Victoria
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Victoria held her dog’s face up next to her own. “And we are listening.”
Leopold ignored the pertness. “You say you do not want to marry Albert, but I would ask you if you intend to marry someone else?”
Victoria looked at him, and said coldly, “I have no plans to marry anyone at present.”
Leopold put his hand to his head to check the position of his hairpiece. “You do not, I hope, imagine that your Lord M could ever be more than your Prime Minister?”
Dash yelped as Victoria tugged his ear in fury. “I will not dignify that suggestion with an answer.”
“Then, as one sovereign to another, I would advise you to be careful,” Leopold said.
Victoria retorted, her voice taut with irritation, “And as one sovereign to another, I must advise you not to interfere.”
“Perhaps you are too young to understand how dangerous your situation is. The country is in a volatile state. I am most concerned about the disturbances in Wales. All revolutionary movements start like this, with popular discontent.”
“Lord Melbourne says I have nothing to fear from the Chartists. He says that there has been a bad harvest, and when people are hungry they fancy themselves radicals.”
“Your Lord Melbourne is not infallible, Victoria. I am afraid that even the British Crown is vulnerable.”
Victoria made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. But Leopold continued unperturbed, taking some matches from his pocket and striking one of them in front of her, revealing her sulky face.
“You think that your monarchy burns brightly, Victoria, but all it takes is a little draught from the wrong direction. Marry Albert and start a family that your subjects can be proud of. Otherwise…” Leopold blew out the match.
Victoria clutched Dash even more tightly and said nothing for the remainder of the mercifully short journey.
CHAPTER FOUR
Victoria’s uncles were not alone in taking a keen interest in her matrimonial status. In drawing rooms up and down the country, there was a feeling that a young, personable queen of marriageable age must be in want of a husband. In Brooks’s club, the bastion of Whig values, there was much talk of the Queen’s duty to provide an heir to the throne more in tune with the times than the Duke of Cumberland. Across the street in White’s, the Tory stronghold, there was an equally strong feeling that the Queen should marry because it was the only way to curb the pernicious influence of Lord Melbourne.
But while it was generally agreed that the Queen must marry, there was no agreement as to who the ideal husband might be. In the servants’ hall at Buckingham Palace there was much speculation on the subject. Indeed, Penge, the Queen’s steward, had gone so far as to establish a running wager on the likely runners and riders. He had put his sixpence on Prince George. Having served briefly in the household of Princess Charlotte when she had been married to the then Prince Leopold, he had no desire to work for another Coburg prince. The Coburgs were, in his trenchantly held opinion, “the worst kind of foreigner.” When he had been pressed by Mrs Jenkins as to the nature of his objections, he had mentioned that the King of the Belgians had not only complained about the dampness of the sheets on his bed but also failed to grasp the level of emoluments due to the palace’s personnel. “The Coburgs are money-grabbing, sausage-eating mountebanks who have no place on the British throne. What we need is a British bridegroom.”
Mrs Jenkins, who had seen the care with which the Queen had dressed for her night at the opera, was inclined to support the candidacy of the Grand Duke. “Such a handsome young man, what a lovely couple they would make.” Penge had said that a union between the Queen and the heir to the Russian throne was a diplomatic impossibility, but he was prepared to take her money if she was foolish enough to wager it. Mrs Jenkins, who liked to believe that love conquered all, persisted in supporting her candidate.
The chef, Mr Francatelli, who had no love for Mr Penge, decided to back Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha; and Brodie, the hall boy, declared that if he had a sixpence he would put it on Lord Alfred Paget, as he was always laughing with the Queen. Penge and Mrs Jenkins raised their eyebrows at Brodie’s choice, but neither felt obliged to point out that Lord Alfred was not the marrying kind. Miss Skerrett, the junior dresser, said that she did not have a sixpence to wager on the Queen’s matrimonial prospect, but that it seemed to her that the only man she really cared for was Lord Melbourne. And in this, the junior dresser was perfectly in accord with Leopold, King of the Belgians.
The morning after her encounter with Leopold, Victoria herself knew only that she was enormously relieved to be in the park riding as usual with Melbourne at her side. Although she loved the opera and found the Grand Duke an agreeable companion, she felt altogether more at ease riding through Rotten Row with her Prime Minister. She had gone to meet him as usual just behind Apsley House, the Duke of Wellington’s house, on the corner of the park. But Melbourne, most unusually, was not there and had kept her waiting for a full five minutes.
When he did arrive, he was dusty and apologetic. “Forgive me, ma’am. I received a message just as I was setting out, and had to act immediately.”
Victoria smiled at him. “It must have been important. I don’t think I have ever seen you so out of countenance before.”
Melbourne looked ruefully at his dusty clothes. “I did not want to keep you waiting.”
He looked at her with concern. “I wonder if it is wise for you to open the almshouses tomorrow, ma’am. It is an open space and I believe there will be a crowd. I think it may not be altogether safe.”
Victoria turned to him in surprise. “But I must go. These almshouses are dedicated to my father’s memory. It would be disrespectful not to attend. And as to being safe, well, you always tell me that a queen must be seen to be believed.”
