Victoria

by Daisy Goodwin

  The interconnecting door opened, and Lehzen came in, her wide face shining with affection. “You should be in bed, Majesty. It is still so early.”

  “Oh, I can’t sleep any more, Lehzen.” She gestured for the Baroness to join her on the window seat. “Look out there, Lehzen. So many people.”

  “Waiting for their Queen.”

  “I trust I shall be worthy of them.” She squeezed her governess’s hand. “I mean to be a great queen, Lehzen.”

  “I have no doubt of that, Majesty.”

  Victoria saw tears in her governess’s eyes. “Thank you, Lehzen.” She leant forward and kissed the Baroness’s cheek. “For everything.”

  Feeling a rough tongue lick her bare foot, Victoria leaned down and picked up Dash. “Oh Dash, are you jealous? I am grateful to you too, of course.”

  And she laughed. But Lehzen did not smile. “It has been the greatest honour of my life to serve you, Majesty.”

  * * *

  The state coach was waiting for her at the foot of the steps, the gilded mouldings winking in the sunlight. As Victoria walked carefully down the steps, anxious not to trip on her heavy crimson mantle, she could not help thinking of Cinderella’s pumpkin. But this was no enchantment, this was the coach that her forebears had taken to the abbey. She had wanted Melbourne to come with her, but he had said it would be against precedent: the only companions that sovereigns might have in the coach were their consorts. So she would have to travel alone.

  As the carriage pulled out into the Mall, she could feel the wave of cheering rocking her. The seat of the coach was a little low, so that she had to half stand to wave at the crowds. As she lifted her hand, there was another roar, and she was almost blown backwards. But the sound ignited a glow of happiness within her. She remembered the day when she had followed the horizontal and then the vertical lines of the family tree to their inevitable conclusion. Of course, Lehzen had told her, she was only the Heir Presumptive; it was still possible that Queen Adelaide might have a living child. But Victoria had known then that it was her destiny to be Queen, her fate to be sitting where she was now in a golden coach bathed in the adoration of her subjects.

  The great nave of the abbey lay before her, the seats on either side gaudily crimson with the peers in their state robes. She stood in the doorway and felt the eight train bearers lift the heavy mantle in readiness for the procession. She heard the organ play the first bars of “Zadok the Priest” from Handel’s Messiah, which was her cue to start walking. But her feet would not move. She was conscious that every eye was upon her, waiting for her to step forward. This was a disaster. She willed herself to do it, but it was as if her legs belonged to someone else.

  And then she saw him. Lord M. Smiling at her, his hand a little outstretched as if to say, Come on, you have nothing to fear. She smiled back and took her first step.

  * * *

  In a bedroom in the north wing of the palace, a room that was never warmed by the sun, Lady Flora waited for the doctors.

  * * *

  Victoria shivered as she stood in the shift that all monarchs wore before they were invested with the robes of state. She felt her heart beating so loudly she wondered if the Archbishop could see it through the muslin. How vulnerable she felt, standing there in front of all the nobility in their crimson velvet wearing only a muslin tunic. The Archbishop was intoning the words of the ceremony. Even as she was listening to the great sonorous sweep of the words—Almighty God, kingdom, honour, and glory—she was looking for Lord M. He gave her a little nod of approval. She turned her eyes back to the Archbishop, and when he asked, “Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?” she replied in her clear, high treble, “I will.”

  The purple robe of state trimmed with ermine was placed on her shoulders. She sat down on the throne, which had been prepared with a specially high cushion so that she would not disappear into its gothic depths. The Archbishop picked up the ring of state, and to Victoria’s dismay he started to push it onto her middle, not her ring, finger. He pushed hard against the unexpected obstacle, and Victoria tried not to cry out in pain as he forced it over her knuckle. She winced as he placed the orb in her right hand and the sceptre in the other. She hoped that the pain would not show.

  But then the Archbishop was holding the crown over her head, intoning the words that had been used since the time of Edward the Confessor. Finally he put it down. It perched there for a moment, teetering on her head, and then it settled, and a feeling of serenity washed over her. She was the Queen of this great nation, anointed by God.

  The trumpets sounded and the boys of Westminster School sang out, “Vivat, vivat, Regina.”

  With a great rustle, all the peers and peeresses picked up their coronets and placed them on their heads. Out of the corner of her eye, Victoria saw Harriet raising her long white arms like a swan and her mother with tears running down her face.

  * * *

  Lady Flora lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. The doctors talked in low voices at the other end of the room. She felt for the words of her favourite psalm: I lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my strength. My help cometh from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. She ran through the psalm as if strolling down the garden path to her childhood home, finding comfort in the familiar tread of the rhythm. When she got to the end of the psalm, she started again at the beginning.

  * * *

  The organ swelled, and the choir began to sing the “Hallelujah” chorus. Victoria sat very still as the peers of the realm approached one by one to pay homage. If she moved her head by so much as a fraction, the crown tilted down over one eye. As the keeper had warned her, the weight of the jewels was too great. She managed to keep her posture through the dukes and marquesses, but when halfway through the earls, an elderly peer called Lord Rolle missed his footing on the steps to the dais and was about to tumble at her feet, Victoria put out a hand to save him from falling over and felt the crown slip down over one eye.

