She walked slowly up to the small dais that had been prepared for her. It was not very high, but would at least bring her up to the eye level of the other people in the room.
Victoria glanced around from the dais. Most of the group were strangers, but she recognised the gloomy face of the Archbishop, then the twisted snarl of her uncle. Quickly she looked down at the floor.
After a deep breath, Victoria pulled the speech from her pocket and began to read. “My lords spiritual and temporal, it is with a great sense of the honour that has been conferred upon me that I stand before you—”
“Speak up, ma’am, I can’t hear you.” Her uncle Cumberland had his hand to his ear in a pantomime of deafness. Looking at his malevolent face, Victoria felt her stomach clench. She tried to speak again and found she could make no sound, but swallowed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she looked up and saw Lord Melbourne giving her a little nod of encouragement as if to say, Go on.
Victoria looked back at the paper in front of her—she had the speech by heart, but it felt reassuring to have something to hold—and continued. “I know that some would say my sex makes me unsuited for the responsibilities that lie before me, but I am here before you to pledge my life to the service of my country.”
She glanced again at Melbourne, who smiled as he recognised the words he had written for her. Emboldened by that smile, she went on, and felt the atmosphere in the room subside from angry turmoil to something more docile. They were not resisting; they actually seemed to be listening.
“And may God have mercy on me and my people.” As she finished, Victoria sat down on the temporary throne, which was actually a rather uncomfortable chair from her mother’s apartments. The Privy Councillors formed a line as they came before her to swear allegiance.
To her relief, Melbourne was first, and as he knelt before her in a formal obeisance she whispered, “Thank you for your letter, Lord Melbourne.”
He looked up at her, and she thought that he was remarkably handsome for a man old enough to be her father. “I am glad you found it useful, ma’am.”
He moved away behind her and was replaced by an old man with a port-wine stain on his face whom she had never seen before. He heaved himself onto one knee and kissed her hand with rather unpleasant gusto. She expected him to move on, but he remained there, swaying slightly with the effort of being in this unfamiliar and uncomfortable position.
Victoria wondered why he didn’t get up, and then realised to her dismay that he was waiting for her to greet him by name. Clearly he felt that he was an important enough figure to be personally acknowledged by his new sovereign. The murmurs in the room began to reverberate. Victoria felt the blood rushing to her cheeks; she couldn’t very well ask the man who he was, which would add insult to injury. Then, to her surprise and intense relief, she heard a voice in her ear whisper, “Viscount Falkland, ma’am.”
“Viscount Falkland,” she said, and at last the man staggered to his feet and retreated to join the others. Victoria glanced at Melbourne, who was standing beside her now. How fortunate that he had seen her dilemma. To fail so visibly on her first public engagement was unthinkable.
The councillors continued to file in front of her to kiss her hand, Melbourne bending to murmur the name in her ear when it was clear she had no recollection. She wondered how her uncle William, who could barely remember the name of his own wife, had managed such a feat of memory. Maybe, she thought, it would be no disgrace for him to forget a name, but she knew that the same tolerance did not apply to her.
“I think this councillor needs no introduction, ma’am.”
The line came to an end and she found herself confronted by her uncle Cumberland. At first he made no attempt to disguise his contempt, but then with much deliberation he lowered himself on one knee and took her outstretched hand as if it were red hot. He murmured as if he could barely bring himself to say the words “Your Majesty.”
Victoria dropped his hand and forced herself to look her uncle in the eye. “I must congratulate you, Uncle. When will you be going to your new kingdom?”
Cumberland waved his hand in dismissal. “I am in no hurry. My first duty is to the British throne.”
The threat in his tone was unmistakable. She heard Melbourne shifting behind her.
“I am sure the people of Hanover will be sorry to hear that,” she said with as much tartness as she could muster.
Cumberland’s damaged eyelid did not close completely. “I think they should be prepared to wait. There is so much to be attended to here.”
Victoria was thinking of how best she could retort when she heard Melbourne’s voice behind her, cool and encouraging. “The crowds have been gathering all day, ma’am, despite the inclement weather. I believe that now might be the time to read the proclamation.”
Looking at Cumberland, Victoria got to her feet. “Yes, indeed. I don’t want to keep my people waiting.” She had the satisfaction of seeing Cumberland look away first.
The swarm of Privy Councillors parted before her as she followed Melbourne out onto the balcony in front of the palace. The roar from the crowd as she approached the window almost pushed her back inside. The Lord Chamberlain was standing beside her with the scroll in his hand that would declare her to be Queen in front of her people. Melbourne was just behind her.
As the Lord Chamberlain readied himself to make the official announcement, she turned to Melbourne. She needed to attend to something most important, and she thought he might understand. “I am called Alexandrina Victoria in the proclamation, I believe?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yet I do not like the name Alexandrina. From now on I wish to be known only by my second name, Victoria.”
Melbourne nodded.
“Victoria,” he said, rolling the name around his mouth as if tasting it for the first time.
“Queen Victoria,” and he smiled.
Stepping out onto the balcony, Victoria heard the noise of the crowd swell until finally a woman shouted, “God save the Queen.”
