“Lord Hastings.” The Lord Chancellor gave the nod to the speaker on the other side of the House.
Hastings got to his feet and began to bemoan the unjust treatment of the sugar planters and the effects that the ruin of their business would have on the domestic economy. Hastings had no interests in the Caribbean either, but he too was using the issue against Melbourne, whom he held to be complicit in the scandal surrounding his sister Flora.
Melbourne turned to Sutherland, who shook his head. “There will be a vote tonight, and I think it’s going to be damn close.”
Sutherland sighed. “Too many people have money in the sugar plantations. They don’t hold with slavery at home, but so long as it suits their pocketbooks…”
“The world has always run on self-interest, Sutherland. You have been in politics long enough to know that.”
“But still. Even Wellington is supporting the motion. I thought he was a man of principle.”
“The Duke is a politician.”
“Must the one exclude the other?”
“In my experience, Sutherland, there is no principle strong enough to withstand a man’s desire to become prime minister.”
“You won’t back down on this bill to save your ministry? I believe the Queen will take it hard.”
Melbourne looked down at his boots. “Yes, I think she will. But even if I concede this, there will be something else. The Tories want power and will find a way to bring me down.”
Sutherland smiled. “And you would rather be defeated on a bill that you believe in? You have principles, Melbourne, even if you do your best to appear a cynic.”
“Every government must fall eventually.”
As he walked out of the chamber, Melbourne thought of the Queen, and felt his face slip. She would, as Sutherland said, take it hard, but then, he thought, so would he. He did not care so much about losing his position; he had been in office for seven or so years now and had had his fill of power. He would not miss the endless stroking and cajoling that was necessary to keep his motley coalition of aristocratic Whigs and fiery radicals together. He was tired of trying to explain to angry men that power must be exercised with discretion.
He had enjoyed it once, of course, the feeling that the whole world looked to him, but after Augustus’s death, he had found it harder and harder to relish the game ahead. Since Victoria had come to the throne, however, he had found a new purpose. His role was to educate the girl into a credible queen: she had all the right instincts, or most of them anyway, but had not been taught the ways of government. She did not realise how delicate the relationship was between monarch and Parliament, that her power was a façade that could not be leant upon. He wondered if he had taught her to understand that a change of prime minister was an inevitable part of political life. If the vote went against him, he would find out.
* * *
In Buckingham Palace, Victoria and her ladies were playing cards in the blue drawing room. But when the Queen missed two bids in a row, Harriet suggested that perhaps they should play the piano instead.
Victoria shook her head and stood up, and her ladies followed. She began to move around the room restlessly. “I wonder what has happened to Lord M. He usually looks in after dinner. Do you think, perhaps, that he has had an accident? I believe he has a new horse, and it is rather frisky.”
Emma and Harriet looked at each other, and Emma said, “I think it is more likely that he will have been detained at the House by the anti-slavery bill. I suspect, ma’am, that if the debate is prolonged that we may not see him at all tonight.”
Victoria went over to the window that looked out over the Mall. Nothing that Harriet or Emma could say or do would distract her from looking out into the darkness, waiting for a glimpse of Melbourne’s carriage.
After what seemed to Victoria’s ladies like an age, they heard the sound of horses coming through the Marble Arch. “That’s his carriage now,” said Victoria. “See, I told you he would come.”
As Melbourne drove through the arch, he saw the small, neat head silhouetted in the window of the Queen’s private sitting room. He felt the ache of what he was about to do constrict in his chest. Getting out of the carriage, he heard his knees crack in protest, every part of his body resisting what must come next. Walking through the picture gallery on his way to the Queen’s private apartments, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and he noticed that his hair had much more grey in it than the last time he had looked.
Victoria was waiting for him at the door of the sitting room. Behind her stood Harriet and Emma, who gave him an inquiring glance. He shook his head imperceptibly. But Victoria was too excited to notice.
