Victoria

by Daisy Goodwin

  Victoria moved towards the door.

  “Perhaps, ma’am, you might care to look at the Duchess’s rooms, before you go,” said Lord Uxbridge.

  Victoria stopped. “Oh, I am not sure that will be necessary. I believe the Duchess is quite comfortable at Kensington. It seems a pity to disturb her.”

  Melbourne, who had been looking out of the window, turned to look at her. “Forgive me, ma’am, but I think it would be a mistake if the Duchess were to remain at Kensington.”

  “A mistake, Lord Melbourne? Surely that is a matter for my mother and me?”

  Could it be that Melbourne was actually agreeing with her mother?

  Melbourne walked towards her and said in a lower voice, so that Lehzen and Uxbridge could not hear, “I do not presume to interfere in a family matter, ma’am. But I should tell you that if you, an unmarried girl of eighteen, were to live apart from your mother, it would cause adverse comment. Your uncles were not models of virtue, but I think, ma’am, that you do not want to make your people think that you follow in their footsteps.”

  “But I am nothing like my uncles,” Victoria argued. “I have no intention of behaving in an immoral way.”

  “I am glad to hear it, ma’am. But if you leave your mother behind at Kensington, there will be talk of an unpleasant kind, and that would be a shame so early in your reign.”

  “I see.” Victoria pressed her lips together. She knew deep down that Melbourne was right, but that did not make it any less infuriating.

  “You are annoyed with me for saying this, ma’am, but I feel it is my duty. You are, of course, quite at liberty to ignore me.” Melbourne smiled at her. “I shall not be offended. I know very well that it is much easier to give advice than to take it.”

  Victoria paused. “Perhaps it would be … inconvenient to have Mama as far away as Kensington. There are sometimes things I need to ask her, and it would be tiresome to be sending messengers all the time.”

  Lord Uxbridge showed them a suite of rooms adjacent to the monarch’s apartments. Victoria walked through them and then turned to Lord Uxbridge. “These rooms are quite suitable, but I am afraid they are in the wrong place.”

  “The wrong place, ma’am?”

  “Yes. I am not happy with their location.”

  Uxbridge looked puzzled. Melbourne cleared his throat. “I am sure that there is a similar suite of rooms in the north wing, Uxbridge.”

  “Yes, indeed, but there would be no easy access to your apartments, ma’am, as the only communication is through the central block.”

  “Oh, I think that would suit very well. Mama would not like to be disturbed all the time by my comings and goings, don’t you agree, Lord Melbourne?”

  “Most considerate, ma’am.”

  “Well, now that has been arranged, I should like to move in without delay, Lord Uxbridge.”

  Uxbridge picked at one of the buttons on his waistcoat. “When you say without delay, ma’am, you are of course aware that it will take some time to arrange things to your liking.”

  “Very well. I can wait until Monday.”

  “Monday, ma’am? But that is only four days away! I am afraid it is quite impossible.”

  “Impossible, Lord Uxbridge?” said Victoria in her most regal tone.

  Uxbridge’s waistcoat button finally succumbed to its owner’s fidgeting. It sprang from his hands and landed with a little clatter on the parquet floor at Melbourne’s feet across the room.

  Melbourne picked it up and handed it back to his owner. “I am sure, Uxbridge, that when you consider the situation you will discover that it will be quite possible for the Queen and her household to move in on Monday. And I think that you might want to make some changes among the servants. A dusty throne does not set a good example.”

  Uxbridge made a motion somewhere between a bow and gesture of defeat. “I shall make the necessary arrangements, ma’am.”

  Victoria smiled. “And now I would like to see the gardens. I hear they are most splendid.”

  They walked down the gravel paths towards the lake, Lehzen and Uxbridge in front, the Queen and Melbourne behind them. Victoria turned to Melbourne. “Why did Lord Uxbridge go such a violent shade of red when you mentioned the housekeeper here, Lord Melbourne?”