Victoria looked out over the upturned faces, and she waved to her people.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The carriage turned in through the Marble Arch, the great ceremonial entrance to Buckingham House. Although it had been described as a royal wedding cake at the time it was built, thanks to the London fogs the icing was now more yellow in hue than white.
Victoria had been to Buckingham House once before, as a little girl. She remembered being amazed by the size of her uncle George’s calves straining against their silk stockings. He’d pinched her cheek hard enough to make her wince, but made up for it by offering her a sweetmeat from the silver box beside him. She had accepted gratefully, as there was nothing she liked better, but to her mortification Mama had snatched the Turkish Delight out of her hand, claiming it would ruin her appetite. The King had looked offended, and Victoria had been furious. Later the Duchess had told her that she should never accept any food offered by her uncles, in case it had been “tampered with.” Victoria, who had not really understood her mother’s meaning, had asked Lehzen, but her governess had shrugged and said that the Duchess had her own ideas.
As her carriage came through the arch, Victoria gasped as she saw the façade of the house. “So many windows.”
“Indeed, ma’am. This house almost bankrupted your uncle George,” said Lord Melbourne. The other occupant of the carriage, Baroness Lehzen, said nothing.
“It will be so light after Kensington,” said Victoria.
“Was it so very dark there, ma’am?”
Victoria glanced at him. “It was hard, sometimes, to see things clearly.”
Melbourne inclined his head, acknowledging the unspoken meaning.
Victoria had not quite known how to go about the business of moving from Kensington. Her mother had been baffled by the suggestion, failing to understand why anyone would want to live in the middle of the city, with all its noxious fumes, when they could enjoy the sweet air of
Kensington, surrounded by parkland. In the end, Victoria had mentioned her wish to Lord Melbourne, who had agreed that a monarch should be seen by her public on a regular basis and she would be much closer to her people at Buckingham House.
Victoria had been pleasantly surprised at the speed with which Melbourne had arranged matters. In the week since she had become Queen, she had found that her courtiers seemed to take more pleasure in denying her wishes than in fulfilling them. On the previous day, the sun had shone, but Victoria could barely see the trees through the windows of the long gallery, which were mired in grime. When she mentioned her displeasure to the Lord Chamberlain, Lord Uxbridge, a man with hair growing out of his ears and a strong smell of Madeira about his person, she had heard a sharp intake of breath. This was followed by a long and largely incomprehensible speech about precedent, from which she gathered that he was responsible for cleaning only the inside of the windows; the outside were the bailiwick of the Master of the Horse or some such. Victoria’s evident irritation at this answer had not seemed to make any difference. This was the way things were done, and it appeared that this was the way things would always be done.
But Lord Melbourne, today at least, seemed to be a man of his word. He and Victoria had had their weekly audience in the morning, and this afternoon they were about to look around Buckingham House.
They were met on the steps by Lord Uxbridge, whose nose seemed to have swollen to twice its natural size. “I had hoped, ma’am, for a little more notice. The house has been shut up for some time, and the dust, I am afraid, has been allowed to accumulate. If I might suggest that you return next week when there has been time to arrange things properly?”
“I am not afraid of dust, Lord Uxbridge. There is enough of it at Kensington.”
Lord Uxbridge was about to protest when Melbourne spoke. “I am surprised, Uxbridge, that the house should not be in a state of readiness. Have the servants been dismissed?”
“I am afraid that when a house is not used regularly, some attention to detail is lost.”
Melbourne laughed. “What you mean, Uxbridge, is that the servants here are good-for-nothings who have been eating and drinking at Her Majesty’s expense while doing no work. A situation that has developed even though the housekeeper here is, I believe, a particular friend of yours?”
Victoria saw the Lord Chamberlain’s face, already flushed, swell with such emotion that his nose looked as though it might actually burst. She did not fully understand why Melbourne’s mention of the housekeeper should have brought him to a state of near apoplexy, but she was glad to see him turn and gesture to the footmen, whose wigs she had already noted were rather grubby, to open the doors.
Walking into the entrance hall and gazing at the gilded cornices of the distant ceiling, Victoria felt quite giddy. Even with all the furniture shrouded in dustsheets, the rooms felt so much more magnificent than her apartments at Kensington.
They walked down the long corridor, with the footmen running ahead of them to pull away the covers. The room seemed to blossom in front of them as gilt chairs, malachite side tables, and marble torchères were revealed.
They came to a set of double doors, which opened onto a vast expanse of red, white, and gold. At the end, on a red dais, was the throne, upholstered in red velvet with her uncle’s monogram, GR, embroidered on the hangings in gold thread.
Victoria hesitated for a second, then walked across the room and sat down on the throne. As she settled herself, she disturbed a cloud of dust from the cushions.
“I find it hard to credit, Uxbridge, that the Queen appears to be sitting on a dusty throne.” Lord Melbourne’s voice was light as always, but no one could mistake his disapproval. The other man’s shoulders were slumped, all his earlier bluster gone.
Victoria realised that while the throne was comfortable, her feet did not touch the floor. Melbourne, noticing this, said, “I think, ma’am, that before you hold your first official Drawing Room, we must find you a throne that fits.”
