Albert remembered the last time he had been to London, and how tired he had been all the time. Victoria had laughed at him and called him a dormouse. He had not been familiar with the word at the time, but discovered its meaning later and even now felt its sting. This was not going to work. He would be humiliated again by a girl who thought that waltzing was the highest form of human endeavour.
When they reached the double door of the state drawing room, Albert paused. Ernst put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and said, “To the victor, the spoils. And Albert—” He squeezed his brother’s arm, hard. “Remember to smile.”
The footmen pushed back the double doors. Albert saw a room full of people sitting and standing in front of the piano, where a girl he thought must be Victoria was playing. He glanced at the majordomo to see if he would announce their arrival, but the man glanced at the piano, indicating that formalities would have to wait until the Queen stopped playing.
The brothers walked around the edge of the room, where they were noticed at once by Leopold and the Duchess, who blew them a kiss, and there was a flurry of interest behind the fans of the ladies of the household. Albert noticed that a tall man, his blond hair streaked with grey, looked at him with assessing green eyes. Only Victoria—and he could see now that it must be Victoria—seemed unaware of their arrival, continuing to play the slow movement just a little too fast.
Albert moved to the outside of the circle, so that he was standing just behind the piano. The music was on the stand in front of her, and Albert could see that she was about to come to the end of the passage. Instinctively, he stepped forward and at just the right moment turned the page. At first Victoria carried on playing, but then her fingers stopped moving and she turned her head to see him for the first time.
“Albert?” It was not quite a question, more an expression of wonder. She looked very young; her eyes were bluer than he remembered, her mouth softer, and he wondered that he should have been frightened of his cousin, who even if she was a queen was still only a girl.
Bowing, he said, “Victoria.”
There was a moment of silence, a pause in which everything else was set aside. For that brief instant it was as if they were alone in the room.
But then there was a scratching and pattering across the parquet floor. Albert saw a dog with long, hairy ears clatter to a stop at his feet, barking furiously, as if he were an intruder.
“Dashy, stop that.” Laughing, Victoria scooped the dog up into her arms. “You mustn’t bark at cousin Albert, even if he does look quite different to the last time we saw him.”
Albert stiffened; there was a teasing note in her voice that he recognised from their last meeting. He looked at the dog with distaste; his own dog, Eos, was a greyhound, noble and fast. The furry ball that Victoria was holding in her arms did not seem to belong to the same species.
Victoria kissed Dash extravagantly on the nose and gave him to Harriet Sutherland to hold. “I don’t want him to bark at Albert again. He is so protective.”
Albert kissed the hand she held out to him, his lips barely touching her skin. As he stood up he said, “I am sorry your dog does not recognise me. I on the other hand have no difficulty in recognising you, Cousin Victoria. Although I think that now you are playing the piano with fewer mistakes.”
Victoria took a small step backwards and lifted her chin. There was a note in his voice which made Melbourne look up, and caused Ernst to walk quickly across the room. He stopped in front of Victoria and made an elegant bow. “How magnificent you look, Cousin Victoria. Monarchy clearly agrees with you.”
Victoria smiled and held out her hand to him, which he kissed with a great flourish. Albert did not move, but watched his brother impassively.
The Duchess, who had been on the far side of the room with Leopold, now came rushing over to the brothers. After kissing them effusively on both cheeks, she started to exclaim over them in German. “Mein lieben Jungen. Wie gut aussehend…”
Albert submitted to her embrace gracefully and said, “Danke, Tante. But I think we must talk in English. I am needing to practise.”
The Duchess was beaming with pleasure as she stood between her two nephews and put an arm through each of theirs. “Oh, Drina, are your cousins not handsome? Such fine Coburg specimens.”
Victoria looked embarrassed. “Please, Mama, they are not racehorses!” Turning to Lehzen, she said in her best hostess voice, “Baroness, I expect the Princes are tired after their journey. Will you escort them to their rooms?”
