Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series) (15 page)

‘You were different in the old days, Mamma.’

They were forgetting the respect due to her. Everything was changing. She felt tired and there were pains all over her body.

‘I am … incensed,’ she cried. ‘I gave orders that that woman was not to be received at Court and she has been … waylaying … Augusta.’

‘Mamma, are you all right?’ It was Sophia’s voice coming from some distance it seemed. But Sophia was bending over; her eyes seemed enormous … full of secrets. What dreadful things were said about the children. Were they true? And they were turning away from her. They were all a disappointment to her … except …

‘George?’ she said, and the sound of her voice was like thunder in her ears.

‘I think we should get Mamma to bed,’ said Augusta. ‘And call the doctors.’

The Regent sat by her bed. He held her hand tenderly; and in spite of the pain which racked her body she was almost happy.

He had come as soon as he heard she had been taken ill. How like him! Such perfect manners! But perhaps he was a little anxious. If he were half as concerned as he said he was she would be happy.

‘It was good of you to come,’ she murmured.

‘My dear Madre, as soon as I heard you had been taken ill of course I came. Would you not expect that of me?’ Tenderly reproachful, she thought. How well he did it! But never mind, he did it, and it was for her.

‘My dearest son.’ And there was no pretence about that. He was her dearest son, always had been and always would be. ‘I felt so ill I was sure my last moment had come.’

‘I beg of you do not distress me.’

She smiled. ‘I will not. But I was so shocked. It was that woman … Cumberland’s wife. She is my own niece, I know …’

‘Yes,’ said the Regent whose own troubles loomed so large in his life that he was easily reminded of them, ‘as my wife is my father’s niece.’

‘A pair,’ said the Queen almost viciously. ‘I do believe the one is as bad as the other … in their different ways. Immoral, both of them.’

‘I don’t despair of a divorce.’

‘And she had the impertinence to accost Augusta. I don’t blame Augusta. She speaks no English. She did not understand that I … that we … that you … have forbidden her to come to Court.’

The Regent looked uncomfortable. He had not forbidden Cumberland’s wife to come to Court. He had met her once or twice and thought her an exciting woman. It was the Queen who had refused to receive her. But he did not intend to raise controversial issues now.

The Queen said: ‘That she had dared do this so … upset me. It brought on this attack. It was such … defiance.’

The Regent nodded sadly. He had been reminded of Caroline and once he got that woman into his head he could not get her out. He had sent his spies into her household on the Continent; there was an Italian, Bergami … a kind of majordomo. Was that man her lover? If he was there was every hope that he could divorce her; and then … he would marry again. Some fresh young princess, as exciting as Frederica, Duchess of Cumberland, as beautiful as Augusta, Duchess of Cambridge. Why should his brothers be married to women like that while he had the nauseating Caroline … for more than twenty years he had been tied to her. The years of my youth wasted! he thought dramatically.

‘And,’ the Queen was saying, ‘I cannot allow it to pass. I want to show them my disapproval. I am sure you will approve of this. I am sure you will not wish me to be aggravated by the continued presence of that woman in the country.’

‘Dearest Madre,’ he said, ‘anything that soothes you must be done.’

A triumphant smile gave a grotesque look to the Queen’s yellowish face.

‘I will let Ernest know that he is expected to leave England with his wife … immediately. And that is an order.’

‘So,’ said Frederica, ‘we are ordered to leave.’

Ernest grimaced. ‘And you have only yourself to blame for that, my dear. Your curiosity got the better of you.’

‘But not of Augusta. The girl would not give away her secrets.’

‘So your little encounter was a wasted effort.’

‘Such efforts are never really wasted. I shall not be sorry to go back to Germany. Although, of course, this is the field of action and when the brides of Clarence and Kent arrive the battle will really begin.’ She laughed. ‘But one doesn’t have to be in England to produce the future King. That is what your dear Mamma seems to forget. And although I should have enjoyed staying for a while in Claremont, which Leopold so graciously offered to us, I am not really sorry to go home.’

