The Captive of Kensington Palace

Chapter I THE ROYAL SISTERS

The Duchess of Kent seated at her bureau, her gown a mass of lace and ribbons, her hair piled high under her enormous feathered hat, was smiling with some complacency at her extremely handsome Comptroller of the Household, Sir John Conroy.

Such a treasure of a man! thought the Duchess. Dear Sir John. And if people liked to speak of them scandalously, let them. Heaven knew there were scandals enough in the family, and if she were a little more friendly with Sir John than his position made necessary, who could blame her? She was eight years widowed, still young and vital and even her enemies must admit decidedly attractive so surely it was to be expected. She might have married again on the death of her Duke, but that would have been most unwise. Her position was unique; she was no ordinary widow. She was the mother of the most important little girl in the Kingdom, a fact which she would never forget – nor allow anyone else to.

‘So the arrangements are completed,’ she said.

‘As we could wish, dear Duchess.’

‘My dear Sir John, everything you do is for our good, I know well.’

‘It is not only my duty, dear Madam, but my utmost pleasure to serve the interests of the family.’

‘Within a day or so the Prince will arrive. The Clarences are taking him as their guest.’ The Duchess grimaced. ‘Poor dear fellow. William is such a buffoon and Adelaide so dowdy. Still, she has a good heart, and of course she adores my darling Victoria.’

‘She wishes our Princess was hers. I see it in her eyes.’

‘But there is no malice in her … unlike some. As for William, he is a fool. God help England if ever … I really don’t think there is much to choose between them. His Majesty is either living in that odd way with Lady Conyngham at that ridiculous cottage of his in Windsor or like some Eastern potentate at the Pavilion or Carlton House. It is really shocking. It’s a state of affairs that can’t last.’

They exchanged glances. They shared an ambition to see the Duchess’s daughter Victoria on the throne and a Regency established; and of whom should that Regency consist but of the little Queen’s mother? And who would be her adviser, at her right hand to guide and care for her? Who but her handsome Comptroller of the Household, Sir John Conroy.

Sir John’s expression had become slightly apprehensive. His dear Duchess was a little indiscreet; she was apt to talk too loudly and too much; and although they conducted their conversation in German – the Duchess’s English was not always intelligible – there might be spies in the household.

‘I suppose when we speak of His Majesty and his brothers we should whisper,’ he suggested.

The Duchess nodded so vigorously that the enormous pale blue feather momentarily covered her right eye.

‘How right you are! And how clever to have made a friend of that woman, who is extremely vulgar. I really cannot understand His Majesty. He has always been said to have such exquisite taste.’

Sir John bent closer to the Duchess so that his mouth almost touched her ear.

‘His Majesty is failing fast. They say his eyesight has almost gone and he is so full of water that he is too heavy to walk and has on some days to be carried up and down stairs.’

‘He can’t last.’

‘And Clarence could be as unstable as his father.’

‘Poor George III. I never knew him. But what a tragedy! A mad King of England!’

‘The people won’t want another.’

‘Do you really think William …?’

‘They say that but for Adelaide he would have been in a strait-jacket by now.’

‘Adelaide is a far more significant person than people are led to believe.’

‘Your Grace speaks with your accustomed wisdom. If she were not so devoted to Victoria …’

‘She is devoted to all the children, but I believe she has a special feeling for Victoria.’

‘How could she help loving our plump little pet.’

‘Dear me! Such storms! She will have to be guided.’

‘Indeed yes … and with such a mother …’

She returned his fond glance. ‘Who is so fortunate to have such a faithful …’ She hesitated. She could not call him a servant. He was an extremely proud man. ‘… helper,’ she concluded. ‘And I was saying it was clever of you to have won the favour of that odious Lady Conyngham. It’s so helpful for knowing what is going on at Windsor … even though she is so vulgar.’

There was a glint in the Duchess’s eyes. Sir John did seem to be able to charm rather easily; and there was no doubt that he had made an impression on the King’s mistress. He must not alienate the Duchess because she was essential to his success. It was comforting, of course, to be on good terms with the King’s mistress but once the King was dead – and that could happen at any moment – Lady Conyngham’s power would be nonexistent. She was only useful as long as the King lived.

He said quickly: ‘Indeed, I have often wondered what His Majesty saw in her. The Princess Lieven said that she is at a loss to understand that too. All the lady has, so says that Princess, is a hand for taking jewels and a magnificent balcony on which to display them.’

‘He always liked those large-bosomed females … or almost always. Maria Fitzherbert was his ideal and she was almost as lavishly endowed – as far as balconies are concerned – as Conyngham.’

‘It is fortunate that she is friendly towards … us. It is so useful to be informed of the King’s intentions. And with Cumberland so close to him …’

The Duchess shivered. ‘That man. My God, he is evil. I tremble sometimes to think of him and what may be going on in his mind.’

