Begin Reading
Table of Contents
About the Author
Copyright Page
Thank you for buying this
St. Martin’s Press ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.
For Ottilie and Lydia
Mentor and Muse
PROLOGUE
Kensington Palace, September 1835
A shaft of dawn light fell on the crack in the corner of the ceiling. Yesterday it had looked like a pair of spectacles, but overnight a spider had embroidered the fissure, filling in the gaps, so that now it looked, she thought, like a crown. Not the crown that her uncle wore, which had looked heavy and uncomfortable, but the sort that a queen might wear—lacy, delicate, but still strong. After all, her head, as Mama and Sir John never ceased to point out, was extremely small; when the time came, and there could be no doubt now that it would, she would need a crown that fitted.
There was a snore from the big bed. “Nein, nein,” cried her mother, wrestling with her sleep demons. When she became Queen, she thought, she would insist on having a room of her own. Mama would cry, of course, and say that she was only trying to protect her precious Drina, but she would be firm. She imagined saying, “As the Queen, I have the Household Cavalry to protect me, Mama. I imagine I will be quite safe in my own room.”
She would one day be Queen; she knew that now. Her Uncle King was old and not in good health, and it was clearly too late for his wife, Queen Adelaide, to produce an heir to the throne. But Victoria—as she called herself, although her mother and everyone else called her Alexandrina, or even worse, Drina, a nickname she found demeaning rather than endearing—did not know when that time would come. If the King were to die before she attained her majority in two years’ time, it was highly likely that her mother, the Duchess of Kent, would be appointed regent, and Sir John Conroy, her special friend, would be at her side. Victoria looked at the ceiling; Conroy was like the spider—he had spun his web over the palace, and her mother was caught fast, but when the time came, thought Victoria, she would never allow herself to be trapped.
Victoria shivered, even though it was a warm morning. Every week in church she prayed for the health of her Uncle King, and in her head she always added a little note to the Almighty, that if he did decide to take His Majesty William IV to his bosom, please could he wait until after her eighteenth birthday?
Victoria did not have a clear idea of what being Queen would mean. She had history lessons from her governess, Lehzen, and tutorials on the constitution from the Dean of Westminster, but no one could tell her what a queen actually did all day. Her Uncle King seemed to spend most of his time taking snuff and complaining about what he called the “Damned Whigs.” Victoria had only seen him wearing his crown once, and that was because she had asked him to put it on for her. He told her he wore it when he opened Parliament, and asked if she would like to come with him. Victoria had answered that she would like to very much, but then her mother had said that she was too young. Victoria had heard Mama talking about it afterwards with Sir John; she had been looking at an album of watercolours behind the sofa and they had not seen her.
“As if I would allow Drina to be seen in public with that awful old man,” her mother had said crossly.
“The sooner he drinks himself to death, the better,” Sir John had replied. “This country needs a monarch, not a buffoon.”
The Duchess had sighed. “Poor little Drina. She is so young for such responsibility.”
Sir John had put his hand on her mother’s arm and said, “But she will not be ruling alone. You and I will make sure that she does not do anything foolish. She will be in safe hands.”
Her mother had simpered, as she always did when Sir John touched her. “My poor little fatherless girl, how lucky she is to have you, a man who will support her in everything.”
Victoria heard a step in the hall. Normally she had to stay in bed until her mother woke up, but today they were going to Ramsgate for the sea air, and they were to leave at nine o’clock. She was so looking forward to going away. At least in Ramsgate she would be able to look out of the window and see real people. Here in Kensington she never saw anyone. Most girls of her age would be going into society by now, but her mother and Sir John said that it was too dangerous for her to be with people of her own age. “Your reputation is precious,” Sir John always said. “Once lost, it is gone forever. A young girl like you is bound to make mistakes. It is better that you don’t have the opportunity.” Victoria had said nothing; she had learnt a long time ago that to protest was useless—Conroy’s voice was always louder than hers, and her mother always supported him. All she could do was wait.
The Duchess, as usual, took a very long time to dress. Victoria and Lehzen were already sitting in the carriage by the time that her mother emerged with Conroy and her lady-in-waiting, Lady Flora Hastings. Victoria saw the three of them together on the steps, laughing at something. From the way that they glanced over to the carriage, Victoria knew that they were talking about her. Then the Duchess spoke to Lady Flora, who came down the steps towards the carriage.
“Good morning, your Royal Highness, Baroness.” Lady Flora, a sandy-haired woman in her late twenties who always carried a Bible in her pocket, got into the carriage. “The Duchess has asked me to accompany you and the Baroness to Ramsgate.”
Lady Flora smiled, showing her gums. “And I thought it might be an opportunity for us to go through some points of protocol. When my brother came to visit the other day, I noticed you referred to him as His Grace. But you should know that only dukes are called Your Grace. A mere marquess like my brother,” here the gums became even more prominent, “is not entitled to such an honorific. He was delighted, of course—every marquess wants to be a duke—but I thought it was my duty to inform you of the mistake. It is a small thing, I know, but these details are so important, as I am sure you will agree.”
