Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  There must be friendship within the service. War was to be practised among enemies only and amity must prevail.

  That, thought Wellington, was an end of the matter; but he deplored Canning’s lack of foresight in bestowing the office of Lord High Admiral on the Duke of Clarence.

  William was gleeful. ‘Such a bother,’ he said to Adelaide. ‘All a matter of form, of course. That fellow Cockburn has really been put in his place. He’ll know better than to interfere again.’

  Adelaide looked dismayed. ‘But you have agreed to settle your differences.’

  ‘My dear Adelaide, the heir apparent does not make bargains with naval officers.’

  He was growing excitable again. Sometimes she feared where these moods would end. He had always been subject to them but since the death of Frederick they had increased alarmingly. He must calm himself; he must stop talking so freely. Otherwise she could not imagine what would happen.

  She could not dissuade him from setting sail once more and on a warm July day he sailed out of Plymouth Hoe on the Royal Sovereign dreaming of Drake going forth to fight the Armada, George Cockburn and the Admiralty Board taking the place of the Spaniards in his mind. It was the same thing, he reasoned. He was defending freedom just as Drake had.

  What a sight with Sovereign at the head of the accompanying squadron! The Royal Sovereign! What an apt name for his ship! He would soon be the Royal Sovereign himself.

  With him watching the receding land was his eldest son, George. George was a bit of a rebel himself and had applauded his father’s tussle with the Admiralty. George, like the rest of the family, was very much looking forward to the day when his father would be King, for there could be no more indulgent parent in the world.

  ‘This is the life,’ cried William. ‘The fresh sea breezes in your face and a rolling deck beneath your feet. My only regret is that your stepmother is not with us.’

  It was a happy ship – the Royal Sovereign. William was the most thoughtful of commanders; and there was not a man on board who did not know that they were defying the Admiralty and it was exciting to take part in the famous quarrel.

  Wellington called a Cabinet meeting. The Lord High Admiral was on the High Seas. For what purpose? Was it some secret mission? Why was Major George FitzClarence present? Who had authorized the mission?

  The Prime Minister called on the King, who was suffering from one of his more painful lapses and was unable to leave his bed.

  ‘In spite of everything he has gone off again?’ cried the King.

  ‘I fear so, Sir.’

  ‘He must be recalled at once. It must be made clear to him that if he will not obey the laws of the country he will be dismissed.’

  That was what Wellington needed.

  ‘Leave this to me, Sir.’

  The correspondence had started again. William returned like a conqueror in the Royal Sovereign; it had been an exhilarating trip – he and George together and his ship’s company delighting to serve under him; he had forgotten all about exacting people at home. But when he came into port again, there were letters and messages awaiting him.

  The most important was from the King himself. He deplored his brother’s conduct. It might well be that he had a very short time to live and William would then be his successor. William must remember that the first duty of a king to his country was to obey the laws laid down by the Parliament. No king – or any other man – could be a law unto himself.

  When he read this letter William saw that there was only one thing he could do.

  He resigned the office of Lord High Admiral.

  Menace at Kensington Palace

  THEY WERE AT Bushy again leading a quiet life for a while. It was very necessary for the Affair with the Admiralty had upset William more than Adelaide cared for people to know.

  He brooded on it; he went about mumbling to himself; she would go into a room where he was alone and find him talking to an imaginary Sir George Cockburn or Duke of Wellington, or perhaps to his brother the King. He would be somewhat incoherent and there would be a wild look in his eyes.

  ‘You need rest,’ said Adelaide fearfully; and she wished that her mother-in-law Queen Charlotte were alive so that she could have confided in her. Was this how William’s father had behaved in those weeks which had preceded his attacks?

  She tried to interest him in the laying out of new gardens; such matters were very soothing to him. The children helped and they were constantly calling at Bushy. He was a little worried though about Amelia’s broken romance with Horace Seymour and he was not sure that the Church was the right vocation for young Augustus.

  Adelaide persuaded him to play Pope Joan in the evenings and to retire early to bed.

  Sometimes he would look at her with tears in his eyes and say: ‘What should I do without you … you and the children?’

  Then she would feel that he was moving away from this threatening shadow, for then he was seeing things as they were. It was when he pictured himself as the great Drake defying tyranny in the form of Cockburn and the Admiralty Board, when he saw himself as the great King of England that she feared for him. The quiet family man at Bushy remembered that he had had nothing but kindness from the brother who now lay close to death; and who was not so much a King with a crown to pass on but a friend and brother.

  ‘Oh, my dear wife,’ he said, ‘what I owe to you nobody knows!’

  Adelaide embraced him and said: ‘Never forget that I shall always be at your side.’

  And so William passed out of danger and settled down to enjoy the quiet life of Bushy.

  There were children on the lawns. Poor crippled Louise was there with her brother, and the FitzClarence grandchildren looked upon Bushy as their home.

  Adelaide was happiest when surrounded by the children but she often confided to William that there was one member of the family whom she missed. It was Victoria.

  ‘She’s guarded like the crown jewels,’ said William.

  ‘I think of her often,’ said Adelaide. ‘Poor child, hers is not a very natural childhood, I fear. She seems to me such a grown-up little person. The only childish characteristic is her love for her dolls.’

