‘What post do you want?’
‘I think if I were her private secretary I could look after her, and you, my dearest Duchess, could be sure of seeing all important documents that came into our hands.’
‘Then you must be her private secretary.’
‘She of course will be the one to decide on whom to bestow the post.’
‘Then I say she shall bestow it on you.’
‘She will know that it is in her power to refuse; and she may go to the King.’
The Duchess looked angry. ‘Disobedience …’
‘Remember, my dear Grace, that she will be of age and the Queen. She will no longer be your dependent little girl. We have to go carefully.’
‘I do hope she is not going to prove ungrateful.’
‘I will speak to her, while she is feeble, and try to persuade her. There is a change in her. She will be less arrogant, more amenable on her sickbed.’
The Duchess nodded.
‘So I have your Grace’s consent to make this request to her?’
‘But of course. And it is, like all your plans an excellent one.’
* * *
There were long shadows in the room. She was supposed to be sleeping. Beside her bed Lehzen sat dozing. Poor Lehzen who refused to go to bed and must be on call day and night for her Princess. Victoria had seen her often sitting by the bed when her eyes refused to stay open; and Victoria smiled when she actually slept.
She thought: This is the nearest I have ever been to being alone.
She watched poor Lehzen now – the piece of needlework fallen from her hands, her head lolling forward. Dear Lehzen, let her rest.
I have been very ill, thought Victoria. Indeed, she felt very weak and quite hazy. Only this morning when she had awakened she had not been sure where she was. How glad she would be to be back in Kensington. It seemed years ago that Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise were here. When she had looked at herself in the mirror which she had insisted on Lehzen’s bringing to her, she scarcely recognised herself – she was so pale and her eyes looked so big and protuberant; and her hair … which used to be so thick was now thin and lifeless.
Lehzen had assured her that it would soon grow thick again.
She felt so tired – too tired to think of how old she was getting and that she would soon meet some more cousins from Germany whom Uncle Leopold was so anxious for her to like.
She half dozed and then awoke with a start, for the door of the room had quietly opened and someone was standing there.
She wanted to scream for in her weakened state it seemed to her that evil had entered the room. He stood smiling at her – bold and wicked, for she was sure he was wicked – with that half sneering smile on his face. Sir John Conroy, the man whom she had hated, had come into her bedroom and she was unprotected, for Lehzen, worn out with exhaustion, was fast asleep in her chair and she herself, weakened by her serious illness, was unable to do anything but stare at him in fascinated horror.
He put his fingers to his lips and, glancing at the sleeping Lehzen in a way which angered Victoria, he came closer to the bed and sat down on it on the opposite side from that at which Lehzen sat.
‘What … do you want?’ stammered Victoria.
‘To speak to you,’ he whispered.
‘Not here … in my bedroom.’
He laughed softly – that beastly laugh which she hated.
‘It’s as good a place as any and you happen to be here.’
‘I am not strong enough to receive visitors. Lehzen will tell you …’
He laughed again in contempt of Lehzen. ‘I’m not an ordinary visitor, am I?’
That was true. He was certainly not like the Queen or the Duchess of Cambridge or poor old Aunts Sophia, Augusta or Mary. She did not feel well enough to see them, but at least they would come with the kind purpose of cheering her up. This man was sinister.
‘I am tired,’ said Victoria.
He laid a hand on hers which made her shiver.
‘Then we will settle our little business quickly.’
‘Yes, please,’ she said pointedly.
‘My dear Princess, I want you to make me a solemn promise.’
‘I should want to know first what you are asking me to promise.’
‘You are going to need a great deal of help in a few years’ time. You will need someone you can trust to be at hand. A position which will be of the greatest importance will be that of your private secretary. I want you to give me your solemn promise now that when you are Queen that post shall be mine.’
‘I can give no promises,’ said Victoria.
‘My dearest Princess, you are very weak at the moment …’
‘And in no condition to be approached about such matters.’
‘There is a certain urgency.’
‘I see no urgency.’
‘You have to prepare yourself for something which could happen at any moment.’
‘I shall be prepared.’
‘You do not understand these things. You are a young and charming girl whose thoughts are taken up with pretty clothes from Paris.’
‘I can give my attention to other matters when it is necessary.’
‘It is necessary now. Just say the word. That is all I ask. Your solemn promise. And I will draw up a paper to which you can put your signature … It will all be so easy.’
‘No,’ she said firmly. And then: ‘Lehzen. Wake up, Lehzen.’
Lehzen opened her eyes and stared at Sir John who continued to perch jauntily on the Princess’s bed.
‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Lehzen.
‘Madam?’ replied Sir John with the utmost haughtiness as though to ask how a mere governess could dare to speak to him – the Duchess’s adviser and friend – in such a manner.
‘I feel so tired,’ said Victoria.
‘The Princess is not well enough to receive visitors,’ declared Lehzen, getting up and dropping her sewing on to the floor.
‘Except members of the household, of course,’ said Sir John, ‘and I am in that category.’
‘I think you should leave now.’
‘I intend to have a word or two with the Princess first.’
