Victoria

by Anna Kirwan

  She behaved in a casual manner. She said she hoped she could be helpful. So, very quietly I told her I had hidden something in that drawing room.

  Lehzen continued for a moment to look at her gluey layers of parcel paper. I was putting bits of red tinsel on a nice bit of brass the clockmaker replaced and gave me when he repaired Uncle Sussex’s library clock. It looks a good deal like a crown and is fortunately the right size for Prince Henry’s peg doll head to jam into it tight so it doesn’t come off. It does make the Prince too top-heavy to stand by himself, though, unless his feet are set in the pegboard.

  “Is it some sort of … pet?” she asked me first. (You see, she does remember your dormouse in the cushion, Feo.) Then she asked how I’d happened to go upstairs unattended. I feared answering because I still did not know what she would do about it. But one cannot lie.

  “Oh, you know,” I said, “sometimes one is as good as invisible. I was not unattended, I was only quick. I ran ahead when Fanny chased her ball into the drawing room this morning.” And that was the truth.

  Then she asked if what I’d hidden was something valuable. I assured her it is only important to me, but to me, it is beyond value. And I admitted I am afraid that if Toire were to find it, it would become the property of a Certain Person whose purposes are sometimes unkind. She knew I meant O’Hum.

  She said she cannot hide anything for me. I said, “I can manage that part.” But if I did not have to be invisible to her as well as everyone else, it would be easier.

  I think, really, what with my remarks about invisibility, that she had begun to think I was play-acting. So I suddenly resolved to say all and seek her aid. I whispered to her that it was my diary that I hid. As I said the words, I was overcome with fear, for the thought of doing without my journal made me feel, all at once, empty and choked with feelings.

  I thought her expression looked alarmed, yet her voice stayed calm, and she looked directly into my eyes. “It is, perhaps, a sort of – schedule?” she suggested. “Rather,” I said, but it did not seem entirely truthful. “Also memoranda about my lessons, and thoughts about my soul, and what we have for dinner. That sort of thing.”

  I told her I like to write because it makes my boring days seem more interesting. And then, I don’t lose track of my lessons, who wins or who loses the Hundred Years War, or who dances with whom. I told her I believe it is a useful habit.

  Well, she said at first, she never thought it prudent to keep a journal. At that, I put my hand on her arm and begged. “Lehzen,” I said, “it is my only privacy. Surely it is my right, if I choose to have it.”

  For the longest moment in the history of the world, she waved the shield in the air to dry it. Then, finally, she smiled a bit. “This is England, not Hanover,” she said.

  Then she became quite firm, and said I must show her how I manage to be invisible. I was so relieved that she was not angry and will not betray my secret, I suppose, I expect what I said sounded rather saucy. “Sometimes I fly up the stairs so swiftly as to be unseen,” I said, “while you are in the water closet, thinking invisible thoughts yourself.”

  “Indeed, Your Highness!” was all she could say to that, because de Spaeth came in.

  Then we went down for luncheon. Let me try to recall: We had turbot with lobster sauce, I think, and saddle of lamb, besides a mayonnaise of macaroni, lettuces in vinegar and salt, and peas in cream, and cheesecake with woodland strawberries from Devon. Mamma ate a little lamb, and peas and dessert. And she would not have cider, but only a glass of white spring wine. I told Mamma again that I was sorry and kissed her hand, and she kissed my forehead. I ate two helpings of everything.

  What one’s meals are like will make a difference to what sort of day it turns out to be.

  O’Hum did not dine with us, being out purchasing a good whip for the horses for the drive to Claremont.

  12 June

  Aunt Soap is distressed. At dinner she told Uncle Sussex that the Lord Chamberlain and Lady Conyngham have been permitting His Majesty’s physicians to give him too much laudanum, and, though it quiets the pain, it disagrees with him. Alas, now I wonder if that is why his eyes were so bright when he was speaking to me at the ball. I worry at this frailty in His Majesty. Truly, a heavy sword hangs over the head that wears the Crown. But everyone expects him to bear up, after all.

