The Captive of Kensington Palace

by Виктория Холт

  So with Dash always at her heels or lying curled up on her lap and with her dear horse Rosy whom she herself fed and loved to exercise, she was happy. Moreover, now that she was growing up and the King had said he wished her to appear in public she was visiting the opera and the ballet quite frequently. She and the Duchess would be accompanied by Sir John – and Lady Conroy often came with Victoire and Jane and Lady Flora Hastings and others of the household. How Victoria loved to go to the theatre. It was so enchanting, she told Lady Flora, when the curtain rose on the colourful scene and those clever performers came on to the stage.

  In the Journal she wrote long accounts of what she had seen, describing the dresses and performances in detail to show to the Duchess who demanded to see the Journal every now and then without warning, so that it was necessary to keep it up to date.

  Then there was her sketching. She was really rather good at it, and she loved to sketch people most of all. She had done a beautiful one of Lehzen which her art master said showed great promise.

  The days passed quickly, with lessons which were becoming more and more interesting and Rosy to exercise and look after because she did not care to leave dear Rosy to anyone else and with Dash always ready for a game. There was dear Uncle Leopold to write to; his letters came regularly to her and she was longing to meet her dear new Aunt Louise. ‘I love her already,’ she wrote.

  Sometimes when they went to the opera they arrived back at Kensington Palace quite late. It always amused her to write in her Journal that she did not get to bed until midnight. That made her feel very grown up.

  ‘Nearly fourteen,’ she whispered to Dash. ‘That will be a turning point.’

  The Duchess came into the schoolroom to find Victoria on the floor playing with Dash. The Duchess smiled tolerantly.

  ‘He is such a dear little dog.’

  ‘Oh, Mamma, he is the best dog in the world.’

  Ordinarily the Duchess would have warned her about exaggeration; but this time she said: ‘I really do believe he is.’ She smirked slightly. ‘We are to be honoured. Their Majesties are dining with us.’

  ‘Oh!’ Victoria’s face was bright with pleasure. ‘That will be lovely, Mamma. When …’

  ‘Next Wednesday, but you will not be there, my child. I hardly think you have reached the age to be present at a dinner party.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Now there is no need to be sullen. It will come all in good time.’

  ‘Yes, Mamma.’

  ‘I think, though, that you may meet the company afterwards.’

  Victoria was silent. ‘Still sullen?’ asked the Duchess.

  ‘No, Mamma. I was thinking that very soon I shall be old enough to have my own dinner parties. Then I shall be quite grown up. It is really only four years.’

  Only four years! thought the Duchess uneasily. She must be made to see that even when she was eighteen she would need guidance.

  She would speak to Sir John about the change in Victoria’s attitude lately.

  * * *

  A very unpleasant rumour was going round the Court. The King with his usual bonhomie had been unbecomingly jocular with one of the Queen’s ladies and when she went home to spend a few weeks with her family it was said that she had gone away to have the King’s child.

  When this reached Adelaide’s ears she was angry because she knew that there was no truth in this statement. With all his shortcomings William was a faithful husband and although his attitude towards the ladies of the Court was at times flirtatious, he had never broken his marriage vows.

  She immediately commanded the young woman to return to Court and when she came it was clear she could not possibly have had a child, so the story was shown to be an absurd lie and Adelaide made a point of having the girl constantly in attendance on her in case the rumour should start up again. By acting promptly she settled that matter; but it depressed her to consider how easily rumours could start and she realised that she must be constantly on the alert. She was conscious that there were forces at work to discredit William; and she knew that the Duke of Cumberland was one of the chief movers in these schemes, and although this did not change her attitude towards Frederica and the poor afflicted George, she was determined to be wary.

  She developed a cough which she could not shake off and on the night of the dinner party at Kensington Palace she felt feverish and really ill. Had she been going somewhere other than the apartments of the Duchess of Kent she felt she might have been equal to the occasion, but when she considered the possibility of conflict between the King and his sister-in-law she felt too weak to deal with them.

