Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

Flora Hastings and the Bedchamber Plot

I SUPPOSE IT WAS INEVITABLE THAT, AFTER HAVING LIVED IN that state of euphoria bordering on ecstasy, there must be a reversal. Life is like that. It gives and then, when one is lulled into security, it takes away.

After the Coronation, life began to look less rosy, and at the core of all the discord was the odious Sir John Conroy. He was still in the Palace. It seemed ridiculous to me that I, the Queen, could not choose those I would have under my own roof.

Lord Melbourne's reply was, “It is kings and queens, Ma'am, who have less freedom than others to have their chosen friends around them.”

He admitted that Sir John was a big problem. “He is there in the Duchess's household. If she dismissed him, then we should be happy. But she will not, and he will not go unless we agree to all his monstrous demands. Therefore leave him alone. He will depart in time, but we cannot have him go in triumph.”

So we left him alone, but he refused to leave us alone.

There were growing in the Palace two factions: one for me, one for Mama. I did not like it at all, although some of those concerned found it exciting. It suited Mama's sense of drama, and as, since my accession, she had been relegated to a very minor position, it seemed as though, if she could not rule me, she wanted to make things as difficult for me as she could.

There was always a great deal of conflict between her attendants and mine. Lehzen was closer to me than ever.

I said to her, “You are more like my mother.” And once or twice I called her Mother. “I am going to give you another name,” I said. “What about Daisy? I always liked daisies.”

Lehzen laughed, well pleased. She was very happy during those days. She was—with Lord Melbourne, of course—my greatest confidante.

When I read through my journal, Lord Melbourne's name occurred very frequently and I thought it was more endearing to write of him as Lord M. When I told him this, he was amused and said he liked it.

“It is economical, which is a good trait. Even queens must not be too extravagant.”

To add to my uneasiness Lord Melbourne hinted that he was finding it more and more difficult to perform his duties with that small majority.

“Those damned Tories,” he said, “they baulk us at every turn.”

I did not really approve of strong language, but coming from Lord Melbourne it did not seem offensive, merely dashing—and it made me laugh.

“I wish Mama could have a household somewhere else,” I said. “Somewhere outside the Palace.”

He pondered this and said I must remember that I was an unmarried lady, and as such could scarcely live alone.

“Alone! Here! With dear Lehzen and all my ladies. You call that alone?”

“It is thought to be wise for unmarried ladies to have a duenna. That is the custom of the times, and whatever contempt we have in secret for customs outwardly, it is often easier to conform to them. So … until the day you take a husband, the Duchess should remain.”

That was another matter which depressed me slightly. I did not really want to marry. I had so recently become Queen; the people adored me; I had just spent the most wonderful year of my life; I did not want change of any sort.

But it came nonetheless.

My spirits drooped a little. Instead of leaping out of my bed in the mornings I would lie there thinking of what would happen that day, and it did not seem as exciting as it once had. I was putting on a little weight. There were so many dinners to attend, and of course I had to eat. I was discovering that if one were a queen people watched everything one did and commented on it. Not only that, they exaggerated; and this was brought home to me when I heard that people in the streets were saying that I was getting fat.

I was outraged. More so because it was true that I was putting on a little weight.

“It is good for you, my darling,” consoled Lehzen, “you need nourishment.”

Lord Melbourne was less comforting. “You must take more exercise,” he advised.

“I do ride and I do not greatly care for walking.”

“Sometimes it is necessary to do what we do not greatly care for.”

“Walking…in the cold wind! I really do dislike it. My hands get so cold, and so do my feet.”

“You should walk faster. That would keep your feet warm and you should wear gloves.”

“My hands get so red in the cold. That is why I wear my rings to hide the redness—and then I cannot get my gloves on because of the rings.”

“An absence of rings could mean a presence of gloves. Wouldn't that be wiser?”

I sensed a lack of sympathy in Lord Melbourne, and I had a feeling that he was a little critical of my increasing weight.

But that was unfair. He was as good and kind as ever. He was really worried, that was what it was. He greatly feared that a situation would arise when he could no longer continue in government. Then I should have another prime minister—which Heaven forbid.

It may be that fear was at the root of my discontent. I became fractious and my temper would flare up at the least provocation. Lehzen begged me to guard against it.

I was not quite so fond of the Duchess of Sutherland whom hitherto I had liked so much, and it was because she looked so elegant always and had so much to say that was witty and amusing. It seemed to me that she contrived to sit near Lord Melbourne in order to say it; and she quite monopolized him.

He had important Whig friends and was constantly in demand. There were many dinners he attended, and to which I could not go.

When I complained to him he would always brush the matter aside with that nonchalance that was so much a part of his character, and I always had the impression that he did not find our absences from each other so hard to bear as I did.

He was constantly at Holland House and had a great admiration for Lady Holland. Of course, people like Lady Holland and the Duchess of Sutherland were women of the world and would be able to converse with Lord Melbourne in a manner more suited to him than I was. Once I asked him about this and he said that he thought the conversations he had with me were very suitable for a queen and her prime minister.

“But I am much more fond of you than Lady Holland could ever be,” I cried.

He looked at me with that wonderful gentle expression, with the tears gathering in his eyes and nodded; so that for a time I was happy again. And when I persisted and asked if Lady Holland attracted him more than I did, he said very calmly and sweetly, “Oh no…”

But the real trouble came from Mama. The ladies of her household were continually making mischief with those of mine; and just as Lehzen was the most important of those in my household, Mama's special favorite was Flora Hastings.

I had never liked Lady Flora. Lehzen hated her; and with good reason. She never lost an opportunity of plaguing poor Lehzen, and was constantly making references to German habits and laughing about her fancy for caraway seeds.

