Victoria Confesses (9781442422469) (15 page)

The good doctor had called on me nearly every day since my illness the previous November. Sergeant Owen still came three times each week with his Indian clubs. I ate more lightly and chewed more thoroughly, and I was no longer as plump as I had been. I could stay up half the night and dance every quadrille without tiring! “Dr. Clark has pronounced me the very picture of health,” I argued.

“The picture remains good only when we continue to follow the doctor's orders,” Daisy said. “And it will give us an opportunity to have a good talk.”

I returned the uncooperative parrot to his cage and reluctantly prepared to accompany Daisy. The coachman left us off and was instructed to wait for us at Highgate Ponds. I was relieved that it was just Daisy and I and two footmen; no Lady Flora Hastings, no Lady Conroy, not even Mamma. We set off at a brisk pace. It was always a challenge to keep up with Daisy, who was much taller than I.

“Now,” said dear Daisy, “I'm going to speak to you quite openly, as I have been instructed by your uncle Leopold.”

“Is this about Albert?” I asked.

“It is. You liked him well enough, did you not?”

I nodded.

“The foreign press already has you engaged and planning a wedding. But Leopold wants it clearly understood that no marriage is possible at this time, nor is there to be any announcement of an engagement. All of that must wait until you are at least eighteen, you understand.”

“I understand,” I said.
Good
, I thought, much relieved.

I had been thinking about dear Albert a great deal since his visit. Though we never spoke of it, I was aware—and I was sure Albert was, as well—that behind the scenes our families were executing an elaborate dance they no doubt intended to end eventually in our marriage. I loved Albert, truly I did, but I was not
in love with
him. I thought of the conversation I had once had with dear little Maggie, my maid, who had told me what it was like to be in love.
When my Simon holds me in his arms and kisses me, I think I'm going to melt—just like butter.
I had no such melting-butter feelings about Albert. Of course he had not kissed me—that would have been highly improper. Nor did I
want
him to kiss me. I did not intend to marry for a VERY long time.

I had also been thinking about Queen Elizabeth, who had never married. I did not approve of many things she did—for example, ordering the execution of her cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots. But Elizabeth had immense power, and she ruled for a very long time without any need for a consort. Could I not do the same, if I chose?

In one of our long talks, in which Uncle Leopold and I had discussed the qualities of a good ruler, I had brought up the subject of Elizabeth and posed the question: “Was she able to remain powerful because she didn't marry and refused to say if she ever would? Or might she have been a better, more compassionate ruler if she
had
married?”

“Difficult to say,” my uncle had replied. “But if she had married and produced a living heir, the course of history would have been considerably altered.”

“In what ways?” I'd asked, prepared for a serious lesson.

Leopold had smiled broadly. “For one thing, you would not be the future queen of England. When Elizabeth ordered the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, and named Mary's son, James, as heir to the throne, everything changed. You are descended from Mary, not Elizabeth.”

The lesson was clear: If I did not marry, someone else would provide the future heir to the throne. My future subjects might not approve of that.

I thought of that conversation now as I walked beside Daisy, who began speaking about Albert. “It is most important that you feel that your mind is made up about Albert. Your uncle fears that some other young man might be forced upon you—one of the Oranges, for instance.”

“What dull boys they are! Two great lumps!”

“Many a princess has been turned away from her heart's choice and coerced into marriage with a great lump—or worse. Leopold desires that you find a choice and anchor yourself to it. Those are his words.”

“Mamma would prefer Albert—he is her nephew! She loves him, I'm sure!”

“Your mother does love him,” Daisy agreed. “But if Sir John should decide someone else is better suited to his purposes—not yours—his influence over the duchess is very strong. Leopold calls him ‘Mephistopheles,' the devil himself.”

“Well then, we must make sure the devil does not get his due.”

Dark clouds had rolled in. Rain would come soon. We spoke no more about Albert, but hurried toward the place where our carriage was waiting.

“My dearest uncle,” I wrote later that day, “I must thank you
most sincerely for the prospect of great happiness you have contrived to give me in the person of dear Albert. Allow me, then, to tell you how delighted I am with him, and how much I like him in every way. He possesses every quality that could be desired to render me perfectly happy at some time in the distant future.”

I sent the letter to Mamma for her approval before I sealed it. I considered the matter settled.

Mamma and I received an invitation from King William to come to Windsor for celebrations of Queen Adelaide's birthday on the thirteenth of August and to stay for the king's eight days later. But there was a problem: Mamma's own birthday fell on the seventeenth, squarely between the two royal birthdays.

“This is my fiftieth birthday and worthy of a special celebration, and I've planned a party at Claremont,” she said. “We shall decline the queen's and attend the king's.”

I knew that refusing the invitation to the queen's birthday was a mistake and a very rude one, but there was no way to change Mamma's mind. On the thirteenth we were on our way to Claremont.

Little lanterns had been set all round the gardens for Mamma's party, and we dined on the terrace with dancing afterward. Two days later we left Claremont for Windsor.

King William had gone to London to officially end the current session of Parliament. Around ten o'clock that evening the king arrived at Windsor, plainly very tired and out of sorts. Nevertheless, he greeted me cordially. “My dear Princess Victoria!” said the king, taking both of my hands in his. “What a very great pleasure to see you here! My only regret is that I do not have the honor of your company more often!”

