‘No, William. But it took place on your orders.’
‘Great victory,’ murmured the King.
His eyes had become glazed, and Adelaide, bending closer, knew that his thoughts were wandering again. Dear William, who had been a good husband to her! She had failed him by not producing the heir for the sake of which they had been thrust into hasty marriage, and that was something she would always regret. She loved children and consequently had had to console herself with other people’s. The palaces had always been full of William’s grandchildren of the FitzClarence family. What a devoted grandfather he had been to them even though they had been far from grateful. She was glad that at such a time as this they had forgotten their differences, and several of them were at Windsor now in case he should ask for them.
‘Adelaide.’
She bent over the bed.
‘You’ve been a good wife …’
‘Don’t talk, William. Lie still. Conserve your strength.’
The tears were on her cheeks. She loved him and he loved her; and that was strange in such a marriage. He had been faithful to her, which was perhaps because he was no longer young, and he would become furious with anyone who criticised her. Her gentle nature had won the regard which her lack of physical charms might have made impossible. It had been a happy marriage as such marriages go, and it was now nearly over.
‘Glad I lived till she was of age,’ murmured the King. ‘Was determined to. I did it, Adelaide. The child will be Queen tomorrow.’
‘William …’
‘You’re crying, Adelaide. Don’t. You’ve been a good wife. Couldn’t have been better. Wasn’t going to let that woman rule the roost.’ He gave a croaking cackle of laughter. ‘She’ll be mad with rage … Adelaide … She’s been hoping I’d die before … Didn’t I always say I’d wait till the child was eighteen?’
‘You did, William.’
‘And I kept my word. She’ll be Queen and she’ll know how to keep that woman where she belongs. England will be great under her. Better than old men … Sailors will love a young queen. I know sailors. They’ll fight the better for her than for a mad old man like my father, or for George and for me. Yes, they’ll love a bonny girl …’
‘William, don’t try to talk …’ It was useless to tell him this. He had always talked too much.
He closed his eyes; his lips moved but she could not hear what he said. She continued to sit by his bed. George FitzClarence came into the room and stood in the shadows. George, his firstborn by Dorothy Jordan, the boy whom William so dearly loved, was now full of contrition for all the anxiety he had caused his father.
‘How is he?’ he whispered.
‘Sinking I fear,’ said Adelaide.
Somewhere a clock in the Castle chimed midnight. The Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham, the Lord Chamberlain, were in the ante-room, waiting.
It couldn’t be long now, they assured each other.
The King’s physician, Sir Henry Halford, joined them.
‘He is very near the end,’ said Halford.
At one o’clock Sir Henry was at the King’s bedside. William’s breathing was stertorous; he was in a coma.
‘There is nothing I can do,’ said the doctor to the Queen, who continued to sit by the King’s bedside.
The doctor joined the Archbishop and the Chamberlain. They talked in whispers of what this would mean at Kensington Palace.
Two o’clock struck.
‘The end is very near,’ said Sir Henry; and at twelve minutes past two William IV was dead.
* * *
As the carriage rattled along the highway from Windsor to Kensington, the Archbishop and the Lord Chamberlain talked in whispers although there was no need to do so, only to symbolise the solemnity of the occasion. A new reign was about to begin.
‘A child,’ whispered the Lord Chamberlain.
‘Governed by her mother and that man Conroy!’
‘Melbourne will know how to manage our affairs, I daresay.’
The dawn was beginning to show in the sky, and they could distinctly see the hedgerows now. They would be the first to greet her. Melbourne would say there was no need to wake her and tell her that she was Queen. That duty was for the Prime Minister. No, my lord, thought Lord Conyngham, she is after all the Queen although but a girl, and she will always remember those who first brought the news to her.
They had reached the Palace and as they rode through the gates the startled porter stared at them. He was about to demand their business when he recognised the robes of office of important men.
The bewildered maidservant stood before them.