Lady Flora was not young. I think she must have been about thirtytwo years of age. She was unmarried and not unattractive to look at. It was just her manner that was unappealing. She was rather elegant and quite vivacious; she wrote poetry and people said she had a way with words, which often means a venomous tongue. She could really make people cringe when she attacked them verbally. She was rather like Sir John Conroy in this; in fact she was a great friend of his, and I had heard it whispered—although I must admit among her enemies—that there was more than friendship between her and that odious man.

Lord Melbourne did not like Flora Hastings either. She belonged to a family of staunch Tories and, being a Whig, Lord Melbourne regarded the entire Hastings clan as enemies. He said Lady Flora was typical of them and he was not surprised that Lehzen disliked her.

He did not like Mama much either; and if it had not been for the fact that she was my mother and he had such perfect manners, he would have said a great deal more than he did. There were occasions, however, when he was goaded into making observations about her. I loved to talk to him about how I had been treated during my childhood, of how I had been pushed aside again and again and how it had embarrassed me.

“The Duchess's real feeling was not for you but for power,” said Lord Melbourne. “I fear she was not really strong-minded or she should have understood the futility of her actions; nor had she as much real affection for you as she feigned to have.”

How right he was!

One day when I was talking with Lord Melbourne in the closet where we discussed state matters and had those delightful personal conversations, Mama came in without warning. She had a conspiratorial look on her face—almost as though she thought she was going to surprise us in a most unpleasant way.

I was really quite angry.

I said, “I am engaged in business with the Prime Minister. I think it would be better if you made an appointment when you wish to see the Queen.”

Mama looked stunned but she made no attempt to argue; she just disappeared.

Lord Melbourne was looking at me, half amused, half admiringly.

“The Duchess should know that when her daughter refers to herself as the Queen she is going to be very firm indeed.”

And after that what I thought of as the war between our two factions seemed to become more fierce.

The ladies of the households became quite spiteful with each other; and Lehzen and I used to talk sometimes indignantly, sometimes laughingly, of the little battles that went on.

All the same I would rather not have had it so.

Meanwhile Sir John Conroy stayed on and I suspected that he set a great many rumors in progress, such as the fact that I was getting fat. There was another more pernicious one that I did not hear much about until later. This was that my friendship with Lord Melbourne was very close indeed— closer than the relationship between the Queen and her Prime Minister should be.

It was just after Christmas of that year 1839. That lovely morning when Lord Conyngham had come to me and told me I was Queen seemed more than eighteen months away. So much had happened since then. There was one matter that I had tried not to think too much about, but it would keep forcing itself into my mind. This was my changing attitude to Uncle Leopold. All my life until I became Queen, he had been the one I had looked up to perhaps more than any other. He had been the father I had never known. I had sought his advice on every occasion. I had strived to please him. I had believed everything he had told me. He had been more of a god than a man as far as I was concerned.

Now that had changed.

Ever since I had ascended the throne I had begun to detect something in Uncle Leopold's letters that made me very uneasy. It was quite insidious at first, but as time passed it became more and more obvious. Uncle Leopold wanted to manage the affairs of Europe and I was in a very powerful position. He had always exerted a great influence over me, so naturally he thought to use me now.

There was one sentence in one of his letters which seemed of special significance: “Before you decide anything important, I should be glad if you would consult me; this would also have the advantage of giving you time …”

I wrote back assuring him of my love and devotion, which I certainly felt, for I was not the sort of person who could dissimulate. Pretense was quite alien to my nature. In fact one of my faults was in betraying my feelings too openly. So I still did feel a great affection for Uncle Leopold and I never never could forget all he had been to me in my childhood; but the young Princess Victoria sheltered in her palace prison was not the Queen of England, and it was her task—with the help of her own government—to manage the affairs of her country.

Uncle Leopold wanted everything done in a way that would be advantageous to him.

There came the time when he was maneuvering with France and Holland for the rights of Belgium, and he wanted England to come down in his favor. He needed English support and he could not understand why England remained neutral. A little persuasion from me might save Belgium, he wrote.

All I want from your kind Majesty is that you will occasionally express to your ministers—and particularly to good Lord Melbourne— that as is compatible with the interests of your dominions, you do not wish your Government should take the lead in such measures which might in a short time bring in the destruction of this country as well as that of your Uncle and his family …

I was very upset when I read this letter. I showed it to Lord Melbourne who read it and nodded his head. “Leave it to me,” he said; and of course that meant: Leave it alone.

I waited for a whole week before replying and then I assured Uncle Leopold that he was very wrong if he thought my feelings for him could change. But at the same time I skimmed over the subject of foreign politics. All I said was that I understood and sympathized with his difficulties and he could be sure that Lord Melbourne and Lord Palmerston were very anxious for his prosperity and that of Belgium.

I had to make it clear to Uncle Leopold that he could not command me. I loved him dearly but I could not allow my affection to interfere with my country's foreign policy.

All this was distressing and added to my feelings of unrest.

It was in the middle of January when Lehzen came to me in a twitter of excitement. She said, “I have something really rather interesting to tell you.”

“Well, what is it?” I asked.

“It's… Scotty …” Scotty was a name that had been given to Flora Hastings by her enemies—I supposed because of her origins.

“Oh dear, what fresh mischief has she been up to?”

“Your Majesty may well ask. I think this is going to be rather amusing and not a little shocking. You know that she has for a long time been very friendly with that man? The Duchess has been quite jealous at times and so has the Princess Sophia.”

“It is past my understanding why these women think so highly of him.”

“He is supposed to be good-looking and they like his slimy way of talking.”

“I cannot understand how anyone could. But what is this about Flora Hastings?”