‘Never forget that you have good friends who are ever watchful of your interests and would stop at nothing to further them.’

The Duchess was sober. He was forgiven his friendship with Lady Conyngham. Of course everything was permissible if it kept them informed of what was going on in the King’s household.

‘She was exceedingly helpful when we were at Windsor,’ went on Conroy, stressing the point. ‘Your Grace will remember how His Majesty laid speculative eyes on the Princess Feodora.’

‘I remember full well. Everyone noticed. He kept her at his side and it was clear what was in his mind. Even Victoria said that she thought he liked Feodora better than he liked herself and that he wanted to marry her.’ The Duchess smiled fondly. ‘That child is too precocious.’

‘She is certainly bright but in need of control as we have agreed.’

‘She shall be controlled. But in spite of her storms and waywardness I am proud of her.’

‘Justly so, Duchess.’

‘And proud of my dearest Feodora, too.’

‘Your Grace should be justly proud of all your children.’

The girls, at least, thought Conroy. He was not sure of Charles, the young Prince of Leiningen, the Duchess’s son by her first marriage, who, he had heard, was expressing his desire – and more serious still, his intention – to marry a woman who was most unsuitable.

This was not the time to refer to the affairs of the young Prince of Leiningen; it was the Duchess’s two daughters with whom they must concern themselves. The constant concern being Victoria, the Duchess’s daughter by the Duke of Kent, fourth son of King George III.

Feodora, the Duchess’s daughter by her first marriage, was a delightful creature – twenty-one years old and a real beauty – as he believed their ‘plump little partridge’ Alexandrina Victoria would never be; and as a sister to the future Queen of England, Feodora was a very desirable parti.

She might have been the Queen of England, for his ageing Majesty had been very partial. So much so that the Duchess had been apprehensive. It was a great compliment to darling Feodora, of course, but such a match would spoil Victoria’s chances if it were fruitful. The Duchess would be the mother of the Queen Consort which was very different from being the mother of the reigning Queen. She was certain that Victoria would be Queen of England and that was what she wanted more than anything in the world.

So she had whisked Feodora from the King’s circle, with the willing assistance of Lady Conyngham who had no desire to see her ageing lover divert his attention from her to a young and beautiful wife, and poor George, weighed down with his physical afflictions, so that he was often more dead than alive, had ceased to think of her; and her mother – aided by Sir John – had arranged that the dear girl should pay a visit to her Grandmamma, Augusta, Duchess of Saxe-Coburg, who had with Teutonic efficiency set about finding a suitable husband for her.

Grandmamma’s choice had fallen on Prince Ernest of Hohenlohe-Langenburg who had just succeeded his father to the sovereignty of his little Principality. He was a sober-living man, a phenomenon in these days, and turned thirty which was not a bad thing; and in fact the Duchess of Kent agreed with her mother that this was an ideal match; and the sooner it was completed the better.

It was for this reason that Prince Ernest was on his way to England to stay first as the guest of the Clarences until the marriage could be arranged, and then enjoy a brief honeymoon at the Duchess’s brother Leopold’s house, Claremont, before he took Feodora to her new home.

The Duchess leaned forward and lightly laid a hand on Sir John’s arm.

This little matter had been so satisfactorily concluded.

In another part of the palace the Princess Sophia sat over her fire making a net purse. She could not see very well for her eyesight was failing. How terrible if she were to be unable to work at her embroidery and net her purses and do her knotting! What else was there to do nowadays?

What else, she asked herself, had there ever been to do?

She was not bitter; she had accepted her fate years ago when they had known that Papa would not allow them to marry if he could help it and Mamma was a tyrant and jailer at the same time. Once one of them had said: ‘I’d rather be a watercress seller down by the river or go round the streets crying sweet lavender than be a Princess of England.’ But Sophia had reminded them that if they had depended on watercress and lavender for their bread and butter they might soon have been wishing they were back in their completely boring, utterly monotonous captivity.

And now they had all escaped. Death had brought about their release. The death of Mamma, Queen Charlotte, that was, for Papa living his crazy life behind the grim walls of Windsor had ceased to be of any significance to them when he had been put away because of his madness.

George had become King … dearest of brothers, adored by all his sisters without exception; and he had given them freedom – but it had come too late.

Click-click went the steel needles – a comforting and familiar sound.

‘I wonder if dear Sir John will call on me today,’ murmured Sophia. She touched her wispy hair and sighed. Too late, she thought … everything is too late.

