The Captive of Kensington Palace

Chapter XI A BIRTHDAY BALL

The Queen sat beside the bedside of her niece Louise, Princess of Saxe-Weimar, and tried to persuade herself that the child was not dying.

This was the girl whom she had looked on as her own, who had done so much to comfort her when she had despaired of having children. Of all the young people whom she had gathered about her it was Louise and George Cambridge who had seemed most like her own; they had lived with her; she had mothered them both because their parents were far away; she still had George, but how long would Louise remain with her?

She had spoken to the doctors, begging them to tell her the truth, so she knew the worst. It was to be expected, they warned her. Louise had always been an invalid and now the end was in sight.

‘My dear child,’ whispered Adelaide; and Louise could only look at her with loving eyes mutely thanking her for all the kindness she had received from her.

‘Is there anything you want, darling?’

Louise’s lips moved and Adelaide bent over her. ‘Only that you stay near me, Aunt Adelaide.’

‘I shall be here, my dearest.’

Louise smiled serenely and Adelaide sat silent while the tears gathered in her eyes and began to brim over.

She was buried at Windsor and Adelaide wrote sorrowfully to her sister Ida; but Ida had her own busy life and other children to comfort her. In any case Louise had always been more Adelaide’s child than Ida’s.

There was no point in brooding over the death of this dear child. There were the living to think of and Adelaide went to see the Duchess of Cumberland who was facing another tragedy.

‘Oh, my dear Frederica, how is dearest George?’ she asked.

Frederica shook her head. ‘His sight seems to grow more dim each day.’

‘And George himself?’

‘It seems so strange but he bears it all with such fortitude. He comforts me, Adelaide.’

‘Dear child!’

‘Yes, he bids me not to fret. He says his sight will come back.’

‘That this should have happened,’ sighed Adelaide. ‘It seems such a short time ago that he was playing with Louise. He was always so gentle with her … more gentle, I think, than any of the others, though my dear George is such a good, kind boy.’

‘He was too good,’ said Frederica almost angrily.

‘And Ernest? How is Ernest taking it?’

‘As he takes everything. He believes the boy will recover his sight.’

‘And the doctors?’

‘You know what doctors are. But, Adelaide, I am thinking of taking him to see Baron Graefe. I believe him to be the best eye specialist in the world. You know he operated on Ernest most successfully. I am sure he could do something for George.’

‘My dear Frederica, how I hope so!’

‘And you, my poor Adelaide, have suffered a great loss.’

‘I knew it had to come. There was really no hope for my poor Louise. Yet she used to be so happy.’

‘You have a gift for making the children happy, Adelaide. George will want to see you before you go.’

So Adelaide spent an hour with George who laughed with her and behaved as though he was not disturbed by this terrible tragedy which had overtaken him.

‘He is an example to us all,’ said Frederica, strangely subdued, unlike herself, thought Adelaide.

There were further troubles. The FitzClarence children were becoming more and more arrogant. They were rude to Adelaide and did not hesitate to speak their minds to the King. William was unhappy. Frederick as well as George had declared he would resign from the post recently bestowed upon him by the King – because he was not paid enough.

The papers noted these quarrels between William and his unnatural children and William pretended that there was no quarrel at all.

He was becoming too excitable again and Adelaide was afraid people would notice. He would suddenly start one of his tirades without warning. At breakfast he would often appear his amiable self, and having entertained the young children at his ablutions, he would joke with the family in the old way; but when he settled down to the papers he would mutter to himself, and sometimes the muttering would grow into a shout.

Something would happen to remind him of Victoria. ‘Royal progress, that’s what it is. I’m going to put a stop to this. Parading about the country. I believe that woman believes I’m where she’s been longing for me to be these last few years – in my coffin. Well, I’m not. I’m here on the throne … and that’s where I’m going to stay. And by God, I’m going to live until Victoria’s old enough to take over. I’m not going to let that Kent woman have her heart’s desire. For make no mistake about it. That’s what she wants. Royal parades! Royal salutes! That girl is not Queen yet. Nor is she going to be until she can stand without her mother.’