  She was lying on her bed when the King came in to see how she was.

  ‘You look sick, Adelaide,’ he said anxiously.

  ‘I am just a little tired,’ she answered. ‘I don’t feel well enough to go to Kensington.’

  ‘Then we’ll not go.’

  ‘William, you must go. The Duchess would take it as a personal insult if you did not.’

  ‘Let her. It’s time she was insulted.’

  ‘But, William, it would not be good.’

  ‘It would do her the world of good. The insolent old bitch.’

  ‘William.’

  ‘Rough sailor’s talk, my dear. You should be used to that by now.’

  ‘William, I beg of you to go tonight. You sometimes forget that you are the King.’

  That was the right note. He liked to be reminded of his kingship.

  ‘If you don’t honour the company with your presence it will be the talk of the town, for everyone knows of your feelings towards the Duchess. Go, and try not to be irritated by her. Those miserable papers exaggerate everything. I should like to hear how Victoria is getting on.’

  ‘That child should be seen with us. The people expect it.’

  ‘Therefore it is wise to have friendly relations between us all.’

  ‘You’re asking for a miracle.’

  ‘Kings often make miracles.’

  He was in a good temper. ‘Very well, I’ll go. But you shall stay here and rest. I’ll not have you running any risks with that fever.’

  * * *

  The Duchess was excited. This was going to be one of the grandest parties she had ever given.

  ‘And to think,’ she said to Sir John, ‘that our guest of honour is that old buffoon.’

  Sir John reminded his dear Duchess that the old buffoon was at least the King.

  ‘I am sure,’ said Sir John, ‘that the evening will be a successful one, for with your usual wisdom you will hold your feelings in check and not allow His Majesty to irritate you.’

  ‘I shall have my eyes on Cumberland. He is the one I have always feared. I despise William, but Cumberland has often alarmed me. You know how he set rumours in progress concerning Victoria’s health. I’m sure he meant to murder her.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll have to be watchful of Cumberland. The fact that his Duchess has become more gentle lately and the boy is going blind doesn’t change him.’

  ‘Indeed no. But how could he hope for his son to marry Victoria now? That has been a lesson to him.’

  The Duchess raised her eyes piously as though thanking God for the lesson which the Cumberlands had had to learn through the affliction of their son. Victoria was not for George Cumberland. How could she marry a blind man? And she was not for George Cambridge either. The Duchess had her eyes on her own relations in dear Saxe-Coburg.

  ‘And I think,’ she said, ‘that Victoria may come down to meet the company after dinner.’

  ‘Have you made this clear to her?’

  ‘I have. She is just a little … sullen. I am growing more and more of the opinion that the older she grows the more correction she may need.’

  Sir John replied that this was the case with most people; but the Duchess need have no fear. Between them they would show their beloved Princess which way she should go.

  * * *

  To dine with Lehzen simply in her own room was certainly r
ather annoying when there was such a dinner party going on in the large saloon.

  ‘Lehzen,’ she said, ‘how I should love to be there sitting beside Uncle William. He is really a very nice old uncle and the Queen is always so kind to me.’

  ‘In time you will be giving dinner parties of your own.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. That will be the greatest fun. I shall decide who the guests will be. Suppose this were my dinner party it would be a little different, I do assure you. I should have the King and dear Aunt Adelaide and George Cambridge and poor, poor George Cumberland. Oh, Lehzen, I could weep to think of him. I suppose I should have to have Victoire and Jane Conroy. Have you noticed, Lehzen, how they are always everywhere?’

  ‘I have noticed,’ said Lehzen primly.

  ‘I shall not have so many Conroys round me when I have my say – although the little boys are sweet. I quite like Edward, Stephen and Henry – and I suppose I am so used to Victoire and Jane that I don’t notice them. They really do seem like members of my own family. You must admit that, Lehzen.’