She closed her eyes to rest them a while. Here she lived in these rather secluded apartments in Kensington Palace and her near neighbours were Edward’s wife, the Duchess of Kent, with her dear little daughter Victoria and that pretty girl Feodora for whom they were now arranging a match. And close by in the Palace too was brother Augustus, the Duke of Sussex, with the hundreds of clocks which he tended as though they were children, his rare books and bibles and his pretty flower garden which was a source of great delight. And with him – alas for decorum – was that very merry plump little widow Cecilia Buggin. What a dreadful name – although she had not been born with it and had acquired it through marriage with a certain Sir George of Norfolk and was in fact a daughter of the Earl of Arran. Augustus was devoted to the lady and she to him, but of course he could not marry her since he considered himself married already, although the State did not recognise the marriage.

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Sophia. ‘What a mess our lives are in and all on account of our not being able to live naturally like other people. Papa’s Marriage Act has been responsible for so much discord in the family.’

But for that she supposed dearest George might be married to Maria Fitzherbert and how much happier he would have been if that union could have been recognised! It was sad now to see that dearest of brothers reduced to his present state and with that harpy Lady Conyngham perpetually at his side.

Sad indeed! A long way they had come from that time when George had been Prince of Wales, then Regent and so concerned with Mr Brummel about the cut of his coats. And how exquisite he had looked and how proud they had been of him! No woman could have loved him more than his sisters did. If George had been in power earlier how different their lives would have been! He would not have made prisoners of them; he would have helped them to marry, not prevented them from doing so.

But the girls were settled now and only she and Augusta had remained unmarried. Charlotte the eldest had married long ago and become Queen of Württemberg; Elizabeth had married the Prince of Hesse-Homburg (and how the people had jeered at her and her husband – the ageing bride and the husband who had to be bribed to take a bath); Mary had married her cousin, the Duke of Gloucester (‘Silly Billy’ in the family, although he had become a tyrant since his marriage. Mary, though, preferred a domineering husband to a demanding parent); dear Amelia – so beloved of their father – had died at the age of twenty-seven, which sorrow, some said, had sent poor Papa completely mad; that left Augusta and herself, the old maids.

‘I could not exactly call myself that,’ she said aloud. ‘And I don’t care. At least I have something to look back on.’

She looked back frequently on the great adventure of her life, on that occasion when her affairs had been talked of in hushed whispers among her sisters and how they had planned and plotted to keep her secret from Mamma.

Colonel Garth, Papa’s equerry, was not exactly a handsome man. Far from it. But it had been wonderful to be loved; and she had been really happy for the first time. She should have been more careful. But how could she be? Adventure had come to Kew and while she sat with her sisters working on her embroidery, filling her mother’s snuff-box, making sure that the dogs were walked at the appropriate times, she had dreamed of Colonel Garth and romance; and she had slipped away whenever possible, to his apartments – or he came to hers. Life had become filled with intrigue.

And the inevitable consequence!

Augusta had anxiously enquired: ‘Sophia, are you ill?’

And Mary: ‘What is wrong?’

And Augusta: ‘You had better tell.’

And there in the prim drawing-room at Kew she had whispered her secret: ‘I am going to have a child.’

‘It’s impossible,’ Augusta had said. How could an unmarried daughter of the King be pregnant? How could it possibly happen? ‘In the usual way,’ she had said defiantly, not caring very much. ‘It will send Papa mad,’ Mary had said. Anything that was alarming was always reputed to be likely to send Papa mad. ‘Mamma will be furious.’

Knowing this was true she had merely looked helplessly at them while in her heart she did not greatly care for anything but the fact that she was going to have a child.

They might have told George; he would have helped; but they did not do this. Instead the sisters had made a protective circle about her; the dear Colonel was very helpful; and so he should be since he was the child’s father. But he had been loving and tender and she was grateful. Kindly fashion had made skirts so voluminous that they might have been designed to disguise pregnancy. Dear Sophia was peaky, said Mary. She needed a little holiday by the sea.

So to the sea they went and there she gave birth to her boy who was adopted by a worthy couple; and the Colonel who had become a General doted on him and arranged his future for him and he was indeed a fine fellow now, almost thirty – a son to be proud of.

He came to Kensington to see her now and then. He knew of the relationship and was proud of it; but although brother William might openly acknowledge his ten FitzClarences borne to him by the actress Dorothy Jordan, it seemed a very different matter for a royal Princess to admit she was the mother of an illegitimate son.

‘So many scandals in the family,’ she murmured and picked up her netting. Was there another family with so many? The dear King’s life was one long scandal; her second brother Frederick, now dead, had created the biggest scandal of all when he had been accused of allowing his mistress Mary Anne Clarke to sell commissions in the Army of which he was Commander-in-Chief; then William, who had set up his house with Dorothy Jordan who had given him ten children; and Edward, Victoria’s father, who had lived with Madame de St Laurent for years (respectably it was true but without marriage lines); and Ernest, Duke of Cumberland … the less said of him the better. Many people shuddered every time they heard his name. Augustus, now living in this Palace tending his collection of clocks and bibles, accompanied everywhere by his dear friend Lady Buggin, though mild enough was scarcely without reproach; and only Adolphus in far away Hanover lived the exemplary life of a married man.

