The Captive of Kensington Palace

Chapter XX THE KING’S DISCOVERY

When the cousins had left the Duchess decided that they would go and stay for a while at Claremont. Victoria was delighted. She loved Claremont – the home of dear Uncle Leopold where he had once been so happy with Princess Charlotte; and she could enjoy it even better now because Uncle Leopold was happily married to Aunt Louise – and even Charlotte, Victoria decided, could not have been more charming. So now there need be no sad thoughts at Claremont.

She had tried to adjust herself to the daily routine after the departure of the cousins and found herself talking of them constantly to Lehzen, of how Albert had done this and that and how very sensible he was.

‘Darling Dashy misses him. Oh, Lehzen, wasn’t he funny when he played with Dash?’

Lehzen thought: She has too much affection. She is ready to believe the best of everyone and love them. She is inclined to think that all people are as honest as she is, as kind and eager to be good.

What a credit the Princess was to her, for Lehzen believed in her heart that the Princess’s excellent qualities were the result of her upbringing rather than the Duchess’s. Charming, young, with such a defined sense of duty – what a Queen she would make!

The Princess’s face was flushed with pleasure now because a singing lesson was due. She wished, she had said, that she had singing lessons every day. She admired her singing master with all the fervour of her nature. He was the great operatic singer Luigi Lablache and when he sang Victoria laughed and wept with delight.

She would talk of him endlessly if Lehzen permitted it.

‘He is such a patient master, Lehzen. So good-humoured, pleasing and I’m sure he’s so honest. It is such a pleasure to hear his fine voice and to sing with him is a privilege. Throughout my life I shall remember my lessons with him. How the time flies when we are together. How active he is for his size. I feel so very small beside him, I love the way he comes in and gives that wonderful dignified bow.’

‘You are too ready to admire people,’ chided Lehzen.

‘Oh, Lehzen,’ cried Victoria mischievously, ‘is that why I admire you?’

Victoria was laughing as she went off for her session with dear Lablache.

And now to Claremont where dear Louisa Lewis would be so excited because she was coming. She could curtsy in that slow dignified way which was different from the way other people curtsied; and then when Victoria had made her quite sure that she was still the same girl who had sat and watched her eat her breakfast in her own room at Claremont, the barriers would be broken down and Louisa in her white morning dress looking so neat and clean would tell stories of Charlotte as she always did; and she would somehow imply that Victoria now had the place in her heart which had once belonged to Charlotte.

Dear Claremont!

The King’s health had deteriorated in the last months and Adelaide was constantly urging him to rest.

‘A fine one to talk,’ he said indulgently. ‘That cough of yours doesn’t get any better. I’m a good few years older than you and I have a right to be ill at my time of life.’

‘I only want you to take care.’

‘I know. I know. You’ve been a good wife to me, Adelaide. In the beginning I didn’t want you … I didn’t want you at all. But then I grew to love you.’

Tears fillxed his eyes and she smiled at him.

‘We have done well together, William.’

‘And we’ll go on, eh? I’m not finished yet. Don’t you think it. I’ve got to live till Victoria’s of age. I’ll refuse to go until that woman hasn’t a chance of the Regency.’

‘That’ll be next year. You must go on long after that.’

Sometimes he wondered, but he mustn’t worry Adelaide.

‘I will, you see,’ he assured. He added to change the disagreeable subject: ‘It’ll be your birthday on the thirteenth. We’ll celebrate it with a ball and we’ll let the celebrations go on until mine as the twenty-first is so close.’

‘We should ask Victoria.’

‘Oh dear, that means that woman.’

‘I can’t see how she could possibly be left out.’

‘For two pins I would leave her out.’

‘It would be impossible. We must ask her; and I hope that she will behave well.’

‘That’s where you’re asking the impossible, my dear.’

Adelaide sighed.

‘The Coburg visit went off all right.’

‘And don’t think I don’t know how hard you worked to make that happen. You’re too good, Adelaide. I’ve told you so before.’

‘It’s just that I hate quarrels and I think they do the family harm.’

‘The greatest harm the family ever did to itself was to bring that woman into it. The pity is that she is the mother of Victoria.’

‘Perhaps she would have been more bearable if she had not been. In any case I will write to her and invite her to the Castle and pray that during her stay all goes well.’

When the Duchess received Adelaide’s invitation she laughed.

‘So,’ she said to Conroy. ‘I am graciously asked to go to Windsor to celebrate Adelaide’s birthday. She forgets mine is on the seventeenth. Mine is, I suppose, of no importance. I shall go, of course, to the King’s because that is an occasion at which the heiress to the throne should be present.’

‘You will refuse an invitation from the Queen?’

‘My dear Sir John, do you doubt it?’

‘Of course I don’t.’

‘You will see.’

She sat down at her desk and wrote to the Queen.

She could not come to Windsor at the date the Queen suggested because she wished to celebrate her birthday at Claremont. She would, however, come on the twentieth, which date would not conflict with any of her arrangements.

When she had written it she showed it to Sir John.

‘Well?’

‘It might be the Sovereign writing to one of her subjects.’

‘I shall soon be the mother of the young Sovereign.’

‘And Adelaide is, of course, only the wife of the old one.’

They laughed together; it was so gratifying to know that however rudely she behaved William and Adelaide could do nothing to oust her from her position.

The King was in a bad temper. He had to come up from Windsor to prorogue Parliament. He was finding breathing difficult and was feeling irascible as he always was when he was not well.

That Woman again, he thought.

Adelaide would have kept the letter from him if she could have done so; she always wanted to save him irritation. But of course he had to know that she had declined the invitation to celebrate Adelaide’s birthday. It wasn’t that they couldn’t do without her. They could – most happily. It was the effrontery, the impertinence. He had demanded to see the letter and when he had read it his face had grown scarlet; the veins in his temples had stood out, and he had almost choked with rage.

She wanted to celebrate her birthday. No mention of Adelaide’s! That was what maddened him. It was an insult to Adelaide. When he came to think of it that was why she angered him so. It was because she was continually insulting Adelaide. He wouldn’t have Adelaide insulted. She was a good woman, the best wife in the world, and people must pay proper respect to her or answer to him.

The ceremony was boring and tiring. He complained of everything to Lord Melbourne. He was scathing in his comments on this fellow and that minister. Melbourne wondered what had happened to him.

William was glad when the ceremony was over and he was on his way back to Windsor. Passing Kensington Palace he remembered the Duchess and his anger returned. She was staying at Claremont now from where she would deign to come over to Windsor. He ordered the coachman to stop. He would call at Kensington Palace; he would inspect the Duchess’s apartments. She would not be there, but she would hear of his visit and it would let her know that the apartments she used belonged to him, and that if he had much more impertinence from her he would turn her out.

That woman needs a good lesson, he thought.

There was consternation among the servants. A royal visit. And they had had no notice of it.

He was amused to see their dismay.

‘I’ve come to see the apartments I allow the Duchess of Kent to use,’ he said in his free and easy way. ‘No, no need to take me – I know the way.’ He went to those which he had allotted to her.

To his amazement they were empty. He called: ‘Here. Come here. You, fellow. Where are the apartments of the Duchess and the Princess Victoria?’

‘If Your Majesty will come this way …’

If he would go that way! He would! And as he went he knew what had happened.

These were the rooms she had asked for and he had denied her. She had made alterations in his Palace. How many rooms had she taken? He was going to count for himself. Seventeen. The number for which she had asked; and she had turned the gallery into three rooms – without consulting him, going against his orders.

How dared she!

He went through the entire set of apartments … the bedrooms, the sitting-rooms, the dressing-rooms and the receiving-rooms. Trust her to make the place fit for a Queen.

He could not speak; he thought his anger would choke him.

He got into his carriage and growled the order: ‘To Windsor.’

The journey to Windsor seemed longer than usual. It was nearly ten o’clock when he arrived. The house party was assembled in one of the drawing-rooms and he went straight to it.

When Adelaide saw him she knew that something terrible had happened. He greeted her and his eyes went round the room until they rested on the Duchess of Kent who was standing with her daughter waiting to be greeted first because of her rank.

The King ignored her and held out his hand to Victoria.

‘My dear child,’ he said, ‘I am very glad to see you here. I am sorry I do not see you more often.’

Victoria was smiling her open affectionate smile and returning her uncle’s kiss warmly; she had not noticed that he was seething with rage.

He turned to the Duchess and bowed coldly.

Then he said in a voice which every person in the drawing-room could hear: ‘A great liberty has been taken with one of my palaces. I have just been to Kensington Palace where apartments have been taken against my express commands. I do not understand such conduct.’ He glared into the Duchess’s flushed face. ‘Nor will I endure it, for it is quite disrespectful to me.’

He then turned to Victoria who was trembling. So they had no right to those beautiful rooms! She had thought that her mother had asked for them and that the King had granted her request. How dreadful to think that Mamma had taken them against the King’s wishes. It was like stealing.

She would never enjoy them again.

The King was smiling at her. He wanted her to know that he did not include her in his disapproval.

‘So you’re at Claremont, eh. A lovely place. Always liked it. Reminds me of Bushy. Ah, I spent many happy years at Bushy.’

But there were tears in Victoria’s eyes and while she answered the King she thought: ‘Oh, Mamma, how dared you. All this trouble is your fault. Yours and that man’s … who persuaded you to it.’

The evening was brought to a hasty close. The King was tired and he was not fond of late nights in any case. Abruptly, he turned to Adelaide and said they would go to bed.

When he had gone, the Duchess led Victoria away; and Victoria knew that as soon as they had gone there would be an excited buzz of conversation as to what steps the King would take to punish the Duchess of Kent.

Adelaide was alarmed. The King’s anger had not been soothed by that outbreak in the drawing-room. In their bedroom he raved against the Duchess. He detested her, he said. If they had been living a couple of hundred years ago he would have sent her to the block. ‘No power nowadays,’ he mourned. ‘Kings … they’re controlled by Parliaments. But, by God, I won’t have that woman controlling me.’

Adelaide said: ‘In less than a year Victoria will be of age. Then everything will be different.’

‘Yes, by God, and I’ll see it is. But don’t let her think that in the meantime she can rule us.’

‘I am sure you made her feel very uncomfortable tonight.’

‘Good! Good! And I’ll make her a damned sight more uncomfortable before I’ve finished with her.’

‘William …’

‘Don’t you worry, Adelaide. Leave this to me. A King must have some say in how things should be done.’

‘It’s your birthday tomorrow. You should be at peace with the world.’

‘Nothing’s going to make me at peace with that woman.’

The next morning his anger had not abated.

Lady de l’lsle who was pregnant tried to soothe him. William was particularly tender to his eldest daughter because of her condition but he would not swerve from his resentment.

When Lord Adolphus FitzClarence called to wish his father a happy birthday William embraced him warmly, always delighted to have the family call of their own accord, always ready to forgive their slights and insults of the past, but he went on grumbling about that outrageous creature who was actually here in the Castle at this moment.

All through that day his anger smouldered but when it was time to go in to dinner he seemed much calmer. There were a hundred guests all come to celebrate his birthday and as it was to some extent a ceremonial occasion everyone must be seated with some concessions to precedence. It was very unfortunate that the Duchess of Kent must therefore be placed next to him.

Adelaide watched the King with apprehension; he was smiling and talking to Victoria, but she could see that the Princess was uneasy, no doubt remembering the King’s remarks of the previous evening.

All went well through the dinner except that the King did not address a word to the Duchess of Kent, and then Adelaide expressed the desire that the King’s health should be drunk. This was done and the King rose to thank his guests.

They believed that there was to be one of his long rambling speeches and were unprepared for what happened.

He began to shout and to the consternation of everyone he began his attack on the Duchess of Kent.

‘I trust in God that my life may be spared for nine months longer, after which period, in the event of my death, no Regency would take place.’ He paused and pointed to Victoria who sat as though petrified, unable to take her eyes from his purple face. ‘I should then,’ he went on, ‘have the satisfaction of leaving the royal authority to the personal exercise of that young lady, the heiress presumptive of the Crown, and not in the hands of a person now near me, who is surrounded by evil advisers and is herself incompetent to act with propriety in the station in which she would be placed. I have no hesitation in saying that I have been insulted – grossly and continually – by that person, but I am determined to endure no longer a course of behaviour so disrespectful to me. Among many other things I have particularly to complain of the manner in which that young lady has been kept away from my Court; she has been repeatedly kept from my Drawing-Rooms, at which she ought always to be present, but I am fully resolved that this shall not happen again. I would have her know that I am King, and I am determined to make my authority respected and for the future I shall insist and command that the Princess do upon all occasions appear at my Court, as it is her duty to do.’

His eyes were on Victoria and suddenly his anger passed from him and they were glazed with tears for Victoria was openly weeping; and the Duchess sat very pale and silent, which was very unusual for her.

Adelaide, looking horrified and uncertain, rose and led the ladies from the room.

As soon as they had left the men the Duchess turned to the Queen and cried out that she had been publicly insulted. Never had she been so treated in her life. She would not endure another moment under this roof. Her carriages must be ordered without delay.

Victoria, in tears, was trying to plead with her mother not to be so rash. The King’s displeasure had already been aroused; they must now act with decorum.

‘Oh, how right!’ cried Adelaide. ‘You cannot leave tonight. Please, try to calm yourself. I am sure the King will repent having reprimanded you so publicly, but you must not go tonight.’

The Duchess did not relish a night drive to Claremont so she allowed Adelaide to persuade her not to leave immediately but to wait and see what the morning brought forth.

They retired to their rooms, Victoria in a state of extreme nervousness. She could not understand how her mother could have taken the rooms when the King had forbidden her to do so. It was wrong of her. No subject should ever so flout the Sovereign’s authority.

That night Victoria had moved even farther from her mother; and she was glad on the ride back to Claremont the next day that the Duchess behaved as though nothing unusual had happened, although her lips tightened from time to time so that Victoria knew that she was then remembering the King’s outburst.

