Victoria

by Daisy Goodwin

  The question was which of the various candidates for the Queen’s hand would Melbourne favour? He would not support the Russian Grand Duke, as the prospect of a marriage between two sovereigns would not appeal to his political sensibilities. It would not always suit Russia and Great Britain to be allies, and they could hardly be anything else if their monarchs were husband and wife. It was likely that Melbourne would favour an English match, but the opportunities were limited to her first cousins: Cumberland’s blind son and Prince George of Cambridge. The blindness meant that Cumberland’s son was not suitable, an opinion clearly shared by his own father, whose patronage of Prince George had not gone unnoticed by Conroy. But George was such a dull boy, and moreover had been heard in the clubs moaning about how he didn’t want to marry the royal dwarf. Conroy wondered if Melbourne had heard those rumours, and whether it might be wise to alert him to George’s unsuitability as a bridegroom.

  Given the less than cordial relations between himself and Melbourne, Conroy decided to see what happened at the ball that evening. George would be there and if there was any sign of Victoria favouring him, then Conroy would intervene. But he doubted it would be necessary. Victoria was a foolish girl, but not so foolish she could not see that Prince George was a first-class booby.

  For the first time since Melbourne had come back as Prime Minister, Conroy began to feel hopeful again. Melbourne would come to see the advantages of the Queen marrying Albert, and once the wedding had taken place, then he, Conroy, would be uniquely placed to guide the bridegroom through the difficulties of his position. Of course Leopold had great sway over Prince Albert, but he would have to return to Belgium eventually. There was so much to do, and there might yet be a way in which to do it.

  He found the Duchess in her apartments, trying on her costume for the ball. She was dressed as a character from the Commedia dell’arte, with a black domino, a tricorne hat, and a gold mask that covered most of her face. When she saw him she lowered the mask and smiled with delight. “What do you think of my costume?”

  “I think it is splendid, apart from the mask. It is a shame to cover a face as charming as yours.”

  The Duchess giggled happily. “You are being foolish, Sir John. No one wants to look at me.”

  “Forgive me, but you are mistaken about that. I, for one, want to look at you, very much.”

  At the compliment, the Duchess stretched her neck with pleasure, like a cat. “You are being absurd, Sir John, but I can’t say that it isn’t nice to be noticed.”

  “How could anyone possibly do otherwise?”

  The Duchess tossed her head. “My daughter hardly knows I exist.”

  Conroy took her hand and looked into her eyes. “That will change when Victoria marries Albert. He will make her understand how fortunate she is to have such a mother.”

  “But she says she will never marry Albert, or anyone else.”

  “Young girls often say things they do not mean.”

  “Perhaps. But she has such a tendresse for her Lord Melbourne, I think it will be hard for her to feel affection for someone else.”

  “Young girls have been known to change their minds, ma’am.”

  “I hope so.”

  “So do I. My greatest desire is for you to take your rightful place as the Queen Mother.”

  The Duchess sighed. “Oh, Sir John, what would I do without you?”

  * * *

  Skerrett picked up the long red wig and settled it on Victoria’s head.

  “What do you think, ma’am?”

  Victoria looked up and regarded herself in the mirror. The red hair did not altogether suit her, but what did that matter now? She had decided some time ago to go to the Duchess of Richmond’s ball as the Queen Elizabeth, but now, she thought, there was a melancholy prescience in her choice. It looked as though she too would be a virgin queen, unable to find a man she cared about enough to marry, who also returned her affections.

  “I think it looks very suitable.”

  She did not want to go to the ball at all. She had been writing a note to the Duchess to say that she was unwell, when Lehzen had told her that the Grand Duke was going, which made her think that to cry off might cause a diplomatic incident. Besides, the Grand Duke was a very good dancer. Not as good as Melbourne, of course, but she would never dance with him again.

  Skerrett pinned the wig into place, then held out the dress with the heavy farthingale that was so stiff it could stand up on its own. Victoria climbed into it, and the dresser began to fasten the hooks at the back. When it was done, Victoria was surprised by the weight of her costume. She realised that there was something rather military about the stiff, jewel-encrusted bodice and the heft of the skirt. It was more like a suit of armour than a ball dress, and the thought gave her comfort.

