Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

by Виктория Холт

  We often went into my Uncle Sussex's garden and I watered his plants. He had apartments like ours in the Palace and although he was a very odd gentleman—like most of the uncles—he was a very kind one. When I was little I had been frightened of him because when I had screamed on one occasion, someone had said, “Be quiet or your Uncle Sussex will get you.” I suppose it was said because his apartments were near ours. And for a long time after that I regarded him with suspicion until I discovered him to be the last person who would complain, and in any case he would have been too absorbed in his books, his birds, and his music to be aware of my tantrums. But then I had been scared of all the paternal uncles until I came to know them—with the exception of Uncle Cumberland who really did strike terror into me, and I believe not without cause.

  However, there we were on those lovely summer days with the Baroness Spath—always so much less stern than Lehzen—in the gardens at Kensington—slipping into that of Uncle Sussex, Feodore with a book, I with the watering can, and Spath sitting on the grass beside Feodore watching me and now and then calling out a warning that I was pouring water onto my feet.

  I was so happy smelling the lavender, listening to the hum of bees, hidden away from the windows of our apartments in the Palace.

  Every time we were in Uncle Sussex's garden a young man would come to join us. He was Cousin Augustus, son of Uncle Sussex by his first marriage. Cousin Augustus was very handsome in his dragoon's uniform and he liked very much to sit beside Feodore and talk to her and Spath while I did the watering.

  It was very pleasant for they laughed a good deal and old Spath sat there nodding and smiling as she did when she was pleased. Such happy afternoons they were and then suddenly they ended; and we were not to go into Uncle Sussex's garden again.

  Spath was in disgrace; so was Feodore. I found her crying one day and I begged her to tell me what was wrong.

  “Augustus and I had planned to marry,” she said.

  “Oh, that will be lovely,” I cried. “You would live so close and I could come and water your garden every day.”

  Feodore shook her head. “Mama is very angry. I am going to be sent away.”

  “Oh no, Feddie…You mustn't go away!”

  She nodded miserably and the sight of her tears set me weeping with her.

  “Mama is blaming poor Spath. She may be sent away, too.”

  Feodore, in her abject misery, was more communicative than she would otherwise have been.

  “Augustus is not considered suitable.”

  I was beginning to know something of these matters and I demanded, “Why not? He is my cousin.”

  “Well yes, but you see, although the Duke married Lady Augusta Murray, because she was not royal, the marriage was not considered to be a true one and therefore they say that dear Augustus is not legitimate. So I can't marry him.”

  “It is so unfair,” I said. “It would have been lovely.”

  “I know, little sister. But they won't allow it.”

  “Uncle Sussex wouldn't mind.”

  “Oh no. He only cares about his books and his clocks, and his bullfinches and canaries. He wouldn't mind. But Mama says we have behaved disgracefully. Oh not you…you are not blamed. It is poor old Spath and I.”

  I was right to be concerned. Very soon Feodore came to me, very quiet and sad, and told me that she was going to Germany to pay a visit to our grandmother.

  I was desolate and could not be comforted. Poor old Spath went about hanging her head in shame; and Lehzen took up a very superior attitude toward her.

  I hugged Spath when we were alone and said, “Never mind. We were all very happy in the gardens. It wasn't your fault about Augustus not being right for Feodore. How were you to know? He is so handsome.”

  At which Spath held me tightly and said that her greatest fear was that she should be taken away from me, which I thought very gratifying and which consoled me a little.

  I overheard Spath and Lehzen talking together once and although I knew it was very wrong to listen to people when they did not know you were present, I couldn't help doing so because they were talking about Feodore. They talked in an odd sort of language when together. They would have preferred to speak in German but Mama had forbidden German to be spoken because I must speak English as my native tongue. There must be no trace of a German accent in my speech. That was very important. And although I learned German, it must be a secondary language. The English did not like royal people to speak English with a foreign accent. So dear Spath and Lehzen managed very well usually in English but when they were excited—particularly Spath—the odd German word or phrase would be thrown in.

