Jean Plaidy - Victoria in the Wings

The glory had come too late. He was too old and ill for it.

He lay back in his bed and remorse came to him. He and his father had never been good friends. There had been a natural enmity between them. It was always so in the family. It was a Hanover tradition that fathers should quarrel with sons. So many things he might have done. So many little kindnesses.

He wept and they were real tears.

‘I should have been a better son to him,’ he murmured.

He was in a low state. His spirits would rise when he felt better. He would send for Lady Conyngham to come and talk to him. She would cheer him.

And then he thought: I am King. Then she … that loathsome woman will be Queen.

Oh God, what will this mean? She will return to England. She will want to be at my side. She was content enough to stay away when she was Princess of Wales. But now she will want to be recognized as Queen of England.

The thought of what this could mean destroyed his peace of mind. No one could comfort him. Not even Lady Conyngham.

There was real anxiety for the state of the King’s health. His doctors insisted that he must not dream of attending his father’s funeral. Even the people, who had grown to hate him, were concerned for him now. They might taunt him and ridicule him but they did not want to lose him.

His doctors prescribed the air of Brighton which had never failed to benefit him, and as soon as he was able to be lifted from his bed he travelled down to the Pavilion with a few special friends and there he attempted to regain his strength.

At Windsor the old King was buried with the pomp due to his rank. The bells tolled and the trumpets rang out to remind everyone that this was the passing of a king. He had lived more than eighty years – nine of them in a state of insanity. No one could really regret his passing yet many remembered that he had been a man who had always striven to do his duty.

The last rites were performed. A new reign had begun, but how long would it last? was a question on everyone’s lips, for the new King was a semi-invalid so swollen with gout and dropsy that it was said the ‘water was rapidly rising in him’; he was beset by mysterious illnesses; some even implied there were lapses when he suffered from his father’s complaint.

That may have been but he was a King and whatever his ailments, however gross his body had become, he only had to appear in public to dazzle all who beheld him.

A new King meant a coronation. And what of the Queen?

The people were not displeased with George IV; he could always provide diversion.

They were right in this.

Very soon the news spread through the country. Caroline, wife of George IV, having learned that she was the Queen of England was coming home to claim her rights.

ADELAIDE AND WILLIAM could not stay in the inadequate apartments in Stable Yard and William took her down to Bushy House. The grounds delighted her; so did the house itself which she saw as an ideal country residence, not grand enough for ceremonious living and yet spacious enough to exist graciously.

‘It’s enchanting,’ she told William, who was delighted.

‘I always thought so,’ he replied. ‘Some of the happiest years of my life were spent here.’

She smiled. She had learned not to be in the least jealous when he referred nostalgically to his life with Dorothy Jordan. ‘The children always loved it,’ he added wistfully. ‘They made it their home.’

‘I hope they will continue to think of it as such.’

He gave her that dog-like look of gratitude which was often on his face when he regarded her. He wanted to tell her that when he had married her he had seen her just as a vehicle for providing an heir to the throne. Somehow it had become different; and it was due to her. He was well aware of that. He himself was changing. He was no longer the crude sailor he had always fancied himself to be. George had said: ‘William, Adelaide is good for you. You’ve ceased to be a sailor and are becoming a gentleman.’

He felt he must treat her gently – far more so than he had treated Dorothy. There was a fragility about Adelaide; and her pleasant placidity was a great contrast to Dorothy’s vitality and quick temper. It was impossible to quarrel with Adelaide. Of course he could not feel for her the wild passion he had felt for Dorothy; he could not in fact understand his feelings. It was almost as though in spite of himself a sturdy affection was becoming the foundation of his family life. He was proud of this quiet pleasant girl who was his wife. She was no beauty it was true, but she had dignity and her charm of manner served her well.

As he crossed the threshold of Bushy House with her he felt a sudden happiness such as he had not experienced since the death of Dorothy. Those rumours of her not being dead or, worse still, dead and unable to rest had worried him.