‘The Princess will see you when she is well.’
‘This is important business, Madam. The Duchess and I have decided it cannot wait.’
‘I cannot have the Princess disturbed.’
‘The Duchess’s orders are that she is to receive me.’
Victoria sat forward; her head was swimming but her eyes were brilliant with defiance. ‘I shall myself decide,’ she said, ‘whether or not I shall receive visitors. The Baroness has asked you to leave.’
‘Oh come,’ said Sir John, ‘all this excitement about such a little matter. We don’t want a storm over a friendly visit.’
‘I have told you that I do not wish to receive,’ said Victoria. ‘And no matter how much you talk I shall not appoint you as my private secretary.’
‘So that is what it means,’ said Lehzen.
‘Yes, Lehzen,’ replied Victoria, ‘and I wish to rest. Goodbye, Sir John.’
Sir John’s eyes were angry, his mouth tight. He looked as though he would like to murder Lehzen; but she stood still glaring at him while Victoria pretended to shut her eyes but they were only half closed; she wanted to see Sir John go.
He saw that there was nothing more that he could do then, so he bowed abruptly and went out.
When he had gone Victoria cried: ‘Oh, Lehzen, I hate that man.’
‘The craftiness!’ said Lehzen. ‘And I was asleep.’
‘You are worn out with nursing me, dear Lehzen. And I only had to call you. I am so glad I was strong. At one moment I felt I would say anything to get rid of him.’
‘So he was trying to make you promise to have him beside you when you are Queen?’
‘That was it, Lehzen. I never would. Once I am able to make my decisions my first will be to get rid of that man. Sit down, Lehzen. Take up yo
ur sewing. He has gone now. Let us be cosy again. But the thought of him lingers, doesn’t it?’
She put out a hand and Lehzen took it.
‘Dear, dear Lehzen, who takes such good care of me. Oh, how I hate him! There is something evil about him.’
She could not forget him; she would wake in the night because she had dreamed that he had come into the room.
As she grew stronger the dreams were less frequent. Lehzen said that if she took the nourishing food she prepared and rested and allowed Lehzen to take very good care of her she would soon be well.
* * *
It was not until January that they returned to Kensington Palace. It had been a bitterly cold journey, and after spending a night at Sittingbourne they arrived at Kensington in the early afternoon.
The Duchess took Victoria’s hand and with Lehzen hovering showed her the new apartments which would now be hers.
‘The others,’ said the Duchess, ‘were far too small. Most unbecoming. Now that you are convalescent you need more airy rooms.’
‘But it is quite magnificent, Mamma.’
The Duchess snorted. ‘I think sometimes that old buffoon at the Brunswick Hotel forgets that you are a Queen.’
‘But I am not, and if I were it would mean that he were dead. Poor Uncle William. I hope he will live for many years.’
The Duchess grunted. She was a little unsure of her daughter since Sir John had reported on that rather alarming scene in the bedroom. They had to remember that she was growing up. She would be seventeen this year and she was well aware of her importance. It would not be possible to command her now – only to arouse her sense of loyalty and persuade her what she must do out of gratitude in the future for those who in the past had done so much for her.
‘It is very kind of His Majesty to give us these lovely rooms,’ went on Victoria, at which the Duchess laughed.
Victoria went into the bedroom (which she was to share with the Duchess) and admired its lofty ceiling, its spaciousness and the pleasant furniture. It was a great improvement on the old room.
‘Seventeen rooms!’ she cried. ‘Why, Mamma, what a lot of space we shall have.’
‘There is a sitting-room for you and a study. Lehzen can have our old bedroom.’
‘She will like that,’ said Victoria, flushing with pleasure in anticipation of Lehzen’s.
‘I venture to think,’ said the Duchess, ‘that these apartments are a little more worthy of the future Queen.’
Victoria could not wait to hear what Lehzen thought of the changes; but Lehzen was clearly more interested in getting Victoria strong.
‘You’ll have to get back your appetite. Dr Clark said you must eat more bread and butter and I shall myself cook you some nice boiled mutton and make some orange jelly.’
‘Oh, Lehzen, you have this pleasant bedroom and you talk of boiled mutton and orange jelly.’
‘You’re a little wraith and nothing more,’ scolded Lehzen.
‘I used to be rather plump, didn’t I? And look at my hair. There’s scarcely any of it. You remember how thick it used to be.’
‘It’ll be thick again and you’ll soon be plump. You just trust Lehzen.’
And Victoria threw herself into Lehzen’s arms. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘I do trust you … more than anyone in this Palace I trust you.’
Then she felt guilty of disloyalty to the Duchess and so did Lehzen for listening. But they hugged each other and understood; for it was true.
Chapter XVII
THE CUMBERLAND PLOT
The Duchess of Cumberland, considerably softened since the blindness of her son, was worried. She knew what was going on in her husband’s restless mind. He was not the man to see his plans frustrated and meekly accept that; and she knew that until Victoria was firmly on the throne he would be considering means of preventing her reaching it.
