Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

Lovers' Quarrels

WHAT HAPPY DAYS THEY WERE! I COULD NOT BELIEVE MY good fortune. Here I was married to the most perfect, divine being. Albert's beauty delighted me. I could not take my eyes from him. Marriage was wonderful during those two days at Windsor.

We rode together; we played duets on two pianos; we walked with the dogs, and just as Eos showed his appreciation of me, little Dashy, Ismay, and Laddie gambolled around Albert as though he were an old friend.

It was so wonderful that rather grand Eos had no objection to my little ones, and I was sure Dashy thought he was a great joke. How I laughed—no doubt showing my gums—and Albert laughed too, though more discreetly.

We loved with excitement and tenderness and I had never been so contented in my life.

Albert loved Windsor. Up to that time, although I had changed my first impressions, the feeling that it was a little gloomy with all those ominous sounding rooks cawing away, had remained. The forest was dark and full of mystery; there were legends concerning it… some of them rather sinister.

It had been Buckingham Palace that I had really loved—the dear, comfortable place with the big light rooms which had been my first home when I had escaped from the captivity at Kensington Palace. Moreover it was London. I could see the Park from my windows, which was all the greenery I wanted; and the streets and crowds of people were close by. There was an excitement about London that had always appealed to me.

But Albert was quite different. He did not like the town and he loved the country. He knew the names of trees and flowers and liked to give me lessons about them. I was not very interested, but I made a show of being so for his sake.

He said how pleasant it was to escape from all the functions, to be able to retire at a reasonable hour and to awake to the freshness of the early morning. He thought staying up half the night dancing was a rather foolish way of going on. The night was meant for sleeping.

“But, Albert,” I cried, “I love to dance and it always seems more exciting after midnight.”

“Then,” he replied, “you cannot feel fresh for the morning. One does one's best work in the early morning.”

I said, “I shall make you change your mind. I should love to dance with you, Albert, until two in the morning.”

He looked so alarmed that it began to dawn on me that my tastes and those of Albert differed a little.

Lehzen was at Windsor and there was a slight change in her attitude. I realized that she did not like Albert very much, and he did not greatly like her, I feared.

Lehzen fussed. She had always fussed. I imagined she wanted Albert to know how devoted she had always been to me, and in the days when I had had such bitter quarrels with my mother, she, Lehzen, had been the one I turned to for comfort and consultation—with Lord Melbourne, of course.

“It is not a good thing for sons and daughters to quarrel with their parents,” said Albert.

“What is not good often happens. And if you know how Mama could be, you would understand.”

“One must have indulgence in such cases.”

I leaped up and kissed him. “You are so good, Albert,” I said. “I do not believe you would quarrel with your mother whatever the provocation.”

Albert looked sad, and I guessed I had been a little tactless to mention his mother, who had been accused of adultery and divorced.

There was a great deal that Albert did not understand about me; but I had no qualms during those days of the honeymoon.

People came down to Windsor, Lord Melbourne among them. How pleased I was to see him!

He told me that it was obvious that I liked married life, and he was delighted for me.

My mother was to leave Buckingham Palace. Lord Melbourne had hoped that the King of Hanover would allow her to have his apartments at St. James's Palace.

“He never occupies them,” said Lord Melbourne, “so it would be no hardship. His Majesty, however, is adamant and refuses.”

“Oh dear,” I sighed. “I fear there will be trouble if Mama stays at Buckingham Palace. I fancy Albert is inclined to believe I have been a little harsh with her.”

“Then he cannot understand the position.”

“No. But I have tried to tell him.”

“I suggest that you rent Ingestre House in Belgrave Square for the Duchess. I gather it is available and the rent is £2,000 a year. Perhaps later a more suitable residence could be found for her, but I think Your Majesty would wish the move to be made soon. Therefore, shall I go ahead with the arrangements for Ingestre House?”

“Oh, please do. I could not bear her to make trouble between Albert and me.”

Dear Lord Melbourne! How good and understanding he had always been to me!

We returned to London and I prepared to be ecstatically happy. How I loved riding and walking with Albert and those cozy evenings when we played duets together. Ernest was often with us; there was a great bond between the two brothers, though Ernest was very different from Albert—much less serious. I laughed a good deal with Ernest. I danced now and then. Albert was a superb dancer, but he always wanted to leave early. I should have liked to dance much more; but I always agreed to retire early when Albert wished it.

Looking back I see quite clearly how different we were and how so much that went wrong was my fault. Albert was too perfect. I remember Lord Melbourne saying once that the saintly people are more difficult to get along with than the sinners because the saints are always attempting to make others as good as they believe themselves to be, whereas sinners have no grudge against the saints, and are quite happy to let them go their way as long as they may pursue the paths of pleasure themselves. He added, “I have always thought that there is a lot of truth in the old saying: ‘There is a little good in the worst of us, and a little bad in the best of us; and it ill behooves the best of us to criticise the rest of us.'”

I thought that was very funny—and true—and it made me laugh out loud. When I laughed loudly Albert always looked across the room at me—not exactly critically—indulgently, perhaps, as one would look at a child who commits some fault that is rather charming but must, nevertheless, be corrected.

We had been brought up differently, I supposed. Albert had been adored by his grandmothers, but he had lived to a strict Lutheran pattern. He was serious by nature. He was talented, and wanted to use those talents. He was the last man on Earth who should have been chosen for the part of consort to a queen.

“Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man wise,” had been one of his maxims. He could not understand why I liked to sit up half the night. There was so much about me that he could not understand; my devotion to Lord Melbourne, and for another thing, my absorbing love for Lehzen.

He was horrified when he heard me call her Daisy.

“That cannot be her name,” he said.

“Actually it is Louise.”

“Then why do you call her Daisy?”

“I wanted a special name for her. She is very special in my life. For so long she was my dearest friend. We used to have wonderful times together and when I was unhappy she could always comfort me. There were times when Mama could be very hard to live with. Do you know she used to make me wear a necklace of holly under my chin!”

“I am sure she believed that everything she did was for your good.”

“Oh no, for her good.”

Albert was silent. He thought that speaking disrespectfully of one's parents was almost as wicked as speaking disrespectfully of God.

He thought that Lehzen had too much authority in the household. I daresay he noticed that stubborn look that came into my face when her name was mentioned. Lehzen, too, made sly references to him.

She reminded me of the fun I used to have dancing.

“I remember how pleased you were when you danced till three o'clock in the morning.”

“Oh yes, I remember, Daisy. I did love it, didn't I?”

“I liked to see you so excited, so pretty you looked going off in your ball gown. You're doing a lot of reading now, my precious. You mustn't tire your eyes.”

“Albert is very interested in books.”

“You should get out into the fresh air.”

“Albert is a great believer in fresh air.”

“We don't want to grow into a sobersides. That wouldn't be my precious angel.”

“It will be, Lehzen. Whatever I am I shall always be your precious angel.”

Then she hugged me and demanded to be assured that nothing… simply nothing would change the love between us two.

Vehemently I told her that this was the case.

Then Albert mentioned my relationship with Lord Melbourne. “Perhaps it is a little too familiar,” he said.

“My blessed angel, of course it is familiar. Lord Melbourne and I are old familiars. He has been my Prime Minister ever since I came to the throne.”

“The relationship seems to be closer than one would expect between the Queen and her Prime Minister.”

“Lord Melbourne is no ordinary prime minister and, dearest Albert, I am no ordinary queen.”

I showed my gums and laughed. Albert's smile was very faint.

“You are too demonstrative, my love.”

“Why should I not be? Why shouldn't one show people when one likes them?”

“Perhaps not quite so excessively.”

“Lord Melbourne has always been my greatest friend. I have always had the greatest regard for him and I see no reason why I should hide that. I lie in terror that his place will be taken by that horrid Peel man.”

“Do you mean Sir Robert Peel?”

“I do indeed. He behaves like a dancing master and looks as though he is going to break into the minuet at any moment.” I laughed, remembering the antics of the man.

“I have been talking to Anson about him. He seems to have a high opinion of Sir Robert.”

“Oh but, Albert, Robert Peel is our enemy. He voted against your income. He tried to force his wretched Tories into my household. He is doing all he can to oust Lord M from office.”

“Naturally he would do that as he is at the head of the Opposition. I believe Sir Robert has done a great deal for England. The Police Force, instituted by him, is the envy of many another country. Not only that—I have come to the conclusion that he has the good of the country at heart. He is happily married and lives a good moral life, which is more than can be said for all politicians.”

“Dear Albert, you have recently come here. I do not like Sir Robert Peel, and I hope and pray Lord Melbourne succeeds in keeping him out.”

“The fact that you do not like him does not mean that he is not a good politician.”

I yawned. “Albert dearest, I do want to sing that lovely song of yours. And I heard you and Ernest playing Haydn this morning. I should love to hear that again.”

Albert gave me one of those looks which came my way quite often— the one of exasperated tenderness.

Oh yes, we were very different. Albert would change I was sure. It did not occur to me that I might change. I was after all the Queen.

He was even faintly critical of Lord Melbourne. He admitted that his manners were gracious and courtly, but he thought he was a little suave. He did not care for what he had heard of Lord Melbourne's past. He had discovered that he had been involved in scandals.

“Oh, it was not Lord Melbourne's fault,” I explained. “It just happened.”

“It seems rather strange that it should have happened so frequently.”

“Life is like that. Lord Melbourne is a very distinguished man. People would be attracted by him and that could make trouble for him. He has been so helpful about you, Albert. He has done everything for us. He tried so hard to get that money for you. I may tell you that Sir Robert Peel was one of your most bitter opponents.”

That rather sad faraway look came into Albert's eyes. He looked so spiritual and beautiful that I just kissed him and I said, “Come on. We will go and find Ernest.”

We could not expect Albert's family to stay with us indefinitely, and the day came for his father to leave.

He and Albert parted with protestations of affection and determination to see each other often and soon. I said there would always be a welcome for him in England. He kissed my hand and was most charming.

But when he had gone Albert broke down and wept.

I was horrified to see him so desolate. I tried to comfort him but he would not be comforted.

“You do not know what it is like to say goodbye to a father,” he told me.

“I do know,” I replied. “But, dearest Albert, we are together. I am your wife. I will comfort you.”

But he just looked melancholy and I felt a little irritated. Of course he loved his father and it was most feeling of him to care so much. It was right for people to love their fathers, and Albert would always do what was right. But he had his life with me now and that should alleviate any sorrow he felt at the parting.

It seemed to me that I was not enough for him. We had been married only a few weeks. Surely he should not feel quite so desolate…A strange little doubt crept into my mind then. I was passionately in love with Albert; but was he so deeply involved with me as I was with him?

AT FIRST I had thought that the people were absolutely delighted with my marriage. They had cheered themselves hoarse at the wedding; but they seemed to get tired of approving very quickly and were looking for trouble. Sometimes I thought people did not like to see others happy.

Trouble was more exciting and they must have it.

I was very distressed when I heard that the Duchess of Cambridge refused to stand up when Albert's health was being drunk at one of the Dowager Queen's dinners. People commented on it. It was typical of the family; they were always afraid that someone was going to take precedence over them, and I expected they were angry because I had not married their son George.

There were cartoons in the press, some depicting Albert as a cowed husband who had to do what his wife told him to; others showed him as a scheming creature congratulating himself on having replaced his miserable £2,500 a year for £30,000.

The Coburgs were represented as ambitious grasping men who were worming their way into all the royal houses of Europe.

I wanted it stopped and naturally I brought up the matter with Lord Melbourne.

“We pride ourselves on a free press,” he said, shaking his head. “The people will allow no interference with that.”

“But it is so cruel,” I protested, “and so untrue.”

“Alas,” replied Lord Melbourne, “people in high places must expect to be shot at.”

“But why?”

“Because they are easy targets. The people want to hear these things. They do not buy papers to hear that everything is just as it should be. They would find that very dull.”

“It is a very sad commentary on life.”

“Life is often sad,” said Lord Melbourne. “Forget it. They will stop in time.”

Someone had even made a parody of the national anthem and I had heard it sung in the streets. I knew it off by heart.

God save sweet Vic, mine Queen

Long live mine little Queen

God save de Queen

Albert's victorious

The Coburgs are glorious

All so notorious

God save de Queen.

Ah, Melbourne, soon arise

To get me de supplies

My means are small

Confound Peel's politics

Frustrate de Tory tricks

At dem now go like bricks

God damn dem all

The greatest gifts in store

On me be pleased to pour

And let me reign.

Mine Vic has vowed today

To honor and obey

And I will have de sway

Albert de King.

I was afraid Albert would hear it—that wicked slander and the way in which they attempted to poke fun at his accent.

Nothing it seemed could be kept long from Albert. He was so quick to notice everything. Already he had pointed out things in the household that he thought were not as efficient as they might have been.

“My dearest Albert,” I said, “you must not be hurt by these stupid people.”

“I see,” said Albert, “that they do not like me. At one moment I am an ineffectual fool who must take his orders from his wife; at another I am a scheming adventurer.”

“If they but knew how good you are! Oh, Albert, in time they will. We must be patient.”

He looked at me very steadily and said, “Oh yes, we must be patient.”

And I had an idea that he was talking more to himself than to me.

ALBERT SAID TO me one day, “Do you not find it rather dull…these evenings?”

“Why no, Albert,” I replied. “I love the evenings when we are together, don't you?”

He said, “I think we could invite more interesting people to Court.”

“But the people we see are the Court.”

“At Rosenau we would have writers, scientists, artists … people like that.”

“Oh, I do not like such people. They talk of things of which I know nothing.”

“You could learn and find them very interesting, I am sure.”

“Of course Rosenau was only a little Court. I think this is rather different.”

“Your uncle, King George the Fourth, I believe, entertained people of culture.”

“Oh, he was considered very raffish. The people did not like him, you know.”

“He must have had some very interesting gatherings.”

“I thought you were happy.”

He took my hand tenderly and kissed it. “My little one, you are charming. It is just that I miss certain interests.”

“Oh, my dear Albert, you must not miss anything.”

“You see, you have your work, your talks with your Prime Minister, your papers to study. I…I am just here. I would like to help you.”

“Oh, how good of you! But you see, I have to discuss matters of state which only the Queen can do. There are so many papers to sign. To be the Queen is not only opening things like Parliament and balls. It is not only showing oneself wearing the crown.”

“I want you to know that I am here to help you.”

“Dear Albert!”

It occurred to me then that he had not enough to do. At Rosenau, he was always busy and Albert was not a man who would look for amusement all the time. He was very serious.

Lord Melbourne came and left behind a batch of papers for my signature. I had an idea. I called to Albert.

“Dearest,” I said, “I have work here. Would you help me?”

His dear face lit up with joy.

“With the greatest of pleasure,” he said.

“That is wonderful. Come into the closet.”

He sat beside me.

“What are these papers?” he asked, and picked them up.

Gently I took them from him.

“They are merely for my signature.”

“Oh yes. I gathered that. You are giving your seal to certain documents, but what are the content of these papers?”

“I have discussed it all with Lord Melbourne. All I have to do is sign them.”

I gave him the blotting-paper.

“There, my dearest. I will sign and you shall do the blotting.”

I penned my signature and handed the papers to Albert. I could not understand his expression but I imagined there was a hint of frustration in it, and that he was holding his real feelings very much in check.

I WAS BEGINNING to feel unwell. I was sick in the mornings. Lehzen watched me with knowing eyes.

“Can it be?” she said. “So soon?”

The frightening possibility had occurred to me. I was pregnant. I believe I was never really a motherly person and the thought of childbearing did not bring me much joy. I thought more of the ordeal before me than the outcome. I liked children when they were of an age to talk and be amusing, but little babies had never really appealed to me.

Of course I had considered the possibility. When one is a queen there are hints that it is one's important duty to bear children. But it was a matter that I had shelved because I did not really want to think of it—not yet, at any rate.

I would never forget Louisa Lewis at Claremont who had made such a shrine there for Princess Charlotte; she had kept her room just as it had been when Charlotte was alive; and during those days I had spent at Claremont I had heard so much of Charlotte that she was a living person to me. She had been so merry, so much in love—and with a Coburg prince just as I was, dear Uncle Leopold himself—and then she had died in childbed.

So many people died in such circumstances. There were people at Court … people I had known. They had been young and healthy and then they had died.

It was rather frightening.

“We shall have to take care of you now,” said Lehzen. “What does the Prince say?”

“I haven't told him yet.”

“I am the first to know,” said Lehzen with a smile of satisfaction.

“Yes, Lehzen. You are the first.”

“When shall you tell the Prince?”

“As soon as I see him.”

“Men don't really understand these things.”

“I suppose it is natural that women should understand them more. Yes…as soon as I see him I shall tell him. We don't have any secrets from each other. Uncle Leopold wrote to me before my wedding and he said, ‘Tell each other everything. And if there is a quarrel settle it before nightfall. Never go to sleep with strife between you.' That is good advice, do you not agree, Lehzen?”

Lehzen said, “You must keep your hands and feet warm. You know how cold they get.”

“Not in the summer, my dear old Daisy.”

I knew she was going to start fussing again; and I had quite liked that.

When I told Albert he was really joyous. He could scarcely believe it had happened so soon. “When?” he asked.

“I don't know. By the end of the year. Perhaps the child will be a December baby.”

He took my hands and kissed them. Then he looked at me in amazement.

