Lehzen replied shortly that they were.
‘And the Princess saved her money for it,’ went on Sir John. ‘That is quite admirable. I know how careful she is with her money. She is getting more and more like her Grandmamma Queen Charlotte. She was very careful with money.’
Victoria coloured hotly and pulled at Lehzen’s hand. I hate him, she thought. I wish he would go.
Like Queen Charlotte! Queen Charlotte was ugly; she was unattractive. Nobody had liked her. Although poor Aunt Sophia and Augusta never actually said so, one could tell when they talked of their Mamma that they had not really loved her.
‘Am I like Queen Charlotte?’ she demanded as they walked through the gardens.
‘Not in the least,’ comforted Lehzen.
‘He once said I was like the Duke of Gloucester.’
‘I do not think,’ said Lehzen in a chilly tone, ‘that we should take any notice of what that man says.’
Lehzen could not have told her more clearly that she disliked Sir John, and Victoria was comforted. If Lehzen disliked him, then she could do so and know that she was right to. Only Mamma did not dislike him. That was the odd thing. Mamma liked him in a strange sort of way.
But they were getting near to the shop and the thought of clasping the doll in her arms at last, of seeing it in the nursery with Queen Elizabeth and the rest drove from her mind such unpleasant thoughts as those conjured up by brooding on Mamma’s relationship with Sir John.
‘I have the money,’ she told the man in the shop and he was so pleased, not she was sure because he wanted to sell the doll but because he knew how pleased she was to have her.
She laid the money carefully on the counter and the doll was taken out of the window.
Would the Princess like it wrapped, or would she carry it?
Wrapped! She could not bear it to be wrapped. The doll was for her a living person. One did not wrap up people.
‘I will carry her,’ she said.
And the doll was laid in her arms and Lehzen touched its face lovingly and said it was a very fine doll indeed, and compared favourably with the Big Doll.
The man at the door opened it with a bow and Victoria holding the precious doll, smilingly happily, walked out. She was glad, she told Lehzen, that it had taken so long to save up the money because this made the doll more precious.
It was a good lesson learned, said Lehzen; and then Victoria was staring in horror at the beggar in the road. His clothes were so ragged that she could see the flesh of his poor thin legs and arms, which was blue with the cold. He looked hungry. Such sights affected her deeply. Louisa Lewis had told her how Princess Charlotte felt the same and used to give all the money she had to the poor people she met, going without what she wanted herself to do so.
And there was this poor man – cold and hungry and his eyes were on the plump little girl in her warm cloak and her pretty bonnet, holding in her arms the smiling beautifully dressed doll.
She said to the man: ‘You are hungry, I believe.’
He nodded.
‘Wait here a moment.’
‘Princess,’ said Lehzen, ‘what are you thinking of?’
But Victoria had gone into the shop. ‘Please,’ she said to the shopman, ‘may I have my six shillings? You may take the doll and put her back in the window, but please put the ticket Sold on her. I will start to save again for her but I must have my six shillings.’
Lehzen looked on smiling softly; and Victoria, taking the six shillings, went out of the shop and gave them to the beggar man.
* * *
‘It was a most affecting incident,’ said the Baroness Lehzen to the Baroness Späth.
‘I am sure it was. The dear sweet soul!’
‘And she needed no prompting.’
‘The people will love her. She has so much heart.’
‘That man sneered when he heard of it.’
‘He would. What a pity he has so much influence with the Duchess.’
The two Baronesses sighed.
‘He will have no influence with the Princess, of that I’m sure,’ said Lehzen. ‘She already begins to dislike him.’
‘Do you think she is aware …’
‘She is so innocent, but I believe she senses something.’
‘Prince Leopold dislikes him.’
‘Oh yes, there is discord there.’
They nodded and the Baroness Späth looked hopefully at the Baroness Lehzen hoping for confidences. But Lehzen, while recognising the trustworthiness of Späth and her great desire to serve Victoria, thought her something of a fool. She remembered how stupidly she had behaved over the affair of Feodora and Augustus d’Este. Foolishly romantic, that was Späth and Lehzen was far from that; and if they shared an antipathy towards that man who was trying to rule the household, that did not mean that Lehzen was prepared to take Späth into her confidence over other matters.
They talked for a while of Feodora who, Späth believed, was already pregnant.
‘How I should like to be with her,’ sighed Späth. ‘But alas that would mean leaving our darling Victoria.’
‘It had to be,’ said Lehzen. ‘The time had come for Feodora to marry.’ She looked at Späth severely … ‘How anyone could have imagined a marriage with that Augustus d’Este would have been desirable I cannot imagine.’
The Baroness Späth looked suitably discomfited and hinted at some duty she had to perform. She could not endure another lecture over her folly on that occasion. The Baroness Lehzen, knowing that Victoria was safely taking an arithmetic lesson with Mr Steward of Westminster School, went off to make sure that the new supply of caraway seeds which she used liberally on all her food, had arrived.
