeply, I was still the child as far as she was concerned.

Aunt Adelaide, who was a mediator between my mother and the King, intimated that, now I was recognized as next in the succession, I should appear more in public. Mama agreed with this.

Aunt Adelaide was doing everything she could to bring about a reconciliation between the King and my mother, and I have to say that it was Mama's fault that it was without success. That the King disliked her there could be no doubt, but if she had not continually asserted what she called her rights and attempted to push me forward and to behave generally as though Uncle William was already as good as dead and I on the throne, I think there might have been, if not a friendship, a fairly reasonable compromise between them. But she would not.

I was not so much invited to Court as summoned to Aunt Adelaide's birthday party celebration. I wanted to go. I loved such occasions. I was quite intrigued by the two Georges and they were very attentive to me on the rare occasions when I had met them; and there was dancing, singing, and playing games, which I very much enjoyed. Aunt Adelaide did everything possible to make all the young people happy, so I could have been very amused if I had been allowed to be.

That occasion was a failure. I should have thought that after my victory over Lehzen I should have been able to shake off Mama's influence, but this was not so and there were times when I felt completely overawed.

I was very apprehensive when I considered the way in which Sir John and my mother had managed to get rid of poor Spath and the attempts they had made to do the same to Lehzen. I was really worried and sometimes I felt very young and inadequate.

On the occasion of Aunt Adelaide's birthday there was a certain formality, which even the King could not escape, although, as my mother said, never had a king behaved with less majesty. This was true in a way. The King would go about and talk to his most humble subjects and when after a visit his guests left he would go down to see them off and help them into their carriages and then stand waving them off—which no king had surely ever done before. He was a bluff sailor, and he was not going to change his ways just because he was a king.

Before we set out Mama continued to lecture me. “The King will try to keep you down. You must be sure that you are in your rightful place. It would never do for the people to forget that you are the rightful heir to the throne. You must not be too effusive. You always are. You must not look as though you think it is a great honor to be presented to the King. It is as much an honor for him that I allow you to go. Do not smile on all and sundry. Show them you are serious… aware of your rank…”

And so it was that whenever the King looked my way I cast down my eyes because I was afraid that I should smile in too friendly a way, and yet if I did not smile it looked as though I were sulking.

I was glad when it was over.

But my demeanor was noticed. Aunt Adelaide looked bewildered and unhappy; and the King scowled.

I heard that he had been very angry and had said, “That child would not look at me. I will not have it. She is getting like her mother.”

That amused my mother and she told me I had behaved with dignity. I was less pleased and very sorry that I had hurt the King and Aunt Adelaide.

My mother said I should travel a little to show myself to the people, and let them become acquainted with their Queen-to-be.

I loved the excitement of travel. I enjoyed seeing new places. Sir John Conroy and Mama planned the journeys, where we should stay and when we should meet the people. We were greeted with enthusiasm wherever we went and that was very pleasant. But it was always Mama who spoke to the crowds, who took the front seat. She brought me forward sometimes, and told them how she had devoted her life to me ever since I had been born.

There was one thing that worried me very much and that was that wherever we went, Sir John ordered the guns to fire the royal salute.

I said to Lehzen, “I thought that was done only for sovereigns.”

Lehzen shook her head. She had not fully recovered from the scare we had had when we thought that Sir John and my mother might succeed in getting her sent away. She was more reticent than usual, but I knew she agreed with me and that it was not correct to insist on the royal salute.

I heard the King was very annoyed when he discovered what was happening. “Guns popping here, there, and everywhere,” he said. “There's to be an end to this popping and pretty sharp.”

Sir John's reply was that as Victoria was heiress to the throne, the firing of the guns was in order. He was getting reckless, I believe. He thought the King's end was near, and he saw me on the throne with Mama as Regent and himself governing Mama.

How people love power! A little while ago my life seemed to be in danger because Cumberland wanted me out of the way and a clear run for himself; now Sir John was taking risks, for after all Uncle William was the King, and Sir John was causing him great offense. In fact he was always urging Mama to further recklessness—not that she needed much urging.

We were at Norris Castle in the Isle of Wight. The guns had been popping away in Portsmouth in my honor, when a summons came from my mother to attend the King's coronation.

“You,” said Mama, “will walk immediately behind the King. As heir to the throne that is your place.”

But it seemed the King had other ideas. Further news came from Windsor. I was assigned a place behind the royal dukes.

“Never!” cried Mama.

“Certainly not!” echoed Sir John. “We must have our little girl where she belongs.”

I talked it over with Lehzen. “But what difference does it make where I am. I shall be there… and walking behind the uncles doesn't make me any less heir to the throne.”

Lehzen said it seemed of great importance to the Duchess that I should walk immediately behind the King.

“He will be very angry,” I said anxiously. “He is already cross because I didn't smile at him when I last saw him. Oh, Lehzen, I wanted to. I like him and I love Aunt Adelaide. But…it is so difficult.”

“Life often is, my dear,” said Lehzen.

The wrangle went on. “No,” said the King. “Behind the royal dukes.”

I believed that he did not greatly care where I walked, but he did dislike Mama so much that he would not give way to her.

“In her rightful place or not at all,” said Mama.

And so it was not at all.

I wept with frustration. I had wanted so much to go to the Coronation; and most of all I hated quarrels.

I watched the Coronation procession from Marlborough House.

SOON AFTER THE Coronation there was a great deal of controversy throughout the country because of the Reform Bill.

Lehzen was well informed and explained to me what it was all about.

“The trouble started,” she said, “because there are what are called Rotten Boroughs, which means that there are under two thousand people there who are able to send a member to Parliament to represent them, while on the other hand there are others who have only one member for a very large population. And some people don't get a vote at all.”

“That seems very wrong,” I said.

“You are in agreement with a large number of people, it would seem,” said Lehzen.

There was so much personal intrigue in our apartments with the machinations of Conroy and his schemes with Mama, which were all about their own gains really, that not much attention was paid to what was going on in the country.

I knew it was very serious and I became quite worried when I heard that violent rioting had broken out all over the country.

When we went for our walks I saw placards on the walls: GIVE US OUR RIGHTS.

Lehzen said, “The people believe that once the Bill is passed all their dreams will come true.”

EVERYBODY WILL HAVE EVERYTHING, I saw on another poster.

I did not see how that could be.

“When the people become obsessed by an idea they will make the wildest claims. They believe everything that is told them,” said Lehzen.

“I never would,” I asserted.

“Of course not. You have been well brought up. I have taught you to think for yourself…to face the truth, however unpleasant.”

“It will be unpleasant for the people if this Bill is passed and they find they have not everything.”

“They will learn,” said Lehzen. “I heard one of the serving maids say that when the Bill was passed, her Fred would marry her and they would have a little house in the country.”

“Oh dear!” I sighed. “How disappointed she will be!”

“And children believe that there will be no more school when the Bill is passed. It will be all picnics and strawberry jam.”

“Is that why they are rioting?”

“They are rioting because, although the Bill has been passed by the Commons, the Lords have thrown it out, and Lord Grey has asked the King to create new peers so that the Bill can be passed.”

“But I don't understand, Lehzen. If when something is refused and new people have to be brought in to pass it… why has it to be passed in the first place?”

“Ah, my dearest, you are getting into deep waters. The King has refused Grey's request so he has resigned and the King has no alternative but to call Wellington back to office. Wellington's windows at Apsley House have been smashed. They say Wellington is the most unpopular man in the country.”

“How long is it since he was the most popular after Waterloo?”

“There! You see how the pendulum swings. The most popular man one day, the most unpopular the next.”

“Like Palm Sunday and the Crucifixion.”

“Yes… like that.”

I thought a great deal about the Reform Bill. It was quite wrong that those few people should send one man to represent them in Parliament, and thousands of others only have one—and some no chance to vote at all. Of course quite a lot of them were without education and knew nothing of what they were voting for. They could not write their names even… let alone vote. It all seemed very complicated. But I did hate to hear of the riots. They always frightened me, because I had heard a great deal about the French Revolution, and in my lessons I had suffered with poor Marie Antoinette and King Louis XVI who had been so badly treated by the mob and had even lost their heads in a most humiliating manner.

I was relieved when Wellington was able to form a Ministry and Lord Grey was brought back. The new peers were created and the Reform Bill was passed. Seats in Parliament were to be more fairly distributed in accordance with the number of people in the boroughs.

Peace settled over the country.

But when I thought of how Wellington had lost the admiration and love of the people, I was depressed by their fickleness, for whatever were his personal views about reform, he had saved the country from Napoleon at Waterloo. The thought of angry mobs throwing stones at Apsley House made me very sad.

I was becoming more and more aware of the responsibilities I should have to face if the destiny that my mother was determined should be mine—and indeed was mine by right of birth—should ever come to pass.

THE CORONATION OF King William did not curb my mother's inclination to show me to the people and to receive the honors due to my rank. In August we left Kensington for Wales. Before we went Mama presented me with a journal in which she said I was to write every day. That was when I first discovered the joy of writing down my thoughts, but, of course, I was fully aware that every word I wrote would be read by Mama. Therefore I was most cautious. I could not set down my enthusiasms— except of course for such things as the countryside and what would please her; I could not record my deep dislike and suspicion of Sir John. I couldn't help laughing to imagine what the outcome would be if I did! So although I dutifully wrote in my journal every day, I did not, of course, mention my secret thoughts. And Mama was very pleased because it must have seemed to her that I was much more innocent than I actually was—and therefore, I supposed, more malleable.

After leaving London we went to Birmingham, Wolverhampton, and Shrewsbury, and over the Menai Bridge. We rented a house for a month in Beaumaris, and I presented the prizes at the Eisteddfod. While we were there, there was an outbreak of cholera and it was hastily decided that we move on.

We visited so many places that I am afraid, looking back, I confuse one with another, but I do remember staying at Chatsworth and visiting some cotton mills at Belper.

And I remember Oxford because Sir John Conroy was actually made a Doctor of Civil Law there and received the Freedom of the City which irritated me considerably—but not so much as my visit to the Bodleian Library, where some gentleman very proudly produced Queen Elizabeth's Latin Exercise Book. I glanced at it and saw at once that her grasp of the language quite outdid mine. There were gasps of amazement that one so young could have been so proficient.

“And she was only thirteen years old!” demanded Mama, looking sternly at me, for that was my age.

“That is all she was, Your Grace, when she used that exercise book. It is one of our most treasured possessions.”

“She was a very clever girl.”

“I doubt there has ever been one to excel her,” said the old man.

Queen Elizabeth! I seemed to be haunted by her, for there had been a time when some Member of Parliament had suggested that I change my name to Elizabeth. They had wanted me to be Elizabeth II. That, they said, would be a good omen, in view of the outstanding abilities of the first Elizabeth, and the benefits that had come to the country throughout her glorious reign.

Yes, that and Sir John's complacency over his advancement, which I should have stopped had I been able, spoiled Oxford for me.

Mama was always to the fore on these occasions, speaking to the people as though she were the Queen. I wondered what the King would have said if he could see her, and I had no doubt that there would be some to carry reports of her unseemly conduct to him.

So it was rather pleasant to go back to Kensington.

I had passed into a new phase. They were all realizing that now that I was in my teens I was no longer a child.

Mama had introduced a new lady into her household. This was Lady Flora, a daughter of the Marquess of Hastings. Mama said she would be a friend for me, but as she was about twelve years older than I was, and she and Lehzen took an instant dislike to each other, our friendship did not progress very fast. I was beginning to feel that I wanted to choose my own friends.

There were many visitors to Kensington Palace now. I think that was because I was growing up; and although Mama was very anxious to keep me segregated from the royal family, she welcomed distinguished people at the Palace. I remember how awestruck I was to be presented to Sir Robert Peel—a man of whom Lehzen had talked a great deal. He was very pleasant. Lord Palmerston came with him. He talked to me earnestly as though I were quite grown up and at the same time gave me the impression that he thought I was pretty; and I had to admit that I was quite amused and rather delighted by that.

I was sure I was going to like meeting important people.

I even softened a little toward Sir John. Mama liked dogs and he gave her the sweetest little King Charles spaniel I ever saw. I loved him on the spot and was sure he felt the same about me. He came to me at once and lifted his beautiful eyes to my face.

I cried, “He is lovely! Whose is he?”

Mama said, “He is mine. His name is Dash. Sir John has just given him to me.”

Even that could not alter my feeling for Dash. I even looked forward to going to my mother's rooms so that I could see him. Mama had two birds—a most delightful parakeet and a canary who used to come out of his cage and fly about the room. One could never be sure when he would descend on one's head. But it was little Dash whom I loved.

One day Mama said to me, “I think Dash is really your dog.”

“He is a darling.”

“I think you two liked each other on sight. Sir John says I should give him to you.”

“Did he?” I cried, flushing with pleasure.

Sir John came into the room. I always had the feeling that they discussed together what they were going to say to me. It was rather like a play with one of them waiting in the wings for their cue.

“I know how you love him,” said Sir John, giving me one of his odious smiles.

But of course I loved Dash, and I did want him for my very own.

“I do love him,” I said.

“Well then…he is yours.”

