by Anna Kirwan
Oh, Feo. Two days ago my Uncle the King passed on to Divine Justice and Reward. I thought I could never again feel so bereft as I did when Uncle York died. Now I think, the older one is, the sharper the pain. One does not become used to it, because each time it is worse. More is lost.
If there is wisdom to comfort one, I wish it would speak to me.
A messenger came full speed from Wellington at Windsor to my Uncle Sussex and Aunt Soap.
Uncle William IV rules England.
Uncle Sussex said, “So the earth spins.” Then he went aside and wept.
Aunt Soap had hysterics and needed smelling salts. Since de Spaeth is no longer here, no one knew at first where to find them.
As I write, I am clutching my little brooch of my Uncle King’s dear face, which I shall see no more. I am weeping, too.
27 June
Captain Conroy became impatient with Mamma. She said it would be shocking to write the Chief Mourner, Uncle William, about business – about increasing my income based on my being Heiress Presumptive – and Uncle King George IV just now dead. Captain Conroy thumped his fist on the shiny black Chinese writing desk, and declared she must be the first to advance a suggestion, for no one in high places would ever seek her thoughts based on their regard for them or her. But the government will surely send a recommendation to Parliament now about who is to be my Regent.
He has no understanding of Mamma’s natural delicacy and Royal courtesy and taste. Uncle Leopold has said it: too often, the effect is that the Captain seems determined to blunt her refined sensibilities.
Even I can see it will make Uncle Billy want to knock the Captain down with a boat hook. Why don’t Mamma and the Captain see it?
At least they have to send any messages to Uncle Billy through the good old Duke of Wellington, because he’s Prime Minister. Perhaps he will talk them out of it.
Aunt Adelaide sent me a brief note – alas, on paper bordered in black. She wished to assure me, during these sad days, of Uncle Billy’s and her great affection for me. Her words are a comfort. Frail straws on the tide. The world has changed overnight. It does not seem to be the same world.
17 July
Uncle King George’s State Funeral was two days ago – I am exhausted. Black and purple everywhere, mostly black crêpe by the yard, draped on everything and everyone. The scent of flowers and swags of cypress was too heavy and sweet in the heat. Uncle Billy wore a long, dark purple velvet cape. Georgie Cumberland carried the train of it – I believe that was Aunt Adelaide’s idea.
Uncle Billy said later, “My dear brother is no longer suffering the indignity of mortality.”
I said, “Uncle, is that how one bears up under missing the dead whom we love?”
He put his hand on mine, just a little tap because of his gout. “Ah, well, Little Vic, by my age you don’t expect to be apart from them for so long.” He said it v cheerfully, though.
A solemn thought occurred to me. It seemed to me for a moment that he and I might, after all, be the only ones there to share a fate others only imagine.
“Uncle,” I said, “will you like being King, do you think?”
“Oh, well, as to that,” he said, quoting Admiral Nelson as he often does, “England expects that every man will do his duty.” And, although he was wearing that immense purple train and all about us was so sad, he winked at me.
“I suppose England expects it of every girl, as well,” I said.
“Of every hand on board, Little Vic,” he said.
19 July
Oh, fie on the Kensington System! How entirely dreadful! Mamma and the Captain have now decided that once or twice a year they should like me to have examinations by the Archbishop and London and Lincoln and by the Lord President of His Majesty’s Privy Council and the Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench! I shall be on trial like a common criminal!
20 July
The Reverend Mr Davys tells me that in India, among the Dravidians, a v old society, it is still believed that ancestors may be reborn as calves in order to nourish the people with their milk. For this reason, cows are treated with a degree of respect and are not eaten.
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. I felt odd about the sauerbraten and noodles at luncheon. But I am persuaded, even were that not an heathen superstition, it could not have been a Dravidian cow that we were eating.
26 July
Today I participated in the investiture of King Wilhelm I of Württemberg, as a Knight of the Garter. It is a great honour for Uncle Billy to make King Wilhelm a KG, and for me to be included in the event.
