The Captive of Kensington Palace

Chapter VI THE BATTLE FOR LEHZEN

Adelaide was watching the King carefully; she was terrified that his exuberance would overflow and he would do something which would be considered mad. At the moment the people were lenient; he had won their approval by lacking the dignity of George IV – not that he had to cast aside what he had never had – but that royal dignity was indeed lacking and for the moment, the people liked their King. He was an old man with a red weatherbeaten face; and no one could be more homely than the Queen; but somehow they managed to convey that they wished to do their duty.

There was no doubt that William was enjoying his position. He went about among the ordinary people, shaking hands with them and patting children on the head.

When the crowds gathered round him and Adelaide feared for his safety he would cry: ‘Now, my good people, let me through, let me through. You want to see me and I want to see you. So stand back a bit and give me air.’

A very unroyal King! decided the people; but a good and kindly man eager to serve his country.

Adelaide had believed that the stay at the Pavilion would be a rest after all the ceremonies it had been necessary to attend but she was realising that little respite was to be allowed the King and Queen. It was all very well for George IV to shut himself away from his people; William IV was not going to be allowed to do this. Nor did he wish to. He was still delighted by his office and determined to enjoy it. He was homely; he was bluff; he was the sailor King. He was constantly waving ceremony aside.

‘The Queen and I are very quiet people,’ he would say. ‘She sits over her embroidery after dinner and I’ll doze and nod a bit.’

He had a talent for making the kind of remarks which could be seized on by the press and those who liked to report the eccentricities of the King. For instance when he had asked a guest to attend a ceremony the man replied that he could not do so as he did not possess the required kind of breeches. ‘Nonsense … ceremony … stuff!’ cried the King. ‘Let him come without.’ ‘Stuff’ was one of his favourite words for that etiquette which he wished to sweep away and he applied it to anything of which he did not approve.

Not only was he completely lacking in royal dignity, he was tactless in the extreme. He was constantly telling Adelaide that he did not know what he would do without her and that she was more to him than any beautiful and attractive woman could ever have been. He gave people lifts in his carriage. He shook hands affably like any visiting squire; he told the Freemasons whom he was addressing on one occasion: ‘Gentlemen, if my love for you equalled my ignorance of everything concerning you, it would indeed be unbounded.’ He behaved in every way that was unkingly; but all knew that he meant to be kind.

He had made it clear that he would not allow his brother Cumberland to dominate him as he had dominated the late King. Cumberland was deprived of his Gold Stick, told to remove his horses from the Windsor stables because the Queen needed them for her carriage, and at a dinner the King had toasted the country and glaring at his brother had added: ‘And let those who don’t like it leave it.’

As Cumberland was at the height of his unpopularity this further endeared William to his people.

He was a blundering old man, but as long as he kept his sanity, the people were pleased with him.

Adelaide, who had become very fond of him since her marriage and suffered from a terrible sense of failure because she had failed to give him an heir, grew more and more nervous. When the people became over-excited she was afraid there would be riots. She had never understood the exuberance of the English; and she was well aware that there was terrible unrest throughout the country. The affairs of France were once more in chaos; what happened in that country could happen in England, so Adelaide believed. There was one word which was constantly being used in all circles: Reform.

The people throughout the country were dissatisfied with their lot. The differences between the rich and the poor were too great. The harvest had been bad; food was dear and there was no money to buy bread. The silk weavers of Spitalfields were in revolt; the farm labourers of Kent were demanding more money; and the mill hands farther north were restive. Hay-ricks were burned down in the night; barns set on fire. Through the country men were threatening dire consequences if there were not Reform.

All this worried Adelaide.

‘Trouble?’ said William. ‘There’s always been trouble. My father was nearly assassinated several times.’

‘But you must take great care.’

Dear Adelaide! He wouldn’t have changed her for any one of his brother’s beauties in their prime.

