Victoria was puzzled. Must she while she was with Uncle King keep remembering that he soon must die? She must be very careful not to mention it, for, as dearest Louisa Lewis at Claremont said, she was like Cousin Charlotte in that her tongue was apt to run away with her.

‘Pray don’t frown,’ said the Duchess. ‘It is most unbecoming and leaves lines. Now go along and they will prepare you. I have given instructions as to your costume.’

When Victoria had gone the Duchess sent for Fräulein Lehzen.

‘This visit to Royal Lodge,’ she said. ‘Of course it is right and proper that she should go, but it is a somewhat unusual household.’

Fräulein Lehzen raised her hands to the ceiling. Like the Duchess she wondered greatly at the manner in which the English conducted their affairs. Sometimes she thought they were completely lacking in discipline. That was why she was most anxious that Victoria should be brought up in the Teutonic manner. The Duchess and Fräulein Lehzen saw eye to eye on most matters; they were two Germans in an alien land.

‘That woman is living at the Lodge, although they say that she would rather not be there.’

‘What is so shocking, Your Highness, is that her family should be there too.’

‘It is disgraceful! Lady Conyngham, her husband and children, all living there under the same roof with the King! I consider it most improper. If he lived openly with her at Court that would be another matter. But he shuts himself away and lives alternately, they say, between the squalor of the Cottage, where he spends most of the time in bed, and the oriental splendour of the Pavilion or Carlton House like some … some Sultan.’

Fräulein Lehzen cast down her eyes. One did not join in criticism of the royal family even when it was by the royal family, unless specially asked to do so.

‘And it is to this … this household … that Victoria is going!’

‘I trust, Your Highness, that Lady Conyngham will be absent.’

‘That would be a great relief.’

‘Do you wish Victoria to be warned?’

‘I have been considering the matter. Perhaps, on second thoughts, it would be wiser to say nothing. I shall do everything in my power to protect her; and for that reason I am arranging for her sister to accompany us.’

‘She will of course grasp the situation,’ began Fräulein Lehzen.

‘Feodore is eighteen; she is worldly enough to be aware of what is going on and she is devoted to Victoria. But I shall be there to keep my eye on the child. Will you send her to me? I wish to see that she is dressed as she should be and to give her some last-minute warnings.’

Victoria enjoyed riding along in the carriage with Mamma and Feodore; she almost forgot in the excitement of looking out of the windows that she was going on a great adventure: to meet Uncle King.

She must remember to call him Your Majesty and Sir, not Uncle King. She must only speak when spoken to; she must be very careful of her curtsy; it must be a very special curtsy and she had practised it until she was weary of curtsying, but Mamma still said it left something to be desired.

A visit to Windsor Lodge! What a prospect! She would sleep in a different room and the dolls would all have to stay at home in Kensington. Poor dolls! Mamma could say it was foolish for one of her age and responsibilities to play with dolls and pretend that they were people, but she didn’t care. She was going to keep on loving her dolls. What defiance! She giggled to herself. Then she remembered that she was on the way to Uncle King and set her face into a serious mask because Mamma was watching.

Feodore caught her eye and smiled. How pretty Feodore was! She looked rather like one of the dolls. Darling Sissi! She had heard that Sissi might go back to Germany to get married. She hoped not. Wouldn’t it be fun if some handsome prince came and married Feodore, an English prince so that she did not have to go away. Perhaps dear Lehzen would make up a story about it and they would make it go on and on together until Feodore and her prince had many adventures and lived happily over after. But of course, Lehzen’s stories – apart from historical ones – did not have happy endings unless the people were good. Only virtue was rewarded. There always had to be a moral because they were for improving the mind.

They had arrived at Windsor Lodge and the great moment had come.

Mamma was tense. She could feel it. Now they were going to be ushered into the presence of Uncle King. Victoria’s eyes were dancing with excitement, which must not show of course. One must be demure and respectful – but at the same time showing dignity remembering that the day would come when she would be a queen and every bit as important as a king.

He was large and his body was a queer shape; his face was enormous, but his cheeks were quite prettily pink and his hair was a mass of nut-brown waves.

