Victoria

by Daisy Goodwin

  “Well, if Leopold is proposing a match, perhaps you too should find Victoria a husband.”

  The Duke turned to look at his wife, then jerked his head in the direction of the music room, where their son was playing the piano. He played very well by ear, and if you listened to him you would never know he was blind. “You don’t mean?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “No, I think our poor boy will be quite happy to succeed you as King of Hanover. I was thinking of your nephew.”

  “George Cambridge?” To her relief Frederica saw that her husband had stopped pacing and was standing in the middle of the room with his hand tracking the scar on his cheek with his finger, a sign that he was concentrating.

  “Yes. He is a personable young man but not clever. I am sure you could … direct him.”

  Cumberland stopped and smiled at his wife. “How lucky I was to have married you, my dear. You are always so resourceful. My brother owes me a fortune, but if his son marries the Queen I might get my money back with interest. And it would be a fine thing to keep the throne in the British royal family.”

  “Indeed. You should call on George and make him aware of the opportunity that presents itself.”

  “I am surprised he hasn’t thought of it already. But then I suppose he takes after my brother Adolphus, who has never been very bright.”

  “You have been blessed with the brains in your family, my love.”

  Cumberland took his wife’s hand. “And in you, I have found my equal.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Why the long face, Lord M?” Victoria leant across the desk in her private sitting room, where she and Melbourne were engaged in going through the red boxes. When Melbourne did not immediately reply, she went on, “I am so happy to see you. You can’t imagine how tiresome my uncle Leopold is being.”

  Melbourne looked up from the paper he was reading. “At the risk of being impertinent about one of your family, I must say I remember him as being vain and self-seeking.”

  Victoria laughed. “Nothing has changed. He wears a wig now, and he plans to marry me off to my cousin Albert.”

  “I do not think that marriage between first cousins is wise, ma’am.”

  Victoria gave him a keen look. “If that is what you are worried about, Lord M, then you have no reason to be alarmed. I told him it would never do!”

  Melbourne paused and then stood up, saying, “If I look concerned, ma’am, it is not on account of your uncle Leopold. I fear that there has been an uprising in Wales by a group, a mob really, who call themselves Chartists.”

  Victoria came to stand beside him. “What a curious name.”

  Melbourne sighed. “So called because they have written a charter demanding universal suffrage, annual elections, a secret ballot, and even payment for MPs. Their ideas are impossible, of course, but they have much support among a certain class.”

  Victoria looked puzzled. “But their ideas are so extreme. You have always told me the British are not a revolutionary people.”

  “As you know, ma’am, there was a poor harvest this year and last. When people are hungry, they can fancy themselves radicals.”

  Victoria nodded. “I see. But is there danger from these, these Chartists?”

  Melbourne looked out of the window. He could see the Marble Arch and beyond that the flag-lined expanse of the Mall. To the left lay the magnolia stucco squares and terraces of Thomas Cubitt’s Belgravia, which was rapidly challenging Mayfair as the most fashionable address in London. But if he turned his head to the right and looked over the railings that surrounded the palace, he could see the crooked roofs of the Pimlico rookeries. If he opened the window he fancied the smell of poverty would reach even here into the palace itself. Of course the Queen was quite safe here, surrounded as she was at all times by the Household Cavalry, but it was salutary nonetheless to remember how close they were, even here, to the forces of unrest.

  When he turned to Victoria, he made sure that the expression on his face was that of reassurance. “Oh, no, ma’am, the rioters in Newport were armed only with pitchforks and scythes. The garrison there dispatched them with no difficulty. The ringleaders have been brought here to be tried for treason. If we make an example of them now, it will deter others in the future.”

  He caught Victoria’s gaze. “There is no cause for you to worry. That is my job. Your safety is the only thing that disturbs my peace of mind.”