There never was a family so deep in scandal, thought Sophia.

And how strange that she should have had her share of it!

Perhaps her son would come today, by way of the back stairs. ‘Madam, a gentleman to see you.’ And they talked of course, for they knew. It was impossible to keep royal scandals secret.

My boy … my very own boy, she thought. At least I did something.

And if the boy perhaps did not come someone else would – perhaps that tall commanding gentleman whom she admired so much and was so charming and so courteous to her that he reminded her of the days when Colonel Garth had loved her so devotedly.

There was no doubt that Sir John Conroy was a very charming man. The Duchess of Kent realised this. Of course she was younger than Sophia; and beautiful too in a flamboyant way. Dear George did not think her attractive, but then he had his own views of beauty. She secretly believed he compared all women with Maria Fitzherbert. No, the Duchess was too showy and she was not of course of the same rank as a daughter of the King of England.

So it was rather pleasant sitting by the fire, dreaming of the past. I wouldn’t have had it different, she thought.

Perhaps he’ll come to see me today. And if he doesn’t, perhaps Sir John will look in.

It was comforting to have something to look forward to.

In the nursery the Princess Victoria was whispering to her dolls.

‘Darling Feodora will soon be leaving us. She is going away … to Germany to be exact and although she says we shall see each other often, I believe she says it only to comfort me.’ She shook the doll with the ruff impatiently. ‘You are not listening. You would not. You are more interested in your own affairs, I daresay.’

The wooden face stared back, as Victoria clicked her tongue and smoothed down the farthingale. This was the most glittering of the dolls and the one singled out for abuse. It was amusing to slap Queen Elizabeth now and then. ‘You may have been a good Queen,’ said Victoria now, ‘but I do not think you were a very good person.’ And dear Amy Robsart with her satin gown and ribbons was picked up and hugged to Victoria’s plump person.

‘Feodora is going to be married,’ she went on, ‘and my only hope is that Ernest Hohenlohe-Langenburg will make her a good husband.’ Then Victoria began to realise what it would be like in the nursery without Feodora and tears filled her eyes.

Baroness Lehzen rose from her chair in the window and came over.

I am never allowed to be alone for a minute! thought Victoria resentfully. They watch me all the time.

The Baroness could never quite control her features when she looked at her charge. The words might be stern, the rule rigid, but the devotion was always obvious – and to none more than Victoria herself. Dear Louise Lehzen – so recently Fräulein and now awarded with a Hanoverian title in accordance with the dignity of her role in life. Lehzen – and of course Mamma, the Duchess of Kent – ruled Victoria’s days as they had Feodora’s, but now the bonds which bound Victoria’s half-sister were slackening. Feodora was going to be married.

‘Talking to the dolls again?’ enquired Lehzen.

‘I was telling them about poor Feodora.’

‘Poor Feodora! When she is going to marry the man your dear Mamma has chosen for her!’

‘I think she would rather stay with me.’

‘Nonsense!’ said the Baroness. ‘And what have you been doing to Queen Elizabeth’s ruff?’

Lehzen loved the dolls as much as Victoria did; in fact she had made some of them. And because many of them represented figures of history it was decided that they were a frivolity with some educational advantages.

Lehzen adjusted the ruff. She sighed to herself. Marriages were disturbing. She was fond of Feodora but the little Victoria was her life; and when she had been selected to become her governess she had entered into the task with the dedication of a nun taking her vows. Victoria was no ordinary child. If all went as the Duchess of Kent and Lehzen nightly prayed it would, this plump lively child could be the Queen of England. But what a torment it was to contemplate that all might not go as they wished. There were obstacles. At the moment only William, Duke of Clarence, stood between her and the throne; but William had a youngish wife, Adelaide, and although she had had several miscarriages she had at least proved that she could conceive – and there was no doubt that this was her main object in life – and if a child of hers should live … away would go Victoria’s chance of mounting the throne.

It was unbearable! It was unthinkable. Neither the Duchess nor the faithful Lehzen would allow themselves to believe for a moment that it would really happen; but there was always the lurking fear that it might.

In the meantime dear little Victoria must be guarded at every moment of the day, because not only did William stand before her but there was her wicked uncle, the Duke of Cumberland, who the two watchdogs – as Cumberland had called the Duchess and the Baroness – knew was capable of any unscrupulous action to remove Victoria from his path. The old King was still living between melancholy solitude in his Gothic cottage in Windsor Park and oriental splendour at Carlton House and the Pavilion. He was on the point of death – but then, for the last ten years he had been in that situation – so depressing for him but so exciting for others, as the Duchess had remarked to Lehzen. And the fact remained that it was for those two women – so united in their dedicated cause – to keep Victoria safe for the throne.

