Victoria Confesses (9781442422469) (5 page)

“If Aunt Adelaide doesn't object to the king's children, why does Mamma object?” I asked dear Daisy. I did not dare ask Mamma.

“Your mother's moral standards are much higher than Queen Adelaide's,” Daisy explained. “The duchess believes that if you are allowed to associate with children born to the king's shameful relationship with an actress, Mrs. Jordan, it will not
be possible to teach you the difference between vice and virtue.”

“But I do know the difference!” I protested.

“I am sure you do, Victoria.”

I said nothing to Mamma, or she would have been “shocked” that I opposed her. Dear Daisy advised me to be patient.

King William did not go out of his way to pretend to care for Mamma, but he did not even try to conceal his complete disdain for Sir John. For his part, Sir John loathed the king. It was like the Battle of Hastings in 1066. I was somewhere in the middle, caught between opposing armies—King William and Queen Adelaide on one side, Mamma and Sir John on the other. I was always on pins and needles, and
I hated it
.

My mother had the distressing habit of writing me a letter whenever I somehow displeased her, and that seemed to happen VERY often. I wished everyone had not found it necessary to report to her
every little thing
I said or did, which then burdened Mamma with the duty of writing to chastise me, and me with the duty of writing an apology.

There was the episode of the piano shortly before my twelfth birthday. I disliked practicing my piano exercises. “Even a princess must practice,” my teacher gently reminded me. But I felt I had done quite enough scales and arpeggios and little etudes by some young Polish composer—Chopin, I think.

“I do not wish to practice any more,” I informed the teacher, and shut the lid over the keys quite firmly, perhaps a little
too
firmly.

This minor incident was reported to Mamma, who then
wrote a letter reprimanding me. As if I did not see her several times a day! It was not enough for me simply to say, “I am truly sorry,” but now had to sit down and write her a letter in my most careful penmanship.

Dearest Mamma, I thank you for all your many kindnesses to me, and I hope to repay it by being your good and obedient child. I hope never any more to hear my dearest Mamma say “I am shocked” but rather, “I am pleased.”

I wrote many such letters, and there were times when I sincerely believed that my dearest Mamma should be writing such letters to me.

On the twenty-fourth of May at the dinner in honor of my birthday, my health was drunk and everyone assured me that this, my twelfth year, would be a year of great promise. I
very
much wanted to believe them, but only a month later I received news that was deeply distressing: Dearest Uncle Leopold had been elected king of the Belgians and would soon leave England. My uncle was like a father to me, always kind and affectionate, listening carefully to what I had to say and offering wise advice when I asked for it. I could not bear to have him go so far away!

Mamma and I traveled with Daisy to Claremont House, half a day's journey from Kensington, to spend time with my dear uncle before he left for Brussels. For once the Conroy family did not accompany us. Sir John did not trust Uncle Leopold, and I felt sure Uncle Leopold heartily disliked Sir John, perhaps
even as much as I did. Though Uncle Leopold had been a great help to Mamma after my papa died, he often disagreed with her, which meant that he also disagreed with Sir John. Sir John was no doubt happy to see him go.

The visit at Claremont was a misery for me. Signs of my uncle's coming departure were everywhere. Portraits of poor Princess Charlotte had been packed for shipment, including my favorite, the two of them on their wedding day—Charlotte in her elegant gown of silver lamé embroidered with shells and flowers, and Uncle Leopold with all of his military decorations pinned in rows on his coat. Now, in just a fortnight, he would be on his way to Belgium by steamer. Claremont House already felt deserted.

Uncle Leopold and I walked for the last time through the gardens, then in full summer bloom. My uncle cut a red rose with a little silver knife, trimmed off the thorns, and knelt beside me, offering me the flower. “Look at me, Victoria,” he said, lifting my chin. “You must promise to write to me very often. I expect I shall be very busy with my duties as king, but I promise that I shall write to you often as well.”

“And will you come to visit, too, dear uncle?” I asked, trying not to sound overly demanding.

“Of course I shall!” he said, just as Fidi had promised when she married and went away to Germany. But Fidi had not come to Kensington, because she was either expecting a baby or had just had a baby and in any case could not travel. She did write to me, but not as often as I wished. I knew it would likely be the same with my beloved uncle Leopold.

After one last kiss, I struggled to hold back tears as our carriage drove away.

A few weeks later Mamma and I went on another visit, this one to the Conroys' home to celebrate Victoire's birthday. Visits to Campden Hill were somewhat enjoyable, because the Conroys had a paddock with several ponies and a kennel full of yelping, frolicking dogs. We presented Victoire with lovely gifts of jewelry, and I had made her a little box in which to keep her most important trinkets. After dinner, Jane Conroy, who was often ill and spent much time in bed, was feeling better. She played the harp, I played the piano, and everyone sang. Lady Conroy had a voice like a frog, but that did not inspire her to sing as softly as she ought. Then Mamma took a turn at the piano, and Jane and Victoire and their brother Edward and I danced a quadrille. Edward was a tiresome prig, but at least he danced well.