She approached and swept the most practised curtsy, more aware perhaps of Mamma’s critical eye even than the figure in the chair.

Then the King said: ‘Give me your little paw.’

Paw! she thought. That was funny and she laughed. He laughed too. All ceremony was over because there was nothing terrifying about him.

‘It’s a very pretty little paw,’ he said.

Paw,’ she said, ‘is a funny word to use for a hand.’

‘I often take liberties with the language,’ he replied.

She didn’t exactly understand but she laughed; and he went on: ‘It was good of you to come to see me.’

‘It was all arranged,’ she told him.

‘And you did not object?’

‘Oh no. I wanted to see you, Uncle King.’

There! She had said it. Mamma must be very angry; but he did not mind at all. He liked it in fact. She knew he did because he said: ‘And Uncle King wanted to see his little niece and now that he has he is charmed with her.’

Oh yes, she thought, she could love Uncle King. He was not in the least strict or stern or critical. He just smiled and his eyes filled with tears and he said that she reminded him of the days when he was her age.

‘That,’ she remarked, ‘must have been a very long time ago.’

‘Alas,’ said the King. ‘A very long time.’

She could not take her eyes from the diamonds on his fingers. They sparkled and glittered more than any diamonds she had ever seen. A king’s diamonds, she supposed.

‘You like jewellery?’ he asked.

‘When it shines and sparkles it’s very pretty.’

‘You must allow me to give you something to wear.’

‘To wear?’ she asked; and she was aware of Mamma, very alert and anxious. Oh dear, she thought. I am not doing it at all as we had planned. But then Uncle King was so different. She had not expected him to behave as though he were a true uncle. He made one forget that one must be on one’s best behaviour more so than anyone else did … except young people like Feodore. He was not as solemn as Uncle Leopold, for instance, so it was difficult to remember that he was the King.

‘My dear,’ he said to the plump and handsome lady who had been seated by his side, ‘bring the trinket.’

The trinket was a miniature of the King set in diamonds.

‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s pretty.’

‘A good likeness.’

‘Oh, is it you?’

There was silence. Having to be so careful all the time one developed an extra sense which made one aware of false steps. This was a bad one and everyone was very shocked except Uncle King. But he was a little hurt and she hated that because he was so kind.

‘You are much smaller there,’ she said consolingly.

He leaned forward and patted her shoulder which was a way of telling her not to worry.

‘Pin the miniature on her dress, my dear,’ he said to the plump lady. ‘I am sure it will be most becoming.’

So the lady – Lady Conyngham she learned later – leaned forward and, smiling, pinned the miniature to her dress.

‘There now, you look very grand,’ she said, ‘with His Majesty gracing your shoulder.’

‘Thank you indeed for such a lovely gift,’ said Victoria. Then with a rush of affection: ‘Whenever I see it I shall remember your kindness to me.’ That was genuine at least; for she would remember this occasion, she was sure, for as long as she lived.

‘Am I to have a kiss in exchange for the present?’

She laid her hand on that enormous thigh and lifted her face; but he could not stoop to her nor could she reach to him so that the obliging Lady Conyngham had to lift her up and set her on his knee.

What a strange face – all lines and pouches; and close to she could clearly see the paint on his cheeks. What a strange body; it was so fat; she felt as though she were sinking into a feather bed.

Now what she had to do was kiss that painted cheek. It was not really an ordeal because although he looked so odd and very old so close, he was kind. She knew that if she said something of which the others did not approve, he would understand; she knew that he was not putting her to a test; he was really interested in her; he liked her because she was young and she liked him because he might be old but he was kind.

That was it, she thought: He is kind.

At that she put her arms about his neck and kissed him.

It was wrong and not what was expected. It should have been a quick respectful peck upon the cheek and done in a manner to show that she appreciated the honour of being allowed to kiss the King’s cheek. But she had kissed him as though she wanted to … not because he was a king but because he was a kind old gentleman and she liked him.

He liked the way she did it. An arm hugged her momentarily and he said in a voice slightly shaken with emotion: