Victoria Confesses (9781442422469) (18 page)

How odd it was, still to be sharing a bedroom with Mamma under such strained circumstances! I slept soundly, dreamlessly, until six in the morning when I heard Mamma's voice.

“Victoria.”

I opened my eyes and saw Mamma standing over me. I knew the reason.

“Victoria, you have important visitors. The Archbishop of
Canterbury and Lord Conyngham are here, and they wish to see you.”

I flung on my dressing gown, and with Mamma and dearest Lehzen hovering nearby, went QUITE ALONE into my sitting room where the two gentlemen waited.

“Your majesty,” they said gravely, and knelt before me. “We have come from Windsor,” said the lord chamberlain. “It is our sad duty to bring you word that his majesty King William is no more. He expired this morning at twelve minutes past two. You are queen.”

I had known for years that this day would come. Now it had. Somehow I knew exactly what to do. I held out my hand, and each man kissed it. I thanked them for coming, and they left.

I am queen,
I thought as I stood alone in my sitting room and let the awareness and the magnitude of my new station settle over me like a benediction.
I am queen.

The twentieth of June was only one day short of midsummer, and it was already bright, though still very early in the morning. Mamma was waiting for me in our bedroom, nervously pacing. As she stepped forward, I stopped her. “Mamma, please grant me the first request I make to you as queen. Let me be by myself for an hour.” Without waiting for her reply, I walked past her and firmly closed the door of my dressing room. For an hour I sat alone, simply wishing to experience in solitude the flood of thoughts and feelings.

Dearest Daisy had already called for Miss Skerrett, a tiny woman of middle years who had been seeing to my wardrobe. Skerrett had the proper mourning clothes laid out for me, a plain black gown trimmed in white at the neck and wrists. After a tearful Maggie had finished doing my hair, I took the time to write a few letters, a rather long one to Uncle Leopold,
signed, “Your devoted niece, Victoria R”—the R for Regina, queen, the first time I had signed with my official signature—and a short note to dear Fidi, “You are now the sister of a queen,” signed V. R.

An hour had slipped by, and it seemed wise to go down for breakfast. Good, faithful Baron Stockmar was waiting for me. He knelt, like the others, and kissed my hand, and sat with me while I ate my usual boiled egg and buttered toast. “Lord Melbourne will come at nine o'clock, your majesty,” he told me. “Your uncle Leopold urges you to retain him as prime minister.”

At the appointed time, the prime minister appeared. Lord Melbourne was a large man in his later years, still quite handsome with some white in his hair, thick black eyebrows, expressive eyes, and a charming, graceful manner. I talked to him
quite
ALONE, as I expected to do with all my ministers. This was our first meeting, and I liked him immediately.

“I have taken the liberty of writing out a short speech for you to deliver at your meeting later this morning with your Privy Council,” he said. “I hope it will be helpful to you, your majesty.”

All my life I had listened to Mamma read speeches written in pompous language—words put into her mouth by Sir John—and I was happy to find that Lord Melbourne's prose was simple and direct and entirely suited me. Later, in my room, I practiced reading the speech aloud to Daisy.

“Perhaps a bit slower,” she suggested. I read it again, following her advice, and she pronounced it perfect.

There was still time, before I was to meet with my council, to write a careful, thoughtful letter of condolence to Aunt Adelaide. Dipping my pen in the silver inkwell, I told Daisy, “I wish to assure her majesty the queen that she is welcome to stay at Windsor Castle for as long as she likes.”

“Very kind,” Lehzen said, but she reminded me that the proper form of address for my aunt was “the Queen Dowager.”

“I'm quite aware of her changed status,” I said, “but I would rather not be the first person to remind her of it. Poor lady, how very sad she must feel!”

