Victoria Confesses (9781442422469) (20 page)

“What have I done to offend you, your majesty?” he cried, obviously shocked at my tone as well as my words. “I have devoted my life to the service of you and your family! Does that count for nothing?”

“You are an ambitious man, Sir John, and since my earliest childhood you have used my mother's position and her unfortunate situation to advance your own position and your family's. Now that I am queen and of age, you can no longer manipulate the duchess or browbeat me. You've requested the title of baron and a large pension as well. These are denied. I suspect, Sir John, that if a full investigation of your financial affairs were undertaken, certain irregularities might be discovered.” I sat back and observed as Sir John's usually smug expression vanished. His jaw dropped and his lip twitched. His hands were trembling. I was gratified to see that I had made my old enemy as uncomfortable as he had so often made
me
. “I wish you and your family a pleasant retirement, Sir John. Now, I bid you good day.”

There was a long silence. I turned my attention to a sheaf of papers on my writing table. I heard the door of the audience room open and close, and I nearly wept with relief. When Lord Melbourne arrived moments later, I could tell him with assurance that Sir John Conroy was now truly gone from my life.

I rode to the Guildhall accompanied by Lady Harriet and two of my ladies, and was seated at the high table with the Lord Mayor. Above me hung a huge banner proclaiming “
WELCOME, V. R.
” Below me sat hundreds of guests, Mamma and Daisy among them. Following Daisy's advice, I had eaten a few a bites of bread and butter before leaving the palace, to curb my tendency to eat too much and too fast.

“God Save the Queen” was played, my health was drunk, addresses given and responses made. When at last we returned to the palace at the end of a very long evening, my ladies
complained of fatigue. I was not in the least bit tired. I had been the center of attention, all eyes upon me, and I gloried in it!

Daisy read to me while Maggie was undoing my hair. After Maggie had gone, Daisy put away her book and we sat up until long after midnight, discussing every detail of the banquet, from the ladies' gowns and feathered headdresses to snatches of overheard conversation.

“Everyone talked of your perfection,” Daisy said proudly. “The elegance of your bearing, your poise and confidence, your clear, beautiful speaking voice when you responded to the addresses. They are delighted to find themselves with such a charming and proper little queen.”

“
Little
queen?” I asked. “Do they remark on my stature?” For years Uncle Leopold had encouraged me to grow taller, as though this were something I could accomplish through my own determined efforts.

“They do, and they adore you for it. The evening was another triumph for you, Victoria,” Daisy assured me.

“No Sir John! No Lady Conroy, no Misses Conroy! That's the great triumph.” I yawned and climbed into my bed. “I haven't seen Victoire since I became queen, and I don't miss her in the least.”

“You must feel rather sorry for her, though. Poor girl, she always believed she would have a prominent role in your court, possibly as a lady-in-waiting or as a maid of honor. But now she has nothing.”

I sat bolt upright. “I don't feel a bit sorry for her. I've always hated her father, and I'm sure she knew it. How could she ever have believed she had a future in my court?”

“She believed it because that's what Sir John promised her.”

“Now she knows that he was wrong,” I said, and lay down to sleep.

“Victoria,” Daisy reminded me sternly, “even a queen must not forget her prayers.”

“You're right,” I said, getting out of bed and kneeling. “But don't expect me to ask God to bless any of the Conroys.”

Over the next several months I worked diligently to learn my duties as sovereign of a great nation. I leaned heavily on Lord Melbourne. There was still much that I simply did not know, but there was no topic I could not discuss easily with my prime minister, no subject on which I could not question him. Lord Melbourne imparted his knowledge in a kind and agreeable manner—even on matters of a delicate nature, such as my tendency toward plumpness.

“Gentlemen of the royal family have been inclined to acquire excess weight. This was true of your father and your uncles,” he pointed out.

“Mamma's, too,” I added, for she had become QUITE stout. “It would help if I would grow taller,” I said rather wistfully. “Several inches would do. Everybody grows but me.”

Lord Melbourne replied, smiling, “I think you are already grown.”

As the winter wore on, the cold increased, the snow lay deep, and the River Thames froze over for the first time since before I was born. I thought of the gypsy family I'd met the previous winter while we were staying at Claremont. Just before Christmas, I had been out walking with Daisy, Lady Flora, Lady Conroy, and Victoire, and we had come upon a family of gypsies camped by the side of the road. A woman with untidy hair
black as a raven's wing stepped out of one of the frail canvas tents, accompanied by a swarm of little children, about six in all, clinging to her dingy green cloak. The mother's face had a beautiful simplicity, and she talked to us easily and politely. As we conversed, I took careful note of this picturesque little group, and when we returned to our house I made a watercolor portrait of the scene.

