My Name is Victoria

by Lucy Worsley

  But Victoria failed to notice my hesitation.

  ‘Oh, it will be so exciting when my cousins are here!’ she said breathlessly, a bright bloom of colour upon each cheek. ‘We’re going to dance with men! Of course it’s all right dancing with you, Miss V, but you never spin me round fast enough.’ She was up and out of her chair now, and practising a waltz step. ‘We have firmly settled now that the ball is to be fancy dress – you know that, don’t you?’ she asked mid twirl. ‘And the orangery in the gardens is to be cleared of all that lumber. It will be perfect.’

  A clear-out was most necessary, for old chairs and neglected statues had cluttered up the orangery for as long as I could remember. It was to be heated with oil stoves, garlanded with flowers and garnished with a band of fiddlers who were to sit in the alcove to the side while the dancing took place up and down the long airy room.

  Victoria’s first idea for her costume was to go as a concubine from the harem of a sultan of the East, and Lehzen had some difficulty in dissuading her. Eventually, a Dresden shepherdess became the alternative inspiration for her dress. A dressmaker came to Kensington Palace to fit it, and we all enjoyed her visits. Lehzen had an undoubted talent for making fabric fall and drape, assisting as she did with the pinning, and I remembered that she had made the dresses for many of Victoria’s dolls.

  ‘And you, Miss V? What are you going to wear?’

  Lehzen looked up at me from her kneeling position at Victoria’s feet on the carpet, somehow managing to squeeze the words out of the corner of a mouth that was otherwise occupied in holding a large number of pins.

  The question had been a heavy weight on my mind. ‘Well,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘It’s so hard to choose. I wonder if maybe I had better just keep behind the scenes, you know, and help out from there? Just to make sure it runs smoothly.’

  I really rather longed to cry off from the actual dancing part of the ball, as I hated the thought of making a spectacle of myself. But there was no question that Victoria would allow this.

  ‘Stuff and nonsense, Miss V!’ she said roundly. ‘Of course you’re going to come, and you’re going to dance as much as I do.’

  ‘Well, if I must,’ I said reluctantly, ‘I think I’d just like to wear a normal evening dress.’

  ‘Ha!’ she cried at once. ‘It’s out of my power to accept your suggestion. It is my royal command that you appear in costume.’ Imperiously, Victoria began to toss out ideas as she posed and preened in her half-finished shepherdess’s dress. ‘A Tudor countess!’ she said. ‘With a white ruff … No, an Indian princess. Or what about … Queen Marie Antoinette? No, that wouldn’t be right. Miss V cannot make a more splendid appearance than me.’

  ‘Nor would I want to,’ I said fervently.

  I refused to commit myself on the matter of my costume and said I would think it over.

  When the dressmaker had left, though, and Victoria went skipping off to the piano to choose dance music, Lehzen looked at me seriously.

  ‘I think I must bully you a little, Miss V,’ she said. ‘Time is running out for your costume to be made. But I have an idea that might suit. What if you were to go as a Grecian maiden, in a very plain white dress?’

  I thought about it as I folded up the discarded yards of muslin. The idea did appeal. ‘I could perhaps wear golden sandals,’ I said. ‘That, at least, would please the princess.’

  ‘And laurel leaves wreathed around the head?’ Lehzen was wheedling, enticing, and it was working.

  ‘I accept,’ I said. A little shiver rose up along my spine. A new dress! Golden sandals! It really might be rather exciting.

  Finally the great day arrived. Our house guests from Germany were due at midday, but we were all ready and waiting long before the courtyard clock struck. Victoria and her mother positioned themselves at the head of their new, curving, stone staircase, and my father and Lehzen and I waited a few respectful steps behind.

  Looking at the backs of the duchess and the princess as we waited, I felt sorry that Victoria had not inherited more of her mother’s undoubted beauty. The duchess had an erect, elegant carriage, and her maid had the trick of sweeping her hair up into a graceful pile. Victoria, on the other hand, seemed to have stopped growing, and she could never stand up still and straight and ready. She kept glancing round, and wriggling, and sighing loudly, her patience soon depleted. Lehzen and I had taken a great deal of care over her hair, yet it was still too short to contrive the ornate and decorative plaits Victoria would have liked.

