But the Queen did not appear to be diverted, dissecting her food with her knife and fork as if it were a laboratory specimen. The Duchess, meanwhile, made no attempt at all to follow the conversation, and ate as much as she could in total silence.
Victoria looked at her mother scraping up the last morsel of quenelles de brochet from her plate, and sighed. If only Lord M were here, he would find a way of making everything easy. That was not a skill that Robert Peel possessed, judging by his performance that afternoon. She had not been expecting to be charmed, but he had not even been civil. Striding in and proposing to take away all her friends; it was as if he had forgotten who he was talking to. How could Melbourne have left her to deal with such an uncouth man? She put down her knife and fork with a clatter, and the footmen swooped in and cleared the plates, despite the Duchess protesting that she hadn’t finished.
After dinner, Victoria sat looking at a volume of La Mode Illustrée. She liked the new neckline that skimmed the collarbone and neck. Lord M had once told her that she had fine shoulders. Inviting Harriet and Emma to sit down next to her, she showed them one of the dresses she particularly admired. Harriet, who was generally considered to be one of the best-dressed women in London, pointed to a style that she thought would look particularly becoming on Victoria, and they spent a happy half an hour turning the pages, discussing passementerie and the ideal depth of a lace flounce.
When they got to the last page, Emma looked at Victoria. “I know, ma’am, that you will have to make some changes to your household now that there is to be a new administration, and I think that I should be the one to go. Harriet is so much more accomplished than I am, and I think her taste will be invaluable to you, whereas I can hardly play the piano and am scarcely a leader of fashion.”
Harriet shook her head. “No, Emma, you have wisdom and experience. Sutherland always says that you are the best man in the cabinet. Without Lord Melbourne, I think the Queen will need your counsel more than ever!”
“You are too kind, Harriet, but I think that the Queen needs a younger companion. I am old enough to be her mother.”
Both women looked over at the Duchess of Kent, who was on a sofa near the fire, her eyelids drooping.
Victoria, who had been listening to this exchange in silence, looked up. “The point is that I find you both invaluable. You are not just my ladies, you are also my friends, and I have no intention of losing either of you.”
Harriet and Emma looked at each other. Emma spoke first. “But ma’am, it is customary for the ladies of the household to change when the ministry does.”
“But that’s ridiculous. What right does Robert Peel have to tell me who I should be friends with?”
Harriet said gently, “I think, ma’am, that he would find it difficult to form a government if he is not seen to have your support.”
Victoria gave them both a knowing smile. “Precisely.”
Emma and Harriet looked at each other, surprised by Victoria’s reaction.
Victoria got to her feet, and when the whole room was standing, she addressed them both. “So you see, ladies, there is no question of either of you resigning.”
Harriet made a deep curtsey, and Emma followed suit.
The Duchess woke up from her reverie and said plaintively, “But where are you going, Drina? I want to talk to you. You should not always be acting alone. It is dangerous.”
Victoria turned to her, her eyes glittering. “But I am not acting alone, Mama. I have my ladies.”
The Duchess snorted. “You forget, Drina, that blood is thicker than water.”
Victoria stopped. “Do you really believe that, Mama? Perhaps you should tell Sir John Conroy!”
The Duchess threw up her hands in despair. “You are so childish, Drina. Sir John and I only want to serve your interests. That is all I have ever wanted.” The Duchess reached for her handkerchief and started to dab at her eyes.
Victoria hesitated; her mother never cried in public. She turned back and sat down next to her.
“I know, Mama, that you are worried, but there is no need. I have learnt how to handle myself.”
“I think, Drina, that is a matter of opinion. You visited Dover House alone against my advice, and now I believe that you have told Sir Robert that you refuse to give up your ladies.” The Duchess glared at Harriet and Emma, who were huddled together on the other side of the room.
“Yes, Mama, I did. But I did not do so on a whim. I know what I am doing.”