  Skerrett handed her a long pearl necklace with a ruby pendant, which clanked against the jeweled bodice like a sabre. For a brief moment Victoria thought how splendid it would be to carry a weapon: to know that one could settle things not with words but with deeds. She remembered Elizabeth’s speech at Tilbury, the one where she talked about having the body of a feeble woman but the heart and mind of a king. She imagined herself saying those words while sitting on a white palfrey in front of her troops.

  The door opened, and a footman came in, carrying a corsage of orchids on a silver tray. “With Lord Melbourne’s compliments, Your Majesty.”

  Victoria looked at the waxy white flowers in disbelief. Lord M was sending her flowers after what had passed between them?

  “Would you like me to pin them on for you, ma’am?”

  Victoria shook her head. “No. I don’t think I shall wear flowers tonight. They do not suit my costume.”

  “In that case, ma’am, I shall run along and fetch the crown.”

  Victoria stood alone, looking at herself in the mirror. She now had to entertain the possibility that Melbourne would be there tonight. She had assumed that he would keep away, but the flowers suggested otherwise. How could she face him? But perhaps it would be better to see him in a crowd of people, where they would not have to talk to each other, than to face him for the first time alone over the red boxes.

  On her dressing table was the miniature of Elizabeth that Lehzen had given her. Victoria picked it up and compressed her mouth into the same hard line as the woman in the portrait. She was so immersed in her impersonation that she did not notice Emma Portman walk in behind her.

  “How splendid you look, ma’am.”

  Victoria turned around. Emma, dressed as Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, was carrying a bow and a quiver of gold-tipped arrows.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Although perhaps a little stern.”

  Victoria relaxed her face. “I was trying to look like this portrait. She doesn’t look very happy.”

  “I think the painter did not catch her true expression. By all accounts she was a great wit.”

  Emma saw the flowers lying on the table. “What beautiful flowers. Oh, there is an orchid. Where did they come from?”

  Victoria did not look at her as she replied, “Brocket Hall.”

  Emma gasped. “But I thought William had closed the greenhouses after Caro … He must have opened them again for you.”

  Victoria turned to look at Emma and said slowly, “I do not think he would do anything for me.”

  Emma shook her head. “Do you know how hard it is to grow an orchid? You misjudge him, ma’am.”

  “Lord Melbourne cares only for the memory of his wife.”

  There was a pause and then Emma said gently, “Is that what he told you, ma’am?”

  Victoria nodded. She did not trust herself to speak.

  Emma hesitated; she knew it might be more politic to let the Queen believe Melbourne’s fiction, but when she saw the misery in the other woman’s face she could not help herself. “Then that is what he wants you to believe. But these flowers, ma’am, well … I think they are not a sign of indifference.�
� She sighed.

  Victoria turned away, and Emma slipped out of the room.

  The orchids glistened in the candlelight. Victoria picked up the corsage and looked at the strange, exotic blooms. Emma said that he had grown them specially for her. She found the pin underneath the spray and attached the corsage to her bodice.

  Skerrett came in with the replica of Elizabeth’s coronet.

  “Are you ready, ma’am? The carriage is waiting.”

  Victoria took the coronet and placed it on top of her wig.

  “Queen Elizabeth is ready.”

  * * *

  The ball at Syon House was to be the most magnificent of the season. The honey-coloured stone of the house was lit up by strings of Chinese lanterns that also punctuated the gardens leading down to the Thames. Strolling in the gardens were Roman centurions with classical goddesses, Madame de Pompadour with Louis XV, court jesters with Circassian slave girls, medieval knights with Titania, Queen of the Fairies. All kinds of monarchy—French, Roman, Egyptian—were represented, except of course English; as the Queen was expected, it would be lèse–majesté to come as one of her forebears.