I took him up in my arms. He knew, the little darling, for he started to lick my face.

“No, Dashie,” I said gleefully, and he barked happily.

“Oh, thank you, Mama,” I said.

“I am sure you are very grateful to Sir John for such a gift.”

“Thank you, Sir John,” I said, a little grudgingly, I'm afraid. “May I take Dash now?”

“But of course,” said Mama smiling graciously. “I will have his basket sent along to you.”

So I went, so happy to have Dash. But I did not like Sir John any more for all that.

I was very happy. Dash made such a difference. I bathed him; I tied a ribbon round his neck and told him over and over again that he was mine now.

Dash was not the only great pleasure I had that year. My music master thought that as I had shown such an interest in singing, and was something of a performer myself, I might be taken to the opera.

Oh, the joy of hearing beautiful music exquisitely sung! I was in transports of delight. I wrote about it in the journal Mama had given me more naturally than I had written of anything before. Here was something that gave me profound pleasure. Mama was quite pleased by my enthusiasm for once. She said that if I behaved with decorum she saw no reason why there should not be frequent visits to the opera.

I was amazed to hear from Uncle Leopold that he intended to be married. He wrote me long letters about it. It was so many years since Charlotte had died and he had mostly spent them mourning for her. Now he had decided that he would be lonely no longer.

Of course I wanted to hear all about her for I did not believe anyone could be worthy of Uncle Leopold.

He wrote back:

My dearest Love,

You have told me you wish to have a description of your new Aunt. She is extremely gentle and amiable and her actions are always guided by principles. She is at all times ready and disposed to sacrifice her comfort and inclinations to see others happy. She values goodness, merit, and virtue much more than beauty, riches, and amusement …

Now to her appearance. She is about Feodore's height; her hair is very fair, light blue eyes, and a very gentle expression…

You will see by these descriptions that though my good little wife is not the tallest of queens, she is a great prize that I highly value and cherish.

I was so delighted for Uncle Leopold. For in addition to all her beauty and virtue, Louise of Orlèans was very highly born, being the daughter of Louis Philippe, King of France. It seemed that Leopold's marriage must be perfect.

I hoped it would not prevent his writing to me as frequently as he had in the past, and when I expressed this fear to him he assured me that it would not. He stressed that my welfare was as dear to his heart as it had ever been, and if I were faced with any problems I must write to him and he would give all his thoughts to solving them. I was his dearest love, his darling child. Nothing could change that.

It was a great comfort to think of Uncle Leopold—though across the sea—always ready to listen to me as he had done when I was close at hand.

My fourteenth birthday was approaching. I really was growing up, but I was still four years from the magical eighteen.

I was so happy when Aunt Adelaide said she would give a ball for me. It was to be a juvenile ball for young people all around my age.

Mama could hardly insist that I decline the invitation to my own ball, and if she had attempted to I should have raised a storm. Fortunately I did not have to.

I awoke early on the morning and felt irritated because I could see Mama's bed and the hump in it, which showed me she was still there. Really, it was ridiculous. A girl of fourteen to have to sleep in her mother's bedroom! Uncle Cumberland could not possibly harm me now. What did she imagine he would do? Send in his servants to smother me like the Princes in the Tower?

It was a lovely morning. I could see Dash at the foot of my bed. Spring is so beautiful and I could hear the birds singing in the gardens, and I knew the trees would be sprouting with green buds and the colors of the spring flowers would be so fresh and lovely. May was a good month in which to be born.

And today was the day of the juvenile ball.

The present-giving was a very happy part of a day like this. Mama was very good with presents. She did give the most delightful ones. There was a bag she had worked herself, a bracelet of topaz and turquoise, handkerchiefs and books; and from Lehzen there was an exquisite china basket and a dainty figure in china too. They were lovely. The only jarring note was the presence of the Conroys who behaved as though they were members of the family. All the five Conroy children were there— Victoire, Jane, and the three boys. They gave me a watch chain between them. From the odious Sir John there was something that I could not help loving in spite of its donor. It was a beautiful painting of Dash—so lifelike that it seemed as though he was going to dart out of the frame into my arms.

I could not help exclaiming with delight. Mama looked very pleased and the moment was spoilt because I detected one of those glances passing between her and Sir John—those intimate secret looks which I hated.

Sir John went with us to St. James's although he had not been invited. He certainly did behave like a member of the family.

I was determined to show Uncle William how sorry I was for the uneasy atmosphere between our two households, and make him understand that it was not of my making. So I was delighted when the Queen took me into his closet to greet him. Aunt Adelaide must have guessed my thoughts. She was such a dear understanding lady, and so eager that everyone should be happy and forget this bickering.

I was wearing the earrings that the King had given me and when I approached him I put my arms around his neck and kissed him.

I said, “I am so glad to see you like this… privately, dear Uncle William. It is so much easier to say thank you for my lovely earrings.”

He was warm and loving immediately. He did not mean to quarrel with me—only with Mama. He was really quite a cozy old gentleman and very sentimental. I saw the tears in his eyes, which was quite affecting.

“So you liked them, eh?” he said.

“They are lovely.”

“And your Aunt Adelaide's brooch? What about that?”

“Lovely too. I am lucky to have such a kind uncle and aunt.”

He patted my arm. “Good girl,” he said. “Nice girl. You're right, Adelaide. She's too good for that lot, eh?”

I could see that the thought of my mother and Sir John made him angry. Adelaide said quickly, “This is going to be a very happy evening. It was a good idea, don't you think, a juvenile ball?”

I said it was the nicest possible idea and Aunt Adelaide always had nice ideas.

That pleased Uncle William because he liked to hear the Queen praised.

“You are to open the ball with your cousin George.”

I knew she meant George Cambridge. The King and Queen were very fond of him, perhaps because he lived with them while his parents were out of the country. I had heard Mama say that they looked upon him as the son they couldn't get and that they had plans for him.

I knew what that meant…plans for marrying me. They wanted him to be Prince Consort. I did not think he could be King.

Mama said smugly, “They will have a nasty shock.”

In any case I was too happy to worry on that night about remote possibilities; and I prepared to enjoy the dance with George Cambridge.

I liked him very well. He was a charming boy and danced with grace. He told me I did too and he said it was a pity I did not come often to Aunt Adelaide's gatherings for the young. He also said I was pretty, which I liked to hear as often as possible because I had certain doubts about the matter myself. I was too plump for one thing. So it was always pleasant to hear compliments.

He told me that poor George Cumberland was going blind and his parents were very worried about him. I was very concerned for George Cumberland and saddened for a while. I could think of nothing worse than losing one's sight.

It was a pity Madame Bourdin had to be seated there watching every one of my steps to see if they were correct. It made it seem like a lesson, and dancing with George Cambridge I could have felt differently were it not for the presence of my dancing mistress.

The Queen brought several other partners for me and I had the impression that they all felt greatly honored to dance with me—which made me very amused and happy. She also took me in to supper and I sat between her and the King. I did not look in Mama's direction but I knew she was lowering because the King behaved as though she were not there and she thought she should be beside me taking all the honors as she did during our tours.

Toasts were drunk and there were quite a number to me, and the King lifted his glass and looked at me with a smile of affection that I returned. Aunt Adelaide was beaming on the other side of me and I thought how happy we could all be without these family troubles.

When we were driving back to Kensington Palace I knew that Mama was displeased. She said to Sir John, “It is easy to see what they are planning. And they are going to be disappointed.”

I knew she was referring to George Cambridge opening the ball with me. But I was too happy to care.

When I awoke next morning, I wrote in my journal: “I was dancing at midnight. I was so amused.”

IT WAS A few days later when Mama told me that some cousins would be visiting us from Germany.

“You will find them charming boys,” said Mama, meaning that they would be far more pleasant than George Cambridge. “Your Uncle Leopold is delighted that they are coming and he says that you should get to know your German cousins.”

“I shall like that, Mama. It is always so interesting to meet cousins.”

“These are your Württemberg cousins. Your Uncle Leopold says that one day you must meet Ernest and Albert of Saxe-Coburg. I do believe they are his special favorites.”

“If they are Uncle Leopold's favorites, I daresay they will be mine.”

Mama smiled, for once pleased with me.

In due course the Württemberg cousins arrived—Ernest and Alexander. I was delighted with them. I liked the way in which they bowed over my hand and clicked their heels as they did so. So German! I thought. So enchanting! They were both tall and handsome and I found it hard to make up my mind which one I liked the better.

When the King and Queen heard that the Württemberg cousins were at Kensington, they decided to give a ball for them. I was very excited.

“You will love it,” I told the cousins. “Aunt Adelaide gives such wonderful balls.”

Mama grumbled and Sir John went to her apartments, I guessed to discuss the invitation. I was in a state of terror lest she find some excuse for refusing it, which I was sure she wanted to do if she dared.

I could not understand why she should be so anxious to keep our Württemberg relations to ourselves as I was quite proud of them.

Mama went about all that day and the next with tight lips and I thought she was on the point of saying I was to refuse the invitation to the ball, but she did not; and I was greatly relieved when it was time to leave and we set out in the carriage for St. James's. I was determined to enjoy it. To dance would be delightful. There would be George Cambridge as well as the Württembergs—and they would all want to dance with me. I should dance till midnight. Nothing could be more exciting than that.

When we arrived, the King, with the Queen beside him, received our guests, and I was kept at their side so that the guests could greet me with them. Mama tried to stand beside me but the King signed to Sir John to move on with her.

I saw Mama's face flush and her earrings quiver, and my heart sank. However we were safely here and nothing could be done about that now.

My feet were twitching with their longing to dance, but the King said to me very kindly, “I do not see as much of you as I should wish. The Queen wants to arrange some parties for you. There are people you should meet. There's your cousin—young George. He is here all the time. How do you like him, eh?”

I said I liked my cousin George very much.

He went on to tell me what a fine boy he was. “Just about the same age as you. Good for people of an age to be together.”

I said I was sure it was. The Queen smiled encouragingly at me and said she would be happy to arrange some balls for me because she knew I liked dancing so much—and singing too. I had such a pretty singing voice. We ought to have concerts. She would invite people… good singers. She had heard how much I liked the opera.

I spoke of my enthusiasm and they both smiled at me in the most kindly manner.

Then the Queen said, “I know Victoria is longing to dance. Are you not, my dear?”

“Let her dance with George,” said the King. “I like to see them dance together.”

Aunt Adelaide took my hand. “There is George. We will go to him.”

As we moved away Mama swept down on us. I knew by her face that something awful was going to happen.

“I have come to inform Your Majesty that I am leaving with my party. Come, Victoria.”

“But Mama,” I cried indignantly, “the dancing is only just starting.”

“Come along,” she replied sternly.

“But the dance is for your guests,” protested Aunt Adelaide.

“My guests are exhausted.”

“They… they look very well,” began Aunt Adelaide.

“They have been to a review in the Park this afternoon.”

“But they appear to be…”

“Absolutely exhausted. Your Majesty must understand that I cannot allow my guests to overtire themselves.”

“The King will be most annoyed. The ball was expressly in their honor.”

Poor Aunt Adelaide! I was almost as sorry for her as I was for myself. I was furious. I so wanted to dance. But Aunt Adelaide was terribly worried because she was afraid of a scene between the King and my mother. Fortunately he had not noticed what was going on, but I could imagine his fury when he did discover.

Aunt Adelaide was trying to smooth everything over, trying to look as though this were not an unprecedented affront to royal dignity, which it was.

“The Princes must come and stay for a few days at Windsor,” she said.

“Their time is already accounted for,” said Mama coldly.

I saw the Queen flinch, but she said nothing and Mama gripped my hand firmly.

I sat silent, ashamed and angry, as the carriage took us back to Kensington.

THE MEMORY OF that evening lingered on even through the exciting days which followed. I was more and more enchanted by the cousins, particularly as, when I appeared to pay more attention to one than the other, the other was a little jealous.

There was a wonderful occasion when we went to hear the great Paganini play the violin. He played some variations most wonderfully and I was glad to notice that dear Lehzen, who was with us, enjoyed it thoroughly. Unfortunately Sir John Conroy also accompanied us, but even he could not spoil such a marvelous experience.

Then Mama suggested that as the cousins must see something of the countryside, we should take them for a trip, and we might go to the Isle of Wight. That would have been perfection, but Mama would insist that the royal standard should fly over Norris Castle, and the guns were firing the royal salute, which reminded me of Uncle William and that terribly embarrassing time at the ball.

There was, however, one thing to be grateful for. Sir John and his family did not stay with us at Norris Castle. This was because he owned a small house on the island called Osborne Lodge. It was close to the Castle and, of course, we visited the Conroys there. I thought how pleasant it was—or would have been if they had not been there; and indeed, I preferred it to Norris Castle. It was a blessing—though a small one—that when we were at this castle he was not under the same roof.

What happy days they were! I walked and rode with the cousins and took Dash down to the sea. The little darling loved everything as long as I was there to share it. The cousins played with him and he was quite fond of them. I was sure he preferred Alexander—because I did—although Ernest was very charming. Then there were the occasions when I was presented to the people and they cheered me and the guns fired, and I could see how impressed my cousins were because of my importance and popularity.

Mama watched me closely and told me that I must not become arrogant just because the guns were fired and the royal standard flown. “They are for the crown, not you, my child.”

I pointed out then that they must be for Uncle William.

At which she said, “Don't be so trying, Victoria.”

But I liked the truth and could become very obstinate even though I knew it would result in Mama's getting annoyed. She and I were growing farther and farther away from each other. I was seeing her too clearly. I wondered how fond she was of me, and whether it was the crown for which she had such overwhelming affection. She always stood forward and in front of me on ceremonial occasions, as though she were the heir to the throne and the one the people wanted to see even though they shouted my name and “God bless the little Princess.” Of course she liked to hear that because it meant that I was more popular than the King, but all the time she wanted them to cheer her. And the fact was that they did not really like her.

They liked me because I was the heir to the throne, destined to be Queen; I was young and innocent and smiled at them, and looked as though I was pleased. Mama always looked haughty, as though they were far beneath her—and naturally they did not like that.

There was one embarrassing incident when I was to open a pier. Mama suddenly decided that I was becoming conceited and must be taught a lesson. I should not open the pier, she said. She would.

I was astounded. It made me very ashamed to have to be present at such times, for there was great consternation when Mama announced to the Mayor and his counselors that I should not be opening the pier and that she would do it instead.

They were so dismayed, they did not know what to say. Then the Mayor stammered that the crowds had come to see the little Princess.

“They may see her,” said Mama, “but I shall open the pier. Pray proceed with the ceremony.”

Mama was not always very wise. She did not seem to be aware that the people were greatly displeased and they liked her even less after that than they had before.

To make matters worse she, being aware of their disappointment, told them that we could not stay to the luncheon that was to follow the ceremony. We had an engagement elsewhere.

I could imagine the preparations that had gone into the luncheon and the expectations of the people.

Oh yes, Mama could not only be overbearing but foolish, and her behavior spoiled many days that should have been blissful.

I did not write then of my feelings in my journal. How could I for Mama to see? I often thought as I wrote laboriously—best handwriting—how much more relieved I should feel if I could only set down what I felt when it was happening. How much better I should have known myself if I could. But I had to remember that Mama and Lehzen read every word I wrote, and that had been Mama's intention when she gave me the journal. So I wrote an exercise, and only allowed my real feelings true range for enthusiasm over the opera and my pleasure in my cousins' visit—all of which were subjects that would not irritate Mama.

To crown my embarrassment, when we returned to Norris Castle there was a letter awaiting Mama from Earl Grey which stated that standards and royal salutes must only be employed when the King or Queen were in residence.

Still smarting from the reception the people had given her at the opening of the pier, Mama was furious.

HOW SAD IT was to say goodbye to the cousins. I was almost in tears. So were they.

“Please, please, come and see us again soon,” I begged.

They said they would not be happy until they did.

Mama smiled benignly to see the affection between us, and for once she and I shared the feeling of sorrow because they were leaving us.

They were so amiable, good-tempered, and interested in everything.

I wrote in my journal: “We shall miss them at breakfast, at luncheon, at dinner, riding, sailing, driving, walking—in fact everywhere.”

I LOOKED FORWARD to Uncle Leopold's letters and was delighted when he wrote to say that as soon as possible, he was going to bring his new wife Louise to England to meet his favorite child.

So that was something to look forward to.

I was so happy when he wrote to say he was expecting to become a father.

“That,” I said to Lehzen, “is just what he needs. It will make him happy. He mourned so long for Princess Charlotte.”

“Oh,” said Lehzen, “I think he revelled in his mourning now and then.”

I did not quite understand, but she would say no more. Was Lehzen a little jealous of my affection for Uncle Leopold? I am afraid that my vanity overcame my better nature when it was a question of people's being jealous, as had been the case with my cousins. It was so comforting to know that I was important to them.

But all the same I did not quite like any criticism of one who seemed so perfect to me as Uncle Leopold.

My fifteenth birthday was approaching and I was hoping that Aunt Adelaide would give another ball for me. I had so enjoyed the one on my fourteenth birthday, and surely Mama could not spoil it this time. In three years time I should reach the all-important age of eighteen.

Mama was getting more and more contentious; each day she said something detrimental about Uncle William because he refused to die; and there were only three years left. Any little rumor about his illness sent her into transports of delight. It seemed to me very wrong to wish another person dead with such vehemence. It was like murder…in a way.

Shortly before my birthday I had sad news from Uncle Leopold. His baby was dead.

Dear Uncle Leopold, how sad he must be! He wrote to me at length about his sorrow. He was desolate. Life was cruel to him. He and Louise were staggering under the blow.

I tried to comfort him, repeating many of those homilies he had delivered to me over the years, and he wrote back saying my letter brought him consolation.

Aunt Adelaide had not forgotten my birthday. She visited Mama and when I was present she reminded us of the coming birthday.

“We must have another juvenile ball,” she said. “I know how much you enjoyed the one we gave on your fourteenth birthday. The King and I were saying we must do it again. I shall never forget the sight of you opening the ball with your cousin George.”

I saw Mama bridle and feared the worst.

“Dear Adelaide,” she said, “it is kind of you, but you have forgotten that I am in mourning for my brother's child.”

The Queen looked startled. “Oh …I had forgotten…”

“I do not forget such a bereavement in my family.”

“Perhaps,” said the Queen seeing my crestfallen looks, “Victoria might come. It is her birthday and there should be some celebration.”

Mama raised her eyebrows in that haughty way she had, and her earrings trembled. “I cannot see how Victoria could fail to be in mourning too. Leopold is her uncle… her very favorite uncle.”

The Queen looked as near annoyance as I had ever seen her. There was a look of resignation on her face. “Very well,” she said, and soon after that she left.

“How insensitive!” said Mama. “Some people have no family feeling.”

“I think she only wanted to please me.”

“She might have known that it is not the time for dancing and that if you have any fine feelings at all, it is the very last thing you would want to do.”

I was silent—sullen perhaps. I did not see what good I could do to Uncle Leopold's baby by staying at home on my birthday.

I think Aunt Adelaide had been very put out, but being herself she did not want to spoil my birthday any more than it had been already.

The next day she wrote to my mother and said that she was sorry there would be no ball, but she would call at Kensington Palace on the morning of my birthday to convey her good wishes and those of the King.

Then Mama did an outrageous thing that made me more ashamed than I had been over the birthday.

She sent a note to the Queen saying that as she was in mourning— and the Princess with her—she was unable to receive visitors.

I was shocked. I could not help talking to Lehzen.

“How dare Mama tell the Queen she is not receiving! Receiving! She talks like a queen herself. Oh, Lehzen, I am so ashamed.”

Lehzen shook her head but did not leap to the defense of my mother. I supposed she was remembering that Mama had allowed Sir John to attempt to dismiss her.

But the birthday was not quite so mournful as I had feared it might be, for on it I received a letter from Feodore; and its contents delighted me. She was coming to see us.

Feodore was now a happy mother of four children. There were Charles and Eliza, little Hermann and now another baby named Victor. Although we had corresponded regularly, it was six years since I had seen my dear sister and the prospect of actually talking to her again was so exciting that it made my birthday a happy one.

I would notice the change in her, Feodore warned. Well, I expected she would notice a change in me! I tried to remember what I had been like at nine. I could picture my beautiful Feodore as she had been on her wedding day…perfectly. She was always pretty—prettier than I ever would be, I supposed.

Even Mama was delighted at the prospect of seeing Feodore. She bustled about giving orders and preparing for their arrival. She kept talking about the dear little babies and for once seemed to have forgotten her obsession with Uncle William's long-delayed death and her own importance in the country.

It was a lovely June day when they arrived. Such excitement there was! Lehzen, chewing away at her caraway seeds, was in a state of bemused delight. And there was Feodore, getting out of the carriage with her husband, Ernest, and the children.

I dashed forward but Mama laid a hand on my shoulder and she herself went forward to kiss Feodore.

Then it was my turn.

“Darling, darling Vicky!”

“Dearest, dearest Feodore!”

“Oh, how you have grown!”

So had she. She was no longer the sylph-like girl who had left England; she was quite plump, but beautiful as ever, and all my love for her came flooding back and I was so happy to see her.

Oh, the joy of that reunion! I put an arm through Feodore's; and Mama had her arm around her. Mama looked really happy. She did love Feodore even though she was not destined for a crown. She loved the babies too. Even Mama seemed different while Feodore was there. I quite liked the Count Hohenlohe-Langenburg and I adored the children. They called me Aunt Victoria. It felt very strange to be an aunt but I loved it.

“We will have such talks,” I said; and Feodore squeezed my hand.

When they had all rested awhile, it was decided that Feodore and I should go for a drive with Lehzen in the Park and that was the greatest delight to me.

Lehzen was laughing all the time and we chatted away about those days when we were all together, and the things we used to do. Feodore told us about the babies and I believed she had forgotten all about Augustus and how he used to talk to her while I watered the flowers—which was a very good thing, because what everybody had wanted for her had turned out to be right.

A program had been arranged for Feodore's stay and we were to visit Windsor. I guessed Mama would have liked to have refused but the invitation was extended to Feodore and Ernest and they accepted graciously, so there was little Mama could do.

On that first day we were to go to the opera. Feodore said she was so tired and Mama, looking at her tenderly, said, “Well, my darling, you must go to bed. It has been a long day for you and I do not want you to be exhausted.”

I cried impulsively, “Feodore, go to bed and I will sit with you and we will talk until you go to sleep.”

“No,” said Mama firmly. “You must go to the opera. It will be expected.”

So I went although I should have loved to stay with Feodore. But I have to admit I did enjoy the opera. Giulia Grisi was singing and I thought her voice quite divine; and it was Rossini's L'Assiedo di Corrinto. Moreover the opera was followed by Les Sylphides in which Taglioni danced. So I was in a state of bliss.

To have seen Feodore, Grisi, and Taglioni in one day made it one of the most thrilling of my life so far.

I awoke next morning with the glorious feeling of anticipation and the first thing I said to myself was: Feodore is here.

What joy there was during those days! I contrived—rarely—to be alone with Feodore for then we would talk easily and naturally. But, of course, either Mama or Lehzen was usually there. I loved the children. They were so affectionate and so amusing.

We went to Windsor, where Feodore was received most kindly by the King and Aunt Adelaide, although I must admit the King rather pointedly ignored Mama, and my happiness was tinged with apprehension while we were there because I was terrified that a storm would blow up between them and I pictured Mama marshalling us all out at short notice.

But Feodore's visit did seem to soften even her and I believed she did want Feodore to enjoy it. Feodore was of a gentle, peace-loving nature; she accepted life more readily than I did. Perhaps Mama was right and I had been affected by the knowledge that I might step one day into a very exalted position. It may be that that gives one a determination not to be subdued.

The best way to be alone with Feodore was to go riding, and this we did frequently. There were others with us of course but with little maneuvering we could sometimes escape from them. One day we did this and as we walked our horses through a narrow lane I said to her, “I believe we have escaped.”

Feodore looked at me quickly and said, “Do you sometimes feel you would like to escape?”

“I should like to be alone sometimes.”

Feodore smiled. “I understand. Do you sometimes feel like a prisoner?”

“Yes, I think I do. You see there is always someone there. I even have to sleep in Mama's bedroom. One of the things I want most is a room of my own where I can go sometimes… and be alone.”

“I understand.”

“When you were there…did you feel like that?”

“Mama was determined to take care of us but sometimes she seemed like a jailer. But you will soon be eighteen, Victoria, and then…”

“Then I shall be free.”

“You will be the Queen. Does that frighten you a little?”

“It makes me very serious.”

“You will be good, I know.”

“I shall try. And I shall be free.”

“I think,” she said, “that you will know how to have your way. It is not long now. You will marry, as I did.”

“That meant freedom for you.”

“One is never really free. There are always obligations.”

“Yes, but free to be alone sometimes.”

She said suddenly, “What did you think of the cousins?”

“They were charming.”

“We have several cousins. I wonder what you will think of the SaxeCoburgs. I find them the most charming of all.”

“Uncle Leopold has written to me about Ernest and Albert. He thinks I shall enjoy meeting them very much. I believe they will visit us one day.”

“I feel sure they will.”

“What are they like, Feodore?”

“Very handsome. Uncle Leopold watches over them with great care.”

“As he does over me.”

“He has a great family feeling.”

“Tell me about the cousins. What do they look like?”

“They are tall and good-looking. My favorite of the two is Ernest.”

“Oh, why? Uncle Leopold writes most glowingly of Albert.”

“They are both admirable. Ernest is so honest and good-humored.”

“Is not Albert honest and good-humored?”

“Oh yes, but Albert is more clever, sharper. What I mean is Ernest is more… innocent.”

“I do long to meet them.”

“They must miss their mother.”

“Why?”

Feodore looked at me sharply. “I suppose you haven't heard the scandal?”

“You mean about the cousins?”

“Well, not exactly about them. It is their parents.”

“Do tell me.”

Feodore hesitated and I wailed, “Oh, Feodore, don't be like the rest of them. Don't have secrets from me. They are always implying that I am too young for this and that. Don't be like that, dear Sissy.”

Feodore said, “Well, I suppose you will know one day. Their mother was Luise of Saxe-Gotha, and when she married Duke Ernest of SaxeCoburg it should have been a happy match. But something went wrong. After the birth of her eldest son, Ernest, there was trouble between her and the Duke. He was not as faithful as he might have been; she was lonely and there were people at Court to flatter and amuse her. There was scandal about her, and soon after Albert was born at Rosenau. It is a beautiful yellow stone castle surrounded by trees—oak, beech, elm, and ash…. You can look out from the windows to the Thuringian Forest. There Albert was born on a lovely August day.”

“I know. It was three months after I was born.”

“Yes. You are almost of an age. He was a particularly beautiful child from the moment he was born. Some babies are very ugly… and they grow prettier every day. That was not so with Albert. He was born beautiful…His father was at that time the Duke, his father having died. Luise loved her child—even more, they said, than she had loved her first-born, Ernest. He was like an angel, she said, with his blue eyes, well-shaped nose, and dimples. He was only about three years old when the trouble, which had been brewing for some time, burst out into an open scandal.”

“What scandal?”

“Luise, left alone by her husband, had made certain friendships; one was with a certain Leutnant von Hanstein. She had a great enemy at her husband's Court in Maximilian von Szymborski who was determined to destroy her. This he succeeded in doing by fomenting scandals and rumors and blowing them up out of all proportion to reality; and in time the Duke was so convinced that his wife was unfaithful that he decided to divorce her.”

“Divorce!” I cried. “How terrible! Oh, poor little Albert and Ernest.”

“Yes. The children loved their mother dearly but she was taken from them. There was great sorrow in the household. But the people loved Luise. They thought she had been wronged and they called for von Szymborski's blood. He had great difficulty in getting out of the country alive. But there was a divorce. Albert was seven years old at the time. Luise married von Hanstein, but when she was only thirty years old she died.”

“What a sad story! What happened to Albert and Ernest?”

“They were left to the care of their grandmothers … and Uncle Leopold. They were greatly loved but they must have missed their mother.”

“I am sure they did. She seemed so gentle and so falsely accused. I long more than ever to meet my Saxe-Coburg cousins.”

“The Duke was married again to Mary of Württemberg, but I don't think that was a very happy marriage either.”

“He should not have been led astray by that wicked von Szymborski. How strange it is. Albert had no mother and I had no father. It seems as though there is a special bond between us…”

I rode on thoughtfully. I could not keep Cousin Albert out of my mind.

It was too much to expect life to go on smoothly with Mama and the King under one roof. Every day when I rose I used to pray that nothing would go wrong, that Mama would continue in the more mellow mood, which Feodore's presence seemed to have brought about. Now, I thought, she is acting more like a mother than a would-be regent.

The King arranged that we should go to the races, and what fun it was to be in the royal box and watch the dear horses vying with each other. I jumped up in joy and urged them on until Mama laid a restraining hand on my shoulders, and I saw the King was amused and rather liked it that I seemed to forget my dignity for a moment.

Aunt Adelaide was smiling. She said, “We must do this again.”

But trouble came as I feared it would.

It was one evening before dinner. Mama seemed suddenly to remember how important she was and to fear that the relaxation of the last few days may have given the impression that she was ready to be relegated to obscurity.

We were waiting to go in to dinner. The King was getting impatient, no doubt wondering why the Queen did not give the sign for us to leave for the dining room.

Aunt Adelaide was nervously trying to continue talking so that people did not notice the time. But the King suddenly shouted, “Are we waiting for that woman?”

Everyone knew who “that woman” was, and I felt myself growing very hot.

“She is a nuisance,” went on the King. “We will go in without her.”

Then Mama appeared, looking quite splendid in bows and feathers and swinging jewelry. I was beginning to think that she was often a little overdressed.

Aunt Adelaide said smoothly as though nothing had happened, “Shall we go in to dinner now?”

She was the most tactful woman I had ever known. She hated scenes and with a husband like Uncle William she had plenty of practice in avoiding them.

We went in and I sat between the King and the Queen, and although he was pleasant enough to me, I kept intercepting the glares he sent in my mother's direction.

It was a small incident really but it did spoil the complete perfection of Feodore's visit.

Alas, it was time for Feodore to go. We parted in tears. She said she would come again and I must go to her. It was doubly hard to have to part from the dear little children. That was the worst of these visits from relatives. When they were over, one was so very sad.

Writing in my journal solaced me a little, and this time I could set down exactly what I felt.

“How sad at breakfast not to see the door open and Feodore come in smiling leading her little girl; and not to get the accustomed kiss from her. At one we lunched and I missed dear Feodore here again terribly. I miss her so much today. At three we drove with Lehzen. How dull the drive seemed without dear Feodore. We dined at seven and after that Aunt Sophia came. We passed a dull, sad evening…”

How sad that those who loved each other so dearly must be apart.

MY SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY was approaching. I was very conscious of the fact that in two years I should be eighteen. I mentioned it in Mama's hearing and she looked very startled. She did not want me to grow up and was constantly telling me that I must be less selfish, less conceited; I always wanted my own way and could be stubborn about getting it. I knew now what she meant. She wanted Uncle William dead now so that she could be Regent.

I wrote in my journal: “Today is my sixteenth birthday. How very old that sounds! But I feel that the two years to come till I attain my eighteenth are the most important of any.”

And of course Mama read my journal.

She invited some of my favorite artists to the Palace to give a concert for my birthday, dear, beautiful, talented Grisi among them. It was a most wonderful birthday present, and I felt the old affection for Mama welling up in me because she had taken such trouble to please me.

Then I saw the complacent looks Sir John Conroy exchanged with her, and the thought entered my mind that since I was getting older they were trying to placate me a little.

However the concert was wonderful and I could not have had a birthday present I liked better.

After the birthday, Mama, who had been complaining about the lack of space that was allowed to us in the Palace, decided that as there were plenty of rooms available she would appropriate more to our use.

She selected seventeen. They were very grand.

“And why not?” she said to Sir John. “They are to accommodate the heiress to the throne. I suppose we shall have to ask that old buffer's permission.”

They laughed, but later they were very annoyed because the King refused his permission for them to have the rooms.

“Well Lehzen,” I said, “we did really have quite enough, and there are so many of the family to live here.”

Lehzen said nothing but I believed she agreed with me.

My confirmation took place in the Chapel Royal at St. James's and many members of the family were present. I wore a white lace dress and a bonnet trimmed with roses; and as usual I was in an agony of suspense as to what Mama would do to offend the King. She had talked very seriously to me beforehand about being good and friendly to those about me, but not too friendly, and to curb that rather common habit of smiling on everyone and gushing—yes, positively gushing—over those for whom I believed I had some affection.

“Mama,” I said, “I always know when I have affection for someone, which is rather different from believing it.”

She ignored that and went on to say that she had cared for me since my birth (which was true enough) and she was the only one I could trust and if I obeyed her in everything, I could not stray from the right path. I was a little unappreciative of Sir John Conroy, which grieved her. I must show more friendliness toward him.

I set my lips firmly. I would show no friendliness when I did not feel it, however much Mama insisted, and even though I was being prepared for confirmation.

There was trouble from the start. The King said my mother's retinue was far too large and some of them would have to go. He incensed her by ordering Sir John to leave the chapel.

I was very upset, but the King took my hand and pressed it kindly, which implied that he was not in the least angry with me. Of course my mother was beside me and I stood between her and the King at the rail of the altar.

I had to remove my bonnet, which Mama took; and after the confirmation ceremony the Archbishop began to lecture me about the stern duties that lay ahead. It seemed to me that I was going to have a very miserable time and if that was what it meant to be a queen I would rather remain as I was. I could not imagine why people were so eager to get the crown. According to the Archbishop it brought nothing but strict duty and overpowering responsibilities.

While he was talking, the King at my side started shifting his feet impatiently; and I guessed that he was on the point of commanding the Archbishop to put an end to his homily. Fortunately the Archbishop understood what the King meant and brought his lecture to an end.

When we retired to the closet the King said, “Well, that's done.” Then he leaned toward me and said, “Don't want to take too much notice of all that stuff. Priests!” He shook his head in disdain. “I've got a present for you. You're a nice girl and you want to enjoy life.”

I said, “Oh, Uncle William, you are a kind man.”

His present to me was a set of emerald jewelry and the Queen gave me a tiara of emeralds to match. I thanked them warmly and Aunt Adelaide embraced me.

“It was all very serious, wasn't it?” she said. “You must not be upset by it. Things usually work out very well, and I am sure they will for you.”

Dear Aunt Adelaide and kind Uncle William! I did wish more than ever that we could be friendly with them and that I did not have to hide my affection for them from Mama.

On the way home Mama said I had been a little forward with the King and Queen. It was only right that they should give me valuable jewelry. After all the jewelry belonged to the crown … and that would soon be mine.

She brightened a little because she said he—meaning the King—had looked strained and he seemed to have some difficulty in walking.

I said, “I don't want to think of his death. I don't want to be Queen.”

Mama laughed. “You shouldn't let the Archbishop's sermon upset you. I daresay he thought you were young and a little frivolous—which indeed you are—and needed a warning. You should thank God that you have a mother to look after you and guide you—a mother who has always made you the center of her life.”

“Yes, Mama,” I replied, supposing that was true; but how I wished that she had made something else the center of her life and left me a little more on the edge.

When we returned she gave me a bracelet containing a lock of her hair.

“Something to remind you of me… always,” she said.

GREAT JOY AWAITED me. There was a letter from Uncle Leopold who was very soon setting out for England with his wife. His great delight in coming to England would be to see his dearest child.

My excitement was so great that Lehzen feared I would be ill. Mama had arranged that we should go to Ramsgate and Uncle Leopold could stay with us there. It was an ideal way of keeping clear of those nuisances at Windsor who, she was sure, would try to interfere if we stayed at Kensington.

So to Ramsgate we went.

There was more wonderful news. Feodore had given birth to another child—a little girl—and they were both doing well.

“We have pondered over names,” wrote Feodore, “and we have decided that this little girl must be named after her dearest aunt. So Victoria is to be her name; but because I could not have two Victorias so close to me—I should be muddled and wonder which one was which— she will be Adelaide first and Victoria second. I thought the Queen would be pleased. She was so good to us when we were at Windsor. So the baby is to be Adelaide, Victoria, Mary, Louisa, Constance.”

I laughed with Lehzen. “How strange to think of this little one… my niece. And Charles has a child too. He could do as he wished. You see he did marry Marie Klebelsberg and is happy with her. Poor Feodore, who wanted Augustus… although she does seem happy now so perhaps it was all for the best. But I think dear Feodore would make herself happy doing what people want her to rather than what she wants herself. I don't think I should ever be like that.”

“You have a will of your own,” said Lehzen, with a grudging sort of admiration.

I made presents for the little newcomer, but my thoughts were really with the coming of Uncle Leopold and my new aunt whom I was longing to see.

I hoped all would be well in Ramsgate and there would be nothing to irritate Mama. She loved Uncle Leopold and she knew that his aspirations regarding me were the same as her own, so there should be no reason for conflict. However, she was rather disgruntled because she could not fly the royal standard over the house we took in Ramsgate; and of course there were no more “poppings” as Uncle William called the royal salute—and that gave her cause for complaint.

It was decided that we should go to the Albion Hotel to await the arrival of the ship which would bring Uncle Leopold to us, as we should be able to watch it come in from there; and as we rode from our house to the hotel I was gratified to see how the people of Ramsgate had decorated the streets; and as we passed through they called out: “Long live the little Princess!” or “Welcome Victoria!” Mama sat in the carriage waving regally, but they had only silence for her, and went on shouting my name as though to make it clear that the cheers were not for her.

Lehzen and Lady Conroy with Flora Hastings came with us. Lady Conroy might not have been there she was so insignificant; and as Flora Hastings and Lehzen disliked each other, I rather wished Mama had brought someone other than Flora.

However what did it matter? The ship bringing Uncle Leopold was coming nearer.

And there he was, looking slightly older than when I last saw him, for it was four years and two months.

He was coming toward me and I flew into his arms. Mama smiled, not at all displeased. Uncle Leopold was delighted and so were the crowds. They liked exuberant displays of affection.

Uncle Leopold took my face in his hands and said how I had grown and this was one of the happiest moments of his life.

I told him how wonderful it was for me to be with this dearest of uncles.

He presented his bride and I was so happy because I liked her immediately. She was slim and pretty with lovely fair hair and blue eyes. Her bonnet was blue to match them; and she looked so elegant in her light brown silk dress.

“Oh, you are just as Uncle said you were!” I cried.

“You must love each other,” commanded Uncle Leopold, “because that is what I wish.”

“I shall, I shall,” I said in what Mama would call my impetuous way. “I do already.”

And I did, for I knew at once that we were going to be friends.

