Victoria

by Anna Kirwan

  They asked a good number of Catechism questions and I recited the answers, but they did not ask what the answers meant.

  They asked me to read a poem, then handed me one stanza of Mr Keats’s “Ode to a Nightingale”. (I do not know if Mamma or Mr Davys recommended it. Uncle Sussex is the one who gave it to me to see if I would like it as a recitation piece, for it was written the same week I was born. But I do not have it by memory yet.) However, I read it with good feeling.

  Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

  No hungry generations tread thee down;

  The voice I hear this passing night was heard

  In ancient days by emperor and clown:

  Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

  Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

  She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

  The same that oft-times hath

  Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam

  Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

  London talks more than Lincoln. I would almost say he chatters, but that does not sound as dignified as a bishop is. He does run on. Dr Howley is far more stately.

  I began to wonder if the Reverend Mr Davys had told them I wanted to ask a question. For I had thought of one, finally, the night before, and no one but the bishops probably could offer me assistance with it. I was not certain they would think it a good question, though.

  I had told Mr Davys the text. It is the v end of St Mark’s Gospel. I read it one day because I am the sort of person who sometimes wants to know the end I am reading toward. I know it occasionally spoils a surprise to do so. But it doesn’t spoil a holiday in Ramsgate to know one is on the way to Ramsgate, when one is thirsty and hungry and bored and having to change horses in Strood, does it?

  At long last, Lincoln said, “Your good instructor, Davys, has informed us Your Highness has a curiosity about the Gospel. Would you like to air your puzzle, dear Princess?” I did not trust his calling me “dear”, not one particle. He seemed impatient, and I feared he would think my question silly.

  “I want to ask you, Your Graces,” I said (and I wished Mamma were not there, for she will tell Captain Conroy, and I know he will not understand), “about how Our Lord said we may test if we believe, truly.”

  “Go on,” Dr Howley said. He and London seemed more interested than Lincoln did.

  “Well,” I said (trying not to speak too quietly, for Lincoln seemed a bit deaf), “the verse says this:

  These signs shall follow them that believe. In my name they shall cast out devils. They shall speak with new tongues. They shall take up serpents, and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them. They shall lay lands on the sick, and they shall recover.

  “I am just a child,” I began, “and very imperfect and needing improvement. I have never cast out a devil. For a very long time, though, I did say my prayers on every occasion I went into the rose drawing room, because I was afraid of the ghost of my sister Feodora’s dormouse that was in the cushion Sir John sat on. We didn’t know if it would haunt the drawing room or the tiger lily bed where we buried it. And no ghost ever bothered me, so I thought perhaps that is something like casting out a devil.

  “And you can see, I am learning to speak in new tongues. That is, Latin is not new, but it is new to me.

  “My Mamma will tell you it is true that when we were travelling back from Ramsgate, the water at Faversham was VERY bad, and everyone got ill from it, but I did not. I cannot say why, for I certainly had to have some when I brushed my teeth, but I only rinsed and did not drink it – perhaps that’s why. So I don’t know if one can call that a sign.

  “And then, when we got home, I laid my hands on Dash, and he recovered from being very ill. Still, he is only a dog. Perhaps that doesn’t count with matters of religion.

  “So, it seems to me I must go on trying to improve myself according to the Scripture. Now, I would like to be brave, like my Duke Papa and my Uncle York and Lord Nelson. I suppose that is where the serpents have to come into things.

  “And here is my question: How am I ever to learn how to take up serpents, if my Mamma will not let my Uncle Sussex and Baroness Lehzen take me to Astley’s Amphitheatre, This Month Only, to see the Wild Animal Tamer and Charmer of Deadly Cobras?”

  Unfortunately, I received no answer. The Bishop of London had some strange sort of snorting, coughing seizure that sounded almost as if he were laughing at the same time. The Bishop of Lincoln whacked him rather severely between the shoulder blades. Archbishop Howley said he must consult with some doctors of divinity on the matter. We adjourned.

  8 March

  I regret that I wore new slippers to Lambeth Palace. They were too stiff, and I have blisters on both heels. Toire noticed how gingerly I was walking. I said it was nothing, but v soon afterward, Captain Conroy had Dr Silas summoned to find out if there is some weakness in my shins or knees.

  My word, anyone would think he had a wager on me for the Derby.

  15 March

  Feo, I have learned the truth of my position.

  A few days ago (is it truly only days?) I was at my lessons with the Reverend Mr Davys, and we worked all morning at Latin. I asked, v politely, why we did not put it aside and take up my history book, for Latin wearies me when it’s all rules and no new vocabulary.

  Mr Davys looked at Lehzen when I asked, I saw him. But I thought he was looking to her for sympathy, having in common such a lazy student. (I knew Mamma had been praised by Their Graces for how well I have progressed. As it had turned out, though, I had not had such a difficult time with their examination. I do not think they expected even so much from me. Yet I knew I could have been more perfect and complete in my answers, had I not been so nervous.)