“You think you do, but Sir John says that you are playing with fire. This country needs a prime minister, and if it seems that you are preventing the country from being governed, then the country will blame you.”
Victoria stood up. “As you say, Mama, blood is thicker than water. Perhaps you should trust my judgement rather than Sir John Conroy’s.” Turning her back on her mother, she walked quickly out of the room, Emma and Harriet following in her wake.
* * *
The next morning, Emma Portman went to Dover House at an hour that she would generally consider too early to be civilised, but rules had to be relaxed at times like this. Melbourne’s butler told her that his lordship was still in bed, but Emma took no notice and proceeded directly up the stairs to the bedroom. The butler attempted to protest, but the gleam in Lady Portman’s eyes told him that resistance was useless.
Melbourne was lying in bed reading The Times when Emma burst in. He saw the butler’s apologetic face and nodded that it was all right. Emma sat down at the end of the huge four-poster.
“Really, Emma, you might have given me some warning. I am hardly presentable.”
“My business couldn’t wait, and I am too old to be shocked by your whiskery chin or the egg on your dressing gown.”
Melbourne looked down and saw that there was indeed a patch of congealed yolk on the lapel of his paisley robe. “Well, then, you must take me as I am, Emma. But what is this business that couldn’t wait for me to receive you in the library like a respectable married lady?”
“The Queen saw Peel yesterday.”
“I know. I told her it was the only sensible course.”
Emma looked at him searchingly. “But did you know that she told him that she would not give up any of her ladies?”
Melbourne sighed. “No. In fact, I told her that she would have to make changes to her household, or Peel would not feel he had her confidence.”
“I saw Peel as he was leaving. His ears were bright red as if she had boxed them!”
Melbourne sighed again. “But how can Peel not have persuaded her that it was in her interests to make changes? It would not be right for her to be seen as the Queen of only one party.”
Emma Portman laughed. “You know perfectly well why he couldn’t persuade her. She won’t change her ladies because she means to have you back, William.”
Melbourne got out of bed and rang the bell for his valet. “That is not her decision to make,” he snapped.
“Nevertheless, that is her intention.” Emma arched an eyebrow. “You can’t blame her, really. Why put up with a clod like Peel if she can have her charming Lord M?”
The door opened, and the butler came in, followed by one of the royal messengers, who held out a letter to Melbourne. “From the Queen, my lord.”
Melbourne tore it open and frowned.
“You see,” said Emma, smiling, “there is your summons.”
Melbourne made a sound that from a less urbane man would have been considered a snort. “I hope that in the last year I have taught the Queen the difference between inclination and duty.”
Emma walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I am sure that was your intention, William. But you forget the Queen is also a young girl who likes to get what she wants.”
* * *
Half a mile away on St. James, in White’s club, the stronghold of the Tory Party, the Duke of Cumberland was making his way through the library. If he saw that more than one member turned his back on him, he gave no indicatio
n of noticing; he was too intent on reaching Wellington, who was holding court with a cabal of Tory Party grandees, including Robert Peel, at the end of the room.
The Duke strode into the middle of the group, his scar livid against his cheek, and without greeting anyone he attacked. “Can it really be true that the Tory Party, the party of Burke and Pitt, has been defeated by the caprice of an eighteen-year-old girl?” He turned his bloodshot blue eyes on Peel, who took a step back.
“I cannot form a government, sir”—the flat northern vowels were evident in his voice—“without the support of the sovereign.”
He returned Cumberland’s stare without flinching. Cumberland put his finger to his temple and turned to Wellington. “Do you think, Wellington, that her behaviour is altogether rational? To make such a to-do over her ladies. It reminds me of my father. He was not altogether rational at the beginning of his … sad affliction.”
Peel raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that the Queen is not of sound mind, sir?”
“I am saying that she is not strong enough for the business of government. What she needs is guidance. When my father was ill, there was a regent appointed. Why should we not do the same?”
