The Captive of Kensington Palace (7 page)

It was so comforting to give such pleasure to people merely by being oneself and listening to entrancing stories of the mad behaviour of Princess Charlotte.

And there was Louisa waiting to greet them and ready with such a sweeping curtsy for Mamma that even she was satisfied.

‘And how are our young couple today?’ she asked.

‘Your Grace, they have gone for a walk round the gardens. I will have them informed of your arrival.’

Uncle Leopold had appeared, and Victoria noticed with gratification that his first smiles were for her.

‘Welcome, my darling, to Claremont.’

‘Dearest, dearest Uncle.’ How beautiful he was – even more so at Claremont than in Kensington because it was his home and he seemed more comfortable here. Victoria’s heart overflowed with love. She really believed that she
did
love Uncle Leopold more than anyone else in the world.

They went to the drawing-room which was not large by Kensington or Windsor standards, but homely. She supposed that Bushy was rather like this, although she was never allowed to go there. Mamma would not permit it, which hurt dear Aunt Adelaide; there was some reason why it was not suitable for her to go. Thank Heaven, it was suitable to come to Claremont.

Would dear little Victoria like to take a walk over the lawns with Uncle Leopold. The view of Windsor Castle was better in the winter than in the summer.

Victoria would love to be anywhere alone with Uncle Leopold. So he took her hand, and while Mamma talked to Louisa Lewis about the arrangements she had made for the honeymoon, and Charles went off on his own, Victoria and Uncle Leopold walked in the gardens and assured each other of their undying love, admitting that they could feel no such love for any other. So that was very comforting since she was soon to lose Feodora.

‘You are sad because your dear sister is going away,’ said Leopold, ‘but I am here, my darling. Do you know that I have just refused the offer of a crown … for your sake.’

‘Oh, Uncle Leopold!’

‘Yes, the Greeks wanted me to become their King. That would have meant leaving England. I could not endure that. Not when my dear little love of a niece is here.’

She clung to his hand, tears in her eyes; they stood and embraced; Uncle Leopold wept too; like the King, he wept in a pleasant way without any reddening or swelling of the eyes. It was elegant weeping. I must learn to weep as they do, thought Victoria; because hers was the kindly sentimental nature which demanded much shedding of tears.

But how pleasant it was to walk with Uncle Leopold through the gardens which he had helped to create and which he loved, and to hear him talk of Charlotte and the great tragedy of his life.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I had to guide Charlotte. She was a hoyden, a tomboy, which is not really very becoming for a prospective Queen. I was constantly warning her. Dear Charlotte. Sometimes she would get a little angry with me and accuse me of being over-critical.’

‘Angry with
you
, Uncle Leopold!’

‘Not really angry. She was devoted to me. The short time we were married was the only time she was ever happy. She said so often. Every criticism was for her own good.’

‘Did she know that?’

‘I think she realised it. She was not always very wise. I think my dear little Victoria may well be wiser than Charlotte.’

He pressed her hand. She would be wise. She would listen. She would not complain at criticism – especially the loving tender criticism such as Uncle Leopold would give her.

‘Dearest Uncle, you will always be near me?’

‘While you need me.’

‘I know I am going to need you all my life.’

It was the answer he wanted.

When they returned to the house Feodora and her bridegroom were there. Feodora looked rather flushed and excited and she whispered to Victoria that she was full of hope that she would be happy.

And while the grown-ups talked, Victoria was allowed to visit Louisa Lewis in her own room which was a part of the ritual at Claremont and when the door shut on them Louisa said as she always did: ‘There now, we can be comfortable.’

And comfortable they were, for it did not matter what one said to Louisa. She thought everything clever and so like Charlotte, which was the highest praise she could bestow. Victoria was growing fast; Louisa was astonished every time she saw her. She was getting more like Charlotte every day.

‘Charlotte was not pretty, was she?’

‘Charlotte had no need of prettiness. She was the most lively, attractive girl I ever saw.’

‘Was she a little like the Duke of Gloucester?’

‘Good gracious me, what a question. The Duke of Gloucester! The Princess Mary’s husband … now what put it into your head that Charlotte could be one little bit like him?’

‘Someone told me that I was like him.’

‘You … a dainty pretty little girl like you! That was nonsense.’

‘I thought it was,’ said Victoria. ‘I think the person who said it was angry with me and wanted to alarm me.’

