The matter of the Bedchamber Ladies was not allowed to pass into oblivion. It was a very tense situation.
The Duke of Wellington came to see me about Sir John Conroy.
“I have long been working to put an end to his case, Ma'am,” he said, “and I am of the opinion that it would be well for all concerned if he were out of the country, and I believe I am working toward a settlement with him.”
I was so relieved. I had a notion that once I was rid of that man my troubles would be over.
“We shall be obliged to pay him a pension of three thousand pounds a year and offer him a peerage. Lord Melbourne will make the arrangements and this peerage will have to be an Irish one.”
“If he has an Irish peerage that will mean he can come to Court. I never want him in my Court. I shall never forget all the mischief he has caused me.”
“Quite so, Ma'am,” said the Duke. “But it seems likely that the Irish peerage could be long delayed, and it may be that when one does come, there may be a prime minister other than Lord Melbourne, in which case that prime minister would not feel it incumbent upon him to agree to terms made by a former prime minister.”
More abhorrent to me even than Conroy's having a peerage was the thought of there being a prime minister other than Lord Melbourne.
However, the Duke prevailed on me to agree to these suggestions, which I did think might have been completed earlier and in that case we might have avoided all the horrible complications of the Hastings affair; I was sure there would not have been so much talk about the Bedchamber Ladies if Sir John Conroy had not been at hand to foment trouble.
So I agreed, and Lord Melbourne and I celebrated the occasion of Sir John Conroy's departure.
“Although,” said Lord M dolefully, “we have yet to see whether he will leave us entirely in peace. Still, it is good to have him removed from Court.”
But even though he was removed, the effect of his evil remained. Lady Flora continued to move about the Palace like a gray ghost. She appeared in public too. There were those who encouraged her in this, and wherever she was seen there were cheers for her, and her frequent appearances helped to keep the story alive.
Lord Melbourne continued to say darkly that we must wait and see. I am not sure whether he believed she really would produce an infant in time or implied it to comfort me. If only she would! What a difference that would have made! Public opinion would have swung around and we, who had been called the villains, would be proved to have been maligned.
But Lady Flora continued in her ghostly appearances, and she looked so wan that she inspired pity in everyone who saw her.
There was one distressing incident at Ascot that I shall never forget. It was humiliating. I rode up the course as was the custom with Lord Melbourne, and as I did so I distinctly heard a hissing. Then came those terrible words. I could not believe my ears. “Mrs. Melbourne!”
The implication filled me with horror. How could people say such wicked things! As though my relationship with my Prime Minister was not entirely honorable.
Lord Melbourne was quite unperturbed. He had always said one should not attach importance to insults. They were like the weather. Everyone forgot how it had rained when the sun came out.
But this was something I could not easily forget.
I heard later that it was the Duchess of Montrose and Lady Sarah Ingestre—both ladies—no I will not call them ladies—in my mother's service, and active in the feud against me—ardent Tories, both of them.
But this was an indication of the state of affairs. The seeds sown by that arch-conspirator Conroy were beginning to ripen, and the continued sickness of Flora Hastings did not help matters.
One day I noticed that it was some time since I had seen her.
“Perhaps,” said Lord Melbourne significantly, “the time has come when she is in need of a little retirement.”
I really came to believe that one day I should hear that Flora Hastings had been delivered of a child. Perhaps it was wrong of me to long for this; but I did feel so much depended on it.
I found that on every occasion when Lord Melbourne and I were together, the name of Lady Flora crept into the conversation.
I sent a kind message to her—rather against my will—but I thought it politic to do so. I expressed my sympathy for her suffering and asked her to visit me. She thanked me for my concern but regretted she was not well enough to come to me.
There was no alternative. I must go to her. So, putting aside the disinclination and even repulsion I felt, I went to visit her.
I was astonished when I saw her. She was lying on a couch and obviously could not rise to greet me. I did not think that anyone could be so thin and still be alive. She was like a skeleton; but at the same time her body was swollen in one part and I thought she must be pregnant.
I asked solicitously how she was and she replied that she was feeling comfortable.
She added, “I am very grateful to Your Majesty for your kindness and I am glad to see you looking so well.”
I replied, “When you are better we will meet… and talk.”
She smiled gently and shook her head. “I shall not see Your Majesty again,” she said.
I felt a shiver run through me, for indeed she looked like a woman close to death.
In a terrible state of uneasiness I left her.
Two days later a note came from Mama. She advised me that I should postpone the dinner party I was giving that evening because Lady Flora had taken a turn for the worse, and she felt it would be rather unseemly if I were merrily entertaining guests while Lady Flora was so ill.
I remembered that occasion at Kensington Palace when King William's daughter was dying and my mother had gone on with her dinner party. She had been condemned for that. I must not provoke more criticism, so I gave the order that the party was to be canceled. I decided that my only guest that evening should be Lord Melbourne.