“You don't look very pleased about it,” he said.

“I believe that having a baby is not exactly a pleasurable experience.”

“Oh, but think of the joy to come, a little one… our own child… yours and mine.”

“Our child,” I said a little tartly, “but I shall be the one who has to bear it.” I was a little irritated for he seemed to have forgotten the danger to me.

“My dear little wife,” he said, kissing me, “thousands of women are having babies all over the world at this moment. You are not going to tell me that the Queen is afraid of doing what others do so naturally?”

I said rather shortly, trying to suppress a spurt of temper, “Lehzen, for all her rejoicing, was really very worried about me. I could see that she was, though naturally she tried not to show me.”

“So you have already told her?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Who else?”

“No one else…so far.”

“So she must be the first to know!”

“She happened to be there.”

“It would seem that Lehzen is always there.”

“Of course she is. She has always been and I hope she always will be.”

“We grow out of old servants.”

“Lehzen is not a servant. You will have to realize that, Albert.”

“I shall have to?”

“Yes, you will have to.”

He looked at me with that pained expression that was beginning to irritate me. It meant that he was holding in his temper, choosing his words with care—an accomplishment that was beyond me.

He said, “We shall have to make an announcement.”

“It is too early.”

“I do not think so. I believe the people will wish to know. The child will be the heir to the throne.”

“I must first ask Lord Melbourne.”

“My wish does not count then?”

“Oh, Albert, how can you say that!”

“Because Lehzen must be told first and Lord Melbourne must decide when we make the announcement. I see clearly that my wishes are of small account.”

Normally I would have flung my arms round his neck and told him that his wishes were of the greatest importance to me, but I felt sick and I knew that for the next months I should have much discomfort to bear.

I said coolly, “You forget my position, Albert. I am after all the Queen.”

“I know it well,” said Albert in a pained voice. “Please do not think that I am likely to forget.”

“Then that is well,” I said; and with that I got up and left him.

WHEN I TOLD Lord Melbourne he was deeply moved. I saw the tears in his eyes and I thought what a dear friend he was.

He said, “May God bless Your Majesty and the little one.”

I was able to tell him of my fears and he was most understanding.

“Very natural,” he said. “But you will have the best attention, and I am sure dear old Lehzen will do the required amount of cosseting; and your blooming health will carry you triumphantly through.”

It was just what I wanted to hear.

“No more galloping through Windsor Forest,” he said admonishingly, “and only the less vigorous of the dances.”

“Albert says I am too fond of food. Perhaps I should eat less.”

“Ah, there are two mouths to feed now. The Hanoverians were always great eaters. They needed food. They liked it. And they believed they should enjoy the pleasures of life—and to them food was one.”

I was laughing with him. It did me much good to listen to him.

“Do you think we should make an announcement?”

Lord Melbourne shook his head. “Much better to let the news leak out… and it will. The people will like that better. Is she? Is she not? It arouses their interest more than a bald statement.”

“Do you think they will be pleased?”

“Delighted. There is nothing they like more than babies. Weddings, coronations…yes. But babies… they are the top. And they go on being babies for a long time. ‘Ah,' say the people. ‘How charming. Our dear Queen is just like us!' ”

“You do not like babies very much, Lord Melbourne.”

“Not in the first stages, but I shall like this baby. It will be a royal baby, a Highness, and your baby, Ma'am.”

I felt so much more at ease talking to Lord Melbourne than I had to Albert.

Albert was very sorry to have upset me and was very kind next time I saw him. I told him that Lord Melbourne thought the news should leak out, and although he would have preferred an announcement, he did not mention the matter again.

We were very happy, and as everyone else was so pleased about the baby, I tried to forget the terrifying ordeal ahead of me and to rejoice with them.

I HAD NOTICED that Ernest was not looking well. I mentioned this to Albert and he looked rather embarrassed.

I could see that he was turning over something in his mind and I said, “Is anything wrong with Ernest?”

Albert looked sad and said, “Yes, there is something wrong…very wrong.”

“You must tell me.”

“I have been wrestling with myself, trying to make excuses for not telling you.”

“You remember we said we would not have any secrets from one another.”

He nodded.

“We vowed to each other,” I persisted.

“I know. But this is most distasteful and I want to protect you from all that is unpleasant.”

“Distasteful? Ernest? What is it?”

“He has an illness.”

“Poor Ernest.”

“Brought on by his own folly.”

I immediately thought he had carelessly caught cold, but that did not seem a matter to make such a fuss about.

“It is a punishment God gives to those who sin. He … er … has had intimate relations with a woman who has given him a very shameful disease.”

“Ernest has!”

“You seem surprised. I was not…entirely. I knew of his habits.”

“Poor Ernest!”

“It is his just deserts.”

“I suppose he did not realize…”

“That he was going to get the disease? Of course he did not. He thought he could sin with impunity.”

“Poor Ernest! Is he very ill?”

“No. I thank God that it is only a mild attack. He will soon recover. He is responding to treatment.”

“Oh, I am so glad.”

“It should be a lesson to him.”

“A rather hard one.”

“Hard ones are often the most effective. I have told him many times that he should marry.”

“Oh yes, poor Ernest, he should.”

“If he would only settle down and give up this wild life.”

“It is hard to believe two brothers could be so different,” I said.

Albert looked gratified and pressed my hand.

“He will see our happiness and perhaps that will make him feel inclined to marry.”

“I think he has studied us. He talks glowingly of our Cousin Ferdinand's happiness with Queen Donna Maria. He has stayed with them in Portugal, you know.”

“I remember Maria. She came here when I was about ten years old. My Uncle George gave a ball for her to which I was invited because she was exactly my age. And it was one of those to which Mama allowed me to go. I remember she was very beautiful but she fell down at the ball and hurt herself. She cried and had to be taken to her apartments.”

“She has turned out to be a very good wife to Ferdinand. He is her King Consort. Ernest said she received no one until Ferdinand had seen them. It is a most felicitous match. I am sure it did a great deal to make Ernest realize how happy a marriage can be.”

“Portugal is not a very important country, of course,” I reminded him. “I daresay things are arranged differently there.”

“A very happy marriage,” repeated Albert. “Ferdinand is a very lucky man.”

I turned the conversation back to Ernest. Was he to know that I had been told of his illness? Albert looked pained. “I am sure he would be very upset if he thought you had. Though I hate deception…”

“Leave it to me. I will say nothing unless Ernest mentions it to me.”

“He would never do that,” said Albert, deeply shocked.

I did not suppose that he would; and although I was horrified at the awful fate that had overtaken Ernest, I was thinking more of Albert's comments about Ferdinand and Queen Donna Maria.

IN SPITE OF Albert's original reluctance to have George Anson as his secretary, a friendship was growing up between them. George Anson was one of those intellectual types whom Albert wanted to introduce into the Court to enliven our evenings; and as Anson had developed a deep respect for Albert—which was understandable—they spent a great deal of time together. Baron Stockmar was often with them and they formed a triumvirate, discussing the affairs of the country, for Albert had a great interest in politics. I was amazed to discover—gradually—how much Albert knew of them, and he had a good notion of how the country was being governed.

We were having tea one day—I always enjoyed these sessions for we took it without fuss—just like an ordinary husband and wife, which I thought was pleasant and very cozy.

On these occasions I liked the servants to leave us. I poured the tea myself, and so much enjoyed making sure that Albert was looked after.

Albert would sit there, amused, humoring me, smiling that very beautiful, pleasant smile of his, and I would be admiring him and thinking how handsome he was. It was irritating that in the papers they referred to him as “pretty” and hinted that he was not the English ideal, which was far more manly.

Of course he was manly! It was merely that he had magnificent blue eyes and a beautiful trim figure. People were jealous, of course.

I don't know how the conversation turned to my ministers. I had wanted Albert to help me choose some material for a ball gown. Albert had exquisite taste—a little quieter than mine—but I liked to hear his opinion and was pleased to take up his suggestions.

“There seems to be a lack of morality among many of your ministers,” he was saying. “Lord Palmerston has quite an unsavory reputation.”

“Oh,” I said laughing, “Lord Melbourne tells me they call him Cupid, because he brings love to so many ladies.”

Albert looked hurt.

I said apologetically, “I thought it rather suited him.”

“It does not say a great deal for his character.”

“Oh, he is a very astute man. Lord Melbourne thinks highly of him.”

“I do not think Lord Melbourne would be overconcerned about a fellow minister's morals.”

“Lord Melbourne is a very understanding man.”

I knew this subject of morals was a dangerous one because under Lord Melbourne's tuition I had begun to acquire a leniency toward those whose behavior was not exactly exemplary. “We are all human,” Lord M would say. “Some more human than others.” I remembered giggling at that.

“Even the Duke of Wellington is not blameless,” went on Albert.

“You are thinking of Mrs. Arbuthnot.”

“I regret to say I am.”

“Would you like some more tea, Albert?”

He handed me his cup.

“I was therefore,” continued Albert, “delighted to discover that there is one Member of Parliament at least—and one in a high place—who is absolutely beyond reproach.”

“Oh?” I replied, rather flippantly perhaps. “Who is this saint? Not my dear Lord M.”

“Most certainly not. I was referring to Sir Robert Peel.”

I felt my anger rising. I knew I had always been hot-tempered, but since my pregnancy and all the minor discomforts it had brought with it, I did find it more difficult to keep myself in check.

“My dear Albert,” I said, speaking like the Queen rather than his dear little wife, “I do not wish to hear of the perfections of Peel. I loathe the man. I hope his party never comes to power. For I do not wish ever to see him again.”

“From what is happening in the country it is more than likely that he will soon be your prime minister.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“It is foolish, my love, not to face facts.”

“The fact at the moment is that I have a very good government presided over by a man whom I respect. I ask no more than that.”

“My dearest, it is not a matter of what you ask. There must soon be an election, and the tottering government will have to retire. These happy little tète-à-tètes with Lord Melbourne will have to cease and you will be receiving Sir Robert Peel in his place.”

“You are spoiling this teatime.”

“Dear little wife, please look at the facts. You must, you know. Try to forget your prejudice against Sir Robert. He is a fine man.”

“He is ill-bred.”

“Forgive me, my dear, but that is nonsense. He was educated at Harrow and Oxford. He made a success of his office as Secretary of State for Ireland.”

I began to laugh. “Do you know, Albert,” I said, “that the Irish called him Orange Peel. That was because he was anti-Catholic. Lord Melbourne told me.” I began to laugh because I thought it was really rather a clever nickname. But Albert was not amused.

“Peel is a man to watch. I have a high regard for him,” he said.

“Albert, you do not know him. He is so gauche. When he came to see me he behaved like a dancing master, and someone said that when he smiled it was like looking at the silver fittings in a coffin.” I was laughing again.

“Cheap abuse,” said Albert. “I noticed none of these things.”

“You have met him?”

“I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance.”

I was astounded. My fury could not be controlled. Albert had gone behind my back! He had sought an introduction to the enemy. I picked up my cup of tea which stood before me and threw it into Albert's face.

Then I gasped… astonished at myself.

Albert did not seem to be so very taken aback. He stood up and I saw the liquid trickling down his chin and onto his coat.

One of the servants had appeared. Albert turned to the man and said, “What do you think of that?” Then he bowed to me and said, “I must go and change my coat.”

I sat staring after him. I felt so foolish, so wretched, and so ashamed.

Oh, but I was angry. How dared he make disparaging remarks about my dear Prime Minister and go out of his way to praise the enemy. How dared he meet Sir Robert Peel! He was only the Queen's husband. He seemed to forget that.

Naturally I was angry. But to throw a cup of tea over him! That was scarcely behavior worthy of a queen! How calm he was! What a contrast to my fury! Apart from the first look of surprise he had made only a brief comment and then gone to change his coat.

Contrition swept over me. How dreadful of me! How could I have lost my temper to such an extent and above all, with my dearest Albert!

I could never be happy again until I had his forgiveness. My anger was lost in remorse.

I remembered what Uncle Leopold had said. One must never let these differences persist. They must be settled before they made a deep rift. How could I have been so foolish? I loved Albert. It was my wretched temper. Even Lehzen, who could see no wrong in me, told me that I should curb it, and Lord Melbourne said—with a twinkle in his eyes— that I was choleric.

I went immediately to Albert's dressing room.

I was about to open the door when I restrained myself and knocked.

“Who is there?” asked Albert.

“It is I. Victoria.”

“Come in.”

He was standing by the window. He turned slowly. I saw that he had changed his coat.

“Oh Albert,” I cried and ran into his arms.

I looked up at him. There was that gentle smile on his beautiful face. How I loved him in that moment. I had treated him shamefully and he was not angry.

“Oh Albert,” I repeated. “How could I?”

He stroked my hair.

“You do forgive me then?”

He was smiling. “I think,” he said, “that you are truly sorry.”

“I did not think…”

“My dear little one, it is often so with you.”

“Yes it is. I am impulsive. I am hot-tempered. In fact, I am not a very nice person.”

He kissed me gently. “That is not true,” he said. “You are a very nice person, but you have your tempers.”

“They arise and explode before I can stop them. I must try to be different.”

He said, “We will together master that little demon.”

I laughed. It was all so easy.

“So it is forgiven?”

“Forgiven and forgotten,” he said.

“Oh Albert,” I cried. “You are so good. You are far too good for me.” Albert smiled happily, and I was rather glad of the teacup incident because it showed me how much I loved him—as if I did not know!— and, better still, how much he loved me.

I COULD NOT resist telling Lord Melbourne of the incident when we were alone. Instead of being shocked, he laughed.

“You find it amusing?”

“I confess I do.”

I saw the corners of his mouth twitching, and I could not help laughing with him.

“I hope the Prince was not wearing the Order of the Garter or even the Order of the Bath.”

“Lord M, it was a homely tea party à deux.”

“Very homely and fortunately à deux.”

“It was really very shocking of me.”

“Just a little example of royal choler, of which no doubt there have been some already and will be a few more.”

“I intend to control myself.”

“Good intentions are always admirable, although some say the road to hell is paved with them.”

“Lord M,” I said, “there are occasions when you are irrepressible.”

“Forgive me. Put it down to the stimulation I receive in Your Majesty's company.”

“There are times,” I said, “when I think Albert is too good, and that makes me feel rather worse than I am.”

“Your Majesty is unfair to yourself.”

“Do you really think I am?”

“A little temper now and then is not such a bad thing. It relieves the feelings and adds a little spice to living.”

“But Albert is good in all ways. You know about his brother Ernest?”

Lord Melbourne nodded. “The entire Court is aware of the Prince's predicament.”

“How different from my dear Albert! Do you know, Lord M, he is not in the least interested in other women—his only wish is to dance with me.”

“He has one other wish, I think; and that is for the ball to be over at the earliest possible moment.”

I laughed. “He gets very tired at balls. He thinks they are a waste of time and keep people up, making them not as fresh as they should be in the morning.”

“He certainly puts us all to shame.”

“That is what I feel. And when I compare him with other men…”

“They suffer in comparison. I would say that is a very happy state of affairs. Do not worry about his lack of interest in women. It often happens that when men are not interested in the opposite sex in their youth, they make up for it in middle age.”

I stared at him and then I saw that he was teasing again.

“Actually,” I said, “I would not like Albert to be anything but what he is. Albert is an angel.”

“Even angels like to have some occupation.”

“What do you mean?”

Lord Melbourne looked at me quizzically. I know now, even more than I did then, what a good friend he was to me. He was so worldly-wise that he understood the position between me and Albert better than I did myself. He knew that Albert was restive, that he had been thrust into a position which would have been trying to all but the most spineless of men—the Queen's consort, the Queen's lapdog. It was a position that gave him no power at all to be himself.

Lord Melbourne's mood had changed. He was serious.

He said, “The Prince is a very able man. Perhaps he would be pleased if you talked to him more.”

“I talk to him all the time.”

“I mean about affairs… the country's business. I think you might find that he could give you valuable help. At the moment he has too little to do. That can be very irksome to an energetic man.”

“I thought of that, so I have asked him to help me when I sign documents. He always blots them for me.”

Lord Melbourne smiled. “I think his abilities could be put to better use.”

“I still feel angry that he should have met and talked with that odious Peel.”

“It is not a bad thing that he should become acquainted with politicians.”

“That man!” I felt my anger rising again.

“Your Majesty will forgive me. You have taken a hearty dislike to Sir Robert Peel. I feel sure that if you knew him you would change your mind. The manner in which he points his toes does not prevent him from being a very able statesman.”

“Lord Melbourne, I do not wish to speak of Sir Robert Peel.”

He bowed his head. Then he said, “Think about it. I am sure you will find the Prince very happy to talk over affairs with you.”

Dear Lord Melbourne! How farsighted he was!

“Now, Ma'am, there is a little favor I would ask of you. I should be happy if you would receive an old friend of mine.”

“My dear Lord M, any friend of yours is welcome at Court. Who is this friend?”

“It is Mrs. Caroline Norton.”

I was quite excited. This was the lady who had appeared in a scandal involving Lord Melbourne.

“She was much maligned,” said Lord M.

“My dear friend, I shall be delighted to receive her.”

Lord Melbourne kissed my hand.

I WAS INDEED interested to meet Mrs. Norton. I found her very attractive with magnificent dark eyes which seemed to glow with an inner radiance; her features were set in a classical mold and her skin was smooth and dark. She talked rather much but she was very interesting and I was sure very clever for she was a poet of some renown. I was delighted to talk to her because of her past and I wondered how much Lord Melbourne had cared for her.