There was a change of attitude in the FitzClarence children which Adelaide was quick to detect. Now that their father was King they believed all sorts of honours should come their way. They didn’t see why they should be left out simply because their father hadn’t married their mother and she was an actress. They were the acknowledged sons and daughters of the King.

William had done so much for them and he loved them all dearly, and Adelaide thought them ungrateful. She was glad – and so was William – that the dear little grandchildren were too young to understand the greatness which had descended on their grandpapa.

So at Brighton she had hoped for a little respite from the glare of publicity. As if this could be found at that most glittering of towns! Brighton welcomed its new sovereign as it had always welcomed the late one, to whom it must for ever be grateful for making it what it was – rich, fashionable, elegant Brighton in place of Little Brighthelmstone which had nothing to recommend it but a little fishing.

The Pavilion – home of the late King’s most brilliant entertainments – was scarcely the place in which to relax. But they would rest here, said William. They would have no reclining on sofas to listen to music like so many Eastern worthies. There would be no brilliant banquets with people vying with each other to show off their silks and satins and brocades. A homely atmosphere should be brought into the Pavilion.

So the King chatted freely with his guests; and he breakfasted with his wife precisely every morning at nine – no lying abed all through the day as his brother had done – and Adelaide herself made the tea at one end of the table while one of her maids of honour made coffee at the other end.

Then they chatted for a while and the King went off to receive some of his ministers who had come to see him, or he would take a drive with the Queen. In the afternoons he sometimes walked out alone. He liked to do this without attendants, and the children of the town, recognising him, would run up and call: ‘Hello, King!’ which amused him; and he would very often take them into one of the shops and buy sweets for them.

He was a most unusual monarch, but a source of amusement to the people; and there was nothing they liked better than to be amused.

As for the ceremonies and elegance of the last reign – ‘Stuff!’ said the King.

But in spite of his popularity those uneasy murmurs were rumbling through the country. There would have to be Reform.

When the royal pair could stay no longer in Brighton they returned to St James’s, and Adelaide pointed out to the King that it would be necessary for him to see more of Victoria now. They must not forget that she was heiress to the throne.

‘We might supplant her even yet, eh?’

‘Ah, if that were possible! But I greatly fear we shall never have a child. It is some fault in me.’

‘Now, now, you don’t want to fret yourself. There’s this little girl at Kensington. Nice little creature. Don’t like her mother, though. My God, what a handful of a woman. And to think I might have had her! They gave her to Edward because she had to be wooed and they thought I’d make a mess of the wooing. So they gave me you, Adelaide … who had no choice. So you see we had no choice, either of us.’

‘So we should be grateful that we were not displeased.’

‘So you weren’t displeased, eh?’

‘I thank God every night for my good husband.’

His eyes filled with tears. ‘And I for my good wife. Couldn’t have a better. You could give me all the beauties in the land …’

That reminded him of those days when having deserted Dorothy Jordan he had sought to marry and been flouted by the heiresses he had chosen except Miss Wykeham, who had accepted him only to learn that her hopes of becoming Duchess of Clarence were dashed as his family rejected her. He smiled. What a scene there had been at the time with George – the Regent then – and his mother, Queen Charlotte, explaining why he couldn’t have Miss Wykeham for all her money and must take the German Princess Adelaide instead.

He went on thinking aloud – a habit to which Adelaide had become accustomed. ‘Should do something for Miss Wykeham. She hoped to marry me. But they wouldn’t have it. She was the only one who agreed to marry me. Yes, should do something for her. Give her a peerage, eh?’

‘Yes,’ said Adelaide, ‘give her a peerage, but we must see something of Victoria now. She ought to appear at Court.’

‘Could have seen more of her years ago but for that stuck-up mother of hers. She won’t let Victoria mix with my children! By God, does she realise that my children are the children of the King!’

‘She will now,’ said Adelaide soothingly. ‘But I think I shall take the first opportunity of calling at Kensington Palace. I’ll go and see Sophia first. She will know what is happening in the Kent apartments. But Victoria must be present at the next Drawing-Room.’

