Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria

by Jean Plaidy

  I had some uneasy moments afterward in the nursery when Uncle Ernest asked to see the children, which I thought rather an odd request, coming from him, for I was sure he was not really interested in them.

  Vicky came running up with her usual lack of self-consciousness.

  “Where is your eye?” she demanded.

  “Lost in action,” replied Uncle Ernest shortly.

  “Did someone take it?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Why?”

  Albert came forward and laid a restraining hand on Vicky's shoulder. I saw him smile; he thought anything Vicky did was very clever and amusing.

  The King of Hanover had turned away. “And where is the boy?” he said.

  Bertie came forward. He said nothing and I was aware of Albert's frown. Bertie was such a disappointment to him, which was largely due to Vicky's brightness; they made such a contrast. I was always reminding Albert that Bertie was a year younger than Vicky.

  I felt a tremor of alarm when Uncle Ernest picked up Bertie and held him at eye level, studying him intently with his one eye. I imagined he would be thinking that this young boy would in all probability be King of England, a title for which Uncle Ernest had lusted all his life.

  I glanced at Albert and saw that his thoughts were the same as mine. I felt that everyone in the nursery was waiting for something to happen. It was a most uneasy moment.

  Bertie, however, was unperturbed. He stared at the King's empty eye socket with the utmost fascination.

  “Looks a healthy little fellow,” said Uncle Ernest.

  “He is,” I told him. “He takes after his father.”

  “Can't see it,” said Uncle Ernest. “More like our side.”

  Vicky was looking up at him in a rather impatient way because Bertie was getting more attention than she was, which was most unusual.

  “I'm not just Vicky,” she said. “I am the Princess Royal.”

  But Uncle Ernest continued to look at Bertie, and it seemed a long time before he set him down.

  I talked to Albert about the incident when we were alone.

  “He really alarmed me,” he said, “when he took Bertie up and displayed such an interest in him. He quite ignored Vicky and was not in the least interested in the baby—although he had asked to see the nurseries.”

  Albert thought that the only reason he could have been more interested in Bertie than in Vicky was because the boy was heir to the throne, for if he had a general interest in the children, Vicky would surely have been the target for his attention.

  It was very sad having to say goodbye to Feodore, but the visit had necessarily to be brief, for Feodore had many duties in her own home.

  “We must meet again soon,” I said.

  “Why should you not come to us?” asked Feodore. “How I should love to show you my children.”

  “We might well do that,” I replied. “We did go to Scotland recently… Albert and I without the children. It was one of the happiest times of my life.”

  “Then there is hope,” said Feodore.

  People remembered Uncle Ernest's reputation and the rumors he had set in progress about me when I was a child; and we had one or two letters telling of a plot to kidnap the children. Sir Robert Peel took these letters seriously, although they did appear to have been written by mad people. We even had some letters from people who went so far as to say that they proposed to kidnap the children.

  All this came out of Uncle Ernest's visit. I wished that I had not invited him to the christening.

  We were all a little shaken and very watchful. Albert made the rounds of the nurseries each night himself, for he would trust no one else.

  “Remember the boy Jones who paid us a visit,” he said. “He was innocent. Some might not be.”

  How glad I was to have Albert to take care of such things.

  Mama, whose main interest in life now was the children, was in a state of great anxiety about them. She told Albert of the agonies she had suffered during my childhood when she had feared that wicked Cumberland—as he was then—was plotting to have me poisoned; and how she had watched over me day and night.

  “You and Lehzen never left me alone,” I said.

  “Oh yes…Lehzen was trustworthy in that respect.”

  Mama smiled complacently. Lehzen's influence was now removed and there was dear Albert. Mama doted on Albert. I supposed that was understandable. It was through him that we had become reconciled.

  About a week after the christening, Princess Augusta of Cambridge was married to the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz; and there again Uncle Ernest showed he had not lost one bit of his ambition. At the altar steps he tried to step in front of Albert, but Albert would not allow that. He forced himself in front to his rightful position and Uncle Ernest almost fell off the altar steps. I smiled to myself. It was what he deserved. And I was ready for him when the time came to sign the register and he maneuvered himself into a position beside me so that when I had signed he could snatch the pen from me and sign next. In that case his signature would be above that of Albert. But I was too quick for him. I was not going to allow him to sign before Albert. Nor did I want a scene. There were several people standing at the table and in spite of the fact that I was in a dress with a train, which was by no means light, I slipped around to the other side of the table, so that I was immediately beside Albert. I took the pen, signed my name, and quickly handed it to Albert before Uncle Ernest could get around the table and snatch the pen from him.

  How Albert and I laughed about it afterward! I was very relieved when Uncle Ernest left.

  A VERY PLEASANT time followed. I was often in the nursery, discovering quite maternal instincts I had not known I possessed. But I do not think I was a very motherly woman. The little babies did not greatly interest me; it was only when they talked and were amusing and looked pretty that I wanted to spend a lot of time with them. Alice was a dear baby though. Such a good child! She was so fat that we called her Fatima. She had a contented smile and would lie gurgling and laughing to herself in her cradle. The nurses loved her.