‘Nobody could be angry with you for long. In any case, my love, don’t you believe it. Oh dear, you’ve torn your dress. Let me mend it. How Charlotte used to tear her things! She kept me and Mrs Gagarin busy, I can tell you. Poor Gagarin, she adored Charlotte; every stitch was put in with loving care.’

Louisa threaded her needle. ‘I’ll mend this so that no one knows you ever tore it. And where did you do it? On the stairs? It wasn’t like that when you set out this morning, I know. The Baroness Lehzen would have seen to that.’

‘I think I caught it on a bramble in the garden.’

‘What a neat clean little girl you are. Now, Charlotte … there was nothing neat about Charlotte. She used to come in sometimes, bounding in so that she would well nigh knock you over; and she would be so excited she wouldn’t be able to get the words out. She’d stutter and grow quite angry with herself. You speak beautifully.’

‘I have to learn how to pronounce my words; I have to read a great deal.’

‘I’m sure you do. And very nice too.’

‘But I think you liked Charlotte’s stutter.’

‘Oh, Charlotte!’ Louisa laughed. ‘She could be a very naughty little girl sometimes … but in a lovable way, if you understand.’

It was rather difficult to understand, thought Victoria, because Louisa somehow managed to convey that Charlotte’s naughtiness was more attractive than other people’s goodness and her stutter far more to be desired than the clearest form of speech.

‘Such a time she had with them all on at her. Her father … her mother. Oh, it wasn’t natural. And then your Uncle Leopold came like Prince Charming in the fairy tale and they were all set to live happy ever after. I never saw Charlotte so happy as on her wedding day. He was the sun, moon and stars to her; he was the whole world. He was the only one she would listen to. She used to comb his hair herself when he came back from riding. She wouldn’t let anyone else touch it. Then she’d take off his boots. Never a cross word between them; and when she knew she was going to have a child she said to me: “There can’t be more happiness in Heaven than this.”’

Louisa released one hand from the mending to search for a handkerchief in her pocket. She wiped her eyes.

‘Poor dear soul. Little did she know that she and her sweet babe would soon be in Heaven.’

Victoria wept. There were always tears at these sessions because Louisa’s accounts were so touching.

Then she finished off the lace and said brightly: ‘What about a nice cup of tea?’ And she made it in her room and Victoria always felt it was an adventure to drink tea with Louisa – just like a grown-up visitor.

But the visit came to an end and the Baroness Lehzen came up to tell her that her presence was required in the drawing-room.

And there was Feodora with her husband and Mamma and Uncle Leopold, and Mamma was saying that she would give a
dejeuner
at Kensington when the bride and groom would have an opportunity of saying their last farewells to the family before they set out for Dover.

So Victoria took leave of Feodora feeling that she had lost her already, although Feodora whispered that they would write to each other often.

Then she drove back to Kensington seated in between Mamma and Charles.

There was one more trip to Claremont; this was to say goodbye to Feodora.

The sisters clung together.

‘We will write to each other,’ whispered Feodora.

‘I shall wait impatiently for your letters and treasure them always,’ Victoria assured her sister.

Then Feodora’s husband helped her into the carriage which would take her to Dover and across the sea.

Victoria wept and went back to Kensington to tell the dolls that nothing would ever be the same again.

  Chapter III  

THE CUMBERLAND SCANDALS

I
n the Gothic house at Windsor, known somewhat inaccurately as The Cottage, the King was sleeping, scarcely aware of the passing of the days. Servants walked about on tiptoe, certain that this day or perhaps the next week would see the end of the reign.

The master of the King’s household could be said to be the Duke of Cumberland; he had the ear of the King and indeed George seemed afraid of him. For what reason no one could be sure but in view of Cumberland’s reputation nothing, however sinister or shocking, need be ruled out.

The Duke of Cumberland was the most feared man in the kingdom. Even his Duchess – herself a formidable character – was somewhat in awe of him, although she was of no one else. Ernest was unlike his brothers; he was tall and thin almost to gauntness, very odd when the family’s tendency to fat was considered. He had lost an eye and the patch he sometimes wore over it made him appear almost as forbidding as he did when the gaunt socket was exposed. His face had been scarred in battle; he was quick-witted, clever, shrewd and ambitious. It was clear that he deplored the fact that he was not the King’s eldest brother; he wanted the throne, and when the Duke of Cumberland wanted something he went out to get it with no lack of enthusiasm.

