Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series) (22 page)

‘We must sail at once for England,’ said Adelaide. ‘It would never do for his father to miss George’s wedding.’

The crossing was a violent one and she had not thought it possible to be so ill. Her relief when they landed at Deal was immense. But she had not realized how weak she had become and the prospect of travelling to London was unendurable.

The carriage rattled along the coast road. William sat beside her anxiously watching her, but she was scarcely aware of him.

She did not ask where she was going; she did not care; all she longed for was the comfort of a bed.

‘It’s all right,’ soothed William. ‘We’ll soon be there.’

When she was carried from the vehicle she felt the cold sea breezes on her face and knew they had come only a few miles.

William was saying: ‘Here you shall stay until you have recovered your strength.’

She was carried within walls, undressed by her servants and put to bed.

William left her and rode on to London to be in time for George’s wedding.

Adelaide’s couch had been taken on to the ramparts and wrapped up in rugs she lay there watching the waves breaking about the shore, and on clear days looking across the sea to the coast of France.

She had learned that she was in Walmer Castle, whither William had brought her before going on to London; this was the home of Lord Liverpool, Warden of the Cinque Ports, and here she could be entertained and cared for until she was well enough to go on to London.

William returned to Walmer and excitedly he told her of
George’s marriage – a most suitable one to a charming girl, Mary, who was the daughter of the Earl of Egremont. He was very happy with the union and was sure George had chosen wisely.

‘He was sad that you were not at the wedding,’ William told her. ‘He is longing to present you to his bride, which he will do as soon as you return.’

‘And when is that to be?’

‘Not,’ said William sternly, ‘until you are well enough to travel.’

He was certainly changing, she thought. Perhaps in time he would abandon his sailor’s oaths completely; perhaps he would cease to remind her that once he had loved a woman who was possessed of every attraction that she lacked – except one, which was royalty.

Lord Liverpool, the Warden, declared that they must make use of his house for as long as they wished to; and this they did. Adelaide taking walks in the delightful gardens and on the ramparts of the castle until she regained her strength, and William delighting in being so close to the sea; he would stand in the face of a strong wind and declare that he could almost believe himself to be on deck in mid-ocean.

But winter was almost on them, and the fogs of November were penetrating the castle. Clearly they could not take advantage of Lord Liverpool’s hospitality for ever. Moreover, Adelaide’s health was much improved and her hopes were high that she would soon once more be pregnant. They must return to London.

So one November day they drove out from Walmer Castle and took up their residence in the Duke’s apartments in Stable Yard, St James’s, which seemed dark and close after the airy ramparts.

Fulfilment of a Prophecy

THAT WINTER WAS
one of the worst in living memory. The Thames was frozen and the poor were dying in the streets from cold and hunger. The Regent had commanded that centres in London be
opened, that those who had neither food nor shelter should go there and receive both.

The cold persisted.

In Kensington Palace the Duchess of Kent cared for her daughter, feeding her herself for she told the Duke this was natural, and therefore best and nothing but the best was good enough for little Alexandrina.

Every time she uttered the child’s name she grew angry. It was quite clear, she said, that the Regent disliked both her and her daughter. And how a man could behave so unkindly to an innocent child, she could not understand. The Duke chided her gently; it was well that she spoke in German so that none of the servants could report her words and they reach his brother’s ears. The Duchess snapped her fingers. What did she care for an ageing roué who was more dead than alive. The sooner he died, the better, and Clarence too, for then there would be no one to stand between Edward and in time, Alexandrina.

She adored her little Alexandrina; and so did Charles and Feodore. They were allowed to watch her bathed and dressed and even hold the child now and then. The Duchess wished everyone to realize as soon as possible that there was something very special about their little sister.

Fräulein Louise Lehzen had come over from Coburg to be her nurse – a very forthright woman, daughter of a Lutheran clergyman, she had already decided that Alexandrina was her special charge; and having great confidence in her, the Duchess encouraged this.

