He reached the gates of Kensington Palace and noticed that the paint was peeling from the iron scrollwork. It did not feel like a palace, more like a place where the odds and ends of the royal family could be tidied away out of harm’s reach. The Duchess of Kent had lived there since she had been the obscure German widow of one of George III’s many sons. Now she was the mother of the Queen.
No one could have foreseen it. The Duke of Kent had been one of four royal dukes to discard their mistresses and hurry to Germany in search of a royal bride after the death of Princess Charlotte, George III’s only legitimate grandchild, in childbirth. The betting had been on the Duke of Clarence, the late King as he then was, who had after all fathered ten children on Mrs Jordan. But he did not enjoy the same luck with his scrawny German bride, Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen. Their two daughters had not lived long enough to be christened.
Kent, however, the next brother down, had picked himself a widow who had already given birth to two children. She was a Coburg, commonly known as the brood mares of Europe. Their daughter, Alexandrina Victoria, had arrived a year after the wedding, promptly followed by the death of the Duke from a chill. Of course at the time no one had thought that Kent’s baby daughter would inherit the throne, but while George IV showed no sign of remarrying, and the Clarences failed to produce a child that survived, the little Princess of Kent had been growing up in the nursery at Kensington.
Melbourne wondered what kind of education she had received. A boy would have had a governor and a course of formal instruction, of course. But a girl, how should a future queen be educated? Melbourne hoped that she had received instruction in more than watercolours and the pianoforte, or whatever were considered the indispensable accomplishments of a lady of rank.
There was a man standing at the entrance of the palace. A tall, thin figure with dark hair who could only be Sir John Conroy, Melbourne thought. He had met him once years ago, and had been surprised by how much he had disliked him. There had been something overweening about him that Melbourne had not cared for.
As Melbourne handed his horse to the groom, Conroy came down the steps to greet him, a smile of welcome etched onto his long face. “Lord Melbourne.” Conroy bent his head in greeting. “Might I have a word with you?”
Melbourne saw that he could not escape. “I am on my way to see the Queen.”
“Yes. It is of the … Queen that I wish to speak. You know, of course, that she has led the most sheltered life until now.”
Melbourne noticed two patches of red on the other man’s cheeks. He was clearly in a state of some excitement.
“I know very little about the Queen, as she has not, as you say, been seen much in society.”
“As equerry to the late Duke and then as the Duchess’s most trusted advisor, I have watched over the Queen’s upbringing since she was a baby. I have done everything in my power to prepare her for the responsibilities that lay before her.”
“Indeed, Sir John. Then it is perhaps a pity that you did not introduce her more into the world that she is to rule.”
Sir John lifted his head up and looked Melbourne in the eye. “The Queen is very young and impressionable. The Duchess did not want her to be … distracted.”
Melbourne did not reply. He thought it much more likely that the Duchess and Conroy had kept their charge out of the public eye in order to have her completely in their control. How unfortunate for them that the Queen was now eighteen and there was no need to appoint a regent.
“I think there is no one more suitable than I to act as the Queen’s Private Secretary,” Conroy went on. “No one knows better where her strengths and weaknesses lie.”
Melbourne nodded. “No doubt. But I believe that to be the Queen’s decision, not mine.”
Sir John smiled his mirthless smile. “The Queen does not always understand what is in her best interests, but I am sure that with some guidance from you, she will make the right appointment.”
“I am sure she will, Sir John. And now if you will excuse me.” Before Sir John could say anything more, Melbourne was up the steps and walking into the palace.
CHAPTER FIVE
From the window of her sitting room, Victoria could see Conroy talking to a tall man she thought was Lord Melbourne. Conroy, she could see, was bathing the Prime Minister in all the charm of which he was capable. Since Melbourne’s back was to her, however, she could not tell how he was taking it.
Lehzen came to the door. She had an expression on her face that Victoria could not quite determine. “The Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, is here, Majesty.”
“I am ready to see him.”
