Queen Victoria: Demon Hunter

by A. E. Moorat

  'We're on it.'

  'This is most unfortunate, Maggie. Good Lord, the last thing we want is tongues wagging with talk of demons at the palace.'

  'It was to be expected, Prime Minister, as soon as she went to the papers. God only knows we anticipated it sooner than this.'

  'True. Whatever Lady Flora Hastings had to say about Conroy of interest to the newspapers, it was never going to involve his prowess between the sheets.'

  'Demons at the palace, though, Prime Minister, nobody will believe it.'

  'No, true. At the moment it's little more than a tall tale, paranoia, a wild imagination and coincidence. But there's every possibility this McKenzie will continue turning over stones until he discovers something with a little more substance...'

  'Should we tell the lassie?'

  'Tell her what? The truth?'

  'A version of it, aye.'

  'And remind me how we came by our intelligence, Maggie?'

  'Because of a vision, Prime Minister.'

  'Precisely. Young Brown's precognition of the bloodline of Baal ruling the world's greatest empire.' Melbourne still bore the mental scars of the last time he had tried to use one of young John's visions to warn her of impending danger. 'I fear it won't be enough to convince her,' he said. 'We shall keep quiet for the time being, Maggie.'

  At that moment there was a knock to signal the entrance of the Queen and Lord Melbourne was scrambling to his feet as the door to the drawing room was opened by a footman and the Queen entered, the Duchess of Sutherland in her wake.

  'Lord M,' she smiled.

  'Your Majesty,' he bowed low.

  Victoria dismissed the Duchess and took her place opposite Lord Melbourne at the table. Ever since that day in the Brown's cottage there was always one question to which she wanted the answer when they were together.

  'Is she here? Maggie Brown? Is she in the room, somewhere?'

  Lord Melbourne smiled at her as sweetly as he could manage. 'I really wouldn't know, Your Majesty,' he said, 'but just in case, we should refrain from intimacies, don't you think?'

  She threw back her head and guffawed. For his part, Lord Melbourne was sure he heard the sound of a smothered laugh from the direction of the grandfather clock.

  XIX

  He always did make her laugh, she thought. Refrain from intimacies!

  So, yes, she had made it up with Lord Melbourne. How could she do otherwise? He was, after all, her mentor, her private secretary and Prime Minister. He charmed her. He brought laughter to her day.

  However, the days of him fulfilling the role of best friend were at an end.

  Now she had Albert.

  Lord M had apologised for what he described as the rather tactless manner in which he had raised the issue of his doubts concerning the Royal wedding. He had nothing against Albert, he was most keen to emphasise. His concerns lay with the continued prosperity of England. It was true, he was forced to admit, that young John Brown's visions hardly constituted firm evidence of discord arriving from overseas, and were not enough on which to base policy of any kind, not least of it that which concerned the Queen's marriage. However, he said, he was still of the opinion-as was the Protektorate-that an uprising remained a distinct possibility. Worse, that it would be an uprising conceived of and masterminded by the forces of darkness; that unrest, chaos and disorder were the fertile soil from which evil was grown-which was something he told her often.

  'Sir John Conroy? What of him? Have you established any links between Sir John and this possible uprising?' she had asked him next-something she asked him often.

  'Ma'am,' he demurred, as ever, 'any information we have involving Sir John is based purely on conjecture and guesswork in much the same way as, I dare say, your own opinion is formed.'

  'Then set your agents upon him,' she insisted, 'see to it that his movements are traced; that his confidantes and contacts are monitored.'

  'Ma'am,' said Lord M wearily, 'all of these things we have done in the past. There has been not one shred of evidence linking Sir John to demonic activity. He is your mother's comptroller. This fact makes him more dangerous than almost any other man in the Empire. Do you think we would have allowed him access to you if we thought he was somehow involved in plans to overthrow you?'

  'He virtually was,' she reminded him, sharply, 'he tried to force me into appointing him my private secretary.'

