Victoria Confesses (9781442422469)

by Meyer, Carolyn

  The issue of the new color scheme shrank in importance. “Surely he won’t send you away—he couldn’t be so cruel! He knows how much I care for you and how much I depend on you!”

  “Precisely why he wants me gone.” She kissed my forehead. “Whether I go or stay, the day is coming when you will have as much blue and purple as you wish. Now, my dearest Victoria, I advise you to write to your uncle Leopold and keep him informed of what is happening here.”

  “But Daisy, Mamma reads all my letters! I dare not criticize Sir John—Mamma will not allow it.” Then I had an idea. “But if I wrote it, perhaps you could post it for me. We would not tell Mamma.” Never before had I proposed going behind Mamma’s back. But never before had I felt my situation at Kensington had reached such a wretchedly unhappy state. I held my breath, waiting for Lehzen’s reply.

  Daisy smoothed back a lock of my hair that had worked loose from its pins. “If I did such a thing, I would be very disloyal to your dear mamma, whom I have known for a very long time,” she said. “I can’t bring myself to do that. We will have to think of something else.”

  Lady Flora and Sir John continued to beleaguer dear Daisy, making sarcastic comments, loud enough for her to hear, about her unfashionable clothes, mocking the way she spoke, laughing at her habit of chewing caraway seeds. Mamma no longer invited Baroness Lehzen to attend her many dinners. Now it was Lady Flora Hastings who held my hand as we descended the stairs, Lady Flora who sat near me at the table while my dearest friend ate alone in her room. It was Lady Flora who appeared, unasked, while I was dressing or my hair was doing, times when Daisy used to read to me and now had to quietly excuse herself and leave.

  Sir John ordered Lehzen moved from her cozy bedroom near my sitting room to a gloomy space in another part of the palace. He pompously informed her that her small stipend was too generous and must be reduced, explaining, “Economies are necessary.”

  I agonized about what to do. As it happened, I did not need to go behind my mother’s back and write to Uncle Leopold. The duchess of Northumberland was a witness to the indignities being heaped upon the person I loved best. Lady Charlotte wrote to my sister, asking her to contact Leopold and implore him to help my poor dear Daisy.

  If Daisy was aware of Lady Charlotte’s efforts, she did not tell me. Fidi had already promised to write to our uncle, and I hoped she had. But it surely did not hurt to have Lady Charlotte adding her voice to my pleas for help. Everyone, it seemed, conspired to keep me isolated and in ignorance, and I didn’t learn of the duchess’s letter until later. If Sir John and Mamma discovered that she had written to Fidi, it would be only a matter of weeks—even days—until Lady Charlotte and Daisy were gone, and I would have NO ONE.

  Chapter 12

  ANTAGONISTS, 1835

  My sixteenth birthday arrived, a VERY important milestone: In just two years I would come of age. I filled the entry in my journal that day with lofty promises to make the best possible progress in my lessons in preparation for what lay ahead. That was for Mamma’s eyes. Secretly I vowed that, when that day finally came and I was at last of age, I would then answer chiefly TO MYSELF.

  Mamma, who often seemed to have no understanding of what I truly valued, gave me a VERY exciting gift, a private concert to be performed at Kensington Palace. A program of arias from my favorite operas were sung by a quartet of my favorite singers: Luigi Lablache, the finest bass in England; Giulia Grisi, whose performance I had so greatly admired in Anna Bolena; Antonio Tamburini, the famous baritone; and Maria Malibran, the magnificent mezzo-soprano. It was utterly delicious! I stayed up until after one o’clock, still too excited to close my eyes. From that night on, my fondest wish was to study singing with Signor Lablache, and Mamma agreed that it might someday be possible.

  A few days later I traveled to Windsor with dearest Daisy and Lady Flora. After two and a half tedious hours shut up in a carriage with two ladies who were being excessively polite to each other, I was able to enjoy a delightful visit with my uncle and aunt. As a relief from the oppressive heat, we boarded the royal barge and sat under the green silk canopy while six oarsmen rowed us round the pretty lake. It was all VERY pleasant, but back at Kensington a barely concealed antagonism seemed to lurk round every corner and behind every door. I ignored it as well as I could.