The next time we passed that way, the woman again came out, accompanied by several others, to tell us very proudly that on the previous day their sister had given birth to a son. The gypsy women offered us the honor of naming the baby, but our ladies refused. Had I been my own mistress then, I would have asked that the child be named Leopold in honor of my uncle, whose birthday happened to be the day the infant was born.

When we told Mamma about the family, she ordered nourishing broth sent for the mother and a scuttle of coal to warm her and her infant until she was recovered from childbirth. That night it turned very cold and began to snow. A week later the gypsies were gone without a trace. I thought of them now and wondered how they were faring, and resolved that as queen I would do whatever I could to help those in need.

The people's fascination with their “little queen” frequently interfered with going out in public. At the theater I was usually called to come forward in the royal box between acts to hear the audience sing “God Save the Queen.” Crowds clamored for me when I was spotted at a concert. Wearying though it often was, I did love it!

In this busy new life I learned the pleasure of an hour or two spent quietly with a book. As a child I had been restricted
to books Mamma deemed uplifting. But that winter I read my first novel,
The Bride of Lammermoor
by Sir Walter Scott. Lady Harriet had spoken of it very favorably, and I sent for a copy.

When Mamma learned of my choice, she voiced her disapproval. “Such reading will do you no good and may even do you harm, my dear Victoria,” she said through pursed lips. We were on one of our obligatory rides through the palace park that were so important to my public image: the loving daughter of a devoted mother. Our conversation did not match the image.

“I do not find the novel harmful in the least,” I replied tartly. “According to Scott, it is based on a true story. I find it full of truths.”

“It would be wise of you to accept a mother's advice, as a daughter should,” she snapped.

“And it would be good for you to remember that I am of age and perfectly capable of making up my own mind. That includes the right to reject your advice on matters of literature.”

We endured a mutual silence until we had returned to the palace and gone our separate ways.

Next I began to read Charles Dickens's
Oliver Twist
in serial form, and found myself absorbed in the story of the boy thieves and their desperate lives. “I consider Mr. Dickens a great author,” I told Lord Melbourne even before I had reached the final chapters. “I should very much like to meet him.”

But Lord Melbourne did not share my view of Dickens or of his novel. “It's all about workhouses and coffin makers and pickpockets. I don't like those things in reality, and therefore I don't wish to read about them,” he grumbled.

Literature was not our only source of disagreement. I was
quite excited by the development of the railroad, but when I mentioned to Lord Melbourne that I yearned to travel somewhere—anywhere—his reaction startled me. “I will not allow a railway to be built within fifteen miles of my house!” he said. “Those monstrous machines are bad for the country! I shall not be happy until every mile of track is torn up and turned to scrap.”

Not wishing to argue with dear, stubborn Lord Melbourne, I dropped the subject, but hoped secretly that I might yet have an opportunity to ride on one of those monstrous machines.

There were, naturally, serious issues to contemplate, and I consulted Lord Melbourne on a number of smaller matters as well, such as the inadvisability of receiving divorced women at court. “I am determined to do everything
correctly
,” I told him.

“Good idea to set the proper tone for the court right from the start,” Lord Melbourne agreed. “Divorced men are not tainted by their status, as women are.”

So, no divorced women at court.

During a visit to Windsor Castle, two of my maids of honor wished to walk out on the terraces. I decided that unmarried ladies of my court could not do so unless they were accompanied by a chaperone. I explained to the abashed young ladies, “It's simply a matter of propriety.”

“Of course, your majesty,” they murmured with bowed heads.

“I would expect that you never do anything to reflect poorly on yourselves, your position, or the reputation of the court,” I told them.

“We understand, your majesty.”

I observed several of the girls rolling their eyes. They were about the same age as I, but they would bear watching.

At my birthday ball on the twenty-fourth of May, I opened the dancing with my cousin George, as I had so many times before, though we still did not very much care for each other. I delighted in breaking with tradition by eating my supper
standing up
in the ballroom and chatting with my guests. It amused me to note the disapproving frowns on the faces of the elderly ladies, who seemed to think I was doing something
shocking
.

I had not danced for
such
a long while, and I felt so very merry and HAPPY to do so again. I danced all the quadrilles but of course no waltzes, considered too intimate to be danced by an unmarried lady. But as the sun was peeping over the horizon, I ended the night with a vigorous English country dance that left us all laughing and gasping for breath.

There was one great disappointment: Lord Melbourne was not there, and I missed him VERY much. Lady Harriet was absent as well, having sent an excellent excuse: the birth a
week earlier of her seventh child, a fifth daughter, to be named Victoria.