Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘I am sure Victoria must have been enchanted.’

  ‘We are not all as besotted as you. And besotted you must be to keep your mistress here … where Victoria is likely to meet her.’

  ‘My dear sister,’ said Leopold, ‘I doubt Victoria would have thought anything amiss if you had not walked off in a huff and left Caroline standing there.’

  ‘So that unfortunate creature has been carrying tales of what happened?’

  ‘You can hardly call it tales.’

  ‘But, Leopold, is it wise? Think of Victoria.’

  ‘Victoria will have to learn something of the world one day.’

  ‘Not such immoral details, I hope.’

  ‘Well, if she is going to learn the history of the world she will discover much of what you are pleased to call immoral. And she won’t have to go farther than her own family either.’

  The Duchess shivered. ‘Leopold, I sometimes wonder what has come over you. You used to be so different! Here … in this house where you lived with Charlotte.’

  ‘Charlotte would understand,’ he said. ‘It is twelve years since she died. She would not begrudge me this friendship … as you appear to.’

  ‘I was thinking of Victoria.’

  ‘An occupation of us all – thinking of Victoria. I must say the child is exceptionally bright.’

  He looked at his sister quizzically; he had succeeded in changing the subject. The accomplishments of Victoria were an irresistible bait.

  He added: ‘She will make a great Queen.’

  ‘I pray nothing will interfere with her accession to the throne.’

  ‘What could?’

  ‘I am afraid. All these rumours. I sense danger … and I am not sure from where it may come. I never like the child to be alone.’

  ‘You are fanciful.’

  ‘It is a great responsibility.’

  ‘Of course it is, but you have me to help you.’

  ‘If you can spare the time from … your mistress!’

  ‘Oh, pray don’t be tiresome. Caroline has nothing to do with this. You ask me why I keep her here in Claremont. Do you ask yourself why I should be in Claremont? I might be in Greece. Did you know the Greeks had offered me the crown? Did you know that I had declined and the reason I had done so?’

  ‘Because, my dear brother, you did not want the Greek crown.’

  ‘Because, my dear sister, I preferred to stay in England. I wish to be at hand to stand with you when you need me. And believe me, you will need me, when Victoria is Queen and you are Regent, for she will not be of age, I am certain, when the crown is hers.’

  ‘You think Clarence will not live another eight years?’

  He put his head close to hers. ‘I think Clarence may well be put away. You have heard the rumours?’

  ‘What if they are but rumours … like those about Victoria?’

  ‘I don’t think they are but rumours. Clarence is unbalanced to say the least. It could happen … this year, next year. This week. What then? Where would you be without your brother Leopold?’

  ‘I admit it is a comfort for me to remember that you are here.’

  ‘Then allow me my comforts, sister. And where is my little niece now? Why is it that you have allowed her out of your sight?’

  ‘Because she has gone to her room and Baroness Lehzen will be there. While she rode in the gardens Lehzen would have been watching her from the window We never let her far out of our sight.’

  ‘Little Victoria is safe … with such watch-dogs.’

  The Duchess was not sure that she liked the term watch-dog which was somewhat undignified; but she needed Leopold and so she must accept his ways.

  John Conroy was delighted with the situation. He was becoming indispensable to the Duchess of Kent who discussed everything with him. The Princess Sophia, who since the death of Queen Charlotte had made Kensington Palace her home, was rather taken with him too.

  ‘I have a way with the royal ladies,’ he told his wife. She was a meek woman and thought him exceedingly clever; she was ready therefore to allow him to go to work in whatever way he considered best. He had now become Sir John, which pleased him. With Lehzen a Baroness it was only fitting that he too should have a title.

  He was indisputably head of the Duchess’s household and since her fears concerning the Princess Victoria he had become even more important to her. In her anxiety she depended on him almost as much as she did on Leopold; and now that Leopold did not seem to be completely trustworthy, she leaned towards him more and more.

  He would have liked to discuss his cleverness with Lady Conroy, but she was too stupid; so all he could do was continue in it. One day he would be a rich and powerful man. If George died and William either followed him or was put away, Victoria would be Queen and her mother Regent, and who would be her chief counsellor? Sir John Conroy. One might say brother Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, but would Leopold stay here? Sir John, who flattered himself that he had a finger in foreign affairs, did not think so. Already Leopold had toyed with the idea of accepting the Greek throne and although he declared that he had no intention of taking it, that was not true. He had considered the proposition very seriously. And no wonder. What was he doing here in England? He was at loggerheads with the King and his brothers; he was accepting a pension from England, grudgingly given, he was living at Claremont which must be full of memories of his brief but blissful life with Charlotte; and it was clear that he was only waiting for the right opportunity to leave.

  It would come; and then Sir John Conroy would be the power behind the Duchess of Kent and that would be the power behind the Queen.

  All he had to do now was wait – and in the meantime he must make the Duchess understand how close were the bonds which bound them, that he was her trusted friend, her tender friend; and that nothing could make him swerve in his loyalty towards her and her daughter.

  The affairs of royalty were discussed everywhere in the Capital where men congregated together. Servants of the royal family confided in servants of others and news seeped out to be garnished according to taste.

