The Princess Sophia had embroidered a dress for her and from Aunt Mary Gloucester there were amethyst ear-rings; Sir John gave her a lovely silver brush and Victoire a white bag which she herself had made.
What lovely presents – and she knew that there would be more to come. But perhaps watching the other people open theirs was equally delightful.
And Mamma was kissing little Flora and loving her already and lifting her grateful eyes to Sir John.
Anyone would love Flora, thought Victoria; but perhaps Mamma would love her especially because she was a present from Sir John?
What a happy time was Christmas – more exciting really than travelling. And when Christmas was over, she thought, it will soon be the New Year, and in May she would have another birthday.
She was growing up.
Chapter XI
A BIRTHDAY BALL
The Queen sat beside the bedside of her niece Louise, Princess of Saxe-Weimar, and tried to persuade herself that the child was not dying.
This was the girl whom she had looked on as her own, who had done so much to comfort her when she had despaired of having children. Of all the young people whom she had gathered about her it was Louise and George Cambridge who had seemed most like her own; they had lived with her; she had mothered them both because their parents were far away; she still had George, but how long would Louise remain with her?
She had spoken to the doctors, begging them to tell her the truth, so she knew the worst. It was to be expected, they warned her. Louise had always been an invalid and now the end was in sight.
‘My dear child,’ whispered Adelaide; and Louise could only look at her with loving eyes mutely thanking her for all the kindness she had received from her.
‘Is there anything you want, darling?’
Louise’s lips moved and Adelaide bent over her. ‘Only that you stay near me, Aunt Adelaide.’
‘I shall be here, my dearest.’
Louise smiled serenely and Adelaide sat silent while the tears gathered in her eyes and began to brim over.
She was buried at Windsor and Adelaide wrote sorrowfully to her sister Ida; but Ida had her own busy life and other children to comfort her. In any case Louise had always been more Adelaide’s child than Ida’s.
There was no point in brooding over the death of this dear child. There were the living to think of and Adelaide went to see the Duchess of Cumberland who was facing another tragedy.
‘Oh, my dear Frederica, how is dearest George?’ she asked.
Frederica shook her head. ‘His sight seems to grow more dim each day.’
‘And George himself?’
‘It seems so strange but he bears it all with such fortitude. He comforts me, Adelaide.’
‘Dear child!’
‘Yes, he bids me not to fret. He says his sight will come back.’
‘That this should have happened,’ sighed Adelaide. ‘It seems such a short time ago that he was playing with Louise. He was always so gentle with her … more gentle, I think, than any of the others, though my dear George is such a good, kind boy.’
‘He was too good,’ said Frederica almost angrily.
‘And Ernest? How is Ernest taking it?’
‘As he takes everything. He believes the boy will recover his sight.’
‘And the doctors?’
‘You know what doctors are. But, Adelaide, I am thinking of taking him to see Baron Graefe. I believe him to be the best eye specialist in the world. You know he operated on Ernest most successfully. I am sure he could do something for George.’
‘My dear Frederica, how I hope so!’
‘And you, my poor Adelaide, have suffered a great loss.’
‘I knew it had to come. There was really no hope for my poor Louise. Yet she used to be so happy.’
‘You have a gift for making the children happy, Adelaide. George will want to see you before you go.’
So Adelaide spent an hour with George who laughed with her and behaved as though he was not disturbed by this terrible tragedy which had overtaken him.
‘He is an example to us all,’ said Frederica, strangely subdued, unlike herself, thought Adelaide.
There were further troubles. The FitzClarence children were becoming more and more arrogant. They were rude to Adelaide and did not hesitate to speak their minds to the King. William was unhappy. Frederick as well as George had declared he would resign from the post recently bestowed upon him by the King – because he was not paid enough.
The papers noted these quarrels between William and his unnatural children and William pretended that there was no quarrel at all.
He was becoming too excitable again and Adelaide was afraid people would notice. He would suddenly start one of his tirades without warning. At breakfast he would often appear his amiable self, and having entertained the young children at his ablutions, he would joke with the family in the old way; but when he settled down to the papers he would mutter to himself, and sometimes the muttering would grow into a shout.
Something would happen to remind him of Victoria. ‘Royal progress, that’s what it is. I’m going to put a stop to this. Parading about the country. I believe that woman believes I’m where she’s been longing for me to be these last few years – in my coffin. Well, I’m not. I’m here on the throne … and that’s where I’m going to stay. And by God, I’m going to live until Victoria’s old enough to take over. I’m not going to let that Kent woman have her heart’s desire. For make no mistake about it. That’s what she wants. Royal parades! Royal salutes! That girl is not Queen yet. Nor is she going to be until she can stand without her mother.’
He would go on and on until Adelaide could think of something to distract him; and she was always afraid that by doing so she would lead him to a subject as irritating to him as that of the Duchess of Kent and her daughter.
He was at present raging against the Chapter of St Paul’s because they had refused to allow a statue of Dorothy Jordan to be placed in the Cathedral.
‘Why? I wanted to know. Eh, why? Why shouldn’t the mother of my children have a statue in my Cathedral, eh? Because she was an actress? Because the union didn’t have the benefit of clergy? The insolent dogs. By God, am I the King of this realm or not?’
Then his eyes would fill with tears and he would tell Adelaide of the virtues of Dorothy, his eyes glistening with emotion. The happy years … oh, the happy years at Bushy when she was working in her parts and the children were being born. ‘What a woman she was, Adelaide! What a woman!’
It did not occur to him that his wife might not wish to hear of the perfections of his mistress; nor did Adelaide point this out to him. She was only eager that he should remain calm, accept the Chapter’s verdict and forget that he had wanted a statue of Dorothy in the Cathedral.
‘It will be Victoria’s fourteenth birthday in May,’ she said. ‘I think we should give a ball for her.’
‘And what will Madam Kent have to say to that? She seems to think the chit is contaminated by being near us.’
‘I think she is only eager that Victoria shall have the respect due to her position.’
‘Her position! That woman believes she is Queen already. She has to be made to see that’s not the case.’
‘We will make it perfectly clear,’ soothed Adelaide. ‘But I think, don’t you, that her fourteenth birthday – which is a kind of landmark – should be celebrated at St James’s.’