  “She is his mistress, ma’am. And while she may very well perform her duties in that regard in the most exemplary fashion, as a housekeeper I believe she is not satisfactory.”

  Victoria paused; no one had spoken to her so openly about such things before. She knew she should be scandalized, but found to her surprise that she felt flattered. Her mother, Conroy, even Lehzen might have tried to conceal the truth, but Melbourne did not think it necessary.

  “You speak very frankly, Lord Melbourne.”

  “I hope I do not offend you, ma’am. I speak not to a young lady of delicate sensibilities but to a sovereign.”

  Victoria smiled. “I cannot object to that. Indeed I think I prefer it. I am tired of being treated as a young lady without a thought in her head.”

  “No one can do that now, ma’am.”

  “You would be surprised, Lord Melbourne. Only this morning Sir John Conroy and Flora Hastings came to my sitting room unannounced with a list of ladies they deem suitable for my household. Flora Hastings told me that she had picked girls who were not above average height!”

  “That was thoughtful of her, perhaps, but hardly tactful to mention it.”

  “They are always teasing me for being small. They think that just because I have not grown in stature I have not matured in mind. Conroy, Lady Flora, even Mama still think of me as a child, not as a queen. Indeed they don’t believe me capable of ruling.”

  Melbourne stopped on the gravel path and turned to look at Victoria. “Then they are mistaken, ma’am. I have not known you long, it is true, but I observed in you a natural dignity that cannot be learnt.”

  “You don’t think, then, that I am too small?”

  “To me, ma’am, you are every inch a queen. And anyone who says otherwise should be sent straight to the Tower.”

  “Oh, is that still allowed?” said Victoria.

  “I don’t know if the Traitor’s Gate is still open, but I am sure there are modern equivalents.”

  Victoria laughed. “I believe you are teasing me.”

  “Not at all. I merely point out the truth, which anyone would be foolish to ignore.”

  Victoria saw Lehzen looking at her from the other side of the lake. From the reproachful tilt of her governess’s head, Victoria could tell she was feeling left out.

  She turned to Melbourne. “When we first met, Lord Melbourne, you offered to act as my Private Secretary.”

  “And you refused my offer, ma’am.”

  Victoria hesitated and then said, “Would you still be prepared to act in that capacity? I do need some assistance, and I believe that you would be the most suitable person to help me.”

  Melbourne made a little bow. “It would be a privilege and a pleasure to serve you in any way I can, ma’am.”

  Victoria saw Lehzen coming back round the lake towards them. “I think we are very well suited—” She paused and then, smiling at her own daring, continued, “Lord M.”

  Melbourne smiled back at her.

  “There is one thing that puzzles me.” Victoria gestured across the sweeping lawns to the great curved façade of the house.

  “Why is this called Buckingham House? It looks more like a palace to me.”

  “Well, ma’am, I believe you can call it whatever you like.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Victoria had given Lehzen the task of showing her mother, the Duchess of Kent, to her new apartments in Buckingham Palace. As the two women climbed the grand double-pronged staircase turning left towards the north wing of the house, Lady Flora Hastings and Sir John Conroy following behind, they saw a cluster of footmen carrying the portrait of the Duke of Kent up the opposite staircase.

  Seeing this, the Duchess stopped and turned
to Lehzen. “Where is the painting of my poor dead husband going? I hope it will be in a place of respect.”

  “Oh yes, ma’am. The Queen has asked for it to be placed in her own sitting room.”

  “I see.”

  They continued to walk up the stairs until they reached the suite of rooms that Victoria had chosen for her mother. The walls were hung with yellow silk and the furniture had been made by Chippendale, in walnut.

  “The Queen hopes that you will be happy with these apartments, ma’am. As you can see, they have a fine view of the gardens and the lake.” Lehzen gestured towards the window, but the Duchess ignored her and stood in the middle of the room and sniffed.

  “The rooms are tolerable, I suppose, but I do not care for the colour yellow, as my daughter is aware.”

  Lehzen bowed her head.

  “And where are Drina’s rooms, Baroness?”