Afterward Lord Melbourne told me that Mrs. Norton had found me gracious and very attractive, delightful, warm-hearted, and essentially good.

“And I agree wholeheartedly with Mrs. Norton's diagnosis,” said Lord Melbourne. “Your Majesty's gracious kindness is an example to us all.”

“That makes me feel very happy because I am constantly comparing myself with Albert and I often feel very uneasy confronted by such saintliness.”

“Oh there is goodness and goodness,” said Lord Melbourne, “and sometimes the least obvious is the best.”

My reception of Caroline Norton resulted in another little storm with Albert.

“Was it necessary,” he asked, “to receive that woman?”

“You mean Mrs. Caroline Norton? Yes, indeed it was necessary—as well as pleasant—because she is a very old acquaintance of one of my very dearest friends.”

“I should have thought he would have been eager to put all that behind him.”

“Lord Melbourne would never put an old friend behind him. I believe him to be a very faithful man.”

“He cannot wish that unfortunate episode to be remembered.”

“I don't think it concerns him in the least. He has never attempted to hide his past.”

“I believe the lady's husband brought a case against Lord Melbourne for seducing his wife.”

“That is true. The husband was supported by the Tories who—vile creatures—saw an opportunity of creating a scandal against the Whigs. The case was decided in favor of Lord Melbourne and Mrs. Norton; and the husband was proved to be a very poor creature indeed.”

“Even so, people who have been involved in unsavory cases do the country no good.”

“But if they are innocent?”

“They cannot be completely innocent. Otherwise they would not have been involved.”

“I do not agree with that. I think innocent people can be caught up in these matters. Do you know that Mrs. Norton is the granddaughter of Sheridan, the playwright. She is a gifted poet, an artist, and a musician. I thought they were the kind of people you wanted to introduce into the Court.”

“Not if their morals make them unworthy.”

“Oh, Albert, you ask too much.”

“I only ask that they live respectably.”

“How can you expect everyone to be like you?”

“I expect a certain morality.”

“I believe in forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness, yes. But such incidents cannot be forgotten. If they are, we shall have people thinking that they can indulge in them and be forgiven and forgetfulness will follow as a matter of course. But it seems that my opinions are of no moment.”

“That is unfair!”

“It is a fact. What do I do? I am called on when it pleases you to want a little light amusement. I am shut out while you have those long and I gather often hilarious conferences with your Prime Minister, whose reputation is not of the highest and who is allowed to bring those connected with his shady past into the Court to be received most graciously by the Queen.”

I stood up, my temper rising.

“Albert,” I said, “I will not have anyone—not even you—speak like that of Lord Melbourne.”

In spite of my temper—and perhaps when it was at its height—I could be very cold, very regal, and because I was so short and that was such a disadvantage, I became more royal than I should have had I been a few inches taller.

Albert stood up, bowed and murmured, “Your Majesty will excuse me.”

And before I could protest he had reached the door. “Albert,” I called. “Come back. I am in the middle of a conversation.”

There was no answer; he had gone.

I was very angry. First, because of what he had said about Lord Melbourne, and second because he had walked out while I was talking to him and ignored my command for him to return.

I loved Albert. But he must remember that I was the Queen. It is very hard to be involved in a relationship like ours and for the female in the partnership to be the one who is predominant. I realized that few men would care for such a position, for it is a trait of the masculine character that most men can only be content when they are the dominant one. Albert was essentially masculine. They could jeer at what the Press called his pretty looks, but he was every inch a man.

Still he must accept the fact that I was the Queen.

My anger seething, I went to his dressing room.

“Albert,” I called. “I want to speak to you.”

There was no answer. Albert was refusing to obey me. What was he proposing to do? Was he dressing to go riding or walking … without me?

I saw the key was in the lock outside the door. I went to it and with a vicious gesture turned it. There! Now he was locked in.

I sat down to wait. Soon he must plead to come out, and then I would make him talk. I would tell him that he must not walk away when I was speaking to him. He must not think he could treat me as though I were an ordinary German wife. I was the Queen of England.

I waited. Nothing happened.

The time was ticking away. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes. It was too much. My fury disappeared almost as quickly as it came and it was leaving me wretched. I began to see that I had been hasty. I did not agree with Albert about Caroline Norton, but I should, all the same, respect his opinion. I was lax. I belonged to a family that had never really had a high regard for morals. The uncles were notoriously scandalous. My grandfather had been a good man, but as they said, he was mad.

Albert was very good and very sane. I must learn to control my anger. I must listen to Albert. I felt miserable. I wanted to be forgiven.

Albert was right. Of course Albert was right. I could wait no longer. I turned the key.

“Albert,” I said.

“Come in,” he replied calmly.

I went in and gasped. He was not in the least upset. He was seated at the window sketching.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He held up the sketch. “It struck me that it was a rather delightful scene from the window,” he said.

I looked at it. So all the time I had been sitting out there—angry, waiting—he had been sketching!

He was looking at me with that tender exasperation which I knew so well.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It's very good.”

“I was going to give it to you when it was finished—a reminder of the day you locked me in my dressing room.”

“Oh, Albert,” I cried, almost in tears, “how good you are! How calm! How wonderful!”

“Liebchen…,” He always lapsed into German when he was most tender, “do not be sad. It is all over.”

“I lost my temper.”

“Well? Is that so unusual?”

“I should not, Albert. I know I should not. But it overflows.”

“You have so much feeling…so much love…so much hate.”

“I have much love for you, Albert.”

“I know, little one,” he said.

“Then why do I do this?”

“Because you are…Victoria.”

“I am so sorry, Albert. Do forgive me.”

“You are my dear little wife.”

“Oh, Albert, then all is well.”

So we kissed and another little storm had blown over. But of course in the perfect married life there would have been no storms.

ERNEST HAD RECOVERED from his indisposition and had now left us.

Albert took a very painful farewell of his brother and was very sad at the parting.

Ernest was a self-evident libertine and yet that had not diminished Albert's love for him; the same thing applied to his father; and Albert's grief at parting from them had been so great that it had angered me.

It seemed to me that the Coburgs, my mother's relations, were every bit as immoral as my father's. I was on the point of taking this up with Albert since he had been so very censorious about Lord Melbourne, but I restrained myself—admirably I thought—for I guessed it would provoke another storm.

Albert was very melancholy in the days following his brother's departure and he spent a good deal of time with Anson and Stockmar. They went out together and I wondered whether Albert was renewing his acquaintance with Sir Robert Peel.

I knew that he was studying politics and history—particularly that of England. He told me he found it quite fascinating and he was almost wistful about it.

Albert was being very careful in what he said. I was sure he hated those storms as much as I did. My twenty-first birthday was approaching and I was now two months pregnant. I felt slightly less discomfort in some ways but I was beginning to feel very tired. What I had always thought was being borne out. Childbearing was a very unattractive— though necessary, I admitted—part of marriage.

My spirits were always lifted by my conferences with Lord Melbourne, and when I found state matters a trifle boring he would always switch to gossip. He usually had some anecdote to bring out for my amusement… either some present scandal or one from the past. I always said I learned more of my ancestors from Lord Melbourne's stories than I did from the history books.

There were still ribald cartoons about us and sly hints in the Press.

“Don't look at them,” was Lord Melbourne's advice.

I refused to receive the Cambridges at Court as the Duchess had not stood up when Albert's toast was drunk, and one day Albert was at a function given by Queen Adelaide. I did not go. I was feeling very tired and uncomfortable and Lehzen had said it could be dangerous to exert myself. I gave in to her persuasions and as we had agreed to go, Albert reluctantly went alone.

He would have been delighted to have stayed with me, which was gratifying. We might have had one of our quiet evenings, singing duets, playing the piano, indulging in a game of chess which Albert invariably contrived to win. A quiet evening at home, early to bed, and then rising fresh in the morning. That was what he wanted.

Albert had a great tendency to go to sleep during banquets. He said it was because of the trivial conversation that generally prevailed and produced a soporific effect.

“You must not let people see it,” I said. But of course they did. We could not sneeze in public without its being noted and probably construed as our having one foot in the grave.

At this particular banquet when the meal was over Albert left. He had thought it a good opportunity to get away and had forgotten that after dinner speeches followed.

When the Duke of Cambridge rose to speak he said that he had noted the Prince had left.

“Can we blame him?” he asked. “Naturally he is anxious to get home to spend the night with a fine girl.”

This was cheered and reported and enlarged on.

Albert was furious. “The coarseness is unforgivable,” he said.

“The Cambridges are annoyed because I did not marry their son George. That is what they wanted. Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide wanted it too. That is why they say such things.”

Albert said it was crass, obscene.

Lord Melbourne chuckled about it and said it was a fine compliment to me.

I saw Lord Melbourne's point and laughed with him. But Albert was really angry. He said it set the public imagining… obscenely.

I had not thought of that. It was amazing how much more the good saw in these things.

IT WAS MY twenty-first birthday. How much had happened since this time last year. A wife and a mother-to-be.

I had always loved birthdays and there was to be a ball to celebrate the occasion. What would a birthday be like without a ball! Albert would have liked to spend the day quietly in the country. I had to remind him that that was not possible for a person in my position, even if I had wanted to—which I most certainly did not!

Presents were fun. Albert's was a bronze inkstand—a very fine one. Albert liked presents to be useful.

He had talked to me again about Mama. He did not like this discord between us, and was very anxious that it should cease. It is unnatural, he said. Again and again I told him of what I had endured during my childhood; he would smile gently, but I had the impression that he thought I was not quite innocent of blame.

How different from Lehzen, who saw only my side! But then she had been there. She had seen it happening.

But I loved Albert more dearly than ever. He was so beautiful and so good. I loved singing and playing duets with him, but I wished he enjoyed dancing. He danced well and gracefully, as he did everything, but he was always watching the clock and waiting for the moment when he could slip away. He had no desire to dance with anyone else. How gratifying! How touching! And how different from so many men! I thought of his brother Ernest and shuddered. How fortunate I was to have Albert. But I did wish he enjoyed dancing.

Lord Melbourne was quite sentimental when he congratulated me on my birthday.

“I feel so old,” I said.

“Never mind,” said Lord M, “when you are forty you will feel much younger.”

That made me laugh. But Lord M insisted that it was true.

I had taken his advice and was discussing state affairs with Albert. This made me realize that I did not know a great deal about them. I had always taken Lord Melbourne's view, and I did find some of them rather boring.

How different Albert was! He said there were many things which I should be aware of. Trade was on the decline; the bad harvests in the last four years had raised prices and there were riots in some of the big towns. The Duke of Wellington had told Albert that, outside war, he had never known a town ravaged as Birmingham had been recently and by its own people. These things could not be brushed aside, as Lord Melbourne believed they could. They must be faced up to; something must be done. There was trouble abroad. The West Indian colonies were in revolt; Canada and Ireland were a problem; the Chinese were causing trouble.

Albert was very serious about these matters, and I almost wished I had not agreed that he should learn something of them.

He was meeting a great many people and I was sure he had renewed his acquaintance with Sir Robert Peel. He interested himself in causes. He had become President of the Society for the Abolition of Slavery and the Civilization of Africa, and soon after my birthday he was going to address the Society in that role.

He practiced his speech with the care he bestowed on everything he undertook. I knew he was very nervous; and I was not surprised at that when I considered those wicked cartoons and paragraphs about him in the Press.

So I was delighted when his speech was well received and he was warmly applauded. I knew people would in time realize his worth, but the waiting for that to dawn was irksome, and he had so many enemies.

I shall never forget that day in June. It began ordinarily enough. It was our custom at six o'clock in the evening to take a drive in our little carriage drawn by four horses. We set out as usual, just Albert and myself with two postilions.

We had not gone very far—it could not have been more than a hundred and fifty paces from the Palace—when a shot rang out. It was so loud that I was quite stunned.

I looked around sharply and saw a man, small and most disagreeable looking, leaning against the railings and in his hand he was holding something which was pointed straight at us. I realized that it was a pistol for the man was very close—so near that I could see his face clearly. There was purpose in it—and that was to kill me.

Then I heard another shot. It was like a nightmare. Crowds of people everywhere. Someone shouted, “Get him. Kill him.”

Albert was very calm. He put his arm around me, holding me tightly.

“Drive on,” he shouted to the postilion and we went on at a sharp trot.

“Are you all right?” asked Albert.

I nodded. I said, “He was trying to kill me, Albert.”

“To kill us,” corrected Albert.

“But why? What have we done to him?”

“People blame their rulers for the state of the country. Dear liebchen, I feared for you. Are you sure… the little one…?”

“The little one seems unaware,” I said.

“My dear brave little Victoria.”

It was strange really. I had not felt any great fear when I looked into that pistol. I often thought afterward that rulers are given a special quality. Instinctively they know they may face death at any time. Although the people cheer and wish them long life, there can always be some in the crowd who are eager to make that life shorter.

When we came back to the Palace, there were crowds waiting for us. They cheered me wildly.

I had faced death and so won back their esteem.

LORD MELBOURNE CALLED. He was most disturbed.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured, looking at me as he so often did with tears in his eyes.

I smiled at him and answered, “I am still here, Lord Melbourne.”

“Thank God,” he said fervently. “I must tell you we have the miscreant. It was quite easy to pick him up. He just stood there waiting to be taken.”

“What sort of man?”

“Vermin,” said Lord Melbourne contemptuously. “A little revolutionary. He was immediately seized by a certain Mr. Millais who was there with his son.”

I always remembered that later, because the son, John Millais, became a great artist.

“He is eighteen years old.”

“So young to want to murder.”

“Oh, it is often the young who get what they think of as high-minded ideals. He is undersized, feeble in mind and body…a little rat of the gutters. His garret was full of papers of a revolutionary nature. He fancied himself as a Danton or Robespierre. My God, when I think of what might have happened…Your Majesty…”

He was far more upset than I, and I felt I had to comfort him. “I am still here, my dear friend,” I said.

“It could have happened so easily. The bullets went over your heads and buried themselves in the wall.” He shivered. “And in Your Majesty's condition …”

“I think it was over before I realized what was happening. But I do hate it when people want to kill me.”

“It is not you they wish to kill but the system…law and order… all that makes our country great.”

I nodded. “Albert was magnificent.”

“Yes. The Prince showed great calm. The best thing you could have done was to drive on and behave as though nothing had happened, and that is what he realized. It is what the people like.”

“The people were most loyal.”

“Oh yes indeed. There is nothing like a near assassination to bring out the people's affection. Had that villain succeeded in his vile task— praise God that he did not—you would have become sainted martyrs. As you escaped, you are merely the beloved Queen and her consort. A better proposition really, for although you are of slightly less value living than dead, it is better to be alive than holy.”

That was Lord Melbourne's way of making light of something that touched him deeply, and I felt very tender toward him.

He was right. We were wildly cheered at the opera, and the people sang the national anthem—the right version—with great enthusiasm.

“Long live the Queen.”

I was as popular as I had been before the Flora Hastings scandal. So some good came out of the incident.

I felt a little concerned about that young man. I talked of him with Albert.

“You see, Albert,” I pointed out, “he believed he was right. He was really mad.”

Albert was astonished that I could speak for him; but Albert, being so good himself, could not understand the failings of others as easily as I, being less virtuous, did.

The young man, whose name was Edward Oxford, was committed to Newgate on a charge of high treason, which warranted the death penalty. But it was judged that he was mad and he was sent to an asylum.

I felt a little relieved about this. I never wanted harsh punishment for such people and perhaps I preferred to think of him as mad, for in that case the man could have been said to have acted without reason— and I did not like to think that anyone hated me enough to want to kill me.

LORD MELBOURNE CAME to see me soon afterward and said that he wished to speak to me on a rather delicate matter. After the shooting incident several members of the government had raised the question of a Regency.

“You mean in the event of my death?” I said.

Lord Melbourne looked unhappy.

“My dear Lord Melbourne,” I said, “this is perfectly reasonable. I might so easily have been killed the other day. I am to have a child. I do not forget what happened to my cousin, the Princess Charlotte.”

“Your Majesty is very wise. I think I shall get agreement for the Prince to be named Regent in the event of such tragic circumstances, of which it is too painful to speak, coming to pass.”

“You mean…Albert would be Regent?”

“That is so.”

I was delighted. It would give him so much pleasure to be chosen; and I was beginning to realize how left out he felt and what a difficult role he had been thrust into.

“I don't expect much opposition from the other side of the House,” went on Lord Melbourne. “Peel will most certainly give his support.”

“Indeed he will,” I said with a trace of irony. “They are very good friends.”

“It is well that it should be so,” replied Lord Melbourne.

I stopped him because I did not want to hear about the uncertain state of the government and the possibility of Peel's soon being Prime Minister. It was too depressing.

I said I should be pleased if Parliament agreed that Albert should be appointed Regent in the event of my death.

As Lord Melbourne had predicted, the motion was passed easily through the House; there was a murmuring from Sussex, which was to be expected. That side of the family was annoyed that I had, as they said, “brought in the Coburgs.” Lehzen did not like it either. She was very depressed.

“Silly Daisy,” I said, “because they make preparations for my death that does not mean I am going to die!”