* * *
Something strange was going on. Victoria was aware of it. There were whispers which ceased when she appeared. It was something very shocking and she believed it concerned that bogy Uncle Cumberland. When someone had mentioned his name Mamma had visibly shuddered; and on another occasion when someone had said his name Lehzen had pursed her lips in the way which told Victoria she thought it unwise even to talk of him.
Wicked Uncle Cumberland was like the witch in a fairy story; the evil ogre, the bad fairy. She had seen him once or twice and he certainly looked frightening, with that dreadful face, and he was so tall and thin that he looked like a shadow. When she thought of Uncle King with his bulky body – like a feather bed she had thought it when she had sat on his knee – and his kind face with all the pouches and hanging chins, she had to admit that although he was King and therefore very important he did not frighten her in the least. But Uncle Cumberland … he was the wicked magician whom the good fairies had to be fighting all the time.
She had met George Cumberland and she had liked him very much. She was delighted to have cousins; and she was growing very fond of George Cambridge who was living with Aunt Adelaide now that he had come to England to be educated. He liked to tell her about his Mamma and Papa in Hanover and how he missed them and how they missed him. He was certain of this because his Mamma, the Duchess of Cambridge, was constantly writing and telling him so. He would be very unhappy, he assured Victoria, but for the fact that he had his Aunt Adelaide whom he loved so much that it really made up for being without his mother.
Victoria listened eagerly; she too loved Aunt Adelaide and, although she would not admit this to anyone, secretly thought what a pleasant Mamma she would make and how strange it was that she should not have children of her own.
So George Cumberland was quite different from his father; and she wished that she could ask her cousins what it was that people were whispering about. Bui Aunt Adelaide was at Bushy and she was not allowed to go to Bushy. There was some reason why she must not and she knew too that Uncle William was not very pleased about this.
What a lot she discovered; and yet she could not quite understand what it was that made so much shocking.
Suddenly she discovered this matter not only concerned Uncle Cumberland but also Aunt Sophia.
* *
*
The Princess Sophia kept to her apartments in the Palace. She wished to see no one. It was all so distressing.
Her sister Augusta called on her. Augusta was nine years older than Sophia and she was beginning to look her age, which was sixty.
She embraced Sophia compassionately. She did not blame her for this new scandal which was now being whispered in all the Clubs and in fact throughout the Court and the City of London. Augusta knew it was not true. ‘My dear Sophia!’
Augusta had become more reconciled to her position than her sisters. It had always been so. She had her music and this had absorbed her; her compositions were delightful and gave a great deal of pleasure to herself as well as others. Being a musician Augusta had not minded so much being kept in captivity as the others had. Nor did she seem to care that they were the only two who had not – however late in life – found husbands.
‘This is terrible for you, my dear,’ she said.
‘I am afraid to look at the papers,’ Sophia admitted. ‘And yet if I do not I imagine the worst.’
‘It is dreadful … dreadful.’
‘How could such a rumour have been spread?’
‘I believe it was whispered long ago. George’s wife started it, I’ve heard.’
‘What could Caroline have known about it?’
‘It wasn’t what she knew. It was what she made up.’
‘But she’s been dead nearly ten years.’
‘Rumours sometimes don’t die entirely and this is directed more against Cumberland than against you. He did himself a great deal of harm when he set loose stories of Victoria’s infirmity. Her mother soon proved them false and people began to ask why he should have done such a thing. To plot against an innocent child was a wicked thing to do. That’s why people think he is capable of anything.’
‘Even … incest,’ said Sophia.
‘Even incest.’
‘It’s so … stupid. General Garth is the boy’s father. You know it, Augusta.’
‘I know it. But many want to believe that Cumberland is his father.’
‘My own brother … the father of my child.’
‘That’s the story.’
‘It must be denied.’
‘How? Are you going to come forward and say that you, a royal Princess, thirty years ago gave birth to a child while you were living under the roof of your father, the King, and were unmarried? Are you going to tell the world how you became the mistress of General Garth and how we smuggled you out of the Palace to give birth to a child … a son … ?’
Sophia covered her face with her hands. ‘It’s all so long ago. Why need it be remembered now?’
‘Such things are never forgotten. To have a child …’ Augusta spoke almost wistfully … ‘I mean, there is the living evidence of one’s act.’
‘He is such a dear boy, Augusta. I live to see him.’
‘I know. I understand. And it is wanton wickedness to accuse you of incest. Even Cumberland is not guilty of that.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Nothing. They will get tired … in time.’
‘Oh, Augusta, sometimes I wish I’d died like Amelia. Darling Amelia, what a happy life she had.’
‘Happy. She was constantly in pain!’
‘But she had no worries. Papa adored her. It was her death which finally sent him mad, I believe. Oh, Augusta, think of us … living so quietly as we did at Kew … sitting there with Mamma, one of us reading while the others sewed, or looked after the dogs or saw that Mamma’s snuff-box was always full and at her elbow! It was all so incredibly dull … nothing happened we used to say. And this happened … and now here we are two old women and people are telling these lies about me.’
