The Captive of Kensington Palace

Chapter XXI INCIDENT IN THE KING’S DRAWING-ROOM

William sat at his desk, the letter in his hand, his eyes glazed with memories.

Maria Fitzherbert was dead. Another link with the past had snapped. He felt he was a very old man and there was little time left to him.

Adelaide came in and found him and understanding the cause of his grief mourned with him.

‘She was the only woman George ever loved,’ declared William. ‘What a sad thing that they parted. How foolish George was … not to appreciate the love of a good woman. I thank God, Adelaide, that I have more perception in that respect. I don’t know what I should do without you. I’ve had the love of two good women in my life and that’s a good share, you know.’

‘She was old, William. It had to come.’

‘Oh yes, she was older than George. She must have been over eighty. Poor Maria Fitzherbert. She was magnificent, Adelaide, magnificent.’

‘And she was good,’ added Adelaide.

‘A good handsome woman – a rare thing Adelaide, a rare thing.’

Adelaide winced. She knew she was plain; the press were continually calling attention to her lack of physical charms; but she was foolish. She too was getting old and she should be accustomed to William’s tactlessness by now.

‘Death!’ said William. ‘It’s claiming so many of the people who were young with me. My turn can’t be far off.’

‘Don’t talk of it,’ she said quickly.

‘All right, all right. I’ve got to live for a long time. I’ve got to live until Victoria is of an age to stand on her own, for, by God, I’ll not have that Duchess as Regent.’

‘Yes, you must live, William. You are needed not only by your country but by me.’

William felt suddenly happy. He had a good wife and he loved her; and he was fortunate, for how many men were so blessed in that respect? Two good women had loved him – his incomparable Dorothy who had given him his dear children and Adelaide who could give him none but instead gave him a devotion which even Dorothy had been unable to give. He had always believed that with Dorothy the children came first.

A lucky man, he thought. Two good women and ten children – and if at times they were cruel to him, they had given him the darling grandchildren. Yes, a lucky man.

Death was in the air. News came from Saxe-Meiningen that Adelaide’s mother was very ill and not expected to live. She was asking for Adelaide.

‘You must go, my dear,’ said the King. ‘You’ll not have any peace if you don’t. But don’t forget the King is missing you, so come back to him as soon as you can.’

‘I don’t think you’re well enough to be left.’

‘I’m all right. The girls will come and stay with me.’

‘Sophia’s at Kensington.’

The King grinned. ‘And I hear Madam Kent is not very pleased about that. Not Sophia, no! In any case she’s expecting the child in April. She’ll stay at Kensington. But Mary could come, and I daresay my sister Augusta will be here too. I’ll be in good hands. Now you go and see your mother and come back to me soon.’

Adelaide was more aware than most that the strange moods of the King had intensified, which they did at certain periods, and at such times she appeared to be the only one who could comfort him.

So with misgivings she left England.

Lady de l’Isle had been finding the last weeks before her child was due rather trying. She was very much aware of the Duchess of Kent in her grand apartments, which the King had not taken from her, and although normally she would have been able to deal with her, she felt too ill and listless to do so.

The Duchess, whenever possible, humiliated her; she made constant references to the fact that although Sophia was the King’s daughter she was illegitimate.

‘Good gracious,’ cried the Duchess, ‘if all the King’s bastards through the ages were lodged in royal palaces we should have to start building rapidly to accommodate them.’

Victoria’s eighteenth birthday was only a month or so away, and she was uneasy. How would Victoria behave when she was her own mistress?

‘Eighteen,’ she cried indignantly to Sir John, ‘is far too young for a girl to manage her own affairs. Victoria should ask the King to let a Regency continue for a while after she comes to the throne, for I am sure she will be far too young.’

‘It’s a difficult letter to write,’ Sir John warned her, ‘because the assumption must be that the King is dead before she comes to the throne.’

‘The old fool must know that he can’t last much longer, I have no compunction in reminding him of that.’

‘I know, but he might object.’

‘Ridiculous old fool,’ snapped the Duchess. ‘But draft a letter to Melbourne and tell him that Victoria wishes me to continue as Regent for a while after she comes to the throne.’

‘Shall you consult Victoria on this point?’

‘Good gracious me, no! In her present mood she might refuse.’