Wellington leant back against the mantelpiece and surveyed Cumberland with a cool stare. “I am sure that the Duchess of Kent would be ready to step in and, of course, she is very popular with the people.” Wellington’s emphasis was clear; the Duchess had the kind of public support that Cumberland lacked.
Cumberland stared back at him with dislike. “I think the Duchess is hardly capable of being regent unaided.”
Wellington smiled. “Oh, I am sure Sir John Conroy would be more than happy to advise her. I believe he is very ambitious.”
The colour in Cumberland’s face went darker. “A German ninny and an Irish mountebank—I hardly think that will do.”
Peel spoke from his corner. “So who did you have in mind, sir?”
Wellington took a step towards Cumberland. “Oh, I believe the Duke thinks that a regent should come from the British royal family, am I right?”
Cumberland drew his lips back into something approaching a smile. “Quite right, Wellington. The Duchess has a claim as the Queen’s mother, but she would need a co-regent of royal blood.”
Wellington nodded. “Well, let us hope that it won’t come to that. Another regency would not be a good thing for the country.”
Cumberland tried not to show his annoyance. “Better a regency than a hysterical girl on the throne.”
Peel cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t say the Queen was hysterical, sir. In fact, she seemed to me to be quite calm.”
Cumberland turned his head sharply. “But she has behaved completely unreasonably, has she not?”
Wellington smiled. “I daresay that in the Queen’s mind, her behaviour is quite rational. I imagine that she thinks by refusing to give up her ladies, she will get Melbourne back.”
“But that is unconstitutional,” spluttered Cumberland.
“So is replacing a sane monarch with a regency, Your Royal Highness,” said Wellington with exaggerated courtesy. Peel’s lips twitched.
“Something must be done,” grumbled Cumberland, ignoring the implied insult.
Wellington nodded. “Yes, we need a prime minister. She will send for Melbourne now, but I wonder what he will do?”
“Whatever she wants, of course; the man is besotted with her,” said Cumberland.
“Perhaps, but even Melbourne might baulk at becoming the Queen’s second lapdog,” said Wellington, “and whatever you think of his politics, the man knows his duty.”
Peel looked at Wellington and then at Cumberland. “His notions of political economy are sadly deficient, but he is a man of honour.”
Cumberland looked at them both incredulously. “Honour and duty indeed! This is not a novel by Sir Walter Scott. Melbourne’s a man and a politician; he will do whatever suits his own interest.”
Wellington’s smile did not waver. “Well, that remains to be seen, but for now we are in his hands.”
Cumberland seemed about to berate them further, but evidently thought better of it. Giving them both a curt neck bow, he turned on his heel and left them, the club members darting away from him like frightened sheep.
Peel turned to Wellington. “I suppose if the Queen won’t see reason … then at some point we might have to consider the idea of a regency.”
Wellington narrowed his eyes. “It’s possible, of course, but of one thing I am certain—the people would rather have Tom Thumb on the throne than be ruled by the Duke of Cumberland. Half the country thinks he murdered his valet and the other half believes he fathered a child on his sister. Little Vicky may be young and foolish, but she isn’t a monster. Or at least not yet.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Victoria waited for Melbourne in her private sitting room. She opened one of her boxes and tried to concentrate on a paper about the appointment of the Dean of Lincoln Cathedral, but could not focus her attention. She closed the lid of the red dispatch box and examined her reflection in the looking glass on the chimney piece. She was wearing the pink dress that Melbourne had once called becoming, but in the mirror she thought it made her face look sallow. Was there time to change?
She looked at the boulle clock on the malachite console; it was nearly eleven o’clock. If she changed her dress now, then Melbourne might arrive, and she did not want to keep him waiting. She pinched her cheeks hard and bit her lips, trying to bring a little colour into her face, but she still looked pale. It had been so difficult to sleep last night. She wondered if Lord M would notice; he was so observant usually.
Before the clock had finished chiming eleven, the footman opened the door to admit Melbourne.