The Duke of Cumberland was a constant bogy; he and his Duchess had unsavoury reputations; both may well have been guilty of murder; the Duke was once in a very awkward position over the death of his valet who had been discovered dead in his master’s blood-spattered apartments; and the Duke had been wounded too. As the Duke’s reputation with women was well known and the valet had an exceptionally pretty wife, certain conclusions were drawn – although not proved. For how could a royal Duke be expected, or allowed, to stand in the dock of a court of law? With the Duchess it was a question of husbands. Two who had become a trial to her had died mysteriously.

The Duchess of Kent often whispered of these matters to the faithful Baronesses Lehzen and Späth (both German members of her household and therefore to be trusted) and asked: ‘If they were capable of murdering a jealous valet and unwanted husbands might not they be capable of acting similarly towards one who stood in the way of their path to the throne ?’

Lehzen, shivering, agreed; and in consequence the Princess Victoria was never allowed to be alone. Some trustworthy person must always be in attendance – her mother, one of the Baronesses, her sister Feodora or one of her tutors.

In the past it had been easier but now that Victoria was growing up – and showing a certain imperiousness it must be admitted, for how difficult it was to keep the knowledge of her importance from her – it was becoming something of a problem to keep her under constant supervision.

But the Duchess was certainly mistress in her own household. A woman who was capable of conducting a feud with the reigning King was undoubtedly equipped to rule her own circle. Victoria was made well aware that in all circumstances she must obey Mamma. But Victoria was wayward. Only the other day her music master had reported evidence of this to the Duchess – for all the tutors knew that the Duchess wished every little incident concerning her daughter to be reported to her. The Princess Victoria was very fond of music and had on occasion been known to attempt to cajole her tutors, that there might be music instead of some less interesting lesson. But even in music she did not always work as she should and on this occasion her tutor had seen fit to reprove her.

‘There is no royal road to music, Princess,’ he had said. ‘You must practise like everyone else.’

Whereupon Victoria had assumed her most imperious expression and had promptly shut the piano, locked it and put the key in her pocket. Rising haughtily and with the air of the Queen her mother and Lehzen longed for her to be, said: ‘There now. You see there is no must about it.’

Arrogance which must be punished, had been the Duchess’s verdict. ‘And yet,’ the doting Lehzen reminded her, ‘a certain queenliness, does not Your Grace agree? A royal determination not to be dictated to?’

The Duchess nodded; but they agreed that such waywardness must not go unchecked.

The child was truthful; one of the finest traits in her character was her frankness and her inability to tell a lie even to extricate herself from an awkward situation. She was subject to sudden outbreaks of temper. These ‘storms’ were regrettable and must be controlled. Only recently when the Duchess had come into the nursery where Victoria was with Lehzen she had asked of Lehzen how Victoria had behaved that morning.

Victoria had in fact been rather more ‘wayward’ than usual and on two occasions had shown temper. The Baroness, not wishing to complain overmuch about her darling but realising that Victoria must always be shown examples of truthfulness, admitted that Victoria had once been a little naughty.

‘No, Lehzen,’ said Victoria. ‘You have forgotten. It was twice.’

And when her mother told her that when she was naughty she made not only her dear mother unhappy but herself also, Victoria considered this and said: ‘No, Mamma, I only make you unhappy.’

They could not be displeased with such a child. In any case she was the centre of their lives. Once Feodora had told her mother that she loved Victoria far more than she loved her, to which the Duchess had sternly replied that a good mother always loved her children equally and was Feodora suggesting that she was not a good mother?

Feodora had merely been wistful, for she loved Victoria dearly; and now knowing that her little half-sister was in the nursery and that at this hour of the day she would not be at her lessons but in the charge of Baroness Lehzen she came to see her so that she might explain to Victoria about her coming wedding.

Victoria cried out in pleasure when she saw her sister; she immediately left the dolls and ran to her.

‘Darling dearest Feodora!’ Victoria put her arms about Feodora’s neck and swung her feet off the floor. Lehzen looked on critically. Scarcely the manner in which a young lady – old enough for marriage – should greet her young sister who was destined to be a Queen; but perhaps as they would soon be parted such a boisterous greeting would be permitted this once.

‘I’ve been telling the dolls that you are going to leave us, darling Feddy, and they do not like it at all.’

Too much fantasy, thought Lehzen. It is time she grew out of the dolls. But the stern Lehzen had to admit that she herself could not grow out of them, so what was to be expected of an eight-year-old girl?

‘Feodora, let us walk in the gardens. May I, Lehzen?’

The Baroness conceded that they might. ‘But put on your fur-trimmed coat and bonnet. The wind is cold.’

Feodora knew the rule: Victoria was never to be left alone; and if the two girls did not stray too far from the Palace a little saunter in the gardens would be permitted. Victoria must not forget that the Reverend Davys would be waiting to give her a lesson in exactly half an hour’s time.

