‘She is asleep?’ said the Duchess coldly.
‘Yes, your Grace.’
‘That is good. She is a child still. She cannot realise what this means.’
Lehzen did not contradict the Duchess; but she was aware that Victoria understood very well what this meant.
‘It may be – tomorrow,’ went on the Duchess. ‘Think, Lehzen … it may be at this very moment. It may be that we are in the presence of our Queen.’
The Duchess’s expression was ecstatic. She should, thought Lehzen, show a little more decorum. Still it would have been hypocritical to have pretended remorse because her greatest enemy was dying.
‘You may go now, Lehzen,’ said the Duchess dropping her voice to a whisper, and Lehzen went out, wondering how much longer this custom of the years would continue. When the Princess became a queen surely she would insist on a little privacy? The child had never been alone in a room in the whole of her life; and Lehzen, who knew her so well, was aware that she found this irksome.
As she came through the Duchess’s apartments the Baroness came face to face with Sir John Conroy and immediately regretted passing this way.
‘Ah, the good Baroness,’ he said. Lehzen always had an idea – which she shared with Victoria – that he was sneering when he spoke to them. He was not alone. One of the Duchess’s ladies was with him. This was Lady Flora, daughter of the Marquis of Hastings, a rather pallid woman in her early thirties whom the Baroness did not greatly care for, largely because she was friendly with Sir John and was a firm supporter of the Duchess.
‘The watchdog is released from her duties,’ went on Sir John. ‘And I’ll swear she’d rather not be.’
‘I hope the dear Princess sleeps well tonight,’ said Lady Flora.
‘The Princess is sleeping peacefully,’ said the Baroness.
‘With such events about to break!’ went on Sir John, raising his handsome eyes to the ceiling. A rogue if ever there was one, thought Lehzen. How could the Duchess be so deceived? But in view of their relationship …
Lehzen refused to go further even in her thoughts. Whether Sir John and the Duchess were lovers was open to conjecture, but many people were certain this was so, and if one were to judge from their behaviour it could be right. How she disliked him! He had tried to have her sent away from her beloved child.
‘And when they do,’ Sir John was saying, ‘our little darling will have to break out from the nursery, will she not?’
Lehzen knew he meant that Victoria would no longer need a governess, but Victoria would never agree to her beloved Baroness’s expulsion. Was it possible that he had not yet learned how stubborn Victoria could be?
‘Baroness,’ said Lady Flora, ‘there is something on your chin … will you allow me?’ She had taken a handkerchief and come closer, and to Lehzen’s annoyance dabbed at her face.
‘It’s caraway seeds, I’ll swear,’ said Sir John laughing unpleasantly as though there was something obscene about them. He shook his finger playfully. ‘We all know your passion, Baroness. Some women love men; some men love women; both women and men love power; but the Baroness remains faithful to her caraway seeds.’
She must get away before she lost her temper. How the Duchess could give her confidence to such a man was past understanding!
‘If you will excuse me I will say goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Baroness Cara … Baroness Lehzen.’
She did not answer; she swept on. She hated them both. As for Lady Flora with her meek expression and gentle voice and delicate air, she was doubtless far from the virtuous spinster she pretended to be if she was so friendly with Sir John Conroy.
In his apartments in the Palace Baron Christian Friedrich von Stockmar found it difficult to sleep. Instead he took pen and paper and started to write to his patron and friend King Leopold of the Belgians. He hesitated. It could only be a few days at the most, he thought, before his real mission began. Perhaps therefore a letter would be a little premature. Exciting times were ahead. He was a man of dignified demeanour and he had spent years in the service of Leopold, sacrificing his own personal life to that of the King. Perhaps it meant a great deal to mould the destiny of nations rather than to share his life with his family. In any case he had chosen this way.
To Leopold he had been a faithful servant; but more than that – he was a king-maker. Ever since he had come to England at the time of Leopold’s marriage to the Princess Charlotte he had had a hand in government. Leopold had quickly acknowledged his doctor’s usefulness, for with his help, this clever, faintly hypocritical hypochondriac (so was Stockmar and this gave them an added interest in common) had become a power in Europe. A young son of the house of Saxe-Coburg, Leopold had somehow succeeded in marrying members of his family into most of the royal houses of Europe. But for a cruel fate he would have been ruling England now, for there was no doubt that the Princess Charlotte had doted on him and would have accepted his rule in everything. But Charlotte had died and Leopold would now rule through Victoria; for he and Stockmar had decided on a husband for her. Who but Prince Albert, Leopold’s nephew, who should be guided by Stockmar, through Leopold of course. His niece and nephew on the throne of England! It would not be quite as satisfactory to be the uncle of the Queen and her Prince Consort as it would have been to be the husband of a queen. But it was no use repining. Charlotte was dead. And to govern England through Victoria and Albert must be the next best thing.
It was not only for political reasons that the Baron enjoyed his role. He was fond of Victoria. Indeed who could help being fond of such a warm-hearted, innocent girl. He remembered her as the child who had visited Claremont years ago, rather solemn for her years, passionately devoted to Uncle Leopold and therefore ready to love anyone whom Leopold commanded her to.
‘Dr Stockmar is a very dear friend of mine, my dearest child,’ Leopold had explained. ‘I want him to be yours too.’
‘He shall be, Uncle.’ The blue eyes brimmed over with love for Leopold and since Leopold commanded it, for Dr Stockmar too.
‘He is the best doctor in the world and more than that, he is my clever friend.’
She believed it. She believed everything Leopold told her. One might have thought she was too pliable; but that was a mistake, as Stockmar had discovered on his return only a few weeks before. She had received him warmly. He had come from dearest Uncle Leopold and therefore was welcome. She remembered him years ago at Claremont and she was delighted to have him back.
He had told her that her uncle had asked him to come to Kensington because he thought his old friend might be of use to her.
‘Dear Uncle Leopold,’ she had said, ‘is so careful of me.’
She had charm and when she was animated she was almost pretty; at other times she could be quite plain and rather homely; but she had such dignity in spite of her small stature that Stockmar could write to Leopold that he had every confidence in her.
Now she was on the brink of becoming Queen. A pity, thought Stockmar, that she was so young. Yet youth was appealing and he had noticed that the people liked her. What a change from the old King who was so undignified and who was called ‘Pineapple Head’ in some of the less respectable papers, and one only had to look at the King to be aware of the resemblance between his head and that fruit. And different, too, from the previous King, who had grown obese and upset his people by holding aloof from them.
‘There is certainly not much competition from the Uncles,’ wrote Stockmar, ‘and she is so innocent and fresh, so easily moved to tears, that the people will love that.’
There was surely no monarch more appealing than a young female one – particularly after a succession of unattractive men.