Victoria could not help but take a step backwards as he loomed towards her. But she told herself there was no reason to be frightened; there was nothing he could do to her anymore. At her feet she heard Dash growling.
Bending down, she picked up the spaniel. “Oh, don’t worry, Sir John, I have no intention of being alone.” Ignoring her mother’s imploring face, she turned her head to look straight at him. “You see, I have Dash.”
And discretion being the better part of valour, she walked out of the room, holding Dash tightly in her arms. She ran down the corridor and then stopped, her head still throbbing with the sound of Conroy’s cane as it struck the floor. She knew that there was nothing to be frightened of anymore, but still the act of defying him had left her breathless.
CHAPTER TWO
The curtains on the bed were made of dark brocade shot with silver; they were heavy with dust that looked as though it had lain undisturbed since sometime in the late seventeenth century, when the bed’s last occupant, Queen Mary, had died of smallpox. The Stuart queen had always been a favourite of Victoria’s. She was the only queen in her own right to live here at Kensington, although of course she had not reigned alone, but in a dual monarchy with her husband, William of Orange.
As Victoria sat on the bed in the room that had once belonged to Queen Mary, she wondered if that long-dead Queen had felt as nervous as she did now. She had waited for this moment for so long. She had imagined in great detail the satisfaction she would feel in at last being able to put Conroy in his place. But instead of triumph, she felt instability, as if by defying Conroy she had somehow undermined her own foundations. But then she remembered that moment in Ramsgate when Conroy had tried to force her to sign that paper making him her Private Secretary.
Victoria lay back on Queen Mary’s bed, and her movement unsettled a huge cloud of dust. She sat up again immediately; she could feel a sneeze pending, a prickling against her eyeballs. Everything about Kensington was dusty and irritating. The room would have to be thoroughly cleaned and aired before she could sleep there.
She looked over to the corner of the room, where Dash was sniffing suspiciously in a corner. She stood up and called for Lehzen, who appeared so quickly that she must have been lurking outside. “Will you make sure that this room is thoroughly aired? I don’t think it’s been cleaned since the seventeenth century.”
Lehzen hesitated. “Of course, Majesty, but the running of the household here is not my responsibility.”
Victoria smiled. “You forget, Lehzen, that Kensington Palace is now mine, and I have decided that you should take charge. Look at this room! There are mice droppings everywhere. That would not happen in a properly run household.”
Lehzen nodded her agreement. “I am afraid that Sir John is not interested in cleanliness. The servants here know that and they do not perform their duties with diligence.”
“Well, I am sure you will change all that, Lehzen, when you are in charge of the household. You are a very good teacher, after all.”
Lehzen folded her hands in satisfaction. “I believe Sir John will not be happy about this change of government.”
Victoria smiled back at her. “No, I don’t suppose he will. But I am no longer under any obligation to please Sir John. He is the comptroller of my mother’s household, not mine.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“Everything is going to be different now.”
The two women smiled at each other.
Victoria walked over to the window and looked out at the green canopy of trees in the park beyond the formal gardens.
“For a start, I do not intend to stay here at Kensington. It is miles away from anything, and quite unsuitable as a royal residence.”
Lehzen looked at her in surprise. Victoria continued, “I think I shall look over Buckingham House. It is in the centre of town, at least, and I believe it has a throne room.”
Lehzen nodded. “I have heard that your uncle, King George, had it decorated most extravagantly.”
“Better a little extravagance than living in a dusty mouse nest in the middle of the country!” Victoria pulled at one of the ancient curtains to emphasise her point, and it came away in tatters. She started to laugh, and after a moment Lehzen joined in.
They were still laughing when the Duchess found them. She was now clothed in black, as the court was in the official mourning period for the King, but her dress was made of a richly figured black silk. There were diamonds in her elaborately arranged hair. At forty-seven, the Duchess was an attractive woman, her face with its large blue eyes and rosy colouring only marred by the sulky set of her mouth.
“Was ist das? What is so amusing?”
Victoria held out the fistful of disintegrating curtain. The Duchess frowned. “But why is this making you laugh, Drina? It is not so funny, I think.”
“I just put my hand out and the curtain fell to bits. It was very droll.” Victoria saw the incomprehension in her mother’s eyes.
“But why are you in here, anyway, Drina? Surely you have more pressing matters to attend to than exploring the palace.”
Victoria took a deep breath. “I have decided to make this my bedroom, Mama. It belonged to a queen regnant, like me, so I think it is suitable.”
The Duchess’s hand fluttered to her mouth. “But Drina, mein Liebe, you have slept beside me since you were a tiny baby. I wonder how you will manage if I am not there to comfort you in the night when you are having an Alptraum.” The Duchess looked so distressed that Victoria felt almost sorry for her.
“You have taken great care of me, Mama. I know that. But things are different now.”
“But if your uncle Cumberland comes for you in the night, how will I protect you?”
Victoria laughed, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Lehzen smiling. “I think protecting me is now the job of the Household Cavalry. You can stop worrying, Mama. There is nothing that Uncle Cumberland can do to me, unless he wants to be arrested for treason.”