‘We shan’t forget, Lehzen,’ said Feodora holding out her hand. ‘Come, Vicky.’

Such a beautiful girl, Feodora! thought Lehzen. It was well that she was marrying. A reasonably good match but was it good enough for the sister of the future Queen of England? Would Victoria ever be as lovely as Feodora? Perhaps not. She took after her father’s family so much, which was as well, as it would be from that side that the Crown would come to her. But Victoria was Victoria – beauty would not be of such importance to her. There could not be a Prince in Europe who would not be excited at the prospect of marrying Victoria – and perhaps even now in all the Courts of Europe ambitious parents with sons of eight, nine, ten … or older had their eyes on the little jewel of Kensington Palace.

Hand in hand the sisters had come into the gardens.

‘Oh, Sissy,’ Victoria said, ‘it is going to be dreadful when we’re parted.’

‘Dreadful,’ agreed Feodora.

‘You will write to me?’

‘Such long letters that you will tire of reading them.’

‘How can you say that when you know it is not true.’

‘Vicky darling, I know. But I’m so frightened. I’m going to lose you all and have a new husband and I don’t really know him very well. But the worst thing of all is saying good-bye to you.’

Victoria wept openly. She displayed her emotions too readily, said Lehzen; but the Duchess was of the opinion that it showed a tender heart and the people would like it.

‘What is your Ernest like, Feddy?’ asked Victoria. ‘Is he handsome?’

‘Y … yes, I think he is.’

‘As handsome as Augustus d’Este?’

Feodora sighed. Victoria had reminded her of that passionate attachment which had not been allowed to continue.

‘It used to be such fun,’ said Victoria. ‘And Augustus was after all our cousin.’

‘But … he was not accepted as such by the family,’ Feodora reminded her.

‘It is all so complicated,’ complained Victoria. ‘I do wish people would tell me things. Why should Augustus be my cousin and yet not be regarded as such? You know how he always called us “cousins” when we went over into Uncle Augustus’s garden.’

Feodora nodded, recalling those days when she was quite a child, being just past eighteen – she was now a mature twenty-one – and she had been put in charge of Victoria and told not to let her out of her sight. There had been no harm in it. Uncle Augustus, the Duke of Sussex, had a garden among those of the Palace and Victoria had loved to water his plants. And how she used to get her feet wet in the operation and had to be smuggled in before Mamma or Lehzen or Späth saw and feared she would die of the effects. In the garden Augustus would often stroll. He was the son of Uncle Augustus and in truth their cousin, but not accepted as such because the ‘family’ did not regard his father’s marriage to his mother as a true marriage, although Uncle Augustus had been married to her both abroad and in London. It was something to do with that tiresome Marriage Act which said that the sons of the King could not marry without his consent. Well, Uncle Augustus had married without his father’s consent and as his father was King George III who had brought in the Act, the case of Uncle Augustus’s marriage was taken to court and the court gave the verdict that it was not legal. But Augustus the younger believed that it was and that he had every right to court his cousin.

They were happy days, with little Vicky wielding the watering-can and pretty seventeen-year-old Feodora sitting under the tree fanning herself and Augustus coming out as if by accident to talk to her and tell her she was beautiful. How exciting this was after the stern rules laid down in the Duchess of Kent’s apartments in Kensington Palace.

Sometimes the Baroness Späth was with them. Dear old Späth was not nearly such a dragon as Lehzen, and very romantic, thinking how charming it was with Victoria tending the flowers and Augustus and Feodora falling in love.

Victoria had been aware of the intrigue although she was not quite six at the time. In any case it was pleasant to get away from the strict observance of Mamma and Lehzen, for she was allowed deliberately to pour the water over her feet and no one said anything, Feodora being so wrapped up in Augustus’s conversation and Späth being so intent on watching Feodora and her cousin Augustus.

Cousin Augustus was old but very handsome, particularly in his Dragoons’ uniform. As for Feodora she had grown prettier than ever; she had been constantly receiving letters and the Baroness Späth was always tripping from their apartments in Kensington Palace to those of the Duke of Sussex carrying notes from Feodora to Augustus and from Augustus to Feodora.

Once when Victoria had walked in the gardens with Feodora, her sister had whispered that she was going to marry Cousin Augustus and showed Victoria the gold ring he had given her.

‘Then, Feodora, they will be your flowers I shall water.’

‘Yes, dear Vicky.’

‘I shall water them even more carefully because they are yours. And I shall come often to visit you, shall I not ?’

Feodora said solemnly that if Mamma permitted it Vicky should be her very first visitor.