‘You go, my dear. And tell that woman that her daughter will be commanded to come to Court no matter who is there. It’s for the King to decide who shall or who shall not come to his Court.’

‘Yes,’ said Adelaide, ‘I will go to Kensington.’

The Princess Sophia laid aside her netting to embrace Adelaide.

‘It is so good of you to come, my dear. There must be so much to do. How is the King?’

‘He is very well, thank you.’

‘I’m glad, I’m glad. William was always a little excitable.’

Sophia was looking sideways at her sister-in-law. Oh dear, thought Adelaide, people who lived lonely uneventful lives were avid for every bit of gossip; and if it were not good news they seemed to enjoy it the more.

What had Sophia heard about William’s unbalanced state?

‘Oh, he is becoming accustomed to being the King now,’ said Adelaide. ‘At first it is a little bewildering.’

‘And he has the Duke to help him.’

‘Oh yes, the King relies on Wellington.’

‘You have heard the news from there.’ Sophia nodded towards the wall in the direction of the Kent apartments.

‘News?’

‘Späth is going.’

‘The Baroness Späth … to leave!’

‘Oh yes, she is being sent to Feodora. She will be so useful in the nursery there, so says the Duchess.’

‘But surely she is needed here.’

Princess Sophia lifted her shoulders. She was not going to mention the real reason for the dismissal of Späth. She felt it was in some way disloyal to Sir John; and in any case she did not like to think of his being on familiar terms with the Duchess.

‘They say Lehzen will be going next.’

‘Lehzen. They could not lose her. Where would they find another like her?’

‘We don’t want another like her. She makes too much of the child. Victoria has too much sense of her own importance.’

‘Poor child, I fear it is a great responsibility for her. And she is so young.’

‘She is watched all the time. If it isn’t her mother, it’s Lehzen.’

‘I always believed Lehzen was devoted to the child.’

Sophia laughed. ‘You know there have always been complaints about the Germans surrounding the Princess. I think the people would like to see some English women there.’

‘So Späth is going because she is to be replaced by some Englishwoman?’

‘That I can’t say,’ replied Sophia, ‘but it may well be the case.’

She wondered whether Adelaide would hear the rumour about Sir John and the Duchess. At least she had given no hint of it.

‘We shall expect to see Victoria more often now,’ went on Adelaide. ‘It is time she came out of seclusion.’

‘Ha! You’ll have to see what her Mamma has to say about that.’ Sophia went on to ask after George Cambridge and Adelaide, always ready to talk of the children, settled down to a long discussion about them.

Then she went to see the Duchess of Kent.

The Duchess greeted the Queen not without some condescension. Adelaide might be the Queen, but she was only Queen Consort, whereas Victoria Duchess of Kent was the mother of the future Queen.

After the first pleasantries were exchanged Adelaide asked after Victoria and learned that she was very well.

‘That is good. She is always in such blooming health, and what vitality she has! Our little Victoria is a credit to you.’

The Duchess radiated momentary contentment. Victoria was indeed well, indeed she was a credit; and so she should be. Nothing had been spared in Victoria’s upbringing. When the time came she would make a perfect Queen.

‘The King and I have been saying that we should see more of her at Court.’

The Duchess’s eyes had narrowed slightly.

‘She is young yet.’

‘But she is eleven years old; soon she will be twelve. It is quite time that she made a few appearances. The people expect it. Have you forgotten that she is heiress presumptive to the throne?’

Heiress presumptive! What a horrible title. It reminded one so clearly that something could go wrong. And by wrong the Duchess meant Adelaide might have a child. What a dreadful possibility! This woman – this Queen – was not old; she could still bear a child; and the Duchess could be sure that she was making every attempt to do so. What if she did? She had had several attempts. It was true they had failed but what if there should be another attempt and that be successful? Heiress Presumptive! No, Heiress Apparent was so much better. And how much better still: the Queen. But this woman’s wretched husband had to die first and on no account must Adelaide be pregnant.