  It was Mamma’s ardent wish, as well as mine, that I be confirmed in the Church of England by the Archbishop of Canterbury. But everything possible went awry in making the arrangements, one more distressing example of the ill feelings that existed between Mamma and King William.

  Lady Charlotte, as my official governess, conveyed to Mamma the king’s wishes concerning the date and time of the service. But Mamma resented Lady Charlotte and no longer trusted her, no doubt sensing her disapproval of Sir John. Instead of replying to the king through the duchess of Northumberland, as etiquette required, Mamma went around both of them and wrote directly to the archbishop.

  According to Daisy, when Mamma treated Lady Charlotte rudely by ignoring her, King William sent a stern message reminding Mamma that she must use proper channels and was on no account to contact the archbishop herself. But Mamma refused to obey the king’s order.

  “This was an insult to Lady Charlotte,” Daisy told me. “I believe your mamma and Sir John want to terminate her duties as your governess, but they’re going about it in a way that is sure to infuriate the king. The duchess of Northumberland is one of the greatest ladies in England. She enjoys the friendship of both their majesties. Your mother is making a grave error.”

  “Mamma refused to do as the king asked?” I asked. “How could she?”

  “Your mother can be very stubborn,” Daisy reminded me. “Sometimes her stubbornness stands her in good stead, but this time it served only to make the king even angrier. I am told that he stomped through St. James’s Palace roaring, ‘My niece the princess will not be confirmed in any of the royal chapels, and I shall so order the archbishop!’ And that is what he did.”

  I was aghast. What has Mamma done? “Have you spoken to my mother about this?” I asked, burying my head in my hands. “Is there to be no confirmation then?”

  “I am no longer a person from whom your mother either seeks or accepts advice,” Daisy said, “but the archbishop himself intervened, and your mother has reversed herself. Your confirmation will be held at St. James’s on the thirtieth of July. I’m certain it will be a lovely day.”

  This was to be one of the most solemn and important events of my life, but I felt as though I were standing undefended in the middle of a field of battle with the advantage shifting almost hourly from one army to the other. Still, I attended to my duties: I studied the Book of Common Prayer and had intense conversations with Mr. Davys. My morning and evening prayers grew longer and more impassioned. I was determined to become a true Christian, to do all I could to comfort my dear Mamma in all her grief, her trials and anxieties, and to become a dutiful and affectionate daughter to her. I wrote this in my journal—not just for Mamma’s eyes, but because I truly meant it.

  Perhaps it was my fault that Mamma seemed driven to such extremes in her dealings with King William and Queen Adelaide. She behaved this way not only with their majesties, but also with others whom I liked and admired—Lady Charlotte, for example, and dearest Daisy. The only one who remained in Mamma’s full favor was Lady Flora Hastings, and the higher Lady Flora’s star rose at Kensington, the more I turned away from her.

  On the day of my confirmation, wearing a white lace dress and a white bonnet with a wreath of white roses, I drove to St. James’s with Mamma and Daisy and Lady Flora. I tried to keep my thoughts on the religious significance of the day and shut out all else. But I could not avoid noticing that each time Lady Flora spoke to Daisy it was to disagree with her, and my thoughts turned angry again.

  “Unusually warm today, is it not?” asked Daisy of no one in particular, fanning herself with a handkerchief.

  “I find it quite pleasant, actually,” replied Lad
y Flora airily. “Perhaps you are overdressed, dear baroness. Or have applied an excessive amount of rouge,” she added.

  “And I find it altogether stifling!” I exclaimed. Mamma frowned but said nothing.

  I was unaccountably nervous when at last we arrived at St. James’s, and tried to convince myself that nothing could possibly go wrong.

