Victoria (4 page)

12 April

Uncle Leopold was indeed here for Sunday dinner yesterday. I was allowed to come to the table with the grown-ups, although Lehzen made it clear I was not to dominate any portion of the conversation, but to listen to how it is done among the best society.

Our dear,
dear
Uncle is the most fascinating individual in the world, I believe. He is very handsome, with those fine, dark eyes of inexpressible kindness. He has to be so brave, carrying the burden of his sorrow for losing his beloved wife, Aunt Charlotte, the way he did. He says she was always lively and merry.

I cannot but notice, though, that Uncle does not overload his conversation with sad sentiments. During the several courses of our meal, for example, he spoke of many things, subjects introduced by himself or others.

Uncle brought me a present, too – a lovely brass nutcracker, made in the shape of a griffin with a lion's mane and an eagle's beak. “These English walnuts are the most hard-headed crop in Europe,” he said. That made Lehzen laugh so, she turned quite pink.

22 April

Roast leg of lamb, garnished with mint jelly moulded into the shape of strawberry leaves, and also roast pork with herbs crusted to the cracklings, and soup with parsley dumplings, and watercresses, and a pineapple, and coconut cake, and ices.

That was dinner yesterday.

In the morning, we went to the Abbey in the barouche, our most stylish carriage, and came back by way of Rotten Row. I bowed my head to everyone who bowed to me (
everyone
, in other words!) and said, “A Happy Eastertide to you.” I was wearing my white serge coat, as the day was charmingly warm, and my new bonnet with blue ribbons and white egret tips.

After we arrived back home, Mamma said I may go to the ball! Now, I only pray nothing might happen to cause her to change her mind. (I mean: a Certain Person of wrathful looming-overness.)

Really, I cannot understand how there could have been any question whether I should go, as we are commanded, rather than invited. Toire, in her most KNOWING manner, told me that is EXACTLY why her papa and my mamma had to consider carefully.

I replied (rather irritated) that my mamma knows there can be no serious question! I am a princess, but I am His Majesty's MOST LOYAL subject!

Toire looked entirely too smug at that. She said, “Pity, then, he's not so fond of you as you seem to think. He's choosing
your
birthday week to give a party for someone else! And one who but recently lived in Brazil, at that. Papa says that is a ‘gross insult',
Your Highness
.”

I felt as though she had slapped me. I could not understand why she wanted to be so cruel.

Afterward, though, I found out. Everyone is NOT invited. Toire is not. She says she doesn't care, for the people at Court wear too much perfume and pomade, and her lungs are delicate. (A lie.)

If she went, maybe she would do some of the dancing with Cousin Georgie, and I wouldn't have to. She could ask
him
if his father, Uncle Ernest, murdered his manservant.

But it really does not seem fair she can't go.

24 April

Tried
four
times to write, but almost got caught each time. My heart spends a good deal too much time in my throat these days.

However, I have found that some of my best times for writing are very early in the morning, when the birds are just starting to sing. I can sit by the window, with my down counterpane wrapped around me. I write with a pencil, for I dare not try to manage an ink bottle in such a position.

Another time I have found that often allows for a spot of writing is after breakfast, if Mamma is indisposed, and I am set to working by the globes in Uncle Sussex's library. I make my lists of principal seaports and northernmost outposts and so on, and I do it promptly and rapidly as soon as I am seated. They think it will take me a half to three-quarters of an hour to fulfil the task. But I write as quickly as the Captain does, and with a good deal less time wasted on flourishes.

I was too tired to write all that happened yesterday. I was too sleepy at bedtime. I thought I would go and get my book, but before Lehzen dozed off,
I
did. I'll try to catch up when next I can write.

Later

We went to the Serpentine pond in Hyde Park in the afternoon, and Uncle Billy let me sail his model of the
Pegasus
, his old Navy ship, in the pond where all the boys from Eton were sailing their boats. Aunt Adelaide was quite beside herself, and I did get my shoes damp. We tipped the boat over once in a gust, and Uncle said sailors' words. Then, as my commanding officer, he ordered me to forget what he said.

One of the boys had a boat that was supposed to be Admiral Nelson's ship, the
Victory
. The Admiral was a great friend of Uncle Billy's, and he died a great hero. I believe Uncle misses him a good deal.

6 May

It is so provoking, but there's no help for it. Mamma lets me do nothing wherein I might breathe bad air – but lately she includes
fresh
air in her ruling! She is so particular this week about my not catching a cold. Since it's how my dear Papa caught his death, of course I take the matter seriously. I am not a careless infant. Uncle's friend, Dr Stockmar, says pure air is of utmost importance in maintaining one's health. He is the one who told Mamma to put white upholstery in her apartments and watch it for soot and mildew, to know if the chamber is wholesome to live in. It is useful advice, although Captain Conroy rumbles, “Oh, hmm, one more way to waste money, and nothing to show for it.”

