‘I suppose you’re right.’ He gave her one of his affectionate smiles. ‘You usually are.’
And talking of the party – for he loved to arrange such entertainments within the family – he grew calmer and forgot his grievance against the Chapter.
While they were talking a messenger arrived from Kensington Palace. The Duchess of Kent begged the honour of entertaining the King and Queen for dinner.
Adelaide watched the King fearfully. He was in no mood for friendship with his sister-in-law.
‘Damned woman,’ he growled.
‘But I think we should accept, William,’ said Adelaide. And as he knew she was usually right, he agreed.
The year so far had been a happy one for Victoria. After his success with Flora, the dog – and the Duchess had declared she could not have had a present that pleased her more, although whether this was due to the present or the donor was debatable – Sir John decided to repeat his success.
Early in January he gave her another dog – a King Charles’s spaniel whom they had named Dash. Although he was the Duchess’s dog and she adored him – as she must any present of Sir John’s – he followed Victoria everywhere and seemed to have made up his mind that he belonged to her. In a very short time she was devoted to dear little Dashy and Sir John and her mother were not displeased because anything that made her feel more kindly towards Sir John was to be welcomed; and the dog had certainly done this.
So with Dash always at her heels or lying curled up on her lap and with her dear horse Rosy whom she herself fed and loved to exercise, she was happy. Moreover, now that she was growing up and the King had said he wished her to appear in public she was visiting the opera and the ballet quite frequently. She and the Duchess would be accompanied by Sir John – and Lady Conroy often came with Victoire and Jane and Lady Flora Hastings and others of the household. How Victoria loved to go to the theatre. It was so enchanting, she told Lady Flora, when the curtain rose on the colourful scene and those clever performers came on to the stage.
In the Journal she wrote long accounts of what she had seen, describing the dresses and performances in detail to show to the Duchess who demanded to see the Journal every now and then without warning, so that it was necessary to keep it up to date.
Then there was her sketching. She was really rather good at it, and she loved to sketch people most of all. She had done a beautiful one of Lehzen which her art master said showed great promise.
The days passed quickly, with lessons which were becoming more and more interesting and Rosy to exercise and look after because she did not care to leave dear Rosy to anyone else and with Dash always ready for a game. There was dear Uncle Leopold to write to; his letters came regularly to her and she was longing to meet her dear new Aunt Louise. ‘I love her already,’ she wrote.
Sometimes when they went to the opera they arrived back at Kensington Palace quite late. It always amused her to write in her Journal that she did not get to bed until midnight. That made her feel very grown up.
‘Nearly fourteen,’ she whispered to Dash. ‘That will be a turning point.’
The Duchess came into the schoolroom to find Victoria on the floor playing with Dash. The Duchess smiled tolerantly.
‘He is such a dear little dog.’
‘Oh, Mamma, he is the best dog in the world.’
Ordinarily the Duchess would have warned her about exaggeration; but this time she said: ‘I really do believe he is.’ She smirked slightly. ‘We are to be honoured. Their Majesties are dining with us.’
‘Oh!’ Victoria’s face was bright with pleasure. ‘That will be lovely, Mamma. When …’
‘Next Wednesday, but you will not be there, my child. I hardly think you have reached the age to be present at a dinner party.’
‘I see.’
‘Now there is no need to be sullen. It will come all in good time.’
‘Yes, Mamma.’
‘I think, though, that you may meet the company afterwards.’
Victoria was silent. ‘Still sullen?’ asked the Duchess.
‘No, Mamma. I was thinking that very soon I shall be old enough to have my own dinner parties. Then I shall be quite grown up. It is really only four years.’
Only four years! thought the Duchess uneasily. She must be made to see that even when she was eighteen she would need guidance.
She would speak to Sir John about the change in Victoria’s attitude lately.
A very unpleasant rumour was going round the Court. The King with his usual bonhomie had been unbecomingly jocular with one of the Queen’s ladies and when she went home to spend a few weeks with her family it was said that she had gone away to have the King’s child.
When this reached Adelaide’s ears she was angry because she knew that there was no truth in this statement. With all his shortcomings William was a faithful husband and although his attitude towards the ladies of the Court was at times flirtatious, he had never broken his marriage vows.
She immediately commanded the young woman to return to Court and when she came it was clear she could not possibly have had a child, so the story was shown to be an absurd lie and Adelaide made a point of having the girl constantly in attendance on her in case the rumour should start up again. By acting promptly she settled that matter; but it depressed her to consider how easily rumours could start and she realised that she must be constantly on the alert. She was conscious that there were forces at work to discredit William; and she knew that the Duke of Cumberland was one of the chief movers in these schemes, and although this did not change her attitude towards Frederica and the poor afflicted George, she was determined to be wary.
She developed a cough which she could not shake off and on the night of the dinner party at Kensington Palace she felt feverish and really ill. Had she been going somewhere other than the apartments of the Duchess of Kent she felt she might have been equal to the occasion, but when she considered the possibility of conflict between the King and his sister-in-law she felt too weak to deal with them.
She was lying on her bed when the King came in to see how she was.
‘You look sick, Adelaide,’ he said anxiously.
‘I am just a little tired,’ she answered. ‘I don’t feel well enough to go to Kensington.’
‘Then we’ll not go.’
‘William, you must go. The Duchess would take it as a personal insult if you did not.’
‘Let her. It’s time she was insulted.’
‘But, William, it would not be good.’
‘It would do her the world of good. The insolent old bitch.’
‘William.’
‘Rough sailor’s talk, my dear. You should be used to that by now.’
‘William, I beg of you to go tonight. You sometimes forget that you are the King.’
That was the right note. He liked to be reminded of his kingship.
‘If you don’t honour the company with your presence it will be the talk of the town, for everyone knows of your feelings towards the Duchess. Go, and try not to be irritated by her. Those miserable papers exaggerate everything. I should like to hear how Victoria is getting on.’
‘That child should be seen with us. The people expect it.’
‘Therefore it is wise to have friendly relations between us all.’
‘You’re asking for a miracle.’
‘Kings often make miracles.’
He was in a good temper. ‘Very well, I’ll go. But you shall stay here and rest. I’ll not have you running any risks with that fever.’