“Oh, Lord M, the others had quite given you up, but I knew you would come. I have been longing to talk to you all day. So many things have happened. I have had a letter from Uncle Leopold saying that he is coming to visit, and a request from Mama about raising her allowance, and I managed to get Dash to sit still long enough to finish my picture of him.”
Melbourne looked at the eager face, the shining blue eyes, and he forced himself to smile. “That is a feat in itself, ma’am. If you can persuade Dash to sit still, then I am sure that no feat of diplomacy involving the crowned heads of Europe will be beyond you.”
Victoria laughed, but it was not her normal unselfconscious peal; there was a staginess about it that suggested to Melbourne that she too was playing a part.
“I wonder if the crowned heads will be quite so amenable to sweetmeats as dear little Dashy?”
“Everyone is susceptible to something, in my experience, ma’am. But I suspect it may be easier to find Dash’s heart’s desire than it is to discover King Leopold’s.”
Victoria laughed again. “Actually I know exactly what Uncle Leopold wants—to marry me to my cousin Albert as soon as possible. He thinks I need a husband to steady my giddy ways.”
Melbourne saw Emma Portman looking at him over Victoria’s shoulder. He knew they were waiting for him to deliver the news. But the Queen carried on talking, almost as if she did not want to give him the chance to speak.
“I told him that I had no intention of marrying at present, indeed probably not for three or four years. And when I do, it certainly won’t be to a boy like Albert. When he came to visit three years ago, he had no conversation and started yawning at half past nine.” She looked up at Melbourne. “So you see, Lord M., I am not always so diplomatic.”
Melbourne waited to see if she intended to say more. Finally he said in a low voice, “I have something to tell you, ma’am. As you know, I have come from the House. I am afraid to say that the Jamaica bill, outlawing slavery in that island, passed with only five votes. As a result—” He hesitated, finding this even harder than he had anticipated. “I have decided to resign my ministry.” His voice sank almost to a whisper.
Victoria’s voice, by contrast, was bell-like in its clarity. “Resign? But why on earth would you do that, if the bill has passed?”
Melbourne sighed. “The Tories, ma’am, are like hyenas. Once they sense a weakness they will worry my government until they destroy it completely. I would rather go now, on my own terms.”
Victoria looked at him blankly. “But who will be prime minister?”
Melbourne said quickly, “That depends on you, ma’am. As the sovereign it is your job to appoint a new prime minister. I should send for the Duke of Wellington. He is the senior Tory.”
“Wellington? But he is so brusque, always talking to me as if I were one of his junior officers.”
Melbourne smiled. “I doubt that he will want to be prime minister again, ma’am. I imagine that he will recommend that you summon Sir Robert Peel; he leads the Tories in the Commons and is very much the coming man.”
Victoria started to walk around the room distractedly. Harriet, Emma, and Melbourne followed her with their eyes. “But I don’t know Sir Robert Peel! How can I be comfortable with someone I don’t know?”
She stopped walking and turned t
o him. “I have decided not to accept your resignation, Lord M.” She put her head on one side and smiled as bewitchingly as she knew how.
Although Melbourne understood the intention behind the smile and was touched by it, he persevered. “I am afraid, ma’am, that you cannot refuse me in this.”
Victoria’s smile became more steely. “Really? I thought the prime minister served at the pleasure of the Crown.”
“Indeed, ma’am, but I must remind you that I still have the right to resign.”
Victoria met his eyes, then said, with a note in her voice that made Melbourne tremble, “Do you really mean to forsake me?”
Melbourne looked away, unable to bear the directness of the appeal in her face. When he spoke, he found himself talking to her hands, which were clasped tightly together. “I am afraid I have no choice, ma’am.”
Victoria unclasped her hands and smoothed the folds of her dress. “I see. Then I think I must retire. Good night, Lord Melbourne.” And without turning to look at him, she swept out of the room, Harriet and Emma following in her wake. Emma gave him a sympathetic glance, as if she knew how much this exchange had cost him. But, he thought, no one could really know the damage that had been done.