‘Please acquaint the Princess Victoria that we are here and wish to see her,’ said Lord Conyngham.
‘My lord, she is sleeping.’
‘Tell her at once that the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chamberlain wish to speak to her.’
The maid, trembling and uncertain, made her way to the Duchess’s apartments.
One of the Duchess’s ladies rose sleepily from her bed.
‘What is this?’
‘There are gentlemen to see the Princess.’
‘At this hour! It is only five o’clock. She is asleep.’
‘It is the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Madam.’
‘The Lord Chamberlain! Wait. I’ll tell the Duchess.’
But the Duchess was already awake. She had been expecting something like this which could mean only one thing. She came out of the bedroom she shared with Victoria demanding: ‘What is the meaning of this?’
‘Your Grace, the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop of Canterbury are here demanding to see the Princess.’
To see the Princess! Indeed they would have to learn differently. If they wanted to impart important news to Victoria they must do it through her mother.
‘Go and tell them that they will have to wait. The Princess is sleeping.’
The Duchess went back to her bedroom, her heart beating wildly. She slipped a robe over her nightgown. It has come, she thought, the moment I have waited for all these years. This is the most important day in my life. Everything depends on what happens today. We must start as we intend to go on. The King is dead! Jubilation shone in her eyes. Victoria must be made to obey her mother. Then for herself and John Conroy the years ahead would be glorious.
The lady was back.
‘Your Grace, the Lord Chamberlain demands to see the Queen.’
The Duchess put a hand to her fluttering heart. At last those magic words had been spoken.
She went back to her bedroom, where Victoria lay sleeping. Bending over her daughter she kissed her.
‘My darling,’ murmured the Duchess.
Victoria opened her eyes. ‘What is it, Mamma?’
‘Your ministers are waiting to see you, my love.’
Her ministers! Victoria was wide awake immediately. Then it had indeed happened. Uncle William was dead and she was the Queen.
She looked at the tortoiseshell clock ticking away on the bedside table. It was not yet six o’clock.
‘I will not keep them waiting,’ she said. She took off her nightcap and let her long fair hair fall about her shoulders. The Duchess put a wrap about her daughter and she thrust her feet into slippers.
Someone else was at the door. It was the Baroness Lehzen carrying a candle and a bottle of smelling salts. Victoria threw a grateful glance at her governess. Trust Lehzen to be there. She would have been sleeping lightly, ready for the call. And there she was like a guardian angel waiting to protect her charge if need be. And smelling salts! Dear, foolish Lehzen! As though she needed those! What sort of a queen would she be if she were to need smelling salts on being told she was one.
‘They are waiting in the sitting-room,’ said the Duchess. ‘We should go to them at once.’
‘I will go alone, Mamma,’ said Victoria firmly in a voice which struck the Duchess like a blow and warmed the heart of Lehzen.
‘My darlin
g!’ began the Duchess.
Victoria said firmly: ‘Yes, Mamma. Alone.’
They went down that awkward staircase, the three of them. Victoria had been forbidden even to walk down it alone and even at such a moment remembered this, for to be a queen meant to be free and freedom was one of the sweetest things her crown would bring her.
She glanced at the two women at the door of the sitting-room and her look was regal. Then alone she entered the room.
The two men were momentarily startled by the sight of the childlike figure, for with her bare feet thrust into heelless slippers she was very tiny indeed; and with her long fair hair hanging about her shoulders and her cotton dressing gown falling loosely about her she looked even less than her eighteen years.
But there was nothing childlike in the manner in which she received these men, and as soon as Lord Conyngham knelt and began ‘Your Majesty’ she held out her hand for him to kiss as though she had all her life been accustomed to the homage paid to a queen.
Conyngham immediately kissed the proffered hand and went on to tell her that His Majesty King William IV had died at ten minutes past two that morning.
Then it was the Archbishop’s turn. He too knelt and was given a small hand to kiss.