Victoria said nothing, but glanced at Lehzen, who was clearly resenting Lady Flora’s intrusion as much as she was. Lady Flora leant forward. “Of course, Baroness, you have been an exemplary governess, but there are nuances that, being German, you cannot expect to understand.”
Seeing a little flicker in Lehzen’s jaw, Victoria said, “I believe I have a headache. I think I shall try and sleep in the carriage.”
Flora nodded, though clearly irked not to be given further chances to point out Victoria’s and Lehzen’s shortcomings. Looking at her sallow, disappointed face, Victoria closed her eyes with relief. As she dozed off, she wondered, not for the first time, why her mother always chose to share a carriage with Sir John Conroy and never with her.
Although her headache in the carriage was a ruse to avoid the insufferable Lady Flora’s lectures, Victoria began to feel genuinely unwell on the second day of her visit to Ramsgate. When she woke up, her throat was so sore she could barely swallow.
She went over to her mother’s bed. The Duchess was fast asleep, and Victoria had to push at her shoulder quite hard before she opened her eyes. “Was ist das, Drina?” she said, annoyed. “Why are you waking me up? It is still so early.”
“I have a sore throat, Mama, and such a headache. I think perhaps
I need to see the doctor.”
The Duchess sighed and, raising herself up in the bed, put her hand to Victoria’s forehead. The hand felt cool and soft against her skin. Victoria leant against it, suddenly longing to lie down and put her head on her mother’s shoulder. Perhaps her mother would allow her to get into her bed.
“Ach, it is just as normal. You are always exaggerating, Drina.” The Duchess put her curl-papered head on the pillows and went back to sleep.
When Lehzen saw Victoria grimace as she tried to swallow her tea at the breakfast table, she came over at once. “What is the matter, Highness, are you not feeling well?”
“It hurts to swallow, Lehzen.” Although the great pleasure of her days at Ramsgate was to walk along the front, looking at the sea and at the dresses of the other ladies, with her spaniel, Dash, running around at her feet, today all Victoria wanted to do was to lie down in a cool, dark room.
This time it was Lehzen who put her hand on Victoria’s forehead. It was warmer than her mother’s hand and not so soft, but comforting. Wincing and giving Victoria’s cheek a stroke, the governess went over to the Duchess, who was drinking coffee at a table in the window with Sir John and Lady Flora.
“I think, ma’am, that we should call Dr Clark down from London. I am afraid that the Princess is unwell.”
“Oh, Lehzen, you are always fussing. I felt Drina’s head this morning myself, and it was fine.”
“To summon the royal doctor from London,” said Conroy, “would occasion much alarm. We do not want the people to think that the Princess is delicate. If indeed she is unwell, and I have to say she looks quite healthy to me, then we should consult a local man.”
Lehzen took a step towards Conroy and said, “I am telling you, Sir John, that the Princess must see a doctor, a good one. What does it matter what people think when her health is in danger?”
The Duchess threw up her hands, and said in her strong German accent, “Oh, Baroness, you always exaggerate so. It is just a summer cold, and there is no need for having all this fuss.”
Lehzen was about to protest again when the Duchess put up a hand to stop her. “I think, Baroness, that I know what is best for my daughter.”
Conroy nodded and said in his confident baritone, “The Duchess is right. The Princess has a tendency to malinger, as we know.”
Victoria did not hear Lehzen’s reply, as dizziness overwhelmed her and she found herself falling to the floor.
She woke up in a darkened room. But it was not cool; indeed, she felt so hot she thought she must melt. She must have made a noise, because Lehzen was at her side, putting a cold cloth on her cheeks and forehead.
“I am so hot, Lehzen.”
“It is the fever, but it will pass.”
“Where is Mama?”
Lehzen sighed. “She will be here soon, mein Liebe, I am sure.”
Victoria closed her eyes and fell back into the hot, fitful sleep of fever.
At some point in that long day, Victoria surfaced and could smell the lavender water her mother always wore. She tried to call to her, but her voice was just a dry croak. When she opened her eyes, the room was still dark and she could see nothing. Then she heard her mother speak. “Poor little Drina, she has been so ill. I hope it will not affect her looks.”
“Dr Clark says that she is strong and will pull through,” Conroy answered.
“If anything were to happen to her, my life would be over! I would have to go back to Coburg.”
“When the fever passes, I think we should make some arrangements as to the future. If I were to become her Private Secretary, it would mean there could be no … foolishness.”
Victoria heard her mother say, “Dear Sir John. You will guide Victoria as you have always guided me.” Victoria heard a sigh and then some rustling, and then Conroy said in a lower voice, “We will guide her together.”
“Always.”
Victoria turned her face to find a cool place on the pillow and disappeared into her feverish dreams.
The next time she opened her eyes, there was light coming in through the windows and Lehzen’s anxious face bending over her. “How are you feeling, Highness?”
Victoria smiled. “Better, I think.”
She felt a hand take her wrist, and saw Dr Clark standing by her bedside. “The pulse is much stronger today. I think the Princess might have some nourishment, a little broth or beef tea.”