She was very worried these days. She had changed since my marriage. Dear Daisy, she would not accept the fact that a person grows up. One's children—and she looked on me as her child—cannot remain dependent all their lives. Poor Lehzen, how she fought against the passing of time!

Albert, of course, deplored my relationship with her. I gave her the affection that, he believed, should have been my mother's. As a matter of fact I had seen more of my mother since my marriage than I had for some time before. I think it was in Albert's mind to bring about a reconciliation. Lehzen knew this and resented it because she realized that my mother would never forgive her for the part she was sure she had played in our estrangement, and she had always been jealous of my devotion to Lehzen.

So poor Lehzen was very uneasy. She told me that the Prince was critical of her. He pried into household matters. She had always run the household. I supposed it ran smoothly enough. I never heard of anything going wrong. But of course Albert's Teutonic thoroughness demanded perfection.

And now Lord Melbourne, whom Lehzen had possibly looked upon as an ally in the camp against my mother, was becoming one of Albert's admirers and making him a possible Regent—which was the last straw.

She could no longer hide her animosity to Albert.

It was a very difficult position for me to be in when the two people I loved most dearly were antagonistic toward each other. In a way I was flattered because their animosity grew out of their love for me. Lehzen was certainly jealous of Albert. I don't know whether he was jealous of her or not, but he did resent her influence on me.

Albert was finding fault with matters in the household. Two people were employed, he said, where one would have served adequately. He discovered that one of the windows in the kitchens had been broken for some weeks and nothing had been done about repairing it.

“Oh, that is Lehzen's affair,” I said thoughtlessly.

“But it seems that Lehzen does not make it her affair.”

“A broken window in a big palace, Albert,” I said. “What a fuss about a little matter.”

“A broken window is an invitation to intruders. I do not call that a little matter. I have your safety to consider.”

“Oh, Albert, how kind you are! I'll speak to Lehzen about the window.”

Lehzen was incensed. “I never before heard of a prince strolling round looking for broken windows.”

“I don't think he looked, Lehzen. He just saw.”

She pursed her lips and thrust some caraway seeds into her mouth—a sign of being disturbed.

She told me that people did not like the idea of Albert's appointment.

“Oh, the people like or dislike according to their mood.”

“I'm afraid to open a paper these days.”

“Oh, Daisy, that's not true.”

I knew that she kept certain cartoons—those in which Albert figured. Now she flung open a drawer and took out some paper cuttings.

I took them from her. The top one was captioned “The Regent.” It was a caricature of Albert—recognizable though not a bit like him— standing before a mirror trying on a crown.

I laughed. “That is just the sort of thing they would do.”

“They don't like it, you know.”

“Daisy, he is not the Regent. He would only be … if anything happened to me.”

“I can't bear to think of it.”

I was staring at another cartoon. Albert had a pistol in his hand and was aiming it at the crown—presumably meant to be me. At least they had not put me there in person. The caption said, “Ach, mein dear, I shall see if I can hit you.”

“Oh,” I cried, “that is wicked.”

Lehzen looked at me, nodding.

I tore the paper in half and threw it from me.

“It is what the people are thinking,” said Lehzen.

“It is not,” I contradicted. “It is what those wicked people do to sell their papers.”

“Oh, Kindchen …”

“Daisy, dearest Daisy, you must not be so jealous. I have lots of loving in me, enough for you both.”

But I was apprehensive because they appeared to dislike each other so much, and I had a notion that there would be no peace while they were both under the same roof. Albert was my husband and we were bound together for life, but how could I bear to lose Lehzen?

ALBERT WAS GETTING more and more involved in the affairs of the country. Often if I found something tedious I would pass it over to him. He was very disturbed about the unrest. There was a great deal of unemployment; there was trouble in Afghanistan; there were disputes with China. We were not on the best of terms with France. Louis Napoleon had made an attempt to return and had landed at Boulogne in a British steamer; but there were more serious troubles in the East.

Albert talked of this a great deal. England with Prussia, Austria, and Russia were trying to force Mehemet Ali to leave North Syria. France stood against this and at one time it looked as though France would side with Mehemet Ali against the allies.

“Fortunately,” said Albert, “this has been avoided. We did not want war with France.”

Albert became quite animated about these matters and discussed them at length with Lord Melbourne and Lord Palmerston.

They both said he had a good grasp of affairs.

In August I had to attend the Prorogation of Parliament, and I told Lord Melbourne that it was absurd that Albert could not come with me.

“He may be present,” said Lord Melbourne, “but it would not be considered right for him to ride in the royal coach.”

“What nonsense,” I said. “Albert knows a great deal about what is going on. He is a great help to me. It seems ridiculous.”

“So much in life does,” said Lord Melbourne sympathetically.

Albert was really quite hurt about it. No matter what he did, he said, he was still treated as though he were of no account.

I was at luncheon a few days later when a letter came from Lord Melbourne. Albert watched me while I opened it, read it, and turned pink with pleasure.

“Oh dear Lord M,” I cried. “He works so hard to make me happy. Listen to this, Albert. Lord Melbourne has found out that Prince George of Denmark once accompanied Queen Anne to the Prorogation in the royal carriage—so that makes a precedent. He says that as it was done once he sees no reason why it should not be done again. He thinks, dearest Albert, that you should ride with me to the Prorogation.”

It was wonderful to see the pleasure dawn in that dear face.

Lehzen was less pleased. I thought how different she was from dear Lord M who did everything he could to make Albert comfortable in our relationship and so make me—and him—happy.

Lehzen's devotion could be a little tiresome at times.

So Albert rode with me in the carriage and I was so pleased to hear the cheers.

I read my speech perfectly because I was so delighted.

What a happy day that was!

OLD AUNT AUGUSTA was dying. I had always been very sorry for her. Her lot had been even harder than that of the other sisters. At least Aunt Sophia had had her brief love affair from which a son had resulted, and I supposed that even a scandal was better than nothing happening at all. Aunt Augusta might have been quite clever if her father had allowed her to be. She could paint well and was quite a musician. She had actually composed in her youth, but her efforts had been scoffed at. Music was not a profession for ladies, said her father. Men like Handel did it so much better. Poor Aunt Augusta—always so gentle and loving—she had had no life outside waiting on her mother, filling snuff boxes and looking after dogs. And now she was dying.

She had always been fond of me and looked forward to my visits, so I went often.

It was no great surprise to us when she died.

Albert said I had tired myself visiting her. He was so concerned for me that he was going to take me to Claremont where we could live quietly for a while.

“No late nights,” he said. “Early to bed and in the freshness of the morning we will walk out under the trees and you will tell me how much more beautiful they seem to you now that you know a little—a very little—about them. You were so very ignorant of such things, my dear, before I took you in hand.”

“I was ignorant of so much,” I muttered.

And he was pleased. That was the remark of a meek little wife who had forgotten for a while that she was a queen.

There were so many memories at Claremont. I could imagine I was right back in my childhood when I used to come here to see Uncle Leopold. How he had loved the place where he had lived with Charlotte! He was happily married now to dear Aunt Louise and he had his children of whom he was so proud. I wondered if he ever thought of Charlotte now and the child she had lost.

They were lazy days, walking a little, the dogs barking round us, a little music and chess in the evening, or perhaps Albert reading aloud to me.

“It is so good for you,” said Albert.

It was wonderful to be together alone…or almost. I thought a lot about Louisa Lewis, now dead. I hoped she was with Charlotte and her baby. How Louisa had adored Charlotte! She had loved me too. But Charlotte had been her very special one. I could only be a second.

I used to go to Charlotte's bedroom—that one Louisa had kept as a sacred shrine, just as it had been when Charlotte had slept—and died— there.

Dear Charlotte, bouncing her merry way through life. “Right up to the last,” Louisa had said. “You would never have dreamed…”

I could not get Charlotte out of my mind. I was becoming fanciful. It was due to my condition, I supposed. I imagined Charlotte was there, watching me, her merry eyes suddenly sad.

How similar our positions were! So much hung on her getting an heir…as it did with me. She had merely been heiress to the throne. I was the Queen. But old Uncle George had scarcely been in the best of health even then and the heir to the throne was most important. And she had died… her baby with her.

Childbearing was so hazardous.

A terrible fear came to me. I thought: It is going to be the same with me. History is going to repeat itself.

I became obsessed with the idea. I would have my baby at Claremont. I would die…as Charlotte had died.

I considered having Charlotte's bedroom, Charlotte's death chamber, redecorated… made in readiness for me.

I cannot think what came over me. I was usually so full of life, so eager to enjoy it. I had everything to live for. Why did I have those morbid thoughts? Sheer panic, I supposed.

Where such ideas would have led me, I do not know, but for the good sense of Albert.

One day when I sat in Charlotte's room I heard a noise outside. I whispered, “Charlotte…”

The door handle turned slowly. It is an indication of the state I was in that I expected to see her there.

It was Albert who came in. “My love, you look startled. What are you doing here?”

“Oh Albert.” I ran into his outstretched arms.

“What ails you? Why are you sitting here alone?”

“I was thinking of Charlotte. She died in this room.”

He was looking at me in horror.

“She was well before …” I went on. “They were all surprised. It is a terrible ordeal. Albert, I am frightened.”

He comforted me and quickly led me out of the room.

He said, “You will not go there alone again. If you want to go there, I shall go with you.”

I don't know why I found such relief in those words. I felt it meant that whatever happened, we would be together.

He took me into our bright sunny bedroom.

“There is nothing to fear,” he said.

I shook my head. “Childbearing is dangerous,” I said. “People die.”

“Not you. Not the Queen.”

I laughed. “Oh Albert, I can be a little arrogant sometimes.”

He did not deny it, but stroked my cheeks.

“All will be well,” he said. “There is nothing to fear. You will be well…I shall be here beside you.”

“Oh yes, Albert.”

“And always shall be. Do you not know that I am always right?”

I smiled. “Yes, Albert,” I said.

“Then I will tell you something. Tomorrow we are leaving Claremont.”

“Yes, Albert,” I said again and felt floods of relief coming over me.

Albert was looking after me. All would be well.

THE BIRTH WAS due in December, but in November, three weeks before the appointed time, my pains began. Fortunately the doctors, the midwife, Mrs. Lilly, with the nurse, were in the Palace in readiness. Sir James Clark was one of them. Poor Sir James, he had never quite recovered from the Flora Hastings scandal. There were two others with him— Dr. Locock and Dr. Blagdon. Albert, who felt that a German doctor must be more efficient than English ones, had insisted that Dr. Stockmar hold himself in readiness in case he should be needed.

I had dreaded the ordeal—and not without reason. I suffered acutely for twelve hours and never never again did I want to go through such an ordeal. All the time I was conscious that waiting in the room next to the lying-in chamber were several members of the government, including Lord Melbourne, Lord Palmerston, and the Archbishop of Canterbury. I felt that was most undignified. At least it helped me in some way to resist my impulse to scream aloud in my agony.

Everything must come to an end and I thanked God when that did and I could lie back, quite exhausted, and listen to the crying of the child.

Albert was beside me.

“A perfect child,” he said.

“A prince?”

“No, Liebchen, a little girl.”

“Oh.”

“It is wonderful,” said Albert. “This little girl could be the Queen of England.”

They put the child in my arms. I am afraid I was not maternal and my first thought was: What an ugly little creature! for she resembled nothing so much as a little frog.

Albert did not think so. He kept saying she was perfect.

What a comfort he was!

Mrs. Lilly was bustling about, taking a proprietorial attitude about the child as though she had produced it; and when I was rested I received one or two people, including Lord Melbourne. He looked at me, with tears in his eyes, and said, “God bless you, Ma'am…you and the child.”

I found that very moving.

Mama came. She was so different from what she had been in the old days. She was so anxious to be part of the family. I began to think I had been rather hard on her. She adored Albert; she thought he was quite wonderful, and this endeared her to me. Of course, Albert had been responsible for bringing her back into the household so naturally she thought a great deal of him. He was, also, of her family and they understood each other, for Mama had never reconciled herself to the English any more than they had to her. I suppose she felt that Albert was like one of her very own family. In any case, I was pleased to see amity between them; and I was not averse to forgetting the enmity of the past. Besides, my being on better terms with Mama pleased Albert.

Albert wanted the child named Victoria—after me; and as that was also Mama's name, she could believe the little girl was named after her.

I wanted to add Adelaide, after my very good friend the Queen Dowager who loved all children—particularly so because, poor lady, she had none of her own. I knew that would delight her and show her that I remembered her kindnesses to me during my childhood. So it was Victoria Adelaide and to that we added Mary Louisa.

I recovered quickly. The baby changed every day, losing that frog-like look and becoming more like a human being. We engaged a wet nurse— a very pleasant creature, a Mrs. Southey who was the sister-in-law of the well-known poet. I made a point of seeing the child twice a day to make sure that all was well with her.

I had many congratulations from all sides but one from Uncle Leopold irritated me a little:

I can well understand that you feel astonished at finding yourself within a year of your marriage, a very respectable mother of a nice little girl, but let us thank Heaven that it is so.

Thank Heaven! I thought. Have you any notion, Uncle Leopold what a woman has to go through to produce a child?

…I flatter myself, therefore, that you will be a delighted and delightful Maman au milieu d'une belle et nombreuse famille…

I felt incensed and took up my pen at once:

I think, dearest Uncle, that you cannot really wish me to be the mother d'une nombreuse famille. Men never think—at least seldom think—what a hard task it is for us women to go through very often.

How far I had grown from Uncle Leopold since the adoring days of childhood!

Lehzen, of course, was delighted with the baby. She was critical of Mrs. Lilly and Mrs. Southey. But then she naturally would be. She would have liked to drive them out of the nursery and to have taken sole charge of the baby.

On those occasions when the baby was brought to me Albert would be there.

He marveled at the child and agreed with me that her looks improved every day.

“Little Victoria,” he murmured.

“It is what you call me sometimes.”

“It is rather a big name for such a little person.”

“She is like a little kitten.”

“Little Pussy,” said Albert; and then we took to calling her Pussy. It seemed to suit her better than Victoria, which had, since my accession, acquired rather a royal ring. So Pussy—or Pussette—she became; and as the days passed my affection for the child grew and I looked forward to our meetings—particularly if Albert was there. It was such a happy family picture—myself, my husband, and our baby.

I noticed that Dash was a little jealous of the baby. He would stand watching me while I was with her; and then he would give a little bark as though to say, “Remember Dash.”

But he was not nearly so lively as he used to be.

“He is getting old,” said Albert. “Never mind. You have the others.”

“There is only one Dash,” I reminded him.

A FEW WEEKS after the baby was born something very strange happened, which was to have a great effect on Lehzen, and therefore on me.

It happened in the night—at about one-thirty in the morning, actually—when the household had retired.

Mrs. Lilly, the nurse, was startled out of her sleep by the sound of a door opening. She sprang up and called, “Who's there?”

There was no answer. She went out into the corridor and saw the door of my dressing room being slowly opened from the inside. Then it shut abruptly. Mrs. Lilly had the presence of mind to run to the door and lock it on the outside. Then she summoned one of the pages who was on night duty.

By this time Lehzen had come out.

“What is all this about? What are you doing? You will awaken the Queen.”

“There is someone in there,” said Mrs. Lilly. “I saw, with my own eyes, the door opening.”

Lehzen cried, “It's the Queen's dressing room. Someone is trying to murder the Queen.”

She told me all this afterward. Her one thought had been for me, and after that wicked man had shot at me she feared the worst.

Lehzen went in, so she told me, boldly, with the page who was shivering with fright thinking, quite naturally, that he might encounter an assassin. And there cowering behind a sofa was a small boy.

By this time Albert and I were awake and Albert took over with his usual efficiency.

We remembered the boy. His name was Jones and a few years before he had broken into the Palace.

“I like it here,” he said. “It's nice. I can't help it. I have to come in. I don't mean no harm to no one. I love the Queen. I heard the little baby cry. I don't mean no harm.”

Albert said, “Take the boy away. I will see him in the morning. Search the rooms.”

“There was no one with me,” said the boy. “I climbed the wall. I come in on my own.”

Albert was magnificent on such occasions. Calm, quiet, and very authoritative.

We went back to our bedroom.

I was laughing. “Such a scare… about nothing. That boy came in before. Jones. That's right. The papers called him In-I-Go Jones.”

Albert said, “It is not a matter for laughter. It was a harmless boy. But it might not have been a boy and it might not have been harmless. This is a matter which requires attention.”

The papers had the story, of course. It was served up in various forms—embellished and garnished to suit public taste and made a good story. In-I-Go Jones was the young hero of the day. He said he had been under a sofa and had heard Albert and me talking together.

“I am now going to consider this matter of Palace security very carefully,” said Albert; and as in everything he did, he set about the task with thoroughness. He went through the household asking questions and uncovered quite a lot of discrepancies. The extravagance was great, a number of servants entertained their friends lavishly at Palace expense, jobs were created for friends, but worst of all, security was lax, and windows and locks were proved to be faulty.

Albert said, “That shall all be put in order, and I fancy we shall find greater efficiency, with a possibly decreased budget.”

Of course, there was murmuring in the kitchens and talk of German interference.

The Press heard of it. “The German invasion” they called it.

It was so disheartening. Everything Albert did was for the best—and he was never given any credit for it.

But the one who was most angry was Lehzen. Albert had come into her domain with his criticism and suggestions for improvements. She was tight-lipped and angry.

