Victoria

by Daisy Goodwin

  Melbourne smiled. “But I no longer feel that way, ma’am. Since I became your Prime Minister and, I hope, your friend, I have found a reason to continue.”

  The blue eyes opposite his were glistening. He felt the pressure of her small hand on his, and the touch spurred him on. “Now you must do the same, ma’am. You must go out there today and smile and wave, and never ever let them see how hard it is to bear.” With a great effort Melbourne stood up, relinquishing her hand.

  Victoria got to her feet, but her face was still a foot below his. In a low voice, almost a whisper, she said, “Thank you, Lord M. I will do my best.”

  Melbourne gave her what he hoped was a fatherly nod. “Now I think I should send your ladies in, ma’am. You will want to look your best on the Parade Ground. And if I might say so, the dress uniform is most becoming.”

  For the first time that day, Victoria smiled.

  * * *

  That was the smile that she kept on her face as she rode out on Monarch, her favourite white mare, through the Marble Arch to the Parade Ground. She was wearing her riding habit cut in the style of the Windsor uniform that Melbourne had mentioned. Like the men’s uniform it was a royal blue with red facings and gold buttons down the front, and there was a matching cap with a peaked brim. She knew that she looked her best.

  As she steered Monarch through the arch, Victoria waited for the cheer from the crowd that always heralded her appearance. But it was not forthcoming. Fortunately, this absence of enthusiasm was disguised by the band that preceded her down the Mall. The music was loud, even if not always in time or in tune. Victoria kept her gaze fixed on the plumes fluttering from the guardsman’s helmet directly in front of her. Despite the music and the clatter of the horse’s hooves, she could feel the silence of the crowds. She knew without looking around that there were no flags waving for her, no children being held up by their parents to catch a glimpse of their Queen.

  Although the distance from the Mall to the Parade Ground was less than half a mile, Victoria was conscious of every inch. Her cheeks were aching from the effort of keeping her face composed as she rode past the people who had once made her feel so loved.

  The Parade Ground was lined with boxes for the spectators. To the left were the wives and daughters of the military, to the right were the politicians, and in the middle was the royal box. The Duchess of Kent was sitting in the front row with Conroy to her left and, to Victoria’s great surprise, the Duke of Cumberland on her right.

  A voice called out, “Long live the Duchess of Kent,” and the Duchess, despite her deep mourning, allowed herself a beaming smile. Conroy gave a small nod, as if he too was being acknowledged by the crowd. Cumberland glared straight ahead. No London crowd, even one that was being supported by prominent Tories, was so venal that it would cheer for Cumberland.

  Victoria was to enter the Parade Ground through a ceremonial arch. Behind it was a small awning where she pulled up Monarch to compose herself for the ordeal ahead. The inspection of the regiments would take at least an hour as the troops filed past her. Normally she looked forward to seeing all her soldiers tricked out in their finery, but today she knew every eye would be watching and waiting for her to falter. She also knew that Melbourne was right, that she would have to find the courage to continue just as he had.

  A queen could not hide from her subjects. And yet today would be the greatest test. The crowds had come not to celebrate their Queen but to condemn her, and what made it so much harder to bear was that she knew she deserved it. For a moment she hesitated—perhaps she could say that she was feeling faint and go back to the palace—but then she heard another cheer for the Duchess of Kent. The thought of the look of triumph on Conroy’s face stiffened her resolve.

  Victoria took a deep breath and dug her heels into Monarch’s flanks. As she came through the arch, a shaft of sunlight broke through the crowds and refracted off the metal breastplates of the guardsmen so that she was dazzled. But in that moment of temporary blindness she heard the low hiss of the crowd, which swelled as she rode out in front of the cavalry.