“You know Conroy went to her mother's house with her for Christmas.”

“Yes, in Scotland. Loudon Castle, wasn't it? I suppose he was a member of the house party.”

“She came back in the post-chaise with Conroy. The two of them would have been… alone.”

“She would have liked that. It must have given them one or two intimate moments.”

“So it seems,” said Lehzen.

“Oh come on. What are you trying to tell me. Really, Daisy, you can be most perverse at times.”

“I don't know whether I should tell you.”

“You know you are longing to tell me. I command you to get on with it.”

“Well, she arrived back after her most delightful post-chaise journey and complained of feeling ill; and there was a distinct change in her appearance.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“She was a little larger below the waist than it is good for an unmarried lady to be.”

“Oh, no. I can't believe it. Not Lady Flora.”

“Even Lady Flora has her foolish moments. She went to see Dr. Clark. She complained of pains and there was this significant protuberance.”

“What was it?”

Lehzen looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

“Oh no! It couldn't be.”

Lehzen shrugged. “Dr. Clark gave her rhubarb and ipecacuanha pills and she said they relieved her and the swelling had gone down. But that did not seem to be the case. Such swellings do not disappear until the appointed time. And now the truth has come out as such truths must. Dr. Clark told one of the ladies that Lady Flora Hastings is pregnant.”

“What a scandal! What will Mama do?”

“The Duchess is in a difficult position. If Sir John is responsible for Lady Flora's condition, the Duchess will have to do something about that.”

Lehzen laughed, already enjoying Mama's discomfiture.

I said, “Should not Mama be told at once?”

“Lady Tavistock does not feel that she can approach the Duchess who, as Your Majesty knows, might well refuse to see one of your ladies.”

“Perhaps I should tell her. But then in view of how difficult everything is between us that would not be easy. Perhaps Lord Melbourne's advice should be asked.”

“Lady Tavistock should tell him,” insisted Lehzen. “It would be somewhat indelicate for Your Majesty to do so.”

I wanted to say that I could discuss anything with Lord Melbourne; but I thought it best to let Lady Tavistock approach him first, and this she did.

I could hardly wait to see Lord Melbourne. He was amused by the contretemps. He thought it would raise quite a little noise.

“I cannot understand why these women like him so much,” I said. “There is Mama, Aunt Sophia, and now Flora Hastings.”

“He is an amazing fellow to keep three ladies in good humor all at once.”

“Oh, he is capable of every misdemeanor there is.”

“It seems that he might be capable of a good many.”

I was horrified that there could be such behavior in the Palace. There was no doubt in my mind that Flora Hastings was pregnant, and it did seem clear that the cause of her predicament was that demon incarnate, that monster whose very name I could not bring myself to utter.

Lady Flora went about looking pale and ill and very bitter, yet defiant. She had heard the talk and professed to be horrified by it. She was a virgin, she proclaimed, and it was not possible that she could be pregnant.

“There is only one thing to do in such circumstances,” said Lord Melbourne. “That is wait and see.”

I sent for Dr. Clark and talked to him about the case. Lehzen was present because she felt it would be improper for me to talk of such things with him alone.

“Have you told her outright that she is with child?” I asked.

He said he had not.

“Then all she complains of at the moment is gossip. Perhaps you should tell her that her symptoms suggest pregnancy.”

Lehzen said, “Why not ask her if she is secretly married? She will know what you mean then; and if she says she is not, tell her she ought to be.”

“That would be a way of putting it,” I said.

Dr. Clark said it was difficult to make an accurate diagnosis without a proper examination and he had only seen the protuberance over Lady Flora's skirts.

“There should be a thorough examination,” said Lehzen, “and until that has been made and Lady Flora proved to be innocent, she should not be allowed to appear at Court.”

I thought that seemed reasonable and gave Dr. Clark permission to confront Lady Flora, which he did. She was very distressed, insisted on her innocence and said she would indeed not submit to an examination, which naturally she would find distressing and humiliating.

I sent Lady Portman to Mama to tell her what was happening. Lady Portman came back and said the Duchess was stricken with horror and she did not believe that Lady Flora was pregnant. She thought it was a wicked plot of which there were many in the Palace.

On no account, she insisted, should one of her ladies be submitted to such a test, and that must be an end to the matter.

Mama was as foolish as ever. As if there could be an end until the matter was solved.

Lady Flora realized the position because she was a very astute person; and after a few days of consideration, hearing that Sir Charles Clark was in the Palace and that he was a specialist in such matters, she said she would submit herself to the examination.

It was a pity that these events were not confined in the Palace walls. Unfortunately gossip has a way of seeping out and there was talk everywhere about the scandal and how the Queen was playing a big part in the war against immorality in the Palace.

Everyone seemed to know that the examination was to take place. I could imagine the salacious expression on their faces. They loved all scandal but nothing could delight them more than one of this nature. They were prepared to damn Lady Flora as a scarlet woman or applaud her as a saint. It all depended on the result of the examination.

We were all stunned by the verdict, which was that Lady Flora was a virgin.

As soon as Lady Portman told me the news I came to the conclusion that I had behaved in a foolish way. I should have kept aloof from the proceedings and should never have allowed myself to take sides. Everyone knew of the feud between my mother's household and mine and when one of my mother's retinue attracted so much attention, it appeared that I had put myself at the head of those who had denounced her.

What could I do? I must immediately see Lady Flora and express my deepest sympathy and offer my regret for what had happened. I sent a message to her asking her to come to me that evening that I might speak to her in person. I received a message from Lady Flora to the effect that she was suffering from exhaustion and bad headache; and while she appreciated the honor done to her, begged me to allow her to postpone her visit until she had had time to recover from her ordeal.

