by Jean Plaidy
Uncle Leopold was asking her questions – in English, which he spoke differently from the people of the household, and she answered in English, now and then bringing in a German word, which made him frown.
‘She has not started lessons yet?’ he asked Mamma.
‘A little. She is learning to read. But she is only three.’
‘So young,’ said Uncle Leopold tenderly picking up one of her curls in his hand and twirling it.
She leaned against his knee examining his odd boots; they had thick soles so that when he took his boots off – she had once seen him do this at Claremont when he had come in on a very wet day – he sank down and became a much smaller man.
Uncle Leopold liked to talk of his ailments.
‘My rheumatism has been more painful even than usual this last week. It’s the damp weather.’
Sometimes it was the hot weather that did not agree with him and gave him headaches; the cold got ‘on to his chest’ and made him suffer ‘agonies’. Poor Uncle Leopold, and he was so good looking that she liked to watch his face while he talked. His hair was a magnificent mass of curls. Victoria, watching it, touched her own smooth locks, which Fräulein Lehzen spent a long time inducing to curl. They all said she had pretty hair, but it was not grand and glorious like Uncle Leopold’s. His was not always the same either – the colour varied, which made it even more interesting.
When she asked Sissi about it and Sissi whispered: ‘It’s a wig,’ that seemed even more clever – to have hair that came off and could be put on a stand at night.
Of course, she had been very young when she thought that. Now she knew lots of people had wigs. Uncle King’s mass of nut-brown curls might well be one, she supposed. But perhaps a King could command hair to grow. She had asked Sissi this and Sissi had laughed and said she thought of the funniest things.
But here was Uncle Leopold, studying her intently, asking her questions and telling Mamma what she should do.
Then he lifted her up on his knee. How were the dolls? Would she show them to him? And was she speaking English more than German? Yes was the answer to the two last questions.
‘Now,’ she told him; and he went with her to the nursery where the dolls all sat obediently awaiting their orders from her.
‘They obey your orders, I hope,’ said Uncle Leopold jocularly.
‘Oh yes, you see I am the Queen.’
Uncle Leopold and Mamma exchanged a somewhat odd glance – as though she had said something alarming.
While they were looking at the dolls Aunt Adelaide arrived and they went back to the drawing-room to receive her. She often called and Victoria knew why. It was to see her.
‘Do you wish I were your little girl?’ Victoria had asked her.
And the answer had been a fierce hug which had been very gratifying. And the big doll was from Aunt Adelaide – her favourite among them all. There had never been such a doll. How I wish she could be named Victoria, thought Victoria. That was the only name for such a big fine doll.
Aunt Adelaide had a look of happiness about her. Victoria presumed it was because she had come to see her. She threw herself at her aunt – forgetting Mamma’s instructions but Aunt Adelaide did not mind at all; she picked her up and kissed her many times and Victoria put her arms round Aunt Adelaide’s neck.
‘And how is my dear little Victoria?’
‘Victoria is well … and so is the Big Doll.’
‘She has no teething troubles that Big Doll?’ asked Aunt Adelaide.
Victoria laughed gleefully. ‘No, they have all come through now.’
The Duchess and Leopold looked on in some exasperation. Adelaide seemed to forget decorum in the presence of the child. She was so besotted about Victoria that she behaved like … The Duchess sought for words but could only think of A Common Person. Of course life with Clarence might be responsible for that. And where had she come from? A little dukedom! She would not pursue that because Meiningen was very similar to Leiningen – both small insignificant principalities. But at least the Duchess of Kent was aware of her position. To think that if two very likely events took place this Adelaide might be Queen of England.
Two Queens! thought the Duchess, good humour restored as she looked at the Duchess of Clarence talking animatedly to Victoria. The only occasions when she seemed animated were when she was with the child.
Victoria wanting to show Aunt Adelaide how the Big Doll was settling in with the others, had taken her hand and was attempting to drag her across the room. Really, Victoria! thought the Duchess of Kent. But perhaps since Adelaide could well be a queen it was permissible. Two queens! What a pleasant thought.
