The candle in the Duchess’s hand shook, casting discordant shadows around the room. When she spoke, the fury in her tone matched her daughter’s. “Sir John at least cares for my existence. You have banished me from your affections.”
Victoria retort was immediate. “Whose fault is that, Mama?”
The Duchess stared at her before she walked quickly away, her curl papers fluttering as she shook her head.
Victoria watched her go and, turning her back on her ancestors, started to walk back to her bedroom. Her cheek still felt warm from where her mother had touched it.
* * *
The next morning was bright and fair. In the kitchens of the palace, Mr Francatelli, the Queen’s pastry chef, was putting the finishing touches to her birthday cake. He had been working on it for weeks, baking the fruitcake layers a month ago and steeping them in brandy so that they went the colour of mahogany wood. Then he had iced each layer and had made the columns that supported one tier on top of the other. Now he was working on the pièce de résistance, a model of the Queen with her lapdog Dash executed in sugar.
In the throne room, the wife of the vicar of St. Margaret’s Westminster was trying to keep her young charges in order as they waited to sing the national anthem. Her husband had been delighted to volunteer her Sunday school class to sing on the Queen’s birthday, but, she thought ruefully, he had never had to keep eight seven-year-olds quiet in a palace. The children squealed with delight as Francatelli wheeled in a trolley bearing the birthday cake.
“That’s the biggest cake in the world, I think.”
“I bet it’s bigger than the Queen herself.”
“Look up there, you can see the Queen, playing with her little dog!”
The vicar’s wife moved with a swiftness born of long experience to intercept a small and rather grimy hand from patting the head of the sugar spaniel.
“You come away from there, Daniel.”
The footmen started to open the double doors, and the vicar’s wife motioned to her young charges to get in line under a banner on which was painted, Happy Birthday, Your Majesty.
“Do we sing now, Mrs Wilkins?”
“No, that’s the Queen’s mother, the Duchess of Kent.”
“Who’s that man with her? Is that her husband?”
“No, child, her husband is dead. That, I believe, is Sir John Conroy.”
“He looks like her husband.”
“You are an impertinent boy, Daniel Taylor. Please keep your opinions to yourself.”
A hush fell in the room as the footmen at the door signaled that the Queen’s party was coming down the picture gallery. Mrs Wilkins looked at her charges, and as Victoria walked into the room, smaller than the vicar’s wife had believed possible, she nodded to them to start singing.
God save our gracious Queen
Long live our noble Queen
God save the Queen!
Send her victorious, happy and glorious.
Long to reign over us
God save the Queen!
The children were, as ever, off-key, but the Queen smiled and clapped at the end of the verse. Mrs Wilkins gestured to Eliza, the smallest member of the choir, to present the bunch of violets. The Queen buried her face in the flowers and said, “They smell wonderful. What a delightful birthday greeting.”
The children, even Daniel, beamed with pride. Then, at a signal from Baroness Lehzen, Mrs Wilkins gestured to the children to make their curtseys and bows and to follow her.
When they were safely ensconced in the palace kitchens, eating the ices that had been provided for them by the Baroness, Daniel asked, “Does the Queen have a husband, Mrs Wilkins?”
“No, not yet.”
“Is that why she’s so sad?” said Eliza.
“The Queen ain’t sad,” scoffed Daniel.
“She is too. I saw tears in her eyes when I gave the flowers. Real tears.”
“Probably crying because she had to look at your ugly mug.”
As Mrs Wilkins stepped in to separate the two children, and to comfort Eliza, who was indeed a plain child, she thought of the Queen’s small and stricken face, and wished that she too could be comforted so easily.
* * *
In the gilt-embellished vastness of the throne room, Victoria tried to admire her magnificent birthday cake. She could not help but exclaim with delight when a stool was brought so that she could appreciate the sugar figurine of herself and Dash sitting on the top tier of the cake. The representation was so accurate that she could make out the pendant braids around her ears and the tiny crown on Dash’s collar.
