The Captive of Kensington Palace

by Виктория Холт

  ‘Mind you,’ said the King, ‘I don’t care for too much ceremony, I don’t want any Bishops kissing me, and I think that we don’t want to spend too much money on the business.’

  ‘If it is going to please the people it should be done in appropriate style, Sir.’

  ‘I’ll not have money wasted,’ said the King.

  The people were of course delighted at the prospect of a coronation. The disgruntled Tories said that it was a great mistake to try to economise on this, and they would not wish to attend a coronation which was tawdry and over which there had been obvious economy.

  ‘All right, all right,’ said the King. ‘And what do they propose to do about it?’

  Wellington told him that his colleagues would not attend unless a required amount of money was lavished on the necessary details.

  ‘By God,’ cried the King. ‘So they’ll stay away, eh? That’s good news. It’ll avoid the crush.’

  There was no way of making a King of William.

  Then came trouble from the Duchess of Kent.

  She wrote to the King to say that she was delighted to hear he had at last agreed to be crowned. He would, of course, wish Victoria to take her rightful place immediately behind him.

  When William received this letter he was furious. He went into Adelaide’s sanctum where she was enjoying a pleasant tête-à-tête with Earl Howe.

  ‘That woman!’ he cried. ‘That damned woman!’

  ‘Is it the Duchess of Kent?’ asked Adelaide.

  ‘Is it the Duchess of Kent! Of course it is that damned irritating woman.’

  ‘What is the trouble now?’ asked Adelaide.

  ‘She’s giving me instructions about the coronation. Her daughter is to walk immediately behind me, to show everyone that she is second only to the King. Did you ever hear such … such … impertinence.’

  ‘William, my dear, I beg of you to sit down,’ said the Queen. ‘The Duchess is merely being her tiresome self.’

  ‘And if she thinks I’m going to have that … that chit …’

  ‘She is only a child. She should not be blamed.’

  ‘I don’t blame her. Nice little thing. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let her mother poke her interfering finger into royal affairs. Certainly not, I say. Certainly she shall not walk immediately behind me. Every brother and sister of mine – and I’m not exactly short of them – shall take precedence over Victoria.’

  ‘Is that right …’ began Adelaide. ‘I mean is that the way to treat the heiress presumptive to the throne?’

  ‘It’s the way I am treating her,’ said the King. His lips were stubborn. ‘That child will come to the coronation and walk where she is told.’

  * * *

  ‘Oh, it is monstrous!’ cried the Duchess. ‘If I were not so angry I should faint with fury.’

  ‘Pray do not do that,’ said Sir John. ‘We need all our wits to deal with this situation.’

  ‘Victoria shall not be exposed to indignity, which she would be if she followed those stupid old aunts and uncles of hers.’

  ‘She must not do it.’

  ‘Then how … ?’

  Sir John smiled, delighted that once again the Duchess was at loggerheads with her family. The more isolated she was, the more power for Sir John. As it was he was almost constantly in her company; his home was Kensington Palace, and to give respectability to the situation, Lady Conroy and the children were there also. His daughters Jane and Victoire were the companions of the Princess Victoria and he endeavoured to arrange that she saw as little as possible of the young people of her own family. The fact that the King had said she must make more public appearances had worried him; he had had visions of Victoria’s affection for the Queen – which was already considerable – being a real stumbling block. So he welcomed controversies such as this and encouraged the Duchess in her truculent attitude.

  ‘If the King will not give her her rightful place,’ said Sir John, ‘she must refuse to attend the coronation.’

  ‘The heiress to the throne not present at the coronation!’

  ‘If it is regrettably necessary, yes. The people will notice her absence and they will blame the King for it. Moreover, the King wishes Victoria to be under the charge of his sisters and not to walk with you, which is significant.’

  ‘Significant,’ cried the Duchess.

  ‘It means that on this important occasion he is taking your daughter from your care. Don’t you see what meaning people will attach to this?’

  ‘I do indeed and my mind is made up. Victoria shall not attend the coronation.’

  ‘I should write and tell His Majesty that you believe you should stay in the Isle of Wight as to leave it now might be detrimental to your daughter’s health.’

  The Duchess nodded sagely.

  ‘This will show the old fool,’ she said.

  * * *

  ‘Let her stay away,’ growled the King. ‘I tell you this, Adelaide: my great hope is that I live long enough to prevent that woman ever becoming Regent.’

  ‘Of course you will. There are many years left to you.’

  William’s eyes glinted. ‘God help the country if she was ever Regent. I’m going to live long enough to see Victoria stand alone.’

  ‘You will if you take care of yourself.’

  He smiled at her, his eyes glazed with sudden sentiment. ‘You’re a good woman, Adelaide. I’m glad I was able to make a Queen of you.’

  ‘It’s enough that you are a very good husband to me.’

  William was pleased. Momentarily he had forgotten that maddening sister-in-law of his.

  * * *

  It was not a very bright September morning but the crowds were already lining the streets. They chatted about the odd but not unlovable ways of the King; some murmured a little about the Queen – why must we always bring these German women into the country? – but after all it was Coronation Day and the Reform Bill had passed through the Commons and better times they believed lay ahead, so for this day they were prepared to forget their grievances.