Lehzen did not move. Victoria looked at her, surprised. “I do not want to keep him waiting, Lehzen.”
Still the Baroness hesitated, then said, “I think I should stay with you, as a chaperone.”
Victoria laughed. “The Queen of England and her Prime Minister do not need a chaperone, Lehzen. I will see him alone, as I intend to see all my ministers. Now please go and fetch him.”
Lehzen stood her ground. “Drina … Majesty, I have always tried to shield you from these things, but really I must not leave you alone with him. Lord Melbourne is…” She searched for the right English word. “… disreputable. His wife, Lady Caroline, ran away with Lord Byron and he has been involved with many women. Only last year he was taken to the court for having criminal conversation with a Mrs Norton. You must have protection.”
Victoria, who had had no idea that her Prime Minister had such a reputation, found she was more intrigued than alarmed. “What is a criminal conversation?”
The Baroness hesitated. “It is an … immoral encounter, Majesty. That is why you should not be alone with him.”
Lehzen’s face was so crumpled with anxiety that Victoria wanted to reach out and smooth the lines away from her forehead. But the idea that she was somehow at risk was absurd. There was only one man she was frightened of, and that was not Lord Melbourne. The thing worrying her now was not her Prime Minister’s reputation but how close he was to Conroy. What had they been talking about outside?
“Don’t worry, Lehzen, I will be quite safe. And if he does anything disreputable,” she looked down at the spaniel, “I am sure Dash will intervene.”
Lehzen bowed her head and retreated.
Victoria glanced at herself in the mirror. She wished that she did not look quite so young. Although her hair was up, the chignon at the back of her head only emphasized how small her face was, and the black dress made her look pale. She gave her cheeks a pinch.
“The Viscount Melbourne,” the footman announced. Victoria’s first impression was of a man who seemed pleased to see her. He was tall, and while his hair was streaked with grey and he must have been about the same age as Conroy, the expression in his green eyes made him look much younger.
Melbourne knelt and kissed her outstretched hand. “May I offer my condolences on the death of your uncle the King, Your Majesty.”
Victoria nodded. “Poor Uncle King, he was always kind to me. Even if he did have some strange ideas about who I should marry.”
Clearly smelling salts would not be needed, Melbourne thought to himself.
“Indeed, ma’am? I believe he favoured the Prince of Orange.”
“A prince with a head the size of a pumpkin.”
Melbourne’s lips twitched. “I see you have a keen eye for detail, ma’am.”
Victoria looked at him sharply—was he making fun of her?
Melbourne cast an eye around the room, noticing the picture of the Duke of Kent standing next to an unfeasibly large cannon. He had never met the Duke but was well acquainted with the stories of the savage punishments he had inflicted on his troops. He hoped that the little woman before him had not inherited her father’s passion for discipline. He looked away quickly and saw a doll sitting on a miniature chair, wearing a tattered tinsel crown. He glanced at the Queen. “What a charming doll. Does she have a name?”
Victoria shook her head.
“She is No. 123. Mama gave her to me on my eleventh birthday.”
“With the crown?”
“No, that came later. I made it on the day I realised that, if I lived, I would be Queen.”
“And when was that, ma’am?” Melbourne asked.
“I was thirteen. I was having a lesson with Lehzen and she showed me the family tree. I looked at it for a long time and then I saw that I was next.”
Her voice was her great feature, Melbourne thought, light and cool without a trace of shrillness. She might be small and without particular beauty, but her voice was unmistakably regal.
“Was it a shock, ma’am?”
She returned his gaze with great seriousness. “I remember thinking that my uncle’s crown would be too big for me.”
Melbourne felt disconcerted. He had been talking to her as if to a child, but seeing the tilt of her head and the spark in her pale blue eyes, he knew he had underestimated her.
Looking out of the window, the Queen said, “I believe you know Sir John Conroy?”
Melbourne heard the tension in her voice and saw the defiant set of the shoulders.
