by Lucy Worsley
I turned the conversation back to my friend.
‘Yet is it not … cruel for the king to hate his niece the princess?’
‘Oh, I don’t think he hates her,’ my father said. ‘He just does not particularly love her or want to see her. It’s the duchess he truly hates. And in fact we do well to keep the princess away from the king, for he is so unpopular with the people. To the British at large she is an interesting young lady, mysterious, virtuous, untainted by the world.’
It made me smile to think of Victoria, such a lover of both naughtiness and fun, as virtuous and untainted.
But now my father had begun to declaim, as if on a platform to a hall full of people. ‘When the time comes,’ he said, ‘she will emerge from seclusion like the answer to a prayer. She will be everything that her fat and wicked uncles are not.’
I could see it now. It made sense. It just seemed awfully unjust that Victoria had to live the narrow life she led here because of these wicked uncles and the accident of her birth.
‘But you have given me an idea, my little wise Minerva,’ my father continued, completely oblivious. Putting down his coffee cup, he took a turn around the room, his hands behind his back. ‘It is as well that the princess should make an appearance at court, so that people do not altogether forget her, and so the king can see she will be a worthy successor. I think that we should send her to the castle.’
And off he stalked, brushing the crumbs from his coat, clearly keen to execute his plan. I finished my breakfast, reflecting on what an active, clever man he was. In the end it didn’t matter that he hadn’t trusted me with the secret of Victoria’s potential madness. For now I knew the truth I could watch out for it myself. I could help carry the load without his even knowing I was doing it.
He did not always have time to talk, for sure, but not every girl’s father could speak with such familiarity of Windsor Castle, or tell a king how to order his social life.
The invitation came in just a few days’ time, and the princess was shrill with delight. ‘We are going to visit my uncle the king!’ she cried, just as soon as I entered the room.
‘Oh!’ I said, sounding as surprised as if the very idea had never entered my head. ‘You’re going to stay at Windsor Castle?’
‘Well, not really,’ she admitted. ‘It’s only to be a short visit, for tea. My mother says we should have been invited to dinner.’
I grimaced inwardly. I had thought it such a fine thing that my father had arranged the invitation, and now the duchess did not think it was quite good enough. I suspected that nothing would ever please her.
But I knew what would restore her to good spirits. ‘Tell me in detail,’ I said, drawing her down towards the sofa, ‘exactly what you are going to wear.’
‘Well, of course, I’ll need a new dress,’ she began. ‘Maybe purple satin? Or, I know! Stiff black satin! With white – no, silver zigzig decoration around the sleeves and skirt. I saw one in the colour plates. Awfully chic.’
‘Oh, Vickelchen!’ sighed Madame de Späth, ‘You know it cannot be afforded. Will you cease asking, endlessly asking, and give me a little peace?’ She waved her white handkerchief like the signal for a surrender upon the battlefield.
‘But you can buy it for me, can’t you, Späth, if my mother will not?’ the princess wheedled.
‘Indeed not, Vickelchen. I have not had my salary these six months. And you should not speak of such things as money before Miss V. Conroy. It is not polite.’
‘Nothing is polite, nothing, nothing that I want to talk about!’ Victoria threw herself back over the arm of the sofa and drummed her feet upon its seat, to the detriment of the upholstery. ‘I want to talk about money and why we have none … and how my stomach aches, and the servants’ love affairs, and how horrid Sir John Conroy is.’
‘Then you are a very impolite little girl, and maybe it will be better that you should never be queen.’
‘I don’t WANT to be queen! I shall do it badly on purpose.’ With that she threw herself right off the couch, pressed her face into its cushions and began her painful, heaving sobbing, all the pleasure in the proposed visit to Windsor dispersed.
It was astonishing how quickly these rages could come over her, and I remembered what her mother had said about the rages of her unstable grandfather. Mad, mad, whispered a voice in my head. Would being queen drive her mad?
