The Captive of Kensington Palace

by Виктория Холт

  She would never enjoy them again.

  The King was smiling at her. He wanted her to know that he did not include her in his disapproval.

  ‘So you’re at Claremont, eh. A lovely place. Always liked it. Reminds me of Bushy. Ah, I spent many happy years at Bushy.’

  But there were tears in Victoria’s eyes and while she answered the King she thought: ‘Oh, Mamma, how dared you. All this trouble is your fault. Yours and that man’s … who persuaded you to it.’

  The evening was brought to a hasty close. The King was tired and he was not fond of late nights in any case. Abruptly, he turned to Adelaide and said they would go to bed.

  When he had gone, the Duchess led Victoria away; and Victoria knew that as soon as they had gone there would be an excited buzz of conversation as to what steps the King would take to punish the Duchess of Kent.

  * * *

  Adelaide was alarmed. The King’s anger had not been soothed by that outbreak in the drawing-room. In their bedroom he raved against the Duchess. He detested her, he said. If they had been living a couple of hundred years ago he would have sent her to the block. ‘No power nowadays,’ he mourned. ‘Kings … they’re controlled by Parliaments. But, by God, I won’t have that woman controlling me.’

  Adelaide said: ‘In less than a year Victoria will be of age. Then everything will be different.’

  ‘Yes, by God, and I’ll see it is. But don’t let her think that in the meantime she can rule us.’

  ‘I am sure you made her feel very uncomfortable tonight.’

  ‘Good! Good! And I’ll make her a damned sight more uncomfortable before I’ve finished with her.’

  ‘William …’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Adelaide. Leave this to me. A King must have some say in how things should be done.’

  ‘It’s your birthday tomorrow. You should be at peace with the world.’

  ‘Nothing’s going to make me at peace with that woman.’

  The next morning his anger had not abated.

  Lady de l’lsle who was pregnant tried to soothe him. William was particularly tender to his eldest daughter because of her condition but he would not swerve from his resentment.

  When Lord Adolphus FitzClarence called to wish his father a happy birthday William embraced him warmly, always delighted to have the family call of their own accord, always ready to forgive their slights and insults of the past, but he went on grumbling about that outrageous creature who was actually here in the Castle at this moment.

  All through that day his anger smouldered but when it was time to go in to dinner he seemed much calmer. There were a hundred guests all come to celebrate his birthday and as it was to some extent a ceremonial occasion everyone must be seated with some concessions to precedence. It was very unfortunate that the Duchess of Kent must therefore be placed next to him.

  Adelaide watched the King with apprehension; he was smiling and talking to Victoria, but she could see that the Princess was uneasy, no doubt remembering the King’s remarks of the previous evening.

  All went well through the dinner except that the King did not address a word to the Duchess of Kent, and then Adelaide expressed the desire that the King’s health should be drunk. This was done and the King rose to thank his guests.

  They believed that there was to be one of his long rambling speeches and were unprepared for what happened.

  He began to shout and to the consternation of everyone he began his attack on the Duchess of Kent.

  ‘I trust in God that my life may be spared for nine months longer, after which period, in the event of my death, no Regency would take place.’ He paused and pointed to Victoria who sat as though petrified, unable to take her eyes from his purple face. ‘I should then,’ he went on, ‘have the satisfaction of leaving the royal authority to the personal exercise of that young lady, the heiress presumptive of the Crown, and not in the hands of a person now near me, who is surrounded by evil advisers and is herself incompetent to act with propriety in the station in which she would be placed. I have no hesitation in saying that I have been insulted – grossly and continually – by that person, but I am determined to endure no longer a course of behaviour so disrespectful to me. Among many other things I have particularly to complain of the manner in which that young lady has been kept away from my Court; she has been repeatedly kept from my Drawing-Rooms, at which she ought always to be present, but I am fully resolved that this shall not happen again. I would have her know that I am King, and I am determined to make my authority respected and for the future I shall insist and command that the Princess do upon all occasions appear at my Court, as it is her duty to do.’

  His eyes were on Victoria and suddenly his anger passed from him and they were glazed with tears for Victoria was openly weeping; and the Duchess sat very pale and silent, which was very unusual for her.

  Adelaide, looking horrified and uncertain, rose and led the ladies from the room.

  As soon as they had left the men the Duchess turned to the Queen and cried out that she had been publicly insulted. Never had she been so treated in her life. She would not endure another moment under this roof. Her carriages must be ordered without delay.

  Victoria, in tears, was trying to plead with her mother not to be so rash. The King’s displeasure had already been aroused; they must now act with decorum.

  ‘Oh, how right!’ cried Adelaide. ‘You cannot leave tonight. Please, try to calm yourself. I am sure the King will repent having reprimanded you so publicly, but you must not go tonight.’

  The Duchess did not relish a night drive to Claremont so she allowed Adelaide to persuade her not to leave immediately but to wait and see what the morning brought forth.

  They retired to their rooms, Victoria in a state of extreme nervousness. She could not understand how her mother could have taken the rooms when the King had forbidden her to do so. It was wrong of her. No subject should ever so flout the Sovereign’s authority.

