‘But this is a monstrous lie!’ cried the Duchess.

‘Of course it is, Your Highness. But there is a purpose behind it.’

‘Who could find such satisfaction in pretending that a healthy child is an invalid?’

‘Those who want her out of the way.’

The Duchess stood up, her curls quivering, her hands clasped to her buxom bosom. But she had grown pale. Her Victoria in danger!

‘Want … her … out of the way!’ she repeated.

‘I think the Duke of Cumberland has very decided views as to who should inherit the throne.’

‘It is no use his having views. He cannot meddle with the succession.’

‘Not by constitutional means.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘By saying Victoria is a weakling he may have some plan in view.’

‘How do we know he has said this?’

‘Madam, this is a matter of the utmost importance. That child who is so dear to us both may well be in acute danger.’

The Duchess’s expression was bewildered. ‘But I don’t understand.’

‘We have to conjecture, Madam. We have to be a step ahead of our enemies. We may be wrong, but we have to consider all possibilities. There have been rumours that the Duke of Clarence is going off his head. It may well be that they have been started by the Duke of Cumberland with the hope that he will be set aside.’

‘Well?’ said the Duchess.

‘The Princess Victoria would still stand in the way of … the Duke of Cumberland and his son.’

‘You terrify me.’

‘Madam, I feel it is necessary to do so.’

‘What do you think he plans for Victoria?’

‘How can I say? But someone is telling lies about her. Preparing the people to accept … something.’

‘They are such foolish lies. One only has to look at her to see how healthy she is.’

‘At the moment … yes.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I cannot say. There may be some plot. Don’t forget the Duke’s valet was found in bed with his throat cut. It was said to be suicide.’

‘But … I cannot believe that here … in Kensington Palace … my own child is in danger.’

‘We do not know, Madam. But this could be a warning.’

‘What do you suggest we do?’

‘The first thing is to show these rumours to be lies. The Princess must not be shut away from the public view. She must be seen to walk perfectly, to be in good health. That is the best way of foiling the devil … or devils … who may be working against us.’

‘I will take her for a walk myself … this very day. I shall not let her out of my sight. She shall be guarded. I shall tell Lehzen right away. We must be watchful. Oh dear, how you have alarmed me!’

‘I am glad, because although I hope that my zeal for your welfare and that of the Princess may have let my imagination run away with me, at least there are these lying rumours to show us that something sinister may well be afoot.’

‘I shall send for Fräulein Lehzen at once. I shall take her into my confidence. The Princess Victoria is to be watched night and day.’

Victoria walked with her mother out of the gates of Kensington Palace.

‘Oh, Mamma, are we really going into the park?’

‘It is time you appeared now and then in public.’

‘Oh yes, Mamma. I enjoy it.’

They walked as far as the Duke of Wellington’s house. Now and then someone called out: ‘God bless the little Princess!’ Which greeting Victoria prettily acknowledged.

She enjoyed it and told her mother so.

‘I am glad, because from now on we shall be taking walks such as this.’

‘It is pleasant to see something of the people,’ said Victoria.

‘And very pleasant that they should see you,’ retorted the Duchess.

She was delighted when Conroy brought a paper to her in which Victoria was mentioned. The little Princess had at last come out into the open. She appeared to be a healthy young person and the rumours about shaky legs were clearly false. The implication was that in future the public would like to see more of Victoria.

Children always had the power to win public approval quite effortlessly and when they were as fresh, charming and healthy as the Princess Victoria, it was a pity to keep them shut away.

‘I am sure someone is feeling a little put out by this,’ said Conroy.

‘How grateful I am for your care, my dear friend,’ said the Duchess tenderly. And added fearfully: ‘But we must be watchful. No harm must come to Victoria.’

William was astounded.

‘It seems,’ he told Adelaide, ‘that Wellington is on that fool Cockburn’s side. Look at this. Read it. He says he’s sure I am too well acquainted with military discipline not to know that I can’t hoist the flag without the consent of the Admiralty Board. He thinks the differences between myself and Cockburn should be settled and forgotten because they are causing annoyance to His Majesty. I shall write to him at once and tell him that I don’t agree.’