Despite her silly whining behaviour, I was sorry for Victoria. It was so rare that she got to do the things she wanted. But I felt less bad when Späth left the room to return shortly with a white muslin dress with ever so many frills and layers. It turned out that the princess already had a perfectly beautiful dress, waiting unworn, and my heart did one of its frequent flips from favour to annoyance. The next argument was over her lace pantaloons.
‘You are too young!’ Späth remonstrated. ‘It would not be right.’
‘But my mother wears them!’
I saw Späth swallow her reply as she turned quickly away, presumably because it was unfit for little girls to hear. My curiosity to see the invisible duchess grew even stronger.
On the great day itself, I presented myself early for duty in the German apartment. Victoria had been squeezed into the despised white dress, and a hairdresser came into the old schoolroom to arrange our hair. Once he had finished Victoria’s ringlets, he sat me down. I was not able to see myself in the mirror until he had finished. When I did look, he had curled me all over, poodle style.
I felt extremely uncomfortable and stupid, and unlike myself, and Victoria did not help. ‘He has done your hair exactly like mine!’ she pointed out in a miff. Indeed, our hair was the same colour and texture, and the hairdresser, through ignorance, had styled us as sisters rather than princess and subject.
Mortified, I seized the comb and did my best to undo his work. ‘Oh no, oh no,’ cried Madame Späth, attempting to stay my hand. ‘You look so pretty as a pair! Why, you could almost be twins!’
But Lehzen, standing and peering down her nose at me, gave me a nod. She turned to the hairdresser. ‘I think Miss V will look better with smooth hair,’ she said. ‘The girls are growing so alike, and people need to be able to tell at once which of them is the princess. Such things are important.’
So the hairdresser used his tongs to straighten my hair once again, and within a few minutes, mercifully, I looked just as usual.
But once the hairdresser had finished, and while Späth and Lehzen were helping him to pack up his things, Victoria came to sit next to me on the sofa.
‘I’m sorry about your hair,’ she said quietly. ‘It did look pretty. And it is nice to see you looking pretty and lively, you know. It’s not a sin or a crime.’
Once again, I felt that cruel crimson flush rising up my throat. Victoria had spied out my stupid embarrassment all too well. I was aware that in my heart I did believe that it was a little sinful to dress up and to show off, but also I knew that I would have to endure such things more often as we grew up. I could not bring myself to thank her, but gave her a mute little nod.
Then I sternly told myself I was not a dummy. I could speak.
‘Thank you, Your Royal Highness,’ I said primly. ‘I shall take your views into account.’
It made her laugh. ‘Oh, Miss V,’ she said in Adams’ comedy washerwoman’s voice, ‘you ain’t half a caution.’
Then she was off again into one of her noisy complaints, insisting that she wanted a pink not a blue sash for her dress, and that her slippers were too small and were pinching her feet.
At length we were decreed by Späth to be entirely ready. She made each of us stand before her and circle slowly around so that she could observe us from all sides. ‘Perfect, quite perfect!’ she said happily, clasping her hands together in pleasure.
‘Today there is something I wish you to remember,’ cut in Lehzen’s calmer voice. ‘You are no longer girls. You are young ladies. Let us hope that His Majesty sees you as such.’
Then the two of them
hustled us down into the courtyard. Here a large, old-fashioned and unfamiliar carriage stood waiting for us. Upon its door was painted a crest I recognised: that of the dead Duke of Kent. Inside it was seated a large, bosomy lady with a huge feathered hat and a gown cut a little too low. I curtseyed at once, right there in the courtyard, for I sensed that this was Victoria’s mother.
She gave me a lordly nod, nothing more, and extended a braceleted arm towards Victoria to help her in. Then Späth and Lehzen and I climbed in too, and we were off. It was a fine feeling. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, with the chestnuts in bud and flower sellers calling out their prices from street corners. I had never been out with Victoria in the carriage before and, despite the daunting presence of the gaudy duchess, it was delightful. Even Victoria had roses in her pallid cheeks. We were to jog our way west through the town, back in the direction of Arborfield Hall.