  King William signaled that it was time to begin, offering me his arm and leading me into the chapel. We were followed by dear Queen Adelaide and Mamma, who barely nodded to each other and did not speak. The pews were filled with members of the royal family, my uncles and aunts, and a few close friends—including, of course, Sir John. The king stopped suddenly, gazing at the assembled guests. “It is much too crowded in here!” he announced loudly, glowering at Sir John Conroy. “Only members of royalty are invited to attend. We shall ask any who are not royalty to leave us at once.”

  Mamma gasped and let out a little cry. Apparently, the only one present without a noble title was Sir John. His jaw dropped and he looked stunned, but he stepped out of the pew, bowed to the king, and stalked out.

  Trembling, my lips quivering, I took my place in the royal pew. Mamma was sobbing. The service commenced. No windows were open, and the chapel grew unbearably warm. I knelt before the archbishop and made my vows and received his benediction. I wept all the way through his long and very sobering homily. What was supposed to be one of the most significant days of my life had turned into one of the most wretched. I nearly drowned in tears.

  That night as I was preparing for bed, a servant brought a letter from Mamma. My mother claimed that she could best express herself to me in writing, rather than speaking of important matters face-to-face. That meant our communication was entirely one-sided, a lecture, an effort to bend me to her will. I dreaded these letters.

  I broke the wax seal and unfolded the cream-colored sheet closely covered with Mamma’s cramped handwriting.

  You have now reached a new stage of life with your sixteenth birthday and your confirmation, and your life will take a different direction. Your relationship to Baroness Lehzen must now undergo a necessary change. From this day forward, you are to treat your old friend with dignity, but at the same time you must place a certain distance between yourself and her. Your friendship may continue, but on a different level of intimacy.

  I began to weep—not from sorrow, but from anger. I forced myself to read on.

  You must always confide first in me, your devoted mother. The sacrifices I have made on your behalf have been great and will continue to be so, and you will continue to live and to thrive under my guidance until you reach the age of either eighteen or twenty-one years, and I shall be the determinant of that.

  There was more, ending with her usual protestations of love and devotion.

  I read the letter a second time, grappling with what my mother had said and growing more and more upset. What was this “different level of intimacy” I was to have with dearest Daisy? Did Mamma really expect me to confide in her and not in Daisy? I would confide nothing! And what of this: “Until you reach the age of either eighteen or twenty-one years, and I shall be the determinant of that.” Royalty always came of age at eighteen—I knew that! Why was Mamma suggesting that I might have to wait another three years, if she said so? Was she trying to prove that I would not be capable of ruling without her—and without Sir John?

  I crumpled the letter and flung it to the floor. For good measure, I stamped on it.

  “Victoria,” said Daisy softly. That was all: “Victoria,” as though she knew.

  Silently I bent and picked up the ball of paper, smoothed it out, and offered it to her. I watched her face as she read it. Her expression scarcely changed. Perhaps she had been expecting something like this. “Oh, my dearest Victoria!” Daisy sighed and placed the abused paper on my writing table, shaking her head sadly. “Someday it will be all right,” she said. “You must have patience.”

  “But I have no more patience!” I cried, pounding the table. “She is my mother, and I hate her! I hate her!”

  Three days later, Mamma and I returned to the royal chapel and took communion together. I could scarcely bear to look at her, my own mother. As we knelt side by side before the altar, I pretended that a certain letter had never been written and never read. I struggled to repent of the harsh feelings I held for my mother and earnestly prayed that I could be her loving and obedient daughter. Yet even as I sent the words “obedient daughter” drifting up toward heaven, I tried to snatch them back, like a hat blowing away on a wind-swept beach. Obedience was SO difficult!

  Chapter 13

  ANOTHER TOUR, 1835

  After a summer holiday in Tunbridge Wells, we returned to Kensington. I felt stronger, less fatigued. But my things had scarcely been unpacked when Mamma sent a note informing me that she and Sir John had decided the time was ripe for another tour. We would leave in a few days to visit the northern counties.

  Travels that had been an amusing distraction when I was younger were now a wearying chore. King William hated my “progresses,” as he called them. Going on another one surely meant yet another battle. I dreaded the battle, the tour, the speeches, the dinners, all of it.

  “I do not want to do this!” I raged, and I rushed to the library.