  ‘How could one expect a woman like that to live the life of a nun?’

  ‘She is a handsome woman … and not young.’

  ‘Ah yes, and they say he’s a very fascinating man. Why the Princess Sophia is in love with him too, I hear.’

  ‘Sophia! She’s a bit long in the tooth.’

  ‘Maybe, but some of them are never too old.’

  Long-ago scandals were revived about the Princess Sophia. Wasn’t there talk of a child she had had years ago? He must be a grown man now. These things did happen in royal circles.

  It was not long before many people accepted it as a fact that the Duchess of Kent was the mistress of Sir John Conroy.

  The Duke of Cumberland sat by the King’s bedside. He had a somewhat arrogant habit of presenting himself without permission, which the King half resented. He implied that he came as a brother, and therefore, out of affection, dispensed with ceremony.

  The King smiled faintly, feigning pleasure. There was always the vague threat conveyed in Cumberland’s manner. Yet he was so affectionate, so determined to do everything he could to help.

  ‘Well, George, and how are the pains today?’

  ‘Agony at times, Ernest.’

  ‘My poor brother, if the people only knew what you went through.’

  There it was. The King shuddered. If the people could see him now in his somewhat grubby silk coat which he wore in bed and the crumpled nightcap hiding his wigless head, what would they say? He thought of cartoons, newspaper comments and shuddered again.

  Ernest should have warned him that he was coming; then he would have arisen and have been made presentable.

  ‘The latest gossip concerns your Swiss Governess.’

  The King groaned. ‘That woman! What has she been doing now?’

  ‘She’s having a love affair with that man Conroy.’

  The King laughed. ‘I wish him joy.’


  ‘Do you think he finds it?’

  ‘She’s a handsome woman. She might not irritate him as she does some of us. I think she was quite attractive before she became Victoria’s mother. The fact that she has the child has given her false ideas of her own grandeur.’

  ‘The Princess is a precocious child.’

  ‘A delightful creature.’ The King smiled. ‘I should like to see more of her. I shall never forget a very enjoyable ride to Virginia Water.’

  ‘You should see more of her. After all, she is the heiress to the throne.’

  ‘Don’t harp on that. You make me feel I have to apologize for having outstayed my welcome.’

  ‘For God’s sake don’t say that, brother. I often wonder what would happen … if you … I can’t speak of it. It affects me too deeply.’

  The King wrinkled his eyes in an effort to see his brother’s face. He could not believe Ernest would be greatly affected by his death – at least by affection – but when a man was old and sick and had as he had said ‘outstayed his welcome’ he wanted to believe that when he died there would be some to regret him. And whom could he expect to do that but his own family?

  ‘And there is William,’ went on Ernest. ‘When I remember our father I tremble.’

  ‘William is recovered now,’ said the King. ‘It was a momentary lapse. That unfortunate affair of the Lord High Admiral and the fact that Fred’s death put him next in the line went to his head.’

  ‘I know. To his head … to his weak and foolish head! Things went to our father’s head.’ Ernest came closer to the bed. ‘It would not surprise me if he went the way of our father.’ He raised his eyes piously to the ceiling. ‘Thank God, there are heirs. And that child Victoria would then be the next. She must be prepared for her great position. It occurred to me to ask this question. Should the heiress to the throne be brought up in an immoral household?’

  The King was astounded. Ernest of the evil reputation, who had recently been involved in a scandal with a married woman whose husband had committed suicide; who was suspected of practising every vice ever heard of and had been concerned in a violent killing, which could have been murder; Ernest to talk of an immoral household – simply because the Duchess might be having a love affair with a member of her household!

  The King, who had also been guilty of many an immoral act, was a little shocked that Ernest could have spoken in this way of the Duchess of Kent. He did not like the woman, but he understood her position. She was a widow, not old, she had an attractive controller of her household. It was in the King’s view inevitable that she should take a lover; and if he had not felt so tired and ill he would have defended the Duchess and asked Ernest why he had suddenly decided to become so virtuous, because it did not become him.

  He merely said coolly: ‘I find the Duchess an extremely exhausting woman; her type of looks do not appeal to me, but I certainly would not think of her as an immoral woman.’

  One could go so far with the King and no farther. Cumberland knew that. Every action he had to take must be subtle; and the King was no simpleton.

  But how could he realize his ambitions while that fat smug child lived on and flourished in Kensington Palace? and how could she cease to do so when she was guarded day and night by her fatter and even smugger mother?

  He must be careful though. This was not a matter which could be hurried.

  While Adelaide worked in gay-coloured wools on the dress she was making for Victoria, enjoying the peace of Bushy, she was thinking that this could not last. There was change in the air. She could sense it.

  One did not need to have special powers to do that. The King was critically ill. The fact that he kept recovering a little because of his strong constitution did not mean that he could go on doing it for ever.

  King George was going to die soon and then there would be King William and Queen Adelaide.

  But would there?

  During the last months she had suffered a terrible fear. She had believed that William was going mad. And yet when she considered his behaviour it was eccentric more than anything else. It had been exaggerated; the rumours had done that.