  “The Queen’s rooms are in the south wing, ma’am, adjacent to the state rooms.”

  Something about Lehzen’s tone made the Duchess look at her sharply. “And where do you sleep, Baroness?”

  “I have a room next to the Queen’s.” Lehzen paused and then added with a little smile, “With an interconnecting door.” The Duchess turned away. “And now if you will excuse me, ma’am. I must go and check on the arrangement of Her Majesty’s apartments. She has, as you know,” Lehzen looked at Sir John Conroy, “put me in charge of her household.”

  Lehzen left the room without looking back.

  Crossing over to the other wing, she found Victoria waiting for her.

  “How does Mama like her new rooms?”

  “I think, Majesty, that perhaps you might want to ask the Duchess yourself.”

  Victoria sighed. “Very well. Are they all there?”

  “If you mean Sir John Conroy and Lady Flora Hastings, then yes, they were with the Duchess when I left.”

  “I see.”

  Victoria looked at Lehzen, who shook her head. “I don’t think, ma’am, that the Duchess would want to see me again so soon.”

  “I don’t see what she has to complain about. The rooms are furnished most elegantly, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, Majesty, but you know that the Duchess has most particular tastes.”

  Victoria picked up her skirts with both hands and, turning, ran up the north staircase two steps at a time. There was still a delicious thrill in being able to do exactly as she pleased, after all those years of having to wait and hold Lehzen’s hand. When she reached the top, she saw a footman looking at her in amazement and regretted her impulsiveness. She pulled herself up short.

  “Please announce me to the Duchess.”

  The footman nodded. Victoria thought that if she was going to have to visit her mother with Conroy and Flora in attendance, she would make her entrance as a queen.

  “Her Majesty the Queen,” the footman announced.

  Victoria walked into the room, and from the corner of her eye she registered Conroy’s grudging head bow and Flora Hastings’s exaggerated curtsey. Her mother remained seated. Victoria could see that the corners of her mouth were turned down.

  “I came to see how you were getting on in your new rooms, Mama.”

  “So kind of you”—the Duchess glared at her—“to come all this way.”

  Victoria walked over to the window. “What a charming view you have. Look how the summer house is reflected in the lake. I find the gardens here so pretty.”

  “You are so easily pleased, Drina.”

  Sir John cleared his throat. “I believe, ma’am, now that the household is installed here at Buckingham House—”

  Victoria interrupted him. “Palace, Sir John. Buckingham Palace.”

  Conroy inclined his head a fraction. “Now that you are established at Buckingham Palace, it is time that you gave your first official Drawing Room. It will require careful planning, of course, but I have already started the list of invitations. All the ambassadors, the other members of the royal family, and then you will want to have politicians from both sides of the—”

  Feeling a little surprised at her own boldness, Victoria put up her hand to stop him. “I have already made the list, thank you, Sir John.”

  “You drew up the list alone, ma’am? Do you think that’s wise? The protocol around these occasions is treacherous.”

  “I am aware of that, Sir John. That is why I asked Lord Melbourne to make the arrangements. I believe he is quite experienced in these matters.”

  “Yes, indeed, but I am surprised that as Prime Minister he has the time to attend to such things.”

  “I believe Lord Melbourne must be the judge of that. He has offered to act as my Private Secretary, and I have accepted him in that position.”

  Conroy picked up his cane, and Victoria thought for a moment that he was about to strike the floor. A glance from Lady Flora seemed to check his impulse.

  “I see. You have your reasons, no doubt, although I think it ill-advised to spend quite so much time with the Prime Minister.”

  Victoria’s mother nodded her head vigorously in accord, her German accent more pronounced, as it always was when she was agitated. “You haff to be impartial, Drina. Your father was a Whig, but he was always being polite to the Tories.”

  “Which brings me to the matter of your ladies-in-waiting, ma’am,” said Conroy. “These appointments are so crucial for setting the tone of your court. You will need at least eight—a Mistress of the Robes, Ladies of the Bedchamber, and then a number of maids of honour.”

