My eighteenth birthday was coming. In a short time I would reach my majority and become my own mistress, unless Mamma somehow managed to intervene and delay it for three more years. I watched Sir John carefully, knowing that he was still determined to take the post of my private secretary. I was equally determined that he would not.
Mamma must have realized that I would not surrender easily, and she asked my brother, Charles, to come to Kensington to argue in Sir John’s favor. I had never felt close to Charles, who was at school in Switzerland when I was born, and his recent visits had not made me feel any warmer toward him. Charles had a GREAT fondness for Sir John, and in my opinion anyone who championed John Conroy was to be viewed with deep suspicion.
Daisy and I discussed the situation endlessly. Like me, she did not look forward to Charles’s arrival. She knew that Sir John had expressed hatred for her, and as a result of his influence Mamma nursed a bitterness against her old friend. Charles would certainly hear all about it. Daisy’s own situation was precarious, but she was more concerned about me.
“Sir John sees a position as your private secretary as a way to establish his whole family at court,” she said. “He wants a place among your ladies for Miss Victoire Conroy, too.”
Miss Conroy as a lady-in-waiting? Unthinkable! The idea almost made me laugh.
“You must be prepared for the most awful pressure to be brought to bear on you,” Daisy warned. “I fear that Sir John will find ways to force you to bend to his will.”
“He will not succeed,” I said. “I promise you that, dear Daisy.”
But I really had no idea how my mother, my brother, and Sir John might conspire to force me. If only Uncle Leopold could help me! He was far away in Belgium, though he wrote encouragingly, “Be steady, my good child. Be not put out by anything.”
I would have to manage somehow on my own.
Soon after Charles’s arrival at Kensington he came to my rooms, full of smiles and good cheer. “May we have a word in private, dear sister?” he asked, with a slight nod indicating that I should dismiss Lehzen.
“The baroness can hear whatever you wish to say to me, dear brother,” I replied.
Charles frowned and waited, no doubt hoping Lehzen would excuse herself and leave of her own will. But I caught her eye and she stayed where she was.
“Very well then, Victoria,” Charles grumbled. “It has become my role to try to bring some sort of acceptance to this situation. I understand that there are tensions, resulting no doubt from misunderstandings. Let’s not complicate those tensions with unnecessary stubbornness.”
“I’m not being stubborn, Charles.”
“Surely you understand how it would damage your reputation among your future subjects if they thought that you and our mother had had a falling out.” He folded his arms and leaned close, his face only inches from mine. “The people want to see a warm feeling between mother and daughter. Ill feeling would surely upset them.”
“Ill feeling has not been caused by my words or deeds,” I told him firmly.
Charles heaved a deep sigh. “I am suggesting that if you were to accept John Conroy as your private secretary, the situation would right itself. Or, better yet, to recognize that you are indeed too young and inexperienced to rule. It would be for the good of the country, as well as for yourself, if you asked for an extended period in which a regency would be in effect until your twenty-first—”
“I will not consider such a thing,” I interrupted.
Charles tried again. “It has been suggested that you must be coerced into taking Conroy into your favor.”
“Coerce me!” I exploded. “Who dares to suggest such a thing? John Conroy has called me a termagant! Don’t believe what Mamma tells you about him! Our uncle Leopold refers to him as Mephistopheles.”
This was too much for my brother. “If you will not listen to reason, then the devil take you!” he shouted as he stormed out of my sitting room, slamming the door and leaving Daisy and me staring at each other.
The mood at Kensington did not improve. I would not speak to Mamma or to Charles. We received word that King William’s health had been failing. Later we learned that he was rallying. Then, a week before my birthday, I was summoned to my mother’s sitting room. Mamma and Sir John waited with Francis Conyngham, lord chamberlain and senior official of the king’s household. Lord Conyngham looked VERY ill at ease.
“Your highness,” he said, “I have a letter addressed to you from his majesty, King William.” He added with peculiar emphasis, “The king desires that it be handed to you and to no other.”