The Duchess shook her head, and, putting it on one side, she tried another tack. “Did you know that Queen Mary died in this room, lying in this bed? I would not be happy sleeping here, knowing such a story.” She shrugged, and the corners of her mouth turned down at the corners.
Victoria had not known that her ancestor had died as well as lived in this room, but then, she thought, neither did her mother. The Duchess was quite capable of inventing a story if it suited her requirements.
“I think, Mama, that once this room has been properly cleaned and aired, I will not be troubled by its history.”
The Duchess threw up her hands.
“And besides, Mama, I will not be sleeping here for long. I intend to move to Buckingham House as soon as is possible.”
The Duchess looked startled. “You must talk to Sir John before you do anything. To move the household, that is not a decision that you can take alone.”
“Really, Mama? I think that as the sovereign I am the only person who can decide where I live. And really, it is no business of Sir John’s, as it is my household that will be moving, not yours.”
To Victoria’s intense surprise and annoyance, her mother laughed. “Oh, Drina, this is showing how little you know about how the world works. Do you really think that you, an unmarried girl of eighteen, can set up an establishment on her own, even if you are the Queen?”
Victoria said nothing. She knew what she intended.
“Do you really think that you can manage all this with only the Baroness to help you?” The Duchess looked at Lehzen with dislike.
“I am not a child anymore, Mama.”
“And yet you act like one, Drina. But I understand that this is all a shock for you. When you have come to your senses, we will talk sensibly with Sir John about the future.”
Before Victoria could reply, the Duchess left the room. To express her feelings, Victoria gave the post of the bed a sharp kick, causing a cloud of moth-eaten hangings to collapse on the bed.
Victo
ria turned to Lehzen. “Please have this room made habitable at once. I cannot spend another night in the same room as Mama.”
CHAPTER THREE
Victoria looked up at the portrait of her father wearing his uniform and standing beside a cannon. She could not forget, even if she wanted to, that she was a soldier’s daughter.
She turned round and opened one of the red boxes on her desk. They had come that morning as soon as the death of her uncle had been officially announced. Evidently the business of government, whatever that was exactly, must go on.
Victoria picked up the document at the top of the pile and began to read. It appeared to be about the appointment of a new bishop in Lincoln, but it was written in such convoluted language that Victoria could not be sure. How was she meant to choose between the various candidates—she had never heard of any of them. As she flicked through the other documents she began to feel anxious: there were endless lists of officers waiting for commissions, a paper from the Foreign Office about the movement of troops in Afghanistan, a memorandum from the Lord Chamberlain about Queen Adelaide’s widow’s pension.
Victoria sat down, trying not to panic. She picked up one of the dolls that sat on their own chairs nearby. This doll was wearing the tinsel crown she had made for it all those years ago in Lehzen’s schoolroom. Talking to dolls was hardly the behaviour of a queen, but Mama and Conroy had not liked her to play with other children, apart from Conroy’s awful daughter Jane, so in the long, lonely hours of her childhood, Victoria had had to invent her own companions. No. 123 she felt was a little older than her, the kind of friend that one would go to for advice and counsel. She looked at the doll’s button black eyes and said, “How does a queen deal with her correspondence, do you think, No. 123?”
“Still playing with dolls, Your Royal Highness?” Conroy’s voice made her start. “Oh, forgive me, still playing with dolls, Your Majesty?” Conroy repeated, and smiled with malicious pleasure.
The Duchess bustled in after him. “Really, you must put such childish things away now you are Queen, Drina.”
Victoria put No. 123 down on the desk. Instinctively she took a step back from Conroy.
“I see your boxes have arrived … ma’am,” said Conroy. “You will have so many pressing matters to attend to.”
He picked up the document that Victoria had been looking at. “Ah, the bishopric of Lincoln. Quite a thorny decision. I hardly think that the Dean of Wells is suitable; I hear that he is quite evangelical in his views. I think you must appoint someone who is more in sympathy with—”
Victoria snatched the paper away from him. “I don’t think I gave you permission to look at my papers, Sir John.”
The Duchess gasped, but Conroy merely raised an eyebrow. “I was merely trying to help you, ma’am, with your official duties. I thought, given that you seemed to be otherwise engaged,” he glanced at No. 123, “you might profit from some assistance.”
Victoria looked up at the plump, bellicose face of her father and with all the courage she could summon took a step towards Conroy. “I think, Sir John, that when I need your help, I will ask for it!”
The silence in the room was complete, and then Conroy laughed. “Do you really think that a girl like you, ignorant and unformed, can serve her country without advice? Can you possibly imagine that you can step straight from the schoolroom onto the throne?” His voice was light, and he turned to the Duchess, who smiled back at him.
Her mother’s smile made Victoria dig her fingernails into her palms, but she would not give way. “I would have been better prepared, if you and Mama had allowed me to come out into society instead of keeping me shut up here in Kensington.”
“We had to protect you, Drina,” her mother said, shaking her head.
“We have always done what is best for you, ma’am. And that is why we are here now, to prevent you from making any childish mistakes.” Conroy allowed his eyes to flick over to the dolls sitting on their tiny thrones.