He would go on and on until Adelaide could think of something to distract him; and she was always afraid that by doing so she would lead him to a subject as irritating to him as that of the Duchess of Kent and her daughter.

He was at present raging against the Chapter of St Paul’s because they had refused to allow a statue of Dorothy Jordan to be placed in the Cathedral.

‘Why? I wanted to know. Eh, why? Why shouldn’t the mother of my children have a statue in my Cathedral, eh? Because she was an actress? Because the union didn’t have the benefit of clergy? The insolent dogs. By God, am I the King of this realm or not?’

Then his eyes would fill with tears and he would tell Adelaide of the virtues of Dorothy, his eyes glistening with emotion. The happy years … oh, the happy years at Bushy when she was working in her parts and the children were being born. ‘What a woman she was, Adelaide! What a woman!’

It did not occur to him that his wife might not wish to hear of the perfections of his mistress; nor did Adelaide point this out to him. She was only eager that he should remain calm, accept the Chapter’s verdict and forget that he had wanted a statue of Dorothy in the Cathedral.

‘It will be Victoria’s fourteenth birthday in May,’ she said. ‘I think we should give a ball for her.’

‘And what will Madam Kent have to say to that? She seems to think the chit is contaminated by being near us.’

‘I think she is only eager that Victoria shall have the respect due to her position.’

‘Her position! That woman believes she is Queen already. She has to be made to see that’s not the case.’

‘We will make it perfectly clear,’ soothed Adelaide. ‘But I think, don’t you, that her fourteenth birthday – which is a kind of landmark – should be celebrated at St James’s.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ He gave her one of his affectionate smiles. ‘You usually are.’

And talking of the party – for he loved to arrange such entertainments within the family – he grew calmer and forgot his grievance against the Chapter.

While they were talking a messenger arrived from Kensington Palace. The Duchess of Kent begged the honour of entertaining the King and Queen for dinner.

Adelaide watched the King fearfully. He was in no mood for friendship with his sister-in-law.

‘Damned woman,’ he growled.

‘But I think we should accept, William,’ said Adelaide. And as he knew she was usually right, he agreed.

The year so far had been a happy one for Victoria. After his success with Flora, the dog – and the Duchess had declared she could not have had a present that pleased her more, although whether this was due to the present or the donor was debatable – Sir John decided to repeat his success.

Early in January he gave her another dog – a King Charles’s spaniel whom they had named Dash. Although he was the Duchess’s dog and she adored him – as she must any present of Sir John’s – he followed Victoria everywhere and seemed to have made up his mind that he belonged to her. In a very short time she was devoted to dear little Dashy and Sir John and her mother were not displeased because anything that made her feel more kindly towards Sir John was to be welcomed; and the dog had certainly done this.

So with Dash always at her heels or lying curled up on her lap and with her dear horse Rosy whom she herself fed and loved to exercise, she was happy. Moreover, now that she was growing up and the King had said he wished her to appear in public she was visiting the opera and the ballet quite frequently. She and the Duchess would be accompanied by Sir John – and Lady Conroy often came with Victoire and Jane and Lady Flora Hastings and others of the household. How Victoria loved to go to the theatre. It was so enchanting, she told Lady Flora, when the curtain rose on the colourful scene and those clever performers came on to the stage.

In the Journal she wrote long accounts of what she had seen, describing the dresses and performances in detail to show to the Duchess who demanded to see the Journal every now and then without warning, so that it was necessary to keep it up to date.

Then there was her sketching. She was really rather good at it, and she loved to sketch people most of all. She had done a beautiful one of Lehzen which her art master said showed great promise.

The days passed quickly, with lessons which were becoming more and more interesting and Rosy to exercise and look after because she did not care to leave dear Rosy to anyone else and with Dash always ready for a game. There was dear Uncle Leopold to write to; his letters came regularly to her and she was longing to meet her dear new Aunt Louise. ‘I love her already,’ she wrote.

Sometimes when they went to the opera they arrived back at Kensington Palace quite late. It always amused her to write in her Journal that she did not get to bed until midnight. That made her feel very grown up.

‘Nearly fourteen,’ she whispered to Dash. ‘That will be a turning point.’