Lord Melbourne came to see me.

He was surprised at the verdict and inclined not to believe it.

“But they have given Lady Flora a certificate, which she insisted on, and it states that she is a virgin.”

“Sometimes these matters can be rather complex.”

He did not discuss it in detail, which would have been indelicate and Lord Melbourne would never be that; but I did hear afterward from Lady Tavistock that there had been cases where someone believed to be a virgin had given birth; and there was a certain enlargement of the womb as there would have been if Lady Flora were pregnant.

“The matter must rest there,” said Lord Melbourne.

But that was not to be permitted, for Lady Flora lost no time in writing to her brother, the Marquess of Hastings, who, although he was on a sick bed, dashed up to London.

He was a young man who was determined to make trouble and Mama was not one to miss an opportunity like this. The enemy—that was myself and my household—had committed a tactical error. Interest in the Hastings scandal was growing, Lady Flora Hastings was the heroine; and as in all melodramas there must be a villain. I was selected for that role. Although I had had little to do with the matter, just as the captain is responsible for his ship, so was I for the Court.

The people were murmuring against me and my cruelty to the sainted Lady Flora; I quickly noticed the absence of those cheers in the street, and I heard an occasional hiss.

“What about Lady Flora?” I heard someone in the crowd shout. It was most distressing.

I began to feel ill. I could not sleep at night and lost my appetite.

Lord Hastings determined not to let his sister's cause be forgotten. Lord Melbourne told me he had come bursting in upon him demanding “this and that.” He said he wanted a complete vindication of his sister's honor.

“He has had that,” I insisted. “The doctors have said—”

“That is not enough. He is consulting the law and and threatens to take action.”

“Against whom?”

Lord Melbourne put his head on one side and smiled dolefully at me.

“I assured him of our innocence,” went on Lord M, “and the only way I could mollify him was bustling him off to consult the Duke of Wellington.”

“Why should he think he could help?”

“Your Majesty, people think that the man who beat Napoleon at Waterloo could settle all difficulties with the same success. I saw Wellington afterward. He told me that Hastings was in a state, and that the best way he could serve all concerned was to Hush It Up. A sentiment with which I am in entire agreement.”

It was several days before Lady Flora came to see me.

Poor woman, she was clearly ill. She knelt before me but I took her hands and made her rise.

“My dear Lady Flora,” I said, “I am truly sorry that this has come to pass.” I spoke with feeling for it was indeed true. “I wish it could all be forgotten. The Duchess is most distressed.”

“The Duchess has always been so tender to me … so loving … so kind.”

Lady Flora's voice broke and I kissed her again.

“I thank Your Majesty,” she said, “and I will try to forget… for the sake of the Duchess.”

I do believe that Flora Hastings would have let the matter drop but, of course, there were those about her who had no intention of allowing this to happen.

Gossip continued, fostered, I suspected, by Conroy, who saw a chance of having his revenge on me.

If only we had met his demands—anything to have got rid of him! Letters were appearing in the Press, and they were all in praise of Lady Flora and against me.

One day Lord Melbourne came to me and said that he had had a letter from Lord Hastings demanding the dismissal of Sir James Clark from the Palace.

“This man is determined to make the matter public,” said Lord M.

“That must not be,” I replied.

“It shall not be, Ma'am, if I can help it.”

There was gossip about Lehzen. “The German woman,” they called her. There were stories of how she had wormed her way into my affections and had ousted my mother. She, they said, was responsible for the terrible ordeal which Lady Flora had undergone. I was becoming more and more distressed. It was all so unfair and so untrue. I was very worried.

I would not have believed that this domestic matter could have been so blown up as to become an attack on me. I was sure that Sir John Conroy was at the bottom of it and that it was he who sent the snippets of gossip to the Press. The story was taken up by foreigners, exaggerated and embroidered.

Lady Flora had written a letter to her uncle, Hamilton Fitzgerald, and when this was published in the Examiner, there was no longer any hope of hushing up the matter. The whole world was talking of it. In this letter Lady Flora had set out the sequence of events as they had happened. She praised the Duchess for having treated her with sympathy and affection and there were veiled criticisms of me. She implied that I should have dismissed Sir James Clark and those who had spread the gossip about her. She said Clark was the tool of certain women, and he alone should not be sacrificed for the sake of others who were more guilty.

Lord Melbourne made a public statement to the effect that I had taken the first opportunity to express my regret and sympathy to Lady Flora; but the Tory Press, headed by the Morning Post was determined to make a battle of it.

The Whigs were limping along in government. The ladies of my bedchamber—who were regarded as the instigators of the plot against Flora Hastings—were all from Whig families. It was unhealthy, it was said, that the Queen should be led by that party just because its chief minister happened to be her very special friend.

AS IF THAT were not enough, a greater catastrophe loomed.

I knew there was trouble in the House of Commons. This all came about because of what was happening in far-away Jamaica. The abolition of slavery in British colonies had become law as long ago as 1833, and because the slaves in Jamaica had been freed, the planters were now in rebellion and demanding to have them back.

Lord Melbourne, who always believed in delaying unpleasant matters, along with his party, wanted to suspend the law for a while until some agreement could be come to. Sir Robert Peel and his Tories were against this, and when the motion was put before the House, it was passed with such a small majority that Lord Melbourne decided that it was quite impossible to continue in government.

I shall never forget the day he came to me. There was a great sadness about him.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “you know that for some time it has been difficult for your government to carry on its business in the House because we have such a small majority, and to govern for long in such circumstances is certain to become an impossibility. The Cabinet had decided to stand by this Bill regarding the slaves in Jamaica, but Sir Robert Peel is opposing us in the matter and if he should persist and a majority in the House of Commons agreed with him, it would be impossible for Your Majesty's government to remain in office.”