  He must have stared at her a little too intently, because Victoria flushed and said brightly, “Will you come to the opera tonight? La Persiani is singing Lucia di Lammermoor. I know you prefer Mozart, but I don’t think I can bear an evening with Uncle Leopold alone.” She smiled.

  Melbourne shook his head. “I don’t think that my presence is necessary. You forget that the Grand Duke will also be there. I seem to remember that you rather enjoyed his company at the Coronation Ball.”

  Victoria looked at her hands. “The Grand Duke is an excellent dancer and he can be agreeable company, but,” she raised her pale blue eyes to his, “he is no substitute for you, Lord M.”

  Melbourne saw the appeal in her eyes and wondered if she understood how flirtatious she was being. She was so young and so innocent compared to the women he had always surrounded himself with, but there was a directness in her gaze that was unsettling. He had to remind himself that she had no idea what she was doing.

  He bowed and gave her his most urbane smile. “You flatter me, ma’am, and like all men I am susceptible to flattery.”

  “Perhaps I should try that with Uncle Leopold!”

  “I should have said, all men apart from your uncle Leopold.”

  The sound of Victoria’s silvery, delighted laugh stayed with Melbourne for the rest of the day.

  * * *

  Victoria took special care over her toilette for the opera. After extensive conferring with Skerrett, they decided to do her hair in a coronet of plaits high on her head, a style which made her neck look longer as it rose out of the low neckline of her dress.

  “I think that tonight I shall wear Queen Charlotte’s diamond necklace.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I shall fetch it presently.” Jenkins went off, rattling the bunch of keys round her waist, and came back with the faded green leather box, which she put in front of Victoria. When she opened it, both women gasped as the diamonds sparkled in the candlelight.

  “Yes, I shall definitely wear this,” said Victoria, and she handed the necklace to Jenkins to fasten round her neck.

  Skerrett, who came back into the room carrying the flowers for Victoria’s hair, squeaked with astonishment when she saw the necklace. “It looks like your neck is on fire, ma’am.”

  Victoria looked at herself in the mirror with satisfaction. The necklace did indeed look as though it had its own inner furnace. As Skerrett fixed the matching tiara onto the crown of her head, Victoria was satisfied with her appearance.

  She had been pleased when Melbourne had told her that the Grand Duke Alexander, having made his Grand Tour of Europe, had decided to come back to England before going back to St. Petersburg. He was an excellent dancer and his conversation was charming. But his reappearance now was fortuitous; he would be a useful shield against Uncle Leopold. Tonight, for example, she had invited the Grand Duke to join her in the royal box, knowing that because Belgium had no formal alliance with Russia it would be impossible for Uncle Leopold to join them.

  Uncle Leopold had not been happy when she had told him that for diplomatic reasons she would have to share the royal box with the Grand Duke.

  “But you can sit with Mama, Uncle Leopold. I know you have so much to discuss.”

  He had protested that to show such favour to the Grand Duke might be misinterpreted, but Victoria forestalled him. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Lord M will be there too. He will make quite sure there isn’t a diplomatic incident.”

  Leopold had pursed his lips, but said nothing more.

  * * *

  The orchestra of Her Majesty
’s Theatre played “God Save the Queen” and then the Russian national anthem when Victoria entered the royal box with the Grand Duke. When the Russian anthem came to an end, the Queen and the Grand Duke sat down. They did not, it was noted, glance over their shoulders to see if the chairs were in the right position. Royal since birth, they just assumed they would be there.

  Her Majesty’s Theatre, which had been His Majesty’s Theatre until Victoria came to the throne, was full. Donizetti’s version of Sir Walter Scott’s The Bride of Lammermoor was already a success, but tonight the audience was interested in the spectacle off as well as on the stage.

  There was the royal box, where the Queen sat next to the Grand Duke of Russia, whose diamond-encrusted orders sparkled as brilliantly as Victoria’s necklace. Behind the two royal personages were the Prime Minister and Lady Portman, condemned by protocol to stand throughout.