The Duchess came into the schoolroom to find Victoria on the floor playing with Dash. The Duchess smiled tolerantly.

‘He is such a dear little dog.’

‘Oh, Mamma, he is the best dog in the world.’

Ordinarily the Duchess would have warned her about exaggeration; but this time she said: ‘I really do believe he is.’ She smirked slightly. ‘We are to be honoured. Their Majesties are dining with us.’

‘Oh!’ Victoria’s face was bright with pleasure. ‘That will be lovely, Mamma. When …’

‘Next Wednesday, but you will not be there, my child. I hardly think you have reached the age to be present at a dinner party.’

‘I see.’

‘Now there is no need to be sullen. It will come all in good time.’

‘Yes, Mamma.’

‘I think, though, that you may meet the company afterwards.’

Victoria was silent. ‘Still sullen?’ asked the Duchess.

‘No, Mamma. I was thinking that very soon I shall be old enough to have my own dinner parties. Then I shall be quite grown up. It is really only four years.’

Only four years! thought the Duchess uneasily. She must be made to see that even when she was eighteen she would need guidance.

She would speak to Sir John about the change in Victoria’s attitude lately.

A very unpleasant rumour was going round the Court. The King with his usual bonhomie had been unbecomingly jocular with one of the Queen’s ladies and when she went home to spend a few weeks with her family it was said that she had gone away to have the King’s child.

When this reached Adelaide’s ears she was angry because she knew that there was no truth in this statement. With all his shortcomings William was a faithful husband and although his attitude towards the ladies of the Court was at times flirtatious, he had never broken his marriage vows.

She immediately commanded the young woman to return to Court and when she came it was clear she could not possibly have had a child, so the story was shown to be an absurd lie and Adelaide made a point of having the girl constantly in attendance on her in case the rumour should start up again. By acting promptly she settled that matter; but it depressed her to consider how easily rumours could start and she realised that she must be constantly on the alert. She was conscious that there were forces at work to discredit William; and she knew that the Duke of Cumberland was one of the chief movers in these schemes, and although this did not change her attitude towards Frederica and the poor afflicted George, she was determined to be wary.

She developed a cough which she could not shake off and on the night of the dinner party at Kensington Palace she felt feverish and really ill. Had she been going somewhere other than the apartments of the Duchess of Kent she felt she might have been equal to the occasion, but when she considered the possibility of conflict between the King and his sister-in-law she felt too weak to deal with them.

She was lying on her bed when the King came in to see how she was.

‘You look sick, Adelaide,’ he said anxiously.

‘I am just a little tired,’ she answered. ‘I don’t feel well enough to go to Kensington.’

‘Then we’ll not go.’

‘William, you must go. The Duchess would take it as a personal insult if you did not.’

‘Let her. It’s time she was insulted.’

‘But, William, it would not be good.’

‘It would do her the world of good. The insolent old bitch.’

‘William.’

‘Rough sailor’s talk, my dear. You should be used to that by now.’

‘William, I beg of you to go tonight. You sometimes forget that you are the King.’

That was the right note. He liked to be reminded of his kingship.

‘If you don’t honour the company with your presence it will be the talk of the town, for everyone knows of your feelings towards the Duchess. Go, and try not to be irritated by her. Those miserable papers exaggerate everything. I should like to hear how Victoria is getting on.’

‘That child should be seen with us. The people expect it.’

‘Therefore it is wise to have friendly relations between us all.’

‘You’re asking for a miracle.’

‘Kings often make miracles.’

He was in a good temper. ‘Very well, I’ll go. But you shall stay here and rest. I’ll not have you running any risks with that fever.’

The Duchess was excited. This was going to be one of the grandest parties she had ever given.

‘And to think,’ she said to Sir John, ‘that our guest of honour is that old buffoon.’

Sir John reminded his dear Duchess that the old buffoon was at least the King.

‘I am sure,’ said Sir John, ‘that the evening will be a successful one, for with your usual wisdom you will hold your feelings in check and not allow His Majesty to irritate you.’

‘I shall have my eyes on Cumberland. He is the one I have always feared. I despise William, but Cumberland has often alarmed me. You know how he set rumours in progress concerning Victoria’s health. I’m sure he meant to murder her.’