‘Queen Adelaide desired that I should come and give Your Majesty details of the King’s last hours,’ said the Archbishop. ‘His sufferings were not great at the end and he died in a happy state of mind.’
‘How relieved I am to hear that!’ She was the affectionate niece then, her eyes full of tears remembering the kindness of dear Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide.
But there was no time for grief. Events would begin to move very fast and she must be prepared.
She thanked the Lord Chamberlain and the Archbishop for coming so promptly to acquaint her with the sad news from Windsor, and charging the Lord Chamberlain to return at once to the Castle to convey her condolences and sorrow to Queen Adelaide, she left the men.
Her mother was waiting for her at the door, Lehzen hovering, still clutching the smelling salts.
‘Oh, Mamma,’ said Victoria. ‘Poor Uncle William!’
‘My love!’
The Duchess took her daughter into her arms and laying her head on the maternal shoulder Victoria wept.
She needs comfort from her mother, thought the Duchess exultantly, but Victoria’s next words dispelled that hope.
‘I did not say goodbye to him. I did not visit him when he was so ill. He will think I did not care.’
That was a reproach, for who had prevented her visiting her uncle? Who had kept up a feud between Windsor and Kensington? Almost the last time the King had appeared in public he had delivered a reproach to the Duchess which had caused a great scandal.
The Duchess thought: I am losing her. Have I lost her already?
Her Majesty disengaged herself and saw Lehzen waiting.
‘Dearest Lehzen,’ she said, her tone becoming warm and affectionate, ‘come with me. I must dress immediately.’
So she and Lehzen went back to the bedroom shared with the Duchess (for the last time, Victoria assured herself) and Lehzen took the black bombazine from the cupboard.
‘Dear Uncle, I shall mourn him sadly, Lehzen.’
‘Your heart does Your Majesty credit.’
‘Your Majesty!’ Victoria giggled. ‘It’s the first time you’ve said it, Lehzen.’
Lehzen turned away to hide her emotion and Victoria, to whom it never occurred to hide hers, seized her firmly and hugged her.
‘Nothing … simply nothing … will make any difference to us, dear Lehzen.’
Lehzen sobbed. ‘I’m so proud of you … so proud.’
Victoria smiled and was immediately serious. ‘I am so young, Lehzen, and perhaps in many ways – though not in all things – inexperienced. But I shall do my utmost to fulfil my duty to my country. And even though I am young and shall make so many mistakes, nobody could have more goodwill and a desire to do what is right than I have.’
‘Spoken like a queen … my Queen,’ said Lehzen.
And they clung together until Victoria said: ‘Why, Lehzen, how foolish we are. I have business with my ministers. Come, I must dress. They will soon be here and I must be ready for them.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘Majesty!’ How nice to hear it. But I suppose, she thought, in time I shall become used to it.
Chapter II
THE FIRST DAY
Even the excitement of having become Queen of England could not interfere with Victoria’s appetite. She sat enjoying her breakfast while Lehzen hovered, adoring and marvelling, thinking how enchanting she looked with her fair hair and flushed cheeks which the rather dull black bombazine set off to perfection.
A letter had arrived for her Majesty. She read it as she ate.
‘It is from Lord Melbourne, my Prime Minister. He is going to call on me a little before nine.’
She smiled. A very exciting man, Lord Melbourne. My Prime Minister, she thought.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Is Your Majesty to have no peace?’ cried Lehzen in a martyred tone of voice which made Victoria want to giggle. But she remembered her dignity in time.
‘Pray see who is there, Lehzen dear.’
‘It is the Baron Stockmar,’ said Lehzen. ‘Her Majesty is at breakfast, Baron. Perhaps you would care to wait.’
‘No, no,’ cried Victoria. ‘Come in, dear Baron. You can talk to me while I eat.’
Stockmar entered and she rose, regal all at once, and held out her hand for him to kiss.