  But the main thing was that the palace was prepared and princes were expected. My chest puffed out a little with pride as the five of us, a team for once, stood en garde, putting on a show.

  Is this what it would be like when Victoria was queen? I wondered. My father at her back, standing by to ‘help’ and advise in his own imitable way? And where would I be in this picture? Once Victoria was married, perhaps my job would be done. She wouldn’t need me in quite the same way, to tease and to talk to, as she did now.

  But I could not imagine ever leaving her. I could see from her back that she was breathing fast and shallow, excited and tense. I knew that occasions like this were thrilling but also arduous for her, her nerves taut, voice shrill.

  My father had noticed too. ‘Of course, it’s difficult at first for an inexperienced young girl to appear in public,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘But with time and practice and our good care, it will become second nature. She should cast an eye at you, Miss V. You look as cool as ice cream.’

  To my surprise, I found that I was. It was the others who seemed on edge. It’s just our duty, I thought, spreading my weight more comfortably across both feet. No more, no less. We have to do it, and then it’s over.

  But we waited and waited, and the hour of luncheon came and went. At about two, we were all slumped, disconsolate, in the chairs of the new saloon, and the duchess was squirming uncomfortably. I knew she had fastened her stays unusually tight to welcome her nephews, and that she was now slowly sinking into agony.

  It was nearly three when Adams rushed up the stairs, knocked in a perfunctory manner at the saloon door, then rushed down to the entrance hall again. We all leapt up and followed him, and resumed our stance on the stairs as he opened the front door, and in came two young men.

  It was well worth the wait. They were both dark and slender and exquisite. I could not but feel a flutter of the heart as they came into view, one of them ascending each side of the double staircase in their foreign but extremely elegant officer’s uniforms. Each of them had one hand resting negligently upon the hilt of a sword, the other placed over its owner’s heart as, simultaneously, they sank into deep bows.

  The duchess and princess curtseyed in turn, and then the four Coburg relatives were kissing and laughing and greeting each other. Or at least Victoria and her mother were kissing and laughing and making a fuss in that lively manner they had, while the visitors stood quiet and serious.

  ‘Sir John!’ the duchess called in a peremptory manner. ‘Come to be introduced.’ But there was no chance of this happening just yet. The taller prince still had possession of Victoria’s hand. He was gravely cradling it, almost stroking it, staring down at her from beneath his curved, supercilious eyebrows.

  She was looking back up at him, back arched, head tilted back, and I could almost feel the delight radiating from her.

  Eventually the prince had to relinquish her hand, to go on with the business of greetings and introductions and reception into the saloon. I hardly felt his hand, and I believe he barely saw me as he brushed quickly past, his brows now drawn and his dark face looking stern, almost sullen – but, oh, so handsome!

  Victoria too brushed against me as she followed her cousin in towards the table where luncheon had been waiting for us. ‘Isn’t Prince Ferdinand beautiful?’ she hissed into my ear.

  I could not disagree. My own knees felt almost weak from the sight of him. The introduction of so much brooding handsomeness, so much man, into our q
uiet world at Kensington Palace was going to have quite an upsetting effect.

  Chapter 26

  The Grand Fancy-Dress Ball

  At ten o’clock that night, the warm lights of the orangery drew us across the cold, wet gardens just as fluttering insects are attracted to a flame. We could hear the violins and the laughter spilling out and vanquishing the damp and dark.

  My father and I were a little late for the ball. He’d experienced some mishap dressing; at least I had heard him shouting at his valet that he could not appear at a ball in trousers and that his breeches must be found. I was waiting in the hallway of our apartment, rebalancing my gilded laurel wreath, made by Lehzen’s cunning fingers, on the back of my head.

  As he came down the stairs I heard him splutter with laughter.

  ‘Miss V!’ he said. ‘Are you going in your nightgown?’ I could see why he asked, for my white dress was very simple, very long and very straight.