‘Yes, we’ll have to be watchful of Cumberland. The fact that his Duchess has become more gentle lately and the boy is going blind doesn’t change him.’

‘Indeed no. But how could he hope for his son to marry Victoria now? That has been a lesson to him.’

The Duchess raised her eyes piously as though thanking God for the lesson which the Cumberlands had had to learn through the affliction of their son. Victoria was not for George Cumberland. How could she marry a blind man? And she was not for George Cambridge either. The Duchess had her eyes on her own relations in dear Saxe-Coburg.

‘And I think,’ she said, ‘that Victoria may come down to meet the company after dinner.’

‘Have you made this clear to her?’

‘I have. She is just a little … sullen. I am growing more and more of the opinion that the older she grows the more correction she may need.’

Sir John replied that this was the case with most people; but the Duchess need have no fear. Between them they would show their beloved Princess which way she should go.

To dine with Lehzen simply in her own room was certainly rather annoying when there was such a dinner party going on in the large saloon.

‘Lehzen,’ she said, ‘how I should love to be there sitting beside Uncle William. He is really a very nice old uncle and the Queen is always so kind to me.’

‘In time you will be giving dinner parties of your own.’

‘Oh yes, of course. That will be the greatest fun. I shall decide who the guests will be. Suppose this were my dinner party it would be a little different, I do assure you. I should have the King and dear Aunt Adelaide and George Cambridge and poor, poor George Cumberland. Oh, Lehzen, I could weep to think of him. I suppose I should have to have Victoire and Jane Conroy. Have you noticed, Lehzen, how they are always everywhere?’

‘I have noticed,’ said Lehzen primly.

‘I shall not have so many Conroys round me when I have my say – although the little boys are sweet. I quite like Edward, Stephen and Henry – and I suppose I am so used to Victoire and Jane that I don’t notice them. They really do seem like members of my own family. You must admit that, Lehzen.’

Lehzen did admit it, in a somewhat aggrieved way which Victoria was quick to note.

‘Oh, listen. The guests are arriving. Be quiet, Dashy. Dear, sweet, darling Dashy, he wants to protect me. There is no need really. It is only Mamma’s guests.’

‘Perhaps he has his reasons for barking at them,’ said Lehzen obscurely. ‘I hear the Duke of Cumberland is to be of the company tonight.’

‘Uncle Ernest is really rather frightening I admit,’ said Victoria with a happy shiver. ‘It is because he has lost an eye, although it was lost most nobly, Lehzen, and he should therefore be honoured for it. Eyes! Is it not strange Lehzen that poor George has hurt his eyes when his Papa lost one of his at the battle of Tournay?’

Lehzen said it was not for them to question the ways of God.

‘But we are surely allowed to comment on the strangeness of them,’ said Victoria sternly.

Lady Flora Hastings had come in. The Duchess wished the Princess to join the company after dinner. So Baroness Lehzen was to prepare her.

‘So I am to be part of the ceremony after all. Hurry, Lehzen. What shall I wear, Flora? Which dress do you think is most suitable for me to wear to meet the King and Queen?’

‘The Queen is not there,’ said Lady Flora. ‘She is indisposed.’

‘Oh, poor, poor Aunt Adelaide. She was the one I most wanted to see. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was about poor Louise and to ask her if there is any news of George Cumberland. And I was hoping too that she might ask me to one of her parties. Since she had come to one of ours, Mamma could hardly refuse to let me go, could she?’

‘Come,’ said Lehzen. ‘I’ll dress your hair. I think the King likes ringlets.’

‘Tell me who are present,’ said Victoria while her hair was being dressed. ‘I must have a list of the guests for my Journal.’

‘All the nobility,’ said Flora, ‘including the Archbishop of Canterbury.’

‘I shall discover for myself,’ said Victoria, ‘when I go to the saloon. Then I shall be able to list them in my Journal. I daresay I shall stay up late tonight.’

How pleasant it was in the saloon with the band of the Grenadier Guards playing stirring tunes.

All eyes were on Victoria. She knew some of the guests – the Earl of Liverpool, for instance, and the Earl and Countess Grey, and the Dukes of Norfolk and Devonshire.