  On the other side of the royal circle was the box containing the King of the Belgians and his sister the Duchess of Kent. There had been a cheer when they had taken their places, a cheer that was claimed as their rightful tribute by both brother and sister. But Sir John Conroy, who stood, as always, directly behind the Duchess, had no doubt to whom the cheer belonged.

  There were no cheers for the Duke of Cumberland as he entered his box accompanied by his wife and his nephew Prince George of Cambridge. The Prince had the bulging blue eyes and uncertain chin of the Hanoverians. He was wearing his uniform and looked as if he would rather be in his regiment’s mess than at the opera.

  When the overture came to an end, and La Persiani came onto the stage to sing her first aria, there were quite as many opera glasses trained on the royal box as there were on the diva.

  The Duke of Cumberland had been delighted to see that Leopold was not in the royal box, but he had been less pleased that the Grand Duke was sitting next to his niece. He would be Tsar of all the Russias one day, so he was not a serious contender for Victoria’s hand, but he was exotic in a way that Cumberland feared that his nephew George was not.

  “The Queen is getting awfully cosy with the Russian, George. I think you should go over there and pay your respects, before she sits on his lap.”

  George gave a magnificent sigh. “As long as I don’t have to stay for the second act. I have heard better singing in the mess.”

  * * *

  Perhaps the only person watching the stage with the attention that La Persiani’s performance deserved was the Queen herself. As Lucia sang of her undying love for Edgardo, tears came to Victoria’s eyes and one trickled down her small white cheek.

  The Grand Duke, who had been watching Victoria’s profile with attention, pulled out a handkerchief of imperial proportions and offered it to her. She took it with a smile.

  “Thank you. I feel quite overcome.”

  The Grand Duke leant over to her and said in a low voice, “We do not have so many opportunities to cry, you and I.”

  Victoria nodded. “You are right, of course. I suppose that is why I love opera so much.”

  “You have a Russian soul.”

  “Or an English one.”

  At that moment the music swelled as Lucia reached the end of the aria and collapsed on the stage in a swoon. Her performance was lost on the audience, who were watching the heir to the Russian throne smile at their Queen.

  In the interval Prince George presented himself at the royal box. Victoria looked at him in surprise. “I did not know you cared for opera, George.”

  George’s milky face blushed as he struggled to reply. Finally he said, “I suppose it is a new interest, Cousin Victoria.”

  She smiled. “Then I shall insist on you being my companion next time I come.”

  Victoria turned to the Grand Duke. “May I present my cousin Prince George of Cambridge?”

  George gave the Russian an adequate but not fulsome bow. The Grand Duke nodded and said, “I had the honour of inspecting the Prince’s regiment. Such magnificent uniforms.”

  His tone implied that the uniforms were the only things that had been magnificent. As the implied insult worked its way through to George, his colour rose even further. He wanted to say that at least his men were a disciplined fighting force, not a bunch of drunken Cossacks, but he had to resort to glaring at the impertinent Russian instead.

  “Isn’t Lucia wonderful?” Victoria asked her cousin. “Did the mad scene make you want to cry?”

  George was relieved to be asked a question that he could answer truthfully. “It certainly did.”

  He stood there for a few minutes longer, feeling all the while the eyes of Cumberland upon him, but then the music began again and he made his excuses and left.

  * * *

  Leopold had watched the entire exchange through his opera glasses. He had understood immediately what Cumberland intended by bringing Prince George. Even though he knew that George was decidedly inferior to Albert in looks and intellect, he was nonetheless relieved to see that Victoria did not betray any kind of excitement at his appearance. She seemed rather to prefer the company of the Grand Duke, but Leopold was happy to dismiss his presence as a harmless flirtation. The marriage of two sovereigns was a practical and diplomatic impossibility. The last time it had been attempted, between Mary Tudor and Philip II of Spain, it had not been successful for either party.