  Now they were talking about Feodore.

  “There will be die Berlobung …” That was Spath.

  “A betrothal,” corrected Lehzen sternly. “I think that is certain. Her grandmother, the Duchess, will see to that.”

  “Poor dear little Feodore…they were so happy.”

  “You should have reported what was going on.”

  “Ach… wunderbar … the two…so young…Lieben …”

  “Baroness Spath, English please.”

  “I forget. I am so unhappy. The Duchess blames me. I should have spoken. But they were so happy…”

  “And you carried notes from one to the other! Oh, Baroness, you have behaved completely without discretion.”

  “Sometimes… for love…it happens.”

  “And Victoria was there!”

  “Dear innocent child…so happy watering the plants.”

  “And getting her feet wet.”

  “I always made sure she changed her wet things.”

  Spath began to whisper and I could not hear so well but I did gather that they were talking about my brother Charles.

  Then I realized that I was eavesdropping, which was a very illmannered thing to do; and if I were caught I should be severely scolded, so I slipped away. I went to the dolls and explained to them that sometimes in the interest of knowledge it was necessary to listen to what was not intended for one's ears.

  I thought Lady Jane Grey looked at me rather sadly as though she deplored my frailty. I shook her a little. Some people were too good.

  Feodore would be leaving soon to stay with our grandmother in SaxeCoburg. She was very sad, but looked just as pretty melancholy as she did happy. She talked a little more freely than normally. I suppose because she was going away. She was a little resentful toward Mama, for she believed that, but for Mama, she might have married the handsome Augustus. His father would not have minded, but there was every reason why Mama and our Uncle Leopold should object.

  “Why are they so set against it?” I asked Feodore.

  “It is all so stupid. It is because they don't accept him as legitimate. They don't accept the Duke's present wife either.”

  “Mama doesn't like her, I know. She calls her that Buggins woman.”

  “That's because she was the widow of Sir George Buggins before she married the Duke. The King would not have objected… nor would anyone except Mama and Uncle Leopold.”

  “I am sure Uncle Leopold was thinking of your good…Mama too.”

  “But they weren't thinking of my happiness. I love Augustus, Victoria.”

  Then she wept and I wept with her. She held me close and said, “There is something wrong with Charles.”

  “What?”

  “He is in love with Marie Klebelsberg.”

  “Is she… unsuitable?”

  “I'm afraid so.”

  “Will they send Charles away?”

  “They can't do that.”

  “Will they forbid him to marry her?”

  “I think Charles may not allow himself to be forbidden.”

  “But he is Mama's son and if she says…”

  “Well, there comes a time when people are old enough and in a position to have their own way.”

  Those words seemed to me full of significance.

  I nodded slowly.

  I said, “I hope Cha
rles marries Marie Klebelsberg. Don't you think, Feodore, that people should marry for love?”

  “Oh, I do indeed, little sister,” she said.

  Then she held me more tightly and again we wept together.

  * * *

  WHEN FEODORE LEFT I was desolate. Mama said I moped. Lehzen, putting it more kindly, said I pined. I told the dolls how very unhappy I was and that I could not bear to go into Uncle Sussex's garden again, even though I knew his flowers must be missing the benefits of my watering can.

  Life seemed to be all lessons with the Reverend Davys presiding. There was Thomas Steward, who taught me penmanship as well as the hated arithmetic; I learned German from Mr. Barez and French from Monsieur Grandineau. I was quite good at languages and often enjoyed these lessons. I was beginning to learn Italian, which was quite enjoyable. Then there was music with Mr. Sale, who was the organist at St. Margaret's Westminster; drawing with Richard Westall, the academician; and dancing and deportment with Mademoiselle Bourdin. So, with all these excellent people making demands on my time, there was little left for anything else.