At eleven o'clock I entered the Red Salon for my first meeting with the gentlemen of my Privy Council. In this grand chamber Mamma had announced Fidi's coming marriage to Prince Ernst, and here we had had the wedding breakfast. My chair, newly upholstered in rich red velvet, was a very LARGE chair and my feet did not quite touch the floor. Dozens of men, all somberly dressed, were waiting.

After I had read my speech, the councilors approached one by one, knelt, and swore his allegiance to his new sovereign. At the last my two elderly uncles tottered forward, their rheumy eyes shiny with tears, and bent their creaky knees. First came the ugly duke of Cumberland, followed by the eccentric Sussex, who lived surrounded by dozens of clocks.

I had a GREAT many things to do, and I was eager to plunge into my new duties. I passed the afternoon writing letters when I was not receiving visitors, people who would no doubt be of great help to me in my new life, and attending to several VERY important matters that I did not wish to delay.

The first was to order my bed removed from my mother's bedroom to my sitting room. As soon as it could be accomplished, I intended to have my own bedroom with Daisy installed in the room next to it.

The second was to order my dinner served to me in my sitting room. Though I had often been lonely, only rarely did I have the luxury of BEING ALONE. Now, for the first time in my life, I could be alone whenever I wished, and on this,
the first night of my reign, I intended to indulge that desire without even dearest Daisy's company.

The third matter, to dismiss Sir John Conroy from my household and rid myself of him forever, would not be so easily accomplished. But I began by barring him from attending the Proclamation ceremony to take place the following day.

After I had luxuriated in my solitary dinner, Lord Melbourne called upon me for the third time that momentous day. Such a dear, good, and kind person! He seemed to understand what troubled me without my having to say much about it.

“I am determined to rid myself of Sir John Conroy,” I told him, “and I have sent him a note informing him that he will not attend my Proclamation.”

One of my prime minister's heavy eyebrows lifted slightly. “You are within your rights to exclude anyone you wish, your majesty. But it is wise to remember that Sir John does have his supporters—most importantly, the duchess your mother.”

“Mamma will be angry. I don't care.”

“I see.” He hesitated. “Perhaps this is a discussion best left for another day.”

Lord Melbourne wished me a pleasant night's rest and left me, and I went to my mother's room to bid her good night. I found her in a petulant mood. “I understand that you have banned Sir John from attending the Proclamation tomorrow,” she said sullenly.

I expected it, and I was ready. I would not attempt to soften my words. “Not only do I not wish to see John Conroy at my Proclamation, I do not wish ever to see the man again.”

“How ungrateful you are, Victoria!” Mamma cried. “You have declared that you will not have Sir John as your private secretary, though he has helped you with your correspondence
all along. You have further determined that you will not have our kind friend as the keeper of the Privy Purse, though he is eminently qualified. And now you deny him even the courtesy of allowing him to attend such an important ceremony.”

I planted myself in front of my mother, though she turned her head and refused to look at me. “Hear me out, Mamma. While I was meeting this morning for the first time with my Privy Council, Sir John was outside with Baron Stockmar, presenting him with a list of his demands. His demands, Mamma! This list was passed on to Lord Melbourne, who showed it to me. ‘As a reward for my past services to the duchess of Kent and her daughter, Princess Victoria, now queen, I believe I should receive a peerage'—he wants the title of baron—‘the red ribbon of the Order of the Bath, and a pension of three thousand pounds a year.' Baron Stockmar said the audacity of it quite took his breath away!”

Mamma dabbed at her eyes. “Surely Sir John deserves all of these things for the service he has rendered to us!”

“Surely he does
not
. His demands are outrageous. Some other more appropriate offer will be made. And he will not attend the Proclamation tomorrow,” I said, adding firmly, “nor will his friend Lady Flora. Not after the way she has spoken so ill of dearest Lehzen.”

“But just this once—”Mamma whimpered, and when she saw that I would not be moved, she became angry. “Take care, Victoria!” she said, shaking a warning finger. “Take care that you do not allow Lord Melbourne to become king!”

For a moment we glared at one another. “Good night, Mother,” I said shortly.