  Lady Lyttelton said that Alice adored Bertie and laughed with pleasure every time he came near her. He was very gentle with her, she added, and loved her dearly. I fancied that Bertie was Lady Lyttelton's favorite because she was always making excuses for his backwardness.

  I had mentioned this to Albert and his comment was, “I hope that she does not spoil the child. We must watch that.”

  I hoped so too, for Lady Lyttelton was so good with the children and they were all extremely fond of her.

  Sir Robert Peel was rather anxious about our relationship with France and he thought we ought to try for a rapprochement.

  Our new yacht, the Victoria and Albert, was now ready, and as the country's affairs were quieter than they had been for some time, Sir Robert thought it would be a good idea if we took a trip to France to stay with Louis Philippe. I thought it was an excellent proposition; it would mean another holiday with Albert all to myself, for he was getting so involved in politics that I did not see so much of him as I should have liked.

  After the Prorogation of Parliament we set out in the yacht. First we cruised round the Devon coast and then crossed to France. The King of France came by barge to meet the yacht, and the shore was lined with people who displayed banners and shouted, “Vive la Reine,” which was very gratifying.

  There was a delightful surprise waiting for me. Aunt Louise, Uncle Leopold's wife, who was also the daughter of Louis Philippe, had joined her father's Court in order to help to entertain us.

  What a joyous reunion that was, and how we laughed together and recalled those times when she had shown me her beautiful clothes and how I had tried them on and she had advised me about styles and colors.

  I always grew sentimental looking back on the old days. Albert said I saw them through a rosy glow. He didn't really believe I could have been so happy with that old dragon Lehzen always with me. There were some things whi
ch even Albert did not know.

  We were with the King for five days; he took us about the country and there was a fête champêtre. Then we saw some plays which I loved— particularly the comedies at which I laughed heartily.

  After we said goodbye to the King of France we took the Prince de Joinville to sea with us and we called at Brighton and stayed at the Pavilion, which amazed the Prince. He had never seen a palace like it, he said. I did not tell him that neither had we!

  Then we went back to stay with Uncle Leopold for a short visit, Aunt Louise having left France and joined her husband so that she would be there ready to entertain us in Uncle Leopold's palace as she had in her father's.

  Uncle Leopold was overjoyed to see us.

  “My dear children!” he cried. “My two favorites! I am so glad I brought you together. What happiness that has given us all.”

  Aunt Louise introduced us to her children. Albert was rather taken with Charlotte—perhaps because she was about the same age as his beloved Vicky.

  So on that occasion Aunt Louise and I talked of children instead of fashions; and I was so happy to be with those dear people again.

  All too soon it was over and we were back at Windsor.

  Sir Robert said the visit had been a very useful one.

  A pleasant way of doing one's duty, I thought.

  A VERY SAD thing happened soon after our trip to France. Lord Melbourne had a stroke. I was desolate when I heard the news and immediately wrote to him in terms of the utmost affection.

  Fortunately it was only a slight one, but I wanted to hear frequently of his progress and for him to know that I was thinking of him. I wrote that I should never forget what he had done for me when I was young. He would always be my very dear friend.

  I was delighted when he wrote that, apart from one or two small inconveniences, he was almost himself; and I wrote back at once and told him he must come and see me as soon as he was well enough to come up from Brocket.

  When he did come, I was rather saddened, though he was as ebullient as ever, and soon his pithy remarks had me laughing almost as much as they had in the old days. I noticed with great sadness that he dragged one foot a little and that an arm seemed slightly impaired. I asked if he was taking care of himself and he said the best tonic he had—or could ever have—was seeing me so well, so happy with my husband and growing family—a wife, a mother, and a great Queen.

  Then he looked at me with that expression I remembered so well; the half-tender amused look, with tears in his eyes; and he was once more my own dear Lord M.

  Poor Lord Melbourne! Out of the office he had so much enjoyed; growing old was a great trial, for all that he made such an effort to deny it.

  I thought of him often. I wrote to him frequently. I told him I should never forget our friendship—nor must I.

  IN THE NEW Year we heard that Albert's father had died. We had known he had been ill for some time so it was not entirely unexpected.

  Poor Albert was desolate. He wept bitterly and talked to me of his great sorrow.

  I did remember that Duke Ernest had not been such a good father as he might have been. Although he had self-righteously divorced Albert's mother, his own morals were by no means of the highest. She may have had one lapse and was branded for that, whereas her husband had been completely promiscuous; and his second marriage had not been a success either. Moreover he had pestered Albert to get me to settle an income on him, which would have put me in a very awkward position had I done so; then he had been furious because we had not called Bertie after him.

  No, I could not in my secret heart agree that Albert's father had been such a good man; but Albert seemed to have forgotten his sins now he was dead and so earnestly and so movingly did he talk of his father's virtues to me that I began to believe in them too.

  “I shall have to go to the funeral,” said Albert.

  “I must come with you,” I replied.

