Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘I shall see that the child is guarded night and day.’

  ‘My thoughts will be with you.’

  ‘My dear, dear Adelaide!’

  ‘You know I love her as though she were my own daughter.’

  The Duchess nodded. ‘If you should discover anything …’

  ‘Never fear, it is my concern too. Both for William and the child.’

  ‘They shan’t succeed.’

  ‘No,’ said Adelaide firmly. ‘We shall protect them and there is none who could do it as we can.’

  ‘She is coming back now.’

  Victoria came in wearing the dress with the hand-embroidered flowers.

  ‘It is most becoming,’ said the Duchess.

  Victoria turned round smiling, but she was not thinking of the dress so much as she pretended; she was wondering what they had been discussing while she had been out of the room. It was something frightening. She could see it in their faces. And she believed it concerned her.

  Yes, there was certainly something mysterious going on.

  They were afraid for her. It was obvious. If when she was riding her pony in the park she tried to stray a little from her attendants they were immediately beside her.

  Orders, she thought.

  And then Mamma’s sleeping in her room; and the Baroness’ sitting there until Mamma came. That was the most unusual thing of all.

  Could it be that she was in danger?

  She thought a great deal about the Princes in the Tower. They had been kept there and suddenly they disappeared, stifled in their beds and their bodies were buried under a stair.

  What if someone was trying to murder her?

  She told it to her dolls; she wondered whether Lehzen could make the little Princes for her. Mamma said she was getting too old for them, but they were not ordinary dolls. They had been with her so long; they were her family; besides, many of them actually represented her ancestors.

  Thinking of her dolls she decided to visit them; and she rose and went to the head of the stairs. The apartments occupied by her mother’s household were on two floors and the staircase which led from one to the other was a spiral one. She had always felt it was rather an exciting place because it twisted so and if anyone were coming up and you were going down, if they were silent-footed you would suddenly find yourself face to face with them.

  You could stand on the staircase and look right up to the little window in the roof at a patch of sky; she had always found that fascinating.

  But now as she started down the staircase she was thinking of the little Princes in the Tower. Under a stone stair, she had heard, they found their bodies years later. What had they felt when they woke up in the night and saw murderers at their bedside? Did they scream out? Or were they too terrified to open their mouths? Or were they just suffocated in their sleep?

  Poor little boys! Had they any suspicions on that last day when they heard the hammering going on close by that it was their murderers preparing the secret hiding-place which was to be their grave?

  They were murdered because someone wanted what was undoubtedly theirs – a crown. It was that same crown which would be Victoria’s one day if no one took it from her.

  Why was she standing here, looking up at the skylight? She was trying to frighten herself.

  And then … she thought she heard a step on the stair behind her. She caught her breath and gathering her skirts in her hand she sped down the stairs.

  At the foot of the staircase she almost fell into the arms of Baroness Lehzen.

  ‘What has happened?’ demanded the Baroness.

  Victoria was too frightened to pretend.

  ‘I … I thought someone was coming after me … on the stairs.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said the Baroness. ‘Who would want to come after you on the stairs?’

  But they could not deceive her. The Baroness was frightened … even as her mother was.

  And after that there was a new edict.

  Victoria was not to go up and down the stairs alone. Someone must go with her. The Baroness Lehzen, if possible, or the Duchess’s own lady-in-waiting, Baroness Späth.

  ‘Not to go up and down stairs without someone to hold my hand!’ cried Victoria.

  ‘That,’ replied the Duchess coldly, ‘is exactly what I said.’

  ‘So now I know,’ Victoria told her dolls, ‘that they are afraid someone is going to kill me and the reason is the same one that brought death to the little Princes in the Tower.’

  She could not really believe it would happen because it was impossible to imagine a world without Victoria.

  The Duke of Cumberland was thinking a great deal about his niece. William was not so important. William would provide his own evidence he was sure; and in any case his brother was six years older than he was and suffered from gout and asthma, and these in addition to his mental aberrations made the Duke of Cumberland feel confident that he could not long stand in the way.

  It was different with Victoria, the precious child who was hardly allowed to put one foot before another without someone to stand on guard.

  It had been a mistake to try to make her out to be delicate. Madame Kent had soon put an end to that by parading the healthy little brat for all to see. He knew from friends in the Kent household that the child was never in her bedroom alone and that now a rule had been made that she was not even to walk up and down stairs on her own.

  It was clear that she must be removed from Kensington Palace and the eagle eyes of her mother and that other watchdog, Lehzen.

  He was determined to get her away from her guardians and he saw a way of doing it.

  The rumours about the Duchess and the Controller of her household, Sir John Conroy, must persist; but it might be that he would not succeed in persuading the King through them, though they could serve to convince others.

  With the King he had another method.

  When they were together he talked often of the Princess Victoria.

  ‘I have seen that the child made a deep impression on you, George.’

  ‘I found her amusing.’

  ‘You should see more of her.’