  'And he was repelled, ma'am. Your Majesty, it pains me to say it, but there is evil and darkness in this world, and not all of it associated with the minions of hell. Much of the time it is simply greed and vanity and a lust for power that can explain away acts we think of as evil. Sometimes I wonder if these forces really are as pernicious and as clever and manipulative as we give them credit for.'

  As usual, she paid great attention to his wise words (although as usual she wondered how much of the truth was hidden from her), but noted that these days he tended to deploy them with a note of regret, as though already in mourning for that day when it would be Albert to whom she turned for support and advice.

  Which was very soon to arrive. She and Albert had been inseparable since the engagement, time they had spent by singing duets together, going for long rides and taking walks. They had exchanged rings and locks of hair, and were often to be seen, whispering and laughing together. She wrote tirelessly of him in her diary. When she reviewed the troops in Hyde Park, he accompanied her, wearing, she wrote that night, 'a pair of white cashmere breeches with nothing under them' and she wrote often of his beauty, the happiness he had brought to her. For the first time in her life she felt truly loved, not for her rank-Queen Victoria-which was, after all, an accident of birth, but for herself.

  She went before the Privy Council to announce her engagement and had any privy councillors been in any doubt as to the nature of Her Majesty's relationship with Prince Albert, then they were no longer. For on a bracelet at her wrist she wore a miniature of him, as though to give her the strength that she always felt she needed whenever she addressed the assembly; as though she could not bear to be anywhere without him.

  XX

  So it was that she awoke on Monday, 10 February 1840 to the sound of her bedchamber windows under attack from the weather, and her heart sank. Looking out of the window she was greeted with her wedding-day weather: wind and rain.

  'If the weather refuses to acknowledge wedding-day traditions,' she declared, 'then so will I,' and so she visited Prince Albert in his chamber despite the protestations of her maids of honour and ladies-in-waiting, who threw up their hands in horror. 'It's unlucky, Your Majesty!' 'Ma'am, I beg you not to!'

  'Nonsense!' she said. 'No force on earth will keep me from him today,' and bid a maid of honour pass her a tiny box which had sat on her dressing table before repairing to his chamber, showering the surprised bridegroom with kisses, taking his cheeks in her hands and gazing deeply and gladly into his eyes.

  'Ready?' she asked him.

  He looked at her. 'I was never so ready as I am now, my darling,' he said. 'Victoria, today you make me the happiest man in all of the world, for I have captured the heart of an angel.'

  She came to him with her arms open, and they embraced, stiffly, all too aware that even meeting in this way they were in breach of tradition. However, they could not help themselves, could not prevent their lips meeting, and for a longer moment she luxuriated in his arms, bringing her hands to the back of his head, pushing her fingers into his hair. In that moment time stood still for Victoria. It was as though every single sense and nerve ending was concentrated on that kiss.

  At last they came apart, and she cast her eyes downwards, quite taken aback by the force of passion surging throughout her body. She too breathed heavily, the only sound in the room, apart from the rain spraying against the window.

  'Albert,' she said, 'I have something for you,' and she gave him a ring, which he accepted, his eyes shining.

  'Albert,' she said, 'I want there never to be a secret that we do not share.'
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  He took her face in his hands. 'We are together now, Victoria,' he said. 'Now we will share everything.'

  Later, her hair was parted and curled over her ears and she was wearing her dress, white satin trimmed with Honiton lace, and on it she wore a diamond necklace and a sapphire brooch set with diamonds that had been given to her as a gift by her beloved Albert.

  'Do you think I am right to wear white, Lehzen?' she asked her governess, 'I'm only wearing white to go with the lace and I do so worry that it is an unpopular colour.'

  'You look beautiful, ma'am,' replied the Baroness, 'you are sure to begin a trend for it.'

  I'm more likely to provoke a mad stampede for green, thought the Queen, for she feared that her people might not have forgiven her for her earlier mistakes; moreover that her wedding might go unremarked and that she might find herself driving in her carriage to St James's Palace through empty and indifferent streets.

  She could not have been more wrong. Just as it had been on the day of her Coronation, the crowds lining the streets were smiling and waving and she found herself choking back tears of happiness and gratitude as she returned their waves and goodwill, her diamonds twinkling in the sun which seemed to have appeared in honour of the occasion, chasing away the wind, burning off the rain, bathing them all in its warm glow. This was the Queen's weather.