I retired to my own bedroom, and that night
for the first time in my life,
I slept ALONE!

As was the custom, I remained in retirement at Kensington Palace until after dear King William was laid to rest at Windsor on the eighth of July. Less than a month after my accession as queen, I left Kensington and moved into my new home: Buckingham Palace. I did have some feelings of regret at leaving poor old Kensington, where I was born. So many important things in my life had taken place there: Fidi's wedding, pleasant balls and delicious concerts, visits from dear relations—I had met dear Albert there! On the other hand, I had endured too many painful and disagreeable scenes at Kensington that I preferred to forget.

Buckingham Palace had gone through various stages of enlarging and rebuilding during the reigns of three different kings. It was only now ready for occupancy. I toured the halls and galleries, accompanied by the steward—there are more
than seven hundred rooms, and he feared I would get lost. I was VERY MUCH PLEASED with the royal suite, its high ceilings and cheerful windows. After the tour, I made certain that Mamma's apartments would be located in another part of the palace, and arranged for dearest Daisy's bedroom to adjoin mine.

I should have known that the battles with my mother were not over. In the past I had been obliged to do whatever Mamma decided. But now I was my own person, and she was clearly not prepared to acknowledge that.

On my first day in my new home, Baron Stockmar, who would also have quarters at the palace, offered me a piece of advice: “Your majesty, may I respectfully suggest that you invite your mother to walk with you in the palace gardens, so that the public may see you amicably together. King Leopold fears that your antipathy toward the duchess—whatever its cause—will not be taken well by your subjects. They want to see a proud mother with her happy daughter. If it were felt that you had caused a breach in that sacred relationship, it would do your reputation untold harm.”

This was what my brother, Charles, had told me. It was easier when the advice came from Baron Stockmar.

I also remembered what Uncle Leopold had once told me:
Royal persons are a little like stage actors; they must always make efforts to please their public.

“Very well,” I told Stockmar. “I shall do as you say.”

That afternoon, I sent Mamma a message asking her to join me in the gardens. As soon as we set out on the path near the lake, with dear little Dash frolicking round us, a crowd began to gather nearby, waving and calling out greetings. Dashy raced
about, exploring every corner, appearing to be quite happy in his new home. Mamma was less so.

As we strolled arm in arm, pausing now and then to admire some bright bloom or a butterfly's lazy swoop, Mamma again beset me with complaints.

“I was most distressed at dinner last night—our last at Kensington Palace!—when I was seated below the late king's sister at the table,” she said. “I found it quite insulting.”

“It was proper that she should take precedence over you, Mamma,” I reminded her. “The princess is entitled to sit closer to me at the head of the table.”

“She would not take precedence if you were to give me the rank of queen mother, as I have requested.”

“As you have
demanded
,” I corrected her. “You are not entitled to that rank, as you well know, because my father was not king. It would do you no good to have it and would no doubt offend my aunts.”

Mamma chose to ignore my explanation and continued undeterred. “Furthermore, I find it highly offensive that you have actually invited some of the king's
bâtards
to dine with you. You know how strongly I disapprove of them.”

“They were my guests, not yours. You may be as offended as you like.” I dropped her arm and moved away from her.

She turned the subject to Sir John, as I expected she would. “You seem intent on persecuting that good man. Now I understand that you do not intend to invite Sir John to the Lord Mayor's banquet in your honor at the Guildhall. You must remember that I have the greatest regard for Sir John, and I, for one, am thankful for all he has done, even if you are not.”

We were in full view of a growing crowd of women and
children, watching us from a respectful distance. If my mother continued to berate me I would be unable to contain my anger much longer. “This conversation must end at once, Mamma,” I told her, my throat tightening and my fists clenched. “We shall return to the palace and speak of this no more, for I will not change my mind about John Conroy. Now smile, please, and let's gather a few blossoms to give to those lovely children peering in at the gate.”