Mamma decided—or, more likely, Sir John decided for her—that I must now have a proper
English
governess, not a foreigner, especially not a German.

“I have invited Lady Charlotte Percy, duchess of Northumberland, to be your new governess,” Mamma announced, as easily as if she were telling me that a new groom had been hired to look after my ponies. Was dear Daisy to be sent back to Germany, as Baroness Späth had been? I felt as though I had been struck by a thunderbolt and left entirely speechless. I stood before Mamma, my mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. My mother guessed what I was thinking. “No, Victoria, I would not dream of sending Baroness Lehzen away,” Mamma assured me.

But I had reached an age when I often questioned my mother's sincerity. I never uttered my doubts aloud, of course—that
would have been unthinkable—but the notion often entered my mind that I could not entirely believe her or accept her judgment without question. The doubts had begun the day I witnessed my mother in Sir John's embrace and had increased as I grew older. I felt sure that if Sir John decreed it, my dearest Daisy would be gone in a fortnight.

“Our Lehzen will stay with us as your lady-in-waiting,” Mamma was saying. “She will continue to strive to improve your behavior,” she said, adding pointedly, “and to curb your regrettable tendency to rebelliousness.”

I lowered my eyes and murmured, “Yes, Mamma.”

Mamma was not finished. “I must tell you that Lehzen's table manners are not of the very best, and you seem to have picked up some of her unfortunate habits.”

I stared at Mamma. “What habits?” I asked, in what must have been a very surly tone that my mother chose at that moment to ignore.

“You have been observed eating your soup with your dessert spoon,” she said. “Have you forgotten that fish must be eaten with the proper fish-knife and fish-fork? And I was appalled to notice just the other evening that you neglected to remove your gloves before you began to eat! That simply will not do, Victoria. I'm sure the duchess of Northumberland will be helpful in correcting these serious flaws.”

“Yes, Mamma.”

Indeed, Lady Charlotte was VERY helpful in straightening out my use of silverware. She was also kind and did everything possible to please me. I had no idea how she felt about Daisy, or how Daisy felt about being replaced. Both ladies acted with absolute correctness. But when the duchess invited Mamma
and me to visit the ancestral Northumberland home in London, Daisy did not accompany us.

The duke of Northumberland grew rare and exotic plants, as well as vegetables and strawberries and even pineapples in a glass conservatory. In winter, blocks of ice were cut and hauled up from the large lake, packed in straw, and placed deep inside a brick icehouse built partly underground, so that the duke's guests could enjoy ice creams and sorbets all year round. The duchess made certain I had the delicious treat during my visit.

“And my dear princess,” she told me, her smile showing pointy little teeth, “as soon the duke can arrange it, you shall have your very own little bedroom here, and your dear mamma will, too.”

That pleased me very much indeed. At the age of twelve I was still not permitted my own bedroom at Kensington, but continued to sleep in Mamma's room. She would have it no other way.

The iced desserts, the strawberries, the promise of my own room in no way made up for one of the biggest disappointments of my young life. Mamma still refused to allow me to attend the king's coronation.

I felt utterly wretched. Nothing cheered me. I should have been in London at Westminster Abbey on Thursday the eighth of September,
a major participant
in all the glorious pomp and ceremony. Instead, I passed the day in Kensington, where it was just like any other Thursday. My lessons proceeded as though nothing of any importance were happening. Whenever I thought of what I was missing, I could scarcely keep from bursting into tears. I did not wish to see Mamma, afraid I would say something impertinent that would shock her, and then I would have to write another letter of apology. Dear Daisy
tried to distract me, without success. I cried myself to sleep as Coronation Day ended.

Every aspect of my life was carefully watched and strictly controlled, always under the direction of Sir John. There was no room for error, no tolerance for failure.

As he promised, my dearest uncle Leopold wrote to me soon after he reached Belgium. I was VERY happy to receive a letter from him, though he did go on to lecture me in the kindest way possible, just as he had when he lived in England.

“If I were to give an opinion, I should say that a certain little princess eats a little too frequently, a little too much, and a little too fast.”

He said nothing about my posture, leaving that to Mamma. To ensure that Fidi's back would be straight, my poor sister had been forced to wear a board strapped to her spine over her corset almost until the day she was married, but Mamma simply pinned a bunch of prickly holly under my chin as a reminder not to slump and to sit erect when I ate. If that had not succeeded, I knew, I too would be subjected to the board.

One morning I found on my writing table a small paperbound copybook, the title lettered on the cover:
VICTORIA'S GOOD BEHAVIOR BOOK
.