“Certainly, Doctor, I will attend to it immediately.” Lehzen was going to the door when the Duchess rushed in, her hair in an elaborate confection of ringlets on either side of her head.
“Drina! I have been so worried.” She looked at Dr Clark. “May I touch her, Doctor?”
The Doctor bowed. “Now that the fever has passed, there is no danger of contagion, ma’am.”
The Duchess sat on the bed and started to stroke Victoria’s cheek. “You look so pale and thin, but your looks will return. We will take such good care of you.”
Victoria tried to smile, but found it too much effort. She thought her mother looked very fine that morning. She was wearing a dress in striped silk that Victoria had not seen before and new diamond drops dangling from her ears.
“Thank goodness I sent to London for you, Dr Clark,” said the Duchess. “Who knows what might have happened?”
“I believe the Princess has contracted typhus, which can be fatal, but I feel sure that with the right care Her Royal Highness will make a full recovery.”
Lehzen returned, carrying a bowl of broth. She sat down on the other side of the bed and started to spoon it into Victoria’s mouth.
“Thank you, Lehzen, but I will be feeding my daughter.” The Duchess took the spoon and the bowl out of the Baroness’s hands. Victoria watched as Lehzen went to stand at the back of the room.
Her mother pushed the spoon against her lips and Victoria let the broth trickle down her throat. “And now another one, mein Liebe.”
Victoria opened her mouth obediently.
A floorboard creaked loudly as Conroy came into the room. “What a touching scene! The devoted mother nursing her daughter back to health.”
Victoria closed her mouth. “Just a little more, mein Liebe,” said the Duchess, but Victoria shook her head.
Conroy loomed over her, standing behind her mother. “I must congratulate you on your recovery, Your Royal Highness. Thank goodness you have inherited your mother’s robust constitution.”
The Duchess smiled. “Drina is a true Coburg.”
Conroy bared his teeth at Victoria in a smile. “But now you are on the road to recovery, there is a matter that we must attend to. Unlike you, the King is not so robust, and it is vital that we are prepared for what comes next.”
He reached inside his coat and pulled out a piece of paper covered in script. “I have prepared a document appointing me as your Private Secretary. Your mother and I think that is the best way to ensure that you will be protected when you come to the throne.”
“Yes, Drina, you are so young and so frail. Sir John will be your rock.”
From where she lay, Victoria could see Conroy’s hand resting on her mother’s shoulder and the flush that was spreading across her mother’s cheek.
Conroy put the paper on the bed next to her hand and picked up a quill and an inkwell from the writing desk next to the window. “It is all very easy.” Conroy stood by the bed with the pen and ink. “When you have signed the paper, I will make all the arrangements.”
“You are so lucky, Drina, to have someone who will always protect your interests,” said the Duchess.
Conroy bent down with the quill, and Victoria could smell the ambition on his breath. She looked into his dark eyes, and shook her head.
Conroy stared at her, a tiny muscle quivering at the corner of his mouth. “I look forward to serving you as faithfully as I have your mother.”
Victoria shook her head again. Conroy looked at the Duchess, who put her hand on her daughter’s. “We just want to do what is best for you, me
in Liebe. To protect you from your so-wicked uncles. That awful Cumberland will do everything to stop you from being Queen.”
Victoria tried to sit up, but her body betrayed her and she felt tears of frustration coming to her eyes. She saw that Lehzen was leaning forward, her hands clenched, her eyes blazing with fury at Conroy. Her governess’s anger gave Victoria heart. She turned her head to her mother and said as loudly as she could, “No, Mama.”
Her mother’s ringlets quivered. “Oh, Drina, you are still weak from the fever. We will talk about this later.”
She felt Conroy press the quill into her hand and put it on the paper. “We can talk about the details, certainly, but first you must sign this.”
Victoria turned to Conroy and said with great effort, “I … will … never … sign.”
Conroy’s hand tightened around her wrist as he bent down and whispered in her ear, “But you must.”
Somehow she found the strength to pull her hand away. In doing so she upset the inkwell, whose contents poured in a great black stain across the bedclothes. Her mother shrieked in alarm as she stood up to protect her new dress. “Oh, Drina, what have you done!”
Conroy stared at her in fury. “I cannot allow this … this behaviour. I will not have it.”
He raised his hand, and for a moment Victoria thought he might strike her, but Lehzen stepped in front of him. “I think the Princess is looking flushed, don’t you agree, Doctor? Perhaps you should check her pulse in case the fever is returning.”
Dr Clark hesitated, not wanting to upset his patron, the Duchess. Reflecting, however, that it would be even worse to antagonize the heir to the throne, he stepped forward and took Victoria’s wrist. “Indeed the pulse appears to be somewhat elevated. I think the Princess should rest now—it would be most unfortunate if the fever should return.”
The Duchess looked at Conroy, who was standing quite still, his face white with anger. “Come, Sir John, we will talk to Drina again when she is more herself. She is too ill to know what she is doing.” Taking him by the arm, she guided him out of the room, Dr Clark following in their wake.
Victoria Page 1