  When the King and Queen drove past on the way to Westminster Abbey a cheer went up for them. William wore his Admiral’s uniform and looked exactly like a weatherbeaten sailor which amused the crowd; and the Queen looked almost beautiful in gold gauze over white satin.

  ‘Good old William,’ the cry went up, and although no one cheered Adelaide there were no hostile shouts.

  But where was the Princess Victoria? One of the most delightful sights at such functions was usually provided by the children and the little heiress to the throne was very popular. Her absence was immediately noticed and whispered about.

  ‘They say that the Duchess and the King hate each other.’

  ‘They say the Duchess won’t bring Victoria to Court because she is afraid of Cumberland.’

  Rumours multiplied; there were always quarrels in the royal family.

  Meanwhile the King and Queen had reached the Abbey and the Archbishop was presiding over the ceremony of crowning them. William who looked upon all such occasions as ‘stuff’ showed his impatience with the ceremony and so robbed it of much of its dignity; but Adelaide behaved with charming grace and many present commented on the fact that although she might not be the most beautiful of Queens she was kindly, gracious and peace-loving.

  During the ceremony the rain pelted down and the wind howled along the river; however, when the royal pair emerged the rain stopped and the sun shone, so they were able to ride back in comfort through the streets to St James’s.

  The people cheered. He was not such a bad old King, they decided, and if he was ready to put up with his spotted wife they would too.

  William was grumbling all the way back about Victoria’s absence. It had been noticed; it had been commented on.

  ‘It’s time,’ he said, ‘that someone taught that woman a lesson.’

  * * *

  Soon after the coronation Adelaide went to Brighton with her niece Louise of Saxe-Weimar, the d
aughter of her sister Ida, for whom the Queen had very special love among her family of other people’s children because Louise was a cripple. Adelaide had had this child in her care for most of her life and this made her seem like her own daughter, just as George Cambridge was like her own son.

  But Louise was growing weaker as the years passed and this saddened her. Louise’s mother was now paying a visit to England and to her Adelaide was able to talk of her anxieties – the state to which the country had been reduced and her fears (quoting Earl Howe) that if this dreaded Reform Bill was passed it would be the beginning of the end for the Monarchy.

  Ida listened sympathetically and admitted that she was glad to be the wife of a man who was not the ruler of a great country. She was not rich and not really very important but she would not wish for Adelaide’s anxieties.

  ‘I had the Crown and was barren,’ said Adelaide. ‘But I have been happier than I would have believed I could possibly be … without children.’

  ‘You have other people’s,’ said Ida. ‘And how is the little girl at Kensington?’

  ‘We scarcely ever see her although William has expressly told her mother that as heiress to the throne she must appear with him in public’

  ‘The Saxe-Coburgs give themselves such airs. Though why they should, I can’t imagine. There was all that scandal about Louise of Saxe-Coburg. They kept very quiet about that. And I believe they are hoping that Victoria will marry one of the two boys – Ernest or Albert.’

  ‘William has decided that she shall have George Cambridge. He is already rather taken with her.’

  ‘He’s a diplomat already, then.’

  ‘I don’t think he thinks of her position so much. She is not without charm, you know. Such a dignified young lady. I declare that it is not right that she should be shut away there in Kensington and scarcely ever allowed any fun.’

  ‘Oh, that Saxe-Coburg woman!’

  ‘She really is trying and William is becoming incensed at the very mention of her name.’

  ‘I dare say the Cumberlands are hoping that their George will win the prize.’

  Adelaide laughed. ‘He is a delightful boy, too. It surprises me that …’ She stopped. She had rarely been heard to make a malicious comment even about her enemies.

  ‘Surprise you that such parents could have such a son?’ said the forthright Ida.

  ‘Well, it is a little odd. And he is a charming boy. Of course if Victoria loved him I daresay there would be no objection; but we are hoping it will be his cousin.’

  ‘Your special protégé. Oh, Adelaide, how long ago it seems when we were together in Saxe-Meiningen wondering what would happen to us and who our husbands would be.’

  ‘And when the Duke of Saxe-Weimar came riding to the castle to seek his bride who was supposed to be the elder sister no one was very surprised – certainly not that elder sister – that he chose the younger.’

  ‘You were always the sweetest and most modest of sisters. The Duke of Saxe-Weimar was stupid. He would have been so much wiser to have chosen you.’

  At which Adelaide laughed and began to talk of the baths which she thought might be beneficial for Louise. She would take her to them the next day.

  ‘I believe,’ said Ida, ‘that if I wanted to take her back with me you would refuse to let me do so.’

  ‘I would have Louise choose where she wishes to be.’

  ‘And you know where that is,’ laughed Ida.

  It was true that Adelaide knew, and she could not help being pleased. She was born to be a mother, for her fiercest inclination was to care for children. How happy she would have been with a nursery full of them. Instead of which she had had to make do with a family of stepchildren, all of whom were now proving to be rather ungrateful. But she did have William’s grandchildren and like all young people they were devoted to her. In addition there was George Cambridge and Louise … and George Cumberland too who was constantly visiting her – and it would have been the same with Victoria if the Duchess had permitted it.

  She smiled thinking of them. They took her mind off other matters; and this was a few days respite in Brighton with her dear sister, when they could talk of the days of their youth during which they had been so happy together.

  It took her away from the stark reality of the uneasy days through which they were living. Revolution was a fact on the Continent and a possibility in England. Her dreams were haunted by memories of riding through the streets in her carriage and the faces of the mob leering in at her. She dreamed of the mud spattering the windows, of the stones that broke the glass. She heard their comments: ‘Go back to Germany, dowdy hausfrau.’ She knew that they called her the ‘frow’; and they whispered unpleasant things about her and Earl Howe.

  She must enjoy these days in Brighton before returning to London where everyone would be thinking of and talking about that Reform Bill.

  * * *

  London was seething with rage. Although a strong majority had passed the Bill through the Commons, the Lords rejected it by a majority of forty-one.

  Earl Grey came to see William.

  ‘If the Bill is not passed, Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘there will be a revolution.’

  ‘Bills have to pass through the Commons and the Lords and receive my signature before they become law.’

  ‘This one must become law,’ insisted Grey.

  ‘And how do you propose it should?’

  ‘Your Majesty must create new peers who will support it.’

  ‘I’ll be damned if I will,’ said the King. ‘I’m against that measure in any case. They’ll have to forget about reform.’

  ‘That is something I fear they will never do, Sir. The people are intent on reform and reform they’ll have.’

  ‘But if the Bill is thrown out …’

  ‘By the Lords, Sir? The Commons have passed it. Something will have to be done, and I think it would be wise if Earl Howe were dismissed from his post of Chamberlain to the Queen.’

  ‘Howe dismissed? The Queen will never hear of it.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Sir, perhaps she should be persuaded to relinquish him.’

  ‘Why so? Why so?’

  ‘He voted against the Bill.’

  ‘So did many others. A majority of others voted against it.’

  ‘But owing to Earl Howe’s position in the Queen’s household and the fact that he is on friendly terms with … er … Your Majesties …’

  William was obtuse. He did not understand the reference.

  Earl Grey saw that it was no use pursuing it and went back to report to his Cabinet that he had made no progress with the King.

  * * *

  Earl Grey discussed the King’s obstinacy with his fellow-ministers.

  ‘He refuses to see the implications about Howe. He refuses to create new peers. If the Lords are adamant the Bill will be thrown out. I have to make them see that this will mean revolution.’

  The Cabinet insisted on the dismissal of Howe. Secrets which Grey discussed with the King were leaking out to the Tories; Howe was an ardent Tory and a sworn enemy of the Bill. The likeliest leakage would come through the Queen and as the Queen was on such terms of … er … intimacy with Earl Howe and the King was notoriously outspoken and completely lacked finesse, it seemed that Howe was the informer. No sooner had Grey discussed some matter with the King than Wellington was aware of it. The dribble of information into the opposite camp must be stemmed – and the dismissal of Howe would bring this about.

  It was not difficult to work up public feeling against Earl Howe. The Queen was already loathed because she was blamed for persuading William against Reform. There were scurrilous paragraphs in the press about her. There had been criticisms for some time of her ‘spotted Majesty’, an unkind reference to her blotchy complexion; she had been accused both of dowdiness and extravagance; of Machiavellian craft and crass stupidity. But now there was Earl Howe.

  There were cartoons of the Queen in the arms of her Chamberlain. In one the
y were embracing behind William’s back. In another they were kissing and a balloon coming from the Queen’s mouth enclosed the words, ‘Come this way, Silly Billy.’

  There would be riots soon if something was not done. Grey decided something must be done and quickly; and if the King would not dismiss Howe, then Howe must resign.

  He sent for Howe. He bade him be seated at his table across which he passed the cuttings from the newspapers.

  ‘You will see, my lord,’ said Earl Grey, ‘that it is imperative for you to resign from the Queen’s service without delay.’

  * * *

  Adelaide, returned from a ride, was about to change her costume when she received an urgent message from Earl Howe. When she said she would see him later, the messenger returned immediately and said that as the matter was of the utmost importance would she please see him at once.

  Somewhat agitated she received him.

  ‘Something terrible has happened,’ she said. ‘Tell me quickly.’

  He told her. ‘And I have come to return my keys to you.’

  ‘I shall not accept your resignation.’

  He smiled at her affectionately. ‘The Prime Minister has made it very clear that I must go.’

  ‘But the Prime Minister does not manage my household.’

  ‘Your Majesty will see that in the circumstances I must resign. You, more than the King, are aware of what is going on in the streets. At times like this the people look for a scapegoat.’

  ‘And they have chosen you.’

  ‘If they had I should not be so alarmed. I would refuse to resign. I believe they have chosen Your Majesty.’

  She stared at him in horror.

  ‘And for that reason,’ he said, ‘there have been many disgusting cartoons.’

  She understood.

  ‘But to insist on your resignation … it is an insult.’

  ‘It is one we must accept. It is necessary for your safety. That is why I must insist on handing you the keys.’