  Mr Davys rather abruptly caught up his watch chain and remarked that it was later than he had realized, and begged to be excused to go and attend to an engagement he had with an elderly cousin.

  When he had gone, Lehzen said, v smoothly, “Your Highness, I believe Mr Davys mentioned you were drawing up a list of the Monarchs of England. Pray, continue with that task.” So I fetched my book and opened it to the page we’d been at, where there was a sort of family tree charted to show the succession of my family to the Throne of England. The list folds out sideways, and the day before, I had noted that it came only as far as Great-Grandfather George II, and that the last section seemed to have been cut off.

  I am always sorry to see a book damaged, so I was pleased to see someone had found the loose page and returned it to its place and pasted it in. So I began to copy the next lines.

  Every name had under it the dates of birth and death. Of course, my eye went searching for the names I love best, now that they were added to the roll of honour. All of Grandfather and Grandma’am’s fifteen children were arrayed across the page. There was my Papa’s name: Edward Augustus, Duke of Kent and Strathearn, Earl of Dublin, born 1767, died 1820. Not yet fifty-three years old – how tragic!

  I copied it onto my chart, then went back and began on all the others. Of course, I automatically did the subtractions to see how old everyone else was – or is – and something did not seem quite right. Father was listed between Aunt Charlotte of Württemberg, whom I can’t remember, and Aunt Augusta – and Aunt Augusta, his younger sister, is sixty-one years old. Of course, I realized my childish error immediately – I had never given a thought to how my Papa would have been growing older all these years. He would now be approaching sixty-three years old.

  But then – it sounds so stupid and dull, telling it thus, step-by-step, but in truth, my mind was flying open v suddenly – I saw Uncle Billy’s and Uncle Cumberland’s dates of birth. Uncle Billy – 1765. Uncle Cumberland – 1771. Uncle King – 1762. Uncle Cumberland is fifty-nine. Uncle Billy is sixty-five years old. And Uncle King is sixty-eight. When my Uncle King dies, ju
st as Georgie said, Uncle Billy, the next oldest, will become King. And then – my Papa would follow. As his heir, that means —

  Oh, surely, Aunt Adelaide will have a little prince soon! Or a Princess Royal!

  But if she does not – I must be Queen.

  I looked up at Lehzen, and she was not reading or embroidering. She was gazing at me with such compassion and tenderness, I knew she was aware of my discovery.

  “I never saw this page before,” I said.

  “It was not thought necessary that you should,” she said softly.

  “I see I am closer to the Throne than I thought.”

  “So it is, my dear Princess.”

  “I shall in all probability be the cousin of a King or Queen. Aunt Adelaide’s child…”

  Then – oh, Feo, you cannot know how my heart and stomach were jumping about! Dear Lehzen shook her head, and said, “Dearest child, Her Highness the Duchess of Clarence, your good Aunt Adelaide, is not expected to have any healthy baby. She has said to me, herself, that although she hopes and prays, she is not really robust enough for it. Whatever rumours may contend.”

  I could not believe what I was hearing! Aunt and Uncle want a child so badly! I am sure most people would be pleased and proud to think they might one day rise to the Throne, and own so much responsibility to the nation. And so I am, Feo. But at what cost to happiness! It seemed to my confused heart that Lehzen was almost cruel to go on and say it:

  “In all probability, you will be Queen of England.”

  No crown will ever weigh on me more heavily than those words! What I replied was not a boast, Feo, truly, but more of a Solemn Oath.

  “I will be good at it,” I said. Or, to be more precise, that was what I meant to say. Lehzen saw what a state I was in, and she came over quickly and embraced me, and she only heard me say, “I will be good.” I’m afraid my thought was more practical than virtuous! Yet it pleased her so well, she has since then mentioned it to several people, and under the circumstances, I cannot very well correct her!

  Oh, Feo, have you always known? Truly, I did not see it! Toire called me a “sly boots” because she thought I must certainly have realized my position all along. I finally convinced her that I had not, and now she behaves as if, mentally, I am sadly deficient, not to have thought of it!

  Indeed, my feelings are drawn so violently in so many directions, I hardly know that she is not correct!

  Later

  Toire almost caught me with my journal open in my lap. Not only can she be quiet noisily, she can also knock on a door so it sounds like a mouse in the wall, and then when she comes in on one, she says, “No one answered, so I entered.” She hears a lot of conversation this way. For her to call me “sly boots” is to mistake me for her own equal.

  Fortunately, Dash had just taken up Lehzen’s muff and was trying to shake it to bits, and Fanny was v distressed at Dashy’s bad behaviour, for she has known better for years. So I had tucked my book under my seat cushion in order to rescue the muff.

  Toire has started calling me “Your Royal Highness”, and I think that is an impertinence, for I do not know that I am entitled yet to be so addressed. Besides, I heard her say to Mr Coutts that she is my “most intimate friend”. And to Dr Silas, that she fears I suffer from nervous frailty and must be overseen continuously for my own good.

  All, not true. I asked her to go away. She went.