Uncle Leopold contrived that he and I should have some long talks together, just the two of us. He talked to me as seriously as the Archbishop had, but how different it was coming from Uncle Leopold! He made me very much aware of the responsibilities I should have to face in the future, but reminded me again and again that he would always be there and all I had to do was write to him. He would be my guide and comforter, as he had always been. I was growing up fast, I was no longer a child. There would be many things I had to consider. He had heard rumors which deeply disturbed him. The King had ideas for me to marry my cousin George Cambridge. He did not think that a very good idea. Some of my relatives on my father's side were a very odd group. Quite unlike those on my mother's who were serious, right-minded, and goodliving.

I told him I thought both Georges were very good boys, and George Cumberland was quite unlike his father and mother. In fact he was very charming indeed and it was so sad that he was going blind.

“There can be no cure for him,” I said. “It is a great grief to his parents, and although I know they are not good people, they do love him.”

“My dearest child,” said Uncle Leopold, “you are apt to allow your emotions to take charge, you know. Of course you are very sorry for George Cumberland. It is indeed a great affliction. It may in a measure be retribution for the sins of his father. There have been the most unpleasant rumors about that gentleman.”

“To make George blind because of his father's wickedness! Oh, I think that is most unfair.”

“Dearest child, it is not for us to question the ways of God. But enough of these cousins. They may be pleasant boys but they cannot compare with your German cousins. What did you think of Ernest and Alexander?”

“They were delightful.”

“Far more interesting than your Cumberlands and Cambridges, I'll swear.”

“Well, they were different… and most amusing.”

“You thought them delightful, I know, but you have not yet met your Saxe-Coburg cousins.”

“You mean Ernest and Albert.”

“The most delightful boys I ever knew in my life.”

“I have heard of them.”

“If you liked your cousins Alexander and Ernest…”

“Oh, I did, Uncle. I did.”

“How much more will you be enchanted by these two.”

“When am I going to meet them?”

“Soon, my dearest, very soon.”

“I long to see them … particularly Albert.”

“Well, Albert is indeed a wonderful boy. I look upon him as my own. He is as close to me as you are, my dearest. If I may be a little indiscreet …”

“Oh do, Uncle, please do.”

I thought he was going to tell me about the scandal regarding Albert's mother of which I had wanted to speak to him, though some caution had made me hold back, for I felt it might well be that Feodore should not have told me and if I mentioned it she would be reprimanded for her indiscretion.

Evidently I was right because Uncle Leopold made no reference to it. All he said was, “It is wrong of me to have a favorite in this case, but it is difficult to prevent it. I will tell you this, Victoria, but don't mention it: Albert is my very favorite of all your cousins.”

“Then I am sure he will be mine.”

“I hope so, dear child. I fervently hope so.”

Then he talked at length about Albert. How he loved to ride through the forest on his English ponies; how he collected plants and geological specimens.

“He is more of a student than a sportsman. He once said to me that he could not understand why people made such a business of shooting. Which shows very fine feelings, do you not agree?”

I said I did. “Is he very clever?” I asked. “He is very studious.”

“He would probably think I was rather frivolous.”

“Your mother tells me that you are a little… and apt to let your emotions rule your head. Well, my darling, I am of the opinion that that is not always a bad thing. You are overflowing with affection, and when you love you do so wholeheartedly. I am sure Albert would admire that in you. He finds it less easy to express his emotions. You could help him to be more demonstrative. He could help you to be more restrained.”

I liked the thought of helping Albert.

“He is so good-tempered. It is only that which is unjust or dishonest that makes him angry. I remember once watching them play at Rosenau. There were a party of them and some were to defend the castle. Albert was with those who were trying to capture it. One of the boys found a way in through the back, but Albert would not take it. He said it was not becoming in a Saxon knight to do anything underhand and that the enemy should be attacked from the front.”

“How noble!”

“Albert is noble. You will find him the most honorable, noble, and handsome knight that ever was.”

“I long to meet him.”

“You shall…very soon, I think.”

“Will you arrange it, Uncle Leopold?”

“I shall. He will come to see you with my blessing and my urgent wish that you shall each realize the other's virtues—and all you have to offer one another.”

“I hope he will come soon.”

Uncle Leopold drew me to him and kissed me tenderly. “Understand always, dearest child, your welfare is the most important thing on earth to me—yours and that of dear Albert.”

“I feel I love him already,” I said.

“I have no doubt you will love him very dearly.”

Then Uncle Leopold began to talk of other matters, explaining how necessary it was for me to have humility, which was one of the greatest Christian virtues. Fate had set me in a difficult position. Great responsibilities loomed ahead. I told him that I knew this, and the Archbishop had made it very clear to me when I had been confirmed.

“Always be on guard against hypocrisy. It is the besetting sin of our times. I am sorry to say, my dear love, with all my affection for old England, the very state of its society and politics renders many in that country humbugs and deceivers. The appearance of the thing is generally considered more than the reality. Defend yourself against this system. Let your dear character always be true and loyal. Always be prudent and cautious… but at the same time be sterling and true.”

Oh, how wonderful it was to listen to his eloquence! Although there were a great many dos and don'ts and one often seemed to cancel out the other. I must say what I meant and yet I must be careful. I must listen to the hypocrites and be true to myself and yet at the same time be prudent, which must mean disguising my true feelings, and how could one be truthful if one did that?

It seemed to me that I was going to find it difficult to do the right thing because it was all rather contradictory, and I consoled myself with the thought that Uncle Leopold—although a strip of water would separate us—would be there if I needed him. And I should shortly meet this Cousin Albert who seemed to combine all the virtues which could be found in one person—with none of the vices.

I had some pleasant times with Aunt Louise too. She turned out to be just a little frivolous when Uncle Leopold was not present. That made a delightful intimacy between us. I told her how elegant she always looked and how I loved her clothes. We talked about clothes at great length and she told me what colors would be best for me. She took me to her apartments and showed me some of her gowns. She said they were a little old for me, but I tried them on and paraded in front of the mirror. She put her head on one side watching me and she said French fashions became me. In fact they became everybody because they were the best in the world. I had to agree with her, and I really did look rather nice in some of her gowns. She was small but slimmer than I, and she had the prettiest figure while I was a little fat.

I said, “My clothes are always little-girl clothes. I do wish I had something grown-up to wear.”

“You will,” she said. “After all you are no longer a little girl.”

In a rush of confidence I said, “I think Mama wants to keep me a little girl as long as possible. She is very much afraid that I shall soon be eighteen.”

I stopped hastily. I was being indiscreet. I must remember all the injunctions Uncle Leopold had given me. But it did seem that every day my resentment against Mama was growing.

Then came the sad day when Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise must leave us.

I flung myself into Uncle Leopold's arms and sobbed, “Don't go.”

He stroked my hair and said how it grieved him to leave me.

“But I have a country to govern, my little one.”

I clung to Aunt Louise. “I am going to miss you so. It's going to be so dull without you.”

Uncle Leopold put his lips to my ear and whispered, “Soon I shall send Cousin Albert to comfort you.”

That did comfort me a little, but I was very sad as I watched the ship, flying the flag of Belgium, sailing away.

How many years would it be, I wondered, before I saw Uncle Leopold again?

IT WAS SHORTLY after that when I became desperately ill. Ramsgate will always remind me of those dark days that came almost immediately after Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise had departed.

I was only vaguely aware of the figures around my bed. Dear Lehzen, of course, was there, and so was Mama. They thought I was going to die. Poor Mama, she must have been in despair for all her hopes rested in me, and I could imagine the excitement in the hearts of the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland. My death would be as much a boon to them as Uncle William's would be to Mama. To come near to death oneself makes one realize how wrong it is to desire other people's departure from this life so that one's own may become more comfortable in it.

I remember Lehzen cutting off most of my hair.

“It is for the best, my darling,” she murmured and her voice shook with emotion for the tresses she had so lovingly curled.

There came a day when the crisis came and after that had passed they believed I would live.

I loved them all then—Lehzen, of course, my dearest and most faithful friend, and Mama, who looked so pale and wan without her frills and feathers, so anxiously had she been watching over me.

I was amazed at my weakness. I could scarcely sit up without help.

“She needs the greatest care,” said Lehzen; and she was going to supply that care, and not even Mama was going to come near me if Lehzen thought it best for me to be left alone. But Mama and Lehzen were together in this. Their great aim was to have me well.

How tired I felt! I just wanted to sleep and sleep. So I slept through the days and nights, and whenever I opened my eyes Lehzen would be there seated by my bed, and if she were not it would be Mama.

They brought nourishing things for me to eat. “Do try to eat, my darling, for Mama's sake” or “Lehzen will be so worried if you don't.” So I tried to eat to please them.

“Rest,” they said. “You are getting better every day.”

I believed them, but I felt so terribly weak.

I noticed that neither Lehzen nor my mother would bring a mirror to me. That was why I guessed they did not want me to see myself. So one day I insisted, and as I was growing agitated Lehzen brought me a looking-glass. I could hardly believe that it was myself who looked back at me. That pale little face instead of the plump, blooming one that had been mine! My eyes looked enormous and my hair…I put up my hand in despair.

“It will grow again when you are well,” said Lehzen.

“What has happened to me?” I cried.

“You had typhoid fever, dearest. But you have recovered and your hair will be as lovely as ever and so will you be… quite soon. Young people recover from these upsets very quickly.”

“But I am sixteen, Lehzen. That is not really a young person.”

“It is still young. You are going to be well in next to no time. I shall see to that.”

“You have been here all the time?”

“Day and night, my dearest, and when I cannot be here your Mama is.”

“That is comforting. And tell me the truth, Lehzen, will my hair grow again?”

“I swear it,” said Lehzen, putting some caraway seeds into her mouth as she always did when she was emotional.

“Oh, dearest Lehzen, how glad I am that you are here to look after me. You are the dearest friend I ever had.”

She nodded, kissed me, and bade me rest. “The more rest you have, the more good food you eat, the sooner you will be better.”

I trusted Lehzen. I would soon be well.

A rather unpleasant incident took place one evening, which I could not think of for a long time after without experiencing shivers down my spine.

It was just beginning to get dark, when I was awakened suddenly by a sense of evil. I saw the darkening room and felt the heaviness of my limbs to which I had become accustomed. I could not understand what had awakened me. I saw the familiar objects of the room begin to take shape. Lehzen was sitting by the fire; her needlework had fallen from her hands and she was asleep.

Someone was in the room, coming stealthily toward the bed.

To my horror I saw that it was the man whom I had come to think of as a sinister enemy—Sir John Conroy—and he was tiptoeing silently toward me.

I started up. “What do you want here…in my room?” I demanded.

He put his finger to his lips and glanced at Lehzen.

I went on, “I have been ill. I do not have visitors.”

“This is different. This is only your old friend.”

“No,” I said firmly.

He was right beside my bed now, and he laid a hand on mine, which was outside the bedclothes. I withdrew it sharply.

“A quick word,” he whispered. “Nothing more. I just want you to give me your promise.”

“What promise?”

“Your solemn promise… that's all. Give it to me and I will go.”

“Do you think I would promise you something without knowing what it is?”

“Your mother has agreed that it is best for you to do this.”

“I want to know what.”

“It is all very simple.” He was still whispering and poor Lehzen, tired out from looking after me, slumbered on. He glanced toward her and smiled. Then he went on, “You are going to need a private secretary when you are Queen. I have been with you for years. I know you well. I respect you so much. The post should be mine. Just give me your solemn promise. That is all I want. Give that to me and I will go and tell your Mama that you have agreed. She will be so delighted.”

“No,” I said firmly. “No. No.”

“You are very weak at the moment. We can talk more of this when you are fully recovered…Just for now your promise…your solemn promise will do. You are naturally honorable and would never go back on a solemn promise. That is all I ask. We can talk together…your mother, you, and I…when you are well—and that will not be long now.”

“I will give no promise.”

“The matter is urgent.”

“Why?”

“You must be ready when the time comes.”

“I am ready.”

“You are young…young and pretty. You like to dance and sing and play. It is only right that you should. So you need a secretary to take on all the disagreeable work. I have a paper here. Your signature is all that is needed.”

“No,” I repeated. “No.”

This conversation had been conducted in whispers, but now I spoke loudly. I said, “Go now. I am not well enough to be disturbed like this.”

That woke Lehzen. She jumped to her feet in alarm.

“What?” she stammered. “Why…?”

“Do not disturb yourself, Baroness,” said Sir John suavely. “The Princess and I have been transacting a little business.”

“The Princess is not well.”

“This was nothing to harm her. Just a little light conversation.”

“The Princess does not receive visitors.”

“Oh come, I am a member of the household. And I have the Duchess's permission to call on the Princess.”

Lehzen was splendid as I knew she always would be.

“I will not have you disturbing the Princess. Please leave at once.”

“My dear Baroness, you exceed your authority.”

“It is my duty to protect my Princess from upsets of any sort. She wishes you to leave at once.”

He turned to me appealingly and I cried, “Yes, I do. Go away. I will give you no promise. Leave me alone.”

“Oh come, come,” he said placatingly. “We don't want a storm, do we?”

“If I want a storm I will have one,” I retorted, “and I shall not appoint you as my private secretary now … or ever. Please go.”