It was truly ingenious and touching. Instinctively, Victoria turned round to point out the sugary Order of the Garter to Lord M, who would surely enjoy such a thing, only to remember with a lurch in her stomach that he was not there. She had waited by her window for an hour this morning, hoping for a glimpse of his carriage, but there was no sign of him.
“May I offer you my congratulations on your birthday, ma’am?” Conroy was bowing to her. “The first of many as Queen, I trust.” As he said this, he gave a waxy smile, and Victoria heard the threat that lay beneath the words. She wondered why he was here; Mama must know that she would not appreciate his presence. She looked over at her mother to show her displeasure, but the Duchess was looking out of the window.
Victoria turned away from him without replying, and Harriet rushed forward to fill the awkward silence. “I have arranged all your presents on this table, ma’am. There is a jewelled dagger here from the Shah of Persia, and the most ingenious silver musical box from the Corporation of Birmingham that shows you sitting on your throne and waving as it plays ‘Rule Britannia.’ Let me set it in motion for you.”
Victoria stared listlessly as her small clockwork doppelganger jerked her tiny hand up and down.
“Very ingenious.” She turned to Lehzen. “Please make sure that you thank them from me.”
She picked up the jewelled dagger, which had a ruby the size of Dash’s eye on the handle, and thought that she had a palace full of weapons that she was not allowed to use.
Emma Portman came bustling in, carrying a parcel wrapped up in brown paper and string that she placed in Victoria’s hands.
“From Lord Melbourne, ma’am.”
Victoria sat down to open the parcel. He had not forgotten her birthday. Under the layer of wrappings was a wooden box with a brass plate on the top that said, Presented to her Majesty Queen Victoria on the occasion of her nineteenth birthday from her devoted servant Lord Melbourne.
Quickly she opened the box. Inside, nestling in a bed of blue velvet, was a brass tube. She picked it up and saw that it had an eyepiece at one end.
“Oh, ma’am,” said Emma, “I believe it is a telescope. How typical of William to choose such an unusual present.” Her voice was encouraging, as if she knew that Victoria needed to be convinced.
Victoria picked up the telescope and put it to her eye. She could see nothing, but then Emma reached down and showed her how to extend the instrument.
“You have to pull it out like this, ma’am, in order to see anything. Try now.”
Victoria put her eye to the glass again and trained it on the ceiling. She made out the dimpled hand of a cherub holding a lyre; she could even see the dust that lay in drifts on the cornice. As she lowered the instrument, she saw a mouth set in a line of fury. Putting the telescope down, she found that the mouth belonged to her mother.
“Oh, ma’am, look, there is a card here from Lord Melbourne.” Harriet pressed the letter into her hand.
Victoria’s heart began to hammer in her chest when she saw the familiar handwriting. She broke the seal and saw with a lurch of disappointment that the letter was only two lines long.
To help you see things differently, ma’am.
I am as ever, your loyal and obedient servant,
Melbourne
Victoria let the letter slip to the floor, where Dash picked it up like a trophy and ran with it round the r
oom, yelping with delight.
“And here is my present, Drina.” Victoria looked up to see her mother holding out a parcel. She was not smiling.
“Thank you, Mama.”
“It is not much, I know, but then I do not have unlimited funds at my disposal.”
Hearing the bitterness in her mother’s voice, Victoria said as lightly as she could, “I do not need expensive gifts, Mama. It is the thought that counts.”
She tore open the paper to reveal a book. It was an edition of King Lear bound in red Morocco leather.
“Shakespeare, Mama?”
“Why don’t you open it? I have marked a passage that I think you should be reading.”
Victoria looked at the book in her hands. She felt the force of her mother’s gaze and the presence of Conroy standing behind her. She forced herself to open the book slowly, trying to keep her hands from trembling.
The book fell open easily, and she saw that two lines had been underscored in red ink. How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is, to have a thankless child.
“Why don’t you read them, Drina?” said her mother, her voice full of meaning.