“I have certainly met him, ma’am, but we are no more than acquaintances. I believe he would like to be your Private Secretary.”
Victoria turned round to face him, her small face pink with indignation. “That is out of the question. He means to run me as he runs my mother.”
Melbourne hesitated; he was beginning to understand what the Queen’s upbringing had been. “Then you must have someone else.”
Victoria nodded, relieved; this man seemed to actually listen to her, instead of telling her what to do. Melbourne continued. “If I might make a suggestion, perhaps I could act as your secretary for the moment. I see that the boxes have already started arriving, and I am afraid that the business of government will not wait. I can imagine that it must seem rather overwhelming when you have so little experience, but I assure you that with some guidance you will soon be the master, or rather the mistress, of it all.”
At the word “guidance,” Victoria began to tremble with indignation. She had almost been deceived by Melbourne’s ease of manner, but it was clear that he wanted to control her just as Conroy did. She lifted her chin and drew herself as erect as possible. “Thank you, Lord Melbourne, but I believe I can manage.”
Melbourne bowed. “I shall disturb you no longer, then, ma’am. I shall only remind you that the Privy Council meet tomorrow, and it is customary for the monarch to say a few words at the beginning of the meeting.”
“I am quite aware of my responsibilities, Lord Melbourne.”
To her surprise Melbourne appeared to be smiling. “I am delighted to hear it, ma’am. Good day to you.” And with that he gave her a bow and left the room, that easy smile still lingering.
Victoria’s knees felt weak, and she sat down rather suddenly. Melbourne’s remark about the speech to the Privy Council had come as a shock. She knew that presiding over the council was one of her constitutional duties, but had not realised she would have to give a formal address.
There were so many things she didn’t know. Lehzen had done her best, but a German governess alone could hardly be expected to educate the future Queen of England in her constitutional responsibilities. Victoria should have had other tutors, but Conroy had persuaded her mother that anyone from outside the household might exert too great an influence—an influence that he wanted to reserve to himself. But she would not ask for help now. However hard it was, she would do this alone.
Through the window came the sound of a bell tolling to announce the death of the King to passersby. She stood up and went to the window. A small group of people had gathered by the gates, which were now guarded by men from the Household Cavalry, as befitted her new status. A small girl who was standing holding her mother’s skirts had a doll quite like No. 123. Victoria was possessed by a sudden impulse to run outside and show the little girl her own doll, to make her solemn face light up with surprise and pleasure. But she did not move. A queen, she knew, did not act on impulse.
CHAPTER SIX
Penge, the steward, brought the letter in on a silver salver. Victoria looked up from her desk, where she had been trying unsuccessfully for the last two hours to compose a speech for the Privy Council. “With Lord Melbourne’s compliments, ma’am.”
Victoria took the letter and laid it beside her own sheet of paper. She had got as far as writing, “My lords.” This much she knew was correct, but did that include the Archbishop, who was a Privy Councillor, or Sir Robert Peel, who was not a lord? It was all so complicated. She could ask Lehzen, but she suspected that she would not have the answer. Conroy would know, of course, but she would rather make a public mistake than ask for his assistance.
She picked up Melbourne’s letter and broke the seal. There was an enclosure with the letter.
Your Majesty,
It occurred to me yesterday that you may not yet be familiar with all the protocol surrounding the Privy Council. It would be impossible for you to anticipate all the procedures of a body you have never had the pleasure, a word I use with some hesitation, of meeting. Therefore I have taken the great, but I hope, not altogether unwelcome, liberty of drafting a speech for you. I do not presume to tell you what to say, only to give you the most correct form with which to say it. I do not have to remind you that the Duke of Cumberland, soon to be the King of Hanover, will be present, and he is, as you know, a stickler for protocol.