“Very well. I thank you, Lord Conyngham.” I glanced at Mamma and Sir John, wondering why they were here at all.
“Sir John Conroy insists that your mother be present when you read the letter,” the lord chamberlain explained uncomfortably, and handed me the letter.
I broke the seal. In a weak and unsteady hand King William wrote that he had asked Parliament to grant me the sum of ten thousand pounds a year for me to do with as I wished, commencing on the day I came of age. I would have the right to appoint my own keeper of the Privy Purse to oversee this considerable sum. In addition, I had the right to appoint the members of my own household.
This letter meant that in just seven days, the twenty-fourth of May, my eighteenth birthday, I would indeed be my own mistress, able to choose my own ladies and pick my own servants. I could barely suppress a smile.
“The letter, please, Victoria,” Mamma said, reaching for it.
I clutched the letter to my chest, shaking my head. Sir John took one menacing step toward me. “Give the letter to your mother, Victoria.”
Gritting my teeth and throwing Sir John a scornful look, I did as I was ordered.
Mamma’s face darkened as she read it. “This is an outrage!” she cried.
Sir John turned to the lord chamberlain, who waited stiffly. “Our thanks to you, Lord Conyngham, for delivering this letter to the princess. Kindly carry expressions of our gratitude to his majesty, King William.”
The lord chamberlain cast me a long and, I thought, sympathetic look, bowed, and left the room. The door had scarcely closed behind him before the battle began.
“I am utterly humiliated,” Mamma wailed. “The king obviously intends to insult me yet again, and he has succeeded. But I mean to tell you, Victoria, that it is not possible for you to be given such a sum of money for your own uses! You are not prepared to handle it discreetly—”
“I am to have a keeper of the Privy Purse to administer it, Mamma,” I said, struggling to control my temper. I wanted to lash out at her but felt that nothing would be gained. “The king offers Sir Benjamin Stephenson.” I extended my hand for the letter, in order to point it out.
“A thoroughly detestable man!” Mamma exclaimed, snatching the letter out of my reach.
Struggling to maintain calm, I suggested my tutor, Mr. Davys, for the post. “You could find no man more scrupulously honest than he.”
“Absolutely not,” Sir John cut in. “Out of the question.”
“Why not?” I demanded, too loudly. Whomever I suggested would receive the same response: no. My restraint was slipping away. “Perhaps you will allow me to consult with Lord Melbourne on the matter,” I said in one last attempt to bring reason to the table.
“The prime minister will doubtless go along with whatever King William wants,” Mamma raged.
The argument went on and on with no one willing to bend. Mamma’s fury increased, matched by what Sir John called my obstinacy—“A sign,” he claimed, “that you are simply a stubborn child unfit to rule or do anything on your own.”
I could endure no more. I was exhausted. It was the two of them against me. I fled to my room, too upset even to explain the reasons to dearest Daisy. I refused to go down to dinner and would not eat what Daisy brought up to me. I fell into bed very early and cried myself to sleep. I did not hear my mother come to her own bed, but woke during the night to the sounds of her to
ssing and turning and muttering to herself.
If I thought matters would improve, I was wrong. The next day I was summoned once more to my mother’s sitting room. At first I refused to go, but then thought better of it. I needed to find out what new devilishness Sir John had concocted and then persuaded my mother to agree to.
They had composed a letter to the king—Sir John’s ideas, taken down in my mother’s words and by her own hand, like a dutiful secretary—and they presented the letter to me. “It is my wish,” said my mother coldly, “that you copy this letter and sign it as though it were your own.”
I stared at her, scarcely believing what I heard. “You want me to put my signature on a letter that is not my own?” I had not yet read the letter, but I could guess at its content.
“It will be your own, Victoria, the moment you sign it. There is nothing here with which you should disagree. You are well aware that due to your youth and inexperience it is essential that you remain in my care for the next few years.”