Now, oddly enough, with Adelaide beside him in the house which had been Dorothy’s home, he could find peace.

Everywhere there was evidence of Dorothy. He had planned the gardens with her, and he only had to look back into his memory and he could see Dorothy on the lawn surrounded by the children, sitting there laughing with them as she used to on those occasions when she slipped away from her duties at the theatre to come home. He could see her playing pranks such as those she played on the stage in the role of Little Pickle to amuse the children. It was not really so long ago.

Bushy was haunted by memories of Dorothy but with Adelaide beside him strangely enough they were not unhappy memories. He could imagine himself explaining to Adelaide his feelings for Dorothy. He wanted her to understand the strength of that love which had enabled them to live together so cosily for twenty years and bring up ten children. And he had deserted her in the end and she had fled from the country and died with no one but a woman companion beside her. Poor Dorothy, the comic actress whose life had ended in tragedy.

Adelaide seemed to guess his thoughts.

‘Yes,’ she was saying, ‘the children must continue to think of this as their home.’

‘I will tell them what you say.’

William was already making plans for the future. They would live here together – all the unmarried ones – and the grandchildren would come and visit them; it would be as he and Dorothy had often planned it should be when she gave up the stage. It had always been a dream of hers to give up the stage and settle down to enjoy domesticity. Only instead of Dorothy presiding over the family, it would be Adelaide, Duchess of Clarence – a title he could never have given Dorothy.

One thing that had distressed Adelaide was the ever-present conflict which existed throughout her new family. She had heard that the Kents had given themselves such airs since the birth of their daughter that they had alienated the Regent himself and that the Cumberlands and the Cambridges were extremely put out by the fuss that was made of the little girl at Kensington Palace who, because her father was the eldest member of the family to have a young child, was being considered as the future Queen.

‘It is not good,’ said Adelaide to William. ‘And what is that poor woman feeling at Kensington – so recently widowed and the family so much against her. I think, if you have no objection, I will call on her.’

William, who was accustomed to Adelaide’s good sense which far exceeded his own, replied that if Adelaide wished to call on Victoria Kent he saw no reason why she should not.

So Adelaide called at Kensington Palace where she was received by a somewhat suspicious Victoria.

‘It is good of you to come,’ said Victoria, asking herself: Has she come to gloat? Is she pregnant? If she should have a son that would be the end of my hopes for Alexandrina.

‘I wanted to come,’ said Adelaide, ‘because I was hoping that we might be friends.’

Did she mean it? wondered Victoria. Could she possibly find a friend among the women of her new family?

‘You have had such a terrible loss,’ said Adelaide, ‘but you have the children. They must be a great comfort to you.’

‘They are my life,’ said Victoria and sensing her sincerity, Adelaide felt at ease.

‘It is a blessing that there are young people in the family. I have heard such stories of little Alexandrina. She seems to be a most unusual child.’

Victoria could not hide her pride.

‘Drina is adorable. I defy anyone to deny it. Such a bright child! Though a little temper now and then.’

‘I should love to see her.’

‘Come to the nursery now.’

Adelaide stood over the cradle of the important child and marvelled at the perfection of her limbs. Wide blue eyes stared up at her and the baby chuckled.

‘She has taken a fancy to you,’ declared her mother. ‘I can assure you she does not to everybody.’

‘Could I hold her?’

‘But of course. Come, my precious. Your Aunt Adelaide wishes to make your acquaintance.’

Adelaide sat with the baby in her arms and thought how happy she would be if she could have a child of her own. She was almost certain that she was pregnant again.

‘I hope you will invite me to come often and see little Drina.’

‘By the look of it she will be delighted to see you, and I am sure I shall. I cannot tell you how pleasant it is not to have to try to speak English. I am sure I shall never master the language.’

‘It is most difficult,’ agreed Adelaide. ‘But you will in time.’

‘We speak German in the nursery, but of course Drina will have to speak English. It will be expected of her.’