‘But our lives were not as they seemed, were they, Sophia? No one’s life ever is. There we were, as you say, sitting with Mamma, and all the time we were planning how to smuggle you away so that you might have your baby and no one know …’
‘I shall never forget that time,’ said Sophia, shivering with recollection. ‘It was so frightening … and so exciting. And now … even now … I wouldn’t have it different. Augusta play to me. Sing to me one of your songs.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘It would comfort me. It takes me back. Do you remember how Papa used to listen to your songs?’
‘Yes, as though I were a child who had done a good piece of work.’
‘He never believed anyone could write music but Handel. Oh, Augusta, how different everything might have been if Papa and Mamma had been different. The Princesses of the Royal Court. It sounds so wonderful, does it not? And how dull it was … how unbelievably dull. And yet …’
Augusta went to the harpsichord and began to play. Sophia picked up the purse she was netting.
Augusta was right. It would pass. It was just one of the scandals which were hurled now and then at the royal family.
But Cumberland! How revolting! As if it could have been anyone else but dear Colonel Garth – as he had been in those days. So tender, so loving, so devoted. She would remember the romance of her youth, forget the disgusting construction people were putting on it in their newspapers.
She would live in her quiet corner of Kensington Palace and perhaps it would be wise for the boy not to come for a while. And after that it would pass … perhaps. At least people would cease to talk of it.
* * *
‘It is time,’ said the Duchess of Kent to Sir John Conroy, ‘that we were given apartments away from Kensington Palace. Why should I be expected to live here with the Princess Sophia – and indeed these rumours shock me deeply – on one side and the Duke of Sussex on the other and we know how irregularly he is living with that Buggin woman. How he can possibly live with a woman with such a name, I cannot imagine. And under the same roof, I am expected to live with the heiress to the throne.’
‘My dear Duchess,’ said Sir John soothingly, ‘it is iniquitous, I grant you, but I doubt you would be wise to approach His Majesty at this juncture.’
‘His Majesty! A fine example he sets. He has insulted me twice. Once at Victoria’s christening and again at Feodora’s wedding.’
‘Let us do nothing to provoke a third occasion.’ Sir John’s mouth twisted into that expression which was half a smile, half a sneer and which so many women, including the Duchess, found devastatingly attractive.
‘At the earliest possible moment I shall demand recognition for Victoria.’
‘At the earliest possible moment,’ agreed Sir John.
‘Are you sure that I am right in not doing so now? This disgusting scandal …’
‘Serves us well,’ murmured Sir John. ‘Cumberland is in such ill repute that the nation would rise up in wrath if it were suggested that Victoria was sent to Windsor while he was there.’
The Duchess began to smile. ‘That’s true,’ she said.
‘So let us not rail against this new scandal which is to our advantage since it means protection for our Princess. I am always afraid that His Majesty might send a command that she be removed to Windsor.’
‘I should never have permitted it.’
‘I know. But it would have been difficult if the King had made it a command and the Parliament had agreed to it.’
‘I would have taken her out of the country.’
‘But Your Grace would realise how unwise that would be. It is imperative that our Princess remains in England. Heaven alone knows what plot Cumberland might hatch if she were not here.’
The Duchess laid a hand on his arm. ‘Oh dear, what should I do without you.’
He smiled tenderly. Indeed, she thought, I am relying on him even more than I do on Leopold. Leopold has changed lately. It is that Bauer woman. Who would have thought it of Leopold! And he is tiresome sometimes with all his imaginary ailments.
That was sacrilege of course. One did not criticise Leopold in the Saxe-Coburg family. All the same she did find herself relying more and more on Sir John.
‘You can
rely on me … for ever,’ he told her. He briskly changed the subject. ‘Our Princess misses her sister sadly. I was wondering if my own little Victoire might help to comfort her.’
‘I am sure she does,’ said the Duchess. His daughter was her godchild – Victoire named after herself and called Victoire so that she should not be confused in the household with Victoria.
‘But even more so,’ persisted Sir John. ‘Perhaps my daughter could share her dancing lessons.’
‘She must of course,’ said the Duchess.
Sir John was well pleased. The two old Baronesses would not be.
Two bundles of German rubbish, he thought. It was time they were neatly packed up and sent off to their native land.
* * *
No sooner had the scandal concerning Sophia’s child begun to die down than a fresh one arose. This too concerned Cumberland. It was well known that he was having a love affair with the wife of Lord Graves who was one of the King’s Lords of the Bedchamber.
As the sins of Cumberland had been so much in the public eye this was given more prominence than it would normally have had and Lord Graves declared that he did not believe his wife was being unfaithful to him.
A few days after he had made this announcement he was found in his bed with his throat cut.
He had died, was the report of the newspapers, because of the Duke of Cumberland. And how strange was the manner of his dying. Did their readers remember – it must be nearly twenty years ago – how the Duke’s valet had been found in his bed with his throat cut? It was a similar case.
The Duke’s valet had had a young and pretty wife; and if Lady Graves could scarcely be so described – she was well into her fifties – the Duke had been reputed to be her lover and he was no longer young.
It was very strange. What was the secret of Lord Graves’s death? What was the secret of the Duke’s valet? The Duke had been interested in their wives; they had both been discovered dead in their beds with their throats cut.
It was very, very strange.
The Captive of Kensington Palace Page 7