Lehzen, who had been watching the exchange between Albert and Victoria with great attention, curtseyed to the Princes and started to walk towards the door. Instead of following her, Albert said with some clarity, “Actually I am not so fatigued.”
Victoria replied with equal distinctness. “Oh? I remember that on your last visit your eyelids were drooping by nine o’clock.”
Before Albert could reply, Ernst broke in. “But my little brother is quite the night owl now. He can stay up till midnight without a single yawn.”
Leopold had been watching the proceedings with some impatience. He now said, “I think, Victoria, that you should hold a ball. Now that you have suitable partners.”
Two red spots began to form on Victoria’s cheeks. “I thank you for the suggestion, Uncle, but I believe my people would think me flighty if I am always holding balls.” She turned to Melbourne for reassurance. “Don’t you agree, Lord M?”
Melbourne smiled and shrugged. “You know your people, ma’am.”
He looked enquiringly at the Princes. Realising she must now introduce them, Victoria turned to her cousins. “Albert, Ernst, my Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne.”
Melbourne gave the Princes a modest formal bow. “Welcome to England, Your Serene Highnesses.”
There was another pause, until Ernst said with deliberate brightness, “It is so good to be here in London. I have such fond memories of our last visit. Cousin Victoria, we were hoping that tomorrow you might show us the pictures in your collection. I have heard that it is magnificent, and Albert has just come back from Italy and talks of nothing but Old Masters.”
At a look from his brother, Albert said stiffly, “I believe that there are some works by Leonardo da Vinci.”
Victoria looked at him blankly, and Albert wondered if it could be possible that she had never heard of the greatest painter the world had ever seen.
“Perhaps there are. I really don’t know.”
Albert’s disapproval must have shown on his face, because she said defensively, “If you are so interested, I will send for the keeper of the Queen’s pictures, Mr Seguier. He will know if we have one of these Leonardos or not.”
When Albert said nothing, Victoria continued in her most regal manner, “And as to tomorrow, I shall have to see. We have a great deal of business to attend to, don’t we, Lord M?”
The faintest smile touched Melbourne’s lips as he nodded his assent. “The dispatches from Afghanistan will undoubtedly require your full attention, ma’am.”
Leopold broke in, shaking his head. “All work and no play, Victoria. It’s not good for you. Why don’t you take the Princes riding tomorrow in the park? You can show them the delights of London society.”
Before Victoria could reply, Albert said, “I would not like to distract Cousin Victoria from matters of state. I think I should like to visit your National Gallery tomorrow, if that is permitted?” He looked from Leopold to Victoria.
“You must do as you please, Albert. Lehzen will make all the necessary arrangements.” Victoria stared at him before walking over to Melbourne and talking with great earnestness but not much sense about his views on the engagement in Kabul.
* * *
Lehzen walked down the corridor, the Princes following in her wake. Albert was so lost in his own thoughts and Ernst so preoccupied with his brother that neither of them noticed Skerrett and Jenkins watching them through the servants’ door.
Jenkins said, “The taller one,
on the right, that’s Prince Albert.”
Skerrett craned her head to get a better look. “Blimey. He looks like a prince out of a fairy story. I wonder if he will like the Queen.”
Jenkins looked at her in reproof. “It doesn’t matter what the Prince thinks. It is the Queen who must decide.”
As they started up the staircase to their apartments, Albert finally burst out, “Imagine not knowing if you own a Leonardo! I should never have come.”
Ernst smiled. “But Albert, if she knew everything, then you would have nothing to instruct her in.”
Albert continued to shake his head. “I believe this is what the English call a fool’s errand.”
Ernst put his finger to his lips, indicating the governess ahead, and the brothers marched along in silence.
Lehzen ushered them into their rooms, a suite in the north wing next to the Duchess of Kent’s, but did not linger. She looked as if each moment spent in the company of the Princes was painful to her.
When the door closed behind her, Ernst immediately took off his jacket and flung himself on the chaise longue in front of the fire. “I think I need a brandy after this evening. And then I am going to go out and see what London has to offer by way of entertainment.”