Melbourne shook his head. “In general I believe that to be true, but I have just heard that the Newport rioters have been sentenced to death, and I fear there may be repercussions.”
Victoria looked at her Prime Minister. “That seems a very harsh punishment. Is it necessary to execute them? I believe they did not hurt anyone. Indeed, I believe the only dead were among the Chartists themselves.”
“Better that a few should die now, ma’am, than an armed insurrection later.”
“You feel it might come to that?” Victoria asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I do.”
“I see. Nevertheless, I shall attend the ceremony.”
“Very well, ma’am.”
They rode along in silence for some minutes. At last Victoria could bear it no longer. “What did you think of Lucia? I never spoke to you about it.”
Melbourne shrugged. “It was not Mozart, ma’am.” Then, turning his head towards her, he asked, “And you? How did you enjoy the evening? You seemed to be well attended.”
Victoria smiled, pleased that they had moved on from the Newport Chartists. “The Grand Duke is amusing, I daresay. It is refreshing to talk to someone who understands the cares of my position. But he is too foreign to be entirely comfortable, I think.”
“And what about Prince George of Cambridge? He was being most attentive, I thought.”
Victoria made a grimace. “We never liked each other as children. He always used to say that girls had no business being queens.”
“And what did you say?” asked Melbourne.
“I said that when I was Queen I would send him to the Tower like all traitors!”
Melbourne laughed. “Quite right! And what do you think of him now he is grown up?”
“Well, he is not so short or so fat as he once was, but I don’t think his opinions about the fitness of women for the throne have changed much.”
“Oh?” Melbourne drew up his reins and his horse’s head to face Victoria. “That is unfortunate, as I think he would like to be a candidate for your hand.”
“George thinks he would like to be my husband?” Victoria looked at him in amazement.
Melbourne nodded. “I believe so,
ma’am. And, of course, an English marriage would be very popular in the country.”
Victoria raised her blue eyes and looked straight at him. “An English marriage?”
“Would go down very well, ma’am.”
Victoria beamed at him. “Then I shall bear that in mind, Lord M.”
* * *
Victoria’s father, the late Duke of Kent, had been distinguished, even among George III’s famously profligate sons, for his extravagance. He had spent most of his adult life abroad, in Canada, partly because of his military career but more particularly because he wanted to escape his many creditors.
On her accession to the throne, Victoria had been surprised to find that so many of her father’s debts remained unpaid. As there had been a grant made by Parliament to the Duchess for that express purpose after the Duke’s death, Victoria was doubly mortified. She had declared that she would pay off her father’s outstanding debts at once, even if it meant that she and her mother would have to forgo new bonnets. Melbourne had laughed and said that he did not think that such a hardship would be necessary, and he observed that she was very frugal in comparison with her predecessors on the throne.
After clearing the debts, Victoria thought that it was time to do something more positive to honour her father’s memory. Her father, she believed without much evidence, had been charitable in his impulses, and she wanted to do something that would make his generosity concrete. Her mother had been unhelpful, suggesting the thing that would have pleased her father most was to see his widow properly established. “He always liked me to look elegant, Victoria. He was always buying me nice clothes.” Victoria had replied that she thought there might be a more permanent tribute to her father’s generosity than a new parasol.
She had, of course, consulted Lord M, who had advised her to do something philanthropic. “There are statues of your uncles all over London, and while they decorate the skyline, they are of little practical use.” Victoria had listened, as she did to everything Lord Melbourne said, with attention, and started to look about for a suitable undertaking.
Harriet Sutherland, whose family took philanthropy very seriously, had directed her towards a project for building almshouses for the relief of the poor in the parish of Camberwell. “There are old people there, ma’am, living in conditions of great poverty, having worked diligently all their lives. To think that they can live so wretchedly only a mile from the palace.” Visiting the parish with the Duchess incognito, Victoria had been appalled by the conditions she found there. Although she did not dare get out of the carriage for fear of being recognised, she saw children in rags begging on the streets and an old woman in a dusty black dress that had once been of good quality sitting on the pavement with a small bundle by her side and a parrot in a cage.
She had asked the footman to enquire as to the woman’s circumstances and had discovered that she had been a lady’s maid who had lost her place on account of her age. Without children or a pension, the woman had no way of supporting herself or her parrot. Victoria had been moved by the parrot, its plumage dusty but its yellow eye bright. She had felt quite indignant with the old lady’s former employers. How could they have cast her out on the streets like that? Harriet had told her that it was quite common. “Not everyone with servants, ma’am, has been brought up to understand that there is an obligation on both sides.”
Victoria had wanted to relieve the woman’s situation at once, and as she never carried money had been forced to ask Harriet to lend her some. Harriet suggested that it might be better to have her conveyed to the palace, where she could be given a meal and some direction as to the future.
The plight of Mrs Hadlow, the lady’s maid (the Mrs was an honorific), had convinced Victoria to build almshouses where the respectable poor could see out their days in peace. She had contributed a major part of the funds for the project on the understanding that they would be called the Duke of Kent’s Almshouses. Mrs Hadlow and her parrot were to be among the first tenants.