He still confided in her although he was fully aware of her resignation. She had said that if only George’s sight could be restored to him she would ask nothing else of life. Her mother-love had subdued her ambition and he was not sure whether or not he admired her for this. He missed the scheming woman he had married; but he was glad to find the devoted mother. He too cared only for the two of them – wild Frederica whose past had been as devious as his own, and young George whom blindness seemed to be turning into a saint.
But he was not going to give up his ambitions.
‘Ernest,’ said the Duchess to him one January morning when Victoria was still by the sea recovering from her attack of typhoid fever, ‘why don’t you accept what life has given you? You will find the kingdom of Hanover very much to your taste.’
‘My taste is for a larger kingdom.’
‘I know, but a small one is better than none.’
‘Do you think I should stand aside and let that woman govern England, for that is what she will do if Victoria is Queen.’
‘How can you do anything else but stand aside?’
‘I am not without influence.’
‘Are you thinking of the Orange Lodges?’
‘Of course I am thinking of the Orange Lodges. My hopes lie with them. There are 145,000 men in England who would be ready to spring to arms to defend the Protestant cause.’
‘But the King is not a Catholic.’
‘He is very friendly with Mrs Fitzherbert.’
The Duchess laughed. ‘Oh come, Ernest, you can scarcely expect me to be taken in by such talk. You know there is no danger of England’s becoming Catholic and your Orangemen need not leap to her defence. Why not admit the truth … that you are ready to fight to wrest the throne from William … or at least to take over on his death?’
‘You know what this means. Victoria is too young to rule; that mother of hers – that nuisance of a Duchess – would be virtually ruler of England. The country would rise up and call blessed one who averts such a calamity. Victoria … a minor. That woman Regent.’
‘William is not dead yet.’
‘No, but he’s half way to madness they say. He’ll have to be put away sooner or later like his father.’
‘Ernest, you must be careful. You have suffered a certain amount of notoriety. The country would not welcome civil war.’
‘When the people saw that it put a real King on the throne they would think it worth while.’
‘How much better if William appointed you his heir.’
‘How can he? That girl comes next. We ought to have the Salic law in this country. Women should be excluded from the throne.’
‘At least, she won’t have Hanover.’
‘Hanover. Who would not barter Hanover for England?’
‘But you cannot have England while Victoria lives.’
The Duke narrowed his eyes. Is it true, wondered the Duchess, that if he had an opportunity he would murder Victoria? A fearful thought but the girl meant nothing to him but an impediment that barred his way to ambition. The Duchess shivered. Ernest would go too far if he attempted to remove Victoria, who was already winning popularity. If she suddenly died of some mysterious illness Ernest would be suspected. Oh, why had her darling boy had to have this terrible accident! If he had not been stricken with blindness and had married Victoria, Ernest might have been satisfied.
But now he was extremely dissatisfied and she was afraid of what he would do. He had these men ready to follow him. Besides the English there were 125,000 men in Ireland. It was to have such an army at his command that he had joined the Lodge and become its Grand Master. There was no end to his ambition.
‘This country needs a strong man,’ he said. ‘Any means to bring him to the throne should be employed.’
‘Any means, Ernest?’
‘Any means,’ he repeated firmly.
‘She is quite a pleasant creature – Victoria.’
‘She is a child, governed by that impossible nuisance of a woman. Anything is permissible which would prevent Madam Kent having a hand in government.’
The Duchess said: ‘Remember …�
��
And he knew what she meant. Some years ago he had had a plan to get rid of Victoria; he had wanted her at Windsor where he was living at that time in the household of George IV; and he had set rumours in motion that the child was a weakling, not expected to live. But her mother had foiled that by parading the child in the park – ‘plump as a partridge’, as it had been said, glowing with health. His schemes had reacted on himself and sinister rumours had again surrounded him.
It would be unpleasant if the rumours that he was planning to murder Victoria were started up again.
He avoided his Duchess’s eye. He said: ‘I am commanded to dine with the King at Windsor. He is not well.’ He laughed rather unpleasantly. ‘Every time I see William I wonder how much longer he can live …’
‘Out of a strait-jacket?’
‘I was thinking of the grave.’
‘Poor William. I’d rather the grave than the strait-jacket.’
‘I think that was what our father always thought – but he had both. And if William doesn’t die soon it’ll be the same for him. He would have been put away by now but for Adelaide.’
‘I don’t think we consider Adelaide enough. She’s much less insignificant than is generally believed.’
‘It’s true, but once William has gone she will have no significance whatsoever. I don’t concern myself with Adelaide. It’s Victoria I have to think about. That chit should be set aside. A girl … what good is a girl to a country that needs a strong man?’
‘People might recall Queens Elizabeth and Anne.’
‘Bah!’ said the Duke. ‘They weren’t brought up by the Duchess of Kent.’
‘It is time you left for Windsor,’ said the Duchess. ‘And, Ernest … have a care.’
* * *
The old fellow was certainly looking ill, thought Cumberland. And the Queen was a poor thing, too.
‘She works too hard,’ said the King. ‘And her cough’s troublesome.’
‘She must take greater care of herself,’ replied Cumberland.
The Captive of Kensington Palace Page 27