  I was often not a very good pupil; the poor Reverend Davys sighed over me, I knew. I wanted to please them but it was so tiresome to do lessons all the time. Sometimes I gave way to fits of temper “storms” as Mama called them. On one occasion, when Mr. Sale was in despair over my performance at the piano, he said, “There is no royal road to music. Princesses must practice like everyone else.” I was so frustrated that I shut the lid of the piano with a bang and said, “There! You see, there is no must about it.” Poor Mr. Sale! He was quite taken aback, but that did end the piano lesson for the day.

  These people were all quite fond of me, I believe, in spite of my lack of application and my occasional storms. There were quite a number of times when my natural enthusiasms and feelings toward them made me go against Mama's instructions and let them know it. They thought those lapses, which Mama would have called vulgar, charming. So, in spite of everything, we got along very well together, and often when I made an effort to please them, they were so appreciative of that.

  But with Feodore gone, I was really melancholy, and nothing— simply nothing—could lift the gloom.

  On Wednesdays Uncle Leopold came to Kensington to visit us. These were the red-letter days. I would stand at the window with Lehzen beside me waiting for the sound of carriage wheels which would herald his arrival. I loved to watch him step down from his carriage. He was so handsome. “I think Uncle Leopold must be the most distinguished man in the world,” I told Lehzen.

  As soon as I was summoned I would rush down and throw myself into his arms. Mama would stand aside, not at all displeased that, on this occasion, I had allowed natural affection to triumph over dignity.

  Uncle Leopold did not mind either.

  He would ask me if I loved him as much as ever and I would assure him fervently that I did.

  I would sit on his knee and he would talk to me about being good and doing my duty and remembering that it was the only true way to satisfaction.

  Mama said, “We have had quite a few storms lately.”

  “Storms?” echoed Uncle Leopold. “Oh I do not like to hear that.”

  “We are still sulky over the Sussex matter.”

  Uncle Leopold looked very sad and that made me almost burst into tears.

  “I watered the flowers,” I tried to explain. “They did need it.”

  Uncle Leopold sighed.

  “There have been many storms because Feodore has gone,” said Mama.

  “Dear me,” said Uncle Leopold. “That is not like my princess.”

  “Yes, Uncle Leopold,” I corrected. “It is very like your princess.”

  “To be stormy when she does not get what she thinks is her due,” supplied Mama.

  “My dearest,” said Uncle Leopold, “but it was very necessary for your sister to go away. She had behaved rather foolishly as you now know, and I am sure she will be happy with the new arrangements which are being made for her.”

  “She was very happy with the arrangements she and Augustus were making.”

  My mother exchanged a look with Uncle Leopold as though to say, “You see.”

  Uncle Leopold then began to ask me about my progress with my lessons, a less-than-happy subject, and after that he spoke to me so beautifully about the joys of endeavor, and as I sat on his knee watching his handsome face, my attention strayed from what he was saying and I was thinking how good he was and how lucky I was to have such an uncle.

  Finally he said it was time I visited him at Claremont and asked if that were agreeable to me.

  “It is the most agreeable thing in the world,” I told him, “apart from Feodore's coming back.”

  “I am disappointed that it is not the most agreeable event,” said Uncle Leopold, and I was ashamed because I knew that he always liked to be the first. But it was true that more than anything I wanted Feodore back, and I could not deny that.

  He stayed with us for some time talking first to me and then I was sent back to Lehzen while he talked alone with Mama; and when he left I went down to wave him goodbye.

  * * *

  HOW I LOVED Claremont! I bounded up the steps to the front door, counting them as I went until I reached the triumphant thirteen. Uncle Leopold was waiting to take me in his arms. Lehzen kept a discreet distance. She would go back to Kensington afterward so that I should be alone with Uncle Leopold. Louisa Lewis was there to greet me. She looked so happy to see me that I even forgot I had lost Feodore and prepared to enjoy every moment of my stay at Claremont.

  “How delighted I am to have my dear little niece in my home,” said Uncle Leopold. “You have brought me the greatest comfort I have known since the loss of my dearest Charlotte.”