‘I have certainly not forgotten,’ said the Duchess coldly. ‘It is for this reason that I have had to protect my daughter for so long.’

‘Well, I trust now that she is growing up we shall see more of her. The King would like to see her at Bushy.’

‘If His Majesty wishes to see her, he knows what he must do!’

Adelaide was amazed that the Duchess could speak so of the King. No wonder William disliked her.

‘I … don’t fully understand,’ said Adelaide hesitantly.

‘His Majesty is surrounded by his bastards at Bushy. I think it would be extremely unsuitable for the … er … Heiress Presumptive … to mix with them.’

‘They are the King’s own children, and he as King has them living with him en famille.’

‘I should never allow Victoria to come into contact with these people.’

‘But the King wishes to see more of her and as he has no intention of dismissing his own family, it is almost certain that she will.’

‘I cannot allow it.’ The Duchess was imperious. Any observer would have thought that she was the Queen, Adelaide the Duchess. She began to walk about the apartment, her bracelets jingling, her impressive bosom heaving, so that the jewels with which she loved to adorn herself glittered in fiery defiance. ‘Nor,’ she went on, ‘do I think that I should be expected to live in these apartments which are entirely inadequate for the Heiress to the throne. I am living under the same roof as that Buggin woman. Oh, I know she has rented Niddry Lodge on Camden Hill there, but she is more often in the apartments of the Duke of Sussex. Buggin! My daughter is expected to live at close quarters with a woman named Buggin.’

‘She is hardly responsible for her name.’

‘She is entirely responsible. She married it! As the daughter of the Earl of Arran she should have known better.’

‘Augustus seems to be delighted with her.’

‘Augustus has no right to be.’

‘Perhaps he will marry her now that Augusta is dead. He swore that he couldn’t, you know, while he had a wife living, and although Augusta was not recognised as his wife he always regarded himself as married to her, even after they separated. I think it rather noble of him.’

The Duchess looked with scorn at Adelaide. How mild she was! She had no jealousy of herself which the Duchess could not understand when what Adelaide desired above all else was a child, and she, the Duchess, had her healthy Victoria, Heiress Presumptive to the throne.

‘Noble!’ snorted the Duchess. ‘Living with the Buggin woman, which is what he is doing. It’s most irregular. But what I find so disturbing is that he should be doing so under the same roof as Victoria.’

Oh dear, thought Adelaide. The Duchess of Kent was in a truculent mood. She had better leave her and decide later what should be done. She must be careful not to tell William too much. He was always annoyed with the Duchess; and indeed the woman did give herself airs. But if he knew she was going to set herself up in deliberate defiance he would become very excitable, which was just the state he must most carefully avoid.

When the Queen had gone the Duchess sat at her table and wrote to the Duke of Wellington.

Now that King George IV was dead and his brother had become King William IV, this meant that the Princess Victoria was heiress to the throne. (She would not use that horrible word Presumptive.) She believed that it was quite unsuitable for the heiress to the throne to be living in comparative penury. She believed that an income should immediately be settled on her, and that her mother should become the Dowager Princess of Wales.

When she had written the letter she took it to Sir John and showed it to him.

He smiled. His tempestuous Duchess was indeed a handful, but he liked her for it; and as long as he could guide her, he had no objection to her arrogance towards others.

The request was absurd, he knew. Her husband, the Duke of Kent, had never been the Prince of Wales and so it would be quite irregular to bestow a title on her to which she had no right.

He imagined the Duke’s face when he received such a demand.

Should he advise her to send it? Why not? It would estrange her farther than ever from the King, and Conroy’s one fear was that the Duchess would become friendly with her late husband’s family. If she did so, they might turn her from Sir John. It was bad enough to have Leopold as a rival, for while Leopold was so close to her, Conroy could never have the complete control he longed for. He always had to be wary of Leopold. But he was determined that no other members of the family should attempt to oust him from his position.

‘It is as well to let the King know through Wellington that you are conscious of your position,’ he said; so the note was sent.