His marriage to Frederica of Mecklenburg-Strelitz was, oddly enough, a happy one. He and Frederica were contented with each other; they understood each other. They were two of a kind, both adventurers and both ruthless towards those who stood in their way. The Duchess was reputed to have rid herself of two husbands who had become tiresome; the Duke had been suspected of murdering his valet. Their reputations were considerably tarnished but they did not care. It meant that people thought twice before offending them, a very desirable state of affairs.

The Duke was amused because the King had not attended the marriage of the Duchess of Kent’s daughter and as he talked of this to his wife, a rare smile appeared on his grotesque face; she was lying back on a couch sharing his amusement.

‘How I should have liked to have seen her face,’ said the Duchess. ‘She must have been furious.’

‘She’s the most arrogant woman in England.’

‘Imagining herself Queen Mother already.’

Anger showed itself in the twitch of the Duke’s lips. ‘By God, what ill luck. That fat infant … between me and the throne.’

‘We are unlucky,’ agreed his Duchess.

Indeed they were. Dark thoughts of removing the child had been in his mind. He had set rumours in progress concerning her health. But the artful Duchess of Kent only had to parade her child for all to see to make nonsense of that. He had tried to get the young Victoria to Windsor ‘to live under the same roof as the King’, he had said; but that meant living under the same roof as Cumberland, and the Duchess of Kent had sworn that should not be. That old fool Wellington had been on her side and the little scheme had fallen through.

Frederica was regarding him a trifle cynically. His schemes did seem to fail.

‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘you have not given enough thought to this important matter.’

‘Nonsense. I think of nothing else night and day.’

‘Except Lady Graves.’

‘That.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I don’t need to take my mind off Victoria for Graves’s wife.’

‘Graves is piqued, I hear.’

‘Let him be.’

He looked at her sharply. Was she jealous? They had an understanding. Their ambition was the same – the throne for him and then for their son George. The fact that he amused himself now and then was unimportant. He had thought that perfectly clear. He might amuse himself with other women but there was only one he really cared for – his wife Frederica. She knew that. And he allowed her perfect freedom too.

‘We don’t want more scandal,’ said the Duchess. ‘There has been enough. If your reputation was not so … vivid … your schemes might not be perceived until after it is too late to foil them.’

She was right. His schemes with regard to Victoria had failed and it was partly because people were prepared to suspect his motives.

It was true that Clarence, the heir to the throne, was generally believed to be unbalanced, verging on insanity; but was that due as much to Clarence’s own odd behaviour as to the rumours his brother Cumberland had set in motion?

‘Well,’ she said, ‘what do you propose?’

‘There is only one safe way. I don’t see why we shouldn’t do it. Introduce the Salic law which excludes the right of females to inherit the throne.’

The Duchess caught her breath. ‘Is that possible?’

‘All things are possible.’

‘With Ernest, Duke of Cumberland,’ she added lightly.

‘The Orange Lodges are against the female succession.’

‘I see,’ said the Duchess. ‘And you are their Grand Master.’

Cumberland’s one eye was shining with purpose.

‘This could mean civil war …’ she began.

He leaned closer to her. ‘Who’s afraid of war … for the right cause?’

‘Do you think it would come to that?’

‘I’d have the support of the Lodges. It’s to their advantage to see me on the throne … rather than that girl. Why, her mother and Leopold would rule the country. I’d never have that. Nor would the Lodges.’

Frederica wondered how powerful the Lodges were. They had been formed by the Peep o’ Day boys, those Ulster Presbyterians who had formed a union to fight the Catholics. Cumberland who, professing to be an ardent Presbyterian, had been elected their Grand Master, had never neglected them and was certain of their allegiance. Obviously they would prefer to see him on the throne than this little girl, with her ridiculous mother as Regent, aided by that hypocrite of a Leopold.

‘You think they would make an effective force?’

‘There are 145,000 members in England alone; and the Irish would be ready to come in.’

‘It’s an ambitious scheme.’

‘We need an ambitious scheme.’

‘I would rather see Victoria go into a decline.’

‘She’s as plump as a partridge they say, and full of blooming health.’

‘It’s a different story with Clarence.’

‘Oh, he won’t last. He’s half mad, I tell you.’

‘I wish I could be sure it was true.’

‘Well, you see Adelaide. What do you learn from her?’

‘You know Adelaide. She would keep her mouth shut if she thought anything she said might be detrimental to him. Your Orange Lodge is the best idea – but wars don’t always go as one hopes.’

Cumberland nodded. He would only wish to resort to war if all other methods failed.

What ill fortune that he had not been born earlier. If only he had been the third son instead of Clarence, or even the fourth.