  But as I spun round to face him, he came to a halt on the stairs, and the laughter stopped. ‘By golly!’ he said quietly. ‘You have indeed grown into a young lady of excellent taste, my dear. Unusual taste, but that need not be a bad thing. There are so many flashy, showy misses about town today.’ He tucked my hand under his arm, patted it, and we set off together into the night.

  I wondered how my life would have been different if, like Jane, I were used to going to parties and balls. Would people have admired me? Would I have enjoyed it? I was not sure. Tonight seemed like an ordeal, but I must admit that there was a nervous beat of excitement inside my chest as well.

  My mother made one of her rare appearances in my thoughts. When I was little I had imagined that she would dress me for my first ball, that she would send me off, perhaps waving from the porch of Arborfield Hall as I climbed into a carriage with Jane. Everything had changed since then.

  As we passed the aged Princess Sophia’s apartment, my father veered off course and pulled me in through the door. ‘The old lady would so love to see you all dressed up for the ball,’ he said. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  I did mind, for I hated people to stare at me. But it was well worth it. I tripped into her small, cluttered sitting room and spun round once or twice, and she almost clapped her hands with joy.

  ‘Those two German princes will be wild to dance with you, my dear,’ she said.

  ‘I hardly think that I shall dance with royalty!’ I replied, although I could not help but smile at her kindness.

  I sensed the adults exchanging a glance over my head. Perhaps they were wondering, as I had, what it would be like if I were a normal young lady coming out into society, perhaps being asked for my hand in marriage by some eligible young man. I brushed the disturbing thought aside, picked up my white mask with its expression moulded into a tragic pose and began to tie its strings around the back of my head. The ball was a masquerade and we had to hide our faces.

  ‘Papa, I think we should go,’ I said. ‘Would you be so good as to help me fix my mask?’

  But the old princess had not finished admiring me and insisted on seeing my shoes. Only then did she let us depart, with one final injunction:

  ‘Take good care of her, Sir John! She is too precious to fall into the hands of a scoundrel – and there are so many of them about these days!’

  ‘A rich railway magnate would make an excellent match,’ my father replied. It seemed a strangely inconsequential thing to say, but I had no time to ask him what he meant, for we were off at a fine pace.

  Stepping into the lighted ballroom was a mixture of agony and ecstasy. I stiffened my spine and drew myself up tall as I could, as if to face an ordeal. A strange footman, not Adams, bellowed out the words, ‘Sir John and Miss V. Conroy!’ to the heaving crowd. But it was nowhere near as bad as I had expected. To my relief, very few people looked up, and among those who did I saw one or two smiles of welcome. Stepping forward into the crowd was like launching ourselves into a warm new world, a world of swirling skirts and music and dozens of candles.

  I could soon see that the entirety of the room’s attention was focused upon the dancing area, and there – yes, it was true – there was Victoria, whirling round in the arms of Prince Ferdinand. Unlike the other guests, he had come in normal dignified evening dress. And I thought there was something rather arrogant about that. Victoria’s shepherdess’s hat, and the mask across her eyes, hid the upper part of her face, so that to most observers her name would have been unknown. But I could see that her small mouth and apple-shaped cheeks, so like my own, held an expression of utter delight.

  It was at that moment, seeing her transported as if in the arms of an angel, that a cold premonition fell upon me. Was she falling in love? Did she not realise that she would not be allowed to choose her own handsome prince?

  Although it was hot in the room, I twitched my bare shoulders as if there were a chill.

  My father swam through the rich, perfumed air of the ballroom like a fish in its native element. Everywhere he went he called out greetings, shook hands, bowed and showered joviality upon the guests. Fantastical characters – ranging from bishops to ballerinas to devils – swirled around the floor, or else flirted and gossiped on the sidelines and tried to guess each others’ identities. I thought I spotted Prince August spinning along in his brother’s wake in all the gold-frogged splendour of a hussar’s uniform.