  And as she could not see Victoria as often as she would like, Adelaide started to embroider a dress for her in coloured wools and as she worked she thought of the child and selected the colours which she believed would please her best.

  Peace was restored to Bushy.

  The danger, thought Adelaide, was past. But like all such dangers it could return.

  Was this how Queen Charlotte had felt? Was it some strange presentiment which had made her feel drawn to the mother-in-law who seemed to be out of sympathy with almost everyone else? It was an alarming thought.

  A tragedy had occurred in Court Circles. Lord Graves had committed suicide, and there was no doubt of the reason. The Duke of Cumberland had seduced his wife, and so rendered his life no longer worth living.

  Because Lord Graves had been a kindly man and popular, a wave of disgust for the behaviour of the Duke of Cumberland swept not only through the Court but throughout the country.

  Cumberland had become a bogy man. His very appearance was evil. No one could trust him; and it was said that his grotesque looks fascinated some people, particularly women as in the case of Lady Graves. His attitude to life was cynical, as was that of the Duchess. Old scandals were revived. They had both been implicated in mysterious deaths which could have been murder.

  Cumberland was shunned in some society; but most people were a little afraid of him. They remembered that he was a younger brother of the King and there were only two lives between him and the throne. It was true one was an ageing man, and not a very stable one at that; but the other was a young girl who had been proved to be in glowing health. There had been rumours about her delicate state, but those had been false for she was seen walking in the park with her mother almost every day, sturdy and intelligent. There was nothing wrong with the Princess Victoria.

&nb
sp; The people cheered her. They were pleased with her. This pleasant little girl was not only destined to be their Queen, she was also a bulwark between the throne and the evil Duke of Cumberland.

  The Duchess of Cumberland was a little exasperated with her husband.

  ‘This Graves affair is most annoying,’ she said. ‘It has focused attention on you. Was it necessary?’

  ‘Quite unnecessary. Why did the fellow want to kill himself so publicly?’

  ‘And he gave no indication that he was about to act so maddeningly?’

  ‘My dear,’ replied the Duke coldly, ‘don’t you think that had he done so I would have prevented him at all costs?’

  The Duchess replied that she hoped it would be a lesson and that in future he would choose women with less mischievous husbands.

  ‘What’s done is done,’ he said. ‘No useful purpose is served by recriminations.’

  ‘But it has drawn attention to us. It has revived old scandals. And what of the Princess Victoria? They are saying now that she is a healthy child and the rumours about her delicate health were false. Soon they will be asking who started these rumours.’

  ‘Not they. They’ll have forgotten them.’

  ‘And William?’

  ‘I’ve kept a watch on William. He would have been in his strait-jacket now if Adelaide had not cosseted him and kept him quiet at Bushy.’

  ‘We have to watch Adelaide. I don’t trust those quiet people. So self-effacing! Always working for the good of others! She’s devoted to Victoria as well as William. The good woman is in fact a universal mother. She’s even taking our own George under the maternal wing. He dotes on her.’

  ‘Adelaide is of no importance.’

  ‘She could in a few weeks’ time be the Queen of England.’

  ‘Let us leave William and his pretensions alone for a while. He’s old and probably on the verge of madness. It’s the child who is important to us.’

  ‘And now we hear nothing but reports of her good health. No one believes that she is a delicate child and if she were suddenly to go into a decline suspicions might be aroused.’

  ‘She’s guarded like a prisoner. Her mother scarcely lets her out of her sight.’

  ‘What do you expect after those rumours? It was too early to start them.’

  ‘Perhaps. But if Victoria were taken from her mother’s care …’

  ‘There would be an outcry.’

  ‘Not if there was a very good reason for her being taken away.’

  ‘What reason could there be for removing the child from her mother.’

  ‘The Princess Charlotte was prevented from seeing her mother during the Delicate Investigation. Why? Because Caroline was suspected of immorality.’

  ‘The Duchess of Kent is no Caroline.’

  ‘Who said she was? But Caroline is not the only woman who has strayed from the paths of virtue. Imagine our Duchess – not so old, luscious, alone. What would be more natural than that she should take a lover?’

  The Duchess began to laugh.

  ‘I see your reasoning.’

  ‘And you find it worthy of me?’

  ‘Completely worthy.’

  ‘There is a ready-made situation.’

  ‘And the gentleman in the case?’

  ‘Surely you don’t need to ask. John Conroy – her controller and adviser – such a handsome man! I believe the Princess Sophia finds him most attractive. The Duchess of Kent certainly does. Now you must admit that it would not be proper for our future Queen to be brought up in an immoral household.’

  ‘You will have to act more subtly over our immoral Duchess than you did with her delicate daughter.’

  ‘You will see,’ said the Duke, smiling his evil smile.

  It was pleasant riding one’s pony through the grounds at Claremont; in fact Claremont, thought Victoria, was one of the most lovely places in the world. Here, Cousin Charlotte had walked with Uncle Leopold. She supposed that Charlotte was her aunt in a way, because she had married Uncle Leopold; but royal relationships were so complicated. People could be cousins and aunts at the same time.