This is particularly so, since Uncle Billy says he does not like “all that fuss”. He does not even want to have a big celebration for his own coronation – he says it’s a waste of money and a waste of a good day. I certainly hope he is joking! I rather enjoyed today’s ceremonies.
I wore my mourning gown, which is black silk tabby, and a LONG veil of black chambray, and I stood to the left of Uncle Billy’s throne. I felt v grown up, not wearing white.
27 July
Mr Grant, the Member of Parliament from Inverness (and some other towns) in Scotland, stood up in the House of Commons to suggest that they ask Uncle Billy who should be my Regent, should anything happen to him. Mr Grant said, pretty directly, “No one prefers it should be a foreign king.”
Lehzen is the one who told me this. She explained that Hanover, in Germany, for many years has been connected to the English throne. But the law of Hanover permits no female rulers, so I am now the Presumptive Heiress of England, but Uncle Cumberland is Presumptive Heir of Hanover. If I were to become Queen, he would be my next-in-line, until I married and had Issue. (That means a baby.) So, no one really thinks he would be the best one to watch after my interests.
I wonder if anyone thinks Mamma can protect my interests and England’s interests against Captain Conroy’s interests. I wonder if they think of it at all.
28 July
Oh, dear, no time for writing.
30 July
Breakfasted at Palace of St James with the Württembergers. It became v awkward, however. In fact, dreadful. I did not understand why, at first. I am not entirely sure I do, even now.
I was sitting with Aunt Adelaide and some others, who were speaking fondly of Lake Constance. Uncle Billy was rather bouncing around the morning room, talking to EVERYONE – he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, I must say.
He had just come over near us when a rather tall fellow opened the glass doors at the side of the room and came in. He is someone I know I’ve seen before – I have the impression he is in the Navy – but to whom I had never happened to be introduced. He seemed startled when he came in, as though he didn’t know who was here, but he came over directly and said good morning to Aunt and Uncle.
“Little Vic,” Uncle said, “this is your cousin Adolphus FitzClarence. What d’ye want, Addy?”
Mamma was nearby, and I saw out of the corner of my eye that she had suddenly gone all bristles and fire-irons.
Mr FitzClarence said, “Willie Paget, Governor – thought we’d have a spot of sculling later. Sorry to barge in on you when you’re running before the wind – didn’t know it was Official in here.” Then, to me, he said, “Your Servant, Your Highness,” and he bowed v prettily, but without a trace of a smile, and walked off across the room.
Mamma, meanwhile, had snapped her fan shut, and bunched her skirt around her and had stood up, all at once, and in four steps she was beside my chair. And she was furious, I could tell.
“The carriage is sent for,” she announced to me. Then she turned to Aunt Adelaide – NOT to His Majesty Uncle Billy – and said, “I shall take Victoria home now.”
Uncle Billy said, “Nonsense, nonsense, we all need to take our ease after all the falderal.” He held up a “weather finger”, as he says,
to a servant with a tray of Italian coffee cups. Aunt Adelaide was appearing v distressed. I stood there, quite dumb, thinking of remarks Georgie Cumberland has made.
“I am afraid,” Mamma said icily, “a name has been mentioned that I cannot condone in this innocent child’s presence.”
“My own name, by God!” Uncle Billy said to her – and his voice was soft, dangerously soft, I might say, like the sea before a storm. “My name, and my good son wearing it.”
“Certainly not suitable in the presence of the Heiress Presumptive!” Mamma said. I believe I may say, she fairly hissed.
“‘Suitable’ anywhere I am King, Madam! Under my own roof, Madam! I believe I am lately King of all the roofs and names hereabouts, and all the Heirs and Presumptions, as well, by God!”
Aunt Adelaide was wringing her handkerchief into string, but Mamma made me stand and curtsy and leave. I felt I should die of humiliation.
Later
It is so difficult to write these days. Mamma has been sleeping ill, and even late at night, I must be wary of her pacing around.