  ‘Yes, I should like that.’ But would he? What would a mass of corrupting flesh look like in the clear sighted searching eyes of youth?

  ‘I think it is not good that she should be brought up in the way she is. A household of women … German women. There is her mother who can scarcely speak English and Victoria speaks German to her. And then there are the Lehzen and Spath creatures. All German. I believe she speaks English sometimes, but I have heard many people murmuring about that household. There seems to be a barrier between you and the child.’

  ‘There is no barrier.’

  ‘How often do you see her? She should be here at Windsor. She should be your close companion. Why, you hardly know the child.’

  The King was thoughtful.

  ‘I believe,’ said the Duke of Cumberland, a nerve twitching in his cheek, ‘that you are considering having Victoria brought to Windsor.’

  The Duchess of Kent was in a panic.

  She sent for Sir John Conroy. ‘What shall I do? The King has made no commands yet, but I have heard that he intends to. He wants Victoria to go to Windsor.’

  ‘You must resist at all costs.’

  ‘I know. I know. But what if he should command? And at Windsor is … Cumberland.’

  ‘The child must not go. You must have a breach with the King rather. I would not answer for her life if she left Kensington. Here we can protect her, but she must not leave us. The Princes who were murdered in the Tower were taken from their mother. It must not happen to Victoria.’

  ‘It shall not. I’ll take her out of the country rather.’

  The Duchess of Clarence called. She embraced the Duchess of Kent fearfully.

  ‘You have heard the rumours,’ said the Duchess of Kent.

  Adelaide nodded. ‘She must not go. You must not let her out of your sight.’

  ‘I have dete
rmined not to. Anything … anything … rather than allow it. I am so terrified.’

  Adelaide said: ‘When William comes to the throne she will be safe. He will be King and I know he will protect you. But … now … it is Cumberland they say who rules, for the King is so ill he hardly knows what is going on about him. I know him for one of the kindest of men. I am sure he would be horrified if he knew what was in our minds.’

  ‘It is as though an evil familiar has taken possession of him.’

  ‘It is exactly so. I do not know the source of Cumberland’s power over him, but it exists and while he lives we shall have to fear Cumberland.’

  ‘My dear Adelaide,’ said the Duchess, ‘I live in terror. What if the King should send for her?’

  ‘I think it is a matter for the Prime Minister. I will approach him and see what can be done. I will tell him that you will never give up Victoria and I am certain that the people would be on your side.’

  ‘You will speak to the Prime Minister?’

  ‘I do not like him. He treated William very brusquely over the Lord High Admiral affair but I believe him to be an honest man and that he will do what he believes to be right.’

  ‘Oh, Adelaide, you are a great comfort to me. I know why Victoria loves you so dearly.’

  Adelaide had shed her meekness. One of her children was threatened and she was going to save the child.

  The most angry and frustrated man in England was the Duke of Cumberland.

  The Duke of Wellington had called on the King that day and had a meeting with him alone. Had Cumberland known that the Duke intended to call he would have made sure that he did not see the King; but Wellington had called unexpectedly and it was not until after the interview had taken place that Cumberland learned what had happened.

  The King had invested his brother with the office of Gold Stick which meant that he had great authority at Windsor and no one was allowed to write to the King unless their communications passed first through his hands.

  ‘I have the authority of His Majesty,’ he announced; and indeed it seemed that Cumberland was in all but name the King.

  Wellington had known this. It was his reason for coming unannounced.

  Cumberland lost no time in discovering what had been the purpose of Wellington’s call.

  ‘It was just the matter of Victoria’s leaving Kensington,’ said the King.

  Just the matter! It happened to be one of the most important matters in the world to Cumberland.

  ‘The Duchesses of Kent and Clarence have heard that we had a mind to bring her here. They are very much against her leaving her mother.’

  Cumberland laughed shortly. ‘Of course they are. They are a couple of foolish women.’

  ‘I do not think they are foolish. In fact I believe Adelaide to be a most intelligent woman. She was very insistent. She said that it would break Victoria’s heart to leave her mother. They are devoted.’

  ‘She does not realize that the child must be brought up to be the Queen … which she may well one day be.’

  ‘I do not wish her to be unhappy.’

  ‘She would be completely happy here.’

  ‘Here, Ernest? What are you thinking of? In the Lodge? In the Castle? In the Cottage? It is no place for a child.’

  ‘By God, George, this is no ordinary child. It is the Queen.’

  ‘That is what people forget of royal children. They are destined to be human beings as well as kings and queens. I remember our upbringing. I think it was responsible for my wildness as a young man. No. The child is happy. She shall stay where she is.’

  ‘George, you should consider …’

  There were times when the King could be very regal. ‘I have discussed the matter thoroughly … with Wellington, who is of my opinion. Victoria shall stay at Kensington.’

  ‘I am sure when we have discussed the matter …’

  The King was peevish. ‘My dear Ernest, I have already told you that the matter is settled.’

  There was no arguing with him. Wellington had convinced him and they had decided this matter so vital to Cumberland’s plans without him.