Victoria went back to the nursery and told the dolls the exciting news; but shortly afterwards there was trouble in Kensington Palace. This was when Feodora had told Mamma that Cousin Augustus wished to marry her, at which Mamma was ‘Painly Surprised’, ‘Disagreeably Shocked’ and ‘Very Angry’. It was nonsense it seemed to imagine Cousin Augustus could marry Feodora because Cousin Augustus was not considered to be legitimate and Feodora was the daughter of the Duchess of Kent and although the Duke of Kent had not been her father – for her father had been the Prince of Leiningen, Mamma’s first husband – she was after all connected by her mother’s second marriage with the royal family and was half-sister to Victoria.

Poor darling Feddy! That had been a bad time. Victoria had done her best to comfort her sister. Poor Späth had been talked to very severely by Mamma and had gone about with averted eyes for days afterwards; Lehzen had clicked her tongue every time she saw her, and Victoria was not allowed to water the flowers in Uncle Sussex’s garden because he was in disgrace too.

It was all very sad and poor Feodora had wept and confided to Victoria that her heart was broken.

Victoria presumed it had mended again because Feodora soon began to look almost as she had before those afternoons – though never quite so gay as when she had sat under the trees in Uncle Sussex’s garden; and when not so long ago Uncle King – the most important of all the uncles – had expressed a desire to see his important little niece, Feodora had accompanied Victoria and Mamma to Windsor. Uncle King had been the most impressive man Victoria had ever seen. He was very very old and even fatter than he was old; and when she was lifted on to his lap to kiss him she had seen the rouge on his cheeks. Very strange, but she had liked him – better than Uncle William or Uncle Sussex – and most certainly better than Uncle Cumberland. Uncle Cambridge she did not remember seeing. He was abroad looking after Hanover. But the point was that while Uncle King liked his little niece Victoria very much and took her driving and smiled benignly on her, he could not take his eyes from Feodora and made her sit beside him and kept patting her knee and showing in several ways that he thought her very pretty.

‘I do believe,’ said Victoria, after having witnessed the effect Feodora had on Augustus, ‘that Uncle King would like to marry Feodora.’

Victoria was not the only one who thought that, and shortly afterwards Feodora was sent to Germany to stay with her grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Saxe-Coburg, and there she had met Ernest Prince of Hohenlohe-Langenburg who, Grandmamma had made perfectly clear, would be a good husband for her; and what Grandmamma thought proper so would Mamma; and there was no fear of anyone’s being horribly shocked about such a union.

‘He’s a soldier,’ said Feodora, ‘and he’s past thirty … like Augustus.’

Victoria brightened. The more like Augustus the better.

‘He is a very good man,’ said Feodora. ‘There is no scandal about him. Not like Aunt Louise.’

‘What about Aunt Louise?’

‘I don’t know exactly except that Uncle Ernest has parted from her. I think she has done something very wrong. I didn’t see her, but I saw the two little boys. Ernest – named after his father – and Albert who is a little younger. Grandmamma told me he is three months younger than you.’

‘The little boys are our cousins, are they not?’

‘Yes, they are. I wish you could have seen them. Albert is much prettier than Ernest.’

‘I am not sure,’ said Victoria, ‘that boys should be pretty.’

‘Oh they may be at that age; he’s only eight years old, remember.’

‘Yes. Three months younger than I am.’

‘Dear little Alberinchen has the most lovely blue eyes and dimples. He will be very good-looking when he grows up.’

‘And who is Alberinchen?’

‘Albert. It is Grandmamma’s name for him. He is her favourite.’

‘I think I should prefer Ernest.’

‘Why, when you have never seen him?’

‘Because it seems to me that this Albert may be a little spoiled.’

‘Indeed he is not. It is only Grandmamma who shows how much she loves him; and she was the same with us.’

‘And we are not spoiled,’ admitted Victoria. ‘So why should Albert be? I should like to see our cousins.’

‘I am sure you will. Grandmamma was always saying how she would like you to be friends … with your boy cousins.’

Feodora looked at Victoria to see if she had grasped the significance of this but Victoria had ceased to think of her cousins and had remembered how sad it was going to be when Feodora went away.

‘How much happier it would have been if you had married Augustus and lived close by. I shouldn’t have minded your marrying then.’

‘Alas,’ sighed Feodora, ‘marriages are made for us. It will be so for you one day, darling.’

Victoria stared into the distance. That day was very far away.

‘And there is our brother Charles …’ began Feodora. ‘I believe he is going to find some opposition.’

‘Do tell me about Charles,’ said Victoria eagerly.

Feodora hesitated. She was reckless today; it was because she was soon going to leave her little sister. Victoria ought to know something of the world, she decided. How difficult it would be for her if she were suddenly thrust into marriage without any foreknowledge. She was busy with her tutors for a greater part of the day; she was taught music and dancing; but what, Feodora asked herself, did the child know of human relationships and life? She had almost blurted out the scandal just now concerning Uncle Ernest and his wife Louise; what if she had let slip that Louise was an unfaithful wife and that Uncle Ernest had divorced her? Mamma and Lehzen would have been furious. They wanted to protect Victoria; but could ignorance be considered a protection?