  So we were sad for a few moments—but rather agreeably so—while Uncle Leopold remembered Charlotte, which I fancied he rather enjoyed doing. This lovely house, surrounded by the beautiful Vale of Esher and which took its name from the Earl of Claremont who had built it, was really a shrine to Charlotte. I knew that I would hear her name constantly mentioned while I was here.

  Louisa Lewis took me to my room.

  “It's a great joy to have you here,” she told me. “We will have some of our little gossips, shall we not?”

  I agreed gleefully. Louisa was one of those gossipy people with whom it is such fun to talk. They are so pleasantly indiscreet.

  In every room she kept mementos of Charlotte. Whoever said that Charlotte was dead, was wrong. Charlotte lived on at Claremont. She seemed to be there in every room. Uncle Leopold and Louisa Lewis had kept her alive.

  Louisa talked of her constantly. I did not mind. I liked to hear about her. She had been one of those people who had the miraculous ability of turning her faults into virtues. “Such a hoyden,” said Louisa, as though that was a wonderful thing to be. “The dear Prince did what he could to cure her, but he gave up in despair… such loving despair.”

  It was fascinating. I learned about the King's objection to Leopold and how he had wanted Charlotte to marry the Prince of Orange. “But she would have Leopold.” Charlotte must have been cleverer than poor Feodore, I thought, and wondered how she had managed it. By being a hoyden? Of course she was the heiress to the throne. Perhaps that had had something to do with it.

  “You should have seen her in her wedding dress… silver tissue… and the King had given her those jewels which pass to all the Queens of England. But her favorite was one diamond bracelet. Guess why? Because that was a gift from Prince Leopold…so it was most precious to her.”

  I listened with tears in my eyes.

  “She loved Claremont. To her it meant more than all the royal palaces. She insisted on living like an ordinary housewife. Oh, she would have her own way, Charlotte would. She even did some cooking…and she was so good to the poor of the neighborhood. They loved her. She looked after Leopold, and he was very amused although he was always trying to remind her of her royal dignity. Useless, of course.
Charlotte did not care much for dignity. I remember how she used to comb his hair. Oh, they were so happy. It was such a joy to serve her and then…for her to go like that. She was so well, so delighted because she was to have a child… her baby. She didn't think so much of being a future king or queen. It was just to be her little baby. And then…it happened…so suddenly…I just went stone cold. Something died in me. I could not imagine going on without Charlotte to look after.”

  Claremont was a house of mourning still and I wondered why I was so happy in it. But it was not a sad sort of mourning. I had the impression that they would be unhappy if it stopped—particularly Uncle Leopold.

  We talked a great deal about Charlotte, how he had guided her, how he had changed her after their marriage. Before that she had been so uncontrollable. She had not had a good relationship with either of her parents. It had been difficult to imagine a child with more unfortunate parents. “Oh, how grateful you should be, dearest, to have your Uncle Leopold always so concerned for your well being… and your Mama also. We shall care for you, dear child, as poor Charlotte was never cared for… until she became my wife, of course.”

  “She must have been very happy then.”

  Uncle Leopold smiled into the past. “She worshipped me. My dear, dear Charlotte. My child, I hope you never know sorrow such as I did when she went.”

  When I come to think of these talks with Uncle Leopold I realize how often they were concerned with melancholy. Life was very serious for Uncle Leopold. I was inclined to think that life could be rather merry. I loved dancing, singing, and laughing—all of which, Mama said, when done to excess, were vulgar. Perhaps I was a little vulgar. No wonder Mama and Lehzen had to keep such a sharp watch on me. And yet I enjoyed these talks with Uncle Leopold. I loved to shed a tear with him over all his sorrows. He was a martyr to many illnesses and he liked to talk about them to me: the mysterious pains, the easy way in which he caught cold. After discovering that the King's luxurious curls were a wig I found myself studying Uncle Leopold's hair. He must have noticed this for he explained, “I wear this thing just to keep my head warm.”