I came in panting after a brisk canter, and I suppose I looked flushed. Mamma wanted to feel my forehead and put a shawl around my shoulders while I did my geography recitation, which I couldn't have borne. Egypt makes one warm enough.

De Spaeth whispered to me, as she tried to help with my soaked bootlace, “You cannot go to Court with a cold. Your Mamma will not permit it.”

I asked Mamma and O'Hum if Toire could please come to the ball. I said I would send my Uncle King a charming note, and ask it as a favour for my birthday. Mamma looked confused. O'Hum didn't look at me at all. He said, “Oh, hmm, not necessary, not at all necessary.”

I was glad I hadn't told Toire I would ask. It would be too hard to explain.

Later

Mamma and Lehzen and I have had letters from Feo in today's post. It is so charming to hear of life in Hohenlohe. I wish we could go and stay with her sometime. It sounds so amusing, the way she speaks of managing her own household and staff.

Compton, everyone's favourite sewing maid, is cutting out my dress today. She's using the same pattern as my (favourite) lawn frock that has eyelet lace trim, only adding another inset panel to make it longer. (I really
am
taller.)

Greta, the new girl, was helping. She got nervous while fitting the muslin pattern on me, and accidentally ran a pin into my leg. I thought she would just about die. I saw tears in her eyes, she was so distressed! It was only a pin, after all. And I am a soldier's daughter.

I would have said a few words to comfort her, but Lehzen was reading a fairy tale to me the whole time, “The Twelve Dancing Princesses”.

29 May

I celebrated my tenth birthday five days ago. Yesterday I attended the Royal ball. So much has happened! Alas, I've had no time to write. Now that I am ten years old, I must learn to be stricter with myself. It would be unfortunate to have one's failings known publicly. At Court, one is under EVERYONE'S eye.

The most amazing thing is this, dear Feo: I rather like it. I don't know why dear Mamma thinks it's not nice there. I watched all the lords and ladies bow to one another and say such pleasant things. They dress BEAUTIFULLY, of course. It is like a conservatory of satin and sheared velvet and gauzy silk
chiffoneries
, all the hues of petals, seashells, pastry icing. I never saw so many ropes and knots and stars of shining jewels! The candlelight glimmered on the golden epaulets as if they were the armour of the most splendid company of knights. The gleaming scarlet and black of the military uniforms looked like a pack of playing cards scattered all around.

And the music was HEAVENLY. Not only was there an orchestra that played for the dancing, but also violins and a cello on the terrace. A female harpist played in the ladies' withdrawing room. The evening being mild and clear, Scotch bagpipers in their plaid kilts were marching here and there out in the gardens, playing “like a topping gale”, Uncle Billy said. I could tell he meant that as praise.

It was not true, what Toire said about my Uncle King not noticing my birthday, as I shall tell.

When I went up to make my curtsy to His Majesty, I was quite nervous. I had to kiss His Majesty's hand. Really, one kisses the air
over
his hand, and that's a good thing, for he's so glistening with lotions and powders to cover the liver spots on his skin, which he hates. (I heard him say so to Lady Conyngham. Perhaps, also, the Royal purpleness, though he didn't mention that.)

Aunt Soap says he was a beautiful lad when he was young. “Prinny was the handsomest Prince ever. His curls were the colour of honey on toast, like that red-gold Russian sable the Princess de Lieven wears.” Now, unfortunately, his beauty has quite fled. Perhaps he does wear a corset, as I once heard Lady C remark – though I can't see that it does much good. (I'm sure she would be shocked to know I overheard. But I do wonder why so many people seem to think a young person's ears do not work unless they are instructed to by some adult.)

When I had kissed the air above His Majesty's hand, which was scented with eau de cologne, he leaned over the arm of his chair, quite sideways. Feo, he's so bulgy, he
can't
bend forward very well! But he leaned over and held his cheek toward me and patted it with his big, plump hand, which is the size of a plucked quail, and loaded with rings like cherries. He said, “You pretty little pet, give us a true kiss, now.”

So I did, though he was rather pink and white and greasy with makeup. His hair smelled like gardenia, almost
overpowering
.

Then he said, “Ah, so charming. Now, hold out your little paw. I have something for you.” (His Majesty
always
calls my hand a “paw”, so I think it's not
too
terrible to call his a quail, is it, Feo?)

He rang a little bell then, and a footman stepped up and bowed and handed him a flat, square, green velvet box. Uncle held it out to me and said, “My dear, a very, very happy birthday.” Really, it was four days after my birthday, but he was close.

I was not certain if I should open it then and there, but of course I said, “Oh, Your Majesty, thank you. You are so kind to me.”