And there was the King, old, with a very red face, looking less like a King than any of the others so it was well that she knew him, for she would never have believed he was the Sovereign otherwise.

His eyes were soft as she curtsied before him. She looked very young and fresh with her hair in ringlets and the wide blue sash on her white silk dress.

‘Well, my dear,’ said the King, taking her hand and pulling her towards him, ‘you’re a pretty sight.’ And he kissed her in a very unkingly fashion. ‘Now, you sit here beside your Uncle William and tell him what you’ve been up to.’

What expressions he used! She was sure Mamma would be very shocked; but she did not care. She liked Uncle William.

‘I am so sorry, Your Majesty,’ she said ‘that the Queen is unable to be present.’

‘I had to stop her coming. She was looking peaky. So she’s tucked up safe in bed.’

‘I do hope, Sir, that she is not really ill.’

‘Now, I’m your Uncle William, my dear. That’s what I like you to call me.’

She laughed. ‘I like it too, Uncle William.’

‘Then we’ll please ourselves, eh? We won’t bother ourselves with what the company expects.’

What a strange King! But very agreeable, she decided.

‘That will be very interesting, Uncle William.’

‘Now, your Aunt Adelaide wants to know why we never see you. She’s always saying: “Victoria should be here”.’

‘Oh, Uncle William, how I should love to come and see Aunt Adelaide. The Georges – it’s what I call my two cousins – say that she gives the loveliest parties.’

‘And you should be there, my dear, and you shall.’ The King had raised his voice and Victoria noticed that Sir John – who naturally was there – looked alarmed.

Victoria whispered: ‘Do tell Aunt Adelaide that I should love to come.’

The King entered into the conspiratorial mood and whispered back: I’ll tell you something. Your Aunt is planning a grand ball to celebrate your next birthday.’

‘And shall I be there?’

The King laughed aloud. ‘No good having a ball if the guest of honour is not present.’

‘So I’m to be the guest of honour. Oh, dear Uncle William.’

‘Well, you’re a good girl. Not your fault … though you did give me some black looks, I remember.’

‘Oh, dear Uncle William, I did not mean them to be black.’

‘Knew you didn’t. It was that …’

She waited for the King to go on but he did not. Instead of which he took her hand and patted it. He was so friendly that she told him about Dash.

‘He was really given to Mamma by Sir John.’ The King’s eyes narrowed. Oh dear, thought Victoria, he does not like Sir John. She went on quickly: ‘But he seems to have become my dog.’

‘Don’t blame him,’ said the King. ‘Don’t blame him at all. Sensible little dog.’

‘He is the most sensible little dog in the world, Uncle. But perhaps I shouldn’t say that because I have not really known all the dogs in the world, have I? But he is the most sensible dog I have ever known. The other evening after dinner I dressed him in a red jacket and blue trousers. He looked so sweet. He did not mind in the least.’

‘Sensible little dog for a sensible little girl.’

The Duchess of Kent had come forward.

‘Now, Victoria, you must not tire His Majesty with your childish chatter.’

‘The Princess’s chatter does not tire me, Madam,’ said the King, ‘as much as that of some other people.’

The Duchess laughed – not very pleasantly, thought Victoria, who knew that laugh well, but, she hoped, perhaps the King did not. However, even Mamma could not order the King to stop talking to her if he did not wish to, so he went on asking her about Dash and Rosy and telling her about the ball Queen Adelaide was planning for her next birthday.

It was such a pleasant evening, and she did love the King, who might not look as one would expect a King to look but made a very cosy kind old uncle.

She gleefully noted that it was eleven o’clock before she went to bed.

Adelaide was better and well enough to accompany the King to the private view of the annual Royal Academy exhibition of paintings.

‘Not much in my line,’ said William. ‘More like George’s. The paintings he had there at the Pavilion and Carlton House! Worth a fortune, they tell me. Can’t think why. If people are fools enough to pay these artist fellows … Well, I gave them back to the nation, didn’t I? The nation’s welcome to ‘em.’