Believe me to be your obedient servant, etc etc, Melbourne
She picked up the paper that had come with the letter. As promised, it was a draft of a speech that gave her the outline of how she should address the council. “My lords spiritual and temporal” was the correct address, apparently, but he only made suggestions as to what she might say:
an allusion here to the virtues of your uncle, the late King, would be customary here. In case you struggle to think of any, I suggest that you mention his excellent timekeeping. The King may never have had a sensible thought but at least he was always prompt.
Melbourne’s tone was rather disrespectful to her uncle, but Victoria could not help smiling. King William had indeed been obsessed with punctuality. At Windsor his favourite thing was to follow the man who wound up the clocks, his round face beaming with pleasure when all the timepieces chimed together.
She had almost finished copying out her speech when Lehzen came in, carrying a long box. “The Lord Chamberlain sent this, Majesty.”
Victoria opened the box and saw the star-shaped Order of the Garter on its blue ribbon. Knights of the Garter, the oldest order of chivalry in Europe, wore an actual garter round their left leg, but for a woman that was not possible.
She bent her head so that Lehzen could put on the sash. It seemed strange to be donning it without ceremony; normally the heir to the throne would have been made a Knight of the Garter by his predecessor. In her case, of course, her sex precluded this. But now she was Sovereign of the Garter, and she alone could make new appointments to the order.
She went over to the looking glass and tried to adjust the sash. The order, a bejewelled star with the legend Honi soit qui mal y pense (Shame on him who thinks evil of it), was perched rather unfortunately on her corseted bosom.
Victoria caught Lehzen’s eye in the looking glass. “This has not, I believe, been designed for a woman to wear, Baroness.”
Lehzen allowed herself a small smile. “Indeed, Majesty. Might I suggest?” She came forward and tried to adjust the sash so the order lay flat against her waist. But the order was too big to lie comfortably—either it was perched ludicrously on her chest or it dug into her waist.
Victoria took it off and turned back to Melbourne’s letter. She had noticed a postscript on the other side:
You will, of course, as sovereign, be wearing the Order of the Garter. It is rather an unwieldy thing, so might I suggest that you follow the example of your predecessor as Queen Regnant, Queen Anne, and wear it on your right arm.
It is important to be comfortable, as I am sure you will agree.
“I think I will wear it on my arm, Lehzen. I am not a man, and there is no reason for me to dress like one.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
It would be standing room only, thought Melbourne, as he watched the Privy Councillors crowd into the red saloon at Kensington Palace. He saw the tall, hook-nosed figure of the Duke of Wellington and his burly companion Robert Peel, the leader of the Tories in the Commons, jostling for space with the Archbishop of Canterbury. Only the Duke of Cumberland could cause his fellow councillors to make room for him. The scar on the Duke’s right cheek looked particularly livid this morning, perhaps inflamed by the disappointment that must surely be his. Melbourne had no doubt that Cumberland was not happy with the laws of succession that put his eighteen-year-old niece on the throne instead of him. Hanover, by all accounts a dreary place, was not much of a consolation prize.
He wondered if the Queen would use the speech he had drafted for her. During their meeting she had been so vehement about not needing assistance, but on his way home he decided that even if she did not ask for his help, it was still his duty to offer it. There was something admirable about her spirit; he had not expected her to be so remarkably distinct. That almost tangible outline to her reminded him of his late wife, Caro. She too had been eighteen when he had first seen her.
There was a change in the rhythm of the murmurs around him, the rumble of self-congratulation replaced by an expectant whisper. Melbourne turned and saw the doors at the other end of the saloon being opened by the footmen. There, framed by the doorway, stood the diminutive figure of the Queen. A collective gasp filled the room. Even though everyone present had come to meet their new monarch, it was still somehow unnatural to see a woman, and such a young, slight one, in the place hitherto taken by a succession of old and increasingly portly men.
Victoria heard that gasp and put her hand to the pocket in her skirt to check that the speech was still there. Looking out at the sea of faces in front of her, she realised she had never been in a room with so many men. It was quite peculiar, but she supposed she would have to get used to it. Still, it felt as if she were walking into a forest, full of trees with black trunks and silver leaves.
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