At that moment the brothers’ valet, a shy young Coburger named Lohlein, came in. Picking up the jacket, he nodded earnestly as Ernst asked him to fetch him a brandy before he died of thirst.
Albert did not sit down, but walked up and down as if he were guarding the door of the sitting room.
Ernst watched him for a while and finally could bear it no longer. “Oh, stop pacing, Albert. Does it really matter if Victoria isn’t a connoisseur of Renaissance painting? After all, you didn’t know a Leonardo from a Holbein until you went to Florence. It’s not her fault that she hasn’t had your education. So can’t you stop frowning at her all the time and be a bit more gallant?”
When Albert did not reply, Ernst jumped from the chaise longue and seized his brother’s hand. “When you take her hand to kiss it, you should look into her eyes as if you want to drown in them, like this.” He bent over Albert’s hand while gazing at him with adoration.
Albert snatched his hand away, but Ernst was rewarded with the beginning of a smile. It was the first time that Albert had smiled since his first sight of Victoria.
“You know I will never be able to match your skill in this area, Ernst. I still think you should marry her instead of me.”
Ernst laughed. “Well, she is exactly my type, small but perfectly formed.” As he described a lascivious silhouette with his hand, he heard a cough behind them.
Standing in the doorway, their uncle Leopold said crisply, “Every woman is your type, Ernst. But you will have to find someone else. It is Albert’s destiny to marry Victoria.”
Albert’s smile vanished. He said in a stiff voice that made his brother wince, “I am not sure Victoria agrees. And she is the one who must propose.”
Waving this objection away, Leopold said, “Oh, she will. But Ernst is right. She likes men who are gallant like her Lord Melbourne.”
Albert looked at the floor. “If my manners are not suitable, then I think I should return to Germany.”
With a snort of impatience, Leopold snapped his fingers under Albert’s nose. “That is not a Coburg talking. Do you think I was like this with Charlotte? No, I went in and took the prize.” His hand reflexively checked his hairpiece. “If you go home now, people will say she rejected you. But if you stay you could be King of England.”
Albert shied away from him. “No, Uncle, that is not correct. I should be the Queen of England’s husband.”
“For a man of character, Albert, a true Coburg,” Leopold took his arm and looked deep into the eyes that were so like his own, “it would be the same thing.”
Albert turned away, and, shrugging off his nephew’s surliness, Leopold left the room.
There was a moment of silence before Ernst leapt to his feet. In a whirl of energy he clapped his brother on the shoulder. “What you need, Albert, is to see London by night. I am sure you will find it most instructive.”
But Albert shook his head. “I don’t want to go out, Ernst.” He smiled wryly at his brother. “Victoria was right after all. I am tired after my journey.”
* * *
In the south wing, Victoria was getting ready for bed. Skerrett was unpinning her hair, while Lehzen stood patiently in the background as she always did. She liked to be the last person to speak to the Queen at night and the first to greet her in the morning.
As Skerrett unravelled the plaits that circled her ears, Victoria said to Lehzen in the mirror, “Did you see the way Albert looked at me this evening? As if I were a child who hadn’t done her lessons?”
The Baroness’s nostrils flared. “He is a younger son from nowhere, and you, Majesty, are a queen.”
Victoria smiled at the Baroness’s indignation, then leant forward to look at herself critically in the mirror. “Do you know, tomorrow I think I should like to do my hair differently.” She picked up a copy of La Mode Illustrée that lay open on her dressing table, and pointed to a hairstyle with tumbling ringlets fanning out over the woman’s shoulders. “Do you think you could copy this, Skerrett?”
“Oh yes, ma’am.”
Victoria put her head on one side. “And do you think it will suit me?”
“I think so, ma’am,” and then, with a little smile at her mistress in the mirror, “I believe it is called the temptress.”
Victoria smiled in return, then asked as casually as she could, “Do you think the Prince handsome, Skerrett?”