And now she had betrayed the fact that Charles was heading for trouble. Well, what harm could there be if she told it discreetly?

Victoria loved her half-brother Charles; it was wonderful to have a grown-up brother – he was three years older than Feodora. It was true she saw very little of him, but when she did, she thought him charming. He was often in Germany, which was after all his home, but she loved to have news of him.

Feodora looked over her shoulder and whispered: ‘He is in love with Marie Klebelsberg and swears he’ll marry her. It will never be allowed.’

‘Who is Marie Klebelsberg?’ whispered Victoria.

‘She is the daughter of Count Klebelsberg. Aunt Louise … before … before she left the Court met her when she was travelling with Uncle Ernest and was so taken with her that she made her her lady-in-waiting. That was how Charles met her. He says nothing on earth will stop his marrying her.’

‘Not Grandmamma? Not Mamma?’

‘We shall have to see.’

‘Poor darling Charles! I believe people should marry for love.’

She looked fondly at her dear Feodora and saw an idyllic picture – herself watering the flowers and Augustus and Feodora laughing under the trees and darling old Späth looking so pleased and happy.

Feodora, fearful that she had said too much, went on quickly: ‘It’s a secret. You must not mention it. Mamma would be cross.’

Victoria nodded conspiratorially; and Feodora, to take her mind from dangerous subjects, started to play the favourite game of ‘Do you remember?’

Victoria enjoyed hearing stories that concerned herself; and because she was sad about the impending departure, Feodora decided to cheer her up. The story of Victoria and the Bishop never failed to delight the little girl.

‘He picked you up in his arms and you were not very pleased.’

‘No I was not,’ agreed Victoria. ‘And what did I do then, eh, Feodora?’

‘You pulled off his wig and started to pull the hair out of it.’

‘How … wicked of me,’ cried Victoria delightedly. ‘And what did he do?’

‘He could do nothing. Poor man, he was smothered in powder, and he only grew very red in the face and waited for Mamma to come to the rescue.’

‘Of course I was talked to very severely afterwards.’

‘Oh yes, there was quite a storm.’

‘Indeed I can be very wayward.’

‘Darling Vicky, you are often very good.’

‘Oh, am I?’

‘Do you remember when your Uncle York was dying how you used to send him a bunch of flowers every day?’

‘I picked them myself. I thought he would like to know I was thinking of him.’

‘There. It shows you can be kind and thoughtful.’

‘He gave me my beautiful donkey. Poor Uncle York! He was a very kind man. He was the heir to the throne then and now it is Uncle Clarence.’

Feodora sighed. Did Victoria know who was next to Clarence in the succession? One did not mention it. Mamma and Lehzen had decided that since Victoria was so frank and apt to speak her mind, it was better if her future prospects were not made too clear to her. She must, said Mamma, be made to feel that life would offer her great responsibilities, but what these should be must, for the time being, be a little vague to her.

‘Darling Aunt Adelaide,’ said Victoria. ‘I love her very much. She gave me the Big Doll, you know. She is kind, although Mamma thinks her a little dowdy.’

‘Don’t mention that. Mamma would not be pleased.’

‘No, but I heard her mention it to Sir John.’

Feodora looked quickly at her sister. Victoria’s mouth had tightened a little. She did not greatly care for Sir John Conroy, the Comptroller of her mother’s household, and she did not quite know why.

‘Look!’ said Feodora. ‘Dear old Späth is coming. I expect it is for you.’

The Baroness’s yellowish face lit up with pleasure when she saw her two darlings. It was both a joy and a sadness to contemplate them. Victoria was a dear child, so vivacious, so passionate, so determined to have her way and yet so eager to be good, and always so ready to sympathise with the troubles of others. Often one saw the rather prominent blue eyes fill with tears at the sight of some poor person in distress.

The Baroness had never really recovered from the shame of having displeased the Duchess over the Augustus d’Este affair. Poor darling Feodora had been so much in love with the young man and if she dared go against the Duchess’s wishes – which of course she would not – the Baroness would have said that a marriage with the son of the Duke of Sussex was not such an ill match. If the young couple were in love that, in Späth’s opinion, should have been reason enough.

But the dear Duchess had been so displeased. Poor Späth trembled now to remember how angry she had been.

And now Feodora was betrothed and was soon to be married and that meant a sad separation.

‘Have you come for me, dear Späth?’ asked Victoria.

‘It is time for your lesson, Princess.’

Victoria walked between them a little soberly. This was how they used to walk when they went to Uncle Sussex’s garden. Alas, that Mamma had not approved. If she had dearest Feodora would not have been on the point of going away.