Prisoners in the Palace (27 page)

Today is my 18
^th
birthday! How old! And yet how far am I from being what I should be. I shall from this day take the firm resolution to study with renewed assiduity, to keep my attention always well fixed on whatever I am about, and to strive to become every day less trifling and more fit for what, if Heaven wills it, I’m someday to be!

The demonstrations of loyalty and affection from all the people were highly gratifying. The parks and streets were thronged. Numbers of people put down their names and amongst others good old Lablache inscribed his…The Courtyard and the streets were crammed…and the anxiety of the people to see poor stupid me was very great, and I must say I am quite touched by it.

From the Duchess of Kent
to Her Royal Highness Victoria

24 May 1837
Kensington Palace

…But as there is no joy without pain in this world, so even between us, for moments only, have these feelings been blended, I advert to the grief I experienced from some little misunderstandings which clouded our happy intercourses and which never should occur between a beloved child and Her only parent.

Enclosed is a keepsake for your birthday, a lock of my hair, the last perhaps of its natural color.

Mama

From the Firm of Ratisbon and Ratisbon, Esq.
to Miss Elizabeth Hastings

9 June 1837
Temple Inn

Dear Miss Hastings,

We trust this letter finds you well.

We are delighted to report the clipper ship Fortuity has docked at Portsmouth. The manifest indicates a container of shawls from Kashmir. Your father’s man of business, Mr. Ripley, has been in Kashmir for two years, supervising the native production of the clothing. Mr. Ripley was grieved to learn of the death of your parents. He hopes you will meet him at our offices so he can make suitable arrangements to handle the sale of the apparel on your behalf. According to Mr. Ripley, the sale should realize several thousand pounds. His Royal Majesty’s Custom Board agrees with this generous appraisal.

Mr. Ripley is prepared to make arrangements to retrieve your family’s belongings from storage in Munich once you decide where you wish to live.

Ratisbon and Ratisbon will be happy to act for you in this matter. We look forward to seeing you at your convenience.

Sincerely,
Gerald Ratisbon, Esq.

15 June 1837 Excerpt from the Journal of Her Royal Highness Victoria Kent

The news of the King is so very bad that all my lessons are put off, including Lablache’s…and we see nobody. I regret rather my singing lesson, though it is only for a short period, but duty and proper feeling go before all pleasures. 10 minutes to 1, I just heard the doctors think my poor Uncle the King cannot last more than 48 hours! Poor man! He was always kind to me, and he meant it well, I know; I am grateful for it, and shall ever remember his kindness with gratitude.

At about ½ past 2 came Lord Liverpool, and I had a highly important conversation with him—alone.

The ormolu clock on the Duchess’s mantle chimed five o’clock in the morning. The sitting room had a view of the main gate and Liza had been keeping watch with Inside Boy. He had grown bolder since Victoria had agreed to let him stay in his hidey hole. She relished having a secret friend in the walls.

“When will we hear?” Liza asked him. “The messenger from Windsor came at seven o’clock last night to say it would happen at any moment.”

Boy shrugged. He poured her a glass of the Duchess’s sherry from the side table. “‘e’ll kick off when ‘e’s ready.”

Liza yawned. “Victoria is worn out with the waiting. First the King was alarmingly ill. The next morning he
was at death’s door. And that was a week ago!” Liza sipped gratefully. “I don’t think she has slept in days.”

By the pearly predawn light, Liza saw dozens of people on the great lawn in Kensington Gardens. They had been there for the past week. “What are they waiting for?”

Inside Boy lay down on the Duchess’s settee and rubbed his eyes with the back of his grimy fist. “Dunno. It’s not often the King pegs out and we get a new Queen. Some people likes to say they was there.”

“Boy, something’s happening!”

Four gray horses drew a large carriage lit by two hanging lanterns. The crowd of commoners moved to the road like a swarm of bees. The carriage didn’t slow until it drew up to the iron gates of Kensington Palace. The gatepost lamps flickered in the early morning light. A footman dismounted and rang for the porter.

“For once in your lazy life, be awake, you old git,” muttered Boy.

“That porter is practically a myth,” said Liza. “But today of all days!”

The footman knocked again. He returned to the carriage and delivered a message to the passengers. The carriage door slammed open and an imposing figure stumbled out. Swearing loudly, he stomped over to the pedestrian gate and rang the bell. “Open up, we’re on state business!”

“This is absurd,” said Liza. Wrapping her shawl around her dressing gown, she hurried down the stairs and opened the front door. The man spied the pool of light from the house and Liza in the doorway.

“Girl, where is the bloody porter? Is everyone asleep?”

Liza recognized the voice. “Lord Conyngham?”

“Miss Hastings! Thank goodness someone sensible is awake.”

“I’ll find the keys.”

“The porter’s sleeping, is he?”