‘Victoria,’ she said in a tone of mild reproof, ‘I daresay your Aunt Adelaide would wish to stay here and talk with Mamma and Uncle Leopold.’
Adelaide would clearly greatly have preferred to go with Victoria but there was nothing to do but remain and talk to the adults. So she inquired politely after Leopold’s health and as this was one of his favourite topics he kept it going for some time.
When they talked of the King’s State visits, Victoria listened avidly. She loved hearing anything about Uncle King. She would keep so quiet that Mamma would forget she was here. It was the best way of learning that which they might not wish her to know.
‘I believe the Irish visit was a great success,’ said the Duchess of Kent.
‘William has heard from His Majesty that he enjoyed it. The Irish adored him.’
‘And of course he is feeling his freedom,’ said the Duchess of Kent who, in all matters not connected with her daughter’s accession to the throne, could be a little indiscreet.
‘It was a trying situation,’ admitted Adelaide.
Leopold looked a little supercilious. He had never been on easy terms with his father-in-law and in fact the King made no secret of his mild contempt for Leopold. He had never wanted Charlotte to marry him and would have much preferred the Prince of Orange as a son-in-law. Leopold’s abstemious habits and his somewhat pompous manners made him in the King’s view a dull fellow.
‘Rarely could a man have been so relieved to be free from the bonds of matrimony,’ said Leopold.
Victoria wished they would not use such long words. But she remained very still watching Mamma’s glorious curls bobbing up and down as she spoke and all the frills and ribbons on her gown; and Uncle Leopold’s thick soles and curly wig and Aunt Adelaide who looked so simple beside them, but so kind. And I love her, thought Victoria.
‘Heaven alone knew what she would have done next … if she had lived.’ The Duchess of Kent shuddered. ‘And it would serve His Majesty right after the way he has treated her. The investigation … the trial …’
Leopold threw her a warning look.
‘It is all over now,’ said Adelaide. ‘William is relieved, of course.’
‘And now,’ went on the irrepressible Duchess, ‘he is on the Continent and I hear he is making a great impression everywhere he goes. Of course he could always talk people into admiring him.’
‘He has great charm,’ said Adelaide.
‘If his own people made as much of him as the foreigners do he would be a contented king, I doubt not,’ added the Duchess of Kent.
Leopold thought: I must impress on her the need to curb her tongue. The King already dislikes her. Heaven knows what he might do. What if he made some law which would enable them to pass over Victoria?
To change the subject he said: ‘I have heard that the King has been to see his nephews – the two young Georges who are named after him, Cumberland and Cambridge. They’re just about Victoria’s age.’
The Duchess of Kent laughed scornfully. ‘They will never have a chance.’
‘The King has always had a great respect for his brother Ernest,’ said Leopold. ‘It would not surprise me if Cumberland did not return to England now that the old King is dead.’
‘Let them come,’ said the Duchess of Kent recklessly.
Leopold frowned. But after all
it was only Adelaide. She would not report anything, nor see any evil in it.
‘You are looking in exceptionally good health,’ said Leopold to Adelaide.
‘I am very well, thank you.’ Adelaide had flushed slightly.
Oh God, thought the Duchess of Kent. It can’t be. I couldn’t bear it.
But she must know. The suspense would be unbearable if she did not. And if it were so? No! Fate could not be so cruel. There had been three failures. There could not be another attempt.
She was aware of Victoria quietly leaning against Adelaide playing with the rings she was wearing.
‘My stepdaughter, Lady Erroll,’ Adelaide said, ‘is very happy. She is expecting a child.’
‘Excellent news,’ said the Duchess of Kent. Was that a certain lilt she heard in Adelaide’s voice? What did it mean? Was it possible?
‘If it is a girl she wants to call it Adelaide.’