  Victoria looked at him impassively, then turned toward the door. “I really must be going, Sir John. Good day, Lady Flora. Mama.”

  She walked out of the room before her mother or Conroy could say anything more, but as she reached the landing, she heard footsteps behind her.

  “One moment, ma’am.”

  Turning, Victoria was accosted by the angular figure of Lady Flora, clutching a piece of paper. “I have some suggestions here, ma’am, for your maids of honour. These appointments are always unmarried. I have chosen those who are discreet and sensible, as young girls can be so flighty.” She looked as though she included Victoria among that category.

  Flora held out the paper toward Victoria. “And if there is anything else I can do to assist you, ma’am, please don’t hesitate to ask. The Baroness, being German, may not have been able to prepare you fully for your new responsibilities and the protocol of the court, but my family have been courtiers for generations.”

  Victoria knew that in order to be rid of Lady Flora she had to take the proffered piece of paper. She plucked it out of the woman’s hand and, giving her the briefest nod, proceeded down the staircase. She did her mother’s lady-in-waiting the courtesy of pausing until she had reached the foot of the stairs before crumpling the paper up and dropping it on the floor.

  CHAPTER TEN

  In the three months since she had moved into Buckingham Palace, Victoria had begun to understand the question that had puzzled her as a child: What did a queen do all day? Apart from the hour she spent having her hair put up and getting dressed, her mornings were spent going through her official boxes with her Prime Minister. At first she had been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the documents they contained, but then as Lord M had explained to her about the importance of checks and balances—an evangelical bishop should always be paired with a more traditional dean, for example, and for every professional soldier allowed into the household regiments there should be an officer of aristocratic lineage permitted to buy his way in—she began to see her way through the sheaves of paper. As she grew to understand the nuances, the daily exercise of power had delighted her, and there was nothing she liked more than to discuss the way that the world worked with her Prime Minister.

  But this practical work, this exercise of patronage, was only one part of her duties. As Lord M always reminded her, a queen also had a duty to show herself to her public. Every afternoon she would ride out in the park, usually with her Prime Minister, and
once or twice a month she would make a visit to a charitable institution such as an almshouse or a hospital. These visits were always brief, but Victoria enjoyed riding through the streets, waving to the crowds. And then, as Melbourne explained, there were her ceremonial duties: opening Parliament, officiating at the Garter ceremonies, and of course the Drawing Rooms, where the diplomatic world would come to present their credentials to the sovereign.

  Today was Victoria’s first Drawing Room, and the carriages stretched right to the end of the Mall. Everybody who had received a card had decided to attend. This had not been the case with the last King, whose Drawing Rooms at the end of his reign had consisted of little more than the King and a dozen stalwart courtiers.

  But everyone wanted to see the new Queen. So many rumours were circulating as to her size (could it really be true that she was a dwarf?), her intellect (doubts had been expressed in the Pall Mall clubs as to her ability to read and write), and her command of English (there was speculation in the gutter press that, owing to her upbringing among Germans, the new Queen spoke with a pronounced accent).

  Melbourne, who had heard all these stories, had long decided not to dignify them with a rebuttal. He knew from painful experience that to deny a rumour only served to give it currency. Much better to let the gossips find out for themselves how far off the mark they were.

  He hoped that the Queen would not collapse under the weight of so much scrutiny. And then he smiled at his own folly.

  * * *

  “I rather think the silver brocade today, Jenkins.” Victoria pointed at one of the two dresses that her dresser was holding up. “The figured silk is pretty, though.” Although the period of strict mourning for the King had only just ended, Victoria had spent the first month of her reign ordering a resplendent new wardrobe so that she would be ready to dazzle the court at her first Drawing Room. Her mother had always made her wear plain muslins, so Victoria had taken great pleasure in ordering dresses made from the richest materials: silks, velvets, and brocades.

  She turned from one to the other in a fever of indecision. “What do you think, Lehzen?”