  That night Victoria had moved even farther from her mother; and she was glad on the ride back to Claremont the next day that the Duchess behaved as though nothing unusual had happened, although her lips tightened from time to time so that Victoria knew that she was then remembering the King’s outburst.

  * * *

  ‘That damned woman’s gone,’ said the King, ‘and by God, that’s something to be thankful for. The brazen creature. I couldn’t believe it, Adelaide, when I saw those rooms …’

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ soothed Adelaide. ‘It’s done now. You’ve made your protest and she will think twice before she defies you again.’

  ‘Not that woman. By God, I could have thrown my glass of wine into her insolent face.’

  Adelaide could at least be thankful that he had not done that.

  ‘She’ll go back to Kensington and think up some way to plague me.’

  ‘She’s at Claremont now.’

  ‘Yes, but she’ll be back at Kensington in due course.’

  His daughter Sophia came in and Adelaide was glad, for his mood immediately softened.

  ‘How is my Sophia today?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Very well, dear Papa.’

  ‘You must take care.’ He was always a little worried when any of his daughters were pregnant. He thought of the difficult times Adelaide had had.

  ‘I’ll be all right, Papa.’

  ‘Of course you will. You’re like your mother. She’d be on the stage a few days before the babies were born.’

  Adelaide had long since become accustomed to hearing of the perfections of Dorothy Jordan, the mother of his adored children, whom he had deserted a few years before her death. She believed he had forgotten that desertion now; she hoped he had because she knew at one time his conscience had plagued him about it.

  ‘You’d better stay at Windsor, Sophia, though I’d like you to be near us when we go to St James’s.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s the name of that housekeeper woman at Kensington Palace?’

 
‘You mean Mrs Strode?’ asked the Queen.

  ‘Mrs Strode, is it? H’m. She’s getting old.’

  ‘Poor creature,’ said the Queen. ‘I don’t think she’s long for this world.’

  ‘The housekeeper at Kensington Palace … it’s a very comfortable post.’

  ‘She’s really the custodian,’ said Adelaide. ‘Housekeeper sounds as though she is in a menial position. The truth is far from that.’

  ‘I’m a plain-speaking man, my dear. Custodian, then. It would suit Sophie. Good apartments, good air. I always like the air of Kensington myself.’

  ‘But do you mean Sophia should take over from Mrs Strode?’

  ‘In due course perhaps,’ said the King. ‘You’d like that, Sophie.’

  Like most of the FitzClarence family Sophia had her mischievous side. She knew what the King was implying.

  She might go to Kensington and spy on the Duchess. It appealed to her.

  ‘I should indeed, Papa.’

  ‘But you could not of course turn Mrs Strode out,’ said Adelaide quickly. ‘It would be too unkind, particularly as she is so old and ill.’

  ‘But if she should die,’ said William, ‘and if it should be necessary to find a new custodian at Kensington …’

  Sophia laughed; and William laughed with her. Adelaide sighed faintly. It was amazing how his children could put William into a good humour.

  * * *

  At dear Claremont Victoria could forget that horrible incident at Windsor for something wonderful had happened. Uncle Leopold had come for a short visit.

  He wanted to talk in person with his ‘dear little soul,’ he said. Letters were all very well, but how much greater understanding could be reached in conversation.

  He wanted her opinion of Albert; what exactly had she thought?

  It was all true, she told him, what she had written to him. She loved Albert; she loved all her cousins but there was something special about Albert.

  He had seemed a little delicate, Uncle Leopold feared, but there was nothing really delicate about him. He had merely grown too fast. He had an alert and wonderful brain. Did she not think so?

  She thought Albert the cleverest young man she had ever met.

  Uncle Leopold was satisfied.

  Oh yes, in her Uncle’s company she could easily forget unpleasantness. He was like her second father, she thought. No, her only father for he was indeed her real father because she had none other.

  How grateful she would always be to Uncle Leopold.

  * * *

  Uncle Leopold must go back to his own country and they must go back to Kensington, although they returned to Claremont for Christmas. Since His Majesty, said the Duchess speaking with exaggeration to indicate contempt, thought that the heiress to the throne occupied too much of Kensington Palace they should show that they had another home and that Claremont – the house which belonged to the Duchess’s brother Leopold – was always at their disposal.

  The news came that Mrs Strode had died and that the King had appointed Lady de l’lsle and Dudley as the custodian of Kensington Palace.

  The Duchess was furious.

  ‘That woman! At Kensington Palace! And in such a post! How characteristic of That Man. He has no sense of royalty.’

  ‘Mamma,’ pleaded Victoria, ‘it is the King’s command and there is nothing we can do about it.’

  The Duchess studied her daughter quizzically. The child was beginning to criticise her own mother. Could it be that she was taking sides with the King against her!

  ‘So,’ she said coldly, ‘you have no objection to sharing a roof with … with the bastidry!’

  Victoria said, with that newly acquired dignity which was giving her mother and Conroy such uneasy qualms. ‘I think, Mamma, that we must accept the King’s commands.’

  Chapter XXI

  INCIDENT IN THE KING’S DRAWING-ROOM

  William sat at his desk, the letter in his hand, his eyes glazed with memories.