Adelaide looked a little anxious. He was in one of his ranting moods and they were becoming more frequent. He would take up a subject and go on and on as though he were addressing the House of Lords. In fact he was making too many speeches on every occasion. If he was at a dinner party she would be unable to stop his getting to his feet and addressing the company in one of his long boring speeches, but when he did not bore his audiences that was far worse because he would probably then talk in the most outrageous manner about one of his aversions in such terms that the papers would be full of it next day.

She must stop his working himself up about artists on this occasion when they were going to visit an exhibition of artists’ work.

When they arrived at Somerset House where the Exhibition was held, William was not in a very good mood. His face was a deeper tinge of red and he had talked excitedly to Adelaide on the way about various aspects of his capital city as he drove through it. The people no longer received him with acclaim and although they did not abuse him since the Reform Bill had passed, they displayed an indifference which he did not like.

‘Pictures,’ he said. ‘Nowadays some of the fellows think they can paint … George was a one for pictures. He reckoned he knew something about them.’

‘Your brother was a very artistic man, William,’ said Adelaide.

‘Oh yes, old George, he was the clever one of the family. He could look at an unknown artist’s work and say, “That’s good.” He did a lot for ‘em. Not that they were grateful. Who ever is grateful to kings?’

Oh dear, thought Adelaide, she must change the subject. The ingratitude of the people was a dangerous one.

‘I hear some of the portraits are good. Lady Grey was telling me that one of Admiral Napier was especially so.’

‘Captain Napier!’ growled William. ‘And why do we want a picture of that fellow on show, I want to know.’

‘Because, I suppose, it’s rather a fine picture.’

‘Fine picture of a knave! He calls himself Admiral. Admiral of what? Of the Portuguese Navy? He proved himself not good enough for ours. By God, you forget I’m a sailor, Adelaide. I’m an Admiral myself. Lord High Admiral for a time … but that didn’t please them either. So this fellow becomes Admiral in the Portuguese Navy … and we make a fine picture of him and people here are expected to go and admire him. Captain Napier, I say! By God, I’ve no admiration for that fellow, I can tell you. But there are envious people in the Navy, Adelaide. You know what it was like when I tried to bring about reforms. You know what happened. That fellow Cockburn with his Board of Admiralty. Tried to tell me what to do. And Wellington … well, I was surprised at Wellington. I thought he was a man of good sense. Waterloo … Fine … fine … Great Victory. And George, he was on their side too. “Resign,” said George. “The only thing you can do, old fellow. Resign. Love you as a brother but can’t stand out against the Admiralty Board. Have to give way.”’

‘Oh, William, that is long ago.’

‘Maybe, maybe, but I don’t forget.’

She listened to his voice without taking in the words and she asked herself: Is this how his father used to talk? She had never heard him. When she had come to England George III had been shut away from the world. Poor sad, mad King. But was William growing more and more like his father?

She was relieved when they arrived at Somerset House where the President was waiting to receive them.

‘I trust Your Gracious Majesty will find plenty of interest in the Exhibition,’ said the President. ‘We are honoured and delighted that you have favoured us with a visit.’

William beamed, his good temper restored.

But it was almost as though a mischievous sprite was at the President’s elbow, thought Adelaide. Why did he have to lead them to that particular picture?

‘A very fine work, Sir. One of the best in the Exhibition. A portrait of Admiral Napier.’

For a few seconds the King was speechless. Then the storm broke.

‘Admiral Napier. Oh no, sir. Captain Napier. And may Captain Napier be damned and you with him, sir. And if the Queen were not here with me, sir, I should kick you downstairs.’

The King had spoken so loudly that everyone present heard each word clearly. The President could not understand what he had done to offend the King; and whatever his offence he certainly did not expect to be kicked downstairs.

The King’s face had grown scarlet. He addressed the company on the shortcomings of Captain Napier and the President of the Royal Academy who had allowed a picture of the knave to be put on show.

His audience averted their eyes; if it were possible they would have slipped away.

Adelaide stood by shocked and trembling.

Everyone was thinking: This is George III all over again. The King is going mad.

Victoria awoke on May 24th in the year 1833 and said to herself: ‘My fourteenth birthday! How very old!’