  Luckily Lord Rolle righted himself before it could slip down over the other eye, and she was able surreptitiously to wedge it back in place. But the episode had jolted her out of her trance. As she saw Lord Rolle tottering back to his place, his robes laden with dust and his coronet askew, she felt the laughter rising inside her. Her corset dug into her as her lungs filled with air.

  A queen could not laugh at her coronation—she knew this—but somehow the idea of a laughing queen made her want to laugh even more. In the aisle she could see the scowling face of her uncle Cumberland and his boot-faced Duchess, but even their obvious hatred was not enough to quell the revolution inside her. Just as the volcano of mirth inside her was about to erupt, she saw Melbourne coming up the steps, as a mere Viscount one of the last to pay homage. He raised his eyes to hers and almost imperceptibly shook his head. That moment of recognition was enough to stop the hysteria from catching hold, and she felt herself subside.

  * * *

  The doctors pulled down their sleeves and fastened their cuffs. The maid helped them into their jackets and they left the room. Flora did not move.

  * * *

  At last it was over. The peers had all sworn their fealty and returned to their seats in coroneted ranks. The Archbishop and the other clergymen took their places at the head of the procession, and Victoria knew this was her cue to stand up. She did so with enormous care, so as not to dislodge the crown. As she walked down the steps, her eight train bearers stumbled over themselves to pick up the robes of state. She stepped forward and felt the robe go taut. For a moment she thought she would be pulled backwards, but then there was a whispered command from Harriet Sutherland, “Altogether now, go,” and Victoria dared to step forward. To her relief her train came with her.

  The procession made its way down the aisle, Victoria listening to Harriet’s murmur of “one, two, one, two,” as she tried to set the pace for the maids of honour. As they moved down past the choir stalls into the nav
e, the soldiers began to open the great west door of the abbey, and for the first time Victoria heard the roar of the crowd over the swell of the organ. It burgeoned as she grew closer and closer to the entrance.

  Now the doors were fully open and the sun flooded into the gloom of the abbey, refracting from the diamonds in Victoria’s crown into a thousand points of light. There were so many people. A bigger crowd than she had ever seen. Everywhere there were flags, banners, and even balloons. On another day she might have been overwhelmed by the numbers, but today Victoria could feel her people’s love in every fibre of her body. Her mouth was stretched into its broadest smile, and her subjects smiled back. She loved her people then; they were at one.

  * * *

  A mile away, Flora Hastings felt her stomach contract, and she turned her face to the wall.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dash whined in protest as Victoria poured the warm water over his back. “Come on, Dashy, keep still. You know you need a bath.”

  Dash looked at her reproachfully as if to say that today of all days, he might be spared the indignity of being washed.

  “I want to finish this, before I have to get changed for the fireworks.”

  For the first time since she had woken up that day, Victoria was alone. As soon as Jenkins and Skerrett had taken away her coronation robes, she had decided that the only thing she wanted to do now was to give Dash a bath.

  The colour of the water turned a satisfying grey as the grime from Dash’s squirrel hunts was washed away. When he was finally clean and Victoria let go of her grip on the dog’s collar, he ran away from her, shaking himself frantically to get rid of the excess water.

  Just then Penge announced that Lord Melbourne was waiting for her in the drawing room. The steward could not help but grimace as water landed on his silk stockings.

  Victoria tried not to laugh, and failed. “Dash, come here, you wicked boy. Penge, tell Lord Melbourne I will be there presently.”

  In front of the looking glass, Victoria pulled at the braids on either side of her face so that they hung at a more becoming angle.

  Melbourne was standing at the window as she walked in, and Victoria saw something melancholy in the set of his shoulders. But as he turned round he gave her such a warm smile that she knew she had been imagining things.

  “Oh Lord M, I am so glad to see you. What a day it has been. I thought I would never keep myself from laughing when Lord Rolle rolled over.”

  Melbourne looked down at her, a tender light in his sea-green eyes. “But fortunately, ma’am, your natural dignity prevailed.” He paused and then said in a deeper voice, “I came to tell you how splendid you were today, ma’am. No one could have done it with more dignity.”

  Victoria looked up at him. “I knew you were there all along, Lord M, and that made it easy. I find that everything is more … tolerable if you are present.”

  Melbourne made her a little bow. “You are too kind, ma’am.” When he spoke it was in his best drawing room tone. “Yours is the third coronation I have attended, and undoubtedly the best. Your uncle George’s, although magnificent, was rather spoiled by the presence of his errant queen banging on the door of the abbey to be admitted. And your uncle William’s show was a very drab affair. A coronation is not the time for economy; the people like a spectacle. Today they got one.”

  “Did you hear how they cheered me when I came out of the abbey? I thought I would be blown over.”

  “You are the symbol of a new era, ma’am, and your people are thankful. They were tired of old men, and they know how fortunate they are to be ruled by a young and beautiful queen.”

  Victoria felt herself blushing. “I hope I am worthy of their love.”