* * *
The buildings had been built most handsomely, thought Victoria, as her carriage drew up outside the little square. The low two-story buildings with their red front door and their neat front gardens looked like the epitome of genteel comfort, a splendid contrast to the squalor she had witnessed there before. The roofs and railings were hung with flags and bunting, and a brass band started to play the national anthem as Victoria’s footman pulled down the carriage steps.
In the middle of the square was a plinth with a dedication to her father’s memory covered in a velvet cloth. Victoria was to make a short speech before dedicating the plinth and declaring the almshouses open. She had not wanted the ceremony to be an elaborate affair, but the visit of her uncle had meant that she had been forced to invite him, and Melbourne had suggested that to make the ceremony more amusing she should also invite the Grand Duke. She had thought this was an excellent suggestion but had been less pleased when she heard that the Duke of Cumberland was mortally offended not to have been asked. She had no intention of including him, but Melbourne had said that to exclude him would cause an unnecessary scandal and he was sure that she did not want to do anything that would detract from honouring her father’s memory. So Victoria, mindful of what had happened the last time she had ignored her Prime Minister’s advice, had relented and asked the Cumberlands and the rest of her father’s family.
It was with some trepidation that she stepped out of the carriage. Sitting in the stands around the plinth were all the people that caused her distress: her mother, Conroy, and the Cumberlands, who had brought Prince George and Sir Robert Peel. In a way she had not anticipated, what had begun as a tribute to her father had somehow become a test of her authority. This feeling of alarm was exacerbated by the presence of a line of soldiers from the household regiment separating the royal party from the crowd gathered in the street. Victoria felt as if she were being scrutinized from every angle. She looked about her. There was only one face, she realised, that she wanted to see, but there was no sign of him. She forced herself to smile at the warden of the almshouses, who was being presented to her by Harriet Sutherland.
Then she sensed him standing just behind her, and felt a warm tide of relief run through her body.
“Forgive me, ma’am, for not being here when you arrived, but the crowds are so thick that my carriage could hardly make its way through them.”
Victoria turned and smiled. “I forgive you, Lord M. But can you tell me why there are so many soldiers? I know my father was a military man, but I feel it destroys the peaceful character of the event.”
Melbourne looked at her. “As I mentioned before, I fear there may be some disturbance from the Chartists, ma’am.”
Victoria looked out over the crowd and shook her head. “But do Chartists wear bonnets, Lord M? Because there are a great many of them out there today.”
Now it was Melbourne’s turn to smile. “Actually, ma’am, some Chartists do believe that women should have the vote.”
Victoria laughed. “Now you are teasing me.”
“No, ma’am, I assure you I am quite in earnest.”
Victoria gestured to a group of children waving flags. “And will they give the franchise to infants as well?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t think even the Chartists would go that far.”
The Queen followed Melbourne up onto the dais alongside the plinth. There was a small scuffle as the Grand Duke and Prince George vied for the position closest to her. George, who had taken a dislike to the Russian Prince not only because he perceived him as a possible rival for Victoria’s affections, but also because the Grand Duke’s uniform was so much more magnificent than his own, said with what he imagined was icy hauteur, “We are fortunate, sir, that your father the Emperor can spare you to attend the opening of an almshouse.”
The Grand Duke, who did not perceive George to be a rival in any way, said, “My father and I are great admirers of British institutions, your Queen in particular.”
Observing this little contretemps, Melbourne permitted himself a small smile, then glanced to see if Victoria had noticed the rivalry between her two admirers. But she was looking at the plinth and biting her lip, a sign, he knew, that she was nervous. She said in a small voice, “Should I start, Lord M?”
“If you feel ready, ma’am.”
She stepped a little closer to the dais, and he saw that the hand carrying the piece of paper on which she had written her speech was trembling. In a high and slightly quavering voice she began, “I never knew my father, but I know that he believed in Christian charity above all things.”
Melbourne heard the Duke of Cumberland mutter to his wife, “The only charity my late brother indulged in was supporting the mistress he discarded when he married. And even that didn’t last long.”
Melbourne turned to see if the Duchess of Kent had overheard this remark, but fortunately she was flanked by her brother and Sir John Conroy and too taken up by their company to pay attention to her brother-in-law. The Queen was too far away to hear anything her uncle was saying.
“So it gives me great pleasure to dedicate these almshouses to his memory.”
To the sound of applause from the dais and from the crowd, the small figure of the Queen walked over to the plinth to unveil the plaque in her father’s memory. The Grand Duke and Prince George moved at the same time, both it seemed with the idea of helping the Queen. They stood there, on either side of the plinth, George glaring at the Grand Duke, the Russian pretending that the English Prince did not exist.
When Victoria saw the situation, it was all she could do not to smile. “Thank you so much, but I believe I can manage unaided.”
She stared at them long enough for both men to retreat a little, then stepped forward and pulled the string which removed the velvet cloth. To her relief it came off without a hitch, revealing a plaque with the unmistakable Hanoverian profile of the Duke of Kent.