  Maria Fitzherbert was dead. Another link with the past had snapped. He felt he was a very old man and there was little time left to him.

  Adelaide came in and found him and understanding the cause of his grief mourned with him.

  ‘She was the only woman George ever loved,’ declared William. ‘What a sad thing that they parted. How foolish George was … not to appreciate the love of a good woman. I thank God, Adelaide, that I have more perception in that respect. I don’t know what I should do without you. I’ve had the love of two good women in my life and that’s a good share, you know.’

  ‘She was old, William. It had to come.’

  ‘Oh yes, she was older than George. She must have been over eighty. Poor Maria Fitzherbert. She was magnificent, Adelaide, magnificent.’

  ‘And she was good,’ added Adelaide.

  ‘A good handsome woman – a rare thing Adelaide, a rare thing.’

  Adelaide winced. She knew she was plain; the press were continually calling attention to her lack of physical charms; but she was foolish. She too was getting old and she should be accustomed to William’s tactlessness by now.

  ‘Death!’ said William. ‘It’s claiming so many of the people who were young with me. My turn can’t be far off.’

  ‘Don’t talk of it,’ she said quickly.

  ‘All right, all right. I’ve got to live for a long time. I’ve got to live until Victoria is of an age to stand on her own, for, by God, I’ll not have that Duchess as Regent.’

  ‘Yes, you must live, William. You are needed not only by your country but by me.’

  William felt suddenly happy. He had a good wife and he loved her; and he was fortunate, for how many men were so blessed in that respect? Two good women had loved him – his incomparable Dorothy who had given him his dear children and Adelaide who could give him none but instead gave him a devotion which even Dorothy had been unable to give. He had always believed that with Dorothy the children came first.

  A lucky man, he thought. Two good women and ten children – and if at times they were cruel to him, they had given him the darling grandchildren. Yes, a lucky man.

  * * *

  Death was in the air. News came from Saxe-Meiningen that Adelaide’s mother was very ill and not expected to live. She was asking for Adelaide.

  ‘You must go, my dear,’ said the King. ‘You’ll not have any peace if you don’t. But don’t forget the King is missing you, so come back to him as soon as you can.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re well enough to be left.’

  ‘I’m all right. The girls will come and stay with me.’

  ‘Sophia’s at Kensington.’

  The King grinned. ‘And I hear Madam Kent is not very pleased about that. Not Sophia, no! In any case she’s expecting the child in April. She’ll stay at Kensington. But Mary could come, and I daresay my sister Augusta will be here too. I’ll be in good hands. Now you go and see your mother and come back to me soon.’

  Adelaide was more aware than most that the strange moods of the King had intensified, which they did at certain periods, and at such times she appeared to be the only one who could comfort him.

  So with misgivings she left England.

  * * *

  Lady de l’Isle had been finding the last weeks before her child was due rather trying. She was very much aware of the Duchess of Kent in her grand apartments, which the King had not taken from her, and although normally she would have been able to deal with her, she felt too ill and listless to do so.

  The Duchess, whenever possible, humiliated her; she made constant references to the fact that although Sophia was the King’s daughter she was illegitimate.

  ‘Good gracious,’ cried the Duchess, ‘if all the King’s bastards through the ages were lodged in royal palaces we should have to start building rapidly to accommodate them.’

  Victoria’s eighteenth birthday was only a month or so away, and she was uneasy. How would Victoria behave when she was her own mistress?

  ‘Eighteen
,’ she cried indignantly to Sir John, ‘is far too young for a girl to manage her own affairs. Victoria should ask the King to let a Regency continue for a while after she comes to the throne, for I am sure she will be far too young.’

  ‘It’s a difficult letter to write,’ Sir John warned her, ‘because the assumption must be that the King is dead before she comes to the throne.’

  ‘The old fool must know that he can’t last much longer, I have no compunction in reminding him of that.’

  ‘I know, but he might object.’

  ‘Ridiculous old fool,’ snapped the Duchess. ‘But draft a letter to Melbourne and tell him that Victoria wishes me to continue as Regent for a while after she comes to the throne.’

  ‘Shall you consult Victoria on this point?’

  ‘Good gracious me, no! In her present mood she might refuse.’

  There was no harm in drafting the letter, Sir John supposed. His position in any case was even more desperate than that of the Duchess, so they might try everything however wild and devious. Victoria showed quite clearly that she disliked him and never would take him into her service, but the Duchess as her mother could not be so easily disposed of, however much Victoria might long for the disposal.

  Yes, thought Sir John, they must try everything.

  * * *

  Really, thought the Duchess, such a bother! And all because a bastard was about to give birth to a child. Carriages arriving at the Palace; the King’s own physician calling; the King himself. It was most absurd. People would think that she was ill or perhaps Victoria. Such a fuss was made they would believe it must be someone who was important.

  She was having a dinner party that night and she did not like all this activity in the Palace, even though it was not in her own apartments.

  Victoria had said: ‘Mamma, don’t you think that in view of Lady de l’Isle’s condition you should postpone your dinner party?’