Victoria shut the book with a snap. She stood up and was about to walk out when she saw a sudden movement at her feet. At first she thought it was Dash, but then there was a flash of pink, and a large brown rat ran over her foot.
Her screams were so loud that afterwards the servants claimed that the brilliants on the chandelier rattled. She tried to stop, but kept feeling that sudden movement across her instep. Nowhere was safe.
Lehzen was behind her now. “Do not worry, Majesty, Dash has caught it now. Look, he has it in his mouth.”
But Victoria screamed even louder. Then she took her arm back as far as her corset would allow, and hurled the volume of King Lear at the window overlooking the balcony with all her strength. The glass broke with a satisfying crash. Victoria stopped screaming and began to laugh, rocking back and forth on her heels, the noise getting even louder as she saw Dash trotting around the room holding the rat between his teeth.
A pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders and held her still. She looked up and saw Conroy looking at her and smiling. That smile felt like a band around her heart.
“You are not yourself, ma’am. It seems that the excitement of the day has been too much for you. Baroness, I think you should take the Queen to lie down. I will send for Sir James.”
Victoria tried to speak, but the words would not come. Her voice was hoarse from all the screaming, so she shook her head as hard as she could.
“Really, ma’am, I must insist. You are under strain; the cares of office are clearly too much for you. A period of rest and seclusion is what you need. It is fortunate that you are among friends here, but think of the reputation of the monarchy if anyone else were to witness one of these episodes.” Conroy spoke firmly and calmly, as if he were restoring order after a period of anarchy.
“Don’t you agree, Duchess, that your daughter needs a spell of quiet retirement?” Conroy turned towards Victoria’s mother.
“My daughter needs to be taken care of, I think.”
Victoria wanted to protest, but instead she found that she was weeping. Lehzen gripped her elbow. “Come with me, Majesty, it is better so.”
Victoria heard the loyalty in Lehzen’s voice. Knowing that the Baroness at least would never betray her, she allowed her former governess to lead her from the room.
Lehzen helped her out of her corset, and Victoria lay down on her bed and immediately fell asleep. When she woke up, she saw Lehzen leaning over her, and beside her Sir James Clark, who was licking his lips nervously.
“I believe you are overtired, ma’am.” He picked up her wrist and grimaced as he listened to the pulse.
Victoria turned her head away from him and saw her mother standing on the other side of the bed with Conroy next to her, his face a mask of sympathetic concern.
A great feeling of weariness came over her. How easy it would be to close her eyes and wait for them to go away. But when she saw that Conroy had his hand on her mother’s elbow as if she were a marionette, a wave of anger made her sit up.
“Really, ma’am, your pulse is most irregular. I think a period of complete rest is essential.”
Victoria took a deep breath and snatched her hand out of the doctor’s grasp. Looking at Conroy, she said as loudly as she could, “That is out of the question, Sir James. There is absolutely nothing wrong with me.”
“But, ma’am, these episodes of hysterical behaviour often recur. The Baroness tells me that you have an engagement at the Palace of Westminster this afternoon. Surely it would be wiser to cancel?”
“It would be so unfortunate,” said Conroy, “if you were to find yourself … indisposed in such company. I believe that there is to be a very large gathering of peers and members of Parliament to see your portrait unveiled.”
Victoria clasped the sheet with her hand, and sat up as straight as she could. “I believe I have made myself clear. I saw a rat, that is all. You all have my permission to leave. Except for you, Lehzen. I wish to talk to you about the arrangements for the unveiling.”
Sir James Clark was about to protest, but Conroy put his hand on his arm. “We must do as the Queen says, Sir James. It is evident that she believes that she is quite well.” He ushered the doctor and the Duchess out of the room.
When they had gone, Lehzen was about to speak, but Victoria put up her hand to stop her. “No, Lehzen, I am not staying in bed. I merely had a shock. Mama’s … present, and then the rat—it was unsettling, no more.”
“But, Majesty, you look tired. I think it would be good for you to rest.”