There it was again: your youth and inexperience.
I read the words that my mother and Sir John had put forward as my own:
I wish to remain in every respect as I am now, in the care of my mother. In the matter of money, I should wish whatever sum your majesty deems advisable to be given to my dear mother, who always does everything I want in financial matters and will certainly put it to the best use for me.
“I will not sign it,” I said. “I disagree with nearly every word of it.”
“Of course you will sign it, my dear Victoria,” said Sir John smoothly.
Over the next hour, as I continued to refuse, Conroy wheedled, cajoled, ordered, and threatened. My mother wept crocodile tears as she reminded me that I owed her everything, everything, for the sacrifices she had made, for her endless devotion. In the midst of the heated argument, my brother, Charles, joined us. He sided with Mamma in reminding me how much she had done for me and with Sir John in berating me for my obduracy.
Now it was three against one.
Worn down at last, I gave in. I sat at my mother’s writing table, took the paper and pen Sir John provided, and copied the letter. I signed it, placed my seal on it, and rose. “I shall have nothing further to say to either of you,” I said curtly, tossing the pen aside. “Or to you, Charles,” I added, and stalked out of the room as Sir John was summoning a messenger.
For several days I heard nothing. I was true to my word and did not speak to my mother, to Sir John, or to my brother. I knew the king’s health was fragile and that he was mostly bedridden, but I was almost certain the king realized that, though the handwriting was mine, the words and the sentiments were not. Much later, I learned in conversations with Lord Melbourne, the prime minister, that the king had indeed recognized the truth. In an attempt at compromise, he had suggested dividing the sum and offering six thousand pounds to my mother and the balance to me. Mamma did not tell me about this, but refused the compromise. She wanted it all.
My eighteenth birthday arrived, the most important one yet: I had now legally come of age. The dear old king had arranged a birthday ball in my honor on the evening of the twenty-fourth of May. I looked forward to sitting beside him at St. James’s and having a private word with him, but that was not to be. He was too ill to attend and sent his best wishes. I realized that his time was indeed running out.
Crowds had gathered for a glimpse of me as I drove to the ball. Flowers and banners, one with my name spelled out in letters of ethereal blue, were displayed everywhere. I rode in the same carriage with Mamma and Daisy and my brother Charles’s wife, Mary, and had to smile and wave at the crowd as though nothing untoward had happened. I had not spoken a single word to Mamma since I signed the letter, and I still refused to speak to her, creating a VERY awkward situation. She rode with her eyes averted and a fixed smile as we passed through the streets of London, packed with people who had turned out to celebrate the birthday of their future queen. Their cheers quite touched me, and for a time I could forget the raging battle. Dearest Daisy squeezed my hand reassuringly.
The roar of the crowd still ringing in my ears, I entered St. James’s Palace as I had so many times before. My heart was heavy because the king could not be present, but I danced with many different partners and did enjoy myself enormously. Yet throughout the evening on what should have been a high point in my young life, I remained aware of John Conroy’s fierce, unwavering gaze fixed upon me.
PART II
THE QUEEN
Chapter 20
THE QUEEN, 1837
Being my own mistress brought me a measure of welcome independence. Though I felt keenly the unending pressure from Mamma and Sir John, I began to try my hand at exercising the rights belonging to an independent person. One of my first decisions was to dismiss the duchess of Northumberland. Lady Charlotte was a kind and pleasant woman and she had often been helpful to me, but I no longer required a governess. Appointing her had not been my idea; it was Mamma’s and Sir John’s. I composed a letter to the duchess, expressing gratitude for her punctual attendance even when it was at great inconvenience to herself.
Good-bye, dear duchess!
I sent a message to dear little Maggie asking her to come back, which she did gladly. I rejoiced to have Maggie in my service again, and she rejoiced to be with me, though we did not exchange confidences as we once had. Our lives had changed a great deal: Maggie had married her Simon and had an infant son, cared for by her sister, and I awoke every morning knowing that very soon I would become queen.