“And you, at least, can see that, can't you,” he murmured. “How difficult can it be?” (And I believe the glance he cast past my shoulder was aimed at poor Mamma, who had been announced when we entered the ballroom, but to whom he had not yet said a word.) “Open it, open it,” he bid me.

So I did, and it was the loveliest little necklace of pearls, so delicate, with a cunning clasp of tiny diamonds spelling GRA, which you know means George Rex Anglorum – George, King of England.

“Help her on with it,” he commanded Lady Montagu, who was standing nearby. When she had it fastened, he said something that touched me deeply. He wiggled a finger at me to come closer, and then he whispered, “Don't tell anyone at home, but that was my daughter Charlotte's. His Majesty, my father, gave it to her when she was just your size. You are better behaved than she was, poor little soul – you won't pop the string, will you?”

“Oh, no, dear Uncle King,” I vowed. “I shall treasure it.” I was
thoroughly
astonished: I believe there were tears in his eyes. However, the ballroom was a very glittering place, so I may have been mistaken.

At that moment, Uncle Cumberland was announced, and His Majesty said, “Run along, then,” and I did something I did not expect of myself. I stepped up next to him and kissed his cheek again. I truly meant it, too. Poor old King. I have no Papa anymore, and he has no daughter.

Then I backed away hastily, for I didn't want to have to kiss Uncle Cumberland's ghastly cheek, with his eye all puckered out of place and nasty from the saber scar. And of course, my full-of-himself cousin Georgie was with him, too.

I have so much more I want to write, Feo. I want to remember every detail and share it all with you. But I cannot continue now. Mamma wants me to come say “how do you do” to Lord Brougham and some other visitors. I suppose it is my duty.

Later

Back again.

Then was announced Her Majesty, Maria da Gloria, Queen of Portugal. Oh, Feo, I can scarce describe to you the splendour of her whole demeanour and person!

Her hair is black as a swallow's wing is, almost blue in its highlights, and she was wearing a delicate crown that looked quite old. Her gown was of crimson velvet, rather stiffer than we wear our gowns here, but perfectly elegant. It had bands of gilt embroidery down the front of the skirt, too, and around the hem. She was wearing
many
jewels.

Her face is quite serene and very strong, I think, for a girl. It is rounded but not round, and her skin like ivory – old, creamy ivory.

Lehzen looked at Her Majesty, I can only say,
shrewdly
. I do not mean unkindly. “That child,” she murmured. “To think, they are already discussing a marriage contract…” Of course, I was very interested to learn
that
, but Lehzen would say no more.

We had not made our whole progress back to our corner of the ballroom when Uncle King sent his little African page to bid me come to the reception line to greet Her Majesty Queen Maria.

And, as luck would have it, I was just behind Georgie, who does not know how to whisper invisibly, but thinks he does.

“Oh, you're here, Wigglechin?” he said first. I could see from his smile that he meant to be annoying. He knows I do not permit
anyone
to call me “Vickelchen” anymore, except Mamma; and she is not so fond of me, now that I'm older – lately, she only uses it to correct me. So, it is a baby name by which I can no longer abide to be addressed under
any
circumstances – especially in the reception line within so short a distance from such splendid, charming people. Among whom I cannot count Georgie.

The next thing he said was, “I hear she does her hair with sardine oil.” He was speaking of Her Majesty.

“Lie,” I said to him. “She doesn't, and you didn't hear any such thing. Two lies.”

Then I cut him no more attention, and turned to greet Her Majesty's ladies-in-waiting, her ministers who are travelling with her, and, finally, Her Majesty, herself – the heir of Henry the Navigator! My heart thrilled to think of it!

“Your Majesty,” I said, dropping my curtsy, and she said, “Your Highness, I am honour and please to salute you.” That seemed to be the whole extent of her English, but her French is better, so we conversed
briefly
in French. She said she admired the band. “That was Mendelssohn, was it not?” It was, from
A Midsummer Night's Dream
. I said, “Yes, we are fond of his music here, indeed, we are.” Then she nodded to me, and I passed on to her chancellor, who stood next in line. Her Majesty and I also spoke together several more times during the evening. She is a very pleasant girl, Feo, and seems warmhearted and affectionate and honest.

She was wearing a very, very pretty neck chain of coloured gems. But she was also wearing a very exquisite necklace of star sapphires, a gorgeous ultramarine blue, and it had a clasp that said GRA, too, but the clasp was not as old-fashioned as mine.

After everyone had gone through the line, I went to the withdrawing room with Lehzen, before the dancing began, and I overheard Lady Peel say the Queen's necklace was His Majesty's present to her. Imagine that, Feo!

Then I heard something I did not like to hear. Another lady said that she was shocked to see how weak and old His Majesty has become this past year. She said she would not be surprised if he is “done for before Christmas”.

The saddest part, Feo, was, not one of the ladies to whom she said it seemed to disagree.