“More likely drunk, sir.” She opened the door to the porter’s little box. He was slumped in his chair, snoring and reeking of gin. Liza held her nose and plucked the keys off his belt. She opened the gate and the carriage rolled in.

“A thousand thanks, my dear.” Lord Conyngham gave her an approving nod.

“Is the King—” Liza started to ask.

He held up his hand. “I cannot say, Miss Hastings.” But his face was solemn and his voice heavy.

Another man climbed down from the carriage. He was short and stout, wearing a greatcoat of even finer quality than Lord Conyngham’s. “Miss Hastings, the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

Liza curtsied to the highest priest in the land.

“Let us in, young lady,” he said in low voice. “We have urgent news for Her Royal Highness.”

“Yes, sir.” Liza led them into the house to the red drawing room. Sir John waited there, immaculately attired despite the hour. Liza wouldn’t have been surprised if he had never gone to bed.

Lord Conyngham made a strangled noise in his throat. “Conroy. You’re still here.”

“Conyngham.” Sir John nodded. “I shall remain until the Duchess no longer requires my services.” Then he caught sight of the other man. “Your Excellency.”

“We need to see the Princess,” said Lord Conyngham.

“She’s asleep.”

“I hope for your sake she’s truly in her bed this time. Wake her.”

The Duchess’s arrival in soft, silent slippers surprised them all. She wore a shimmering turquoise dressing gown Liza had never seen before. Liza wondered if the Duchess had purchased it specifically for this occasion.

“Lord Conyngham, Archbishop,” she said in a high voice, as though she were surprised.

The visitors stifled their impatience and formally greeted the Duchess. Lord Conyngham repeated his demand to see Victoria.

“It’s too early. You’ll have to wait,” said the Duchess, after a quick glance at Conroy.

“You refuse to wake her?” asked the Archbishop, his bushy eyebrows lifting high above his tired eyes.

“If the Duchess says you have to wait, then you wait,” said Sir John.

“For God’s sake, Conroy,” snapped the Archbishop. “We have news for the Queen!”

The Duchess gasped and Sir John’s face grew sterner. The King’s death, long anticipated, had finally happened.

Lord Conyngham continued. “Take your losses like a man, Conroy. Send the girl down.”

Liza had heard enough. She backed out of the drawing room and ran up the narrow back stairs to the Princess’s chamber. She burst in. Victoria was sitting on her bed, whispering with the Baroness.

“Has it happened?” asked the Baroness.

“Is Uncle King gone?” asked Victoria at the same moment.

One word answered them both. “Yes.”

The Baroness Lehzen jumped up and clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from exclaiming. Victoria sat perfectly still, her eyes brimming with tears.

“What’s wrong?” Liza asked.

“Why are you crying, Liebling?” The Baroness hurried over. “You’re finally the Queen. It’s the beginning of everything.”

Tears rolling freely down her cheeks, Victoria said, “He’s dead, Lehzen. He was kind to me. And poor Aunt Adelaide, she must be so sad.”

“The King is dead. Long live the Queen,” Liza said quietly.

“Remember who you are,” said the Baroness to Victoria. “Let me be the first to say it…Your Majesty.” The Baroness burst into tears, but Victoria, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, began to smile.

“Liza, my white dressing gown,” she said.

Baroness Lehzen agreed. “It’s very flattering.”

“And Lehzen, my hair needs doing.”

“Your Majesty, perhaps you should leave it down?” Liza said. “You can’t help your youth; use it to charm and disarm their lordships.”

“Down,” Victoria agreed.

The Baroness brushed the Princess’s dark hair. It was still thin from her illness, but Lehzen arranged it flatteringly over her shoulders.

“Who is downstairs, Liza?” asked Baroness Lehzen, as Liza tweaked the bows on Victoria’s dressing gown.

“Lord Conyngham and the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

“My mother knows?” Victoria asked.

“She’s trying to make them wait.” Liza allowed herself a giggle. “They are very vexed by the delay.”

Lehzen snorted, but Victoria lifted her chin, her eyes gleaming. “Let her, darling Lehzen. It is the last time she shall infringe upon my prerogatives.”

An iciness in her voice made Liza realize the Princess was gone forever.

Queen Victoria indeed.

Voices in the hall made all three look sharply to the door. Then Victoria gave herself a little shake and smiled at herself in the mirror. “I have no reason to fear Sir John or my mother ever again.”

The Duchess let herself in. She held a silver candlestick. The solemnity of her expression gave way to irritation when she saw Liza and Lehzen dressing Victoria.

“I suppose the maid has already told you?” she asked.

“Yes, Mama. Aren’t you very sad about Uncle King?” Victoria asked. She swiveled round from her dressing table to look at her mother.

“Of course.” The Duchess straightened Victoria’s collar and smoothed her hair. “You should put your hair up,” she said. “It will make you seem more mature.”

“The difference one poor old man’s death makes! You never wanted me to look mature before.” Victoria’s tone was deceptively light. Liza saw the Duchess’s back stiffen and the hand stroking her daughter’s hair froze.