Victoria took a deep breath. “I think you forget, Sir John, that I am my father’s daughter and the granddaughter of a king. I am determined to serve my country to the best of my ability.”
She looked over to her mother. “You know I am ready, Mama. You understand how much I want to make you and poor dear Papa proud.”
Her mother looked at her for a moment with the tenderness that Victoria craved, but then as if frightened by an independent feeling she turned towards Sir John, whose smile had remained fixed throughout.
“Your sentiments are admirable, ma’am. But might I suggest that an eighteen-year-old girl would serve her country most successfully if she accepts help and guidance? Your mother wants nothing more than to serve you, and I suggest that as your Private Secretary I will be able to guide you to the greater glory of the country you now reign over.”
Conroy kept his voice light, but Victoria could see the giveaway twitch at the corner of his left eye. This gave her courage.
“I thank you for your observations, but I must tell you I don’t remember appointing you as my Private Secretary, Sir John. And now, since as you say, I have a great deal of government business to attend to, you have my permission to withdraw.”
Conroy flinched. She saw his hand move, as if he were about to strike her, but although she knew him quite capable of it, Victoria stood firm. She kept her eyes on him, clenching her hands together so that he should not see them trembling.
Conroy loomed over her, but Victoria did not waver. At last he bowed his head with great deliberation. Still facing her, he walked backwards out of the room.
As soon as he was out sight, Victoria let out the breath she had been holding in a great rush.
“How rude you are being to Sir John, Drina”—the Duchess was tearfully indignant—“when all he is being is your friend.”
Victoria turned to face her mother. “Oh no, Mama, you are mistaken. He is your friend, not mine.”
And before her mother could answer, or indeed see the tears that were threatening, Victoria ran out of the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
William Lamb, the second Viscount Melbourne and Prime Minister of Great Britain and Ireland, opened his eyes with reluctance. His servants had strict instructions not to wake him unless there was an emergency. He looked at his butler’s grave face, and then saw the King’s messenger standing behind him. Seeing the black armband on the man’s right arm, he sat up immediately.
“The King?”
The messenger nodded and handed him the dispatch.
Melbourne looked at the butler. “Coffee.”
An hour or so later, Melbourne was riding along Rotten Row to Kensington Palace. It would be more fitting to go in his carriage, but he had eaten and drunk too freely last night and the ride would do him good. He had got into the habit of falling asleep in his study after the second bottle of claret, which did not help his temper the next day. He wished that he could fall asleep, as he used to, as soon as his head touched the pillow, but that knack had eluded him along with marital happiness.
“William!” a woman called to him from a carriage going the other way. He saw Emma Portman sitting in her brougham alongside her husband, who looked, as he always did, rather surprised that he could sit up unaided.
He nodded to them both, but Emma was not to be dismissed so easily. “Is it true the King is dead?”
“Yes. I am just on my way to Kensington to kiss hands with our new Queen.”
Emma put her head on one side. “Then why the long face, William? Surely anyone is better than that old buffoon, God rest his soul.”
Lord Portman lifted his head and said in his querulous lisp, “Ith it true that the Queen’s head ith too big for her body? I heard that ith why they keep her shut away in Kensington.”
Emma shook her head impatiently. “Nonsense, Portman, I have seen the Queen, and she is perfectly formed. I think you will like her, William.”
Melbourne shook his head. “Perhaps, but the truth is, Emma, after eight years I am
tired of governing. I would much rather consult the rooks at Brocket Hall.”
Emma tapped her fan on the side of the carriage sharply. “The rooks must wait. Your queen needs you, your country needs you, and it must be said I would very much like a place at court.”
Melbourne could not help but smile. He had known Emma all his life and had never known her fail to get her own way. Only a woman of her ability could have manouevred her dolt of a husband into a cabinet post, even if he was only Under-Secretary for the Colonies. If Emma Portman wanted to join the royal household, then nothing would stop her.
“In that case, Emma, I see that I have no choice but to shoulder my burden.” He tipped his hat to her and rode on.
It was a pleasant ride, the sun reflecting on the Serpentine lake as he rode over the bridge. As he approached the gardens of the palace, the trees grew thicker, and he fancied himself momentarily as the Prince in the Perrault tale of the Sleeping Beauty, going to rouse a Princess who had been asleep for a hundred years. Of course the Princess, who he must now think of as the Queen, would be wide awake now. The Duchess, he knew, had been making daily enquiries as to the state of the King’s health; she and Conroy had no doubt been planning for this moment for years.
Melbourne wondered how the Queen, whose small figure and doll-like features he had only glimpsed at one of the late King’s Drawing Rooms, would cope with her new responsibilities. She had seemed so very young. But as Emma had said, anything would be better than the last occupants of the throne. The wits at Brooks’s had pronounced the last three kings “an imbecile, a profligate, and a buffoon.” The new Queen had to be preferable to the late King, with his intemperate swearing and those bulging Hanoverian eyes that looked, when he was in a temper, as if they would pop out of his head. No, a young woman would make a pleasant change, just so long as she did not get the vapours when asked to do something unpleasant. Melbourne wondered if he would be required to carry smelling salts in his pocket along with his watch.
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