Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria (40 page)

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

I felt incensed and took up my pen at once:

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 F
EW
W
EEKS
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.

C
HRISTMAS 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:

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

W
HILE
W
E
W
ERE
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.