‘Kings are different from ordinary mortals,’ soothed Lehzen.

‘And queens too,’ sighed Victoria. ‘Lehzen, I fear I shall never sleep tonight.’

But like the child she would always seem to Lehzen, almost as soon as she had laid her head on her pillow she was fast asleep.

Lehzen had straightened the quilt and kissed the warm pink cheek. The Princess looked so young asleep, with those prominent blue eyes, which could be alternately softly sentimental and stormy, closed, and the little mouth with the rather prominent teeth and the receding chin, which mistakenly gave an impression of weakness, in repose.

My poor darling, thought Lehzen, what burdens of state will be laid upon those young shoulders. But I shall be there.

That was one thing on which Lehzen was quite determined. She would be there. She must be. To leave this beloved child would be like dying, for she had dedicated her life to Victoria. Everything that the child had become was due to her upbringing. The Duchess of Kent could take little credit.

It had been a wonderful day when she had come from Germany to serve in the household of the Duchess of Kent – a step upwards for the daughter of a Lutheran clergyman. She had been the governess of Feodora, the Duchess’s elder daughter by her first marriage, but like everyone in that household she had succumbed to the charm of the pink-cheeked, plump little baby. And when that baby was five years old and Louise Lehzen had become her governess she was overjoyed. From that day Victoria was more important to her than anything else on earth. And the most endearing characteristic of this delightful child was her affection and her fidelity. Lehzen was to her the mother she had needed; and although the Duchess of Kent had watched over her daughter with the utmost care, never forgetting for one moment that there was a possibility that she would ascend the throne, she failed to give what Victoria needed most – love. Louise Lehzen was at hand to make up for the Duchess’s deficiency in this respect.

Even the Duchess, who had, under Sir John’s directions, attempted to banish her to Germany, was aware of her devotion to Victoria, and trusted her as she would no one else.

That was why she sat here in the Princess’s bedroom now and would remain there until the Duchess came to bed; for it was a rule of the Palace that Victoria must never be alone; and when she retired for the night, Lehzen must sit in her room until the Duchess came to her bed, which was in the same room as Victoria’s.

From the pocket of her gown she took a handful of caraway seeds and thoughtfully nibbled them. They were sent to her specially from her native Coburg and she rarely took any food without them. They were sprinkled on her bread and on her meat; some of her enemies at the Palace laughed at her and said this caraway seed habit was a loathsome one. She smelt of caraway seeds, they said, although the Baroness did not believe there was any odour attached to her favourite food. She knew she was not attractive; she was constantly unwell, a martyr to migraine; and she knew that many of the Duchess’s women laughed at her behind her back. Never mind. What did it matter? She was dearly loved by the only person she cared about and whenever Victoria talked of her devotion for her dear Lehzen tears would fill her eyes. Lehzen smoothed her cap and stroked her rather hooked nose and let her thoughts dwell in the past and then fell to wondering what was happening in the sick room at Windsor.

In due course the Duchess appeared. This was the sign for Lehzen to depart. The Duchess, a colourful figure in her beribboned head-dress and gown a mass of lace and flounces was, Lehzen supposed, a handsome woman. And the Duchess was well aware of it. No one could have had a higher opinion of herself than the mother of Victoria.

‘She is asleep?’ said the Duchess coldly.

‘Yes, your Grace.’

‘That is good. She is a child still. She cannot realise what this means.’

Lehzen did not contradict the Duchess; but she was aware that Victoria understood very well what this meant.

‘It may be – tomorrow,’ went on the Duchess. ‘Think, Lehzen … it may be at this very moment. It may be that we are in the presence of our Queen.’

The Duchess’s expression was ecstatic. She should, thought Lehzen, show a little more decorum. Still it would have been hypocritical to have pretended remorse because her greatest enemy was dying.

‘You may go now, Lehzen,’ said the Duchess dropping her voice to a whisper, and Lehzen went out, wondering how much longer this custom of the years would continue. When the Princess became a queen surely she would insist on a little privacy? The child had never been alone in a room in the whole of her life; and Lehzen, who knew her so well, was aware that she found this irksome.

As she came through the Duchess’s apartments the Baroness came face to face with Sir John Conroy and immediately regretted passing this way.