  The ceremony was followed by the ride back to the Palace for the wedding breakfast where they had some moments together-their first alone as man and wife-then they travelled to Windsor Castle, through streets still lined with well-wishers, until, finally, much, much later, they were alone and he drew up a foot stool to be close to the sofa and clasped her in his arms, the two of them kissing. The next morning, she awoke (having had very little sleep) and looked over to see Albert, finding herself quite overcome. Later, she wrote in her diary, 'he does look so beautiful in the shirt only, with his beautiful throat seen.'

  In short, they were blissfully happy, and had they lived an island-population two-they might never have had a cross word.

  Victoria's duty beckoned, however. It loomed over them. Theirs was such a short honeymoon, just three days, and at its end duty called-and problems within the union became apparent.

  For example, she knew that it vexed Prince Albert not to fully share her confidence as monarch. When she met with Lord Melbourne to discuss affairs of state with him, Prince Albert was not invited to join them, nor was he allowed to see the state papers which occupied so much of her time, while, needless to say, she had been advised not to apprise him of the demon threat.

  They would argue, sometimes, about this. 'My darling, my beloved,' said Victoria on one such occasion, attempting to pacify her husband, who, to add to his sense of superfluity, felt homesick, 'the English can be very jealous of any foreigner they perceive as interfering in the government of the country.' (And, once or twice, she thought of the young John Brown's vision.)

  Even so, these were minor niggles and Victoria, young though she was, an inexperienced monarch she may have been, knew better than to ascribe greater significance to them than was warranted. They were merely teething problems; they would soon be sorted out and anyway, they were minor in comparison to the great love that continued to blossom between them. Sometimes it was as though when she closed the door to their chamber and rested her head on his chest she was no longer Queen Victoria, ruler of the British Empire, but just Victoria, Albert's wife, and she felt that there was nothing in the world that gave her greater pleasure. Those moments were the happiest of her life, and for them she would be forever thankful. Nothing, she thought, could besmirch that happiness.

  Sadly, events in her future would do exactly that.

  XXI

  The Queen was in a most dreadful turmoil.

  'I have no wish to be pregnant,' she exclaimed. 'No wish whatsoever.' She glared at Albert, the look leaving him in no doubt that she regarded him the architect of this new woe.

  'It really is too dreadful,' she raged, 'I could not be more unhappy. This pregnancy has been sent to spoil my happiness. Oh, how I longed to least enjoy six months with you, my love. But to fall pregnant within just a few short weeks of blissful marriage, it really is too dreadful. How can any woman wish for such a thing?'

  Even though they had been married but a short time, Albert knew better than to interrupt his wife while in full flight or offer words of condolence. Like a fire, he knew, her anger would burn herself out-although rarely did he see a conflagration of quite this magnitude. 'What if my plagues are to be rewarded only by a nasty girl?' she raged further. 'Why, I shall drown the thing!'

  At this, Albert bridled. 'Come, come now Victoria,' he said, moving to her and placing his hands on her shoulders, bringing this most animated Queen to a standstill at last, 'that is not an appropriate sentiment for a mother-to-be.'

  'Oh, Albert,' She pulled angrily away from him. 'You and your appropriate. Albert, I do declare that your ideas of what is and what is not appropriate matter more to you than the health and well-being of your own wife.'

  'No, no, my dear,' he said, protesting, 'merely that usually it is-how can I say this...commonplace for a woman expecting a baby to greet the news with some semblance of joy.'

  Now she was very angry. 'I, Albert,' she said, the blood rising prettily in her cheeks, 'am not usual. If you wished for a usual wife then I dare say you should have stayed in Germany.'

  She glared at him, daring him to protest, which he, exercising restraint, diplomacy, and not a little self-preservation, did not.