Lehzen went to the door and held it open. He lifted his shoulders and bowed to us, smiling that sneering smile that I hated so much.

He went out and Lehzen firmly shut the door.

She came to the bed and took me in her arms, holding me tightly against her.

“I hate that man,” I said.

“He is a monster. It is a pity…”

“Yes, Lehzen, say it. It is a pity he is here. How dared he! To come into my room like that and try to get a promise from me when I was feeling too weak to resist. That was what he wanted, and he thought I would be too ill to fight him. It is clear to me.”

Lehzen stroked my hair.

“You must not be upset, my pet. It is bad for you. And I was asleep when he came in! I cannot forgive myself.”

“Dear Lehzen, you were worn out with caring for me.”

“To think I was asleep!”

“I dealt with him. Lehzen, they…he is getting worried. It is because I am past sixteen, and there are less than two more years to go when Mama might be Regent and before I am Queen. Who knows, she may hope to be Regent even then.”

Lehzen did not say anything. She was too upset. She kept calling me her baby; and I had a feeling that she, like my mother, did not want me to grow up.

IT TOOK ME quite a long time to recover from my illness. Lehzen used to brush my hair every night and she always said it was growing and would soon be as thick as it used to be, but whether that was true or whether she was comforting me I was not sure. But I did begin to feel stronger and more like my old self.

I think many people had believed that I would not get over my illness. It was certain that the Duke of Cumberland did. How he longed to be King himself with poor blind George to follow him. Sly and ruthless as he was, he did act rather incautiously. Very often instead of furthering his schemes, he ruined them.

I did hear a disquieting story. During my illness he had been often with the King. I remembered how he had been in attendance on the late George IV right up to the time of his death and what anxiety there had been when Mama had thought he was trying to get Uncle George to insist that I go to Windsor, where Mama was sure Cumberland would try to get rid of me. Now that I was ill he was currying favor with William.

That was not easy. Uncle William might be called a bumbling old fool, but he was not without a certain shrewdness and he could not be so easily duped.

The story was that during a banquet when the monarch's health was being drunk, Cumberland raised his glass and said, “The King's heir. God bless him.”

There was silence around the table for Cumberland was behaving as though I were as good as dead—in which case he would be the next.

Uncle William was furious. He went very red in the face and standing up he lifted his glass and cried very loudly, “The King's heir. God bless her!”

Dear Uncle William!

Mama laughed heartily over that. I heard her talking to the odious one about it.

“That has finished him! He was a little too sure of himself this time.”

It seemed that she was right. Cumberland disappeared from Court and I began to get better.

WHAT A JOY it was to return to Kensington. There, a surprise awaited me, for I found that we had better apartments than before. We had seventeen rooms in all and that was a great improvement.

“Only what is due to the dignity of a queen,” said Mama.

I wanted to remind her that I was not yet that, but refrained from doing so. She was so excited because Uncle Leopold had written to tell her that two cousins, with their father, were coming to England; and she was always delighted to see her relatives.

This was her brother Ferdinand and his two sons, Ferdinand and Augustus. I was a little disappointed, for when I had first heard that cousins were coming I had thought of Ernest and Albert. However the prospect of a visit from cousins was always interesting and I shared Mama's happy anticipation.

In due course they arrived, and they were all charming, particularly Ferdinand, the elder cousin. He was on his way to Portugal to be married, and that made him seem a very romantic figure.

It was a repetition of that other cousinly visit; we rode, walked, danced, and sang together. They were able to bring us news of Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise; and I was very happy for them because they now had a little son who was named Leopold after his father. I had been in transports of joy when I had heard of the child's safe arrival. Dear Aunt Louise must have been particularly joyful as she had been disappointed once before.

When Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide invited the cousins to Windsor I was in a fever of apprehension lest there should be tension between the King and Mama.

He did ignore her and made a point of my sitting between him and George Cambridge at dinner there; but perhaps due to Aunt Adelaide's tact, we managed to avoid a real upset and Mama and the King satisfied themselves with black looks.

I was glad when the visit was over, which was such a pity, for I did love Windsor and the King was always so kind to me. We danced often and that was a great pleasure. I had too little dancing. Mama said I should not dance with anyone who was not royal, which meant that there were very few people with whom I could dance. But the cousins loved dancing, and would often whirl me around the drawing-room—which was of course permissible.

I was very sorry when they left and kept telling myself how fortunate I was to have such delightful cousins.

That was like a prelude. It was not long after the departure of those cousins when Mama summoned me to her apartments. She was waving a letter in her hand and I knew that it was good news.

My heart began to beat more quickly. Could it really be…at last?

“Your Uncle Ernest is coming.”

Uncle Ernest! He was the one who had been so harsh with his wife Luise—Albert's mother.

“And,” went on Mama, “he is bringing with him his two sons—your cousins Ernest and Albert.”

“Oh, Mama!”

“I thought you would be pleased. Uncle Leopold is delighted that they are coming. He says he very much hopes that you and Albert will like each other. He is, as a matter of fact, certain that you will. He says he knows you both so very well and he regards you as his beloved children.”

“Oh Mama, that is wonderful!”

“They will be here in May.”

“For my birthday?”

Mama nodded.

I said, “My seventeenth birthday!” Mama looked a little less pleased, but I took every opportunity of reminding her how old I was getting.

Excitedly I discussed the visit with Lehzen. I would get out my drawing books to show them. I wondered if Albert … the cousins… liked drawing. I wondered if they sang. Did they like dancing?

“They would have been taught these accomplishments as a part of their education,” said Lehzen.

“Yes, Lehzen, but there is a difference between being taught and liking.”

Lehzen patted my shoulder and smiled at me.

Inevitably trouble began to show itself. I had not realized before how anxious people were for me to marry a husband who should be chosen for me by them. Being in my position meant that there were differing opinions in the family and it was a foregone conclusion that the one chosen for me by my mother would not be the King's elect.

The King very much wanted me to marry George Cambridge. There was no doubt that George was a very charming boy; he had been more or less brought up by Aunt Adelaide when his parents were abroad, and she and the King looked upon him as the son they had not had. They considered him ideal for me. But on the other hand Uncle Leopold and my mother had chosen Albert. It was natural for me to lean toward Uncle Leopold's choice. I had adored him, looked up to him. Of course the dearest friend I had ever had was Lehzen, but that was different. I did not idolize her; I merely loved her. Besides, Uncle Leopold's being a man made him seem more grand, more important; and I felt, at that time, that if Albert was his choice, he must be mine too. The fact was that I had fallen in love with Albert's image before I met him. I was determined to love Albert, because, since Uncle Leopold thought he was the most charming and the most suitable young man in the world, he must be.

The King was very well aware of Uncle Leopold's intentions—just as Uncle Leopold was of the King's. I had heard the King refer to Uncle Leopold as “that water-drinking nincompoop, always thinking he is ill, prancing about in built-up shoes in his feather boa.” Uncle Leopold's opinion of the King was equally unflattering.

I was horrified though when the King tried to prevent my uncle and cousins from coming to England. But the Prime Minister apparently said this could not be done, for there was no political reason why their visit should be banned. Then Uncle William looked around for the best ways of discomfiting them and he decided to invite the Prince of Orange and his sons to come to England, and their visit should coincide with that of my uncle and cousins. The Prince of Orange had long been an enemy of Uncle Leopold's.

It seemed that, as usual, someone was going to do something to spoil the visit.

Uncle Leopold was incensed.

He wrote to me:

My dearest child, I am really astonished at the conduct of your old Uncle, the King. This invitation of the Prince of Orange and his sons, this forcing him upon others, is very extraordinary…

Not later than yesterday I got a half-official communication from England, insinuating that it would be highly desirable if the visit of your relations should not take place this year. The relations of the King and the Queen, therefore, to the God-knows-what-degree, are to come in shoals and rule the land, when your relations are to be forbidden the country, and that when, as you know, the whole of your relations have ever been very dutiful and kind to the King. Really and truly I never saw or heard anything like it, and I really hope it will a little rouse your spirit; now that slavery is even abolished in the British Colonies, I do not comprehend why your lot alone should be to be kept, a little white slavey in England for the pleasure of the Court, who never bought you, as I am not aware of their having gone to any expense on that head, or the King's even having spent a sixpence for your existence. I expect that my visit to England will be prohibited by an Order in Council…

I have not the least doubt that the King, in his passion for the Oranges, will be excessively rude to your relations; this, however, will not signify much; they are your guests, not his.

How angry he was! And how disappointed I was that this great occasion should be tarnished by this perpetual family bickering.

But nothing could really spoil that encounter.

Albert! What can I say of that first meeting? It is so sad to recall it now and remember him as he stood before me—tall, handsome—more handsome than anyone I had ever seen—quite beautiful—those large clear blue eyes, so earnest, so serious. I chide myself now because there was a time when his seriousness irked me a little. How could I ever have been irked by anything about my beloved Albert?

I was greeted first by Uncle Ernest, who smiled so warmly and affectionately; then Albert's brother, that other Ernest, who was tall and handsome, but not quite so tall, nor quite so handsome as Albert; and he was very thin, far too thin. Albert was a little … just a little stouter—and that was just right.

Mama was so kind and gracious. How charming she could be when she allowed her love to overcome her need always to have her position recognized! There was a wonderful family feeling about this encounter. Mama knew Uncle Leopold's wishes about Albert and me, and she was in wholehearted agreement with them. So this was the happiest occasion I had ever known because it was my first meeting with my beloved Albert.

It is hard to recall it in detail, and it is too sad now that he has gone and there are only memories left. But I remember our going into the drawing room where Uncle Ernest gave Mama a beautiful lory, knowing how fond she was of birds; and Albert told her that it would not bite even if she put her finger into its mouth.

“The colors are so lovely!” I cried. “I shall paint your lory, Mama.”

“Victoria is very pleased with her little sketches,” said Mama, and dear Albert said he would like to see them; so I sat on the sofa, between my two cousins, and showed them my sketch books.

Ernest said flatteringly, “They are wonderful. You are a great artist.”

Albert commented that they were really quite good, which was, after all, honest.

Then we talked about music and I discovered that they both loved it, and that they played the piano and sang. How wonderful to sing duets with Albert!

Mama clapped her hands and said how well our voices went together.

My seventeenth birthday came. Another year and I should be eighteen—the magic age. Seventeen seemed almost there. I wrote in my journal:

“Today I completed my seventeenth year. I am an old person indeed.”

The days were so short. Every morning I woke up, I thought: The cousins are here. Dear Ernest and dear, dear Albert.

I wonder sometimes whether I should have been quite so taken with Albert had it not been that Uncle Leopold had imprinted such a picture of his perfections in my mind.

Perhaps I eulogize, looking back, and imagine I felt more strongly than I did. I had been deeply impressed by all the cousins. Should I have been as ready to fall in love with any one of them as I was with Albert? And was I in love with Albert at this stage, or did the overwhelming love for him which came later, make me believe I had been?

We were not so much alike in those days, although afterward we grew to think alike, to admire the same things and strive for the same ends.

I was at that time frivolous and pleasure-loving. How I enjoyed dancing! And it was my great delight to stay up late indulging in light entertainment. I was impetuous, loving people almost as soon as I set eyes on them, and showing my feelings. I could dislike people too. There was nothing restrained about me, and my dear Albert was all restraint.

Then he did not care about dancing when to me it was the most enjoyable of entertainments, and he grew very sleepy at night. I was never sleepy when something was going on and I wanted to take it all in.

No, we were not very much alike. It was only later that we grew together. So it may well be that I did not appreciate him at the time as much as I later thought I did.

We were invited to Windsor. The King could hardly ignore them, even though he had not wanted them to come. I was in a fever of apprehension during the visit, but it went off fairly smoothly. I noticed that Albert was yawning during one of the King's levees and I was afraid that others would see it too. I could imagine the King's comment. Not that he could talk. He often nodded off and everyone knew it for when he opened his eyes he would often say something quite irrelevant to what was happening.

Albert was aloof, reticent by nature; I was the reverse. He was witty and very thoughtful; he was cleverer than his brother; and when I looked at Albert I wondered why I had ever thought Ernest handsome.

So it was a wonderful and memorable visit, and when it came to an end I was desolate. I could not bear it. The days had been so full and exciting.

Albert said goodbye regretfully, but quietly. I on the other hand could not stop my tears from falling.

“Dear Albert … dear Ernest…you must come again.”

Mama wept too and said how delightful it had been to have her dear relations with her.

“There must be more meetings,” she said.

I had written a letter for Uncle Ernest to take to Uncle Leopold and in it I told him of my pleasure in meeting Albert.

I must thank you, my beloved Uncle, for the prospect of great happiness you have contributed to give me in the person of dear Albert. Allow me then, my dearest Uncle, to tell you how delighted I am with him, and how much I like him in every way. He possesses every quality that could be desired to render me perfectly happy. He is so sensible, so kind, so good, and so amiable too. He has besides the most pleasing and delightful appearance you can possibly see.

I have only now to beg you, dearest Uncle, to take care of the health of one, now so dear to me, and to take him under your special protection…

I was desolate for weeks after they had left, and my only comfort was in remembering little scenes from the visit and some of the wise comments of my dear Albert.