Walking with Lehzen this afternoon, I had the explanation for Mamma’s actions at Uncle Billy’s. I realized I had heard most of it before, whether or not I recognized its meaning at the time. Uncle Billy is not as simple a soul as he seems to be.
Lehzen says, long, long ago, he had another lady, who was a beautiful actress, Mrs Dorothy Jordan. He had not met Aunt Adelaide yet – indeed, she had not even been born yet! Grandfather George III would not permit him to marry when he came home from the sea. Their domestic arrangements were not proper, and Uncle has quite a few natural sons and daughters! The one I met is a younger son. They are all grown up now. (Indeed, one grew up and went to India and died there, before my Papa met Mamma.) Mrs Jordan died before Uncle met his dear Queen Adelaide.
Because he was the Duke of Clarence, and his children are not accepted as relatives, their name is FitzClarence. Mamma is v correct that they are not to be received in the best society. To treat them as if they were acceptable would seem to approve publicly of Uncle’s sins.
Yet Aunt Adelaide is so good, she loves them for Uncle’s sake, and Lehzen says they are quite at home all together. I must say, I received a good impression of Mr FitzClarence. His voice is rich, quiet, thrilling, and manly. Lehzen says Mrs Jordan was famous for her enchanting voice.
The world is a v surprising place, some days.
2 August
I yearn for Ramsgate. Feo, I yearn for your kindness. How is the dear Baroness de Spaeth? I know she must miss me dreadfully, for so I miss her. I miss Uncle King. I miss Uncle York. I miss Brocky. I miss my Duke Papa, though I never knew him. I am a v sad girl.
8 August
Captain Conroy and Mamma have decided we shall not go directly to Ramsgate for our holidays. They want to introduce me to more people – my people, they say, as if I were already Queen. I don’t know which will make me more uncomfortable – riding in the carriage over hill and dale, or having them show me off as if I were a dancing bear.
23 September
How long it has been since I wrote here! How great has been my anxiety, all these weeks, that my dear, precious diary would be gone when I returned! I had secreted it in the mahogany tea table in the yellow salon, and the Captain was looming over me the whole time we were preparing to leave, so I could not get it. I must say, it has been a trial not to have it. I believe I understand a bit better, now, how those steam engines work, for, all this time, I have felt like a boiler with no pressure valve.
I am glad to learn no one comes around to polish the silver tea services when we are not at home. It would be wasted work, anyway.
Now that I have my book, I still cannot even begin to tell all about our travels. Before we went to Ramsgate, we went to Malvern and stayed at Eastnor Castle – a v curious place. It is a new castle made like an old one. It was done by Mr Smirke, who designed the front of the British Museum – Eastnor is v good, but rather like an immense baby house, I thought.
There are many theatrical presentations hereabouts, for it is along the Pilgrimage Route, if I may call it that, to Shakespeare’s Stratford. We saw a number of plays and also heard a good deal of v excellent music. I have written about it all in my copy book that Mamma and Lehzen read, so I shall not describe it all here. Malvern is a v beautiful place to visit, I must say.
Thence, we went to Portsmouth, and went aboard the Emerald to sail to Ramsgate. The Emerald is the boat that brings supplies for the Royal yacht, the Royal George. Everywhere one goes, it is recognized and saluted – it is great fun to hear the blank shots being fired across the water. O’Hum, unfortunately (for him), is not a good sailor, and was v much preoccupied while we were at sea.
Lady Catherine Jenkinson came with us – she is fast becoming a v dear friend to both Lehzen and me. Her father is Lord Liverpool, and he is one of the kindest, wisest persons it is my pleasure to know. And Catherine is v lovely, too. She was v pleased when I told her my doll Katherine is my favourite doll.
I believe Mamma selected Lady Catherine to be one of her ladies to try to make up to us for our losing dear de Spaeth. As to that, I am with good Dr Stockmar, who says, “Forgive much. Forget nothing.”