But soon we were forced to pause in a queue of carriages near the entrance to the park. Looking out of the window, I observed that a crowd, as once before, seemed to gather out of nowhere. People were clustering all around our vehicle.
‘It is the Princess Victoria! Look, the prisoner of Kensington Palace!’
To my horror, I realised that the man shouting out meant me. I gasped, and a strong claw-like hand studded with rings grabbed my arm and swiftly pulled me back from the window. It was the duchess, observing and correcting the mistake.
Meanwhile, the kerfuffle outside had drawn Victoria forward in her seat. She smoothed her blue sash and puffed up her tightly fitting lace sleeves around her arms, and in a moment she was eagerly looking out, nodding gravely to left and right as if dispensing a gift to the grateful crowd. Her demeanour was so dignified and regal it was as if she had almost turned herself into a queen already.
At the same time, though, Victoria’s ringlets were so tightly curled and so packed beneath her bonnet that I thought she looked a little like a spaniel, and although her dress was very fine, it really was a little short and snug, as she had put on a great spurt of growth recently.
Yet I could also tell, by the hush and the gasps of pleasure from the crowd, that those who had gathered round our stationary carriage were seeing before them not an over-dressed little girl, but a true princess. She was transformed.
The feathered hat of the duchess was nodding in appreciation as her daughter performed. But Lehzen gave me the gentlest of nudges and breathed into my ear, ‘There will be a fortune to pay for this later. She gets so excited and worn out after play-acting the part of the gracious sovereign.’
‘Off to the castle to see His Majesty … Yes, the princess is travelling with her ladies-in-waiting.’ We heard Adams answering deferential questions from the spectators, until eventually the traffic eased and the coachman flicked the whip to move us on.
But soon I had little attention for what was passing around me. I was seated between the window and Lehzen, facing backwards to the direction of travel, while the princess and her mother had the more comfortable forward-facing seats. The movement of the carriage began to make me queasy. The heat seemed beyond what was seasonal, and my own grey silk dress grew unpleasantly tight and stiff.
As the journey gradually turned into a torment for me, I felt myself repeatedly swallowing, trying to keep down my luncheon. The kindly Späth could see something of what I felt and opened the window for me to receive a little air. Lehzen, on the other hand, was by now deep in a volume of dull-looking memoirs, and the duchess was gaily chatting with Victoria in German that I could not understand.
I stared at the carriage floor in grim misery, dimly aware that Victoria and her mother were pointing out the castle itself across the fields. Then there were the noises of a street of shops, then the louder clip of our horses in the quiet of a park. The park seemed to continue for rather a long time.
‘This is the turning for the lodge,’ Madame de Späth explained, and as the carriage finally drew to a halt, I looked out to discover that we were outside a huge cottage.
‘Ach, we are sent to the farm,’ said the duchess. ‘We should be received in the state apartments, not the pigsty!’
‘It’s a little more grand than the sty of pigs,’ said Lehzen quietly, snapping shut her book, and she was right.
This so-called lodge was white and gabled, its doors and windows opening on to the smooth turf of the park. It was quite vast, its corners and nooks and turrets seeming to extend for miles to our left and right.
Outside the front door there stood an unusual ramp. It was a strange enough sight to capture my attention despite my nausea. I craned to see past Lehzen’s bonnet. Even as I watched, the door to the enormous cottage opened and out waddled an immensely fat man. His head was topped with glossy auburn curls and his white breeches were tight over great thighs like hams. Behind him a couple of footmen began to help – no, to push – him up the ramp. It was heavy work. As he neared the top, a little phaeton drawn by two bays came round the corner of the building at a brisk clip and drew up by the ramp. At once the construction’s purpose became apparent. It was to propel his enormous bulk into the high seat of his vehicle.
‘Oh, Your Majesty!’ The duchess was out of our carriage, twirling her parasol and tripping across the gravel. I was unable to suppress a start. I had not realised that this strange sausage-like man could possibly be the king. At that very moment, the man thrust himself headlong into his carriage, and there were grunts from inside as presumably he composed himself on the seat.