‘Ah, the good Baroness,’ he said. Lehzen always had an idea – which she shared with Victoria – that he was sneering when he spoke to them. He was not alone. One of the Duchess’s ladies was with him. This was Lady Flora, daughter of the Marquis of Hastings, a rather pallid woman in her early thirties whom the Baroness did not greatly care for, largely because she was friendly with Sir John and was a firm supporter of the Duchess.

‘The watchdog is released from her duties,’ went on Sir John. ‘And I’ll swear she’d rather not be.’

‘I hope the dear Princess sleeps well tonight,’ said Lady Flora.

‘The Princess is sleeping peacefully,’ said the Baroness.

‘With such events about to break!’ went on Sir John, raising his handsome eyes to the ceiling. A rogue if ever there was one, thought Lehzen. How could the Duchess be so deceived? But in view of their relationship …

Lehzen refused to go further even in her thoughts. Whether Sir John and the Duchess were lovers was open to conjecture, but many people were certain this was so, and if one were to judge from their behaviour it could be right. How she disliked him! He had tried to have her sent away from her beloved child.

‘And when they do,’ Sir John was saying, ‘our little darling will have to break out from the nursery, will she not?’

Lehzen knew he meant that Victoria would no longer need a governess, but Victoria would never agree to her beloved Baroness’s expulsion. Was it possible that he had not yet learned how stubborn Victoria could be?

‘Baroness,’ said Lady Flora, ‘there is something on your chin … will you allow me?’ She had taken a handkerchief and come closer, and to Lehzen’s annoyance dabbed at her face.

‘It’s caraway seeds, I’ll swear,’ said Sir John laughing unpleasantly as though there was something obscene about them. He shook his finger playfully. ‘We all know your passion, Baroness. Some women love men; some men love women; both women and men love power; but the Baroness remains faithful to her caraway seeds.’

She must get away before she lost her temper. How the Duchess could give her confidence to such a man was past understanding!

‘If you will excuse me I will say goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Baroness Cara … Baroness Lehzen.’

She did not answer; she swept on. She hated them both. As for Lady Flora with her meek expression and gentle voice and delicate air, she was doubtless far from the virtuous spinster she pretended to be if she was so friendly with Sir John Conroy.


* * *

In his apartments in the Palace Baron Christian Friedrich von Stockmar found it difficult to sleep. Instead he took pen and paper and started to write to his patron and friend King Leopold of the Belgians. He hesitated. It could only be a few days at the most, he thought, before his real mission began. Perhaps therefore a letter would be a little premature. Exciting times were ahead. He was a man of dignified demeanour and he had spent years in the service of Leopold, sacrificing his own personal life to that of the King. Perhaps it meant a great deal to mould the destiny of nations rather than to share his life with his family. In any case he had chosen this way.

To Leopold he had been a faithful servant; but more than that – he was a king-maker. Ever since he had come to England at the time of Leopold’s marriage to the Princess Charlotte he had had a hand in government. Leopold had quickly acknowledged his doctor’s usefulness, for with his help, this clever, faintly hypocritical hypochondriac (so was Stockmar and this gave them an added interest in common) had become a power in Europe. A young son of the house of Saxe-Coburg, Leopold had somehow succeeded in marrying members of his family into most of the royal houses of Europe. But for a cruel fate he would have been ruling England now, for there was no doubt that the Princess Charlotte had doted on him and would have accepted his rule in everything. But Charlotte had died and Leopold would now rule through Victoria; for he and Stockmar had decided on a husband for her. Who but Prince Albert, Leopold’s nephew, who should be guided by Stockmar, through Leopold of course. His niece and nephew on the throne of England! It would not be quite as satisfactory to be the uncle of the Queen and her Prince Consort as it would have been to be the husband of a queen. But it was no use repining. Charlotte was dead. And to govern England through Victoria and Albert must be the next best thing.

It was not only for political reasons that the Baron enjoyed his role. He was fond of Victoria. Indeed who could help being fond of such a warm-hearted, innocent girl. He remembered her as the child who had visited Claremont years ago, rather solemn for her years, passionately devoted to Uncle Leopold and therefore ready to love anyone whom Leopold commanded her to.