  After George left, Leopold’s attention was diverted to the stage, where a very pleasing ballet was taking place. But Leopold’s appreciation of the shapely calves of the dancers was interrupted by the Duchess, who was looking at her daughter through her own opera glasses.

  “Look at Drina. I believe she is flirting with the Grand Duke. It is most unsuitable.”

  “My dear Marie-Louise, do not alarm yourself. The Grand Duke can only be a harmless diversion. Even Victoria is not so foolish as to imagine that there could ever be more than a flirtation between them.”

  The Duchess sighed. “I hope you are right, brother. But she is capable of every kind of foolishness.” Conroy made a noise of assent.

  Leopold turned his gaze from the stage to the royal box. Victoria’s face swam into vision, much magnified, and he saw to his surprise and alarm that there was an expression on her face that looked very much like the softening one would expect of a woman in love. But who was she looking at? When Leopold tilted his glasses to follow her gaze, the handsome face of Lord Melbourne swam into view. Melbourne was, Leopold noted, returning Victoria’s look with equal affection.

  Leopold put the opera glasses down. His sister was right; Victoria clearly was capable of every kind of foolishness. Could she seriously imagine that Melbourne could be more to her than a prime minister? No, it was impossible—even Victoria could not be so deluded. But he knew what he had seen and it troubled him deeply. He decided against mentioning it to his sister. The one thing calculated to provoke Victoria into doing something irrevocably foolish would be an intervention by her mother. No, he must be the one to talk to Victoria. And having decided on his course of action, Leopold turned his attention back to the stage, where to his disappointment the dancers had been replaced by a chorus of sturdy Scottish Highlanders singing in Italian.

  * * *

  The Queen’s party, of course, was the first to leave the theatre. The Grand Duke escorted Victoria down the staircase to the entrance on the Haymarket, where her carriage was waiting. As she came out she was gratified to hear a few cheers from the crowd that had assembled outside.

  The Grand Duke turned to her and smiled. “Your people love you, Victoria.”

  “I think they like to see their Queen. I am sure that you are greeted with the same enthusiasm in Russia.”

  “Perhaps. But your people are free to cheer as they like, while mine are not. The cheers of serfs are not the same as those of citizens.”

  Victoria saw that the Grand Duke’s eyes were clouded as he bent over her hand to kiss it.

  “Good night, Alexander.” She felt self-conscious using his name, but he had called her Victoria.

 
The Grand Duke clicked his heels in farewell.

  As she climbed into the carriage, she heard a noise and felt Dash jumping up to kiss her hands. “Oh, my dear little Dashy, what a lovely surprise!”

  She picked up her dog and hugged him to her. The handsome blond head of Lord Alfred Paget, her equerry, appeared at the carriage window. “I hope you are not offended, ma’am. But he was pining for you at the palace, so I took the liberty of bringing him with me to meet you.”

  “How very thoughtful of you, Lord Alfred. I cannot imagine a more delightful companion for the ride back. Dash loves to hear about the opera, don’t you, Dashy?” And the little dog wriggled in delight as she scratched his tummy.

  “I hope you will not object to a human passenger, Victoria.” She looked up and to her annoyance saw her uncle Leopold. Without waiting for her reply, the King of the Belgians pushed past Lord Alfred and seated himself opposite her.

  Victoria shrank back to her side of the carriage, clutching Dash in her arms. She was tired, and the last thing she wanted was an enforced tête-à-tête with her uncle. But there was nothing she could do, unless she asked the soldiers to remove him, which would cause a diplomatic incident. This thought made her smile and she pulled Dash’s ear and whispered, “You don’t know how pleased your mama is to see you, Dashy.”

  Leopold took a match from his pocket and lit the candle next to his seat. It illuminated his face from below, making him look almost demonic. “My dear niece. You know I have always tried to be a father to you.”

  Victoria fiddled with her dog’s ears. “You have certainly written to me often enough. Hasn’t he, Dash?”

  Leopold sighed. “Please talk to me and not to your lapdog. I have something important to say to you.”