He told me, long afterward, that when he saw Uncle Leopold after that visit, and our uncle asked him what he thought of me, his only comment had been, “She is very amiable.”

I laughed when he told me and compared his comment with all the fulsome compliments I had paid him.

But, as I said at that time, Albert and I were very different from each other.

DASH COMFORTED ME during those days after the cousins' departure. The dear little thing seemed to understand. When I sat remembering, he would leap onto my lap and nestle up to me as though to say: The cousins have gone, but you still have me.

“Yes, darling Dashy,” I said. “I have you.” And then I remembered how funnily Albert had played with him, for the two had taken to each other immediately, and that made me sad again.

Now that I was soon to be eighteen I felt a new independence. My dislike for Sir John Conroy had increased. I should never forgive him for coming into my bedroom when I was ill and trying to extract a promise from me in the hope that I was too weak to refuse. It seemed a dastardly act—and typical of him. Mama was as close to him as ever, and I began to think of them as “the plotters.” Mama was so furious because Uncle William lived on, and she was becoming so dictatorial to me, and told me several times a day how much she had done for me. I said, very coldly, on one occasion, “No, Mama. You did it for yourself.” And I swept out of the room and left her.

I think that shocked her, for she was silent, and there was a long conference with Sir John.

I was changing. I was beginning to feel that there were two factions in our household, and my mother and I were opposing each other. Sometimes I felt I had only one real friend in the household; and that was my dear Lehzen.

My half-brother, Charles, Prince of Leiningen, was with us at this time. He had two adorable little boys and I loved playing with them; but I believed that Charles was on my mother's side and planned with her and Sir John to make me subservient to her will, which was for her to be Regent, even after I was of age, and to make Sir John Conroy my private secretary. I knew what that would mean. They would make the rules and I should be expected to obey them.

No! It was not going to be like that at all.

For a long time Aunt Sophia, who was a constant caller at our apartments as she was also living in the Palace where visiting could then be easy and unceremonious, was somewhat enamored of Sir John. I knew that she was a spy for him. What was it about that man that women found so irresistible when he was to me quite odious? I was always careful what I said in Aunt Sophia's presence.

Another sly creature was Flora Hastings, whom I had never liked since she was so rude to Lehzen, sneering at her German ways and her love of caraway seeds—as though that mattered, weighed up beside loving and selfless devotion, which was very different from what I found in some quarters!

Looking back, I can see that I actively disliked Mama at this time.

I wished to dissociate myself from her. I did not want the King and Queen to think that I approved of her behavior toward them. I am afraid my mother was not a very wise woman. She was very uneasy about the growing change in me but she did not attempt to alter her ways by practicing a little diplomacy. She could so easily have won me back, for she was after all my mother, and I felt a strong sense of duty toward her. I wanted to love her and tried hard to—but it was just that she would not let me. She must have known that I was acutely embarrassed by her assumption of royalty, but she continued in exactly the same way. I think in her heart she could not accept the fact that I was no longer a child.

I was deeply distressed when Aunt Adelaide invited us to Windsor on the thirteenth of August.

Mama said, “Here is an invitation to celebrate Adelaide's birthday.”

“Oh, that will be fun,” I cried.

“Not for us,” said Mama, in the role of haughty Regent which she loved to play. “We shall not be there.”

“But, Mama…”

Mama held up a hand and I saw Sir John's eyes on me…mocking…because he knew that I wanted to go to Windsor and even if I did not enjoy going I would believe we should do so on such an occasion.

“Adelaide”—Mama rarely referred to her as the Queen—“forgets it is my birthday a few days later and I do not intend to celebrate that at Windsor.”

“Your Grace will wish to go to Claremont to celebrate your birthday, I expect,” said the odious one.

“You are right, Sir John,” said Mama. “That is what I intend to do. So I shall decline this woman's invitation. I suppose she thinks her birthday is so much more important than mine.”

“Oh no, she wouldn't think that at all, Mama,” I began.

But Mama just smiled at me. “My darling, you don't understand these things.” She turned to Sir John and just as though I were not there said, “I shall send a note at once.”

I went back to Lehzen, fuming with rage. How dared they? Why had I allowed it? Why did I not say, I am the heir to the throne. I could be Queen at any moment now … but I hope not. I want Uncle William to go on living. I don't want to be Queen… not until it is too late for you to interfere.

Oh yes, there was beginning to be war between Mama and me.

The King's birthday was on the twenty-first, not long after the Queen's, and of course that was a time when I must be present because it was a State occasion. No doubt Mama would like to give a regal refusal, but even she could not do that.

So we traveled down to Windsor.

The King had been to Westminster to prorogue Parliament and before returning to Windsor he decided to call in at Kensington Palace because he would know we were not in our apartments. Whether he had some inkling as to what had happened about our apartments I did not know. All I was aware of was that Mama had asked for more rooms and they had been refused. I naturally thought, when I came back to Kensington after my illness, that he had relented and given the required permission. I was to learn otherwise. I felt sure that he must have had some suspicion of what had happened and no doubt Mama's impolite rejection of the invitation to celebrate the Queen's birthday had particularly incensed him.

The fact was that he called at the Palace to inspect our apartments and was filled with rage when he discovered that, in spite of the fact that he had refused Mama permission to take the extra rooms, she had deliberately disobeyed him.

We were in the drawing room when he returned and he came straight there. His eyes were bulging and his face was crimson. There was no doubt of his anger.

I approached him and curtsied and he softened slightly, but as I kissed him and he returned my kiss I could sense that he was quivering with rage; and I knew that it was against Mama. Even so I was unprepared.

Mama was close behind me. She always resented my being greeted before her. The King did not ignore her. He bowed almost imperceptibly and his eyes blazed at her.

He then said in a voice that could be distinctly heard all over the drawing room, “A great liberty has been taken with one of my palaces. I have just left Kensington Palace where, against my express command, apartments have been taken. I cannot understand such conduct. Nor will I endure it. It is quite disrespectful toward the King.”

Mama stood there, pale, but with her head held high, regarding the King haughtily. I was so ashamed, I could have wept. I should have known. How dared she! And I had so enjoyed those lovely rooms at the Palace. If I had known that we had no right to them I should have hated them. I should have forced her to vacate them. Yes, that was what I should have done. I should not have allowed Mama to behave as she had. I should let her know that her importance came through her relationship to me.

I wanted to leave Windsor. I could not look at all these people. I saw in their faces that amused excitement that people have when there is trouble for others. I wanted to run away and hide.

The Queen said, “The King is very tired. It has been a long day for him and the journey from Westminster to Windsor can be exhausting.”

She went out with him. Mama and I followed them. I could not bear to look at Mama. I was seething with anger against her and I knew I should show it.

Part of me did not care. And yet I held myself in check. Perhaps the time was not yet ripe. But it was coming.

WORSE WAS TO follow.

I spent a restless night though Mama, in the same room, seemed to sleep peacefully. I could not understand how she could reconcile herself to such behavior. If anyone had flouted her authority or attempted to rob her of one iota of the dignity she thought due to her, she would have been incensed; yet she continually defied the King, which was actually defying the Crown.

When I was eighteen, when I took on responsibility, she must never be allowed to dictate to me.

I was longing to leave Windsor for I grew so apprehensive when Mama and the King were under the same roof, and I had rarely seen him so angry as he had been on the previous day. I thought he was going to have a fit—and if he had it would have been Mama's fault.

Perhaps tomorrow we could leave.

So it was with great trepidation that I went down to dinner that night. My fears were on a firm foundation although the King was charming to me, but I noticed Aunt Adelaide was watching him in that uneasy way she had when she feared there might be trouble. The King behaved as though Mama were not present, looking right through her as though she were invisible; but when he turned to me he was very friendly and kept patting my hand. He said my eighteenth birthday would be in the coming May… another nine months. Then I should be of age. He stressed that once or twice, and although he did not look at Mama, I think he wanted her to hear it.

There were a hundred guests because it was his birthday, and it was naturally a very grand occasion. When the meal was over the Queen proposed the King's health, and he got up to reply.

We were all relaxed and even the Queen seemed to be lulled into a sense of security. The evening was almost over and it had passed without any unpleasantness.

And then it happened.

The King rose to reply to the toast. We all expected him to ramble on as he invariably did at such times, but soon we were all roused from our complacency.

“Thank you all for your wishes for my continued health,” he said. “I trust to God that my life may be spared for nine months longer, after which period, in the event of my death, no Regency will take place.” He looked at me. “I should then have the satisfaction of leaving the royal authority to the personal exercise of that young lady—” He pointed a finger at me and I shrank into my seat. I dared not look at Mama. “—the heiress presumptive to the throne, and not in the hands of a person now near to me who is surrounded by evil advisers and herself incompetent to act with propriety in the station in which she would be placed. I have been insulted—grossly and continually—by that person, and I am determined to endure no longer a course of behavior so disrespectful to me. Among many other things I have particularly to complain of the manner in which that young lady has been kept away from my Court; she has been repeatedly kept from my Drawing Rooms, at which she ought to have been present, but I am fully resolved that this shall not happen again. I would have her know that I am the King, and I am determined to make my authority respected, and for the future I shall insist and command that the Princess on all occasions appear at my Court, as it is her duty to do.”

As I listened I felt the tears gushing to my eyes. He was more than angry; he had been deeply wounded; and he was a kind old gentleman although I knew he could not be considered a good king; he was more like a bluff country squire. He blundered and rumbled on and was often incoherent, but he was kind and meant well, and what more can one ask of people than that?

Mine were tears of humiliation. I was ashamed of Mama, who sat there as though stunned, for once speechless and bewildered as though, in spite of the King's outburst only the night before, she could not believe her ears.

The Queen as usual came to the rescue. As the King sat down she rose; and that was the signal for the ladies to follow her from the dining room.

When we were in the drawing room Mama's fury burst out.

“I…I have never been so insulted in my life,” she cried. “We are leaving at once. I shall order the carriage immediately.”

“No, Mama,” I protested. “We cannot do that. Please, Mama, listen to me.”

Mama was too distraught to notice the firmness of my tone.

The Queen said gently, “You cannot leave tonight. It is too late. Wait until the morning.”

I suppose Mama realized how impossible it would be to leave at that hour for Claremont, so tightening her lips and clenching her fists, she agreed to stay for the night.

“But not a moment longer,” she cried. “The first thing in the morning we leave. To be so insulted…in front of all those people—”

I felt a coldness enter my heart. It was true she had been chastised publicly. But, Mama, I thought, you deserved it. You deserved every bit of it.

AFTER THAT THE rift between myself and my mother was apparent to everyone. I could not sympathize with her. I could not forgive her for taking possession of those rooms at the Palace when the King had refused them to her. They were his rooms; it was his Palace; and to take them was, in a way, stealing.

Mama would not learn lessons and there was another unfortunate incident.

The King had appointed his daughter by Dorothy Jordan, who had become Lady de I'Isle and Dudley, custodian of Kensington Palace, which meant that she had apartments there.

Mama was outraged. The Palace should be for the convenience of members of the royal family, she said, and she did not count an actress's bastards in that category. But the King evidently did…I had always heard that he was very fond of the FitzClarences and that from the moment she came to England Aunt Adelaide had treated them all as her step-children.

I did not care for them—not because of their birth, but because I found some of them decidedly arrogant. This did not apply to Lady de I'Isle and Dudley, however, whom I quite liked. She was heavily pregnant when she came and while she was at the Palace she was confined. Mama was furious at all the fuss. The King sent his doctors, and the condition of Lady de I'Isle and Dudley was said to be very grave.

Mama had arranged a dinner party and I said to her, “Mama, you must cancel the party. We cannot have it while the King's daughter is in this condition so near us.”

Mama cried angrily, “What has the King's bastard to do with me? Why should I not receive my guests because of that creature?”

“Mama,” I said, “she lives here. They are all very anxious about her.”

Mama shrugged her shoulders and went on with her preparations. The party took place and while it was in progress Lady de I'Isle and Dudley died.

I was horrified for I hated to be associated with such conduct. I went to Lehzen. She agreed with me, of course. It seemed to me that she was the only one in the household to whom I could reveal my feelings.

After that I became more aloof. I found it increasingly difficult to cloak my attitude and a definite coldness crept into my relationship with Mama.

My brother Charles tried to reason with me, and I made it clear to him that he was interfering in matters that were no concern of his. I was sorry for I did not want to be on bad terms with my family, but Charles heard only Mama's side and he tried to tell me that I was incapable of acting without her.

“No,” I said firmly, “I shall be incapable of acting with her.”

I needed Sir John Conroy to be my secretary, he said. I had no idea what burdens of state would be mine. How could a young girl without experience rule on her own?

I said, “I shall have my ministers to help me.”

They were the people I wanted. Not Mama. Not Sir John Conroy. Not my brother Charles.

Charles left soon after and went to see Uncle Leopold.

As a result of that visit Baron Stockmar arrived.