Seeing Lehzen’s set face in the mirror, Skerrett shook her head. “It’s not for me to say, ma’am.”
Victoria turned round and said with a touch of impatience, “But I am asking you.”
“Then yes, ma’am, I think the Prince is very handsome.”
Lehzen made a noise that was just shy of a snort, but Victoria ignored her and continued to gaze absently into the mirror. “But he never smiles. I wonder if he can?”
* * *
On the other side of the palace, Albert was in his bedroom looking at a miniature of a young woman. The blonde hair was done in an old-fashioned style with ringlets on either side of her head. Her blue eyes were wide, her mouth smiling. Albert held the candle up so that he could examine it properly, and noticed a speck of dust. He rubbed it away with his shirt sleeve and then, because he was alone and there was no one to chide him for his foolishness, he raised the portrait to his lips.
CHAPTER TWO
On Mondays, Victoria had made it a rule to hold audiences with those interesting members of the public who did not have the right credentials to attend the formal Drawing Rooms. This morning she was meeting Rowland Hill, an official from the postal service who had come up with an ingenious idea that Melbourne had thought worth her attention. She stood with her ladies and equerry Lord Alfred, with Dash at her heels, examining a sheet printed with a hundred or so minute profiles of herself. Hill had provided a magnifying glass, and one by one Victoria and her ladies examined the tiny images.
Emma Portman said carefully, “It is really most ingenious, don’t you think, ma’am? And a good likeness.”
Victoria scrutinized the image through the lens. “It is better than the one on the coins, certainly.” She patted the ringlets that curled at the base of her neck in the new temptress style.
Rowland Hill stood shifting his considerable weight from one side to the other. He had been told that he should not speak unless spoken to, but he was bursting to tell the Queen of his marvellous invention. When Victoria put the stamps down and said, “How small they are,” Hill could wait no longer.
“They may be small, ma’am, but just one of these is sufficient to carry a letter to Brighton or to the Isle of Bute, to Guildford or to Gretna Green.” He paused for effect, something he had rehearsed at home in the mirror as Mrs Hill looked on. “Or, if I may say so, to Windsor Castle or to Wolver
hampton.”
Victoria interrupted him. “It doesn’t seem right somehow. After all, Wolverhampton is a lot further away than Windsor.”
Hill smiled; this was an objection to which he had prepared an answer. He was about to launch into it when the door opened and the footman announced, “Their Serene Highnesses, Prince Ernst and Prince Albert.”
The brothers walked into the room. Victoria’s hand went to pat her ringlets. Ernst gave a smiling acknowledgement of the new style, Albert a brief nod. As if affronted by Albert’s lack of gallantry, Dash started to bark at him so loudly that Victoria had to pick him up.
She nodded to her cousins and, turning back to the postal official, said, “Pray continue, Mr Hill.”
Hill took a deep breath. “In answer to your question, ma’am, as to why the postage should cost the same no matter the distance travelled, I say this: Should a girl in Edinburgh writing to her sweetheart in London pay more than the one who lives in Ealing? Should the merchant in Manchester pay more to write to his broker in the city than the merchant in Marylebone? These stamps, ma’am, will bring true equality to every part of this island. Distance will no longer be a barrier to commerce or”—Hill put his hand on his heart, in a gesture that Mrs Hill had found particularly affecting—“to romance.”
Hill’s allusion to romance did not meet the reception he hoped for. Victoria did not soften, but said crisply, “And my likeness will be on every letter?”
“Yes, ma’am. This is the Royal Mail, after all.” He made a little bow, in recognition of the stamp’s status.
Victoria looked at the sheet. “But how will the little pictures stay affixed?”
Hill took a step forward and turned the sheet over. “As you see, ma’am, the stamps have a layer of gum arabic on the back.”
Victoria lifted her head and said gravely, “So everybody who wants to send a letter will have to lick my face?”
Hill hesitated. This was not a question that he had anticipated, but then he said tentatively, “Precisely so, ma’am, although more genteel users may use a little brush.”
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