There was no harm in drafting the letter, Sir John supposed. His position in any case was even more desperate than that of the Duchess, so they might try everything however wild and devious. Victoria showed quite clearly that she disliked him and never would take him into her service, but the Duchess as her mother could not be so easily disposed of, however much Victoria might long for the disposal.

Yes, thought Sir John, they must try everything.

Really, thought the Duchess, such a bother! And all because a bastard was about to give birth to a child. Carriages arriving at the Palace; the King’s own physician calling; the King himself. It was most absurd. People would think that she was ill or perhaps Victoria. Such a fuss was made they would believe it must be someone who was important.

She was having a dinner party that night and she did not like all this activity in the Palace, even though it was not in her own apartments.

Victoria had said: ‘Mamma, don’t you think that in view of Lady de l’Isle’s condition you should postpone your dinner party?’

‘Postpone my dinner party! Sometimes I wonder at you. What has the confinement of this … this … woman got to do with my dinner party, pray?’

‘It is just that at such a time perhaps we should be quiet. I have heard that all is not going quite as it should.’

‘That rumour is put about merely to call attention to her. She is like her mother … that common actress. They’re like gypsies. They could have babies by the roadside.’

‘Gypsies deserve as much consideration as anyone else, Mamma.’

‘What, Victoria?’

‘I believe that the King’s physicians are rather anxious about Lady de l’Isle. Oh, I do hope all goes well. Uncle William will be so distressed; and think of her little children.’

‘You say the oddest things,’ said the Duchess coldly. ‘You should thank God that I am constantly at your elbow to remind you of what is expected of a Queen.’

I am not that yet, thought Victoria, and perhaps when I am you will not be at my elbow.

But she said nothing.

Later that day Lady de l’Isle died.

‘Certainly,’ said the Duchess, ‘I shall not cancel my dinner party. What have this woman’s affairs to do with me?’

Victoria took her usual refuge in tears. She had had Lady de l’Isle’s children in her rooms and tried to amuse them with her sketches to take their minds off what was happening.

Oh dear, she thought, Mamma cannot give a dinner party while the King’s daughter lies dead in the Palace. But apparently she could.

The King was demented.

‘My little Sophie! But what were those doctors doing? She was well enough during her pregnancy. My Sophie! Why her mother had ten children and there was never any trouble.’

He wept and there was no comforting him. He told everyone how Sophie had been born and how he had loved her. She was his eldest daughter and had been the most enchanting of little girls. He and Dorothy had been so proud of her. No, this was too cruel. He couldn’t bear it.

Melbourne thought he was going mad and wondered how he was going to control a young Queen who was not yet of age. But she would be in a few weeks’ time. He had received a letter from her mother in which she stated that Victoria wished for an extended Regency. He could scarcely approach the King on this matter yet. So the Princess felt herself inadequate to rule without her mother!

‘God help us!’ groaned Melbourne. ‘How shall we work with the Duchess of Kent!’ A young girl would be easier to advise and control and from what he had seen of Victoria he believed her to be intelligent, by which he meant that she would be wise enough to realise her lack of experience and listen to her Prime Minister. But the mother!

He would shelve the letter for a while, at least until the Queen came home. What ill luck that she should be abroad at this time when the King needed her. If she did not come home soon his sanity would desert him. Only those who lived close to William knew how much he depended on Adelaide.

He sent a despatch to the Queen urging her to return to England.

Adelaide’s mother had meanwhile died and she came home with all speed.

‘Oh, Adelaide, how glad I am! How I missed you! And this terrible terrible news about Sophie. Who would have thought it possible?’

‘Dear William, it is heart-breaking. And the children?’

‘They are still at Kensington. Young Victoria is being very good to them and they seem to be fond of her. They say they are happier with her than they would be anywhere else.’

‘Dear Victoria. She is so good. And it’s true. She will be gay with them and gaiety is what they want, poor mites.’

The King nodded. ‘My little Sophie, Adelaide … my eldest … I’ll never forget the day she was born.’

Adelaide soothed and comforted and the King’s health recovered a little. His ministers noticed and were relieved.

Adelaide, however, was really ill. Her cough had become much worse and the journey to Saxe-Meiningen on such a dismal mission had sapped her strength.

She must rest, the doctors told her. She must take great care of her health and remember how important she was to the King.