  Keeping her face as immobile as possible, Victoria guided Monarch to the spot where she would acknowledge the salutes of the troops. She longed to look up at Melbourne in the stand behind her, but she knew that she could not avail herself of that comfort. The hissing of the crowd was now amplified into actual boos, and she heard one voice from the back of the crowd cry out, “What about Flora Hastings!” Another voice took up the name and then another until Victoria thought her head would explode. But she would not give them the satisfaction of showing what she felt. Biting the insides of her cheeks so that she would not cry, she kept her face in an impermeable smile. Only when she heard a woman shout “Mrs Melbourne” did her lip quiver.

  But just when Victoria thought she could bear it no longer, there was a drum roll and the cavalry band started playing the national anthem. The familiar chords drowned out the noise of the crowd, and Victoria raised her hand to salute her troops. As the columns of soldiers began to weave through each other like red and black ants, Victoria heard the words floating across the Parade Ground:

  God save our gracious Queen!

  Long live our noble Queen!

  God save the Queen!

  Send her victorious,

  Happy and glorious,

  Long to reign over us,

  God save the Queen.

  The deep voices of the Household Cavalry resonated around the square. Victoria thought of all the monarchs who had come before her. Somehow they had managed to endure; she must, she would do the same. When the crowd began on the second verse, Victoria listened to the words as if she had never heard them before.

  Thy choicest gifts in store

  On her be pleased to pour,

  Long may she reign.

  May she defend our laws,

  And ever give us cause,

  To sing with heart and voice,

  God save the Queen.

  Her arm was stiff from holding it in the salute, but she would not falter now. As the anthem came to an end, she resolved that she would do everything in her power to give her people cause to sing with heart and voice in the future. Lady Flora’s whispered admonition came back to her: “To be a great queen, you must be more than a little girl with a crown.”

  There was a silence after the singing. Generally there were cheers and applause when the anthem came to an end, but today there was only the rhythmic one-two of the soldiers marching to fill the gap. Victoria stared straight ahead, her hand still at her temple.

  Then from the back of the crowd came a shout. It was a child’s voice, thin and clear: “God save Queen Victoria!”

  BOOK TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  The line of dignitaries waiting to be presented stretched all the way along the antechamber of the Guild Hall. There must be at least sixty men there, thought Victoria, as she tried to keep her smile in place. She wished that the tiara she was wearing was not quite so heavy. She had selected it to impress the burghers who would be present at the Lord Mayor’s Banquet, but now regretted her choice. She could feel the headache beginning to press down behind her eyes.

  The Lord Mayor’s breath tickled in her ear. “I believe you know Sir Moses Montefiore, ma’am.”

  Victoria smiled at the portly man bent over her hand. “Indeed I do. I am glad to see you again, Sir Moses.”

  She was pleased to see someone she recognised. Sir Moses had been knighted at her first investiture. He was the first Jew to have been honoured in this fashion, and Victoria felt proud of having set that precedent.

  “And how is Lady Montefiore?” Victoria remembered the joy on the wife’s face at the investiture ceremony. Of all her duties, conferring titles was one of her greatest pleasures. It was a role that only she could perform, and there could be no doubt as to its popularity.

  Sir Moses beamed with pleasure. “Very well, ma’am, but she will be even better when I tell her that you have enquired after her.”
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  “I shall send her a card for my next Drawing Room.”

  Sir Moses’s smile grew even wider. “Her cup will run over, ma’am. You are most gracious.”

  Victoria nodded. Before moving on to the next man, she glanced at Melbourne, standing on her other side, to see if he had noticed the interaction. Melbourne was always encouraging her to make small talk on occasions like these, and she wanted him to see she was making progress. To her surprise she saw that he was looking not at her, but consulting his pocket watch. Although his inattention made her want to frown with vexation, the Lord Mayor was murmuring another introduction, so she had no choice but to smile at the man who was now standing expectantly in front of her, waiting to make the bow he had been practising all morning.

  It wasn’t until the Queen had been shown into the small antechamber where she was to wait while all the guests were seated at the banquet so that she could make her grand entrance that she was able to talk to Melbourne.