“No,” I said. “No. I will not allow it.”

He looked at me, half smiling. He did not say as much but he was reminding me by the tenderness of his looks that it was not a matter for me to decide.

He did not remain long. He knew I was too upset and that there was nothing he could say to comfort me.

Lehzen found me sitting in my chair staring ahead of me.

She knelt down and put her arms round me.

“I am afraid,” I said, “that dreadful Robert Peel is going to force Lord Melbourne to resign.”

“Oh no, my love, not that!”

“Lord Melbourne has been to see me…to warn me.” Then I burst into tears. “I will not have it, Lehzen. I am the Queen, am I not?”

“There!” she soothed me. “It hasn't happened yet. Lord Melbourne won't let it happen. He is clever, that one.”

I tried to believe her. But I could not. Life had changed. Who would have believed that a short time ago I could have been so happy!

The horrible business of Lady Flora was still in everyone's mind. They were still writing about it in the papers; the people in the streets regarded me with dislike.

This I could bear—but not the separation from Lord Melbourne.

IT HAD HAPPENED. The government had resigned. He came to see me looking doleful and I knew that was due to the disruption of our relationship, which had been such a happy one. But for that reason he would not greatly care about resigning the premiership. I think he found managing the country's affairs something of a burden. I knew he would have liked to retire, to be alone, to have more time for reading; he liked good talk and of course he was welcome in the greatest Whig houses throughout the country, where, I heard, the conversation was scintillating and he was always at the center of it.

No, it was the severance of our close relationship which would be so painful to us both.

I could not be dignified and royal—not in the face of such misery. “Why all this bother about Jamaica! Those wretched Tory dogs! They are just seizing on it to make trouble.”

Lord Melbourne's wry smile suggested that he agreed with me.

“Do not blame Jamaica,” he said. “If it were not there the dogs would find another bone of contention. We happen to think we are right in this matter and they think that they are. Sir Robert Peel is a very fine gentleman. I think you might come to like him very well.”

“I hate him! He behaves like a dancing master and when he smiles it is like looking at the silver fittings on a coffin.”

“Have you been gossiping with Charles Greville?”

“His conversation is very lively.”

“The description of Sir Robert is his, I believe. But for all that he is a very able man—dancing and coffins notwithstanding—and he will do his best to serve Your Majesty well. Your Majesty, being of sound good sense in spite of your youth, and having a clear determination to do your duty to the state to which God has called you, will understand this change must be. Alas, I fear the time has arrived when you will be obliged to work with a new government. I believe you will make a great success of it…I shall be nearby and I shall watch you with pride.”

“You will not go away entirely? You will come and dine? I could not bear it if you did not.”

“Your Majesty is gracious to me, and has given me more affection than I deserve.”

“What nonsense! You deserve it all… and more. You are my dearest good friend. You always were and always will be my very own Lord M. You know my feelings for you.”

“I know that you wish me well…Your Majesty has ever been gracious to me; and I trust you will show the same amiability toward Sir Robert, for I assure you he is a very good man.”

“He has one great fault,” I said, “and for that I can never forgive him.”

Lord Melbourne looked at me sadly and I went on, “He is not Lord Melbourne.”

And with that I ran from the room for I could not restrain my tears.

AND SO I came face to face with Sir Robert Peel.

I had tried to prevail on the Duke of Wellington to form a ministry, but he would not do so. He was, after all, nearly seventy years of age, and I had to agree that that was rather old to take on the burdens of state.

Sir Robert Peel, however, was willing and ambitious. I saw him in the Yellow Closet; I was not going to take him to the Blue Closet, the scene of so many happy meetings with Lord Melbourne.

How I disliked him as he stood there—awkward, graceless, lacking in breeding. How different from my dear Lord M! He was proud and reserved—and very unsure of himself. I rejoiced in that. Let him remain so. He fidgeted, twitching from one leg to the other and I felt like giggling when I thought of Charles Greville's description of the dancing master. The silver fittings on the coffin were only visible when he smiled—and that was rarely.

I found myself looking at his feet. He pointed his toes as though he were about to dance. Oh yes, it was a very apt description!

I began by stressing the unfortunate happenings in Parliament that had made it difficult for Lord Melbourne to continue in office and for that reason I was asking him to form a ministry.

He hemmed and hawed and said he would do so. He seemed to think it was necessary for him to make speeches and talked all around the subject. How dreadfully different from the frank, open, natural, most kind and warm manner of dear Lord M!

The more I saw of Robert Peel, the more I was reminded of Lord M by the very contrast of the two men.

He mentioned one or two names to me of those who would hold posts in his ministry. I listened to him vaguely, wondering all the time how I could get rid of him and bring back Lord Melbourne. The Earl of Aberdeen, he was saying. He was one of those who had said that Lord Melbourne ruled the country and that I was wax in his hands, so I was not inclined to favor him; Lord Lyndhurst; he had openly sided with my mother and Sir John Conroy. Sir James Graham; I knew nothing against him, but on the one or two occasions when I had seen him I had thought he resembled Conroy, which was enough to make me dislike him. I felt I was going to loathe Peel's ministers as heartily as I did him.

Oh, it was a sad and sorry business!

I was glad when the dancing master bowed himself out. I thought he was going to fall over the furniture as he did so and was disappointed when he did not.

The next day he called again and we took up the interview where we left off. I remained seated, haughtily watching his gyrations on the carpet. He was really very uneasy. Perhaps I should have been more gracious to him, but I could not forget that he was depriving me of my dear Lord M—and delighting in it.