The Princess Augusta was at Windsor and she assured Adelaide that she could take over many of her duties. Adelaide’s chief one at the moment, as the doctors had told her, was to get well.

‘You see what happens to William when you’re not there, Adelaide,’ Augusta reminded her. ‘For Heaven’s sake, guard your health. William needs you.’

‘There is the Drawing-Room …’

‘But think what effect Drawing-Rooms have on you. I know you have to bandage your knees to help with the swelling.’

‘Oh, Augusta, I feel so foolishly weak and ineffectual.’

‘You are certainly not ineffectual. And if you could know what William is like when you’re away you’d be fully aware of how important you are. No, I will take your place at the Drawing-Room and you will rest.’

Sir John had persuaded the Duchess that she must attend the King’s Drawing-Room. He had expressly said that Victoria must appear at Court and that he was going to insist on her doing so. Therefore to ignore this invitation would infuriate him, and, moreover, they must remember that he was the King and had certain powers.

The Duchess was not averse. She would show them that she cared nothing for the King, that she was fully aware that very soon he would have departed this world and her daughter would be the Queen and herself Regent.

She was taking Sir John with her to let everyone see that she would have whom she chose about her. She was well aware of the King’s dislike of Sir John – he had referred more than once to her evil advisers – but that was of no importance. If she wished Sir John to accompany her he should do so.

Victoria sitting beside her mother in the carriage which was taking them to St James’s for the Drawing-Room was conscious of her mother’s truculent mood.

In a few weeks’ time I shall be eighteen, she kept telling herself. Everything will be different then.

In the Drawing-Room the Princess Augusta, deputy for the Queen, received them; and then the King came in.

The Duchess chuckled inwardly. He looked ill and was quite tottery; it was a long time since she had seen him looking so old.

He was having a word or two with a guest here and there and when he came to the Duchess he looked through her as though she did not exist. It was a deliberate insult and every one was aware of it.

Old fool, thought the Duchess. Much good that will do him. Victoria will soon be Queen and he can’t alter that. The sooner he is in his grave the better for everyone. He looks as if another step or two will take him there.

The King had seen Sir John Conroy. That fellow … among his guests! He had no invitation to appear at his Court. If that woman thought he was going to receive her paramour in his Drawing-Room she was mistaken.

He called: ‘Conyngham! Conyngham!’

The Lord Chamberlain hurried to his side.

The King’s face had grown very red and there was a deep silence throughout the room as William pointed to Sir John Conroy.

‘Turn that fellow out!’ he said. ‘I’ll not have him here.’

There was a gasp of amazement. Everyone was wondering what the King would do next as Sir John Conroy with a shrug of his shoulders and a sneer on his lips was escorted out of the King’s Drawing-Room.

William was telling Adelaide all about the incident in the Drawing-Room. Adelaide, her head aching, her cough worrying her, listened and was relieved at least that she had not been present.

‘These terrible quarrels between you and the Duchess are doing you no good, William,’ she said.

‘You aren’t suggesting I should let her have her own way.’

‘No, but perhaps it would be better to ignore her.’

‘Adelaide, that woman is a fiend. What that child of hers has suffered, I can’t imagine.’

‘Poor Victoria! I don’t think she had much fun as a child.’

‘I’m sure she didn’t. But she’ll be of age next month.’

‘She must have a very special celebration.’

‘The child is very musical. I’ve heard that she likes singing and playing the piano better than anything else. I shall give her a grand piano for her birthday.’

‘Oh, William, that’s a lovely idea.’

‘I knew you’d think so. And there’ll be other things, too. I’ve only got to live a few more weeks, Adelaide, and I’ll have had my wish. One thing I was determined not to do was to die and let that woman have the Regency.’

‘You’re going on living for a long time yet.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said William soothed, but he was not so sure in his heart.

He went on to talk to Adelaide about the Drawing-Room. He believed his feud with That Woman gave him a zest for living.

He had thought of something else. ‘Now that my darling Sophia is dead my daughter Mary shall go to Kensington. She’ll keep an eye on Madam Kent. By God, she’ll be appropriating the entire Palace if we don’t look out. I wonder when she’ll want to move into St James’s and Windsor?’

He was growing excited again and Adelaide talked of the grandchildren to soothe him.