“I never heard anything like princes going into kitchens,” she said. “It's people like that who are not used to being in royal circles.”

I defended Albert, of course. “It is for the good of us all. He is thinking of our safety…my safety, Daisy.”

“Do you think I don't concern myself with your safety? If that had been a real assassin instead of that young boy, I would have thrown myself between you and him without a second thought.”

“I know you would. But Albert wants to prevent people getting into the Palace.”

“It was all right before he came.”

“But this boy broke into the Palace. How?”

“Boys can climb up anywhere.”

“If boys can do so, others can. Albert is right. There should be more security. People get lax when there is no supervision.”

“I have supervised…”

I looked at her sadly. I was more worried than she could guess, because I could see clearly that this conflict between her and Albert would not end here.

The day would come when I should have to choose between Lehzen and Albert, and there could only be one choice I could make.

Dear, dear Lehzen, companion of my childhood, the one I had sworn to love forever…But that had been before Albert came into my life.

Little In-I-Go Jones had made an amusing story for the Press; he had had his little adventure, but what he had done had gone deeper than that.

CHRISTMAS WAS ALMOST upon us.

“We shall spend it at Windsor,” said Albert.

We should celebrate it in the German fashion, with Christmas trees and presents on the table. Mama had brought that fashion with her so it was not new to me.

Albert was very happy. He had instituted new rules into the Palace. He had scored several triumphs over Lehzen, which she had perforce been reluctantly obliged to accept. There was an armed neutrality between them that I had decided I would not think about while we were at Windsor for the Christmas holiday.

Albert and I left in the carriage with the rest of the household traveling behind us. Immediately following was the baby with the nurses and Lehzen traveling with them. She was already regarding little Pussy as hers, much to the chagrin of Mrs. Lilly, who was a very forthright lady. Mrs. Southey was comfortable and unquarrelsome; she accepted with equanimity all that was asked of her—which I suppose was the right attitude for a wet nurse.

Mama was coming to Windsor to join us. Lehzen did not like that either. She knew that in the conflict with Albert, Mama would be her bitter foe. Albert wielded great influence with me and Mama was no longer the enemy. Moreover I was beginning to feel quite conscience-stricken by the way in which I had behaved, for Albert was convincing me that I had not been without fault.

Albert wanted a quiet Christmas, carrying out all the old German customs, which I had to agree was very pleasant; walking, riding, singing, a quiet game of chess, early to bed, rising at six, when it was dark, being ready to go into the forest to watch the dawn and stroll among the beautiful trees whose names I now knew—and much else that was growing also.

I was quite happy to do all this, for I was still easily tired after my ordeal. And I had to admit that if it was quiet, it was pleasant.

And then something happened to spoil it.

One morning when I went to Dash's basket to see why he did not come to me, I found him lying still.

“Dash! Dashy!” I cried.

He did not move and then I knew.

I sat there, the tears flowing. Albert came and found me.

He lifted me up and held me tenderly in his arms. He said, “He was getting old, you know.”

I nodded.

“He was stiff with rheumatism. He could not run as he used to. That must have been a trial for him. He had to go, Liebchen. It happens.”

What a comfort Albert was. He said we would bury him with honors for he had been a good friend to me and I had loved him dearly. He used to enjoy going up to Adelaide Cottage and we decided he should be buried there.

I had a marble stone made for him and on it were engraved the words Albert and I had chosen for him:

Here lies

DASH

The favorite spaniel of Her Majesty Queen Victoria In his tenth year

His attachment was without selfishness

His playfulness without malice

His fidelity without deceit

READER

If you would be loved and regretted

Profit by the example of

DASH

Whenever I was at Windsor, I would walk to his grave and remember.

WHILE WE WERE at Windsor I wrote to Lord Melbourne. I was a natural writer and so wrote many letters; and I often picked up my pen and wrote to my friends when the mood took me—and Lord Melbourne of course was a very special friend who received his fair share of my letters.

I reproached him for not joining us at Windsor. I wished he had. Albert was less eager for his company. Although Albert enjoyed good conversation, he liked it to be serious, and Lord Melbourne's was hardly that. Albert had urged me again to invite what he called more interesting people to our dinners. He said conversation was often dull. It was never dull with Lord M but my dear Prime Minister's rather cynical approach to life did not appeal to Albert, and although Lord Melbourne had been a very good friend to Albert—and Albert realized this—he did not enjoy his company as I did.

Lord M wrote that the uncertainty of events kept him in London. He reminded me that I should have to return for the Opening of Parliament and he was sorry to take me away from the joys of domesticity at Windsor. He was giving a great deal of thought to a speech from the throne in view of the difficult situation. Moreover, there was the baby's christening to be considered.

I wrote back that I was reluctant to leave Windsor. I was growing more and more fond of the place because Albert loved it so much. The forest reminded him of his own dear Rosenau, and he had made me see so much more of the delights of nature than I ever had before. There was one reason why my return to London would be very agreeable. I should have the pleasure of seeing Lord Melbourne.

When I did see him I sensed at once that there was a certain gravity in his manner. Things, he said, were not good. The Exchequer was in a weak state; and I guessed that he was worried about the imminent fall of the government. I knew, of course, that this had to come. Conversations with Albert had taught me that a government cannot go on tottering forever. It must collapse sooner or later. A very depressing thought. Albert was not in the least depressed by the prospect. I knew that he thought Sir Robert Peel was a politician of greater worth than Lord Melbourne. It was a matter we did not discuss because we both knew that the outcome might end in a storm neither of us wanted.

I opened Parliament in late January and it was decided that the christening should take place on the anniversary of our wedding day.

Uncle Leopold promised to attend. I was delighted at the prospect of seeing him but I was without that wild joy with which I used to anticipate his visits in my childhood. I hoped he would not lecture me on the duty of producing more children or my behavior with Albert. He would probably advise Albert, too. I often wondered what account Stockmar gave to him, and how much he knew of our domestic trials.

We had snow, which turned to ice, and there was a strong wind buffeting the walls of the Palace. Albert enjoyed it. He loved the gardens at Buckingham Palace. They were quite extensive—forty acres actually— and in some parts of them it was like the country. Albert and I would walk under the trees and he would give me his little botany lessons that I tried hard to concentrate on to please him.

He was delighted when the pond froze so that he could go skating. He told me how he and Ernest had skated at Rosenau. Rosenau seemed perfection. The weather was always right and there always seemed to be harmony between the brothers—in spite of the differences in their characters. I began to suspect that events seen from a distance gained a certain enchantment which bemused even such a calm and reasonable person as Albert.

However, he went to skate. I would have joined him in this but he forbade it… oh, in such a tender way, because, he said, I was not yet recovered from Pussette's birth, so I contented myself with watching. Wrapped up in furs, my ladies and I would go out and admire Albert as he moved across the ice so beautifully. He was very graceful. I knew the English did not like his looks. They said he did not look as an Englishman should look; with those beautiful blue eyes and dark lashes and clear-cut features he was almost like a woman. They liked men to be men, they said. What they meant was that they liked them to be Englishmen and not Germans. They commented on his figure—his small waist and well-shaped legs. Not entirely manly, they said.

A terrible thing happened that morning. I have never forgotten it. I might so easily have lost him then. I remember still those moments when I saw him disappear beneath the ice.

I had just been thinking that it was a little warmer, but that the ice might have thawed did not enter my head until it happened.

“Albert!” I screamed; and in the space of a few seconds I lived through nightmares. I pictured them bringing him out of the lake. I saw his body on a stretcher, stiff and cold. Albert, my beloved, lost to me forever.

Then I saw Albert's head above the hole in the ice and I ran. There was no time to do anything else. I had to save him.

I stepped cautiously onto the ice. Albert saw me. He called, “Go back. The ice is too thin. It's dangerous.”

But I did not heed him. I was not going to stand by and wait for people to come and rescue Albert.

I moved toward him. The ice was holding and my determination to save him was stronger than my fear or my weakness. I was there.

I stretched out a hand.

“Go back,” cried Albert.

But I continued to hold out my hand. He grasped it and to my infinite joy, by clinging to me he was able to scramble out of the water.

“Oh Albert,” I cried, sobbing with relief. But I was practical immediately. He was shivering with cold in his wet garments. “Come quickly into the Palace,” I said.

Divested of his sodden clothes, wrapped in warm blankets, sipping hot punch, Albert smiled at me tenderly.

“My brave Liebchen,” he said.

“Oh, Albert, if I should lose you I should want to die,” I said; and I meant it.

I ENJOYED THE christening. It was wonderful to see dear Uncle Leopold, and it was amazing how little my resentments seemed to matter when I was face to face with him. He was one of the sponsors. Albert's father was also one, but as he was unable to attend, the Duke of Wellington stood proxy for him. Mama, Queen Adelaide, the Duchess of Gloucester, and the Duke of Sussex were the other sponsors.

Pussy behaved with unusual decorum and did not cry at all. She seemed quite interested in the gloriously apparelled people who surrounded her. She was really becoming quite pretty. A fact that delighted me. I could not have borne it if she had retained the froglike features of her birth.

Lord Melbourne attended the ceremony. He looked at me very sentimentally and I was touched with uneasiness for I knew things were going very badly for the government.

“The baby behaved impeccably,” he said. “I can see she is going to take after her mother.”

I laughed.

“She might have shown some displeasure,” he went on. “Think what an effect that would have had on the proceedings.”

He could always bring a light touch into everything even when he was disturbed.

I arranged that Lord Melbourne should sit beside me at the dinner party that followed the christening; and we talked a great deal about old times and he was his usual witty self.

I could not help thinking how sad I should be if I should have to accept another in his place.

It was soon after that when I made a truly alarming discovery. I was pregnant once more.

MY FIRST IMPULSE was fury; then the fear came. Oh, no, I could not go through all that again… and so soon. I was only just getting over Pussy's birth, and here I was starting it all over again.

I loved Albert, and in spite of one or two storms, my marriage was a happy one, but this side of it could never please me. It was the shadow side of marriage.

Albert was delighted at the prospect of another child and I resented his pleasure.

“You, Albert, do not have to go through all the tiresome painful ordeals.”

Albert said that it was God's will, and that children had to be born as they were.

“Then I wish that He had given men a bigger share in it,” I retorted.

Albert was shocked by what he considered blasphemy, but I meant it.

When I told Lehzen she was horrified. “But it is far too soon. My precious one, you have only just recovered. Oh, this is too bad… this is thoughtlessness. This is putting too big a burden on my little one.”

She took a delight in blaming Albert; and such was my mood at the time that I let her go on.

I said, “I hated it. All those people in the next room, waiting…Oh, I know it is the custom in the case of a royal birth…”

“It's inhuman,” said Lehzen.

“I shall not allow it again.”

“And why should you?” asked Lehzen.

“I cannot bear it, Daisy,” I cried. “Not again. So soon.”

“There, my precious,” she soothed. But much as she felt for me she could not hide the fact that she was pleased because she believed I felt some resentment against Albert.

I was always so very disturbed to see this animosity between those two whom I loved.

THAT WAS A sad year for me. During the months that followed I went through all the discomforts of pregnancy; but more than that, change was forced upon me and I had to face the fact that I was going to be deprived of one who was very important to me: my dear Lord M.

There was a conflict of loyalties. I had my ties with my foreign relations always in mind; and these were in constant opposition to the good of my country. Lord Palmerston was an arrogant man; I knew he was shrewd and very clever; he would have no interference in foreign affairs outside the government, which meant that my wishes were of no importance to him.

The trouble was the growing breach between France and England; and of course Uncle Leopold had strong ties with France, Aunt Louise being the daughter of Louis Philippe.

It was due to that old nuisance, Mehemet Ali. Palmerston wanted to crush him and so put an end to French domination in Egypt. Lord John Russell did not agree with Palmerston, which meant there was a division within the government itself. Lord Melbourne, in his usual way, wanted to let it alone and I begged him to override Palmerston and seek a peaceful settlement with France. But Palmerston was not the man to be overridden. He ordered the British fleet to take action and so forced Mehemet Ali to go back to his allegiance to the Sultan.

Palmerston was triumphant when he succeeded in this for it turned out that his calculations had been correct, and Louis Philippe was disinclined to take the offensive on behalf of his Egyptian ally. Instead he joined with the other states involved, who pledged themselves to maintain Turkey and Egypt in status quo.

Palmerston's bold—and successful—action was regarded with dismay by Uncle Leopold and the French, and a great coldness blew up between England and that country. Albert sided with Leopold and the French; and he made me see that I should take their side.

Meanwhile the government was growing weaker. The triumph abroad meant little to the people; it was home affairs that were of the utmost importance to them.

The blow came in May—the month of my twenty-second birthday.

The government's budget, which leaned toward free trade and reduced the tax on sugar, was defeated by a majority of thirty-six. Sir Robert Peel immediately called for a vote of no confidence in the government and he won. It was true by only one vote. But that was enough.

Albert was very grave. “This will mean an election,” he said.

“I pray the Whigs will succeed,” I replied fervently.

“I think, my love, that is most unlikely.”

“Oh Albert, I cannot bear to think of those terrible Tories in power.”

“My dearest, Sir Robert Peel is one of the finest statesmen in the country—I might say the finest.”

I hated those sly references to Lord Melbourne and I felt my anger rising.

“I cannot endure the man,” I said shortly.

“I think if you give him a chance you will change your mind. When he came to see you he was aware of your animosity and that must have made him a little nervous. I think if you would set aside your dislike, you would get to know him very well.”

“How can one set aside one's dislikes!”

“By taking an unjaundiced view, by looking at the man as he is and not merely as the opponent of one whom you want to keep in office.”

“My dear Albert, you have no idea what I have suffered through that man. He wanted to turn out my bedchamber women. I cannot go through all that again…at this time…in my condition.”

Albert soothed me. “Come and sit down, Liebchen. I want to talk to you and I want you to listen carefully and promise not to be angry.”

“Angry… with you!”

He nodded. “I want you to know that everything I have done is for your good…to make you happy…to make life easy for you during these months that I know are trying for you.”

I lay against him. I loved to hear him talk like that.

“I know, dearest Albert, that you are so good to me. I have a hot temper. I am impulsive… and not always appreciative. But I do know … yes, I do, that you love me and that this love between us is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I believe that, too. My dear one, we have to face facts. There is going to be an election and the Tories are going to win.”

“How can you be so sure of that? I could not bear it.”

“It is almost a certainty. For a long time the government has been on the verge of collapse. It has come now.”

“Then the new Prime Minister will be Sir Robert Peel.”

Albert nodded.

“Albert, I cannot bear it. The trouble I had last time…I managed to get rid of them.”

“You managed postponement, but can you again? My dearest, you know that it is inevitable and it is for the country—not the Queen—to choose its government; and the country will choose the Tories.”

“To happen now … when I am in this state. It is too bad! There will be trouble about the household… just as there was before.”

“No,” said Albert.

“What do you mean?”

“I have arranged that there shall be no trouble.”

“Peel gave up last time because he could not remove my bedchamber ladies.”

Albert hesitated, took a deep breath and said, “I have made arrangements about that.”

“About my ladies?”

“My dearest, be calm. Remember, I think only of you. You must not excite yourself now. What has to be must be accepted.”

“If he brings in his Tory women, how foolish will I look? Being forced to obey my Prime Minister.”

“I have worked it so that this will not be the case.”

“But the ladies will have to go.”

“Yes… they will go, but they will resign…now.”

“They never would.”

“Yes, they will. The Duchess of Sutherland, the Duchess of Bedford and Lady Normanby will resign… before the election.”

I could not help but feel relieved. I dreaded another confrontation with Sir Robert Peel. I knew that he would not accept my entirely Whig household; and I knew, also, that I could not, without great humiliation, dismiss my Whig ladies and accept those with Tory leanings. I had dreaded the conflict … But if they resigned, that would be another matter.

“Albert, you have arranged this!”

“Thinking solely of you, my dearest. I understand perfectly your feelings and how, after what you had gone through before, you could not be subjected to the humiliation of accepting now what you would not previously. So …I have arranged this. The ladies are willing. They understand perfectly. They will resign, and when the government is formed, it will be a matter for you to discuss your new household with the Prime Minister. You could not, in all reasonableness, have an entirely Whig household as before. But you might have a sprinkling of Whig ladies.”

“You arranged all this! Oh …Albert!”

He said, “I was not going to have you disturbed. I would not have done this, but just now it is of particular importance.”

I was so grateful for all his care. I did not want to think of a change of government. I would lose my intimate relationship with Lord Melbourne, but now I had Albert, that would make a difference. It was not the same as it had been. Everything was different with Albert beside me.

“Oh dear, dear Albert, what should I do without you!”

He said modestly, “I did not bring this about on my own. I cannot take full credit. It was after many discussions with others… Anson, Stockmar…Lord Melbourne himself saw the wisdom of it.”

“He did not mention it to me.”

“We all thought it was wiser that you should not be upset until it was a fait accompli. The ladies are now ready to resign. They will do so before the result of the election is known. Sir Robert will be most understanding…as he has been all along; he would not add to your discomfort.”

“Do you mean that he knows of this?”

Albert hesitated for a second or so. “We thought it necessary to take him into our confidence. He is a most understanding…a most shrewd man. Believe me, he wants to make this transition as comfortable for you as he possibly can.”