‘In Germany we have to rely on news from England.’

‘Don’t worry, as soon as one of the contestants is pregnant we shall hear. But I intend to forestall them; and once I am to bear
the future King of England even my wicked old aunt won’t be able to keep me out.’

‘Speed the day,’ said Ernest.

‘I have a feeling that it will not be long in coming. And Augusta … I think she was … or will soon be. But what chance will hers have against ours? How clever of you, my Ernest, to get born before Cambridge.’

‘Cleverer still if I’d managed to outdo Clarence and Kent.’

‘Never mind. It makes the fight all the more interesting when the odds are against you.’

But for all she said, Frederica was chagrined to be so dismissed from England by her malevolent old aunt.

Double Wedding at Kew

ADELAIDE WAS APPREHENSIVE
. This was a different marriage from Ida’s. Ida had been in love and able to return home easily, whereas she was so far away that they could not visit each other comfortably. There was something final about crossing the sea.

The Duchess Eleanor was uneasy too. It was for this reason that she had refused a proxy wedding and was determined to accompany her daughter to England; she was glad that she had von Effa and von Konitz with her, for she was sure that she would need their services.

Adelaide was on deck when land was sighted. She stood, her eyes shielded, waiting for the moment when her new country would be more than a hazy white cliff in the distance. Her mother came to stand beside her.

‘Very soon now, Adelaide,’ she said, ‘you will be stepping ashore … on to your new land. It is a solemn moment.’

‘A very solemn moment,’ agreed Adelaide.

‘The Duke of Clarence will be waiting to greet you … impatiently.’

Impatiently? wondered Adelaide. She had heard rumours that
he had refused to marry because the allowance Parliament offered was not large enough. So could he be said to be impatient?

And he was fifty-two. He had been notorious for his love affairs – like most of his brothers. He had lived for twenty years with a charming actress. And there had been other women. What would he think of a plain young woman whose appearance had not been enhanced by a long sea voyage? She hoped he would not be there to greet them. A little respite would be desirable.

Now she could see the land more clearly. Away to the right were the treacherous Goodwin Sands where many a ship had foundered. She had heard that sailors on watch at night declared they could hear the cries of those long dead who had been swallowed by the Sands. And here were the white cliffs of Dover and St Margaret’s Bay.

Nearer and nearer came the land. They came ashore at a little fishing village called Deal.

When she discovered that no member of the royal family was waiting at Deal, the Duchess Eleanor was annoyed. Was this the way to greet the princess who might be the mother of a king? She had heard that the royal family treated its new members churlishly; and they were having proof of this.

I am glad I insisted on accompanying my daughter, she thought.

Poor Adelaide. She looked pale, tired and in no mood to face a bridegroom who might be critical. As she might well be of him, thought Duchess Eleanor grimly.

How much better, how much more civilized if he had had the grace to come and woo her as the Duke of Kent had the Princess Victoria, who would be arriving in England at the same time. There was to be a double wedding. But she was not coming to a stranger, as poor Adelaide was. It seemed that there had been a courtship, and the Duke of Kent and his Victoria already had an affection for each other.

I would rather have had Kent for Adelaide, thought Eleanor, although Clarence undoubtedly has the first chance.

Out of the little houses which straggled along the front the people came to see the arrival of the Princess from Saxe-Meiningen. ‘Another German,’ they murmured. ‘Always
Germans.’ But it was an exciting time with so many royal weddings; and Deal was pleased that Adelaide had first come to their town.

The dignitaries of the town were there to greet her – but no bridegroom, nor any member of his family. The speech of welcome was difficult to understand, but Adelaide had been assiduously studying her English since she knew she was to marry the Duke of Clarence and it was the Kentish accent which made the words unintelligible.

But if there was not a royal welcome there was at least a bed and hot food; and what Adelaide felt she needed more than anything was a good night’s sleep.