  Here Charlotte had made plans about her baby. Oh yes, it was having a baby which had killed her. Louisa Lewis had let that out. Mamma would be cross if she knew, for Victoria was not supposed to know anything about having babies.

  She was watched all the time. It was very strange that they allowed her to ride her pony alone. But then she was only in the grounds of Claremont. And I am thankful for a little freedom, she thought.

  Something strange was going on.

  Feodore had left her and she was sad because Feodore was so pretty and charming and they had always been together. Feodore had been one of her admirers. But Feodore herself was admired – by men. Which, said Mamma, was dangerous. So Uncle Leopold, who always seemed to decide what should be done, had said that it was time that Feodore was married. So poor Feodore, weeping in bed at nights and hugging Victoria and saying that she never never wanted to leave her little sister, had to prepare to leave Kensington and go away to marry the Count Hohenlohe-Langenburg. Poor Feodore. How frightened she had been!

  ‘Lucky Victoria,’ she had said, ‘when you marry you won’t have to go away … and you will be a Queen who will chose your husband.’

  Yes, thought Victoria, she was very lucky.

  But sad as Feodore’s going had made her, her sadness had nothing to do with the strangeness.

  And Lehzen had now become a Baroness. She supposed they thought a mere Fräulein was not good enough to be the close companion of a Queen.

  But it was nothing to do with that either.

  No, the strangeness was in Kensington Palace. Mamma had taken to sleeping in her room which was odd; and before Mamma came to bed the new Baroness sat there doing her needlework.

  ‘Why do you sit there?’ Victoria wanted to know. ‘I used to be all alone in my room.’

  ‘Do you not wish for a companion?’

  Victoria was usually precise. ‘I was not thinking of whether I liked a companion but asking why it was thought necessary to give me one.’

  ‘Her Highness the Duchess has asked me to bring my needlework in here and sit until she comes to bed.’

  ‘I see,’ said Victoria, ‘that it must be because she does not wish me to be alone.’

  ‘The Duchess thinks constantly of what is best for you.’

  ‘I know,’ said Victoria.

  ‘And knowing it, it would be wise to accept it without question.’

  How could one accept anything without question? Victoria wondered. For if one did, how could one expect to discover what everything was about?

  But it was very pleasant at Claremont – Charlotte’s Claremont, where she might have had her little baby and if he had lived – for Louisa Lewis had let out that the child was a boy – Victoria would not have been as important as she was at this moment; in fact there might not have been a Victoria at all. What a gossip Louisa was! She loved to tell stories of the family; so Victoria knew of all the urgency of getting her uncles married when Charlotte had died, including her own Papa.

  A world without Victoria? Impossible! she thought. So poor Charlotte had to die.

  It was hard to imagine death in Claremont; but death could be anywhere … even in Kensington Palace. Death! Mystery! Something strange was happening and it was all about her. It concerned her.

  She was suddenly alert. She had seen a figure moving among the trees. Who was it? Not Mamma, for Mamma was seated on the lawn; she knew exactly where Mamma was. Someone was watching her.

  Her heart began to beat faster. Who was watching her? And why? And all this mystery was a little frightening. It made one wonder if something really dreadful was about to happen.

  She could ride quickly back to the lawn and Mamma – or she could go closer to the trees and look. She hesitated for a second. She was on her pony; she could always gallop away or call for help.

  She galloped over to the trees.

  ‘Who is th
ere?’ she called.

  She was relieved yet a little disappointed. It was only a young woman who stepped out from among the trees.

  She curtsied as Victoria pulled up.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I am Dr Stockmar’s niece.’

  Victoria knew Dr Stockmar; he was Uncle Leopold’s physician and Uncle Leopold was very fond of him and talked to him for hours of his rheumatism.

  ‘Are you staying at Claremont?’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  ‘It is very beautiful, do you think?’

  ‘Very beautiful.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you before.’

  ‘No, Your Highness.’

  ‘I suppose you know my Uncle Leopold?’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘Certainly. Everyone knows the Princess Victoria.’

  ‘That is a remark which gratifies me,’ said Victoria. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Caroline Bauer, Your Highness.’

  Victoria wrinkled her brows. ‘I have never heard of you although I know your uncle … well.’

  ‘There is really no reason why Your Highness should hear of me,’ was the answer.

  And at that moment the Duchess of Kent appeared. Hearing the sound of voices and recognizing one as that of her daughter, she had come hurrying to see with whom Victoria was conversing.

  The effect on her was startling. She gave the girl a withering look and said: ‘Victoria, ride at once to the stables. I shall expect to see you in your room in fifteen minutes.’

  Victoria, who had been about to present Caroline Bauer to the Duchess, hesitated, thinking that her mother could not have been aware of the young woman’s presence.

  But the Duchess said coldly: ‘Pray go at once.’ And as Victoria went she noticed her mother turn away and sweep back to the lawn, just as though the girl were not there, and someone Victoria had imagined.

  Life was really growing very strange.

  The Duchess looked reproachfully at her brother.

  ‘Really, Leopold,’ she said. ‘A most distressing occurrence. Victoria came face to face with Caroline Bauer in the gardens.’