I lay against Albert. I could sense his relief and how apprehensive he had been about telling me.

But he was right, of course. I realized that. I loved Lord Melbourne; he was my dear friend; I wanted his government to stay in power so that he could continue to be my adviser. But, of course, it must be the people who decided who should govern them.

I had to reconcile myself to change.

I could… with Albert beside me. And once more I thanked God for giving me such a husband.

WHEN LORD MELBOURNE came to me I felt very emotional.

I said, “Albert has talked to me. He has told me that you knew what he was doing.”

“I do not feel so badly about leaving you,” replied Lord M, “as I know you have such a worthy man beside you.”

“This is too sad for me to contemplate.”

“Change has to come and we have been warding this off for a very long time.”

“That man… that dancing master…in place of you!”

“Of course, Your Majesty is not in need of a dancing master, but, Ma'am, you are in need of good ministers, and I do assure you that Peel is one of the best.”

“That is what Albert says.”

“Albert is wise.”

“You will come to dine with us… often.”

He bowed.

“I shall write to you… long letters telling you just what I feel.”

“Your Majesty is gracious to me…as ever.”

“Oh dear Lord M, it is so cruel that this should happen when I am … when I am …”

“I grieve for that, Ma'am.”

“And all because of your wretched enemy making all that fuss about sugar.”

“He is only my enemy in the House, Ma'am. Outside we are quite good friends. I firmly believe that when you get to know him, you will find that he is your very good friend.”

I tried to forget that I might be on the point of losing my Prime Minister; I tried to forget that growing discomfort culminating in a painful ordeal lay before me.

I thought of Albert's devotion and how he had worked so hard to save me from unpleasantness.

Yes, it was not a very happy year.

ALBERT WAS TO be given an honorary degree at Oxford. I was to go with him to receive it and I was looking forward to the journey. I loved traveling and it was particularly enjoyable when honor was being done to Albert.

There was one of those little differences between us that might have blown up into a quarrel, but somehow we managed to avoid it.

Albert suggested that Lehzen should not accompany us.

“Not come!” I cried. “But Albert, Lehzen always comes with me. I have never been separated from her.”

“That was before your marriage.”

“Well, that makes no difference.”

Albert thought it did, and I was about to accuse him of being unfair to Lehzen when he said, “Pussy cannot come with us. She is too young for the journey. Is not Lehzen in charge of the nurseries?”

“Yes, she is.”

“Then how can she leave Pussy?”

I saw this was a way of avoiding a great deal of unpleasantness. I was growing very uneasy about the conflict between Albert and Lehzen and in my condition I did not want to be involved in quarrels.

I was so happy because Albert had arranged the difficult matter of the bedchamber ladies and I just wanted to be peaceful. I grew exhausted very quickly and my temper was more uncertain than ever. I did not want to provoke it. I was a little like Lord Melbourne who always wanted to leave it alone.

“I shall hate being without you, Daisy,” I said, “but you cannot leave Pussy. She needs you more than I do.”

It worked. Lehzen hated the thought of my going to Oxford without her, but on the other hand she loved to be thought indispensable in the nurseries. Albert had been very wise to bring up that point.

She wavered. “I have never been away from you,” she said. “You were always my baby. I can't think why you have to be dragged to Oxford.”

“I shan't be dragged, Daisy. I shall go in the carriage and I assure you I shall be well looked after.”

“In your state…”

“It is another five months before the baby is due. Surely I haven't got to live like a recluse until that time. I shall be all right.” I was going to say that Albert would look after me, but that would, of course, not help matters at all.

So Albert and I went to Oxford where Albert received his honorary degree, with the Duke of Wellington as Chancellor of the University presiding.

When we left Oxford we stayed at several houses on the way back— spending two nights at Chatsworth with the Devonshires and then going on to the Bedfords at Woburn and to Panshanger where we were entertained by Lord Cowper, Lord Melbourne's nephew.

“All Whig houses,” said Albert. “Is that wise?”

“They are my friends,” I retorted. “The country may choose the government but I will choose my friends.”

After Panshanger we took luncheon with the dear man himself at his country home of Brocket Hall. What a pleasure it was to be entertained by Lord Melbourne. He was so delighted to have us there.

“What an honor for me to entertain Your Majesty,” he said. “I, who have had so much royal hospitality.”

“Dear Lord M,” I said. “I hope in spite of everything, things will remain as they are.”

They did not. The election was in progress at the time and the result was a devastating defeat for the Whigs and a very large Tory majority.

IT WAS A very sad meeting.

I held out my hand and he kissed it, then lifted his eyes to my face. He was trying to look his nonchalant self, but he was not managing it very well; and I loved him the more for his inability to do so.

“It had to be,” he said. “It has been coming for a long while. It is a decisive victory for them. Three hundred and sixty-eight against our two hundred and ninety-two. There is no doubt that the country wants a new government. But for Your Majesty it would have happened before.”

“At least I kept you with me a little longer.”

“Your Majesty's determination was fierce.”

“As fierce as my choleric temper?”

“That is certainly fierce, but it evaporates rather speedily and your determination persists.”

“Oh, my dear Lord M, how I shall miss you!”

“May I give you one piece of advice?”

“Of course. I hope you will never cease to give me advice.”

“Send for Peel at once. Be patient with him. I am sure you will soon be on excellent terms with him.”

“He will remember that incident of the Bedchamber Ladies. He must hate me as much as I hate him.”

“He is a loyal subject. He respects Your Majesty. Believe me, he understands the position. He wants affairs to run smoothly and will strive to win your confidence.”

“He makes me uneasy with his dancing steps.”

“It is only because you make him uneasy. Do not forget that you are the Queen.”

“I do not forget.”

“Be magnanimous. Give Peel a chance. That is all you need to do. He will give you excellent service for he is a dedicated man.”

“It is strange to hear you speak like this about your most bitter opponent.”

“Your Majesty, our enmity ceases to exist outside politics. We have different ideas as to how the country's affairs should be run. That does not mean that he is a villain… just because he does not agree with me. There are, in fact, many occasions when I see his point quite clearly. There are many sides to every question.”

“Oh, Lord Melbourne, you are a very clever man…so astute…so polished. How I shall miss you!”

I was almost in tears and so was he.

“You have the Prince,” he reminded me. “I rejoice in the Prince. He will be beside you. He will help you. Listen to his advice for he is wise. When you married you made the best possible choice.”

“I know.”

“It comforts me greatly to know that you will have such a helper… right at your side…so close to you.”

“He should be the King.”

Lord Melbourne raised his eyebrows and smiled at me.

“Don't forget what I told you. Governments should never attempt to make kings. If they did they would soon be trying their hands at unmaking them. It is better as it stands. You have the Prince. Let us rejoice in that.”

“You will come to visit me. We shall write.”

“Your Majesty is so good to an old man.”

“As good as you were, I hope, to an inexperienced girl.”

He was too emotional to speak… and so was I.

This was the last time I should see Lord Melbourne as my Prime Minister.

When he left I went to the room where I did my drawing and I inspected several of my favorites—ones he had admired.

I sent them to him.

His reply touched me deeply.

He would treasure them and they would remind him of my kindness and regard, which he would cherish beyond measure.

It was a very very sad time.

IT MADE IT harder to bear that following on that scene with Lord Melbourne I had to receive Sir Robert Peel.

Albert talked to me before the meeting, extolling the virtues of the man, and telling me how eager he was for our relationship to run smoothly.

It was not quite such an ordeal as I had feared. Sir Robert was less illat-ease than he had been on our previous meeting two years before. He was very respectful and obviously eager to please. Perhaps, I thought, I had misjudged him. He was not Lord Melbourne, of course. He never would be. There was only one Lord Melbourne. But he was not disagreeable.

He showed me a list of the people he proposed for the Cabinet and wanted to know if they had my approval.

“I should need time to study them, Sir Robert,” I said. “But of course, Ma'am.”

I noticed he did not fidget so much and there was none of that irritating pointing of toes.

All the same I was pleased when he went, and I was delighted to have come through our first meeting without too much annoyance.

I was unable to attend the prorogation in October. In fact I was not appearing in public as my confinement was getting very near. I was longing for it to be over. And then, I thought, there must be a long rest from this tiresome business.

Albert was so kind. He understood how I hated to have all those people so close, just waiting for the moment when the baby was born. He said that they should not be told until right at the last moment, and that would avoid their being close at hand during the wretched preliminary period.

I was greatly comforted by that; and although the entire business of childbearing was loathsome to me, for I hated that a queen should be made to feel like an animal, on this occasion it was not quite so humiliating because of the greater privacy.

I was so relieved when it was over; and this time there was very special rejoicing. I had produced the longed-for boy.

THE WHOLE COUNTRY was delighted. What store they set on boys! They had not felt the same about poor Pussy.

He was a lusty child, with large dark blue eyes, a rather big nose, but with a very pretty mouth. I was more accustomed to babies now and their original ugliness did not repel me quite so much because I knew it would change.

Albert was overjoyed about the new baby. He kept talking about Our Boy or The Boy.

I said, “I hope he will grow up just like you, Albert.”

Albert modestly did not reply, but I am sure he hoped the same.

“And,” I said, “he shall be called Albert.”

Of course there was opposition to that. This boy was the heir to the throne and there had never been a King Albert of England. There had been Edwards—six of them—and the English always liked their kings to have the same names. I never forgot that some people had wanted me to be Elizabeth when it was known that I would almost certainly come to the throne. I had refused that very firmly.

Edward was therefore a favorite choice for the Boy.

“It is only right that he should be Albert,” I insisted. “Pussy is named Victoria after me; therefore the Boy should be Albert after his father… even if he had to be Edward as well.”

Christmas had come and we went to Windsor. The Boy was just over a month old. Pussy, of course, was now becoming quite a person. She was not exactly enamored of her little brother.

Albert had instituted German customs and several fir trees were sent to us from Germany. These we decorated with brightly colored baubles and candles. Beside the trees were tables where presents were laid out. Pussy was enchanted by the trees and looked at them with wondering eyes.

Poor Lehzen had caught the jaundice and looked very odd—and very ill, for her skin was quite yellow. I wanted her to rest but she refused to. She insisted that she was needed in the nursery.

There was a ball on New Year's Eve. Even Albert could not retire early at such a time and had to stay up to see the passing of the old year. We stood together while the trumpets sounded to usher in the New Year; my hand was in his.

“A happy year, my darling,” said Albert.

“For us both,” I said fervently.

And I hoped it would be happier than the last.

The christening of the Boy took place in St. George's Chapel. For political reasons it had been thought advisable to invite Frederick William, King of Prussia, to be the chief sponsor. The others were the Duke of Cambridge, Princess Sophia, and three members of the SaxeCoburg family.

The King of Prussia stayed with us for about two weeks and was most affable and very interested in everything English. I found him pleasant.

There was the usual outcry, this time because the Boy was given the title of Duke of Saxony. He was the Prince of Wales, it was said, and people did not want to be reminded that he had a German father.

Albert was indignant, but he was accustomed to such comments now and more able to shrug them aside.

Albert thought he and I should be alone for a short while, and he suggested a brief visit to Claremont. “Alone,” said Albert. “After all, you have to recover from the Boy's birth.”

So Lehzen and the nurses went back to Buckingham Palace and Albert and I had a blissful time at Claremont.

The weather was cold and there was snow. How we revelled in it! We skated a little and Albert made a snowman twelve feet high. It was good to see him so unusually playful.

But all too soon we must return to London. And there trouble awaited us.

We had talked constantly about the children. Pussy had given us some anxiety during the last autumn; she had grown a little thin and rather listless. But she had seemed much better during Christmas.

“She is so pretty now,” I said. “That white and blue dress that Mama gave her is most becoming.”

“Your mother is very fond of the child. How glad I am to see you settling your differences. They should never have existed. Nor would they if …”

I looked at him appealingly as though to say: Please Albert, don't spoil these idyllic days at Claremont. Please do not say that Lehzen ruined my character, indulged me, did not check my temper with the result that it is now uncontrollable…or I shall lose that temper and everything will be spoiled.

Albert understood although I had not spoken, and he did not want to spoil the holiday either.

He said instead, “She is getting too old for Pussy now. She should be called by her proper name.”

“Then I shall not know whether you are speaking to her or to me.”

“She shall be Vicky.”

“Vicky! Very well. I don't suppose we shall be able to drop Pussy or Pussette right away. I hope she is all right. I do worry about her. Though she did seem better at Christmas. How she loved those candles in the trees!”

“She is adorable,” said Albert.

When we arrived back at the Palace the first thing we did was go to the nurseries. The Boy was asleep, the picture of health. Not so our daughter.

We gazed at her in consternation. Then Albert snatched her up. “The child is ill,” he said. “How thin she is! She is being starved.”

The nurse—Mrs. Roberts, I think her name was—glared at Albert. I was afraid the nurses took their cues from Lehzen who must have impressed on them that Albert was of no account, particularly in the nursery.

The nurse said, “We carry out the doctor's instructions here in the nursery.”

Albert put the child back into her bed and strode out of the nursery. I followed him.

In our room he said, “This is malicious. It seems to me that there is a conspiracy to keep me out of the nursery.”

I was very worried about the child; I hated these upsets and I knew that this was really another conflict between Albert and Lehzen. I lost my temper.

I cried, “Do you mean that I am keeping you out of the nursery?”

“I am sure those who have your support wish to do so.”

How he hated Lehzen! How could he? How I should have loved to see those two good friends; but they hated each other and were constantly letting me know it.

My temper flared. “I suppose you would like to keep me out of the nursery. You would like to be in charge. Then you could as good as murder the child.”

Albert stared at me as well he might. He looked bewildered. “Murder our child,” he murmured. “What are you saying…?” He stood very still, his lips compressed as though he were fighting hard to retain his composure.

Then I heard him murmur, “I must have patience.” And he strode from the room.

I was hurt; I was angry with myself, but more with him. He made no attempt to get along with Lehzen. He had hated her from the first day of our marriage, and was determined to do battle with her.

I knew Lehzen. He did not know her. I knew she would give her life for me and the child. Yet Albert was suggesting that Lehzen was responsible for Vicky's illness.

I could not restrain my anger. I went to him.

He was standing by the window looking out.

“So you are now avoiding me,” I said. “You walk out when I am talking to you.”

“Considering your uncontrollable temper there is little else one can do.”

“Our child is ill,” I said. “Can you think of nothing to do about that except to abuse those who serve her loyally?”

“It is because I fear they are not serving her wisely that I am concerned.”

“You have upset them in the nursery.”

“Mein Gott!” he cried. “They need to be upset. They are incompetent fools. I am expected to stand by and see my daughter neglected just because some old fool has to be placated.”

“Please do not call Daisy an old fool.”

“I shall call her what I please. It is through her that we have this trouble. She is unfit for the care of children.”

“She was my nurse, my governess, and my dearest friend.”

“And…we see the result. Ungovernable furies that should have been checked in childhood.”

“Albert, you should be careful what you are saying.”

“I shall say what I please. There is an attempt to shut me from the nursery. I am denied the care of my child. I am shown every day that I am of no importance in this household.”

“Albert, I am the Queen.”

“Of that all must be aware. As for myself I am constantly reminded of the fact.”

“Albert, that is not true.”

“It is apparent to all. You should listen to the truth and stop treating as gospel what is said by that crazy, common, stupid intriguer who is obsessed by her lust for power, and regards herself as a demi-god; and anyone who refuses to acknowledge her as such, as a criminal.”

“Oh, how dare you! I wish…I wish I had never married.”

“Has it occurred to you that that is something on which we might both agree? Baroness Lehzen…Dr. Clark…My daughter is in the hands of this incompetent pair. One only has to look at her to see the result. Dr. Clark has poisoned her with his chamomile; he has starved her by giving her nothing but asses' milk and chicken broth. We have seen his skills before…in the case of Flora Hastings. If this Court had been managed in an efficient manner that man would have been dismissed long ago. I suppose he is a friend of the worthy Baroness who can do no wrong. Oh, I know you are the Queen—it is a fact that is driven home to me every day—and that I am brought in merely to provide heirs to the throne and do as I am told. Take the child away from me. I have no rights. If she dies it will be on your conscience.”

I had never heard Albert make such a long and bitter speech and I had never felt so desperately unhappy in the whole of my life.

And as I stood there, he turned abruptly and left me.

I WEPT STORMILY, angrily. How dared he say such things! Yet he felt them, and I could see that they were in a measure true. I could not think what to do. I wanted him to come back. Let us shout at each other. Let the storms of abuse flow. What I could not endure was silence.

I passed a wretched night. The next morning Albert went to open the new Stock Exchange. I sat in the Palace brooding.

I could bear it no longer. We must talk calmly, reasonably. The child's health was important and it was necessary for her parents to look after her jointly.

I wrote a letter to Albert in which I said that we had been hasty and we had based our assumptions on evil rumors. There were always those who maligned others. I had already forgiven him the cruel things he had said to me; and I thought he should come to me and we should talk together.

I knew that Albert confided a great deal in Stockmar. We both did. Uncle Leopold had sent him to be an adviser to us both, and from our childhoods Uncle Leopold had been our guardian. I guessed that, upset as he was, Albert would go to Stockmar and tell him his side of the story.