  Uncle Billy has gout in his hands, so badly he says it’s as if there are pebbles inside his fingers, and he can’t hold reins. But he, I am sure, takes no such medicines.

  Later

  Things are more settled down now. It is evening, the air fresh and blue outside the window, over the gardens and Hyde Park. I am sitting by the window writing, Lehzen is keeping guard, and my Duke Papa’s old tortoiseshell watch ticks endlessly. Mamma is so good at keeping it wound just right.

  I must confess, I have been reluctant to let Lehzen immediately see the secret diary-hiding places I have discovered so far. At least, I haven’t fetched it when I thought for certain that she would see me.

  Since the morning I told Lehzen about my diary, she has made only one further remark. When I finally showed it to her (I mean, the cover of it – she has vowed she does not wish to read what’s in it) she said, “My princess, allow me to suggest – as well as being free to claim privacy, Your Highness should never forget: Should any individual’s further service merit you overlooking certain faults, you are free to erase. Even the truth. This you should not regard necessarily as dishonesty; it may be only discretion.”

  I did not point out that I generally write in ink.

  13 June

  Strawberries and cream at breakfast.

  Strawberries and cream at luncheon.

  Strawberries and cream at dinner.

  A perfect day.

  17 June

  Oh, fie, what dismal news. My Uncle Cumberland has decided he ought to stay here in England the whole year round.

  Now, I suppose, any time I am lucky enough to be invited to Windsor, I shall have to see Georgie, so it will be a great deal less lucky, should it happen.

  22 June

  Great, extreme, considerable, enormous HAPPINESS! We shall be going to Claremont to stay with Uncle Leopold for several weeks, and thence to Ramsgate for a lovely, long holiday by the sea! I am very VERY greatly, extremely, considerably, enormously JOYFUL!

  De Spaeth helped me put new sky blue ribbons on my straw sun bonnet. She is coming with us, as Mamma can’t do without her for long; but she is to return home to Kensington from Ramsgate somewhat before the rest of us. They will have finished the bedrooms and the hallways nearest our apartments by then, and she will make certain things are as they ought to be.

  2 July

  Claremont

  Dear Feo, if only you were here with us, my happiness would be entire! We arrived at mid-afternoon, quite hot and dusty from the ride (and if we were anywhere else, I’m sure I would have been an unpleasant companion!). But Claremont is my favourite place on all the Earth. (And Ramsgate, as well, except it is so hot there. But really, wherever Uncle Leopold is, that is my favourite place.)

  Scarcely had Uncle embraced us and offered us cool drinks, than O’Hum told Mamma she should go and lie down to recover from the exertion of so much of the day spent in travel. He went out to the stable to see to the horses. (He is certain Uncle Leopold’s stable men need more overseeing than they are likely to get.) So he was out of the way for the rest of the afternoon!

  When Lehzen and Mrs MacLeod had set the chambermaid to unpacking our trunks and satchels, we changed our travel clothes for light muslin frocks. I put my doll Katherine on my pillow, and we went down to join Uncle. We all sipped lemon squash, and he assured me the hoops and the butterfly nets are just where we left them in the little green shed. Mr Mackintosh, the gardener, can fetch them whenever they’re wanted. Now I am in Paradise.

  Lat
er

  Mamma came down at teatime, and she and Lehzen and Uncle gossiped. Mamma seemed almost carefree. Mrs Louis came in from her housekeeping duties, and Uncle invited her to sit with us for a bit, but she does not like to presume above her station. She just wanted to make sure we will tell her if anything can be improved with regard to the maids or the meals or the staff. She curtsied to me just as to Mamma and Uncle, a very deep, old-fashioned dip, right down on her knee. Then she said to Uncle, with tears in her eyes, “Please to excuse me, Your Royal Highness, but the princess is so like our other Princess.” She was so devoted to Princess Charlotte.

  Besides lemon squash and Darjeeling tea – I was permitted one cup, with lump sugar – we had a summer pudding of five kinds of berries plus peaches, and biscuits shaped like seashells.