‘And you will allow this?’ asked the Duchess of Kent whose manner always grew cold when the FitzClarences were referred to.
‘I shall be delighted.’
The Duchess of Kent could restrain herself no longer.
‘You yourself look much happier than you have since … the tragedy. Is there any reason?’
There was a tense silence in the room. Victoria listening intently wondered what it could mean.
‘I have hopes again.’
Hopes! Oh God! thought the Duchess of Kent. It is as I feated.
They could not talk in front of the child, of course; but it was clear enough. Adelaide sitting there, quiet, serene, smug! thought the Duchess of Kent. I cannot bear it. It was like the distant funeral bell tolling dismally. The birth of Adelaide’s ‘hopes’ could only mean the death of her own.
Adelaide begged that Prince Leopold and the Duchess of Kent would excuse her. She wanted to pay her respects to the dolls before she left and she was going to ask Victoria if she might do this.
Victoria was taking her aunt’s hand, forgetting the strange conversation she had not understood, and together Adelaide and Victoria went to the nursery while back in the drawing-room Leopold was trying to restrain his sister and begging her not to have hysterics until after the Duchess of Clarence had left.
Adelaide grew happier as it became certain that her hopes were well-founded. She would take care, she promised herself; everything that could be done to achieve a safe delivery should be done. She kept reminding herself that but for that bitterly cold day her baby Elizabeth would have lived. She could bear a child – and a healthy one.
Elizabeth Erroll’s baby was born and like the daughter of George FitzClarence was christened Adelaide. William was delighted both to be a grandfather and that his son and daughter should have wanted to name their children after their stepmother.
At least, thought Adelaide, I am surrounded by babies. And that made her very happy. Not only was she constantly with her step-grandchildren but there was her niece Victoria too. She never lost an opportunity of visiting Kensington Palace and she and Victoria were the best of friends. But she must be careful for she sensed that the Duchess of Kent was a little jealous of Victoria’s love for her.
But however much she might enjoy the company of other people’s children, desperately she wanted her own. Only when she had her own child would the pain of Elizabeth’s loss begin to fade.
As the time for her confinement drew near she stayed at Bushy; she was very large and believed that presaged a strong and healthy child.
The FitzClarences were constantly with her, George’s wife and Elizabeth – mothers themselves – giving her advice, the rest cosseting her.
And then came the day when her pains started … far too early. She was hurried to bed to have a miscarriage.
She was desperately unhappy. It seemed a double misfortune since there had been two babies and she could not help picturing herself with her twins, one in each arm.
Had any woman ever longed for a child as she did? she wondered. Had any ever been so heartbreakingly disappointed.
William came and sat by her bed. He wept with her.
‘My poor, poor Adelaide,’ he said. ‘But I still have you.’
And that was some comfort.
He had written to the King, he said, to tell him the sad news. His Majesty, now at Brighton, feeling far from well, would be desolate.
William was right. The King sent his deepest condolences. He was genuinely sorry for he was disliking the Duchess of Kent more than ever; the airs she gave herself were intolerable to him and he would very much like to see her relegated to the background by the birth of a child to William and Adelaide.
William himself had no liking for the lady who had been extremely rude about his dear sons and daughters. Why should this upstart Duchess imagine herself too good to know his children? A most unpleasant woman! he decided.
Adelaide, however, was fond of young Victoria so she continued to visit Kensington Palace. He did not wish to spoil Adelaide’s pleasure so he did not suggest she should forgo these calls. But it was galling when the haughty Duchess refused to come to Bushy because she feared she might come into contact with some of the FitzClarence family.
Adelaide was delicate for some time after the miscarriage and William believed a holiday would be good for her.
‘Let us do a bit of travelling,’ he said. ‘We will go and stay with Ida and perhaps look in at Würtemburg to see my sister. She would be delighted and you two were fond of each other.’
Adelaide agreed that she would enjoy a continental tour! Not that it would make her forget. Nothing could do that; but William was obviously elated at the idea; and who knew, there might be hope yet of realizing her greatest dream.