CHAPTER TWO
The rain had brought down all the blossoms from the cherry trees in the palace gardens, and they littered the paths like confetti. But Victoria did not notice the blossoms or the puddles beneath her feet. She did not care that it was raining steadily, that her new pink sprigged muslin was sodden, or that the braids on either side of her ear were clinging to her face, or indeed that her ladies-in-waiting were huddling under an umbrella.
Victoria was using her umbrella not to shield herself from the rain but to cut a swath through the plants in the shrubbery. There was something satisfying about seeing the proud heads of the tulips fall under her onslaught. Slash, slash, slash. Having reduced the border to a scene of devastation, Victoria looked about her for something else to destroy.
Harriet Sutherland approached and said gently, “Don’t you think we should go back inside, ma’am? It is very wet, and I should hate you to catch a chill.”
“You go inside if you want to. I am as happy to be here as anywhere.”
Harriet retreated to her umbrella. Victoria continued to storm along the shrubbery, remembering a bed of peonies by the fountains that she would take particular pleasure in decimating. Lord Melbourne had once told her that peonies were his favourite flower.
But as she turned, she heard another voice behind her. “Drina!”
Victoria stopped. To her surprise she saw the Duchess of Kent walking towards her, carrying an umbrella.
When she reached Victoria, she stopped and put her free arm around her daughter. Victoria bristled; she had hardly spoken to her mother, let alone embraced her, since the death of Lady Flora, but then she smelt the lavender water the Duchess always wore. For once Victoria allowed herself to relax and rest her head on her mother’s shoulder.
“My poor Drina. I came as soon as I heard about Lord Melbourne.”
“Oh, Mama! What am I going to do? He is the only one who understands me.”
Victoria felt her mother’s heart beating under her cheek. “Not the only one, Drina.”
Victoria said nothing, allowing herself for once to feel the comfort of her mother’s presence. She looked up at her mother and saw the tenderness in her face. “But it is so hard.”
“I know, Drina. But I will help you, and perhaps it will be better to have someone in your family at your side.”
Victoria felt the tears coming to her eyes.
“People are always saying that you are too close to Lord Melbourne. Now they will see that you are your own woman.”
The tears were rolling down Victoria’s cheeks now. The Duchess set down her umbrella and put her arms around her daughter.
“Never mind, liebchen. You must not worry so. I will take care of you, you know this.”
Just for a moment, for the first time in years, Victoria allowed herself to dissolve into her mother’s embrace. She felt safe in the circle of those lavender-scented arms, to be her mother’s little Maiblume again.
* * *
That evening Melbourne attended a reception at Holland House, but did not stay long. On the way back from Kensington, Melbourne told his coachman to take a detour through Piccadilly, rather than passing Buckingham Palace. As the carriage turned into Trafalgar Square, past the half-built column to the Admiral Lord Nelson, Melbourne thought of Victoria’s face the night before when she had asked him if he really intended to forsake her. Suddenly the library at Dover House lost its appeal, and he found himself directing the coachman down a certain side street in Mayfair.
Melbourne had not been to Ma Fletcher’s nunnery for at least a year, so his presence caused a flurry of excitement. Ma Fletcher herself was all graciousness and tact, and when she clapped her hands, half a dozen girls presented themselves in the drawing room in various states of undress. Melbourne looked over at them and tried not to yawn. He could not quite summon the enthusiasm that was required. But then he noticed that one of the girls, a little blonde girl of no more than twenty, had an eager expression in her face that he found intriguing. He pointed to her and was rewarded by a beaming smile of triumph.
Ma Fletcher gestured to the girl. “This is Lydia, my lord. A very popular choice.”