  In the cool evening, Lehzen and I took hoops into the garden and ran them along the paths. It is no wonder they say Heaven smells of roses and lilies.

  Afterward, we were sitting on a stone bench, rather panting, and I said, “Is it not glorious, dear Lehzen?” She said, rather slowly, “I fear I have been so lenient with Your Highness of late, you will never again regard me with proper awe.” But I assured her I am most in awe of wisdom and learning, not so much of strictness. And I will forever be grateful for her trust.

  5 July

  If I could live here at Claremont forever, Feo, I would. It is so different from ordinary life, it’s like dancing instead of trudging.

  7 July

  Went to church at St George in Esher. After the service, we knelt and said a prayer by the pretty marble monument to my Aunt Princess Charlotte. Uncle held my hand as we came out into the sunshine.

  Later

  These lovely evenings! Uncle and Lehzen and I make such wonderful conversation, just as if I am grown up. And, most times, Dr Stockmar speaks with me as well. Stocky is so quiet and gentle, and of course, so highly intelligent – very scientific, I must say. He knows chemistry and geology as well as the usual things. He always seems to me the ideal friend of our dear Uncle, Feo. (He told me I may call him “Stocky” because it was Aunt Charlotte’s name for him. He calls her “Your Aunt-Cousin-Princess Lottie.”) Even Mamma, when O’Hum is not about, engages in discussion with great interest, and makes witty comments, and laughs.

  Fortunately, O’Hum usually writes letters in his room in the evening, or in the study, when Mamma has correspondence to dictate to him. I think he stays there because he becomes so impatient with Uncle Leopold’s step-by-step way of coming to a point. And he becomes so annoyed with Stocky’s soft voice and his dry sense of humour, which I think O’Hum does not like to show that he does not always understand. (I don’t always, myself, but that does not bother me. Sometimes Lehzen explains it to me afterward. She does not miss anything.)

  9 July

  Uncle has a most curious little toy. He calls it his “drizzler”. It is a little boxy machinery thing that undoes the gold and silver embroidery from old laces and epaulets, and makes little nests of golden and silver thread, fine as silk floss. I asked Uncle if he would give me a little of it, it was so pretty. He gave me a bit of the silver, but he said I should be patient, and he will save up the gold he drizzles each evening as we sit talking, and get me a more worthy present when he has accumulated more of it.

  I said, “I had thought the old lace on the officers’ jackets was mere decoration. Now I see that gold lace is – gold. But perhaps, if each of His Majesty’s officers had a little drizzling machine, then sometime, if their poor troops needed supplies on some foreign strand, they might undo all their epaulets and be able to buy what they wanted from the natives.”

  “An excellent plan,” Stocky said. Somehow, though, the look he exchanged with Uncle made me think they only found my idea amusing. But I still think it would be prudent if every regiment and every ship of the line carried a drizzler along, in case some emergency should arise.

  11 July

  An exceptionally rainy day. Uncle and Lehzen and de Spaeth and Stocky and Lord Craven, who came visiting, and I read Shakespeare aloud together, The Tempest. Uncle was Prospero, I was Miranda, Lehzen was Ariel, Stocky was Caliban, and Lord Craven and de Spaeth did everybody else. It was simply wonderful! Lehzen and Stocky have the most ability, for they changed their voices admirably, and Lehzen seemed already to know her lines.

  Mamma was indisposed after staying up late last night. O’Hum was writing letters and otherwise occupied. I believe he has found a way to get the bay mares, after all, but it seems to involve his going here and there and doing a lot of visiting with Mr Owen and some other gentlemen.

  12 July

  Rain again. Played twelve games of bell and hammer. In desperation, I believe, Uncle has promised to teach me chess.

  13 July

  Uncle had to be away today. It was overcast, though not raining (for the most part).

  Sketched Lehzen and Mrs Louis and the chambermaid (as a dairy maid).

  Played three games of bell and hammer with Lehzen and Mamma. In the second one, my dice came up blank at every single throw. They agreed they had never seen such a thing.