So they made plans to leave and it was with some sorrow that she discovered she would not be in London to celebrate Victoria’s birthday.
She wrote to her before she left:
Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide send their love to dear little Victoria with their best wishes on her birthday and hope that she will become a very good girl, being now three years old.
Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide also beg little Victoria to give dear Mamma and dear Sissi a kiss in their name; and to Aunt Mary, Aunt Augusta and Aunt Sophia too, and also to the Big Doll.
Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide are very sorry to be absent on that day and not to see their dear, dear little Victoria, as they are sure she will be very good and obedient to dear Mamma on that day and on many, many others. They also hope that dear little Victoria will not forget them and know them again when Uncle and Aunt return.
So for Victoria it was a birthday without the presence of Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide. She missed Aunt Adelaide very much indeed. But her mother was by no means displeased.
Victoria was growing far too fond of Aunt Adelaide, who spoiled her in any case. Why, there were times when the Duchess of Kent believed that the child – her child – was more anxious for the society of her Aunt Adelaide than that of her own dear Mamma.
Shortly afterwards on a sunny June day the Royal Sovereign carrying the Duke and Duchess of Clarence left Walmer for Flushing; the holiday had begun, but as the yacht left the Downs it struck rough weather and most of the passengers were ill so it was a great relief when the coast of Belgium was sighted and they came to Antwerp.
Adelaide was delighted to be on dry land again and after a short stay at Antwerp they went on to Ghent to see Ida and her family.
What a joyful reunion and how delighted was poor little Louise and her brother Wilhelm!
‘Children always love Adelaide,’ said William rather sadly; and Ida went on quickly to talk of how they had enjoyed their stay in London and were all hoping to come again.
‘We’ll be glad to see you at Bushy whenever you care to come,’ replied William. ‘And I know I speak for Adelaide, too.’
The time in Ghent passed too quickly. There was so much to tell Ida. At first it was not easy to talk of her disappointments but in time she was able to and Ida’s ready
sympathy was comforting.
‘You will have a healthy child one day, Adelaide,’ said Ida. ‘I am sure of it.’
‘How I wish I were! I believe though that the Duchess of Kent is fearful.’
‘Oh, that woman. I believe she is very ambitious.’
‘It is natural that she should be. Little Victoria is the most enchanting creature whom her mother has quite made up her mind is going to be the Queen of England. I wish that the Duke of Kent had been older than William, then she might not have been so fearful.’
‘Adelaide!’ cried Ida aghast. ‘You don’t think that she ill-wishes you.’
Adelaide smiled. ‘Dear Ida, she is not a wicked woman, and I so well-wish myself that I am sure the fervency of my wishes would outweigh hers.’
‘I am not so sure,’ said Ida. ‘Ambition is a frightening thing.’
‘Then don’t let’s talk of it. Tell me about Louise and Wilhelm, and all that is happening here.’
‘Oh, we get along well. I am always hoping to find a doctor who can do something for Louise. And we are not rich, you know. I did not make a grand marriage as you did.’
‘It was a happy marriage, Ida. What could be better than that?’
‘And you are not happy?’
‘But of course I am. William is kind and he is really a good man, Ida.’
Ida looked a little sadly at her sister. Her marriage to the ageing Duke could scarcely be called romantic; and she was still childless after several attempts.
So, thought Ida, I would still say ‘Poor Adelaide’.
It was very pleasing to the sisters to feel that no great distance separated them. When Adelaide left Ghent it was after having received a promise from Ida that she would visit her next year.
They then proceeded with their journey, calling on Elizabeth, the Landgravine of Hesse-Homburg, and her rather odd husband, with whom Elizabeth declared herself well pleased, although she admitted that he had to be asked very persuasively to bath. Then to Saxe-Meiningen where Adelaide’s mother and brother, the Duchess Eleanor and Duke Bernhard, were delighted to see the visitors.