She looked down at her feet dangling in the air. “It is hard to be dignified when your feet are six inches off the ground, that is true.”
She glanced up to see Melbourne smiling at her. “Indeed, ma’am, and I believe the monogram needs changing too.”
Victoria laughed. “Yes, I believe you are right.”
Lehzen stepped forward. “Perhaps, Majesty, we should look over your private apartments. Lord Uxbridge, would you be showing us the way?” Lehzen nodded towards Lord Chamberlain.
There was a sharpness to her voice that made Victoria look at her governess. There were two red spots on Lehzen’s cheeks. She remembered her governess’s warning about Melbourne; surely she didn’t still think he was unsuitable company? But then she saw Lehzen look at Melbourne and realised that her governess was jealous. The Baroness was used to having Victoria all to herself.
They followed Lord Uxbridge through a picture gallery lit by a glass skylight. Melbourne stopped in front of a painting depicting a woman holding a small dog.
“He had good taste, your uncle, even if he had no judgement.”
“Is that possible, Lord Melbourne?”
“Most likely, ma’am. In my experience an exquisite appreciation for the finer things in life can run alongside the most terrible folly. Your uncle never bought a bad picture or fell in love with a tiresome woman, but he had no common sense at all.”
“I see,” said Victoria.
“But he left some very fine buildings. The Pavilion at Brighton is quite remarkable, and he has turned this place into something fit for a king. Perhaps that’s legacy enough for him. There isn’t much else, God knows.”
“I hope, Lord Melbourne, that when I am dead, people don’t talk about me with so little respect.”
“You are shocked, ma’am, by my lèse–majesté. And maybe you are right, but I took you for someone who appreciates frankness.”
“It is something that no doubt I shall learn to appreciate.”
There was a cough from Lord Uxbridge, who gestured towards a set of double doors. “This is the way to the private apartments, ma’am.”
The private apartments were as resplendent as the rest of the palace. Every surface was gilded, and the rooms were made to look even larger by the profusion of mirrors. Only the bedroom, with its bed topped by a canopy hung with red brocade, was without a looking glass.
“I think these apartments, with some alterations, might prove suitable for your use, ma’am,” said Lord Uxbridge.
Melbourne looked around and raised an eyebrow. “You might want to change the furniture for something more feminine.”
“I wonder why in a place with so many mirrors there are none in the bedroom? Surely my uncle must have wanted to check his appearance before facing the world,” said Victoria.
The Lord Chamberlain looked at Melbourne, who with a slight grimace began, “At the risk of again offending the shade of the late King, I suspect that at the time when he was living here, he was not altogether happy with his reflection, ma’am. He had been much admired for his figure in his youth, but I am afraid that as time went on he became altogether too fond of the pleasures of the table, and his waistline suffered as a consequence. Indeed, at the end of his life he found it impossible to walk unaided on account of his girth. I believe that this room was a place where he could retreat and not have to be reminded of his ungainliness every time he turned his head.”
“You sound as if you feel sorry for him.”
“I can’t deny it. He may have been foolish, but his life was not a happy one.”
Victoria looked around the vast chamber. “I think I shall find it difficult to sleep here all alone. Lehzen, I shall need to have you near me.”
Lehzen smiled with something like relief, and Victoria turned to Uxbridge. “Is there somewhere suitable for the Baroness to have a room?”
“Indeed, ma’am. There is a bedroom just here, through this interconnecting door.”
The small antechamber was deco
rated with painted Chinese silk panels and had a delicate faux bamboo bed.
“But this room is charming! Much more intimate than the other room. I wonder who slept here?”
Lehzen made one of her noises, and Victoria saw Melbourne and Uxbridge exchange looks.
“Is there some mystery, Lord Uxbridge?”
Uxbridge looked at his shoes. There was a pause, and then Melbourne spoke. “This room, I believe, belonged to Mrs Fitzherbert, your late uncle’s wife.”
“His wife? But I thought he married a German princess.”
“Caroline of Brunswick did indeed marry the King, but before that, ma’am, he married a Maria Fitzherbert.”
Victoria was puzzled. “I don’t understand. Did Mrs Fitzherbert die?”
“No, ma’am.”
“So can my uncle have been married to two women at once? Isn’t that what they call bigamy? I thought that was a crime.” Victoria was shocked; her mother had always talked about her uncles being wicked, but she had assumed that Mama was, as usual, exaggerating.
“Indeed it is, ma’am, but the rules are a little different if you are Prince of the Blood Royal. The Prince of Wales, as he then was, went through a marriage ceremony with Mrs Fitzherbert, but because he did not have his father’s consent, the marriage was illegal. The Prince and the lady both knew this, but as Mrs Fitzherbert was a Catholic, she was most determined to have the sanction of the Church before surrendering her virtue.”
Lehzen gasped and said urgently, “I think, Majesty, that we should return to Kensington. The armourer is coming this afternoon.”
Victoria turned to Melbourne. “Thank you for explaining things to me, Lord Melbourne. There is so much, I realise, that I don’t know. Even about my own family.”
“All families have their secrets, ma’am. But I am glad to have been of service.”
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