He was a little more grave than usual. In fact he had been so since the affair of the Bedchamber Ladies, and I realized that although he had come back as a result of it, it could only be temporarily, unless there was an election and his party came back with a big majority.
I was not naive enough to believe that would be easy—desirable though it was.
We were a little solemn that evening and even Lord Melbourne had given up the belief that Lady Flora would produce a child who would vindicate us all and bring back my popularity.
Shortly after two o'clock the next morning, Lady Flora died.
* * *
NOTHING COULD BE more disastrous. Lady Flora Hastings caused us more concern dead even than she had alive.
It seemed as though the whole country went into mourning for her. To make matters worse there was an autopsy over which five doctors presided and the verdict was damning…to me. Flora had had a tumor on her liver that had pressed on her stomach and enlarged it.
The Press took up the matter. Lord Hastings kept them supplied with a continual flow of information. Everywhere all over the country the martyrdom of Flora Hastings was discussed, together with the heartlessness of the Queen.
She had died, announced one paper, not of a deadly tumor on the liver but of a broken heart.
Pamphlets were sold in the streets: “A Case of Murder at Buckingham Palace.” “A Voice from the Grave of Flora Hastings to Her Gracious Majesty the Queen.” The Morning Post was openly critical of my behavior in the affair and Lord Brougham continued to thunder against me in the Lords.
Even Lord Melbourne was downcast, but he tried to put on a brave face.
“Ignore it,” he said. “Think of how the people behaved to your ancestors. Your grandfather, your uncles… none of them escaped.”
“But the people loved me,” I wailed.
“The people are fickle. This will blow over. They will love you again.”
“It seems as though they will never forget.”
“The mob is fickle. They hate today and love tomorrow.”
“I should never have allowed myself to listen to scandal about her.”
“A queen must look to the morals of her Court.”
“Yes, but she was not immoral. There was never a child. She was truly a virgin. She was ill and we maligned her. I shall never forget her lying on that couch. She looked dead already. She knew she was going to die. She said, ‘I shall never see you again.' I do not think I shall know peace of mind again.”
“Your Majesty is very young. In a short while this will be forgotten, I promise you. It will pass. But meanwhile there is her funeral. A tricky matter. It is a pity she died in the Palace.”
“She is to be buried in Scotland. They are taking her body to the family home.”
“It is a pity she did not die there. That would have saved a lot of trouble.”
“I shall have to go to the funeral.”
Lord Melbourne was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “I do not think that would be wise.”
“But what will the people say if I am not there?”
“I am concerned with what they will say … and even do if you are there.”
“You think they would harm me?”
“It is not so very uncommon for the common people to show their annoyance with sovereigns.”
I covered my face with my hands.
“Look upon it as experience,” soothed Lord Melbourne.
“Do you think that if I had not listened to gossip … if I had been on her side …”
“Well then, there would have been no complaint. You would have been on the side of the angels.”
“How I wish I had been!”
“I think,” he said, “that you should send your carriage. But on no account should you go yourself. I would not allow that.”
I was about to protest but there was a note of firmness in his voice— yes, and even fear. This matter was of even greater importance than I had thought and the people who will cry “Hosanna” one week will be calling “Crucify Him” the next.
Lord Melbourne said, “They are taking her body to Loudon by barge and unfortunately the cortège will have to leave the Palace. Peel's policemen will be guarding it all along the route. The plans are for them to set out at six am, and I think I shall give orders that they start two hours early. Even so, there will doubtless be a crowd waiting, for I am sure some of them will have been there all night to get a good view.”
I thought how careful he was, and how fortunate I was to have him with me. And then the horrible doubt came back to me. For how long?
It was a wretched day when Flora's coffin was taken back to her family home.
Crowds had turned out to see it pass through the streets to the waiting barge. I could imagine the scene, the people weeping for her and murmuring angry threats against me; the ballad singers waving their scandal sheets. I could not bear it and my thoughts went back to my coronation—not so very long ago—when they had shown me such love and devotion.
I was horrified and deeply wounded to learn that someone had thrown a stone at my carriage.
Lord Melbourne tried to comfort me. “It was only one stone. The people were only half-heartedly against you. They just wanted to blame someone and they like having scapegoats in high places. She is gone. That will be an end of the matter. This time next year people will be saying, ‘Who was Flora Hastings?' ”
I should have liked to believe him.
The Wedding
I WAS VERY MELANCHOLY AFTER THAT. LORD MELBOURNE DID his best to cheer me up.
He asked me one day what I thought about marriage.
“Marriage? Oh, I have not thought of marriage for a very long time.”
“When did you last think of it?”
“Years ago. You know Uncle Leopold always wanted me to marry my Cousin Albert.”
“I did know,” said Lord Melbourne. “He made it abundantly clear. But it is you who will have to make the match. What do you think?”
“I have no wish to marry…yet.”
“Have you not? You are now twenty years of age. It is a marriageable age…particularly for a queen.”
“I feel it should be set aside for a while.” I burst out laughing. “I have been your pupil for so long that I think as you do. Do you not always say ‘leave it alone.' ”
“Advice, I believe, which has more than once proved effective.”