  14 July

  Sunday at St George’s again. A wasp was buzzing all around us in the pews for about a quarter of an hour. I sat very still and prayed it would not sting anyone, and the Lord heard my prayer. But I don’t know if that is a miracle or only good luck. In fact, I don’t know if one may call anything “luck” that happens in church. I shall try to remember to ask the Reverend Mr Davys.

  There was veal at dinner, but for some reason I kept thinking, Diamond, heifer of Rose; Irene, heifer of Rose, so I declined the schnitzel. Instead, I had a Cornish hen with sauce of raspberries, and potatoes mashed and fluffed into little swirled domes like a Russian palace and broiled golden-brown. Uncle’s Cook does such things most beautifully.

  16 July

  O’Hum on a tear, raging at Mamma over something when they came in from visiting. Lehzen took me out into the garden.

  20 July

  Oh, Feo, the MOST TERRIBLE POSSIBILITY. It is simply unbearable! Uncle Leopold has been invited to go to Greece and be King there. He told me it may happen, but he must consider whether it would be a wise choice. I am afraid I wept piteously and begged him not to go away. He patted my hand and kissed my cheek and pressed my hand to his heart and said it would be many months before he can decide.

  Later, Mamma and Lehzen told me I must bear up, because the fate of nations hangs on his reply.

  And here is something odd. O’Hum seemed almost as distressed as I – though, I must say, for different reasons. He said, “You see, he has always had his own objective, his own best interests, most before him. He is not a thoroughly dependable ally.” Mamma was curt to him, and only said, “You are wrong, you will see.”

  21 July

  MOST miserable. I had an odd dream – really, almost more like a memory.

  In it, I was a tiny child again, and it was the time Grandmamma Coburg was visiting here at Claremont, and she had brought our cousins Ernest and Albert with her – remember, Feo? And in this dream, I was riding on the back of my little white donkey, Blanco, that Uncle York gave me before he passed away. I wanted to climb down and run and play with Albert on a hillside covered with white flowers, as thick as a snowy white fleece, and I could see Uncle Leopold and Stocky were strolling nearby, too. But I was too small to get down and run to them. Blanco’s little bells kept jingling, jingling. Then, Captain Conroy came to me and lifted me down, so gently, he was quite like Uncle York.

  I woke up then, and I was weeping. My Papa is dead, and Uncle York is, too, and I shan’t see them again until we meet in heaven. Everyone says Uncle King will die soon, too. And Uncle Leopold may go to live far away. I wish O’Hum would be kind to me.

  Lehzen woke up and came and put her arms around me.

  Later
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br />   We are all going on holiday to Ramsgate tomorrow. It will take us many days to get there. We must be gracious and stay overnight with so many of Mamma’s influential friends all along our route. How tiresome! I am quite eager for the seaside!

  Uncle showed me that he is packing his little travelling chess set. He said he is sorry to cause me any sadness, and he repeated that he has not decided whether or not he would like to go to Greece. But he says they have a new constitution, and very many grave problems requiring wise and strong solutions, so it is an honour to be sought out by them. He must give the matter serious consideration.

  I did not cry again – not while I was with him.

  22 July

  Bletchingley

  We are travelling to Ramsgate in the Isle of Thanet, Kent. We go by way of Croydon, Bromley, Strood, Rochester, Chatham, Faversham, Whitstable, Herne Bay, Reculver, and Margate. We have stopped for refreshment. I cannot write more until we—

  Later

  Chevening

  Now I can finish. I am writing now in the room Lehzen and I share at Lord Stanhop’s sister-in-law’s house (I hope I have got that right.) Everywhere we stop, I curtsy and say I am pleased to make their acquaintance. Our host and hostess kiss my hand, and talk to Mamma about me over my head as if I am an infant, and Lehzen takes me away to rest. I am extraordinarily well rested. I wish she would take me away to dance or climb a hill or talk to that little Gypsy girl who called to us as we drove past, saying that she would read our fortunes if we gave her silver.