  Dressed as Circe, the sorceress who had beguiled Odysseus, the Duchess of Richmond stood at the top of the grand staircase that led into the ballroom, greeting the guests. Her husband the Duke was dressed as a beefeater; he had not wanted to wear fancy dress at all, but his wife had insisted, and this costume was English, at least.

  Leopold had come as the Emperor Augustus, a costume which he felt reflected his status nicely. He only wished that a laurel wreath was still part of modern dress, as it set off his profile so well. His pleasure was only momentarily marred when he saw that the Duke of Cumberland had also come as the first Roman emperor, but his frisson of displeasure soon turned to satisfaction when he saw how much better his legs looked in a toga. Cumberland’s were scrawny affairs, and if a man was to show his legs at their age it was essential to sport a shapely calf. In Cumberland’s wake came his wife, who was dressed as Lady Macbeth complete with dagger, and Prince George, who had come as a Knight of the Round Table.

  Looking around for his sister, Leopold saw her on the other side of the room with Conroy. They had both come as characters from the Venetian Commedia dell’arte, and carried masks, hers gold, his black. Leopold sighed. It was unwise of his sister to declare her allegiance to Conroy quite so publicly, but both mother and daughter were regrettably prone, as the English put it, to wear their hearts on their sleeves.

  The guests milled about in the ballroom, spilling out through the French doors to the gardens below. The orchestra played in the background, but the dancing could not start until the Queen arrived to open the ball. A large number of nymphs and goatherds hoped fervently that she would not be late.

  There was a ripple of excitement at the Grand Duke’s arrival. He and his attendants were dressed as Cossacks, in white shirts open at the neck, and voluminous trousers tucked into high red boots. Round their waists they wore heavily embroidered sashes, out of which the chased silver handle of their daggers poked. On their heads they wore Shapkas, or Astrakhan caps. As the band of Cossacks swaggered through the room, there was excitement among the nymphs and some feeling of unfair play among the jesters and harlequins. Fancy dress was acceptable on the premise that everyone looked faintly ridiculous, whereas the Russian costumes only enhanced their native glamour. Prince George of Cambridge, who as Sir Lancelot felt he had chosen a costume that was just about acceptable for a Guards officer, now regretted his knitted chain mail and uncomfortable breastplate, and cast covetous glances at the red boots of the Cossacks. As the Grand Duke and his entourage swept past, he made a barely adequate bow, but found that the chain mail caught in his neck hair, and he spent an uncomfortable moment trying to lift his head. Cumberland, who was standing behind him, gave him a poke between the shoulder blades that was extremely painful, and snarled in his ear, “This is a great opportunity to charm your cousin. In my younger days I always found that young ladies were always at their most receptive when dancing. Carpe diem, George. Carpe diem. You must be as attentive as possible.”

  George tried to put the thought of the young Cumberland being attentive to the ladies out of his mind, and muttered, “I will stick to her like a bloody limpet, Uncle, but it’s all up to her. What can I do; she’s the Queen and has to make all the running. I can’t make up to her as I would to a normal woman.” As he said this, his eyes strayed to a nubile-looking nymph who he thought was smiling at him across the dance floor.

  Cumberland said sharply, “Nonsense! Faint heart never won fair lady, boy. She is a nineteen-year-old girl, and you are Sir Galahad.”

  George looked at his uncle, who irritatingly had the advantage of height over him, and said, “Sir Lancelot, actually.”

  Cumberland shrugged. “I don’t care who you are as long as you make eyes at her and not at that blasted nymph!”

  The champagne and claret cup were flowing freely, which only exacerbated the feeling of restless anticipation: Where was the Queen? A rumour went around that she was indisposed; someone’s lady’s maid had heard it from Lady Portman’s coachman, and the tension in the air, especially among the nymphs, was palpable.

  But then the room went silent and the stable clock could be heard chiming eleven. Victoria, dressed as Gloriana, appeared in the doorway with Emma Portman and Lehzen, who had come as a Rhine maiden, behind her. The Duchess greeted her with a low curtsey, her diaphanous Circe costume revealing a scandalous amount of thigh. The Duke almost dropped his staff in surprise; he had not seen so much of his wife’s leg in years.