Melbourne followed Lydia up the staircase to a large bedroom on the first floor. It smelt of beeswax and cologne, but underneath there was something darker—a mixture of sweat and desire. Melbourne took off his coat and sat down in the armchair near the fire and loosened his neckcloth. Lydia came towards him and let the robe she wore fall down over her bare shoulders. She came and sat down on his lap, and as Melbourne put his hand on her thigh, he allowed himself to imagine how it would feel to have another young woman in his arms. Lydia laughed and began to undo the buttons on his breeches. Melbourne looked at the bare nape of her neck and asked, “How old are you, Lydia?”
Lydia looked up. “Nineteen next month, sir.”
“How young you are.” He sighed. “I suppose I must seem very old to you.”
Lydia shook her head vigorously. “Oh no, my lord. There are plenty that come in who are much older than you. And you have all your own hair, which is more than I can say for most of my gentlemen.” She ran her fingers through Melbourne’s grey-blond locks, and smiled encouragingly.
There was something in the tilt of her head that made him lean forward and ask, “Tell me, Lydia, how old do you think I am?”
The way her eyes clouded over in panic before she regained her professional smile was enough to make him realise it had been a mistake to ask.
“Oh, my lord, you are surely not a day over forty?”
Gently Melbourne disengaged Lydia’s hand from his fly. He stood up and reached for his coat. The girl made a little wail of disappointment.
“Did I say something wrong, my lord? I’m not good with ages, I know, but you don’t look old, not at all. Won’t you come and lie down with me? I promise you won’t regret it.”
Melbourne said gently, “I find that my inclination has changed. But don’t worry, I will tell Mrs Fletcher that it was not your fault.” He felt in his waistcoat pocket and found a gold sovereign.
“Here.” He pressed the coin into her hand. Lydia’s expression of delight told him that he had managed to assuage the slight to her professional pride.
In the carriage going home, Melbourne smiled at his own folly. When he got to Dover House, he called for brandy. The butler returned with the decanter, and as Melbourne took a long draught, he noticed that his fly buttons were still undone.
CHAPTER THREE
The palace clock struck eleven as Victoria marched up and down the inlaid parquet of the throne room. The last chime had barely faded when the Duke of Wellington was announced. Victoria turned and held out her hand, smiling as best she could at the great general. She had known him since she was a child, but always
found his ramrod stature and brusque manners alarming.
“Thank you for coming, Duke. I am sure you know why I have asked you here today. I would like you to form an administration.”
Wellington spoke carefully. “I am honoured, ma’am. But I am afraid I must decline. I am too old to serve as Prime Minister again. You must send for Sir Robert Peel, who is the only man who can command the House at the moment.”
Victoria tapped her foot. “But I don’t know Sir Robert Peel, and I have known you all my life, Duke!”
Wellington moved his great leonine head from side to side. “Nevertheless, ma’am, I must still decline.”
Victoria tried another tack, and said with as much force as she could muster, “Will you really refuse your sovereign,” she paused, “and commanding officer?”
Wellington smiled. “A good soldier knows when to retreat, ma’am, and I am afraid that this is a battle you cannot win.”
Victoria sighed. “You are most disobliging.”
“If I might say so, ma’am, I think you will find Sir Robert to be a most able fellow. I realise that you have been used to dealing with Melbourne. While Peel does not have the Viscount’s ease of manner, he is the only man who can command enough support on both sides to form a government that has any chance of succeeding. You may not want him, but the country needs Peel.”
Victoria said nothing.
“Then I bid you good day, ma’am.”
Wellington walked backwards for two stiff steps, and then turned and left the room. Victoria resumed her pacing. Everything she had heard about Sir Robert Peel suggested that he would not be at all congenial. Emma Portman had told her that he had no greater vice than calculus and disapproved of waltzing. How was she expected to be comfortable with a man who took no pleasure in life? There must be something she could do.
She summoned the footman and asked him to bring her writing desk directly. Dashing off a note to Melbourne asking him to visit her at his early convenience, she told the footman to send it by messenger to Dover House. Surely Melbourne would relent when he knew that she had tried with Wellington and failed. He would not be so cruel and uncaring as to leave her in the hands of Sir Robert Peel.
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