‘That damned woman’s gone,’ said the King, ‘and by God, that’s something to be thankful for. The brazen creature. I couldn’t believe it, Adelaide, when I saw those rooms …’

‘Don’t think about it,’ soothed Adelaide. ‘It’s done now. You’ve made your protest and she will think twice before she defies you again.’

‘Not that woman. By God, I could have thrown my glass of wine into her insolent face.’

Adelaide could at least be thankful that he had not done that.

‘She’ll go back to Kensington and think up some way to plague me.’

‘She’s at Claremont now.’

‘Yes, but she’ll be back at Kensington in due course.’

His daughter Sophia came in and Adelaide was glad, for his mood immediately softened.

‘How is my Sophia today?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Very well, dear Papa.’

‘You must take care.’ He was always a little worried when any of his daughters were pregnant. He thought of the difficult times Adelaide had had.

‘I’ll be all right, Papa.’

‘Of course you will. You’re like your mother. She’d be on the stage a few days before the babies were born.’

Adelaide had long since become accustomed to hearing of the perfections of Dorothy Jordan, the mother of his adored children, whom he had deserted a few years before her death. She believed he had forgotten that desertion now; she hoped he had because she knew at one time his conscience had plagued him about it.

‘You’d better stay at Windsor, Sophia, though I’d like you to be near us when we go to St James’s.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s the name of that housekeeper woman at Kensington Palace?’

‘You mean Mrs Strode?’ asked the Queen.

‘Mrs Strode, is it? H’m. She’s getting old.’

‘Poor creature,’ said the Queen. ‘I don’t think she’s long for this world.’

‘The housekeeper at Kensington Palace … it’s a very comfortable post.’

‘She’s really the custodian,’ said Adelaide. ‘Housekeeper sounds as though she is in a menial position. The truth is far from that.’

‘I’m a plain-speaking man, my dear. Custodian, then. It would suit Sophie. Good apartments, good air. I always like the air of Kensington myself.’

‘But do you mean Sophia should take over from Mrs Strode?’

‘In due course perhaps,’ said the King. ‘You’d like that, Sophie.’

Like most of the FitzClarence family Sophia had her mischievous side. She knew what the King was implying.

She might go to Kensington and spy on the Duchess. It appealed to her.

‘I should indeed, Papa.’

‘But you could not of course turn Mrs Strode out,’ said Adelaide quickly. ‘It would be too unkind, particularly as she is so old and ill.’

‘But if she should die,’ said William, ‘and if it should be necessary to find a new custodian at Kensington …’

Sophia laughed; and William laughed with her. Adelaide sighed faintly. It was amazing how his children could put William into a good humour.

At dear Claremont Victoria could forget that horrible incident at Windsor for something wonderful had happened. Uncle Leopold had come for a short visit.

He wanted to talk in person with his ‘dear little soul,’ he said. Letters were all very well, but how much greater understanding could be reached in conversation.

He wanted her opinion of Albert; what exactly had she thought?

It was all true, she told him, what she had written to him. She loved Albert; she loved all her cousins but there was something special about Albert.

He had seemed a little delicate, Uncle Leopold feared, but there was nothing really delicate about him. He had merely grown too fast. He had an alert and wonderful brain. Did she not think so?

She thought Albert the cleverest young man she had ever met.

Uncle Leopold was satisfied.

Oh yes, in her Uncle’s company she could easily forget unpleasantness. He was like her second father, she thought. No, her only father for he was indeed her real father because she had none other.

How grateful she would always be to Uncle Leopold.

Uncle Leopold must go back to his own country and they must go back to Kensington, although they returned to Claremont for Christmas. Since His Majesty, said the Duchess speaking with exaggeration to indicate contempt, thought that the heiress to the throne occupied too much of Kensington Palace they should show that they had another home and that Claremont – the house which belonged to the Duchess’s brother Leopold – was always at their disposal.

The news came that Mrs Strode had died and that the King had appointed Lady de l’lsle and Dudley as the custodian of Kensington Palace.

The Duchess was furious.

‘That woman! At Kensington Palace! And in such a post! How characteristic of That Man. He has no sense of royalty.’

‘Mamma,’ pleaded Victoria, ‘it is the King’s command and there is nothing we can do about it.’

The Duchess studied her daughter quizzically. The child was beginning to criticise her own mother. Could it be that she was taking sides with the King against her!

‘So,’ she said coldly, ‘you have no objection to sharing a roof with … with the bastidry!’

Victoria said, with that newly acquired dignity which was giving her mother and Conroy such uneasy qualms. ‘I think, Mamma, that we must accept the King’s commands.’