A few days after my birthday, I received a letter from Uncle Leopold, who wrote that he was sending Baron Stockmar, his trusted friend and confidant of many years, to Kensington to try to bring about an armistice between the warring parties. This was the same Baron Stockmar who was with my dear cousin Albert, now studying at the university in Germany.
It had been a year since Albert had visited Kensington with his brother and father, a year since Uncle Leopold had spoken to me seriously about a future marriage. In the beginning I had thought often of dear Albert, but, as the months passed, I thought of him less and less frequently. There were too many other matters to occupy my mind. I was more concerned with the problems Stockmar had to address at Kensington Palace.
Baron Stockmar was short, round, and altogether pleasant, and I took an immediate liking to him. If it was not possible to have my uncle himself at my side, I was grateful for his good friend’s assistance. Soon after his arrival, the baron suggested that we go for a drive while we discussed the issues. We rode through the countryside in a light rain.
“The main problem,” I told him, “is that Sir John Conroy demands an appointment as my private secretary. If not that, then as keeper of the Privy Purse, in charge of my money. I detest the man, and I’ve refused to promise him anything.”
“This distresses your mother,” the baron observed.
“It does, and she subjects me to constant harangues in an attempt to persuade me. She tells me and anyone else who will listen, ‘I gave up my home and my kindred to devote myself to my daughter, the future queen.’ It’s her favorite speech. When that fails to move me, she calls on my brother, Charles, to press me. Conroy himself never quits his attempts to intimidate me.”
Stockmar listened sympathetically as I passionately described Sir John’s insulting conduct, adding, “Mamma allows him to bully me and does nothing to interfere. She’s docile as a lamb in his presence and does everything he wants. They plague me every hour of every day.”
I showed the baron my mother’s most recent letter. She still resorted to sending me hectoring letters, even more frequently now that I refused to speak to her. Baron Stockmar produced a pair of folding spectacles dangling at the end of a satin ribbon, perched them on his nose, and read:
You are still quite young, though you believe otherwise. Remember that all of your successes have been due to your mother’s reputation, not to your own talents. Do not be overconfident of your abilities, my
dear Victoria.
The baron returned the letter, shaking his head. “I find it difficult to comprehend that the duchess clings to such a notion.”
“Sir John has convinced my mother that I am immature— ‘younger in intellect than in years,’ he tells people—and that I would never be able to govern without a strong private secretary, meaning himself. My brother, Charles, agrees with him, as he agrees with everything Conroy says. I’ve told Charles it’s none of his affair. Uncle Leopold believes that Charles is a spy. He says it would be prudent of me to ask my brother to leave England.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to assist your highness, and I’ll speak to the parties involved here to try to smooth the dissensions. But please understand that I have no real power. I cannot order them to do anything.”
“I know.” I sighed, and sank back against the leather seat. “I don’t really want to have to banish my brother.”
Baron Stockmar folded his spectacles and replaced them in his pocket. “The best I can offer is to advise you to stay the course, my dear princess, to hold out against those who would try to bend your will. Perhaps it won’t be necessary to send Prince Charles away.”
We drove on in silence. The rain was coming down harder, and I gave the coachman the order to turn back.
Stockmar continued, “I have spoken with the king’s eldest son, George FitzClarence”—one of les bâtards—“who assures me that, though the king is weak, he is in no immediate danger. We all realize that his days upon this earth are numbered. I believe you will not have to endure this dreadful situation much longer.”
We returned to the palace, where the baron was treated coolly by my mother and her ladies and, of course, by Conroy. Each day I awoke knowing that Mamma and Sir John had probably come up with another scheme to force me to do their will, and until the moment I became queen, Mamma and Sir John would continue their efforts to secure him a powerful position. I was determined not to grant John Conroy any position whatsoever. But had it not been for Stockmar’s steadying hand during this prolonged nightmare, I would no doubt have broken.
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