Stocky was not with us our whole time at Ramsgate this year, for he chose to visit Coburg, Hohenlohe, Leiningen, Göttingen, and Bonn. He saw all our dearest ones, including (after you, Feo, and de Spaeth) Charles, Uncle Ernest and Grandmamma, and Cousins Ernest and Albert, and he brought us back affectionate messages from all.
He also brought Lehzen back some books in German – one of them, by Herr von Schlegel, is about the language and religion of India. Lehzen translates bits of it to discuss with the Reverend Mr Davys and Uncle Sussex. I am v interested in India.
But the best, the merriest times we had at Ramsgate were with Uncle Leopold. We played a great deal of chess. I won three games against Mr Montefiore, and two against Uncle. (I lost many more, for we played almost every day. Uncle says anything is better than bell and hammer!) Each of them counsels me while I play the other, but they only point out moves. I am the one who decides which moves to employ.
Later
Lehzen reminded me that I had not cleansed my teeth after supper. Now they are like pearls.
There are two topiary lions now at East Cliff: one standing up and one lying down. You will think I have become very grown up, Feo, when I tell you that, after all these years, I have decided I do like the sundial garden that is overrun with woolly thyme and artemisia and white climbing roses – the one you and I used to call “the Ghost Garden”. Mr Montefiore calls it “the Garden in the Clouds”. Do you remember how mysterious it is on a misty morning? He says it is even more fragrant at night than during daylight.
10 October
Ramsgate has faded into a dream. It is plain old Kensington again, and kidney pie and sago pudding and watery vegetable marrows and apple tarts without enough cinnamon. I will be v glad when Cook’s daughter-in-law has her baby and gets done with her lying-in and Cook can come back here where she is wanted quite as much, I am sure.
17 October
Lehzen and Lady Catherine and I dressed dolls together today. We did Shakespeare – Twelfth Night, though it’s not Christmas. Lehzen did Countess Olivia, and Lady Catherine did Orsino, Duke of Illyria, and I did Viola.
Lady Catherine is v musical. She is a delight. She plays the piano, and Mamma and I sing duets. It is the best way to spend time with Mamma, for she does not use so much time telling us what Captain Conroy advises-us-in-the-strongest-possible-terms – which is to say, the only way he ever advises us.
V important confidential conversation with Uncle Leopold at Ramsgate concerning a Certain Matter. He says he can do nothing if Mamma will not preserve herself. He says I should never put myself at risk, but must get the nearest adult. No matter what happened to de Spaeth, no matt
er that Mamma tells me it is none of my affair.
Uncle says of course it is. Conroy is a devil, and she is my Mamma, and I dare not pretend all is as it should be, no matter how they press me to give him more power over me, over us all, and to hold my tongue. I must find the courage to hold out against his browbeating.
20 October
Dashy is learning to bring things to me. Lady Catherine gives him my bedroom slipper and says to him, “Dispatches, Dash!” He then takes the proferred article v delicately in his teeth, and trots to me directly. Usually, he lets me take it from him.
Since he is such an excellent messenger, I have made him a page’s livery, a red-and-blue jacket and trousers. Everyone teases me about playing seamstress to my dog, and, I must confess, Dashy’s not keen on his uniform. But it is v becoming. If v fashionable young men are called “puppies”, I think it is only right to allow Dash to dress au courant, in the latest style. He is v amusing.
Fanny just gazes at him from her cushion near the hearth. She is a doting auntie, but has grown rather stout of late. I think she finishes Dash’s portion, and he lets her.
20 November
Everyone is annoyed with Uncle Billy. There has not been sufficient Reform. Not enough Englishmen can vote. Or there has been an irresponsible amount of Reform. People are voting who have no business doing so. Uncle Sussex says that when Uncle King George was ill, he did nothing for weeks, and Uncle Billy has had 48,000 documents to sign since he became King. Aunt Adelaide sits by him and bathes his cramped hand in warm water.
I do not wonder he has not written to me lately.