Victoria looked up at her governess’s worried face. “I will rest now, Lehzen, but I must go to the ceremony this afternoon. Otherwise there will be gossip about me, and there has been too much of that already. You know what Lord M says: a monarch must be seen to be believed.”
Lehzen flinched at the mention of Melbourne, but she nodded. “I understand, Majesty.”
“Besides, who wants to spend their birthday in bed?”
Lehzen put her hand to her mouth. “Oh Majesty, I am nearly forgetting. I have something for you.” Fumbling in her skirts, she pulled out a small parcel and placed it in Victoria’s hand.
Inside was an enameled miniature of a young girl with long red hair. Victoria looked at it and recognised the girl as Elizabeth Tudor. Clearly painted earlier than the portrait in the gallery, this was a picture of a girl who had not yet hardened into monarchy. The face was wary, but the eyes were soft. She was looking out of the picture as if searching for someone to trust, but the set of her mouth, the jut of her chin suggested that she knew what it was to be disappointed.
Victoria smiled. “Elizabeth Tudor. Thank you, Lehzen. I like it very much.”
“She was a great Queen, Majesty. Nobody thought that she was capable of ruling alone, but she brought peace and prosperity to the country.”
Victoria looked at Lehzen. “The Virgin Queen. Do you think, Lehzen, that I should follow her example?”
The governess looked confused, but then she lifted her eyes to the Queen. “I think, Majesty, that there are some women who are always needing a man, but I think that it is not necessary for a queen.”
“I don’t think Conroy would agree with you!”
Lehzen smiled. “No, Majesty.”
Victoria leant over and took her hand. “But even a queen needs friends, Lehzen.”
* * *
Conroy lost no time in sending a note across to St. James’s Palace, and received a message asking him to wait on the Duke of Cumberland at his earliest convenience. He left at once, before the Duchess of Kent could ask him where he was going.
This time the Duke did not have his snuffbox, and stood up as Conroy was announced. “I was perturbed by your note, Conroy. Hysterics, you say, over a rat?”
Conroy nodded. “I am afraid you could hear her all over the palace. I sent for Sir James Cl
ark at once, naturally.”
Cumberland traced the scar on his cheek with his finger. “Was there a rat, or could it have been an hallucination? My father, you know, used to see a red dog.” He looked at Conroy hopefully.
Conroy shook his head. “I believe there was a rat, sir, but the Queen’s reaction was extreme. Sir James believes she is suffering from hysteria.”
Cumberland pursed his lips. “Then it is our sad duty to raise the question as to the state of her wits. I think that Wellington and Peel will have to come round to my point of view when they hear of this episode. The country is still without a ministry, and my niece is unhinged by a rodent.”
He said the last words with relish. Conroy could see the Duke was already assuming power, and added swiftly, “The Duchess wants no harm to come to her daughter.”
Cumberland gave him a quick glance, annoyed by this reminder of their alliance. He waved his hand with a gesture of royal hauteur. “Indeed. The Duchess and I will care for her together.”
Conroy bowed. “The Duchess will be reassured to hear that, sir.”
Cumberland considered him. “There is not a moment to lose.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “I must go to White’s; I daresay that Wellington will be there at this hour.” Cumberland picked up his hat from the table and started for the door.
Conroy realised he was being dismissed. “The Duchess will need to be informed of all … developments, sir.”
Cumberland looked round, surprised to find Conroy still there. “Indeed.”
* * *
There was a pile of dresses on a chaise in Victoria’s dressing room. She had intended to wear the pink figured silk, but when she put it on she found it would not do. Although Lehzen had protested that it was most becoming, Victoria had declared that it was a hateful colour and she looked like a stick of rhubarb. Then she sent for Harriet Sutherland, who suggested the cream brocade, but Victoria decided that made her look like a dumpling. Now wearing a blue silk, she was looking at herself in the mirror, with Harriet, Emma, and Lehzen waiting for her to speak. Victoria could tell from the expression on their faces that she was being unreasonable, but none of them knew what it was like to walk out into a room full of strangers when every single one of them was looking at you.
Victoria Page 19