“Your Majesty,” he said at length, “there is the matter of your household.”

“What of my household?” I asked.

“Your ladies, Ma'am.”

“What of my ladies?”

He coughed slightly, nervously, and pointed his toe and lifted his foot for all the world as though he were about to perform in the minuet. He went on, “Ma'am, they are all members of Whig families. In view of the…er… alterations in circumstances, it would be advisable if changes were made. Your Majesty will understand…”

“But I do not understand,” I said firmly. “And I do not wish to have my household disrupted.”

“Your Majesty does not intend to retain all your ladies?”

“All,” I said firmly.

“The Mistress of the Robes… the Ladies of the Bedchamber…”

I looked at the wretched man and repeated firmly, “All.”

“These ladies, Ma'am, are all married to Whig opponents of the government.”

“I never talk politics with my ladies. I believe some of them have Tory relations, which might be a comfort to you.”

“It is the ladies who hold important posts who must be changed.”

“This sort of thing has never been done before.”

“You are a Queen Regnant, Ma'am, and that makes a difference.”

“I shall maintain my rights.”

He looked so miserable and helpless that I was almost sorry for him, but I continued to regard him haughtily and he said he thought he should discuss the matter with the Duke of Wellington.

“Pray do so,” I said, showing my pleasure in his dismissal.

But when he had gone I was so overwrought that I sat down and wrote to Lord Melbourne.

The Queen feels Lord Melbourne will understand her wretchedness among enemies of those she most relied on and most esteemed, but what is worst of all is being deprived of seeing Lord Melbourne as she used to.

In a short time he replied to me, urging me to the necessity of making the best of everything. He stressed the worthiness of Sir Robert Peel and pointed out that I should not condemn him because his outward appearance did not please me. As for the ladies of my household, he did say that I should stand out for what I desired because that was a matter for my personal concern; and he added that if Sir Robert found himself unable to concede the point, I should not refuse to reconsider it.

I was disappointed. I was not going to submit to tyranny. The dancing master must remember that I was the Queen.

I wrote back to Lord Melbourne:

I will never consent to give up my ladies. I think you would have been pleased to see my great composure and firmness. The Queen of England will not submit to trickery. Keep yourself in readiness.

My spirits were lifted. I saw this matter of the Bedchamber Ladies as a way out of this tragic situation. If I would not give way and Peel would not either, we should have reached an impasse and he would not be able to form a government.

I was not surprised to receive another visit from the Duke of Wellington.

“I heard there is a difficulty, Ma'am,” he said.

“Peel began it, not I,” I retorted.

He looked at me intently. I wondered if he were comparing me with Napoleon. He would find the little Queen as formidable a foe as the little Corporal. My will was going to prove stronger than Napoleon's military genius; it would stand more firmly than French artillery.

“Why is Sir Robert so adamant?” I asked. “Is he so weak that even ladies have to share his opinion?”

That seemed to decide him. He was defeated.

I immediately wrote to Lord Melbourne to acquaint him with the interview:

Lord Melbourne must not think the Queen rash in her conduct. She felt this was an attempt to see if she could be led like a child.

I was not really surprised when Sir Robert asked for another audience. I granted it willingly.

He came quickly to the point on this occasion. “If Your Majesty insists on retaining all your ladies I could not form a government.”

I was cool, hiding my exultation. I bowed my head in acceptance of his decision.

I was delighted to have a letter from Lord Melbourne telling me that he had shown the Whig Cabinet my letters and his advice to me was to break off all negotiations with Sir Robert Peel.

This I most willingly did and to my great joy recalled Lord Melbourne.

He came at once and stood before me, tears in his dear eyes. He laughed and said my conduct had been most unconstitutional.

“Is that important if it achieves the desirable result?”

“Desirable for whom? Sir Robert Peel?”

We laughed together and I am sure I showed my gums and laughed too loudly on that occasion; but I did not care. I was so happy. And I reflected sagely that if I had not known such despair, I could never have been quite so joyous.

Afterward we talked about it in the old cozy fashion. Lord Melbourne reminded me that I had not taken his advice, but when the whole story was laid before his Cabinet they declared that it would be impossible to abandon such a Queen and such a woman. So, hampered as they were by that feeble majority, they decided to come back and attempt to carry on.

It was a great victory.

That evening there was a grand ball. I danced into the early hours of the morning. I was very joyous—happier than I had been since the miserable Flora Hastings affair had started.

THE VISIT OF the Tsarevitch Alexander, Hereditary Grand Duke of Russia, helped me to forget the upset of what was being called the Bedchamber Plot. There was, as was to be expected with the Tories putting their case, a real scandal about this. It was a little different from that of Flora Hastings because I had some supporters this time. There were proPeel and pro-Queen factions. Of course I had flouted the Duke of Wellington's advice, and that was a bold thing to have done.

However, I was always delighted to have visitors from other countries, because it meant a round of entertainments, including balls, which I loved.

I found the Russian Duke a very charming man. He was goodlooking and dignified, and I began to think that he liked me as much as I liked him. I was reminded of the visits of the German cousins before I had come to the throne. What fun they had been! And how I had enjoyed them and how desolate I had been when they went away. That brought my thoughts back to Albert a little guiltily. I had liked him so much when we had met and had been reconciled then to the possibility of marriage. I had, in fact, almost welcomed it. But how differently I felt now! It must have been because in those days, when I thought of myself as Mama's prisoner, I was so glad of any excitement, any change… and marriage would have been that. But being the Queen was quite another matter. There was so much happening in my daily existence and even the minor irritations like the Flora Hastings affair and that of the bedchamber women occupied my mind to such an extent that I did not want to think of marriage.

But now there was this charming young man, and I did find his society amusing.