As a result Stockmar came to me and said he wished to have a very serious talk. He had heard, through Albert, of the disagreement between us. He said, “I find these continual quarrels very disconcerting. For some time now I have been toying with the idea of returning to Coburg. My family is there. I should like to be with them. And when I see how things go here, I feel I can make no progress with the task your uncle has set me.”

“You would not leave us!” I cried.

“It is in my mind. I can see that you are unaware of the great blessings that have been bestowed on you. There could be so much happiness… so much that is good, but—”

“Albert should not provoke me. I know I am hot-tempered and when my temper is aroused, I say things I do not mean. I hate these scenes. Albert should remember that it is not long since my son was born. One suffers not only before but after a birth. Men do not understand…”

“There are reasons other than physical weakness behind those outbursts. There are too many conflicts in the household.”

“What do you mean?”

Stockmar had never treated me as the Queen; he had always been frank and open, and implied that if he could not speak his mind he would not speak at all, but return to his family in Coburg.

He said, looking at me very shrewdly, “Let us face the truth. There will always be these scenes while Baroness Lehzen remains in your household.”

I stared at him in horror.

He went on, “It is a fact. There is not room in one household for the Prince and Baroness Lehzen.”

“I love them both…”

Stockmar shrugged his shoulders. “The time has come for you to decide which is the more important to you.”

“Albert is my husband.”

“Exactly. He will always be with you. But you cannot hope for a happy marriage while the Baroness remains.”

“She is my dearest friend…She has been with me all my life.”

I was thinking: I could not live without Albert. I love Albert, yes, but I love Lehzen, too.

“That is all I can say,” said Stockmar. “While she is here there will be trouble and although at this time there is great affection between you and the Prince, constant disagreements and violent quarrels will kill love in time. I know the Baroness is devoted to you, but she loves you too possessively. She dislikes the Prince because she is jealous of anyone who takes you from her. I repeat, the Baroness should go, if you are to live in harmony with your husband and family.”

“No,” I said. “No.”

Stockmar lifted his shoulders. “Then there is nothing more I can say.”

“I could not do it. How could I tell her? It would break her heart.”

“If she stays she will break yours… and Albert's.”

“I cannot see why people can't be nice to each other. It is a big palace. Why is there not room for us all?”

“It is not a matter of area,” said Stockmar.

He looked at me hopelessly and I could see he was preparing to take his leave.

“Wait a moment,” I said.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Isn't there some way out… something we could do?”

I knew that I was telling him that at all costs I must keep Albert. Stockmar realized this and I fancied I saw something of triumph in his eyes.

“The Baroness has a sister in Coburg,” he said. “The sister has children. The Baroness is very fond of children. She could go to her sister… adequately pensioned. She could have a very comfortable life.”

“How could I tell her? Oh no, no. I could not.”

“A holiday…at first. It could grow into a long holiday.”

I was silent.

I knew that he was right. I loved Lehzen. It would be heart-breaking to say goodbye to her. But Albert was my husband. My allegiance was to him; more than that he was what I wanted. If Lehzen were not there— much as I should miss her—there would be an absence of that tension which was so worrying to me. I should be at peace and happy.

Stockmar was going on, “The Baroness has been ill recently. She has not yet recovered from her attack of jaundice. She needs rest, freedom from responsibility. A holiday should be suggested for her, just a holiday…at first…a holiday that should grow into a very long holiday.”

I nodded, slowly, wretchedly.

Stockmar was smiling. He said, “Your Majesty shows great wisdom.”

I HAD KNOWN it would have to come. They could not exist peacefully under the same roof. This had been inevitable ever since Lehzen had been confronted by him. Their dislike was mutual. They were enemies through their love of me.

I had to accept that, and I wondered how I was going to tell Lehzen.

How delighted Albert must be! He had achieved what he had always wanted. He was going to be rid of Lehzen at last.

I would have to know that she was comfortable; she would have to be most adequately provided for. She had often talked to me about her sister and the children. Oh, it would be a terrible wrench but she would be happy in time.

Albert would come to me in delight. He would tell me how happy he was because I had come to this decision. It was for him, he knew, and he would be gratified. He must not go on thinking that he was of no importance in the Palace. I must show him that he was of the utmost importance to me.

I waited but he did not come.

Where was he? Stockmar had said he would go to him at once. Then as I was making such a sacrifice why did he not come at once and thank me?

The minutes ticked by and at last I could bear the waiting no longer. I went to his sitting room.

To my surprise he was sitting in an armchair, a book in his hands. Reading…at a time like this! I felt myself growing angry again.

He looked up at me and smiled.

“Why did you not come to see me?” I demanded.

“You were not in a very good mood when we last met,” he replied.

“I did not think you were in a very good one either. Albert, put that book down when I speak to you.”

“Is that a royal command?” asked Albert a trifle coldly.

Oh dear, I thought. This is not going as I expected it would. How can he behave so, after all I have done?

“When I come in I expect you to pay attention to me.”

He said, “A thousand pardons.” He stood up and bowed.

“Oh not like that,” I said. “Just talk to me.” He was still holding the book.

“Put it down,” I cried.

“If you ask me, instead of command me, I shall do so.”

“It seems that you would like me to request you to speak to me.”

“Perhaps that would be a courteous thing to do.”

The temper was rising. “Perhaps you would like me to curtsy, beg permission to speak, and walk out backward.”

Albert stood up, and taking his book with him, walked into the bedroom. He shut the door.

I was now furious. I had come ready for reconciliation. I had agreed—much against my will—that Lehzen should take a holiday. And my reward was this. Another quarrel. I would not have it.

“Open that door,” I shouted.

Albert was standing on the other side of it. I was aware of him. “Who is there?” he asked.

“You know. It is the Queen. Open it at once.”

Nothing happened. I was so miserable. I could have burst into tears. It was only my anger which kept me from doing so.

I knocked again.

“Who is there?” repeated Albert.

“What game is this? You know who is here.”

“Tell me,” he said.

“The Queen!” I shouted.

Nothing happened. What did he mean by shutting me out? I had agreed to their terms… his and Stockmar's. I had rashly promised that my dearest Lehzen should go for a long holiday; and now he was behaving like this…showing me, I supposed, that he was master in his own house.

That was all very well, but I was the Queen.

I cried angrily, my voice shaken with emotion: “Will you open this door?”

“Who is there?” he asked again.

“The Queen,” I said, stifling my emotion.

I felt wretched, frustrated. I wanted to see him. I wanted him to open the door, put his arms round me and tell me that there would be an end to silly quarrels which hurt us both so much. I wanted to say I agree to Lehzen's going. I'll agree to anything, but we must be together because our love is really of the utmost importance.

I could not check the sob which rose in my throat. I think Albert must have heard it for he said in a very gentle voice, “Who is there?”

Then I understood. It was not the Queen he wanted to hold in his arms; it was Victoria, his wife.

I cried, “Albert, this is Victoria…your wife.”

The door was flung open. He was standing there.

I ran to him; he picked me up and held me fast.

I WAS SO happy to be with him. I said I was hasty tempered, a shrew. He replied that he should never have uttered the words he did. We both agreed that it was out of our love for each other that these quarrels arose. We must guard against them. We must stop them. They were spoiling our bliss. We were so fortunate. Little Vicky should have the best attention. We would call in more doctors. There was Stockmar for one.

I knew Lehzen would protest. She let her jealousy of Albert overshadow all other feelings.

But we had to make Vicky strong and we had to preserve our marriage.

Of course I had Lehzen to face. I put it off and it was Albert who spoke to her first. Perhaps that was unfortunate. She would be suspicious of anything that came from him.

She came to me bristling, her rage apparent.

She said, “The Prince has spoken to me.”

I knew what was coming.

“He is trying to take you away from me.”

“Oh no…Daisy.”

“Yes, he is. He has suggested that I go to Coburg for a long holiday.”

“I have been so concerned for your health. You work too hard.”

“I cannot work too hard for those I love.”

“I know…I know. How is the child?”

“She is all right. There is nothing wrong with her.”

“She does seem pale, thin, and a little listless, too. She used to be so full of vitality.”

“It's people that are trying to make trouble.”

“Daisy dear, the Prince and I have decided that you need a nice long holiday in Coburg. There is your sister. You know how interested you are in her children. You will go…and have a really good rest.”

She was looking at me disbelievingly. I met her gaze steadily. She knew me well. She knew that I was telling her she would have to go and that the last nursery scene must be the final one. She could not believe that the ties that held me to her were not stronger than those that bound me to my husband.

I could not say to her what I should have liked to. Dear Lehzen, I shall never forget what we have been to each other. I love you. I am grateful for all the loving care you gave me over so many years. I cherish happy memories of the times we have had together. But I have a husband now … and my husband and my children must come first.

I could not say it, but she knew what was in my mind. She knew of my wretchedness because we must part; but she also knew that I had come to terms with my new life. I had to accept her departure as I had that of my dear Lord Melbourne, and since the coming of Albert they had ceased to be of paramount importance in my life.

Poor Lehzen! How tragic she looked. I could not bear it. I put my arms around her and cried quietly, while she held me to her. She wept too, but there was resignation in our tears.

LEHZEN COULD NOT go immediately, of course. After such a long stay in the household there were many preparations to be made. She had written to her sister and there was a ready welcome awaiting her in Coburg.

We did not talk about her departure very much. It was too painful for us both, but I knew she was sorting out her things and deciding what must be taken with her.

To our great joy, Vicky's health started to improve. Albert saw a great deal of her. I think he had a special feeling for Vicky. In fact I now know that he did, for that was borne out through the years. She was such an enchanting creature, and showed signs of brightness already, which delighted Albert.

The Boy was young yet, but we fancied he was not as forward as Vicky had been at his age. But all that mattered at this time was their good health.

My relations with Albert had become closer. I began to see things through his eyes. I realized my own shortcomings. I had been so long governed by that ill temper, which would flare up so suddenly, and while it was with me I was capable of saying the most outrageous things.

“We must conquer it,” said Albert. “I promise you we shall.”

“It is rather formidable,” I admitted.

“It is a dragon to be slain,” said Albert. And he looked like St. George himself setting out to slay it. “It must be slain,” he said, “before it slays us.”

How right he was! How right he always was! Even about Lehzen. I loved her dearly and always would. Loyalty and fidelity were two virtues I did possess. Of course I was arrogant at times. Perhaps I had had queenship thrust upon me at too early an age. I was, as everyone knew, hottempered, impulsive, apt to act first and think after… but at least I was loving, and when I loved I was faithful.

But in spite of my love for Lehzen, I knew that she was interfering, possessive, jealous, determined to capture the first place in my heart and to hold on to it. And it was true that she hated all those who came between me and herself. She was incapable of organizing anything. The affairs of the household were in disarray, and there was inefficiency everywhere. The boy Jones had betrayed the lack of security. Albert had seen these things before the rest of us, and Albert was right.

There was a letter from his brother Ernest, now, so he said, fully recovered from his malady. That was well for he was about to be married. The bride was to be Princess Alexandrina of Baden.

I was a little dubious about the wisdom of Ernest's marrying, knowing what I did of his reputation and the terrible consequences his ill deeds had brought upon him; but Albert was elated, he had very deep family feeling, and he believed that marriage would be the saving of his brother.

There was an invitation for us to go to Saxe-Coburg for the wedding. I could not leave. The state of the country was such as to keep me at home; and there was no hiding the true facts nowadays. Sir Robert Peel was different from Lord Melbourne. He did not think one should “leave it alone,” but that I should know everything that was happening, however unpleasant it might be.

Although I could not go, there was no reason why Albert should not. I hated to let him go, but it was his brother, and he naturally wished to be present at his wedding, particularly as it might be the saving of him.

Albert was torn between two desires, to see his home again—and how he loved it; he was always talking about the forests with their pine trees and old legends—and his wish to stay with me. He chose the latter, and I was immensely gratified although the thought did enter my mind that he might have chosen to stay because although Lehzen would eventually depart, she was still in the Palace. He might have wondered what I should have been cajoled into if he were not there.

However, I was delighted when he resisted the temptation to visit his old home and stayed with me.

I wrote to Uncle Leopold telling him what a great delight our marriage was to both me and Albert; and I had a very pleasant letter from Princess Alexandrina that suggested to me that she was a very gentle, sensible, and religious young woman.

“That,” said Albert, “is what Ernest needs.”

I had the idea that, as Albert could not bring himself to go to Coburg for the wedding, the newly married couple should come to us.

“Let us invite them to spend their honeymoon at Claremont since you are not going to Coburg,” I said.

Albert thought this was an excellent suggestion and he wrote such a charming letter to Ernest that was full of good advice. Although Ernest was the elder, Albert's being so much more serious and sensible, he looked upon himself as his brother's protector.

I looked over his shoulder as he wrote.

“Do not leave your wife at home while you go after your own pleasures,” he wrote. “If you always wish to have everything in the latest fashion and go to the races and hunt, you will not have enough. Here, people ruin themselves with such things. What does it bring?”

Dear Albert! He was so concerned. And it seemed ironical that he should have a brother so different from himself.

But he loved him nonetheless in spite of his inadequacies, and used to tell me with emotion how they had hunted together and walked with their dogs through the forest and skated in the rivers and lakes. In spite of their unsettled home life and the scandals attaching to their mother, they had a happy childhood… perhaps partly because of their affection for each other.

Ernest and his bride were delighted at the prospect of coming to England and accepted the invitation.

They came to us in July and I found my new sister-in-law amiable, charming, and sensible.

Ernest was much as I remembered him—merry and courteous, but of course I knew he was something of a philanderer; and as he was so different from Albert I could not approve of him, and I did not believe he could make a quick change from a rake to a good husband as Albert had hopes that he would; but then he was his brother and he was surprisingly lenient with him.

But before their visit we had lived through some stirring times.

I shall never forget Felix Mendelssohn's visit to Buckingham Palace. Both Albert and I were delighted. I had always admired Mendelssohn's music and I told him so at once. Albert joined with me and Mendelssohn charmed me by asking Albert if he would play something for him.

“I shall be able to boast that the Prince played for me when I return to Germany,” he said.

“Yes, do play,” I cried. “The Prince is a musician, I do assure you.”

Albert said, “Victoria!” reproachfully, but he was not displeased. And to Mendelssohn, “You must forgive the Queen's enthusiasm. It is due to affection rather than critical judgment.”

But when Albert played a chorale by Herz, Mendelssohn was enraptured, and said the performance would have done credit to a professional musician.

“Please sing for us, Mr. Mendelssohn,” I begged; and he sang his chorus from St. Paul, in which Albert and I joined.

I clapped my hands when it was over and asked the musician if he had written any more songs.

“The Queen is very fond of your songs,” said Albert to Mendelssohn, and to me, “Why do you not sing one for him?”

I hesitated and was at last persuaded; and we went to my sitting room where I had my piano.

Mama came in. How different she was nowadays! I wondered how much of her arrogance had been due to that odious John Conroy. I was thankful that he was now out of the way. Albert was so pleased because we were on better terms.

I sang the Pilger's Spruch and Lass Mich Nur. Mendelssohn went into raptures over my singing, which I think was moderately genuine—quite a lot of praise for the Queen, but some for the singer, too.

It was a very happy and informal meeting; and when the sheets of Mendelssohn's music were caught in a gust of wind and scattered all over the floor, I ran about collecting them; and I think he was astonished that a queen could act as naturally as I did.

That was a pleasant interlude—not only because we were delighted to have a famous composer, but because he was the sort of person Albert enjoyed talking to, and I, hitherto, had been wary of inviting to the Palace—although, of course, I was more at home with musicians than writers, because I knew something of music and felt by no means at a loss in conversation.

Soon after my birthday—my twenty-third—a very unpleasant episode took place.

While we were driving in the Mall Albert saw a dark, ill-favored man close to the carriage. When he was within about two or three paces from us he brought out a pistol and held it toward us. There was a shout. I saw the man run, but before he could be caught he was lost in the crowd.

When we returned to the Palace there was great consternation. It had been a narrow escape. The villain had got away. It was considered to be dangerous for he might very well try again.

Lehzen was in a state of nerves. She wrung her hands and said I must not go out again. It was too dangerous. She went about muttering that she wished she could lay her hands on the villain.

I said, “I do not propose to stay in forever.”

I talked about it to Albert when we were alone.

“We have to go out,” I said. “So let us go…well protected. It may be that he will make another attempt. They will be on the alert for him and catch him.”

Unknown to Mama and Lehzen we set out with two equerries guarding us one on either side of the carriage.

Rather surprisingly the man appeared again with the pistol and this time the police were waiting for him. He was seized, but not before he had fired.

I was glad that he had been caught. Otherwise we should have been expecting to see him every time we rode out.

It always depressed me to know that there were people who wanted to kill me; but I always felt calm at the time of danger, which surprised me as well as others. I cannot explain this, but my grandfather appeared to have it for on the occasion when he came within inches of being killed he presented an exterior of almost indifference.

Sir Robert Peel came at once to the Palace. He was deeply distressed.

“The man is named John Francis, Your Majesty. He is in his early twenties… and a joiner.”

“Is he mad?” I asked.

“He doesn't appear to be, Ma'am.”

“Sir Robert, I cannot bear to think he will die because of this.”

“His object was to kill Your Majesty.”

“All the same…I do not like it. I always think these people are mad and can't be blamed for that. It is an illness in a way.”

“Your Majesty is magnanimous.”

“I should like his life to be spared. I do not want anyone to die because of me.”