As it was only half past five it was not time to get up yet, so she lay thinking about the day before her and wondering what her presents would be and what difference being fourteen would make. There would be letters as well, and surely one from dear Uncle Leopold and perhaps from Aunt Louise. And then the ball that the King and Queen were giving at St James’s for her. What fun that would be and Mamma could not prevent her going to it since it was her ball. A Juvenile Ball Aunt Adelaide had called it. But most important of all was the fact that she was fourteen years old – surely a milestone. Although she was not yet of age – there were another four years to go before that happy day – fourteen was no longer very young; and surely people could not continue to treat her as a child.

It was so pleasant to lie in bed brooding. Mamma was not yet awake. Oh, how humiliating to have to sleep in one’s mother’s room. And when Mamma was not there Lehzen was.

The first thing I shall do when I am of age is Be Alone she assured herself.

And then she went on to think of the presents which would be hers. Mamma had been working rather secretly on something for the past weeks. She suspected it was a bag; in fact one or two people in the household had been hastily putting their work away when Victoria appeared.

It was very pleasant lying there speculating on the future – both immediate and distant – until it was time to get up.

After breakfast the Duchess took her to the table which had been laid out with her gifts and she cried out in pleasure as she discovered the bracelet and ornament of topaz and turquoise besides the lovely bag Mamma had worked for her. There were dresses and handkerchiefs and books. The Duchess certainly did give the most delightful presents. Dear Lehzen’s gift was a china basket and a little china figure. ‘Oh, dearest Lehzen, they are exquisite!’ cried Victoria. No one had forgotten. Sir John had taken great pains to have a picture of Dash painted for her.

‘Oh, but it is lovely, and so like darling Dashy.’ Sir John was pleased.

The Conroy children – all five of them – Jane, Victoire, Ed-Ward, Stephen and Henry – were eagerly watching while she unwrapped their joint offering. It proved to be an enamel watch chain.

‘Papa said it would please you,’ announced Henry, as though that settled the matter. Indeed, thought Victoria, Papa Conroy was a god in this household. But there must be no discordant notes on a birthday – especially a fourteenth birthday.

It was no ordinary day. There were many calls during the morning, for it seemed that everyone must come to pay tribute to Victoria on her birthday.

Poor Aunt Sophia toddled along with the bag she had made herself.

What a lot of bags I have! thought Victoria, but one must be pleased however many there were, especially when they had been so beautifully worked.

‘You are growing old, my dear.’ Aunt Sophia held her fast in her elderly embrace, from which Victoria longed to escape. ‘Enjoy yourself while you are young. It is not always easy when you grow old.’

Poor old Aunt Sophia! She was so often alone in her apartments and sat there peering at her embroidery and netting her purses. But she must like her lonely apartments because she had chosen them. There were whispers about a certain visitor … a man who was connected with her past. People did not realise that Victoria had a pair of ears and that she liked to use them.

The Duchess of Cumberland called and Victoria immediately asked after poor dear George.

‘I am planning to take him to Germany,’ the Duchess told her. ‘There is a very good man there who will do something for him.’

‘Oh, I do hope so.’

‘He will,’ said the Duchess almost angrily. Poor sad Aunt Frederica who must deceive herself into thinking that her son would regain his sight!

‘He asked me to tell you that he hoped you would have a happy birthday.’

‘Oh, do please thank him.’

‘I have a gift for you from him.’

‘That is lovely.’

‘See it before you pass judgment,’ said Frederica with a laugh.

Tears came into Victoria’s eyes as she looked at the turquoise pin which was George Cumberland’s present to her.

‘He says he hopes you will like it.’

‘Pray tell him, dear Aunt, that I love it, and every time I wear it, which shall be often, I shall think of him.’

‘That will be a great comfort to him.’

‘Dear, dear George. Oh, I do hope this German will be able to make him well again.’

‘He will,’ said Aunt Frederica with a return of her old fierceness. ‘Now look at the present from myself and your Uncle Ernest,’ she went on. It was a bracelet in turquoise to match George’s pin.

When she had exclaimed her pleasure she must leave the Duchess and turn to others to receive presents and give thanks. So many things, she thought. I must list them all and leave nothing out of my Journal, because Mamma is sure to have a list and will say I am ungrateful if I forget one.