  And who was responsible for those rumours?

  Whenever she was in the presence of the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland she felt uneasy. Was it the Duke’s appearance? That scarred face; that void where an eye should have been? Sometimes he wore a patch over it and that gave him a sinister look. It was absurd to judge him by his looks. He had been wounded in the face like many soldiers.

  But had he been involved in the Graves’ affair? What had the Duchess of Cumberland thought of that? She gave the impression that she did not care.

  She was embroidering the last of the flowers on the dress. This blue would bring out the colour in Victoria’s eyes, she thought. Dear child! She wished that she could see more of her. She feared that the restricted life she led at Kensington Palace was not right for a little girl. There was too much emphasis on etiquette and decorum. Victoria should be allowed to run wild like the FitzClarence grandchildren. Adelaide smiled to think of the pranks they got up to.

  Victoria was now spending a few weeks by the sea. The Duchess had decided that she would take her there that she might be seen making the journey; and when she came back she would be so full of good health that the Duchess would wish the people in the Park, where they took their walks, to see it too.

  There had been such unpleasant rumours about her health.

  Victoria was an interesting child. Such a grown-up letter she had written for Adelaide’s birthday, accompanying some charming presents. Of course it would have been the Duchess of Kent who had chosen the presents, but they had come in Victoria’s name.

  Victoria was one of the band of children with whom she had had to compensate herself for having none of her own. The FitzClarence grandchildren, the Cumber lands’ George – a delightful boy – and the Cambridges’ George too. She loved them all, although of course the Duchess of Kent was most insistent that Victoria should never meet any of the FitzClarences which was tiresome and meant that Victoria was often excluded from parties which she would have enjoyed.

  Victoria was on her mind today, and when she had finished the embroidered flowers she went indoors out of the hot August sun to write to her.

  She sat at her desk and wrote thanking her for the well-written birthday letter and the gifts.

  It gives me great satisfaction to hear that you are enjoying the sea air. I wish I could pay a visit there and see you, my dear little niece … Your Uncle desires to be most kindly remembered to you and hopes to receive soon also a letter from you, of whom he is as fond as I am. We speak of you very often, and trust that you will always consider us to be among your best friends.

  God bless you, my dear Victoria, is always the prayer of your truly affectionate

  Aunt Adelaide

  She sealed the letter and sent it; but she could not get Victoria out of her mind.

  She could not talk to William of this sudden fear which had come to her. It obsessed her. And it concerned William too.

  It was true that William had been over-excitable; it was true he made long, rambling speeches, that he was eccentric; but there was a long step between such conduct and … madness.

  It was always as though there had been a force at work which was trying to send William mad.

  There! She had faced it.

  A force? She might go farther and bring out what was truly in her mind: the Duke of Cumberland.

  It was so clear, so simple. The motive could not have been plainer. There was a crown and the Cumberlands wanted it – first for themselves and then for their son. Poor innocent young George, that charming boy whom she loved. God preserve him from the influence of his parents!

  They shall never drive William insane, she thought. I will prevent that. I will stand between him and them. I will nurse him. I will not let it happen. It need not, I know – and yet the alarming thing is that it could.

  William is
safe … with me.

  And Victoria?

  Oh God, she thought, the child is in danger. Those rumours of her illness. What could they mean?

  Whenever she thought of Victoria she saw a great shadow hanging over her, and she was afraid.

  The Duchess of Kent and her daughter were back at Kensington Palace after the seaside holiday and Victoria, blooming with health, took her daily walks with the Duchess as far as Apsley House and back and the people cheered her as she passed.

  Adelaide called at Kensington Palace. She had brought the dress she had been embroidering for Victoria who was enchanted with it. She must try it on at once, she declared.

  ‘You shall,’ said the Duchess. ‘Go and do so now and your Aunt Adelaide and I will have a chat while we await your return.’

  As soon as she had left Adelaide looked over her shoulder furtively.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ asked the Duchess.

  ‘I have been waiting for an opportunity to talk to you. Perhaps I am being foolish but I feel this is of such great importance to us all. Forgive me if I am stupid, but it is out of my love and concern for the child.’

  ‘For Victoria!’ cried the Duchess.

  Adelaide nodded.

  ‘Pray go on.’

  ‘I am anxious. I believe that there is some … evil at work. I cannot forget those accounts of her weakness which were so false.’

  The Duchess had turned pale. ‘Nor can I forget them,’ she said.

  ‘Who started those rumours? Who saw that they were circulated?’

  The two women looked at each other and it was Adelaide who spoke first. ‘I believe it to be the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland.’

  ‘My dear Adelaide … sometimes I am terrified.’

  ‘I too. And there is William. Those reports about him. Oh, it is so clear. They want William put away.’

  ‘And Victoria?’ said the Duchess.

  ‘I don’t know, but I fear some evil. I beg of you, never let the child out of your sight. Keep her with you or that good woman Lehzen … all the time.’

  The Duchess had put her hand to her heart. ‘Oh God, it is a terrifying thought.’

  ‘It is not, alas, so unusual. Crimes have been committed for a crown before. How I wish we were not so close to it. I can see great danger.’