He kissed it, and as she commented afterwards to Lehzen, ‘His affection for me shone in his dear faithful eyes.’ Lehzen said she always thought the best of everyone, but so many people were kind and good. There were exceptions of course, and one of her first tasks would be to set about dismissing That Man.
‘Dear Baron, have you eaten? Can I give you breakfast?’
The Baron replied that he had breakfasted and like Lehzen was astonished to see her making such a good meal. Like Lehzen he had thought the smelling salts might have been more to her taste. He sat down smiling with admiration. She was so young. She did not realise the difficulties which lay ahead. But she was amenable and with him to guide her she would come through.
‘This is a great day in our lives,’ said Stockmar.
‘I hope it will be one which no one will ever regret,’ she said solemnly, and he thought the transition from frivolous girl to serious monarch was very endearing.
‘I will prophesy you will make a very great queen.’
‘Dear Baron! I know I shall have many kind helpers. Lord Melbourne will shortly be calling upon me.’
‘He has sent word of this?’
‘Yes, a charming note to say that he hopes it will be convenient for him to call just before nine.’
‘And will it be?’
‘Dear Baron, he is my Prime Minister.’
‘I believe His Majesty the King of the Belgians has confidence in him.’
‘Dear Uncle! As soon as I have finished breakfast I shall write to him and tell him it has happened, though I daresay he will not need me to tell him.’
‘He will be most eager to hear from you.’
‘It is wonderful to know that he is there.’
‘Your Majesty will have to be very discreet … now.’
‘Oh yes, Uncle is continually impressing that upon me.’
‘You will need a secretary. You will have to choose him with the utmost care.’
She laughed, girlish again. ‘I can tell you one thing, Baron, that secretary will not be Sir John Conroy. In fact I intend to rid myself of that man at the earliest possible moment.’
‘Have you mentioned this to your mother?’
‘No. I consider it to be my affair.’
Yes, the regality was undoubtedly there. Little Victoria might not be as easy to handle as some people had imagined. All the more reason why he should make known his desires as ea
rly as possible.
‘This matter of a secretary. Has Your Majesty anyone in mind for the post?’
‘I have not given the matter any thought yet.’
‘I have been your friend as much as that of your uncle. Your Majesty could trust me. Do you not think so?’
She was direct. She had never liked innuendo. ‘Are you suggesting yourself for the post, Baron?’
‘That was in my mind,’ said the Baron.
She was on the point of telling him that of course he must be her secretary. He was her dear friend and beloved Uncle Leopold doted on him and trusted him. Who better than Stockmar? But wait. She was no longer the impetuous Princess Victoria. She was the Queen of England. The decisions she made now were important.
‘I will consider it,’ she said.
Expecting immediate acquiescence, the Baron was dismayed. He had intended to get her promise before it became a matter for the Government; and now she, who had been his admiring pupil, and had loved and respected him because her Uncle Leopold had wished her to, was telling him that she would consider it.
She had finished her breakfast. She knew he would understand but she had some letters to write and the Prime Minister was calling shortly. Stockmar could only bow and retire. The Queen had spoken.
20th June 1839 Half past eight a.m.‘Dearest most beloved Uncle,’ wrote the Queen, ‘Two words only to tell you that my poor Uncle, the King, expired this morning at twelve minutes past two. The melancholy news was brought to me by Lord Conyngham and the Archbishop of Canterbury at six. I expect Lord Melbourne almost immediately and I shall hold a Council at eleven. Ever my beloved Uncle your devoted and attached niece,Victoria R.’
What a comfort, she thought as she sealed the letter, to know that dear Uncle Leopold was there to guide her.
And now a word to her half sister, dear Feodora, who in her German castle would be so happy to have a note from her on this day. How Victoria had loved her sister when they were together in Kensington and how heartbroken she had been when darling Feddy had married and gone away! They had only their letters to comfort each other for their absence – so she must write and tell her that she was now the Queen.
The Queen and Lord M Page 3