  Perhaps he thought he should make amends. For it was largely thanks to him that she remained fit, strong and healthy in both body and mind throughout that accursed pregnancy and, on 21 November 1840, when the day was dark and grey (a rainswept, windy day, it was, the air thick and choked with smoke from the chimneys), after a labour of some twelve hours, during which Victoria suffered great pain but bore it, so Albert was to tell her later, so stoically, she gave birth to their first born.

  A girl.

  After it was over, sitting by her bed, Albert waved away the maids of honour who came to wipe the sweat from her brow, preferring to do it himself, gently dabbing at her reddened cheeks, whispering to her. 'My darling,' he said, 'you have to promise not to drown her.'

  Even in all her pain and trauma, and, yes, for there was no getting around the fact, disappointment, Victoria found a moment to laugh.

  'No,' she said, gazing up at him, 'I promise not to drown her.'

  'Good.'

  'I'm going to expose her instead.'

  Now it was his turn to laugh.

  'You were with me,' she said to him, when he had finished, 'you were with me throughout it all.'

  'Always, my love, always. If I could have taken from you all of your suffering I would have.'

  'All of it?'

  He pretended to think. 'Well...perhaps not all of it. Most of it. Some of it. A bit of it.'

  She laughed. 'Did I use unsavoury language in my pain, Albert?'

  'I'm afraid so, my darling.'

  She blushed. 'Really? In front of the doctor?'

  'You used the word...' and he leaned in low, to whisper into her ear, '..."blazes".'

  'Oh.'

  'That is not all, Victoria,' he shook his head with mock-sadness. 'Not at all, I'm afraid. For other expletives also escaped your lips, such as,' he leaned in to whisper once more, '"damn"...'

  Now she was beginning to giggle.

  '...and "cockchafer". Plus you did at one stage declare that you didn't give-and I quote-"a beggar's fart" about the baby, you just wanted the "bloody" thing out.'

  'Oh, Albert.'

  'I'm teasing you, my darling,' he said. 'You were, of course, the picture of propriety at all times.'

  'Thank you,' she whispered. 'Thank you for everything.' She reached to draw his fringe from his eyes and they shared a moment. Then she raised her voice slightly, addressing her mother who sat by the door engrossed in needlework, 'and thank you, Mama,' she called.<
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  The Duchess rose to her feet, placed her needlework on the seat behind her and made a short bow. 'Your Majesty,' she said.

  'Are you disappointed it is not a boy, Mama?' asked Victoria.

  Her mother's eyes flickered. 'My only concern is for you, my little one,' she said.

  Victoria smiled. The Duchess regained her seat.

  Next door, ministers and dignitaries awaited the news in a smoke-filled room into which the newborn was carried for their inspection.

  These included Lord Melbourne, the Archbishop of Canterbury (who had partaken of a little drink, or so Victoria was later to hear), the Bishop of London and the Lord Steward of the household. Distinguished gentlemen all, in front of whom the baby was placed stark naked upon a table, and they crowded forward to see, swift to express their relief that Victoria had survived her ordeal, but nevertheless disappointed that it was a princess, not a prince.

  Victoria remained in bed for a fortnight to recover from the birth of Victoria Adelaide Mary Louisa, who would be known in the family as Pussy. During this time Albert nursed her back to full health: he sat with her in her darkened room, he read to her, he wrote letters for her. He allowed no one but himself to move her from her bed to the sofa, and whenever she was required to move around the Palace he insisted on being called upon to wheel her along the corridors, whatever his current duties. These, of course, included behaving as her proxy. He represented her at Privy Council meetings; and he took care of all Cabinet business and reported back to her, he busied himself with his causes and political life. In the evening he dined with the Duchess then tended to Victoria in her chamber. He was a man who was content and in love, and this made him so much happier in the home, something that was never so apparent as during his enthusiastic preparations for Christmas.

  Their daughter's first Christmas should be an event to remember for ever, he declared, and he set about organising Windsor Castle. His first task was to import what he said was a German custom: a special Christmas decoration. German fashion, he told her, proudly, was to have a fir tree as tall as could be obtained, in pride of place, decorated all over with tapers, with smaller wax dolls placed all over and strings of almonds and raisins hanging between the branches.