When Wellington received the Duchess’s letter he said: ‘The insanity in the royal family has spread to the Duchess. She is certainly mad to think for one moment that such a possibility could be considered.’

‘Madam,’ he wrote, ‘your request is not admissible.’

When the Duchess received his cold reply she was furious. She went with it at once to Conroy.

‘This man Wellington gives himself airs. Because he won a battle he thinks he can rule the country. Who is he? Arthur Wellesley! He thinks because he was present at the Battle of Waterloo that entitles him to insult me. It was very likely Blucher who was responsible for that victory. And because of it, he thinks he can command us all. And what of his relationship with Mrs Arbuthnot? I have heard that he neglects his Duchess shamefully for that woman. The Duchess of Wellington may be a fool but it is nothing to his credit that he should treat her as though she does not exist. And this is the man who dares tell me I have no right to the title of Dowager Princess of Wales.’

Sir John let her run on. Let her start a feud with Wellington; the more trouble she had with other people, the more friendly she would be towards her dear Comptroller of her Household.

But in due course the Duchess admitted that there had been no hope of her receiving that title. Yet, Sir John assured her, it was as well to let them know that she was aware of the dignities of her position as mother to the Heiress of the throne. Presumptive? No! Apparent! Victoria was going to be Queen.

Very soon after the Duchess was in a state of elation. The Lord Chancellor, Lord Lyndhurst, presented a Bill in Parliament that should create the Duchess of Kent Regent in the event of the King’s dying and her daughter’s ascending the throne as a minor.

The Duchess was delighted. Wellington might have treated her without due respect; Lord Grey might have referred to her as a tiresome devil; but Lord Lyndhurst had put her case to Parliament and Parliament had seen the reason in it.

Nor was Lord Lyndhurst the only one, for the Bill was passed. The Duchess would be Regent of England; Parliament had added £10,000 to her income, to be used for the education and household of the Princess Victoria.

This was triumph.

The Duchess summoned Victoria to tell her what had happened.

‘We must never forget your position,’ she told Victoria. ‘The death of your Uncle George has brought you right up to the throne. And when your Uncle William dies, as you won’t be old enough to govern, I shall be the Regent.’

‘But, Mamma, suppose I am old enough before Uncle William dies.’

‘Victoria, you say the most surprising things.’

‘Is it surprising? People do live longer than is often thought. There was Uncle George. His death was expected long before it came.’

The Duchess looked pained. Victoria was beginning to be too self-assertive. ‘When William dies,’ she insisted, ‘I shall be Regent.’

Victoria felt a little indignant. The idea of the Duchess as Regent was not very pleasant to her. As a daughter she had had to do exactly as Mamma said; how disconcerting if, as Queen, she should find herself in the same dilemma!

But once she was eighteen she would be of age. That day was a long way ahead. Seven years. She secretly hoped that Uncle William would not die before that time.

The Duchess dismissed her. She gave herself the airs of a Regent already.

Victoria wept when she said good-bye to Baroness Späth.

‘Darling Späth. I shall miss you so.’

Poor Späth dabbed at her eyes and embraced the Princess.

‘It breaks my heart to leave you.’

‘But you will be with dearest Feodora,’ said Victoria, because she felt that heartbroken as she was she must at all costs comfort poor Späth.

‘Ah, yes, but my heart will be with you.’

‘You’ll love the little babies. Imagine Feodora with two babies now. I know she loves them dearly; she shows it in her dear letters. Little Charles is such a handful now and you will be so useful to her.’

‘I daresay she is surrounded by useful people.’

‘But she always had a special feeling for you; besides she will be able to talk to you of me, which I am sure is what she will very much enjoy.’

‘My dearest Princess, make sure that the Baroness Lehzen is not sent away.’

‘Lehzen!’ cried Victoria in horror.

‘It may be that those who decided to be rid of me may wish to see her out of the way, too.’