He turned to Mamma and made a low bow. Suddenly his mood changed. “Madam,” he said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “I have just come from Kensington Palace, where I discovered to my extreme displeasure that apartments have been taken possession of without my consent and contrary to my commands.” He glared at Mamma. “I will not tolerate such disrespect.”

Mamma grew extremely pale. The king was speaking of our apartments. I didn't understand why. What had my mother done? Had she really gone against the king's wishes? Queen Adelaide called for the musicians to play and tried to calm the angry king. Mamma, too, was angry, but she pretended that the rebuke had nothing whatever to do with her.

I did not dare to say a word to Mamma, but prayed for the evening to conclude and hoped that would be the end of it. Later Daisy explained to me what had happened: Mamma had asked the king for permission to move into the new suite of rooms, and the king had refused. She had simply gone ahead and appropriated the seventeen rooms
without
his permission. “Your mother believes it entirely appropriate for the next queen of England to have better accommodations,” Daisy said.

The next day, after the king's rebuke, went VERY badly indeed.

A hundred guests attended the king's birthday dinner. Mamma was seated on one side of the King; I sat opposite. One of the king's
bâtards
, the very pleasant Lady Amelia, had been seated close to Mamma, which surely upset her. After dinner Queen Adelaide proposed a toast, and we all drank the king's health and long life. The king rose creakily to his feet to give a response.

“I trust in God that my life shall be spared for nine months longer,” he said. “I should then have the satisfaction of leaving the royal authority to that young lady”—he pointed to me—“the heiress presumptive of the crown, and not in the hands of a person now near me to be surrounded by evil advisors.” He stared angrily at Mamma, who sat open-mouthed in stunned silence. His speech turned into the most awful tirade. “I have been grossly and continually insulted by that person,” he roared, “and I shall no longer endure such disrespectful behavior. I complain particularly of the manner in which that young lady has been kept away from my court, prevented from attending those events at which she should have been present. This shall not happen again! I am king, and in future I shall command that the princess appear at my court, as it is her duty to do.”

During this terrible scene I began to weep, tears streaming down my cheeks. Never had I suffered such deep embarrassment. How could Mamma have defied the king's order? The new quarters were lovely, but were they worth this humiliation? And why did the king choose to rebuke Mamma in front of a hundred people?

By the end of his speech, King William was red-faced and fairly shouting. He stalked out of the ballroom, waving his arm at poor Queen Adelaide to follow, which she did, eyes averted.
The guests, aghast, seemed immobilized. The whispering had begun. Mamma rose with as much dignity as she could muster. “Come, Victoria!” she commanded, her face flushed scarlet. “I will not stay here to endure another insult. We shall leave at once.” I obeyed.

Mamma was outraged, and no amount of calming words from others could soothe her wounded pride. She called for our carriage, but in the end she was persuaded that the hour was very late and it would be better to delay our departure from Windsor Palace until the next day. In silence, we retreated to our rooms.

The journey back to Claremont on the morning after this horrid evening was long and silent. I sulked and kept to myself, avoiding not only Mamma but also Victoire Conroy, who had been a witness to the whole thing. I counted the days until the arrival three weeks later of my dearest uncle Leopold. Aunt Louise could not accompany him, for she was expecting another child, but she had sent me several lovely dresses made by the finest dressmaker in Paris.

As soon as I was alone with my uncle, I poured out my misery, describing the scene at the king's dinner. “Now I will not be permitted to attend any of King William's drawing rooms,” I complained. “He so much wants me there, and I
should
be there—it's my duty! He said so himself!”

Uncle Leopold listened, pacing up and down and shaking his head. “The king has a nasty temper,” he said. “He once upbraided me at a dinner for drinking water instead of wine. It appears the old king is given to public outbursts, saying things that he ought not to say. On the other hand, my sister
has behaved most appallingly in disobeying the king's order—or ignoring it, which is the same thing. And that puts you in the middle, dear Victoria.”

My uncle understood perfectly, but there was little he could do to remedy the situation. And we had so many other important subjects to discuss! He changed the subject, asking to hear every little detail of the visit from my two VERY dearest cousins, Albert and Ernest, though I had written to him all about it. “But I want to hear the words from your own lips,” he said.

I reported all the things we said and did during my cousins' visit, not omitting the fact that Albert could scarcely keep his eyes open after dinner. “It was my only disappointment,” I told my uncle. “I enjoy dissipation, and Albert does not.”

Uncle Leopold laughed. “Aside from his tendency to fall asleep before ten o'clock, Albert is a fine young man,” my uncle said, “but I must emphasize that he is indeed young. My good friend Baron Stockmar has taken him in hand, and when Albert is not engaged in his studies at university, the two will travel together—gaining polish, as we say, so that he can slide easily into the role that awaits him. One is not born knowing how to be a prince consort, any more than one is born knowing how to be a queen. One must be formed properly to take one's place.”

I felt agitated, and my face grew hot. It was one thing to talk about Albert, and quite another to talk about
marrying
Albert.
I am not ready for this!

“I agree that Albert is a fine young man—and so VERY handsome,” I said, my voice a trifle unsteady. “But my mind balks at the notion of a ‘prince consort.' Indeed, I cannot even talk about the subject of marriage.”

“Of course not, Victoria!” Uncle Leopold replied soothingly. “Nor for several years at least.”

I was VERY MUCH relieved. “Now we must dress for dinner,” I said, much calmer now and smiling. “Mamma is entertaining again, and I shall wear the lovely violet silk sent by my dearest aunt Louise.”