He was very Russian, which meant that at times he could assume a very melancholy countenance, and then he would be very merry and light-hearted; which made one a little unsure of how one was going to find him. But that made him interesting.

He danced divinely. He taught me the mazurka—a lovely dance I had never seen before. It was amusing, for the Grand Duke was so agile that when one was required to run around, one had to be very quick to follow him. Then, when we were close together, he whisked me around in a valse.

Another dance he taught me was the Grossvater which was a country dance performed a great deal in Germany. The men had to jump over a pocket handkerchief which was very tricky and often resulted in a fall for some of them. I laughed and laughed. I used to stay up dancing until after two in the morning; then I would be unable to sleep for very excitement, lying in my bed, remembering how the Grand Duke leaped and some of the dancers had fallen over. It was very amusing and I was growing more and more fond of the Grand Duke.

I could not help writing of him to Uncle Leopold who wrote back rather coldly, begging me not to be rash. I knew he was thinking of Albert.

Lord Melbourne was a little critical too.

I told him it was good for me to have a little excitement. There had been much to plague me lately.

“Excitement is not very desirable if one is to suffer for it afterward,” was Lord Melbourne's comment.

But I continued to dance the new dances and to stay up until after midnight. I threw myself into a frenzy of excitement. I felt I was half-way to falling in love with the Russian Grand Duke.

I needed the excitement for underneath it I was still uneasy. I had passed out of that mood of enchantment. I had learned that life could suddenly take an unexpected turn to disaster. Flora Hastings still went about the Palace. Ladies, meeting her in the corridors, said she made them shiver; she was like a ghost from another world; and she looked at them with staring, accusing eyes. She looked, as they said, “like death”; and those who had been most active in stirring up gossip about her, were really afraid of her.

She hung over me like a dark shadow. There were still reverberations in the Press about the case, and the Hastings family were most dissatisfied; and as they were Tories they would not let the case be forgotten.

In the House of Lords, Lord Brougham was constantly attacking Lord Melbourne and his Cabinet and making sly allusions to me and my fondness for the Prime Minister. The wicked hypocrites insisted on their loyalty to the Crown while they made their subtle attacks upon the Queen.

The matter of the Bedchamber Ladies was not allowed to pass into oblivion. It was a very tense situation.

The Duke of Wellington came to see me about Sir John Conroy.

“I have long been working to put an end to his case, Ma'am,” he said, “and I am of the opinion that it would be well for all concerned if he were out of the country, and I believe I am working toward a settlement with him.”

I was so relieved. I had a notion that once I was rid of that man my troubles would be over.

“We shall be obliged to pay him a pension of three thousand pounds a year and offer him a peerage. Lord Melbourne will make the arrangements and this peerage will have to be an Irish one.”

“If he has an Irish peerage that will mean he can come to Court. I never want him in my Court. I shall never forget all the mischief he has caused me.”

“Quite so, Ma'am,” said the Duke. “But it seems likely that the Irish peerage could be long delayed, and it may be that when one does come, there may be a prime minister other than Lord Melbourne, in which case that prime minister would not feel it incumbent upon him to agree to terms made by a former prime minister.”

More abhorrent to me even than Conroy's having a peerage was the thought of there being a prime minister other than Lord Melbourne.

However, the Duke prevailed on me to agree to these suggestions, which I did think might have been completed earlier and in that case we might have avoided all the horrible complications of the Hastings affair; I was sure there would not have been so much talk about the Bedchamber Ladies if Sir John Conroy had not been at hand to foment trouble.

So I agreed, and Lord Melbourne and I celebrated the occasion of Sir John Conroy's departure.

“Although,” said Lord M dolefully, “we have yet to see whether he will leave us entirely in peace. Still, it is good to have him removed from Court.”

But even though he was removed, the effect of his evil remained. Lady Flora continued to move about the Palace like a gray ghost. She appeared in public too. There were those who encouraged her in this, and wherever she was seen there were cheers for her, and her frequent appearances helped to keep the story alive.

Lord Melbourne continued to say darkly that we must wait and see. I am not sure whether he believed she really would produce an infant in time or implied it to comfort me. If only she would! What a difference that would have made! Public opinion would have swung around and we, who had been called the villains, would be proved to have been maligned.

But Lady Flora continued in her ghostly appearances, and she looked so wan that she inspired pity in everyone who saw her.

There was one distressing incident at Ascot that I shall never forget. It was humiliating. I rode up the course as was the custom with Lord Melbourne, and as I did so I distinctly heard a hissing. Then came those terrible words. I could not believe my ears. “Mrs. Melbourne!”

The implication filled me with horror. How could people say such wicked things! As though my relationship with my Prime Minister was not entirely honorable.

Lord Melbourne was quite unperturbed. He had always said one should not attach importance to insults. They were like the weather. Everyone forgot how it had rained when the sun came out.

But this was something I could not easily forget.

I heard later that it was the Duchess of Montrose and Lady Sarah Ingestre—both ladies—no I will not call them ladies—in my mother's service, and active in the feud against me—ardent Tories, both of them.

But this was an indication of the state of affairs. The seeds sown by that arch-conspirator Conroy were beginning to ripen, and the continued sickness of Flora Hastings did not help matters.

One day I noticed that it was some time since I had seen her.

“Perhaps,” said Lord Melbourne significantly, “the time has come when she is in need of a little retirement.”

I really came to believe that one day I should hear that Flora Hastings had been delivered of a child. Perhaps it was wrong of me to long for this; but I did feel so much depended on it.

I found that on every occasion when Lord Melbourne and I were together, the name of Lady Flora crept into the conversation.