  “Do you have a more pressing engagement, Lord Melbourne?” As she very rarely called him anything other than Lord M, her irritation was clear. But Melbourne did not look nearly as remorseful as Victoria expected. He frowned as he put his pocket watch away.

  “I confess, ma’am, that I am distracted. There is an anti-slavery bill going through the House of Commons at the moment, and I am concerned that it will go against my government.”

  Victoria was confused. “But I thought that slavery was abolished years ago. I remember as a child I had a cup which had a poor slave in chains on one side and him freed on the other.”

  Melbourne looked grave. “The slave trade has been outlawed, ma’am, for many years. But slavery itself continues in some of our territories, the Caribbean islands in particular. The Jamaica planters say that they cannot harvest their crops without slaves to cut the sugar cane for them. And the Tories have decided to support their cause in the hope of getting rid of my government.”

  Victoria began to pace up and down the room, her footsteps echoing indignantly. “But how can the Tories be so wicked? Surely they must know that your cause is the righteous one? I can’t believe that Wellington, the man who fought for liberty at Waterloo, would stoop so low.”

  Melbourne’s lips twitched. “Wellington is a politician now and a Tory, and he looks for advantage where he can. The Tories think they can muster a majority against my government on this issue—there are many members with interests in sugar, and so Wellington and his friends will use it to bring me down.”

  Victoria stopped pacing. “Isn’t there something I can do? If I support your cause in public, surely no one will dare to disagree.”

  Melbourne looked rueful. “I am afraid that I have not taught you as well as I should have, ma’am. You have no power to intervene in the business of government. You can advise, encourage certainly, and even warn, but you can never insist.”

  Victoria looked at Melbourne. “I see. But then what is to happen?”

  Before he could answer her, the door opened to admit her mother and Conroy. Victoria had not wanted her mother to attend the banquet at all, but Melbourne had told her that it was vital, after the Flora Hastings affair, that she appear to be on good terms with the Duchess, in public at least. Victoria had reluctantly agreed to invite her mother, but had refused to share a carriage with her. Conroy’s presence was the Duchess’s retaliation; if she could not ride with her daughter, she would not ride alone.

  The Duchess had spots of colour on each cheek. Appearing in public always excited her. “Such cheering from the crowds as my carriage went by, Drina! It was most gratifying.”

  Conroy bowed to Victoria. “I think it is time, ma’am, that your mother had a title that reflected her popularity with the people. Queen Mother seems fitting.” He gave her a smile which made it quite clear he knew the crowds had not cheered Victoria’s carriage with the same enthusiasm.

  Victoria bridled. She looked at Melbourne, but he was looking at the floor. “I see no reason to change your title, Mama. After all, the name you bear belonged to poor dear Papa.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing Conroy’s smile fade, but before she could say any more, the Lord Mayor came to usher her into the banqueting hall.

  As she took her place at the dais, she looked instinctively for Melbourne, but he was nowhere to be seen. Conroy noticed the look, and as he passed behind her to take his seat he said, “If you are looking for Lord Melbourne, I am afraid you will be disappointed. A messenger arrived from the House, and he has been obliged to return there. I understand that his government is likely to fall. These are uncertain times, ma’am, uncertain times.” Once again he smiled, with undisguised pleasure at the thought of Melbourne’s downfall.

  Without betraying by a muscle that she had heard his remark, Victoria sat through the interminable speeches that followed the banquet, wondering if Conroy could possibly be right, and if so what would happen then.

  Looking out at the glittering array in front of her, the successful men in their court dress complacent in their prosperity, satisfied to be eating in the presence of the Queen, she imagined doing all this without Melbourne at her side, to give her a reassuring glance or a raised eyebrow when a speech became particularly florid. She decided that Conroy was trying to frighten her. The Whigs were still popular in the country, and surely the government would not fall because it supported the abolition of slavery, which must after all be the attitude of all right-minded people. Still, she felt a tug of fear at the thought of Melbourne’s distracted face as he checked his pocket watch. Then the Lord Mayor turned to propose the Loyal Toast, and she was forced to put aside her preoccupations and smile on the assembled company as their most gracious sovereign.