The Duke and Duchess discussed the child continually. She was healthy: she was bright: the Duchess never tired of telling everyone how bright. She should be seen in public as frequently as possible, said the Duke; and the baby carriage was wheeled to the most unsuitable places – so said the Regent; and after little Alexandrina had appeared in the Park during a military parade the Regent ordered that there should be an end to these public displays of the baby.

The Duchess laughed aloud at what she called the Regent’s jealousy. Never mind. Nothing could alter the fact that
her
child
was at the head of the list for the succession and only Adelaide and William could displace her.

‘That old sailor-man!’ she scorned. ‘That fragile creature! She’ll never bear a healthy child.’

‘How can she,’ agreed Edward, ‘when the prophecy says that our daughter is to be the great queen?’

‘My blessed angel,’ cooed the Duchess, picking up her child and covering her face with kisses.

The baby uttered no protest, being accustomed to such displays of affection.

All might be well with the child but there were other matters to concern the Duke and Duchess of Kent.

‘These bills,’ groaned the Duke. ‘These incessant bills!’

‘But I thought you had settled them all.’

‘You have no idea of the magnitude of my debts. My ideas for disposing of Castle Hill would have settled everything if it had worked. But it was not to be.’

‘How tiresome these tradespeople are! But, Edward, you should have economized.’

‘I am trying to, my love. I am trying to.’

‘I will speak to Leopold,’ said the Duchess.

She trusted her brother Leopold beyond all men, thought Edward grudgingly. And Leopold, it had to be confessed, was an extremely serious, capable young man.

He listened gravely to an account of their difficulties and offered them Claremont where they could live more cheaply than in Kensington Palace and where the country air would be so good for Alexandrina.

One could always trust Leopold, said the Duchess; and the family moved out to Esher and there lived comfortably for some weeks, while Alexandrina thrived; but tradesmen were not so contented. Claremont was a little farther away than Kensington, but the Duke was still accessible and the bills continued to arrive.

Since the gipsy had told him that he would beget a great queen and he had married his Duchess who had so promptly given birth to a daughter, Edward had become very susceptible to superstition.

Prognostications were constantly appearing in the papers and these he read avidly, almost always seeing something in them which referred to himself or his family. And as the royal family figured largely in these prophecies, he did not always have to tailor them to his fancy.

He was reading the papers one morning at breakfast, a habit he had kept up with the Duchess as he had with Julie, when he suddenly exclaimed ‘Good God!’ and turned very pale.

‘What is it?’ asked the Duchess, putting aside the letter she was reading.

‘It says that two members of the royal family are going to die this coming year.’

‘Well, the King is getting worse they tell me, and the last time I saw your brother George he looked as if he would not last long.’

‘Death strikes in strange places,’ said the Duke in a hollow voice.

‘But they both look to me as if they are not long for this world.’

‘I do agree. It’s such a glittering possibility my dear. It dazzles me.’

‘There would have to be three deaths before you were on the throne,’ the Duchess reminded him.

‘And then it would be Alexandrina’s turn.’

‘The darling!’ murmured the Duchess.

‘I know. But not yet. It would be disastrous if she came to the throne too early. I must take more care of my health. I must make sure that I live until she is eighteen … at least. She would be too young before that.’

The Duchess nodded complacently.
She
intended to guard her Alexandrina. And she was certain that she was as capable of doing so as the child’s father was.

‘Yes,’ Edward was saying, ‘I must take care of myself. You know my tendency to catch cold.’

‘I know it well,’ said his Duchess. ‘And you must take care. Our baby will need you.’

‘We shall have to live more simply. I must discharge my debts. It is somewhat expensive here, and the tradesmen are too close. The sea always agreed with me and the breezes would be excellent for the baby.’

‘They would,’ agreed the Duchess.

‘Where do you suggest? Not Brighton. I am sure
he
would object if we went there.’

‘No … not Brighton. That would be far too expensive. We must think of some little place … far away from the high fashion … and creditors.’