All day long visitors called, and dinner was early that day so that there might be plenty of time to prepare for the ball at St James’s.

The Queen was smiling at the young people. Tonight she was going to forget her anxieties about William, who was in good spirits too, though rather annoyed that Sir John Conroy had come with the party from Kensington Palace.

‘Why does that fellow always have to be there?’ he demanded of Adelaide. ‘Behaves as though he’s Victoria’s stepfather.’

Adelaide did not say that that was what he assuredly felt himself to be because it would only disturb William. But she did wish the Duchess of Kent would have the sense to keep Sir John out of the King’s sight. But it was becoming clearer and clearer that the Duchess had no intention of placating the King.

But the sight of the excited Princess restored William’s good humour. She was wearing the diamond ear-rings which he had sent to Kensington Palace for her and which were his own special present as well as the brooch of turquoise and gold which Adelaide had given her.

She came into his closet next to the ballroom and embraced him.

‘It is so nice to see you Uncle privately like this. It means I can give you a really big hug.’

William’s eyes filled with tears. A charming girl. Adelaide had always said so and he could trust Adelaide to be right. The only thing wrong with Victoria was that mother of hers.

‘The ear-rings are quite beautiful.’

‘So you like them, eh? And that’s a nice brooch you’re wearing. Turquoise, is it?’ He was looking sly. He knew it was Aunt Adelaide’s gift.

‘Yes, Uncle. Is it not beautiful?’

‘Your Aunt Adelaide always knows what you young people like. Now it’s time we went into the ballroom. We have to open it together, you know.’

It was very pleasant going into the ballroom, hand in hand with the King; and even the Duchess was pleased. The Queen had taken the precaution of asking Victoria’s dancing mistress Madame Bourdin to the ball so that she could supervise the dancing.

As soon as they were in the ballroom the Queen came up with George Cambridge.

‘I think it would be an excellent idea if you two danced the first dance.’

George Cambridge said he thought so too and taking Victoria’s hand led her on to the floor. Flushed and happy Victoria was aware of Mamma’s eyes on her; the Duchess was none too pleased; she did not want the King and Queen to imagine that they could pair off Victoria with her cousin. However, Victoria did not care; she gave herself up to the pleasure of the dance which she enjoyed so much.

‘So here you are,’ said George, ‘at one of Aunt Adelaide’s parties at last. I’m so glad you came.’

‘But of course I came. It is my birthday. You must know that because you gave me that lovely lily-of-the-valley brooch. Do you realise I’m fourteen?’

‘I did, because we are almost the same age.’

‘We are getting so old,’ said Victoria gleefully. Then she added sadly: ‘The last time I saw you George Cumberland was there.’

‘He’s going blind they say.’

‘But he will recover. He is going to Germany to a doctor there.’

They were silent for a second or so but it was too happy an occasion for sadness and Madame Bourdin was watching them to make sure that they danced the steps correctly.

‘Soon,’ said Victoria, ‘it will not be a children’s ball but a grown-up one.’

‘I shall claim the first dance at your first grown-up ball.’

Victoria laughed. What fun it was to have a young and handsome cousin like George Cambridge. Poor George Cumberland was sadly afflicted, but there were other cousins in Germany. Mamma had spoken of them occasionally.

The dance was at an end and she must not dance all the time with the same partner. The Queen brought to her those young gentlemen who had been selected for the honour of dancing with her and so the time passed until it was time for supper and the Queen took her to the King who led her to the supper room. There she sat between the King and the Queen and everyone drank her health and wished her long life and happiness which was very affecting.

Then she went back to the ballroom to dance once more; it was such a happy ball she wished it would never come to an end. She noted gleefully that it was midnight and still she was dancing.

But a few minutes later the ball was over and she was in the carriage driving back to Kensington. The Duchess sat beside her and Victoria closed her eyes and pretended to be sleepy because she was afraid that Mamma would talk disparagingly about the King and Queen and so spoil it all. She did not want to hear anything against anyone on that night. It was all so perfect and she wanted it to remain so.

The next day she wrote an account of it in her Journal which she finished with the words: ‘I was very much amused.