George Norton was not very successful and he became so hard pressed for money that his wife had asked Melbourne if he could do something for him. Consequently Melbourne had found him an appointment as a magistrate with a salary of £1,000 a year, and the friendship between the Home Secretary and the Nortons had grown. Nor had it slackened when in 1834, in spite of his lurid past, Melbourne became Prime Minister.
What solace he had found at Storey’s Gate, the Nortons’ somewhat humble – by Melbourne’s standards – London home. There he and Caroline had spent hours in spirited discussion; they did not always agree, but what pleasure to be able to discuss art and literature with an intelligent woman; George lacked his wife’s brilliance. Caroline was a poetess; she was also a noted beauty. Of course he had known that her marriage with George was not successful; George Norton was by no means worthy of Caroline. Perhaps he had thought that had she not been a married woman they might have made a match of it. She would have made an excellent wife for a Prime Minister. What a pleasure it had been after a wearying session at the House to call in and be received unceremoniously in her untidy drawing-room where she might be writing or painting. But what a terrible blow when Norton announced that he was going to sue for a divorce and named the Prime Minister as the co-respondent.
Here was a scandal as bad as anything that had happened with Lady Caroline. At least she had been his wife. The case had been a cause célèbre. He remembered now his acute distaste for the affair, his anxiety for Caroline Norton of whom he was genuinely fond, and his speculation as to what this would mean to his career.
Resignation seemed inevitable. He remembered the occasion when he had called on the King. He and peppery William had never much liked each other but the King was a firm supporter of justice and he declared that in his opinion this case they were bringing smacked of conspiracy of some sort. If Melbourne said his relations with the Hon. Mrs Norton were platonic, then the King believed him.
He never wanted to go through that again. The humiliation of listening to the accounts of his and Mrs Norton’s conduct was intense and would have been worse if they had not been so ridiculous as to prejudice the case in his favour. Drunken servants, servants who had been dismissed for stealing, servants with a grievance, they all came along to testify against the Prime Minister and the woman who had employed them. And the case was won as it must have been with any justice; for he was innocent and would never allow Mrs Norton’s innocence to be questioned. Indeed the case had fallen down on the evidence or lack of it; and the King and Wellington both congratulated him and declared it had been brought through jealousy.
He had had great fortune; for the scandals which had threatened his career and would have finished most men’s had left his unscathed; and when the case was over Melbourne was still Prime Minister.
But tragedy had not finished with him. This time it was his son who died quietly one evening when they were together. His mad wife was dead; his mentally deficient son was dead; he was fifty-eight years old, and eighteen-year-old Victoria had ascended the throne. So young, so eager to learn, wanting to be good. What a challenge for an ageing man who had failed so bitterly in his marriage. But why must he think of that bitter failure on such a day as this?
The carriage had come to a halt at Melbourne House.
‘Caroline is dead,’ he said to himself. ‘And now … Victoria.’
Chapter IV
‘THE PLEASANTEST SUMMER’
After a good night’s sleep when Victoria awoke to the second day of her reign, her first thoughts were: ‘I shall see Lord Melbourne today.’ She laughed delightedly to herself. Of course she would see Lord Melbourne today; she would see him every day. He was her chief minister.
‘My Prime Minister,’ she said aloud. ‘How exciting!’
Lehzen hovered while she ate her breakfast, fussing in the most delightful way. She had not seen the Duchess yet. Nor shall I, she thought. In future I shall say whom I shall see and when.
‘And not in the least nervous,’ Lehzen was saying. ‘It is quite wonderful.’ Lehzen nibbling at bread and butter sprinkled with caraway seeds regarded her young mistress with admiration.
‘I think I enjoy it, Lehzen,’ she said calmly, getting on with her breakfast and reflecting that Lehzen dared not tell her now not to gobble. For gobble I shall if I want to, Victoria told herself. ‘I love the dear people and it will be no more of an ordeal for me to face them than it was my ministers.’
‘They will love you,’ said Lehzen. ‘The people love a young queen.’
‘That is exactly what Lord Melbourne said,’ replied the Queen; and Lehzen realised that was a compliment. But she was a little uneasy. We don’t want too much Lord Melbourne, she thought.
After breakfast the Prime Minister called. The Queen was to be proclaimed from a window of St James’s Palace and he wanted to prepare her. He knew of course that she was not nervous.
‘Not in the least,’ she told him, which made his eyes glaze over with the tears she had come to expect. Dear Lord Melbourne!
‘The right attitude is to smile at the people and make them believe you’re enjoying it all even if you’re not.’
She loved the way he talked; he was so frank, so natural.
‘Oh, but I am enjoying it. And would it be right to pretend if I were not? I have always hated pretence in any form.’
‘A queen cannot afford to hate what the people love,’ he told her, ‘even if it entails a little pretence now and then.’
And she thought: How clever he is! I must remember his sayings and write them in my Journal.
‘I remember the Coronation of your Uncle George IV,’ he told her. ‘Ah, there was an occasion!’
‘There was trouble with the Queen, I believe.’
‘Your Majesty was then a babe in arms.’
‘And unable therefore to be present,’ she said with a giggle. How easy it was to laugh with her Prime Minister!
‘Which was perhaps a blessing.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been well for me to have some experience of coronations since I shall have one of my own?’
‘There never was such a coronation as that one, and it would not be possible for Your Majesty’s to resemble it in the least.’
She laughed. She had heard how her Aunt Caroline of Brunswick had tried to storm the Abbey and had been kept out on Uncle King George’s orders. What exciting relations she had had, and rather wicked too! Lord Melbourne would, of course, know a great deal about them. And exciting things had happened to him. She had heard rumours. That wife of his, those two divorce scandals. The world was waiting to be explored and how comforting to remember that she had her Prime Minister beside her – such a dear, good, experienced man.
But this was not the time to talk of past scandals. Perhaps they would later. Oh no, that would doubtless be very improper. A queen and her Prime Minister must discuss State matters; but the scandals of King George and Queen Caroline had been a State matter, so State matters could be scandalous too.
‘But,’ went on Lord Melbourne, ‘this is not a matter of a coronation but a proclamation. Your Majesty will ride to St James’s and there be proclaimed Queen of England. So that on this occasion all you have to do is smile and look pleasant, which you will accomplish with the greatest ease. You need have no qualms.’