Виктория Холт - The Captive of Kensington Palace

‘They cannot do that.’ But Adelaide spoke half-heartedly. She was remembering how she had once feared that Ernest was planning some harm to little Victoria. She had herself spoken to the Duchess of Kent and begged her to be careful not to let the child out of her sight.

It was hard to think of dear George being the son of a murderer. He was such a delightful boy and she loved him dearly, nearly as much as George Cambridge.

Frederica sighed. ‘We must resign ourselves to being targets for the wits,’ she said. ‘But there are some who are determined to blacken Ernest’s name.’

To blacken it? thought Adelaide. That would be difficult. It was really as black as possible already.

‘Brougham,’ went on Frederica, ‘insulted him in the Lords the other day.’

‘Is that so?’

‘I am afraid it is. He referred to him – and Ernest was present at the time – as “the Illustrious Duke – illustrious only by courtesy”.’

‘And what will Ernest do about that?’

‘What can he do? He can’t prosecute Lord Brougham. But he’ll remember it if ever …’

Oh dear, she was being led away by Adelaide’s sympathy.

‘It is so distressing,’ she finished on a pathetic note.

‘My dear Frederica! And my purpose in coming here was to comfort you! Let us talk of happier things. Shall I tell you about the children’s ball I am planning?’

‘Please do. And will Victoria be there?’

‘She shall be invited.’

‘I’ll tell you a secret. My George is very taken with her.’

‘So is mine … dear Cambridge! He could talk of nothing else after their meeting. She is a charming creature. Oh, how I wish her mother would be less tiresome. In fact, I believe the King will be firm and insist on her coming out of retirement. It is ridiculous … the heiress to the throne!’

‘Quite!’ agreed Frederica.

She was wondering whether to speak to her son. He was something of an idealist. She could imagine his saying: ‘Well, if she prefers Cambridge, she must marry him.’ How did we produce such a son … such an intelligent, charming, good boy? But he was not really very ambitious. Doubtless he would be happier so. And I want his happiness above all things, thought Frederica, but I want him to rule England as well.

When Adelaide left she was turning over in her mind how she could bring Victoria and her son together. If only she could ask Victoria to visit her. As if that would be allowed! Well, that was Ernest’s fault. He had at one time had rather wicked ideas about her and as he had been too indiscreet and not clever enough people had got wind of his intentions. No, little Victoria would never be allowed to escape her watch-dogs. And to come to the wicked Cumberlands! That was a joke!

Never mind; she would discuss this with Ernest and they would think of something. She would not despair. Her plan now was to see Ernest King of Hanover and George consort of Victoria.

If that happens I shall be content, she told herself.

She was musing on this when a messenger came from Clarence House. It was from the Queen. She was setting out for Kew immediately and she believed that the Duchess might wish to come with her. There had been an accident in the gardens. George Cumberland had been hurt.

* * *

The Duchess set out at once.

Adelaide comforted her. The reports had been exaggerated she was sure. They would find this so when they reached Kew. Frederica must not imagine the worst.

Adelaide’s message had not been very clear. All she knew was that there had been an accident.

‘A … serious accident?’ whispered Frederica.

Adelaide put an arm about her. ‘I beg of you … don’t despair. Wait and see. I know he is going to be all right.’

So on that anxious journey down to Kew, the Queen comforted the Duchess of Cumberland, and when they arrived Frederica was taken straight to the room in which her son lay. His head was bandaged so that she could not recognise him. She took his hand and sank down by the bedside.

‘Your Grace,’ said the doctors, ‘His Highness will live. You need have no fear of that.’

She wept quietly and meanwhile the Queen had called the doctors aside.

‘Pray tell me the worst,’ she said. ‘I want the truth.’

‘Your Majesty, His Highness is in no danger of death.’

‘Then …’

One doctor looked at the other who said, ‘We fear that he has damaged his eyes so badly that blindness may result.’

The Queen felt as though she would faint.