They discussed the matter for some days; and finally decided on Sidmouth.

The Duke’s barber applied the dye to his hair and his whiskers.

It was their secret.

I look like a young man, thought the Duke, and while I look like a young man I shall remain one.

He was thankful that he had not lived the kind of life that some of his brothers had lived. He had been abstemious in his habits; he had never become involved with women but had been faithful to Julie and now to his Duchess. He had been in control of his emotions so that now he had been forced to part with Julie he rarely gave her a thought, but had become devoted to his wife and daughter; he was fond of his stepchildren. He intended to live to a ripe old age and when he departed to hand over the throne – which by that time would be his – to a daughter who would have been taught that her destiny was to be a great queen.

Before Christmas they would set out for Devon; he had already made the plans in his precise way and decided where they would stop for the night during the journey. The Duchess would carry Alexandrina herself; she was too precious to be left to nurses.

Fresh air! he thought. What could be better? Alexandrina must be taught to appreciate it.

They left Claremont with as little ceremony as possible because he did not wish his creditors to know where he had gone. Not that he had any intention of not paying them; but they must learn to be patient.

The journey was long and tedious and the weather continued to be bitterly cold. The Duke, though, had set himself certain sightseeing tours on the way and no matter how bleak the conditions he would not alter his plans. As a result of one of these jaunts he caught a cold; the Duchess was angry with him,
demanding to know what he would say if Alexandrina should take it from him?

‘What is a cold?’ he asked with a shrug.

‘I don’t want my child to catch it,’ retorted the Duchess grimly; and she would not allow him to come near the precious infant.

He laughed at her and said it would not be for long. He was the strongest member of his family; he always had been. Fresh air would soon cure his cold. He was a great believer in fresh air, and sea breezes were the best in the world. Oh, they had been wise to come to Sidmouth.

But as the days passed and it grew clear that the Duke could not shake off his cold, the Duchess grew alarmed.

She discussed the Duke’s health with his equerry, John Conroy, a man in whom she had great confidence. He had been an army captain but had decided that he could make a more exciting and profitable career in the Duke’s household; and in this he seemed to be right for he was a favourite with the Duchess, which was essential to keeping the Duke’s favour. Although Conroy did not look in the least like the Duke, they were of a type and many people noticed this similarity between them.

Conroy thought that the Duke should give up pretending that he merely had a bad cold which could be cured by doses of fresh air, take to his bed and see his doctors.

‘I will persuade him to it,’ said the Duchess firmly; but before she could do so Edward was so exhausted and unable to control his breathing that of his own accord he took to his bed. Before the day was out he was in a fever; and the doctors arrived to diagnose a congestion of the lungs.

The Duchess, alarmed, did what she always did in moments of stress – she sent an urgent message to Leopold who arrived shortly afterwards with his own doctor, Stockmar, in whom he had great confidence and who was his friend as well as his physician.

It was too late to do anything for Edward who was clearly dying. He should make his will without delay, said Leopold, and Dr Stockmar agreed with him.

The Duke feebly gave his assent and the will was drawn up and signed by him.

He lay back breathless on his pillows, a hint of whiteness showing at the roots of his hair and beard for he had been too exhausted to endure his barber’s ministrations; he had become an old man in a few weeks and as the Duchess stood at his bedside, herself weary and exhausted for she had been up nursing him for five days and nights, she was asking herself what effect this was going to have on Alexandrina.

She had left the child with her nurses – fearful that she might carry some contamination from the sickroom. Fräulein Lehzen was a treasure. No English nurse could have received the Duchess’s absolute trust, and little Alexandrina was safe with Lehzen until her mother could return to her and give her her full attention.

And as she sat by her husband’s bedside she thought of her relations presided over by the wicked Regent, who did not like her and was not impressed by the charm of Alexandrina. What would become of them if they were left to battle alone? But there was one thing they could not take from her. If Adelaide and William could not produce a child, then her precious daughter must be Queen of England.