‘In that case I shall give them a special welcome.’
‘You see, my dear little sister, you are fifteen. It is quite old for a royal person.’
‘It certainly seems very old. In three years’ time I shall be of age. Think of that, Feodora. I shall no longer be …’
She did not finish the sentence. It seemed wrong to criticise Mamma even to Feodora.
‘Sir John is always in such evidence,’ said Feodora.
‘We cannot escape from that man.’
‘He seems to be a permanent inmate of the household.’
‘That is exactly what he is. And Lady Conroy too, although she is meek.’
‘She would have to be,’ put in Feodora.
‘And Jane and Victoire are quite pleasant. But until a little while ago I saw very few young people besides them. The boys are sweet. I quite like them, but …’
Feodora sighed. ‘Never mind. Three years’ time and … then freedom.’
Much as she would have enjoyed to carry on this conversation, Victoria felt that it was disloyal in some way, so she began to talk of Sir Richard Westmacott’s bronze statue again and how fine it looked there in the Park, and how Uncle George had done so much for Windsor as well as Buckingham House which she believed was almost ready for occupation.
‘Do you remember the time when we came to Windsor and he took me riding in his carriage? “Pop her in,” he said when we met him in the Park, and Mamma was so frightened; but I loved riding so fast between him and Aunt Mary. I called him Uncle King and he was very kind; and he liked you, Feodora … he liked you particularly. I thought he wanted to marry you.’
Feodora laughed. ‘Fancy if he had.’
‘You would have been the Queen of England.’
‘And that, my love, is a title reserved for you.’
Now they had begun the fascinating game of ‘Do you Remember?’ which lasted throughout the ride.
The company was assembled for dinner with one notable exception. The Duchess of Kent had not appeared. The Queen was waiting for her, because she did not feel that she could lead the guests into the dining-saloon without the Duchess who was one of the most important guests.
Victoria was growing nervous. Why did Mamma not come? She knew the answer. The Duchess had been angry because not enough respect had been paid to her. Everywhere they went it was always the King, the Queen and Victoria. It was Victoria who sat between the King and the Queen, Victoria whom everyone watched and the Duchess did not like it. Victoria might be the future Queen but she was a child and while she remained a child the Duchess was a deputy for her. Nothing infuriated her more than to be treated as merely an honoured guest. She was the guest of honour – as representative of the heir to the throne. Next to the King and Queen should come the Duchess.
She believed the King deliberately slighted her and Victoria had heard her remark to Sir John that she had had enough.
Now she was keeping the house party waiting, to show that they could not go in to dine without her, and therefore must await her pleasure.
The Queen, who was anxious to avoid any trouble, had at first pretended not to notice her absence; but now of course she could not do so. Dinner could not be postponed for half an hour without there being a reason.
The King was getting testy. At any moment Adelaide knew he would command that they went in without the Duchess; and that would be an insult. ‘Half an hour late for dinner. Damned bad manners,’ growled the King.
He said in an audible voice to the Queen: ‘We’re waiting for that woman I suppose.’
‘I am sure she will be here very soon now,’ soothed Adelaide.
‘If not we’ll go in without her.’ The King’s face had reddened. He shouted: ‘That woman is a nuisance!’ Just as the Duchess, ghttering and feathered, made her entrance.
Victoria held her breath with horror. What would happen now? The King was glaring at the Duchess who seemed blithely unaware of him and so sure of her right to keep the company waiting if she so wished to.
Dear kind Aunt Adelaide put an end to the scene in her usual gentle tactful way.
‘Let us go into dinner,’ she said, as though nothing upsetting had happened.
That was the only incident which spoiled the visit.
What fun to drive off to the races – herself sitting with Mamma and the King and Queen. Mamma was gracious on that day because she was in the first carriage; and although the King did not look at her, the Queen behaved as though nothing had happened and she and Victoria laughed and chatted together which was comforting. Dear Feodora rode in the second carriage followed by the rest of the carriages – so many of them that Victoria did not know the number. There were people of all kinds on the race-course and the royal party aroused great attention as it went on its way to the King’s stand.
How excited Victoria was by the races! She stood beside the King and clasped her hands and wanted to shout to the horses as so many people did.
Aunt Adelaide on the other side smiled at her and whispered that it was the greatest fun, and Victoria knew that it was her pleasure which delighted Aunt Adelaide as much as the races themselves.
What a happy day! Even riding back to Windsor with the carriage windows closed to keep out the rain which had come pelting down.
‘How I love racing!’ announced Victoria.
The Duchess remarked that she must not develop a taste for gambling.
But Victoria scarcely heard; it had been such a lovely day and she had quite forgotten that horrid scene before dinner on the previous night.
She wrote in her Journal, ‘I stayed up till a quarter past eleven. I was very much amused indeed at the races.’
The days rushed by and the visit was over. How terribly sad to have to say good-bye to dear Feodora and the darling children.
‘When shall I see you again, dearest sister?’ asked Victoria, with tears in her eyes.
‘There must not be a long parting,’ Feodora declared. ‘For I could not endure it. We are not so very far away.’
‘You must come again,’ Victoria insisted, for she knew that she who was not allowed to sleep alone or ever be alone would never be allowed to visit her sister.
‘Remember … three more years and you will be of age,’ whispered Feodora. ‘You will make your own decisions.’
Victoria understood. Feodora was comforting her. She knew the difficulties of life in a household governed by a domineering Duchess and she was telling Victoria that it would not be long.
They embraced for the last time and blinded by her tears Victoria watched the carriage drive away.
‘How very sad I felt at breakfast,’ wrote Victoria in her Journal, ‘not to see the door open and dear Feodora come in smiling and leading her dear little girl; and not to get the accustomed kiss from her. At one we lunched. I missed dear Feodora here again terribly. I miss her so much today. At three we drove with Lehzen. How dull the drive appeared without dear Feodora! We dined at seven and after dinner Aunt Sophia came. We passed a sad dull evening. I stayed up until a quarter to nine.’
All she could do was look forward to Feodora’s next visit and take some small comfort in the fact that Feodora missed her as sadly as she did her dear sister.
It was wonderful to have such dear relations, she told Lehzen, but at the same time, so sad.
Owing to the dissension his Irish policy had caused his Cabinet, Earl Grey took the opportunity to resign his office and called on the King to tell him of his decision. Grey, whose family life was exceptionally happy and interesting – he had ten sons and five daughters and was on the best of terms with them all – had long desired to leave public life and retire to the country. This seemed the moment.