  Melbourne did not reply, but he held her gaze. This time it was Victoria who looked away first. “I am so looking forward to the fireworks tonight. I hope it won’t rain.”

  “I have already made arrangements with the Almighty, ma’am.”

  Victoria pointed at him. “How can you expect me to believe that, Lord M, when I know you never go to church?”

  They were laughing together when Lehzen came in. Her face was set. “Excuse me, Majesty, but Sir James Clark is here. He would like to speak with you.”

  Victoria watched the smile fade from Melbourne’s face. For a moment she wished with great intensity that she had taken his advice and done nothing about Lady Flora. But remembering her mother’s laugh when she had broached the subject of Flora and Conroy, she nodded to Lehzen. “You may show him in.”

  As Sir James came in, he bowed to Victoria but avoided looking at her directly. “Forgive me, ma’am, for venturing to disturb you on such a day, but I thought you would want to know the results of the … visit to Lady Flora.”

  “Yes indeed, Sir James.”

  The doctor looked at the parquet floor as if he thought the marquetry might yield him the secret of eternal life. “I must tell you, ma’am, that upon examination, I found Lady Flora to be,” he swallowed, “virgo intacta.”

  Victoria did not recognise the phrase. “But is she with child, Sir James?”

  The doctor went an even deeper shade of crimson and shook his head. Melbourne stepped forward. “The one generally precludes the other, ma’am.”

  Glancing at the regret etched onto his face, Victoria realised her blunder. “I see. Thank you, Sir James. That will be all.”

  The doctor contorted his face into a grimace of apology. “Before I go, I should explain, ma’am, that I believe that the um, swelling, which could indeed be mistaken for a pregnancy, is the result of a tumour. I believe Lady Flora to be gravely ill.”

  Victoria said nothing. The doctor backed out of the room, followed by Lehzen. When they had gone, Victoria turned to Melbourne, and said with passionate regret, “I should have listened to you, Lord M.”

  Melbourne shook his head. “It is always easier to give advice, ma’am, than to take it.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, when walking out on the balcony to see the fireworks, Victoria felt a ripple of something among the assembled courtiers that she did not immediately recognise. It was dark so she could see the faces only when they were lit by the gaudy colours of the illuminations.

  Her mother was standing at the other end of the balustrade with Conroy at her side, and when the pyrotechnic device that spelt “VR” began to explode in the sky, Victoria saw the resentful bruise of her mother’s face change from red, to blue, to gold. Conroy’s face remained in shadow. Victoria knew she should say something to her mother, address the rift that was opening between them. Just then another shower of gold came down from the sky, and she saw her mother lean on Conroy’s arm, and the small, hard knot of rage that had been there since Ramsgate burned in Victoria’s chest. She had been wrong about Flora and Conroy, but that did not mean that she had been wrong about everything. Her mouth filled with bile as she saw her mother look up at Conroy and smile.

  There was a sigh behind her, and she sensed Melbourne’s presence. “The illuminations are magnificent, ma’am. A fitting end to this great day.”

  Victoria felt the anger subside a little.

  There was a gasp from the courtiers on the balcony and cheers from the crowds in the Mall below as the centerpiece of the display, a life-size profile of Victoria, was set alight.

  Victoria turned to Melbourne. “How funny, I am standing here watching myself go up in smoke.”

  “That is one way of describing the spectacle, but I see you as a beacon of light inspiring the nation.”

  “You always put things so happily, Lord M.”

  “In this case, ma’am, I am merely being accurate.”

  The burning profile was beginning to disintegrate. The coronet collapsed in the middle, and the nose and chin caved into each other. Victoria sighed. “This is the best day of my life and also the worst. Can you believe that?”

  Melbourne’s face glowed green from a final rocket. “I can, but only because I remember what it was like to be you
ng. When you are my age, you find that the world is not so extreme. The mountains and valleys have worn down to a comfortable plateau.”

  “Is that all I have to look forward to? Comfort? I think I should prefer to be happy.”

  “As you grow older, there is a lot to be said for being comfortable, ma’am. But I don’t expect you to believe me. When I was your age I too wanted to be happy.”

  Victoria felt a quick tug at her heart. “And were you? Happy, I mean?”

  “Yes, I believe I was.”

  “With your wife? What was she like?”

  “Caro? When I first met her she was captivating. I had never met anyone so vivid or so unexpected. I could never predict what she would say or how she would take things.”

  Victoria said, “I think I should find that rather tiring.”

  Melbourne looked out over the Mall. “And you would be right, ma’am, I daresay.”

  Victoria’s effigy collapsed on itself at last. The unilluminated sky seemed diminished. A chilly breeze sprang up from nowhere, and the crowds below in the Mall began to move: a murmuring stream of people beginning to flow towards home, heads full of the glory of the day and the radiance of their Queen.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It rained every day for two weeks after the coronation. The weather was so bad that Victoria was forced to give up her daily rides with Lord M and amuse herself with indoor pursuits. She practised the piano; she attempted a portrait of Dash; she even looked at Blackstone’s Commentaries, but nothing, whether frivolous or serious, dispelled the cloud that hung over her, as oppressive as the grey skies outside.