  Rumour had defeated him. The order should have been given, the child removed before anyone knew that it was his intention to bring her to Windsor.

  Another plan foiled.

  But there would be others.

  The King is Dead

  THE KING’S HEALTH had deteriorated rapidly. As many as eleven leeches had been applied to his leg at one time; punctures had been made in his thighs and ankles to draw off the water; he had grown enormous with dropsy. It was evident that he could not live long.

  The news spread all over London and down to Brighton. The King is dying.

  Mrs Fitzherbert, now living in Brighton, wept when she heard the news. It was long since they had met but she had always regarded him as her husband; she had always hoped that some time before the end they would come together.

  He had loved her, she was sure, as deeply as he had been capable of loving anyone; it had not unfortunately been deep enough to keep him faithful; and she had overlooked so many infidelities. He had learned too late that they should never have parted. But there were two great barriers to the happiness of their life together: his crown and her religion. He dared not admit that he, the King, had married a Catholic; and she could never renounce her faith.

  Ill-starred lovers, she thought; and yet there had been happy years.

  The happiest of my life, she thought.

  And now that he was dying did he think of her? Did he remember the day forty-five years ago when in the drawing-room of her house in Park Street they had taken their marriage vows? They had been in their twenties then – she twenty-nine and he some years younger. She was seventy-four now. An old woman; but not too old to forget and not too old to hope that now that he was leaving this life he would want to go with his hand in hers.

  She could not stay in Brighton, so she travelled up to London. Who knew? He might express a wish to see her and if he did she must be on the watch.

  She waited for some sign; none came, and at last she could not resist taking up her pen and writing to him.

  After many repeated struggles with myself, from the apprehension of appearing troublesome or intruding upon Your Majesty, after so many years of continual silence, my anxiety respecting Your Majesty has got the better of my scruples and I trust Your Majesty will believe me most sincere when I assure you how truly I have grieved to hear of your sufferings …

  It was true and she could not see the page because the tears blurred it.

  So many wasted years, she thought. I should have been with him. I am his wife. Why could he not have been true to our marriage? If he had, what misery we should have been saved.

  But they had parted. He had always said it was not his wish, but he would not give up Lady Hertford for her sake. And when he had left Lady Hertford it had been Lady Conyngham, the harpy, who cared more for diamonds and sapphires than she did for the King, and made no secret of it.

  Oh, the folly of it!

  And now it was too late. But at least he should know that she thought of him.

  She went on writing and when she had finished she sent for a messenger to take her letter to the King.

  He could not see very clearly. The faces about his bed seemed to be floating in space. He was not even sure where it was.

  He heard them talking. ‘We should give it to him. Mrs Fitzherbert …’

  Her name roused him. He cried: ‘What is it?’

  ‘It is a letter, Sir, from Mrs Fitzhèrbert.’

  He smiled. ‘Give it to me.’

  She had not forgotten him. She had written to him. He held the paper in his hand. Her paper … her writing. Maria, he thought. So you did not forget. All those years you remembered and at the end you wrote to me.

  He could not read what she had written. It did not matter. She had written. He put the letter under his pillow. It gave him great comfort.

  Mrs Fitzherbert stood
at her window, waiting. Surely some messenger would come? He would wish to see her to say a last farewell. He must. He could not die without seeing her once more. She had made it clear in her letter that she longed to see him, to hear him say his last farewell to her. Perhaps to tell her that he had never forgotten, that she was the one he had always loved.

  If she could see him, she would treasure the memory for the rest of her life. It would not be long before her turn came.

  He must send for her. He must.

  She lay on her couch listening. The sound of carriage wheels on the road? No, they had gone right past.

  All through the night she lay fully dressed, waiting for a summons that did not come.

  And he was sinking fast; one thing he remembered was the letter under his pillow. Her letter. She had written to him at the end.

  Maria, Maria, he thought. We should never have parted.

  And Maria was waiting through the night for the message that would never come.

  He was dead – George the King, who had shocked the country with his scandalous adventures; who had been known as the First Gentleman of Europe; the elegant dandy, the man of exquisite taste, who had enriched the land with magnificent buildings, who had given them Carlton House, the Pavilion, Nash’s terraces and Regent Street; who had turned Buckingham House into a Palace and had made Windsor Castle habitable. Prinney, who had been loved in youth and hated in his middle and old age, the incomparable George.

  No one mourned as Maria Fitzherbert did. She was so ill that she had to keep to her bed. She was sad thinking of what might have been, and bitterly hurt because he had not answered her letter.

  That was until she knew. And then they told her that he had worn her picture about his neck at his death and in his will he had left the instruction:

  I wish that the picture of my beloved wife, my Maria Fitzherbert, may be interred with me, suspended round my neck by a ribbon as I used to wear it when I lived and placed upon my heart.

  They would carry out his wishes.

  And in death, she thought, we shall not be divided. She heard of his inability to read her letter; she was told how he had seized it and kept it under his pillow.