I knew that he had been very close to Albert; he had also been with Uncle Leopold at the time of Charlotte's death. He was three years older than Uncle Leopold and very wise, so I had always heard from my uncle and, of course, I believed every word he said. Uncle Leopold had brought him to England as his physician when he had married Charlotte, and as my uncle himself was plagued by many ailments, he had great need of Dr.Christian Friedrich Stockmar. He had had such confidence in Stockmar that he had sent him to assist in Albert's upbringing, which clearly showed his regard for him.

I greeted Baron Stockmar warmly, so did my mother. He was close to Uncle Leopold and that made me pleased to see him; but I soon realized that he too had my mother's side of the story, and he began by urging me to take Sir John Conroy as my secretary.

I was most emphatic about that. I had grown very much stronger in the last few months. It may have been because of Mama's activities, which made me see her in an increasingly unflattering light; or it may simply have been that I was growing up.

My brother Charles joined with Stockmar in trying to weaken my resolve. I was young, so young, they kept reiterating until I could have boxed their ears. I was so inexperienced, they said.

I pointed out that they, being new to the country, were more lacking in experience of it than I.

They were amazed, but I made it perfectly clear that I would not be forced into making decisions I might regret afterward.

Later Lord Liverpool came to Kensington. He saw Sir John who, I knew, was fighting desperately for his political position. If I had had any say in that it would have been defunct long ago. I guessed he was telling Lord Liverpool that I was unfit to rule, that I needed guidance, that I was young for my years. For he had said these things and often implied them to me.

I managed to see Lord Liverpool alone.

He said, “Since you will not have Sir John Conroy for your private secretary, in the event of your becoming Queen, would you put yourself in the hands of the Prime Minister?”

I had seen Lord Melbourne once or twice and he had made a very favorable impression on me. I replied at once that I considered that most suitable. Perhaps Sir John Conroy could take the post of Keeper of the Privy Purse, suggested Lord Liverpool.

“No,” I said. “Never. Sir John Conroy will have no post in my household.”

I begged Lord Liverpool to try to understand the position into which I had been forced.

He looked at me very steadily and then he said, “I understand.”

I felt much better because I believed that if I could rid myself of my bète noir, John Conroy, and could escape from my mother's rule and take the advice of a man of the world like the Prime Minister—who after all was in charge of the country's affairs—I could face the tasks ahead of me with some confidence.

THE KING WAS as good as his word in insisting on my attending his next Drawing Room. My mother must have been shaken by that outburst of his, and although she laughed at him and called him an old buffoon, she did realize that when the summons came, it must be obeyed.

She seemed impervious to his insults and declared that he injured himself more than he did her—with which I did not agree. But I had for some time given up agreeing with my mother.

My eighteenth birthday was a short time ahead. Somehow I believed that when I reached that age a great deal of the petty irritation that I had to endure would pass away.

My mother talked of the King as though he were dying. Indeed, I knew he was getting more and more feeble; she was very resentful toward fate, which was allowing me to creep slowly up to my eighteenth birthday while the King still lived. Sometimes it seemed like a race between me and Uncle William. Would he die before I was eighteen? He saw it in that way, too, and I was sure he was determined not to die until I had come of age. He hated my mother as strongly as she hated him—more so perhaps, because he knew she was longing for him to die.

I was dismayed to find the Queen absent. Nothing went smoothly when she was not there. The King told me she was unwell and he had insisted on her resting.

I showed my concern and that pleased him. He said, “She will be about again soon. She does too much, you know.”

“I know how we all miss her when she is absent,” I said.

He nodded and at that moment caught sight of Sir John Conroy, whom my mother had insisted should come in our party.

The King called to the Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Conyngham came hastily to his side.

The King pointed to Sir John. He said, “I won't have that fellow in my drawing room. Throw him out.”

Conyngham looked bewildered. The King growled, “You heard me. Out! Out! I'll not have him here.”

Anyone but Sir John would have been overcome with shame. I had never seen anyone before turned out of the King's Drawing Room.

Sir John smiled insolently at Lord Conyngham and there was a nonchalant smile on his face as he was escorted out of the room.

I was pleased. At least the King shared my opinion, even if others were trying to convince me of the advisability of making him a member of my household.

I WAS GETTING letters full of advice from Uncle Leopold. Not that there was anything unusual about that. He had always advised me and he was getting more and more concerned. I wondered what Mama was writing to him and what my brother Charles had said to him when he went over to Belgium in such haste.

The eighteenth birthday was approaching fast. They all knew that once I reached it, I would no longer be the child whom they had taken such pains to direct in the way they wanted her to go.

Uncle Leopold was very happy that year because Aunt Louise had given birth to another son and for a while his letters were full of that happy event. I rejoiced with him and secretly would rather hear news of the babies than quite so many injunctions to do this or not do that— which sometimes seemed contradictory to me.

The new baby was named Philippe and Uncle Leopold told me that little Leopold was very interested in his brother, but not at all impressed by his appearance. After putting his head on one side and regarding the newly born infant for some moments he said, “Pas beau frère.”

“He now thinks better of him,” wrote Uncle Leopold, “but he makes an odd little face when he sees him. Later on they will have titles and I think young Leopold will be the Duke of Brabant and Philippe Count of Flanders.”

I smiled to think of those two children with such grand titles; and how happy I was because Uncle Leopold had found happiness at last, after all he had suffered in his marriage to Charlotte.

Now, all too rarely, he wrote of his family. There were constant injunctions on how I was to choose my household, how I was to act with my ministers… when the time came. I was beginning to be apprehensive and hoping that the time would not come just yet.

Uncle Leopold wrote, “My object is that you should be no one's tool.”

That phrase stayed with me for long after I had read his letter, and a rather disloyal thought came into my mind. No one's tool…No. Not even yours, dear Uncle.

A few days before my birthday Lord Conyngham called at the Palace. A message was sent to me asking me to go to the drawing room. When I arrived there I knew something important had happened. Mama looked very angry and Sir John was certainly put out.

Lord Conyngham bowed to me and said, “I have a letter from His Majesty who has commanded me to put it into no hands but yours.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the letter.

Mama would have taken it from me and I guessed that she and Sir John had tried to get their hands on it before I arrived; but Lord Conyngham had had express orders from the King to give it to no one but me.

I felt very important.

Mama said, “Well, open it, my love.”

I was aware of Sir John's snake-like eyes upon me and I replied, “I will open it in my sitting room.”

I was very confident of myself. Only a few more days to go before I reached my eighteenth birthday. It would be too late now for Mama to interfere with me. Her hopes of becoming Regent of England were over. It was time for her to realize I was grown up and would brook no interference.

I walked out of the room and when I opened the letter I read that the King was offering me ten thousand pounds a year and an establishment of my own—apart from that of my mother.

My joy was intense. I felt like a person who has been in prison and at last sees freedom ahead.

BUT OF COURSE I could not escape so easily. Mama and Sir John discovered what was in the letter and together they drew up a draft for me to sign. When I read it I refused to sign for it stated that while I gratefully accepted the ten thousand pounds, I begged to remain as I was because of my youth and inexperience. The draft set out, too, that my income should not be “Mother-free.”

I said I should like to consult one of the ministers—Lord Melbourne, for instance.

They went on and on. Mama would not stop telling me all she had done for me. I had misjudged my strength. I had so recently emerged from my captivity. I was still unsure of myself and needed advice. I thought of Uncle Leopold but I knew he would say “Sign”; for it was he who had said I needed to be with my mother for a while yet.

I thought: If I sign this, it is only for a few days. When I am eighteen, I shall do as I please.

I signed, to stop my mother's constant haranguing and to escape from the evil looks of that man.

As soon as I had left them I repented of what I had done, and I wrote a statement to the King in which I said that the draft was not my own.

I knew he would understand, and he apparently did.

At last the great day came. My eighteenth birthday. I was of age.

While I lay in bed contemplating what this meant, I heard the sound of singing below my window. It was George Rodwell, who was the Musical Director at Covent Garden, and I learned later that he had composed the song he was singing expressly for me on my eighteenth birthday.

I guessed that Mama had arranged this as a special treat, and instead of gratitude for such thoughtfulness in giving me the sort of pleasure I liked best, a notion came into my head that she was very worried and was trying hard to placate me.

The King had sent me a grand piano—one of the finest I had ever seen. I rushed to it and began to play while Mama looked on scowling. I knew she would have liked to send it back. But she could not. It was mine—and I was eighteen years old.

There was to be a grand ball in the evening at St. James's to celebrate my birthday—another gift from the King and the Queen. How wonderful! Mama must not spoil this. I wanted to tell the King how happy his gift had made me and that I should never forget to be grateful to him every time I played my beautiful piano.

It seemed that everyone was aware of the importance of the day. A deputation came from the city of London to congratulate me. Mama was at my side when I received it.

How she irritated me! She would never learn. I had been thinking she must realize now that she could no longer treat me as a child; but when I was about to reply to the deputation and thank them most sincerely for their good wishes and all the trouble they had taken to come to the Palace, Mama pushed me aside and talked to them herself. It was clear to me that I was not yet prepared to show my intentions. She still overawed me as she had when I was a child. So I was silent while she told them that I owed everything to her upbringing, a woman who had been left without a husband, how she had sacrificed herself for me, how she had never failed in her duty.

They were dismayed and disappointed because they had wanted to speak to me and they did not really like Mama; they did not like her fussy clothes, nor her accent. Why she, who had been so insistent that I should have no trace of a German accent, could not see that they resented hers, I could not imagine.

I found I was frowning at Mama with cold dislike.

Later in the day we rode through the streets.

“We must show ourselves,” said Mama.

And I wanted to reply, “No, Mama, I must show myself. It does not matter whether you accompany me or not.”

But there she was, regally inclining her head while the people shouted my name. I smiled at them and waved; and it was heart-warming to see how they loved me.

But Mama still seemed to think that all the cheers were for her.

Then it was time to get ready for the ball at St. James's. As always on these occasions I felt twinges of apprehension wondering what trouble would arise between the King and Mama.

How I loved a ball! I wanted to dance and dance all night. Nothing else could have given such a happy finale to a great occasion. And Mama would spoil it all—if she possibly could.

But she did not that time, which was due to no lack of venom on her part. It just turned out that neither the King nor the Queen were able to attend.

It was a wonderful ball. Dancing, I forgot all the irritations and fears of the past year. I opened the ball with the Duke of Norfolk's grandson who was an excellent dancer and executed his steps with perfection. I felt as though I were dancing on air.

And that was just a beginning.

I danced all the time and I was so happy as we rode home through the streets and there were still people out to cheer me.

Eighteen years old! The milestone passed!

How exuberantly I wrote in my journal next day about the crowd in the streets who had stood about just to see me ride by.

“I was very much amused,” I wrote.

I STAYED IN my sitting room. I hardly spoke to Mama; and when she came to bed at night I pretended to be asleep.

She and Sir John were very apprehensive.

Mama wrote notes to me. I think she believed she could impress me more by writing than by speaking because when she spoke she became so angry. There were tirades of wrath, to which I appeared to shut my ears. I would sit stolidly while she raved, and then make an excuse to go.

She and Sir John must have felt me slipping out of their grasp and that was very worrying to them both—particularly perhaps to Sir John. Mama would always be mother of the Queen and have some standing because of that, even though she did fail in her grandiose schemes for becoming Regent, whereas Sir John was in danger of losing his career.

“You are still very young,” wrote Mama, “and all your success so far has been due to your mother's reputation…”

No, Mama, I thought. If I have had any success that has been mine in spite of my mother.

“Do not be too sanguine about your own talents and understanding …”

No, Mama, I am not. I am just determined not to be the puppet of you and your friend, Sir John…

We were now well into June and the news from Windsor was grave. The King was very weak.

On that never-to-be-forgotten Tuesday morning of the twentieth of June in the year 1837 I was awakened from my sleep to find Mama standing beside my bed.

“Wake up, Victoria,” she said, “the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham are here with the King's physician. They are waiting to see you.”

“Why, Mama? What time is it?”

“Six o'clock,” she said. “But never mind the time. They are waiting to see you.”

I knew what this meant and an awesome feeling swept over me.

I rose and put on my dressing gown and slippers.

“Come,” said Mama, and she led me into the sitting room.

At the door, I paused and looked at her.

“I shall go in alone, Mama,” I said.

She stared at me.

But I knew then what position I held. I could feel the crown on my head. I had no need to do what she told me now.

“Alone,” I repeated firmly.

She looked stunned, but she did not attempt to detain me.

The three men knelt down as I approached, and I knew what that meant. I held out my hand for them to kiss as naturally as though I had rehearsed it.

They called me Your Majesty and I felt a great surge of emotion. There were tears in my eyes and in theirs. I suppose I looked so young and defenseless with my hair streaming down my back and wearing only my dressing gown and slippers.

The Archbishop told me that the King had died happy and had directed his mind to religion and was prepared for his death.

I turned to Lord Conyngham and asked after the Queen for I knew how she loved him.

I said, “Please take my condolences to the Queen.”

Lord Conyngham replied, “I will do as Your Majesty commands without delay.”

Then I left them and went into my bedroom to dress.

I was eighteen years old. I was a queen. Oddly enough the first thought that occurred to me was: Now I can be alone.