‘I want to be the King of England. I want England for George.’

‘Our beautiful blind boy will be content with Hanover,’ said Frederica.

But the Duke would not believe this. He had grandiose plans. The Orange Lodges had been disbanded but he would not give up.

He went to see the Duke of Wellington.

‘It’s wrong,’ he told him. ‘Why should the Salic law apply in Hanover and not in England?’

‘Because it’s not an English law,’ said Wellington. ‘You should be careful. The people are in no mood to support those who stand against Victoria.’

‘This girl … this child …’

‘The true and only heiress to the Crown,’ said the Duke. And added: ‘God bless her.’

‘If I raised an army I’d have plenty to follow me.’

‘They would follow you,’ said Wellington ironically, ‘to the Tower of London.’

Ernest gnashed his teeth. All his plans had gone wrong. He had been foiled by a simple girl who somehow had the country behind her. These people wanted a girl-Queen; they were ready to shout for Victoria and call traitor any of those who opposed her.

He went back to Frederica who smiled at him rather cynically.

‘You should have taken my advice and been content all these years. Never mind, Ernest, in a short time now people will be calling you “Your Majesty … Your Majesty of Hanover”. The second prize but very acceptable for all that.’


* * *

The King awoke one Sunday morning and said to Adelaide: ‘This is the eighteenth of June. I should like to see the sun of Waterloo set.’

‘You will, dear William,’ whispered Adelaide.

‘A great victory,’ added William. ‘Yes, I should like to live through Waterloo Day.’

His family came; he recognised them and was happy to see them. He talked a little incoherently of their childhood and Dorothy and the days at Bushy and when George arrived he wept openly, for George had brought the flag which Wellington always sent to William on Waterloo day.

William took the flag and kissed it.

‘A great and glorious day for England,’ he said.

His children did not leave him; they sat round his bed; but Adelaide must be there; he was not happy unless his hand was in hers.

When she asked if there was anything he needed, he shook his head. ‘Only to have you … and the children near me, my dear.’

And because he knew she was weeping he pretended to feel better.

The next day in fact he did revive a little. The Dukes of Cumberland and Sussex came to see him; but he was unable to talk to them.

When they left he said good-bye to his children and all the time he would not release Adelaide’s hand.

‘Don’t cry, Adelaide,’ he whispered. ‘Nothing to cry for. We were happy. Didn’t want it … but it was right … it was good … my dear, dear Queen. Bear up, my dear. Bear up.’

It seemed right that the Princess Victoria should be sent for but Adelaide would not allow this for she knew that the Duchess would not permit the Princess to come alone and her presence would greatly upset the King.

So she sat beside him as for the last week she had been sitting day and night and her only consolation was the knowledge that her presence there comforted him.

All the time he was concerned for her, anxious that she should not grieve, trying to pretend that he was going to get better … for her sake.

It was past two in the morning of the twentieth that he called her name.

She who was at his side bent over him. She put her arms about him and leaning against her he smiled.

And she knew soon afterwards that he was dead.


* * *

It was six o’clock.

‘Victoria,’ said the Duchess of Kent, ‘Wake up.’

She started up in bed. She knew of course. Some instinct told her, but then for some days now she had been expecting it.

‘The Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham are at the Palace. They have come to see you.’

‘To see me …’

‘You had better get up. They are in your sitting-room. We will go to them at once.’

She put on her dressing-gown and she said firmly: ‘I will go … alone, Mamma.’

The Duchess was about to reply but she did not. There was something in Victoria’s manner that forbade it.

And with her hair hanging about her shoulders, her dressing-gown buttoned about her little figure, her feet thrust into slippers she went into the sitting-room.

At the sight of her, they knelt.

‘Your Majesty,’ they said.

And so she knew that she was no longer the Princess Victoria but Queen of England.

Bibliography

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