  But that was not possible. Sir Robert said it would not do for me to be out of the country at this time.

  “It will be the first time we have been separated,” I said. “The thought to me is terrible.”

  But in the midst of his grief, Albert had time to think of me.

  I was deeply touched when he told me that he had written to Uncle Leopold, asking him if he would spare Aunt Louise to come and stay with me during his absence; and to my great pleasure this was agreed to.

  So sadly I said au revoir to Albert, and warmly greeted Aunt Louise. It was wonderful to talk to her about the children.

  I was a little annoyed because I was pregnant again and although, as I explained to Aunt Louise, it was wonderful to have children, and so many kings and queens suffered because they could not, I did feel that longer intervals between the bearing of them would have been more desirable.

  Aunt Louise helped to lighten the days of separation. Albert and I wrote frequently. I treasured his letters; they mirrored the love we had for each other.

  He wrote from Dover.

  “Every step takes me farther from you—not a cheerful thought.”

  There followed another letter immediately.

  My own darling, I have been here about an hour and regret the lost time I might have spent with you. You will, while I write, be getting ready for luncheon and you will find a place vacant where I sat yesterday. In your heart, however, I hope my place will not be vacant. You are even now half a day nearer to seeing me again. By the time you receive this letter you will be a whole one—thirteen more and I am again in your arms. Your most devoted Albert.

  But the one I liked best came from Cologne.

  “Your picture has been hung everywhere so you look down on me from the walls…”

  Of course they were delighted to see him there. They loved him dearly and that did not surprise me.

  “Could you witness the happiness my return gave my family,” he wrote, “you would have been amply repaid for the sacrifice of our separation. We have spoken so much of you…

  “Farewell, my darling, and fortify yourself with the thought of my speedy return. God's blessing upon you and the dear children…”

  There was no doubt in my mind that Albert realized how very much I missed him.

  Aunt Louise returned home and Albert was due back at Windsor.

  What a joyous reunion! We clung together. The absence was almost worthwhile for the pleasure of seeing each other again. He must go to the nursery; he must marvel over Vicky's charm and cleverness, sigh a little over Bertie's backwardness, and delight in Fatima's placid smile.

  Afterward, when we were alone, he told me of the visit; how sad it had been; how he had grieved, remembering his dear Papa who was now laid to rest.

  “And how was Ernest?” I asked. “He is, of course, the Duke now.”

  “Oh, Ernest was much the same as usual.”

  “I hope he is happy in his marriage and has given up his old ways.”

  Albert was not sure of that. His stepmother—of whom he had been very fond—had been delighted to see him; and his grandmother had been overwhelmed with emotion.

  “But it was sad for her,” said Albert, “for she knew I should soon have to leave her.”

  “They all wanted to know about the children, I suppose.”

  “Oh yes, we talked of them a great deal, and I remembered some of Vicky's quaint sayings. They were much amused. You would have smiled to see them plying me with questions. My grandmother still calls me her little Alberichen.”

  “She must love you dearly.”

  “She does indeed. I saw Stockmar.”

  “How delighted he must have been!”

  “Oh, he was. I often think what we owe him. He has been of great help to us both.”

  I agreed fervently.

  “Of course he is with his family now and that is what he likes. I have hinted that we should like to see him here. I talked to him of Bertie. I am rather anxious about that boy.”

  “Lady Lyttelton thinks highly of him.”

/>   “She is rather a sentimental woman. She is fond of the child.”

  “I am glad she is.”

  “Yes, yes. But Bertie needs discipline. He will have great responsibilities.”

  “Yes…in time.”

  “He will have to be trained for them.”

  Albert's lips tightened a little. “It is amazing,” he said. “I have scarcely been treated with honor in this country.”

  “All that is changing, Albert. I have tried so hard …”

  “I know that, my love, but they still look on me as the outsider, the German.”

  “People are like that.”

  “I am the Queen's husband… that is all. It is amazing to contemplate that that stupid little boy can take precedence over me.”

  “Oh…Bertie…I hadn't thought of it.”

  “But he will, of course. The Prince of Wales is of greater importance than the Queen's husband.”

  “Dear Albert, I wish I could make it otherwise.”

  “Oh, it is of no importance. But it is just ironical… that is all.”

  But it was important to him, I could see; and I was so sorry and wished I could have made him King. I would have done so immediately if that were possible.

  “So,” he went on, “Bertie must be disciplined. Stockmar would know exactly how to handle him.”

  “We must try to persuade Stockmar to come,” I said.

  IT WAS MY twenty-fifth birthday. I was getting old. Quite a matron. I would soon be the mother of four children.

  Albert lovingly congratulated me and brought me his birthday present.

  I cried out in joy for it was a portrait of himself. He looked so handsome—but of course not so handsome as he really was. I told him I could not have anything I liked more.

  In the background of the picture the artist had painted a group of angels, their rosy fingers holding a medallion. The words on this were, “Heil und Segan.”

  “Health and blessing, my darling,” said Albert.

  I kissed the portrait, at which he laughed, well contented.