“I admit I made some mistakes, Victoria,” the Duchess said finally. “But can’t we put that aside? I’ve sacrificed my whole life for yours.”

“And I’m grateful, of course.” Liza didn’t think Victoria sounded grateful. “However, from this point forward, I’ll make my own decisions, Mama. I shall wear my hair down because I choose to. I shall meet my ministers privately. When I address the council, I will do so alone. You will never have any influence over affairs of state.”

The Duchess burst into tears. “You are so cruel. What have I done to make you be so hateful?”

Victoria’s face might have been sculpted from alabaster, she showed so little emotion. “Mama, it is what you didn’t do. You never protected me from Sir John. You never, ever, placed my happiness above your own, as a mother ought.”

The Duchess stared speechless at her daughter, who returned her gaze steadfastly. This new Victoria was impressive, though Liza wished she could warn Victoria not to say anything unforgivable. Liza had lost her parents to a tragic accident. Did Victoria want to lose her mother to her anger and bitterness?

As if she knew of Liza’s concern, Victoria relented a little. “Of course, you shall always make your home with me. As my mother, you’ll never want for anything.”

The Duchess blew her nose loudly.

The tableau was broken by a loud thumping. Victoria gestured to Liza, who opened the door. Sir John loomed in the doorway. He brushed past Liza as though she didn’t exist.

“How long are you going to keep us waiting?” he asked.

The four women in the room gaped at his astonishing rudeness.

The new Queen looked at him with nothing short of hatred. “In a few moments, Sir John, the Archbishop of Canterbury is going to inform me that I am the Queen.” She drew herself up to her full height. “And once I am, you are never to enter my royal presence again.”

“Victoria!” The Duchess cried.

“Mama, stay out of this.”

Sir John sneered down at his former charge. “You aren’t even crowned yet and already you are abusing your power.”

“I had an excellent teacher.”

Liza wanted to applaud and the Baroness Lehzen’s plain face was split by a wide smile.

“History will attribute any success of yours to my Kensington System,” said Sir John. “You’ll never escape my upbringing.”

“You forget once I am Queen, mine is the only story people will care about. Everyone will know the truth about your wretched System.” Victoria smiled triumphantly. “Pack your bags today and go.”

“I work for your mother. You’ve no authority to remove me.”

Victoria tossed her head. “Lord Liverpool assures me the exorbitant pension you extorted will only be paid when you quit my mother’s service and I am rid of you forever. You are dismissed.”

“It’s not so easy to get rid of me,” Sir John warned.

“Liza,” Victoria said, without taking her eyes from Sir John. “I’m sure Lord Conyngham has come with a retinue of guards. Please fetch one.”

“Gladly, Your Majesty.” Liza stressed Victoria’s new title.

His face flushed with humiliation, Sir John turned on his heel and stalked out. The door banged behind him.

Victoria watched his back with satisfaction. “And that is the end of Sir John.”

“Victoria,” her mother began weakly. “How can you be—”

Victoria silenced her mother by holding up her hand. “Mama, if you want to be part of my life, don’t ever take his side again.”

The imposing Duchess seemed to shrink while tiny Victoria grew taller.

“You look bedraggled, Mama,” Victoria said. “You should repair your face before we go down.”

The Duchess, as if in a trance, moved to her own dressing table and began to powder her tear-streaked face.

Victoria turned to Baroness Lehzen. “While I am meeting my ministers, darling Lehzen, please arrange a new bedroom for me. And one for you nearby. Tonight, I will sleep alone.”

“Victoria!” The Duchess’s protest was half-hearted.

“Mama, you may stay in our former rooms.” Victoria paused before the mirror. “Lehzen, Liza, how do I look?”

The Baroness had been silent since the Duchess’s arrival, but now she burst into excited speech. “Lovely.” Her voice faltered. “To everyone else you will be the Queen, but you’ll always be the daughter of my heart.”

“Oh, Lehzen! We shall never be parted.” Victoria embraced her. The Duchess averted her eyes as her daughter embraced her governess.

Victoria said to her mother, “Shall we go, Mama?” Then she picked up the silver candlestick and walked out the door, her mother trailing behind. Liza thought the Duchess did it rather well, considering how unaccustomed she was to being in her daughter’s shadow.

While Victoria spoke with her guests privately the staff prepared the house to mourn King William’s passing. The clocks were stopped in honor of the dead King and Mrs. Strode ordered black crepe be draped over all the mirrors.

To show their respect for their new monarch, the servants lined up on the landing outside the red drawing room. As always, Mademoiselle Blanche tried to bully her way to her accustomed spot at the head of the line. But Mrs. Strode shook her head firmly. With a gracious gesture, she invited Liza to take the first place.

Although Liza knew it was unworthy of her, as she moved to the front of the line, she could not resist saying, “Mademoiselle, I think there is no question about precedence now?”