  “Welcome to Syon House, Your Majesty,” said the Duchess, who was too overwhelmed by the presence of royalty at her ball to realise that her legs were being revealed to her guests. Victoria, who had noticed, took pity on her.

  “I am very glad to be here. And Duchess, what a charming costume. May I feel the material—is it silk?” Leaning across to stroke the pleated silk, she deftly arranged the folds of the skirt so that the Duchess’s legs were covered.

  “I had it woven in Venice, ma’am.”

  “It drapes so beautifully.”

  The Duchess smiled with pleasure and hoped that her archrival Lady Tavistock had seen the exchange; she was looking forward to recounting the conversation later. Emma Portman smiled at Lehzen. It was reassuring to see that their charge was capable of behaving with such tact, a quality that in Emma’s opinion could not be overrated.

  Before Victoria could take a step on the staircase that led down to the ballroom, Leopold was at her side. In his opinion, he was the only other reigning monarch present, the Grand Duke being merely the heir to the throne. Although Cumberland, as King of Hanover, might think he was entitled to the same privilege, Leopold wanted to assert his right to lead Victoria into the ball. He got there just in time, giving the Queen’s paternal uncle a little glance of triumph as he took Victoria’s hand to lead her into the dance.

  “You look very splendid, Victoria. I believe you are dressed as one of your regal predecessors.”

  “Elizabeth Tudor, the Virgin Queen.”

  Leopold winced slightly at Victoria’s emphasis, but she continued looking up at him with chilly blue eyes.

  “I think I have a lot to learn from Elizabeth. She did not allow herself to be controlled by anyone.”

  “Indeed. But I think I prefer you as Queen Victoria, my dear niece.”

  They continued to dance in silence, and then Leopold noticed the flowers pinned to Victoria’s bodice.

  “Such exotic blooms. I have not seen such a flower before.”

  “They are called orchids, Uncle. They come from the east, and are extremely difficult to grow.”

  Leopold looked at the flowers and then at his niece’s face, hearing something in her tone that troubled him. “But where did your orchids come from, Victoria? I do not think they came from the Orient.”

  “No, these orchids were grown in the glasshouses at Brocket Hall.” Victoria lo
oked around her uncle’s shoulder as if she was searching for someone.

  Leopold said nothing; he knew who his niece was looking for, but reassured himself that the letter he had sent that morning would address that situation.

  As the music came to a close, Leopold escorted Victoria off the dance floor, where she was immediately approached by the Grand Duke on the left and Prince George on the right. George, who felt that Lancelot would have enjoyed drinking champagne, was a little unsteady on his feet, but nonetheless managed to get to the Queen’s side first. “Cousin Victoria, or should I say Cousin Elizabeth! May I claim this dance?” He attempted a low and what he hoped was a chivalric bow.

  Before Victoria could answer, the Grand Duke was beside him, kissing Victoria’s outstretched hand. “May a Cossack dance with the Queen?”

  Victoria looked at her two suitors. She had no desire to dance with either of them, but the Grand Duke was definitely the lesser of two evils. George was clumsy at the best of times, and she thought that her feet would not survive the suit of armour.

  She pretended to consult her dance card and then she smiled at the two men. “I understand that Cossacks can be dangerous if thwarted, so I will dance with you first and then with you, Sir Galahad.”

  George looked sulky. “Actually I am Sir Lancelot.”

  Victoria did not hear him as she was swept onto the floor by the Grand Duke, who was even better at dancing than she remembered. He was just sending her into a complicated spin when out of the corner of her eye she saw the figure whose arrival she had been waiting for with a mixture of excitement and dread. Melbourne had come as an Elizabethan courtier, the Earl of Leicester, dressed in a doublet and hose. He knew that she was going to the ball dressed as Gloriana, so his choice of costume made her heart tighten. She stumbled a little, and the Grand Duke put out his hand to steady her.

  “Perhaps my Cossack ways are too rough for you.”