At the thought of losing Lehzen Victoria felt sick with horror. Dear Späth was bad enough, but the old Baroness was a bit of a fool though a dear one. But Lehzen was as close to Victoria as her own mother – oh much closer than that if the truth must be known. Lehzen was second only to Uncle Leopold.

She said firmly: ‘You may be sure that I should make such a storm that they would not dare send her away.’

Späth took her last farewell and set out on her sad journey, back to her native land, and to try to find some solace for the loss of Victoria in Feodora and her babies.

Uncle Leopold called at Kensington to take his farewell, he said, of his beloved niece.

Victoria had found it hard to believe when she had heard that he was going to leave England. He came to tell her himself that fate had cruelly decided to separate them.

He embraced her and laid his cheek against hers; she was too deeply moved for tears. She looked into his beautiful face with the utmost love and admiration.

‘You see,’ he explained, ‘the people of Belgium have separated from Holland. They need a King; and they believe that no one will fill that role but me.’

‘But it means your living in Belgium, Uncle Leopold!’

‘Alas, exactly so. I could not be the King of a country and not live in it.’

She saw that; she saw too the gleam in Uncle Leopold’s eyes at the prospect of kingship, and she knew at once how much more suitable it would be for Uncle Leopold to be a King rather than the Prince Consort of a wife who though she would have been Queen had she lived was long since dead.

Oh yes, she must accept this sorrow. Uncle Leopold could not forgo his crown even for her.

‘I shall always be with you … in spirit,’ he told her. ‘I shall write to you very very often. I have told your mother that I shall be constantly in touch. Your affairs will continue to be those nearest my heart. Nothing … no one could ever supplant you.’

She wept; she embraced him and told him she loved him; then she said good-bye.

‘But it is not good-bye,’ said Uncle Leopold. ‘We are too close, my darling, ever to say good-bye. You will be with me in my thoughts; and I shall follow everything you do.’

‘No,’ said Victoria sturdily, ‘it is not good-bye. It could not be because if it were I would be too unhappy to bear my sorrow.’

Sir John was elated. The Baroness Späth had been removed through her own folly and his ingeniousness; even better, benevolent fate had removed Leopold. The new King of the Belgians would of course continue to direct affairs but how different to do so from Brussels than from Claremont. There would be no more Wednesday afternoons when he pried too closely into the Duchess’s affairs for the comfort of Sir John Conroy. The field was clear now for Sir John – as far as the Duchess was concerned.

They must not ignore Victoria, of course; and she was too much under the spell of her German governess. Lehzen gave herself too many airs. Stupid old woman continually munching her caraway seeds and, he was sure, antagonising Victoria against him.

He came unceremoniously into the Duchess’s drawing-room, where she was sitting at her table frowning over some papers.

‘My dear Duchess, you are bothered.’

‘Oh these tiresome papers! Why do they send them?’

‘You must allow me to deal with them. They are not important enough for you to bother your head over.’

He looked very handsome with his finely chiselled features and that amused expression which was so often in his eyes. So tall, such a commanding figure. Dear Sir John!

‘I wanted to talk to you about something of far greater moment.’

‘Come and sit near me.’

He drew up a chair and leaning an elbow elegantly on the table, smiled admiringly into her face.

‘I am disturbed about the Baroness Lehzen.’

‘Indeed.’

‘She has become too self-important since the departure of her crony.’

‘I fear so.’

‘And I believe she is influencing Victoria far too much.’

‘Victoria has always had a great affection for her.’

‘All very well when she was a child. But now she is nearly twelve. She has her newly appointed governess. What need of Lehzen?’

‘The Duchess of Northumberland is her nominal governess only. She will not perform Lehzen’s old tasks.’

‘That’s so. Lehzen is a very good governess … for the nursery. I am sure the Princess Feodora would find her most useful in the bringing up of her children.’

The Duchess looked surprised. ‘You mean that we should send Lehzen away?’

‘I mean that certain changes should be made in Victoria’s household. We want the world to realise that she is no longer a child, and the best way in which we can do this is by removing her nursery governess.’

‘Lehzen would not like to hear herself so described.’