  Lehzen did admit it, in a somewhat aggrieved way which Victoria was quick to note.

  ‘Oh, listen. The guests are arriving. Be quiet, Dashy. Dear, sweet, darling Dashy, he wants to protect me. There is no need really. It is only Mamma’s guests.’

  ‘Perhaps he has his reasons for barking at them,’ said Lehzen obscurely. ‘I hear the Duke of Cumberland is to be of the company tonight.’

  ‘Uncle Ernest is really rather frightening I admit,’ said Victoria with a happy shiver. ‘It is because he has lost an eye, although it was lost most nobly, Lehzen, and he should therefore be honoured for it. Eyes! Is it not strange Lehzen that poor George has hurt his eyes when his Papa lost one of his at the battle of Tournay?’

  Lehzen said it was not for them to question the ways of God.

  ‘But we are surely allowed to comment on the strangeness of them,’ said Victoria sternly.

  Lady Flora Hastings had come in. The Duchess wished the Princess to join the company after dinner. So Baroness Lehzen was to prepare her.

  ‘So I am to be part of the ceremony after all. Hurry, Lehzen. What shall I wear, Flora? Which dress do you think is most suitable for me to wear to meet the King and Queen?’

  ‘The Queen is not there,’ said Lady Flora. ‘She is indisposed.’

  ‘Oh, poor, poor Aunt Adelaide. She was the one I most wanted to see. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was about poor Louise and to ask her if there is any news of George Cumberland. And I was hoping too that she might ask me to one of her parties. Since she had come to one of ours, Mamma could hardly refuse to let me go, could she?’

  ‘Come,’ said Lehzen. ‘I’ll dress your hair. I think the King likes ringlets.’

  ‘Tell me who are present,’ said Victoria while her hair was being dressed. ‘I must have a list of the guests for my Journal.’

  ‘All the nobility,’ said Flora, ‘including the Archbishop of Canterbury.’

  ‘I shall discover for myself,’ said Victoria, ‘when I go to the saloon. Then I shall be able to list them in my Journal. I daresay I shall stay up late tonight.’

  How pleasant it was in the saloon with the band of the Grenadier Guards playing stirring tunes.

  All eyes were on Victoria. She knew some of the guests – the Earl of Liverpool, for instance, and the Earl and Countess Grey, and the Dukes of Norfolk and Devonshire.

  And there was the King, old, with a very red face, looking less like a King than any of the others so it was well that she knew him, for she would never have believed he was the Sovereign otherwise.

  His eyes were soft as she curtsied before him. She looked very young and fresh with her hair in ringlets and the wide blue sash on her white silk dress.

  ‘Well, my dear,’ said the King, taking her hand and pulling her towards him, ‘you’re a pretty sight.’ And he kissed her in a very unkingly fashion. ‘Now, you sit here beside your Uncle William and tell him what you’ve been up to.’

  What expressions he used! She was sure Mamma would be very shocked; but she did not care. She liked Uncle William.

  ‘I am so sorry, Your Majesty,’ she said ‘that the Queen is unable to be present.’

  ‘I had to stop her coming. She was looking peaky. So she’s tucked up safe in bed.’

  ‘I do hope, Sir, that she is not really ill.’

  ‘Now, I’m your Uncle William, my dear. That’s what I like you to call me.’

  She laughed. ‘I like it too, Uncle William.’

  ‘Then we’ll please ourselves, eh? We won’t bother ourselves with what the company expects.’

  What a strange King! But very agreeable, she decided.

  ‘That will be very interesting, Uncle William.’

  ‘Now, your Aunt Adelaide wants to know why we never see you. She’s always saying: “Victoria should be here”.’

  ‘Oh, Uncle William, how I should love to come and see Aunt Adelaide. The Georges – it’s what I call my two cousins – say that she gives the loveliest parties.’

  ‘And you should be there, my dear, and you shall.’ The King had raised his voice and Victoria noticed that Sir John – who naturally was there – looked alarmed.