  Mamma was alone at her desk, writing a letter. “Yes, Victoria?”

  “Please, Mamma,” I begged, “I feel so very tired, and I sleep poorly, and I can scarcely eat. Must we go on this tour?”

  She laid aside her pen. “It is your duty,” she declared. “Your position demands that you travel and show yourself to your future subjects. Are you really unaware of that, Victoria? For once you must stop thinking only of yourself and the easy life you may think is owed you. This is only the beginning of the many claims that will be put on you in the future.” Mamma glared at me, picking up her pen. “Do your duty, Victoria,” she said sharply, and turned back to her letter.

  I refused to be dismissed. Mamma had to listen to me!

  “The king does not wish me to go on these progresses,” I said. My hands were balled into tight fists. I unclenched them and tried to keep my voice calm and reasonable. “He disapproves quite strongly of you and Sir John racing about the country with me. And if it displeases the king, then I must not go! It would be in plain defiance of the king’s wishes. Surely you don’t want to offend him.”

  Mamma’s eyebrows descended into a deep frown. “I don’t know how you have come to be so certain of the king’s disapproval. I do have my suspicions, however, for there are those around you who have loose tongues and speak to you of matters that should not concern you.”

  “This does concern me, Mamma,” I argued. “How can you claim otherwise?”

  My mother stared at me with a shocked expression. “You speak to me disrespectfully, Victoria. It is unbecoming. Since you appear to know so much, let me tell me what you appear not to know. I have spoken to the prime minister, Lord Melbourne, and asked him on what grounds I can be prevented from taking you on visits to various parts of the kingdom you will one day rule. He assures me that I am entirely within my rights to travel with the heir apparent wherever and whenever I wish, and that it is entirely advisable to do so. And the king can do nothing to prevent it!” she concluded triumphantly.

  “I don’t care what Lord Melbourne says! The king does not wish it. He is so very kind to me, and I do not want to displease him.” I took a deep breath. “I shall not go,” I declared.

  I had never spoken to my mother like this. Mamma appeared stunned, but she quickly recovered. “Don’t be foolish, Victoria,” she snapped. “The king is simply jealous—of your youth, of the love the people have for you, of the enthusiastic receptions you are given wherever you go. If the king really loved you, as you are so certain he does, then he wouldn’t try to stop you but would approve of the journey! It’s your obligation to go, Victoria. You should be seen, you should know your country and be acquainted with people of all classes and all walks of
life. This is of the greatest consequence, yet you choose not to recognize it.”

  “Perhaps later, Mamma,” I pleaded. I was near tears, but my mother had never been moved by my weeping. I tried another approach. “I so often feel tired, and we cannot travel like other people—”

  “My dearest love,” Mamma interrupted, using the sweet tone that sounded so false. “Listen well. If it were to be known that you are too lacking in will to undertake a journey that I and my advisors”—she meant Sir John—“feel is absolutely necessary, and that you fail to grasp the benefits to your people, then you are bound to fall in their esteem. And such esteem would be very hard to restore, I assure you!”

  It was useless to argue further. Servants bustled round, packing and preparing, and it would not do for them to hear us quarrel. My will collapsed. “Very well, Mamma,” I said, surrendering. “I will be ready to leave in the morning.”

  I turned and fled. It had been a terrible scene. My head throbbed, my stomach felt very unwell, and I knew that sleep would not come easily that night.

  For the next twenty-five days I endured the most grueling journey yet. I experienced it as long, slow torture, but Mamma pronounced it a triumph. The days were unbearably long and arduous. By the end it was a blur, one town after another decked in flags and flowers and triumphal arches with children’s choruses and pealing bells. Cheering crowds stared and jostled and sometimes blocked the road so that our poor horses could make scarcely any headway.

  We visited one stately mansion after another, dined at one lavish banquet after another, though my appetite had disappeared, and attended ball after ball. After one such, my head throbbed and my back ached so badly I could not continue after the first dance. Everyone was very cordial, but I could only pray for the day to end and a chance to lie down with a cold cloth on my forehead.