“Indeed it has. Well, now I will keep to it. What do you think of Prince Albert?”
“He is a German.”
“Did you find him a little… solemn?”
“Many Germans are.”
“He was always tired in the evenings and never wanted to dance.”
“And Your Majesty is indefatigable and loves to dance.”
“I do not think that Uncle Leopold should choose my husband for me.”
“With that,” said Lord Melbourne, “I am in complete agreement. But the matter should be given some thought. We have to consider the Cumberland threat.”
“But I am young yet and although the people like me less after the Flora Hastings affair, they still do not want Cumberland.”
“Royalty has to look far ahead. It might be well for you to think a little seriously about marriage.”
“Uncle Leopold believes there is an understanding between me and my Cousin Albert. When he visited me in Kensington Palace before I was Queen he made a very good impression.”
Lord Melbourne nodded.
“That was some time ago.”
“People change,” I said.
“Some become queens, and that is a great transition.”
I laughed, then I was thoughtful. “If people could forget they don't like me so much,” I said, “and if we could hold off the Tories…if we could go on like this…I would ask nothing better.”
“If is a very important word and life rarely remains static.”
“You are thinking I should marry.”
“I think you should give the matter some consideration.”
I did; and that brought Uncle Leopold into my thoughts. In spite of the fact that a barrier had grown up between us, I was still very fond of him. I was faithful by nature and I would never forget all that he had meant to me in my childhood. He had been a substitute for the father who had died before I knew him. Once I had thought him the most wonderful being in the world. I did not forget such friendships. It was only because he had wished to interfere in English politics that I had had to withdraw from him a little. My affection remained the same.
I knew so well that he had set his heart on my marrying Albert. He loved Albert as he loved me. We had been his children at the time when he had had none of his own. His greatest dream was to bring us together. A marriage to me would be very advantageous for Albert. After all, he was but the younger son of a German duke. Marriage to the Queen of England would be a very good match for him. And for me? I believe Uncle Leopold considered Albert to be wise and good and that he would be a help to me. He had the welfare of us both at heart.
But I was unsure of myself. I had grown up a good deal since the days when I had first met Albert and been overwhelmed by him. Uncle Leopold had talked so much of his virtues that when he had arrived he had seemed wrapped in an aura of beauty and goodness. I had been very young and impressionable… perhaps I still was… but under the worldly guidance of Lord Melbourne I had grown up a little.
Stockmar had left us some time before this because Uncle Leopold had wanted him to devote all his time to Albert. Uncle Leopold had doubtless seen that Stockmar could do little to guide me when I had taken so wholeheartedly to Lord Melbourne and listened only to him.
I thought I should write frankly to Uncle Leopold, so I did, explaining that for the time being I was quite content with things as they were, and the country did not seem overanxious for me to marry. I thought it would be wiser for Ernest and Albert not to pay a visit to England… just yet. What were Albert's thoughts about the matter? He did realize, did he not, that there was no binding engagement. It would be well for him to under
stand this. I heard such glowing reports of Albert, and I was sure I should like him, but that might be as a friend, a cousin, or a brother. I could not know until I met him again, and I did not want anything to be expected from such a meeting. It made the situation rather delicate, particularly if Albert did not have a clear understanding of it. I thought there was no urgent need to come to a decision for two or three years…at the earliest.
I felt relieved when I had sent off that letter. It would give Uncle Leopold a clear picture of how I felt.
* * *
I WAS THROWN into a whirl of excitement by the visit of yet another uncle. This was Uncle Ferdinand, Mama's brother, with his two sons, Augustus and Leopold, and his daughter, Victoire. With them came another cousin, Alexander Mensdorff-Pouilly, son of Mama's sister, Princess Sophia, and a French nobleman who had escaped from the French Revolution. I found Alexander quite fascinating; his manners were so perfect and he was more restrained than the other cousins who were noisy and liked playing rough games, which I had to admit I enjoyed. But there was something romantic about Alexander. He was a little in awe of me and although I assured him that he must not be, I did like that in him. I told Lord Melbourne that it showed a modesty that was most becoming.
“He is not entirely German,” said Lord M. “Therefore he lacks Teutonic arrogance.”
“Lord M,” I said, “I do not think you like the Germans.”
“Oh,” he replied airily, “it is a mistake to generalize. There might be some very pleasant Germans… but perhaps not so many pleasant people as one would find in other nations.”
“In England, I suppose,” I said ironically. “Gentlemen like Sir John Conroy or Sir Robert Peel.”
“You slander the right honorable gentleman to speak of him in the same breath with that other…”
“Reptile,” I finished. “But you must admit that he is at least not a German.”
I laughed with him and continued to enjoy the company of the visitors. I was joining in their games, laughing as loudly as they did and I was on the most familiar terms with them, but Alexander remained the one I liked because he was more serious and I think a little in love with me.
Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria Page 24