“One has to make an example of these people,” said Albert. “Otherwise we shall have others trying out the same sort of thing just to gain notoriety.”

Sir Robert said, “Mercy toward this man could only be a matter for the Government to decide. It is not a royal prerogative, but I will put Your Majesty's wishes before Parliament.”

He did; and as I had stated my wishes so firmly, instead of being hanged, John Francis was to be transported for the term of his natural life.

IT SEEMED THAT Albert was right.

He had said I was sentimental over Francis and such leniency as had been shown might encourage others to imitate him. I had disagreed with this and had retorted that I was glad that I did not have the death of John Francis on my conscience. Albert was exasperated but in a tender way and that discussion did not end in a display of temper on my part. I found I quite enjoyed having these little disagreements with Albert, so that we could put our points of view and discuss them; but now that Lehzen's future was settled, although she was still with us making her preparations to depart, they were usually pleasant little tête-à-têtes, with Albert usually gently persuading me to take his opinion.

He said now that if John Francis had had his just deserts we should never have heard of John William Bean.

He came into our lives one day when Albert and I were driving to chapel in St. James's. A boy—a poor deformed creature, not more than four feet high, with a humped back—dashed out of the crowd to our carriage. He was carrying a pistol that he pointed at us.

Two other boys dashed after him; one of them seized the hunchback and brought him to the ground, the other took the pistol.

“Mischievous children playing games,” said Albert as we drove on. “You see, my love, it is unwise to let sinners go unpunished. People think they can treat us with impunity.”

I pointed out that John Francis had not gone unpunished; he had been sent to Australia for life. That was a punishment surely—perhaps as harsh as death. I was glad I did not have his blood on my hands.

Albert shook his head as though he considered my reasoning illogical.

When we returned to the Palace we heard that the police, thinking it was a game being played, had reprimanded the boy while complimenting the other two—they were brothers named Dassett—on their prompt action.

But the matter was not to be as easily dismissed as that. One of the Dassett boys had kept the pistol and on examination, although it was packed with paper and tobacco, it was also found to contain gunpowder. Had it been fired, it could have been highly dangerous.

This brought the matter into another light. The police, ashamed of having allowed a possible assassin to escape set about a hunt for the hunchback, and because of his physical appearance, he was not hard to trace. They discovered him quickly. He was not a child; it was his deformity that had made him seem so. He worked in a chemist's shop. Very shortly he was arrested. He was of the same leaning as John Francis.

“These people,” said Albert, “are revolutionaries in the making. They are the kind which abounded in France at the end of last century.”

What I remembered chiefly about that incident was the manner in which Sir Robert Peel—who was in Oxford at the time—came with all speed to the Palace.

When I heard he had arrived I guessed it was because of the Bean case and asked that he be brought to me immediately.

I shall never forget the sight of his face when he came in. He was clearly distraught.

“I came as soon as I heard, Your Majesty,” he said in a shaking voice.

“It was good of you, Sir Robert,” I replied. “But you see we are safe and sound.”

He looked at me and I saw the tears well into his eyes. “Your Majesty,” he muttered, “pray excuse me.”

He turned and stumbled away.

I was deeply touched. The dear man was so concerned for my safety that he, whom I had always thought so cold, so aloof—although he and Albert had now convinced me that he was a fine politician—was moved to tears in his relief at my safety.

Bean was sentenced to eighteen months imprisonment.

But what was so significant about this matter was that my feelings toward Sir Robert Peel changed. I could trust him as I had trusted Lord Melbourne. He had become a dear friend. I had to agree that he was a more efficient politician—as I was now beginning to see more and more clearly—than that brilliant raconteur, that man of immense charm and social grace, my dear Lord Melbourne.

Sir Robert never prevaricated; he always wanted to get things done. He came to the Palace to discuss his concern about the two attempts on my life which were particularly disturbing because they had followed so quickly upon each other.

“I do believe,” said Sir Robert, “that Bean's was not really a serious attempt on Your Majesty's life. He is simple-minded, looking for notoriety, no doubt. He is a poor thing. But we cannot allow people who feel so inclined to think they may amuse themselves by making even mock attempts on Your Majesty's life. I propose to bring in a new Bill immediately. Attempts on the Sovereign's life will be punished by seven years' transportation, or imprisonment for three years, added to which the accused will be publicly whipped.”

“Why do you think there are these attempts?” I asked.

Sir Robert was thoughtful. “Of one thing I am certain. It is not criticism of Your Majesty. You have shown yourself caring for your people, graciously friendly on those occasions when you make public appearances and your family life is exemplary.”

I thought of those wild storms and the angry words that passed between Albert and me; and I made up my mind that there should be no more such scenes, but I was becoming more and more convinced that I was to blame for them.

“No. It is not Your Majesty who arouses this discontent in the minds of unstable people. It is the state of affairs in the country.”

I knew he was referring among other dangers to the Chartists with their People's Charter. Albert had talked to me a great deal about this. In the days when Lord Melbourne had been my mentor he would have shrugged them aside. “Tiresome people who had nothing to do but make trouble.” But discussions with Albert had taught me that they were demanding electoral reform and voting by ballot. They were rioting in various parts of the country, and riots always sent a shiver of alarm down people's spines because the French Revolution was not so very far behind us, and we all knew what happened to that unfortunate country. Those of us in high places were particularly apprehensive for we would never forget what had happened to our counterparts in France.

There was always trouble abroad. Wales was in revolt with the people calling themselves Rebecca and her daughters; Cobden was making a nuisance of himself and causing concern to Sir Robert over the Corn Laws; and in Scotland there was some controversy over the Established Church.

All these things added up to unrest and when there was hardship in a country people expressed their dissatisfaction by turning against their rulers.

Albert had made me aware of all these things, and as a queen I should be aware. I was so grateful to Albert. He not only kept me informed; he was improving my mind by reading history to me. It was wonderful to sit beside him. I loved being read to, and what would have seemed incredibly dull to study by myself, became interesting when Albert read it.

I was changing. I was growing up; and when I thought of how I had behaved to Sir Robert, calling him the dancing master, failing to recognize his worth, I was quite ashamed. My eyes were opened. Albert had opened them.

The Bill for the protection of the Sovereign's Life went through Parliament with the greatest ease. They had all been impressed, said Lord Melbourne when he came to see me, by the courage I had shown. He looked at me with that loving expression, now a little sad; but he was genuinely delighted because I had at last discovered the worth of Sir Robert Peel, and I felt that was very noble of him. After all Sir Robert was his political enemy; and there had been a very special relationship between Lord Melbourne and myself. Yet he was so anxious for my well-being that he was glad that I was appreciating Sir Robert and Albert.

What a good friend he had always been!

I ALMOST FELL into a trap over the Cambridges, and it was really Lord Melbourne who helped to extricate me from what might have been a dangerous situation. Sir Robert was very clever with political matters, but I think my dear Lord Melbourne understood more about people and how they would act in certain circumstances, and why. Lord Melbourne had been an inveterate gossip; and when I looked back over our relationship it had been more—or at least equally—concerned with the private lives of the people who surrounded us than it had with politics.

I had been on uneasy terms with the Cambridges ever since the Duchess had refused to stand up for the toast when Albert's name had been proposed. Of course they would never forgive me for not marrying their son George.

I must confess to a certain pleasure when I heard that Lady Augusta Somerset was pregnant and that George was responsible.

I discussed the matter with Albert. He was always upset by immorality and particularly so when it touched the family. The Cambridges had been consistently hostile to him and he said that it was a chance for me to show my disapproval and that I would not allow them to continue to insult us.

“You have been so lenient with the people around you,” said Albert with a mixture of tenderness and censure. “You have accepted people who have been at the center of scandal—your own Prime Minister, who was at one time your constant companion, for instance, was not untainted by scandal.”

A short while ago that would have been the beginning of a storm, but although I felt my anger rising as it always did at criticism of those of whom I was particularly fond, I said calmly, “People are sometimes involved in scandal when they are innocent. I never believed they should be blamed. Your father and brother have scarcely been blameless in that respect, but in my eyes that only makes you seem the more virtuous because of your defense of them.”

Albert did not pursue the matter. He was very sensitive about the misdeeds of his family.

However he did think some action should be taken about the Cambridges and in this case I was only too eager to agree.

“Invite the Duchess to a Drawing Room, and tell her that you cannot receive Lady Augusta.”

“And George?”

Albert admitted that was difficult, George being a prominent member of the royal family, and in line for the throne.

The Duchess was soon asking for an audience, which I gave her, and I must admit that I looked forward to the encounter with some relish.

“I must know the reason for Your Majesty's ban on my lady-inwaiting,” she said.

“Dear Duchess,” I replied. “I should have thought the reason was obvious.”

“It is not to me, Your Majesty.”

“Ask your son or your lady-in-waiting. They should know. The Prince and I are aware of the lady's condition, and we will not accept immorality at Court. We shall not receive those who err in a certain way—and if members of the royal family are concerned, so much the worse. But we will stamp out laxity.”

“I can assure Your Majesty that you have been misinformed…as you were on another occasion.”

Any reference to Flora Hastings always unnerved me. It was not only the trouble it had brought me. It was the thought of that poor girl dying of a terrible disease and all the time being accused of immorality.

The Duchess left in a state of great indignation. As she departed she said she could not allow this matter to rest there.

I was very disturbed, particularly when I discovered that there was no truth in the rumor.

Lord Melbourne, who even now he was no longer Prime Minister was still living a very social life, was very much aware of what was going on in people's private lives.

I was delighted when he asked if he could see me privately.

“Dear Lord Melbourne,” I welcomed him. “This is like old times.”

“I am happy to know that Your Majesty realizes the good points of your present Prime Minister.”

“I was very young and inexperienced. I am sorry I spoke of him as I did. He is a very dear man … so feeling, really—although he cannot always show it.”

“No longer the dancing master?” said Lord M, who could never resist a joke.

“He has given up that profession,” I replied with a laugh.

“And the silver ornaments on the coffin?”

“I don't notice them. I do know that he is a dear, good, clever man, and that he is determined to do what is best for the country and for me… and even though you and he might not agree on the first, you would, I am sure, on the second.”

“That is true. And what I came to talk to Your Majesty about is this affair of the Cambridges. Your Majesty cannot afford another Hastings scandal just now.”

“Oh no… no!” I cried.

“It would not be so easy to extricate yourself now as it was then … and even then it was a difficult time, was it not?”

I nodded.

“I shall never never forget how the people turned against me so quickly.” “It is the way of the mob. The Duchess of Cambridge is incensed. She is involving the Press. You must take the utmost care, for this could explode into another scandal. You will know there are riots in various parts of the country. There is unemployment. Peel will have kept you informed about this.”

I nodded.

“He would. It is nothing much. These things happen.”

I looked at his dear face and I thought, Sir Robert doesn't think it's nothing much. Sir Robert says these things must not happen if we can help it.

There was a great difference in the two men but they were united in their care for me.

“There is one thing which should be done without delay,” went on Lord M. “An apology must be sent to the Duchess.”

“An apology! From me!”

“Let it come from the Prince. He seems to be the target for their enmity. But it must be done swiftly before this blows up into something very like the Hastings affair. Moreover, that will be revived if this goes much further. That would be unwise and very difficult for Your Majesty.”

“I will tell Albert.”

“He will not wish to humiliate himself naturally, but Your Majesty will impress on him that, having had experience of what a scandal like this could turn out to be, you are aware of the danger to your standing with the people—and you are sure this must be done.”

“I do understand. You are my very dear friend and I will talk to Albert immediately.”

As Lord Melbourne had said, Albert was very reluctant to apologize; but I did manage to impress on him the importance of this. I recalled the terrible days when I had suffered so much from the Flora Hastings matter and that even now I occasionally had nightmares about it.

“There were placards in the streets, Albert,” I said. “On them was ‘Murder at Buckingham Palace.' I shall never, never forget; and it must not happen again.”

At last Albert was prevailed upon and he made an apology to the Duchess. It was ungraciously given and curtly received. The matter was allowed to drop, but the Cambridges continued to show their enmity to Albert; and they made it clear that they did not consider his rank as high as their own.

But at least—thanks to Lord Melbourne, who in such matters was far more knowledgeable than Sir Robert Peel—we had passed safely through danger.

SEPTEMBER WAS ALMOST upon us.

It was the time, said Albert, for a little holiday. He had revised the nursery and there had been no protests from Lehzen. September was the month she was due to leave. Albert had sent off all the nurses who had worked with Lehzen and had replaced them.

Vicky, to our delight, was now thriving and becoming very amusing. Albert was enchanted by her and I was glad to see that she had a very special feeling for him, calling to him whenever he came into the nursery, running to him and catching hold of his legs. He would lift her in his arms, and I even saw her riding on his back while he pretended to be a grisly bear or a fierce tiger, rousing her to shrieks of terrified delight.

What a happy scene that was! The Boy was growing well, but of course was younger and therefore not so interesting.

I should be glad to have a holiday. It was really rather a strain to be with Lehzen and to know that she would soon be gone.

She was sad, in a resigned sort of way. She made no criticism of Albert now, and it really did seem as though she were looking forward without too much sorrow to her new life, but that quiet melancholy air did distress me.

I was sure her sister would be glad to have her and the children would love her. I remembered so vividly how it used to be between us and how she had thrown herself wholeheartedly into all my childish pleasures.

So it would be delightful to get away for a few short days of holiday alone with Albert.

I thought we should go to Claremont as we often did at these times, but Albert had other ideas.

“I have always wanted to go to Scotland,” he said.

“Scotland! It seems so far away.”

“After all,” said Albert, “it is part of your kingdom. You should put in an appearance now and then. The people expect it.”

So we made plans to visit Scotland.

How glad I was that we did!

It was late August when we left Windsor at five o'clock in the morning, and we reached London in three quarters of an hour and were at Woolwich before seven. People had heard that we should be there and quite a crowd had gathered to see us get into the barge. The Duke of Cambridge; Lord Jersey, as Master of Horse; Lord Haddington, First Lord of the Admiralty; Lord Bloomfield, Colonel Commandant of the Royal Regiment of Artillery; and Sir George Cockburn, Senior Naval Lord, were present as it seemed quite a State occasion. Unfortunately it was raining and we had to go straight to the sitting room. Then we set off, the Trinity House steamer and packet forming our squadron; we were followed by several little pleasure steamboats, their occupants eager to catch a glimpse of us.

It was three days later before we caught sight of the Scottish coast. The Scots gave us a wonderful welcome with bonfires all along the shore.

It was the first of September before we reached our destination, and when we arrived we could not see Edinburgh, because it was shrouded in dim fog. It was a great pleasure to be greeted at the pier by the Duke of Buccleuch and Sir Robert Peel, the latter having made the journey to Scotland to be there on our arrival.

I was enchanted by Edinburgh—quite beautiful and unlike any other city—everything of stone and no bricks at all—and the main street steep, and the castle on the rock right in the middle of the city.

I loved Scotland—partly because Albert was so delighted with it. I thought the people attractive. Quite a number of the girls had long red hair that they wore flowing down their backs. I thought it enchanting. I ate porridge, which I found very good, and I tried another of their Scottish dishes called Finnan Haddies.

What happy days they were, discovering Scotland. I was fascinated by the most unusual dress of the people—the kilts and the tartans; and I soon grew accustomed to the sound of bagpipes. I thought them most romantic.

We traveled extensively and were warmly welcomed everywhere. I was sorry the holiday was coming to an end but I longed to see the children. I did miss them and although I had heard from Lady Lyttelton, who had now been appointed royal governess, that they were well and happy, I thought about them a great deal.

I believe Albert was more than a little sorry when it was time to sail southwards. He stood on deck watching the coastline of Scotland fade away.

His comment was, “An enchanting country. We must visit the Highlands again soon.”

And I agreed most enthusiastically.

I WAS VERY sad for the time had come when Lehzen was to leave us.

Albert watched me anxiously. I was sure that, right up to the last minute, he was afraid I would find some excuse for her to stay. I was tempted to do so. One cannot easily dismiss more than twenty years of devotion; but I knew in my heart that it was a choice between Lehzen and Albert—and it had to be Albert.

Moreover, since it had been agreed that Lehzen would depart, Albert and I had been so much happier together. There had been scarcely any disagreement. We were growing closer. During the holiday in Scotland everything had been perfect.

My life lay with Albert.

Lehzen knew this and that was why she was going. But the sadness was like a heavy cloud which hung over the household.

Our last day together! We were both aware of it and the slightest thing would have set me crying and I should have been clinging to her telling her she must not go. Lehzen herself was wonderful. She knew it was better for me to turn to Albert. He was a fellow German and she understood him. I believe she would have admired him if she had not been so jealous of him. Lehzen loved me truly… just as Lord Melbourne did. And love is selfless. I had learned that.

When I said goodbye to her she said, “This is the last time. I shall not see you in the morning before I go. Partings are so sad. There is no need to prolong the unhappiness. My dearest one, take care of yourself. You will write to me and I shall write to you. I shall follow your life in all you do. I know you will be happy because you will make those around you happy. You are a dear good girl, and I am proud of you.”

She held me in her arms for the last time, and I went to my bedroom and wept.

In the morning she left.

There was no doubt of Albert's pleasure; but he did understand my feelings and was most kind and sympathetic.

Then I stopped to brood for I discovered that I was once more pregnant.