The duchess continued to trip towards him, calling out something inconsequential in her manically gay voice.
There was a snarl and a growl from the direction of the vehicle, the words indistinguishable.
The duchess stopped, trembled, and then, as if making up her mind, skipped back to us. We could hear her sharp breathing as she approached the window through which we all anxiously gazed.
‘The impudence! The man is a devil in human form!’ she hissed. ‘Vickelchen! Go quickly. He wants only you. No, he does not want your poor mother in his sight, the widow of his poor dead brother, who has given the family so much. No, no. Never a thought does he give to the care I have for your health, your education …’
But Victoria was already banging the door open and barrelling across the gravel to the king’s carriage. She did not need to be asked twice to do something to her benefit. In no time at all, the two faces, one little, one large, flashed us an indolent, insolent look as the little phaeton flew past and disappeared among the trees of the park.
‘Well!’ said Lehzen, sucking in her breath through her yellow teeth. ‘How our princess takes after our king.’
‘The collation,’ said the duchess, frantically gathering herself together, just as if everything had gone according to plan. ‘He said there would be a cold collation and refreshment laid out for us. We had better go in. They will be expecting me. Madame de Späth, assist me.’
Once the duchess’s gown and train were arranged to her satisfaction, and her face composed as best as she could manage, we made a stately progress across the gravel. No one paid me any heed, so I attached myself to the end of the procession behind the three German ladies.
We proceeded in through the front door into a fantastically decorated hall. In one corner stood a stuffed tiger, in another a rich coromandel screen. Incense sticks were burning, making the air dense and sweet, while against the incense fought the heavy, cloying scent of lilies. Brocaded curtains kept out the sun, and we were almost blinded by this entry into rich gloom. It was grander, stranger, than any house I had ever seen.
But inside the room a bowing chamberlain beckoned us on through a French window and out into the back of the house, or cottage, or lodge, or whatever it was. Here, on a lawn, was pitched a red-and-gold Chinese-looking pavilion, and on tables set behind it lay a sumptuous tea.
I continued to bring up the rear of our little party, walking as lightly as I could and fixing a smile to my face to show how much I admired and appreciated everything
I saw. I tried to recall how Victoria had behaved to the crowd: dignified, queenly. I felt quite the opposite. My skin must have been ghastly and pallid, like death warmed up.
The ladies scurried to the refreshment table, but I hung back. I still felt so sick that I just wanted to sit somewhere quiet where I could not be seen. Hidden away among bushes and great plumes of pampas grasses were tables and little gold chairs, and here I gratefully subsided just before my legs could give way.
But I was not alone for long. Within a couple of minutes, a stout young man plumped himself down beside me, clutching a glass of lemonade. Its delicate stem seemed in danger of being snapped in his meaty grasp. He looked strong as an ox, blond and somehow glossy, as if he were fed on a diet of milk. I was disturbed to find that I could imagine him picking me up, with ease, and spinning me through the air in his arms. I drew myself up in my seat as if to protect myself from such undignified handling. Earlier on I had heard Adams describing me to people on the street as a lady-in-waiting; I must act like one.
‘In the party of the Kents, are you?’ he asked in a negligent manner, failing either to bow or to introduce himself. I could imagine Jane’s exclamation of scorn at the omission. He nevertheless intrigued me. In his blue coat and buff breeches he was clearly not a footman, yet aside from my brothers, footmen were the only strong young men I had yet encountered. My voice seemed to have deserted me, but I summoned up a croak from somewhere.
‘Yes, sir. I travelled with Their Royal Highnesses, and I attend upon them at Kensington Palace.’
He drank noisily from his glass. Entranced, I watched the powerful muscles pulsing in his throat as he swallowed the liquid. I wished that I could have had some myself.
‘Ah!’ He coughed and laughed at the same time. ‘I see! That’s why they didn’t let you ride with the king.’