Adelaide tried to soothe him. ‘William, perhaps it would be better if you did forget this affair.’

‘And allow Cockburn to insult me?’

‘It seems that he thinks you have insulted him.’

‘Who the hell does he think he is? I happen to be the Lord High Admiral and the heir apparent to the throne. Is this the way to treat his future King?’

‘Oh, William, please do not talk of that. With the King still with us …’

‘He won’t be for long and then what is Master Cockburn going to say, eh? I’m surprised at Wellington. I thought he would be on my side.’

A further communication had arrived. This time it was signed by every member of the Board. If Sir George was asked to resign, it stated, they would resign too … in a body.

‘Let them,’ cried William. ‘We can manage very well without them.’

He left Adelaide to return to the Royal Sovereign to continue his tour. He would meet her at his next port of call. He was taking no notice of Wellington’s warning that he had no right to go to sea in this way without the Board’s consent.

Wellington went to the King.

He was very disturbed, he said. The Lord High Admiral was acting in a very strange way and the Admiralty Board had threatened to resign in a body. Something would have to be done and as the Duke of Clarence seemed disinclined to listen to the Prime Minister he must appeal to a higher authority. Would His Majesty consider letting his brother know what a serious position he had put himself in?

The King sighed. Really William was a fool. Didn’t he realize how he was making himself ridiculous? But when had William ever understood how foolish he looked? Of course, he was pleasing quite a number of the junior officers by boasting of the better conditions he proposed for the Navy and talking of giving promotion where it was deserved. But he was going to disrupt the entire service in bringing about his reforms, which in any case were going to be expensive in some cases and this would mean heavier taxation – a subject the public was not very happy about at the moment.

‘Your Majesty will write to the Duke of Clarence?’ asked Wellington.

The King said that he could see that it would be necessary for him to perform this unpleasant duty.

William! he thought when he was alone. What a stubborn fellow he could be! But he was fond of him all the same; he and his brothers had at least been devoted to each other – some more than others. Frederick … ah, how he regretted the loss of his favourite brother! But Ernest was always with him now. Secretly he could not be very fond of Ernest; there was a barrier between them which the King was too tired to think about. He couldn’t see very well and sometimes when he looked at the blur which was Ernest’s face it seemed quite malevolent. This was merely due to his loss of an eye and the scars, and one must remember that these were worthy wounds won in battle.

But there was something strange about Ernest. He implied that he had come to stay whether the King wanted him or not.

‘Ah, we know too much about each other, eh, George, not to work together.’

What a cryptic remark for one brother to make to another. To what was he referring? What did Ernest know of George? That he was in truth married to Maria Fitzherbert? It was common knowledge – or was it? There had been some to doubt it. But his affairs had always been so public; it had been impossible for the Prince of Wales or the Prince Regent to do anything without having the full glare of publicity turned on him.

What secrets did Ernest have which he would not wish betrayed?

Little secrets of the private apartments; the carefully applied rouge, the fear of corseting which was becoming too painful to be endured. The humiliating results of undignified illness. Were those the secrets? It might well be, for he would rather the public heard of his secret marriage than some of the tricks it was necessary to perform to make an old man presentable.

No! He was imagining it. It was Ernest’s way of talking. He should be grateful for Ernest’s advice … Ernest’s help. And his Duchess was a fascinating woman. In her way she was a little alarming too. The little hints that were dropped, the innuendo which might have had nothing behind it at all. She was a damned attractive woman, though the antithesis of Maria.

Ah, Maria! He grew tearful at the thought. Where are you now? Living in Brighton. Sometimes in London. Why are you not here to keep these people from me? How different everything would be if you were.

What had made his thoughts run on in this melancholy way?

It was William. He had to write to William and explain that he would have to behave. William was a good fellow, an affectionate brother. It was true that at times he seemed to be waiting for the King’s death so that he could step into his shoes but who could blame him? Poor William, who had always made such a fool of himself. Naturally he wanted to be King.