‘Pray,’ she said, ‘do not tell the Duchess yet. It must be broken gently … gradually. Leave this to me.’

And they were content to do this.

Victoria, waking at half past seven, sat up in bed and looked about the strange room wondering where she was. Then she remembered. Chatsworth! They had arrived here on the previous night and it had been dark so that she had been unable to see the house. The Duke of Devonshire had welcomed them at the door and been very respectful to Mamma and herself, declaring that he was honoured to receive them. These receptions always delighted Mamma and put her into a good temper; and if their hosts and hostesses were especially welcoming to Sir John Conroy, Mamma was even more pleased.

There was no doubt about it that she enjoyed travel. They had been moving from one place to another since August. How excited she had been on that day when they had left Kensington Palace and taken the new road to Regent’s Park, through such pretty country! Such good progress they had made, leaving the Palace at six minutes past seven and arriving at Barnet, where they changed horses, at twenty minutes to nine. She could be precise about the details because she had written it all down in her Journal.

How right Mamma had been about the pleasures of a Journal! One could recall what had happened so vividly. Of course, she must always remember that Mamma would read her Journal and that meant that she could not write exactly what she felt. In fact she was not always sure what she did feel – about Sir John for one thing. But if she could have written down these vague doubts it would have been rather exciting.

But there were so many things one must not do – far more it seemed than those one could. So it was best to enjoy what one was allowed to and keep the rest for the days when she would be free.

And now here she was on this sunny October day lying in bed in Chatsworth. The door was open and Mamma was sleeping in the room beyond. There was no escape. ‘Chatsworth is a very fine mansion,’ Mamma had said when they drove towards it; she was looking forward to seeing it in detail. Last night she and Lehzen had dined alone in this room while Mamma was entertained at a grand dinner which Victoria was considered too young to attend. Oh dear, it would not always be so!

What a great deal of England she was seeing! Of course she already knew Ramsgate very well and she had been to Brighton; but this was different; this was travelling all over England which, Mamma had said, ‘will one day be yours’.

So fascinating, she thought. I have been very much amused.

They had journeyed right up to the Midlands and seen the Black Country – where everything indeed did look black. She had been rather worried about some of the poor ragged children, but Mamma had said that they were necessary. She wondered why, but one did not argue with Mamma. They had been received in great houses wherever they went; some of the castles had been a little draughty, but there had always been fires in her room. Everyone seemed anxious to placate her, even though Mamma insisted that she was only a child and in great need of guidance.

Wales had been exciting – particularly when she had explored the ruins of Carnarvon Castle and a royal salute had been fired. In fact royal salutes were fired everywhere and this seemed to make Mamma very pleased, while Sir John had that strange rather mischievous twinkle in his eyes which she had begun to notice.

She heard him say to Mamma: ‘This will give His Majesty the greatest pleasure when he hears of it,’ and she knew by the tone of his voice that he meant exactly the opposite – which was to say the least deceitful – and deceit was a trait which Victoria particularly disliked.

Then they had gone on board the Emerald which was lying off-shore. And how she loved the ship! They had just heard that Uncle Leopold had married. Mamma said it was a Good Thing, but she was not quite sure in her mind of this. She and Uncle Leopold had loved each other fondly, and she had always believed that she had been his dearest; but if he had a wife could this be so? There again, that was something one could not write in one’s Journal. ‘Your welfare is the nearest thing to my heart,’ Uncle Leopold had said many times. But how could that be if he had a wife? Of course she was only a little girl – thirteen years old and Uncle Leopold was a man who had already been married. It was quite impossible that she could marry Uncle Leopold, but if she could have … It was something which it was absurd to think of and which she would never write in her Journal, but she had to admit that she did love him more than anyone else in the world and that was how one should feel about one’s husband. And now he had a wife … a new wife to take the place of that hoyden Princess Charlotte who was long since dead but who lived on in dear Louisa Lewis’s memory in haunted Claremont.

‘It’s a good marriage,’ Mamma had said. ‘I believe Louise to be the favourite daughter of the King of France.’