  Victoria whispered: ‘Do tell Aunt Adelaide that I should love to come.’

  The King entered into the conspiratorial mood and whispered back: I’ll tell you something. Your Aunt is planning a grand ball to celebrate your next birthday.’

  ‘And shall I be there?’

  The King laughed aloud. ‘No good having a ball if the guest of honour is not present.’

  ‘So I’m to be the guest of honour. Oh, dear Uncle William.’

  ‘Well, you’re a good girl. Not your fault … though you did give me some black looks, I remember.’

  ‘Oh, dear Uncle William, I did not mean them to be black.’

  ‘Knew you didn’t. It was that …’

  She waited for the King to go on but he did not. Instead of which he took her hand and patted it. He was so friendly that she told him about Dash.

  ‘He was really given to Mamma by Sir John.’ The King’s eyes narrowed. Oh dear, thought Victoria, he does not like Sir John. She went on quickly: ‘But he seems to have become my dog.’

  ‘Don’t blame him,’ said the King. ‘Don’t blame him at all. Sensible little dog.’

  ‘He is the most sensible little dog in the world, Uncle. But perhaps I shouldn’t say that because I have not really known all the dogs in the world, have I? But he is the most sensible dog I have ever known. The other evening after dinner I dressed him in a red jacket and blue trousers. He looked so sweet. He did not mind in the least.’

  ‘Sensible little dog for a sensible little girl.’

  The Duchess of Kent had come forward.

  ‘Now, Victoria, you must not tire His Majesty with your childish chatter.’

  ‘The Princess’s chatter does not tire me, Madam,’ said the King, ‘as much as that of some other people.’

  The Duchess laughed – not very pleasantly, thought Victoria, who knew that laugh well, but, she hoped, perhaps the King did not. However, even Mamma could not order the King to stop talking to her if he did not wish to, so he went on asking her about Dash and Rosy and telling her about the ball Queen Adelaide was planning for her next birthday.

  It was such a pleasant evening, and she did love the King, who might not look as one would expect a King to look but made a very cosy kind old uncle.

  She gleefully noted that it was eleven o’clock before she went to bed.

  * * *

  Adelaide was better and well enough to accompany the King to the private view of the annual Royal Academy exhibition of paintings.

  ‘Not much in my line,’ said William. ‘More like George’s. The paintings he had there at the Pavilion and Carlton House! Worth a fortune, they tell me. Can’t think why. If people are fools enough to pay these artist fellows … Well, I gave them back to the nation, didn’t I? The nation’s welc
ome to ‘em.’

  Adelaide looked a little anxious. He was in one of his ranting moods and they were becoming more frequent. He would take up a subject and go on and on as though he were addressing the House of Lords. In fact he was making too many speeches on every occasion. If he was at a dinner party she would be unable to stop his getting to his feet and addressing the company in one of his long boring speeches, but when he did not bore his audiences that was far worse because he would probably then talk in the most outrageous manner about one of his aversions in such terms that the papers would be full of it next day.

  She must stop his working himself up about artists on this occasion when they were going to visit an exhibition of artists’ work.

  When they arrived at Somerset House where the Exhibition was held, William was not in a very good mood. His face was a deeper tinge of red and he had talked excitedly to Adelaide on the way about various aspects of his capital city as he drove through it. The people no longer received him with acclaim and although they did not abuse him since the Reform Bill had passed, they displayed an indifference which he did not like.

  ‘Pictures,’ he said. ‘Nowadays some of the fellows think they can paint … George was a one for pictures. He reckoned he knew something about them.’

  ‘Your brother was a very artistic man, William,’ said Adelaide.

  ‘Oh yes, old George, he was the clever one of the family. He could look at an unknown artist’s work and say, “That’s good.” He did a lot for ‘em. Not that they were grateful. Who ever is grateful to kings?’

  Oh dear, thought Adelaide, she must change the subject. The ingratitude of the people was a dangerous one.