Victoria saw at once that his smile was not as warm as she had hoped, but she did not let her own smile waver as she held out her hand to him. “Dear Lord M, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.” She smiled conspiratorially. “Don’t you think I have arranged things marvellously?”
Melbourne said without expression, “You have been most resourceful, ma’am.”
“Sir Robert wanted to take all my ladies away and replace them with Tory spies.”
To her great relief, she saw Melbourne’s lips twitch as he replied, “Peel is a fine politician and a man of principle, but I fear he has never understood the fairer sex.”
He looked at Victoria then, and she held his gaze. Then in a lower voice, she said, “I have missed you, Lord M.”
Melbourne raised an eyebrow. “It has been all of a day and a half.” He took a step towards her and she looked up at him eagerly, but he spoke with great seriousness.
“I have come here to tell you, ma’am, that it would not be in your interests for me to return as Prime Minister.”
Victoria had to repeat the words in her head before she could understand their meaning, and then she said in astonishment, “Not in my interests? But it is all that I desire in the world.”
Melbourne bowed his head and continued in that same grave voice, “You flatter me, ma’am. But I cannot allow you to jeopardise the position of the Crown on my account.”
Victoria felt as though her head would burst. It had never occurred to her that Melbourne might not come back once she had dealt with Peel. And now he was talking to her as if she were a recalcitrant child instead of his sovereign.
She lifted her chin. “Allow me, Lord Melbourne?”
Melbourne continued, “Peel was quite within his rights to ask you for changes in your household. After all, your ladies are ones that I put forward.”
Victoria felt her stomach lurch, and her breath started to come in short, fast bursts. “But my ladies are my friends. If I lose them as well as you, then I have no one. It will be like Kensington with Mama and Sir John all over again. I don’t think I could stand it.” She felt tears coming to her eyes, and bit her lip. “Sir Robert Peel does not understand this, but I think that you must, Lord M.”
Melbourne s
ighed, his handsome face struggling to keep its composure. Victoria thought that he must yield, but when he spoke it was again in that hateful voice. “I’m sorry, but if I agree to form a government now, you will be the loser, ma’am. Critics, and I have many, will say that I have manipulated you, a young and impressionable woman, for my own political advantage.”
Victoria said fervently, “But that isn’t true. I am not a piece of clay to be moulded by any hand.”
He looked at her then and said slowly and carefully, “No, you are not a child anymore, and that is why you must try to understand that it doesn’t matter who you like or don’t like.”
Victoria bridled; how could he not understand that she needed his support, not a lecture on the duties of being a sovereign?
“Of course it matters! I am the Queen.” But as she spoke she saw him shake his head.
“Vic—” Then he caught himself. “Your Majesty, surely you understand what’s at stake here?”
Victoria pulled her shoulders back, and with as much force as she could muster she said, “Lord Melbourne! You forget yourself!”
But Melbourne’s face did not change. Usually so mobile, it seemed to be made of granite. His gentle, expressive eyes were hard, and his perpetually smiling mouth was set into a grim line. Victoria felt as if her heart would break; she had trusted him completely and now he was telling her that he would not do the only thing in the world that she wanted.
At last she said in a small voice, “Don’t you want to be my Prime Minister?”
When he spoke it was as if the words were being squeezed out of him. “Not in these circumstances, ma’am. The relationship between the Crown and Parliament is a sacred one, and I will not allow you to put it in danger.”
Victoria shook her head, but before she could reply Melbourne said in a thick voice, “You must excuse me, ma’am,” and without waiting for her permission, he turned his back on her and walked quickly out of the room.
* * *
Conroy was on his way to the palace from his lodgings in Bruton Street when a messenger presented him with a letter asking him to call at Cumberland House. Conroy’s supple mind began to calibrate the points at which the Duchess’s interests and Cumberland’s might coincide, and he made his way to St. James’s Palace, where the Duke had apartments, with a sense of anticipation. With Melbourne out of the way and Cumberland as an ally, there could be any number of possibilities for advancement.
Victoria Page 17