I sent a kind message to her—rather against my will—but I thought it politic to do so. I expressed my sympathy for her suffering and asked her to visit me. She thanked me for my concern but regretted she was not well enough to come to me.

There was no alternative. I must go to her. So, putting aside the disinclination and even repulsion I felt, I went to visit her.

I was astonished when I saw her. She was lying on a couch and obviously could not rise to greet me. I did not think that anyone could be so thin and still be alive. She was like a skeleton; but at the same time her body was swollen in one part and I thought she must be pregnant.

I asked solicitously how she was and she replied that she was feeling comfortable.

She added, “I am very grateful to Your Majesty for your kindness and I am glad to see you looking so well.”

I replied, “When you are better we will meet… and talk.”

She smiled gently and shook her head. “I shall not see Your Majesty again,” she said.

I felt a shiver run through me, for indeed she looked like a woman close to death.

In a terrible state of uneasiness I left her.

Two days later a note came from Mama. She advised me that I should postpone the dinner party I was giving that evening because Lady Flora had taken a turn for the worse, and she felt it would be rather unseemly if I were merrily entertaining guests while Lady Flora was so ill.

I remembered that occasion at Kensington Palace when King William's daughter was dying and my mother had gone on with her dinner party. She had been condemned for that. I must not provoke more criticism, so I gave the order that the party was to be canceled. I decided that my only guest that evening should be Lord Melbourne.

He was a little more grave than usual. In fact he had been so since the affair of the Bedchamber Ladies, and I realized that although he had come back as a result of it, it could only be temporarily, unless there was an election and his party came back with a big majority.

I was not naive enough to believe that would be easy—desirable though it was.

We were a little solemn that evening and even Lord Melbourne had given up the belief that Lady Flora would produce a child who would vindicate us all and bring back my popularity.

Shortly after two o'clock the next morning, Lady Flora died.

NOTHING COULD BE more disastrous. Lady Flora Hastings caused us more concern dead even than she had alive.

It seemed as though the whole country went into mourning for her. To make matters worse there was an autopsy over which five doctors presided and the verdict was damning…to me. Flora had had a tumor on her liver that had pressed on her stomach and enlarged it.

The Press took up the matter. Lord Hastings kept them supplied with a continual flow of information. Everywhere all over the country the martyrdom of Flora Hastings was discussed, together with the heartlessness of the Queen.

She had died, announced one paper, not of a deadly tumor on the liver but of a broken heart.

Pamphlets were sold in the streets: “A Case of Murder at Buckingham Palace.” “A Voice from the Grave of Flora Hastings to Her Gracious Majesty the Queen.” The Morning Post was openly critical of my behavior in the affair and Lord Brougham continued to thunder against me in the Lords.

Even Lord Melbourne was downcast, but he tried to put on a brave face.

“Ignore it,” he said. “Think of how the people behaved to your ancestors. Your grandfather, your uncles… none of them escaped.”

“But the people loved me,” I wailed.

“The people are fickle. This will blow over. They will love you again.”

“It seems as though they will never forget.”

“The mob is fickle. They hate today and love tomorrow.”

“I should never have allowed myself to listen to scandal about her.”

“A queen must look to the morals of her Court.”

“Yes, but she was not immoral. There was never a child. She was truly a virgin. She was ill and we maligned her. I shall never forget her lying on that couch. She looked dead already. She knew she was going to die. She said, ‘I shall never see you again.' I do not think I shall know peace of mind again.”

“Your Majesty is very young. In a short while this will be forgotten, I promise you. It will pass. But meanwhile there is her funeral. A tricky matter. It is a pity she died in the Palace.”

“She is to be buried in Scotland. They are taking her body to the family home.”

“It is a pity she did not die there. That would have saved a lot of trouble.”

“I shall have to go to the funeral.”

Lord Melbourne was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “I do not think that would be wise.”

“But what will the people say if I am not there?”

“I am concerned with what they will say … and even do if you are there.”

“You think they would harm me?”

“It is not so very uncommon for the common people to show their annoyance with sovereigns.”

I covered my face with my hands.

“Look upon it as experience,” soothed Lord Melbourne.

“Do you think that if I had not listened to gossip … if I had been on her side …”

“Well then, there would have been no complaint. You would have been on the side of the angels.”

“How I wish I had been!”

“I think,” he said, “that you should send your carriage. But on no account should you go yourself. I would not allow that.”

I was about to protest but there was a note of firmness in his voice— yes, and even fear. This matter was of even greater importance than I had thought and the people who will cry “Hosanna” one week will be calling “Crucify Him” the next.

Lord Melbourne said, “They are taking her body to Loudon by barge and unfortunately the cortège will have to leave the Palace. Peel's policemen will be guarding it all along the route. The plans are for them to set out at six am, and I think I shall give orders that they start two hours early. Even so, there will doubtless be a crowd waiting, for I am sure some of them will have been there all night to get a good view.”

I thought how careful he was, and how fortunate I was to have him with me. And then the horrible doubt came back to me. For how long?

It was a wretched day when Flora's coffin was taken back to her family home.

Crowds had turned out to see it pass through the streets to the waiting barge. I could imagine the scene, the people weeping for her and murmuring angry threats against me; the ballad singers waving their scandal sheets. I could not bear it and my thoughts went back to my coronation—not so very long ago—when they had shown me such love and devotion.

I was horrified and deeply wounded to learn that someone had thrown a stone at my carriage.

Lord Melbourne tried to comfort me. “It was only one stone. The people were only half-heartedly against you. They just wanted to blame someone and they like having scapegoats in high places. She is gone. That will be an end of the matter. This time next year people will be saying, ‘Who was Flora Hastings?' ”

I should have liked to believe him.