  Everyone acts as though it is a great relief to them not to have to conceal “my station” from me any longer. Mamma said, “Now you will understand why we must be ever vigilant to protect you.” Captain Conroy said, “Now you know why Cumberland would just as soon you were to disappear.”

  I said to him, “ ‘England expects that every man will do his duty,’ as Lord Nelson said. I am sure my Uncle Cumberland knows, beyond all things, what his duty is, and to whom he owes it.”

  The Captain said that my tender years prevent him from telling me all he might about Certain Information he receives from Certain Sources. He said he is confident, as I mature, I will better appreciate how necessary his management is to my Destiny.

  I did not reply, but only gave him a stony look. I would have liked to ask him to go away. If he were not her father, I might even be able to like Toire. Although, I think not.

  I do not understand why no one seems to realize, I will not be Queen before my poor old Uncle King and my dear, jolly Uncle Billy are gone. I do not like to think of my sweetest Aunt Adelaide suffering such sadness, never to have a child of her own, and to be widowed. I TRULY do not like to think of what happened to Aunt Princess Charlotte. Uncle Leopold is still grieving for her, that is plain.

  I do look forward to discussing this turn of events with Uncle Leopold and Stocky. Every night when I say my prayers, I ask that Uncle will not go off to Greece. I could not bear it.

  4 April

  Carling Sunday

  Only a week until Easter. The primroses have come into bloom, also the hyacinths near the round pond. Lady Northumberland told me, if one finds a pea pod with nine peas in it, one can put it over one’s door lintel on Carling Sunday (as they call Palm Sunday in the North Country and Scotland), and the next man who comes in will be the man one will marry. I asked Cook for some new peas to shell, and after I’d opened about four dozen of them, I found one with nine peas. I brought it upstairs directly, and put it over the door. However, Feo, the only one who came in was Mrs MacLeod with yesterday’s late post, which was a letter for Mamma from Coburg, from our Uncle Prince Ernest. It is too bad I could not leave the peas longer, but as soon as Lady Northumberland left, Mamma told Lehzen she wouldn’t have me carrying on in such a vulgar fashion, and I had to send the peas back to Cook.

  However, the letter included two v handsome ivory miniatures of our cousins, Albert and Ernest. The artist was v good, and they are v handsome boys. I should like to be able to paint as well.

  16 April

  Weather is HOT for this time of year. It has occurred to me that, should I become Queen, I will be able to order Captain Conroy to go to India. I hate the way he speaks to Mamma. She does not think it insolence, but I do.

  I should like to cast him out.

  26 May

  My eleventh birthday two days ago was VERY happy. Uncle Leopold came, and he told me he has decided not to be King of Greece! What wonderful news! He says they will have trouble with Turkey, and his affectionate connexions with England would complicate matters for everyone.

  Feo, you will never guess what he brought me as my present. It is a big silver tureen, like Aunt Princess Lottie’s. And you will never guess how he got it. He drizzled a good deal of gold floss, and used that to pay for it! I imagined a great heap of golden threads, but he said gold is worth so much, one can turn a little of it into quite a bit more silver. He said the golden floss was only a ball as big as his fist. The tureen is so big, I could wash Dashy in it.

  Perhaps I shall. It is my tureen.

  And, Feo, you’ll never guess where I’ve been! Before dinner, Uncle Sussex and Lord Paget and Lehzen took me to the circus at Astley’s! We saw Bengal Tigers and Lions of the Savannah! Also, ladies in frilly, spangled dresses riding backward and standing up on white horses with plumes of purple and red ostrich feathers. It was VERY jolly. Uncle Sussex said Mr William Blake’s poem to the Tiger when we walked past its cage. The Tiger thrashed its tail and bared its fangs, but then it did not roar, it only yawned. Still, it was shocking to see such terrible teeth.

  No deadly cobras, though. Lord Paget said, “Well, then, that’s something pleasant to look forward to.” I was very, VERY amused.

  Later

  Mamma lent me a page from her letter from Grandmamma. I copy it here:

  My blessings and good wishes for the day which gave you the sweet blossom of May! May God preserve and protect the valuable life of that lovely flower from all the dangers
that will beset her mind and heart! The rays of the sun are scorching at the height to which she may one day attain. It is only by the blessing of God that all the fine qualities He has put into that young soul can be kept pure and untarnished.

  I am sure, Feo, that all grandmothers harbour such feelings. But I think our own dear Grandmamma says it v touchingly. She is a v old lady, yet her writing is remarkably stylish.

  Lo, even back so far in the ledger – MORE COW HISTORY:

  Butterfat – lbs per Annum

  Rose

  929

  Melchett

  414

  Diamond

  925

  Livia

  603

  Winner

  968

  Lily

  816

  Irene

  977

  Molly

  860

  Agnes

  642

  Polly

  780

  Nancy

  771

  Dolly

  900

  Vinia

  550

  Great Britain uses 10 lbs of cheese per capita annually, France 10.5 lbs, Switzerland 24 lbs.

  Ice cream made with cream that has 40 percent butterfat will weigh 8.3 lbs per gallon.

  26 June