  My father went to stand near the duchess at the head of the room, and together they proudly surveyed the scene. For a moment, it was hard to remember that they were not a married couple, so well did they suit each other in good looks and high colour and high spirits. For a moment, the grinding dullness and stifling boredom of the System seemed to be firmly in the past. They looked like proud parents at their daughter’s first dance. The thought, the sight, made me feel a little sick.

  The music swirled to a climax and a close, and by chance I discovered Victoria and her partner coming to a halt just a few steps away from me. I raised an eyebrow at her over the prince’s shoulder. I knew that she would know what I meant. Was he a good dancer? Was she enjoying herself? ‘Oh yes!’ she mouthed, vigorously nodding her head towards the prince. As their limbs disengaged, she nevertheless kept his hand tight within her own, as if she never meant to let him go.

  I giggled, pulled into her pleasure despite my concerns. But then the crowd tugged us apart. I myself had no partners lined up, and during the intermission I was too timid to take any steps to get one. I wiggled my way discreetly through the crush and sat down next to Lehzen on a little gold chair. But hardly had I taken my seat when a tall Pierrot was bowing down before us and asking me for the pleasure. I felt myself blush and glanced at Lehzen. But she gave me an encouraging nod and one of her lopsided smiles. So I stood up, smoothing down my long Grecian gown, and consented to take his hand.

  A moment later, we too were whirling round the floor. It was faster, much faster, than the dancing lessons Victoria and I had shared in the seclusion of the dingy old drawing room, and the fiddles played far more furiously than the old musical box that had provided our staid country ditties.

  This Pierrot, grinning behind his mask, seemed to have immense strength and power; he grasped my waist and spun me round as easily as a child with a top. I could see only the wet pinky-white of his eyes and the startling red of the inside of his mouth when he opened it to laugh. As we danced, a huge wave of excitement began to run up and down my spine. But whether it was caused by the music, the brush of Prince Ferdinand’s coat sleeve as he passed with Victoria in his arms, or the powerful grip of my partner, I did not know.

  Another tune came to a close, and now, in my giddy state, drunk with waltzing, I actually needed the strength of his arm to prevent me from falling over. My partner steered me expertly through a screen of potted plants into the alcove facing the one where the band played. Here he pushed me down upon a garden bench, which had presumably been brought inside for the duration of the cold weather, and plumped himself down next to me.

 
‘By Jove!’ he said, panting a little. ‘What a remarkable filly you have become!’ I tweaked my skirt down modestly over my golden sandals and cradled my bare upper arms with my hands. I was not entirely comfortable with his tone, and I had a feeling that his voice was familiar. I wondered what steps had been taken to prevent uninvited guests from gaining admittance, as the masks made it impossible to know who was who.

  ‘May I know your name, sir?’ I asked. I began to wish that we were still dancing, or, even better, that I was dancing with someone else. A beautiful new tune, soaring and dipping like a skylark, had begun, and it now seemed an awful waste to be sitting here backstage and away from the rest of the ball.

  ‘Oh no!’ he said, laughing so that I saw a row of gums and perhaps even a little bit of his dinner caught in his back teeth. It was not a pleasant sight. ‘Tonight we are all mysterious,’ he said in a superior manner. ‘Except, of course, for Prince Ferdinand. The rules don’t apply to him, it seems, though it is most impolite to ignore the dress code. The scoundrel! He longs to have all the royal ladies of Europe in love with him. What abominable boldness to show his face to the public as he works his wiles.’

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’

  With a lurch of the stomach, I feared that I knew already. For it hardly took my expert knowledge of Victoria’s character to deduce what must also have been embarrassingly obvious to everyone. Somehow, between lunch and dinner, Victoria had fallen in love with this handsome prince and was not even trying to hide it.

  ‘They make a grotesque pair, don’t they?’ He laughed again, slapping his thigh this time and treating my question as if it were hardly worth considering.

  He smiled down at me, and suddenly the black mask and the strangely blank eyes behind it seemed to present a sinister aspect.

  ‘Little and large, heh?’ he said. ‘Fat and thin. The beast and the beauty. The most beautiful prince in Europe, they say.’