‘I fear there is a great deal that Lehzen does not like about the household. She does not relish these changes. In fact she is trying to poison the Princess’s mind against us.’

‘Can that be so?’

‘You have noticed the difference in the Princess’s attitude lately.’

The Duchess admitted that she had.

‘And who do you think is responsible?’

‘You really think it is Lehzen?’

‘I know it, my dear Duchess.’

‘Then,’ said the Duchess, ‘Lehzen must go.’

Lehzen said: ‘They are trying to part us.’ She corrected herself: ‘That man is trying to part us.’

Victoria’s blue eyes were blazing. ‘They never shall.’

‘He has sent poor Späth away.’

Victoria threw her arms about Lehzen. ‘They shall never send you away,’ she declared.

Lehzen noticed the use of the word ‘they’. So Victoria included her mother in the conspiracy. What, wondered Lehzen, did Victoria know of the relationship between her mother and the Comptroller of the Household? Perhaps a great deal, for her dislike of the man grew greater every day; and sometimes Lehzen felt the Princess included her mother in her dislike.

‘Don’t worry, dear Lehzen,’ she went on. ‘They shall never part us.’

‘I should be terrified if they did.’

‘Never fear. They shall not.’

Victoria looked defiantly from her mother to Sir John Conroy.

‘I know what you are trying to say,’ she told them coolly. ‘You want to tell me that it would be advisable for the Baroness Lehzen to leave us and go back to Germany to join Feodora and poor Späth. I must make it clear that that is something I do not wish.’

‘You do not wish?’ said her mother.

‘That is what I said. I do not wish it.’

For all the world, said the Duchess afterwards to Sir John as though she were the Queen already.

They were so struck by her defiance that they were momentarily speechless; and that gave Victoria her chance.

‘If the Baroness Lehzen received orders to leave my household,’ went on Victoria, ‘I should not let her go. I should go to the Queen and beg her to tell the King exactly what I felt. I know she would do so; and I know that His Majesty would grant my wish. The Queen has told me that she understands exactly how I feel about losing dear Späth and she was most sorry for me.’

‘The King does not control Kensington Palace,’ said the Duchess, her colour rising.

‘I was of the opinion that the King ruled his kingdom and as Kensington Palace is part of that kingdom I cannot see that it should be outside his rule.’

‘Oh,’ said the Duchess, ‘so we are to have a little storm, are we?’

‘A storm, yes, Mamma,’ replied Victoria, ‘but it will not be a little one if any attempt is made to part me from the Baroness Lehzen.’

With that she swept out of the room.

The Duchess stared after her in fury; but Sir John merely smiled.

‘Her Majesty is in a regal mood today.’

‘The impertinence …’ cried the Duchess. ‘I shall send for her. She will be severely taken to task. I …’

He laid a hand on her arm.

‘She is no longer a child.’

‘She is twelve years old.’

‘She has been made aware of her destiny. We shall have to be careful now.’

‘Careful … of my own daughter!’

‘The Queen-to-be! And she is shrewd too. She would have Adelaide on her side and Adelaide would bring in William. I am convinced that we should receive a royal command to keep Lehzen in the household.’

‘This is my household,’ spluttered the Duchess.

‘Yes … yes … it’s true. But William could issue an order. And then where should we be? Our best plan is to be astonished that she took us so seriously. We had no real intention of sending Lehzen away. It was a complete misunderstanding.’ The Duchess stared in amazement at Sir John, but he only smiled at her tenderly.

‘You will see that this is the wise course to take,’ he said.

After a little persuasion she came round to his view as she always did.

Lehzen stayed in the household.

The Duchess and Sir John had requested the presence of Victoria in the Duchess’s drawing-room. There was a subtle difference in their attitude towards her since the Lehzen affair. Victoria, always frank, was unable to hide a vague antipathy towards her mother and a decided one towards Sir John.

‘She will grow out of it,’ said Sir John; and implored the Duchess not to show that she was aware of it.