  The next day Melbourne sent word that he would not be able to ride out, so Victoria went round the Park with her groom and her equerry. Lord Alfred was easy company; his family, who had been courtiers for generations, had learnt from the cradle the art of talking pleasantly to monarchs about nothing. As he chattered on about Lady Lansdowne’s new barouche and the rivalry between Lady Vesey’s twin daughters for the love of the younger Fitzgerald son, Victoria allowed herself to be swept along quite happily into a world where new liveries and matrimonial prospects were the only things that mattered.

  In the afternoon she sat for her portrait, wearing her coronation robes. Hayter, the artist, had put her in a pose where she was standing and looking back over her shoulder. It was a difficult stance to maintain, particularly as the crown, even the paste replica that she was wearing, was so heavy. Moving her head a little, she heard Hayter cough in disapproval. She tried to straighten up and said to her ladies, who were sitting in a semicircle in front of her, “It was just like this at the coronation. I was worried the whole time that the crown would slip down over my nose. The affair was so nerve-racking, I felt as if my heart was beating fast enough for the Archbishop to see it through my shift.”

  There was another cough of irritation from Hayter.

  Harriet Sutherland looked at the artist inquiringly. “I suppose I may talk?” Hayter nodded, and the Duchess continued, “No one would ever have known, ma’am. From where I stood you looked quite at ease. Melbourne said that he had never seen a monarch look so serene at their coronation.”

  “Did he really?” said Victoria, forgetting that she was meant to be silent, and earning another cough from Hayter.

  Emma Portman jumped in to rescue her. “Oh yes, ma’am, William said the same thing to me. And I have to say I agree. Yours is the third coronation I have attended and by far the most satisfactory. Your uncle George had a most magnificent ceremony, but he was so fat that he could hardly squeeze himself onto his throne, and of course there was all that unfortunate business with his wife, Queen Caroline, trying to gain admittance. Then your uncle William’s coronation was a very threadbare affair—no music to speak of, and no balls or parties after, so disappointing. No, as William said, you have restored the splendour of the monarchy, ma’am.”

  V
ictoria smiled. Apart from talking to Melbourne himself, she liked nothing better than to talk about him. Judging from the frequency with which Harriet and Emma mentioned Melbourne’s name, they enjoyed talking about him too.

  “But I am worried about Lord M. He seems so distracted at present.”

  This time Hayter did not even attempt to mask his irritation with a cough. “Please, ma’am.”

  Victoria reverted to her queenly pose, but Harriet picked up the thread. “I think he is worried about the anti-slavery vote, ma’am.”

  Emma put her head on one side and said, “It’s curious; a year ago, William would have been delighted to relinquish the reins of office. He was always complaining how tedious the business of government was and how much he would prefer to be in the library of his house in the country, Brocket Hall. But now he is quite different. Don’t you think, Harriet?”

  Harriet said eagerly, “Oh yes, my husband says that he has never seen Melbourne so engaged. He seems to have had a new lease of life.”

  Emma nodded. “I don’t think I have seen him so happy for a long time. Not since—” She paused, uncertain of what she was going to say next. “—well, not since he was a much younger man.”

  Victoria listened in happy silence.

  * * *

  A mile away in the House of Lords, Melbourne was attempting to make himself heard over the clamour from the opposition benches. “And I say to the Noble Lord, slavery in all its forms is an affront against civilised society. I must repeat to the House that a point of principle cannot be set aside simply because it is inconvenient.”

  There were roars from his supporters, but they were lost in the jeers and catcalls from the Tories. Melbourne could see the Duke of Cumberland on the other side of the House, nodding vigorously, the scar on his cheek more livid than ever. The Duke had no holdings in Jamaica, but was supporting the sugar lobby because as an Ultra Tory he longed to see the end of the Whigs, whom he blamed for every evil from the Reform Act to the failure of the harvests.