They put up at an inn near the sea and although it was July the wind rattled her windows all night and she could hear the waves crashing on the shingle below. She slept fitfully and her mother came into her room soon after dawn and sat on her bed and looked at her somewhat fearfully.

‘The journey has only just begun, Mamma,’ she said.

The Duchess nodded. ‘I wondered whether we should come ashore when I realized that they had sent no one to welcome us.’

‘The people of Deal were kind.’

‘That at least is something to be grateful for, but I’ll swear they are astonished that we should be treated so churlishly. I have been informed though that they have sent two coaches in which we and our suite may travel to London.’

‘At least we should be grateful for that,’ said Adelaide.

That day they set out in the coaches for Canterbury where they passed a night and the next day left for London.

No one cheered them on their way; no one was aware that the young woman who was seated in the leading carriage with her mother and two ladies-in-waiting might one day be their Queen.

No lodgings had been assigned to them so they drove to Albemarle Street and there put up at Grillon’s Hotel.

Von Konitz was angry; he discussed with von Effa what move should be made. It was an incongruous situation. The bride of a royal Duke to arrive and no one to greet her!

He would despatch a message to the Prince Regent without delay.

Meanwhile Adelaide was shown to a room in the hotel and
when she looked in the glass at her pale face with the somewhat muddy complexion she was relieved that there had been no one to meet them. There were shadows under her eyes which looked strained; they were never very strong at the best of times. Her hair was fair, though not golden or flaxen as Ida’s had been but yellowish, almost lemon colour. She needed a little time to recover from the strain of the journey.

And even when I have, I wonder what he will think of me? she asked herself.

So she was here, thought Clarence.

He had heard that she had arrived in Deal with her mother and that was two days ago. She had spent a night in Canterbury and was now at Grillon’s Hotel.

There was no turning back.

It was strange that he who had been trying to get married ever since he had said goodbye to Dorothy Jordan was now on the verge of undertaking that adventure – and had no great desire for it.

He was not anxious to see her for some reason. He kept thinking of Dorothy and that night when he had first seen her as Little Pickle on the stage of Drury Lane. What a delightful creature she had been! Many believed her to have been the most charming woman in England. She had grown fat and they had quarrelled – and all about money. That was the only real disagreement between them. How happy they had been in the early days of their association! Here at Bushy all the children had been born and grown up. His children, on whom he doted.

His new wife would have to understand that he had no intention of giving up his children. They were Dorothy’s legacy to him; he loved them; he was proud of them; and they had been brought up to know that he was their father.

He hoped it had all been explained to her that when she married him she would have to accept his ten illegitimate children.

He believed she would; he had received one or two letters from her when they had been betrothed and he was impressed by the good sense with which she wrote.

He had said to George FitzClarence, his eldest son: ‘I think we
shall get along well with your stepmother. She seems a sensible woman. I don’t think she’ll be over-dazzled by the prospect of becoming the Duchess of Clarence.’

No, she would accept the family; she, who came from a tiny dukedom must be overawed at the prospect of marrying a son of the King of England. He often thought of himself as a future King of England, for neither George’s health nor that of Frederick was very good – and if they died … without heirs … he would be King William, and Adelaide would not be unaware of that.

She was in her twenty-sixth year. It was quite young – at least when compared with a man over fifty. He should be looking forward eagerly to the nuptials. But was he? He was not sure. He had set his heart on Miss Wykeham. But of course that would have been unsuitable; but what a jolly, bouncing, healthy female Miss Wykeham was! He believed she would have presented him with a son at the earliest possible moment.

But he must forget her; he must do his duty. It was what he had said to Dorothy at their parting; and he would not forget that in a hurry either. In any case there was the family to remind him.

They would live at Bushy, dear Bushy, which was more like a gentleman’s country house than a palace, but none the worse for that. Bushy would be their home then and the ten FitzClarences her stepsons and daughters.

We must start as we intend to go on, he told himself and going to the window and seeing his son George in the park with his brother, Frederick, bawled in the voice he had used at sea: ‘George! Hi, George! Come here. I want to speak to you.’