His elder brother Frederick, Duke of York, was safely dead; William was destined for the strait-jacket; Edward of Kent was dead and if it were not for that wretched little girl at Kensington Palace … It was the old wearying theme.

The door opened and a young boy looked in.

The Duchess’s face softened. She held out a hand: ‘George, my dear.’

Cumberland watched his son and was proud of him. It would not have been possible to find a more handsome boy; nor a more honest and upright one. He was a continual source of surprise to his parents who marvelled that they should have such a son. He was a few months older than Victoria and whenever he looked at his son the Duke ground his teeth in fury that that girl at Kensington came before this beautiful boy whom he wanted to see on the throne when he himself was forced through death to vacate it.

‘You look pleased,’ the Duchess was saying, her voice gentle as it rarely was. ‘Has something pleasant happened?’

‘I have an invitation from Aunt Adelaide.’

How the children loved that woman! She was harmless enough, more suited to be the mother of a large family than a Queen of England – which she would be if William didn’t go mad before George IV died.

‘And you wish to accept it?’

‘May I?’

‘I believe you would be a little sad if I said no,’ smiled the Duchess.

‘Well, Mamma, I should. Aunt Adelaide’s parties are so amusing. She thinks of the most exciting things for us to do.’

‘And your cousin Cambridge – how do you like him?’

‘Very much, Mamma.’

‘I expect he misses his family.’

‘He did at first, and now Aunt Adelaide is like his mother. I think he is beginning to feel that Bushy is his home.’

The Duke said: ‘I trust she remembers that you take precedence over your Cambridge cousin.’

‘There is no precedence at Bushy, Papa. We never think of it. It’s great fun there.’

‘Well, don’t forget, son, that you come before him; and if there should be any attempt to set him ahead of you … at the table shall we say …’

‘There couldn’t be. We just sit anywhere.’

The Duke shrugged his shoulders.

‘It’s all right while they’re young,’ said the Duchess. She turned to her son. ‘So your Aunt Adelaide has written to you, not to us?’

‘She always writes to me, Mamma.’

‘It is a little odd. But that’s your Aunt Adelaide.’

He smiled and he was so beautiful when he did so that the Duchess, hard as she was, was almost moved to tears.

‘Oh yes,’ he said ‘that is Aunt Adelaide.’

‘So you want our permission to accept.’

‘Yes, Mamma.’

‘Then go along and write your letter and when you have written it bring it back and show it to me.’

He went off and left them together.

‘So,’ said the Duke, ‘he goes off to mingle with the bastidry.’

‘It’s true. But he’ll come to no harm through them. Remember William and Adelaide may well be King and Queen.’

‘That’s true enough and it does no harm for George to be on good terms with them.’

‘What will happen if William gets the Crown? What of the family of bastards?’

‘They’ll plague the life out of him, I’ll swear.’

‘William is a fool over his bastards.’

‘That’s because he can’t get a legitimate child.’

‘But we are wise to let our George go to Bushy. You can imagine what would happen if we didn’t. Adelaide would become too fond of George Cambridge and you don’t know what schemes might come into her head.’

‘Schemes? How could Adelaide scheme?’

‘It may well be that Adelaide thinks George Cambridge might make a suitable husband for Victoria. Oh, I know you don’t think she will ever grow up to need a husband, but we have to take everything into consideration. What if Adelaide makes a match between young Cambridge and Victoria? What I mean Ernest is this: Suppose Victoria
does
come to the throne … suppose there is no way of stopping her, then her husband should be
our
George, not George Cambridge.’

The Duke was silent. He could not with equanimity let himself believe that Victoria would come to the throne; but he saw the wisdom of his wife’s reasoning. Consort would be the second prize if it should prove to be impossible to achieve the first.

The Duchess went on: ‘George must accept Adelaide’s invitation. I know we are determined that – if it is humanly possible – Adelaide shall never be Queen of England, but just suppose she is. Then she will be powerful; she leads William now. What she says will be the order of the day. So … as my second string … if George can’t be King of England he shall at least be the Queen’s Consort.’ The Duke regarded his wife shrewdly. She was right of course. He was going to fight with all his might to keep Victoria off the throne but if by some evil chance she should reach it, his George should be there to share it with her. ‘Oh yes, it is well to be on good terms with Adelaide,’ he said. The Duchess nodded. They saw eye to eye. Let him have his little philander with Graves’s wife. What did it matter? What was fidelity compared with the ability to share an ambition?