‘Sometimes I think she forgets that I am her mother,’ said the Duchess indignantly. ‘She is more devoted to Lehzen and her affection for Leopold is positively sickening at times. And yet towards me …’

‘She is going through a certain phase,’ Sir John assured her.

‘I am not sure that I am going to allow her tantrums.’

‘I am sure you will know exactly how to deal with them,’ he said smiling fondly.

And now there was this matter of changing her name.

‘It was the late King’s fault,’ said the Duchess. ‘I wanted her christened Georgiana. I even mentioned Elizabeth. He would have none of it. He said she was to be named after me.’

‘She couldn’t have had a more charming name.’

‘She needed a Queen’s name. And now they want her to have it.’

Victoria entered the room. There was a faintly wary look in her eyes. She was never at ease when she was alone with her mother and Sir John.

The Duchess held out her cheek to be kissed; and Victoria dutifully kissed it. The Duchess overawed her and so in a way did Sir John. It was only when she had to fight for some worthy cause that she could stand against them.

‘My dear child,’ said the Duchess, ‘pray sit down. You know that you are now accepted as the heiress to the throne.’

‘The heiress presumptive, Mamma,’ corrected Victoria.

‘Oh, why harp on that horrible word.’

‘Do you mean “presumptive”?’ asked Victoria. ‘It is a very important word. It means …’

‘I think we know what it means, don’t we, Sir John?’

Sir John assured Victoria that he did; and the Duchess continued. ‘Now that you are accepted as the heiress to the throne, two Members of Parliament, Sir Robert Inglis and Sir Matthew White Ridley, have suggested you change your name.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘Because, my dear, when you are Queen the people will wish you to have a queenly name. There has never been a Victoria who was Queen of England.’

‘Then, if I am Queen, there will be one.’

‘They suggest that you change your name to Elizabeth.’

‘Elizabeth. I should hate to do that.’

‘Perhaps you would, but the people would like it. Elizabeth was a great Queen; she would be known as Elizabeth I and you would be Elizabeth II.’

‘I refuse.’

‘Another storm?’

‘Yes, another storm.’

‘We seem to be enduring some very stormy weather,’ said Sir John facetiously.

‘I shall inform these gentlemen that I shall not change my name. Elizabeth! I would never be Elizabeth.’

‘Why not? Elizabeth was a great Queen.’

‘I do not admire her.’

‘Others do.’

‘But they are not expected to take her name.’

‘If the Parliament decide that it is a good thing for you to change your name …’

‘They must be told that I refuse to do so.’

‘You would do well to remember that you are very young. You are in great need of guidance.’

‘I know that, Mamma, and I trust that when the time comes I shall receive that guidance. But this is something I know in my heart to be wrong. I will not be Elizabeth II. If I am to be Queen I shall be Victoria. It is my name and I refuse to have another.’

Sir John looked at the Duchess as to say: ‘Very well. It is not an important matter.’

‘I have a letter here from your Uncle Leopold.’

Victoria’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘May I read it, Mamma?’

‘You may. He thinks you should see something of the country. You should know something of the people you will one day govern. He believes that a series of little trips would enhance your popularity with the people and teach you a great deal.’

‘Are you going to object to that?’ Sir John asked, his voice faintly tinged with sarcasm.

‘Oh, indeed no. I am sure Uncle Leopold is right.’

‘It is more important than the name,’ Sir John told the Duchess after Victoria had left them. ‘It is not a bad thing for her to refuse to change. The people know her as Victoria and they will think of her as that. Besides, they will tell themselves they don’t want another Queen Bess; they want a Queen who is herself.’

Meanwhile Victoria took the dolls from the drawer in which she kept them. She had not played with them for a long time.

There was the figure in stiff farthingale and ruff. ‘Certainly I shall not take your name,’ said Victoria sternly. ‘It would be as though you had laid a spell on me. And that, as you know, I should never allow. I am myself. And if dear Aunt Adelaide does not have a child and I become a Queen, then I shall be Victoria.’