“They have been to a review in the Park this afternoon.”
“But they appear to be…”
“Absolutely exhausted. Your Majesty must understand that I cannot allow my guests to overtire themselves.”
“The King will be most annoyed. The ball was expressly in their honor.”
Poor Aunt Adelaide! I was almost as sorry for her as I was for myself. I was furious. I so wanted to dance. But Aunt Adelaide was terribly worried because she was afraid of a scene between the King and my mother. Fortunately he had not noticed what was going on, but I could imagine his fury when he did discover.
Aunt Adelaide was trying to smooth everything over, trying to look as though this were not an unprecedented affront to royal dignity, which it was.
“The Princes must come and stay for a few days at Windsor,” she said.
“Their time is already accounted for,” said Mama coldly.
I saw the Queen flinch, but she said nothing and Mama gripped my hand firmly.
I sat silent, ashamed and angry, as the carriage took us back to Kensington.
THE MEMORY OF that evening lingered on even through the exciting days which followed. I was more and more enchanted by the cousins, particularly as, when I appeared to pay more attention to one than the other, the other was a little jealous.
There was a wonderful occasion when we went to hear the great Paganini play the violin. He played some variations most wonderfully and I was glad to notice that dear Lehzen, who was with us, enjoyed it thoroughly. Unfortunately Sir John Conroy also accompanied us, but even he could not spoil such a marvelous experience.
Then Mama suggested that as the cousins must see something of the countryside, we should take them for a trip, and we might go to the Isle of Wight. That would have been perfection, but Mama would insist that the royal standard should fly over Norris Castle, and the guns were firing the royal salute, which reminded me of Uncle William and that terribly embarrassing time at the ball.
There was, however, one thing to be grateful for. Sir John and his family did not stay with us at Norris Castle. This was because he owned a small house on the island called Osborne Lodge. It was close to the Castle and, of course, we visited the Conroys there. I thought how pleasant it was—or would have been if they had not been there; and indeed, I preferred it to Norris Castle. It was a blessing—though a small one—that when we were at this castle he was not under the same roof.
What happy days they were! I walked and rode with the cousins and took Dash down to the sea. The little darling loved everything as long as I was there to share it. The cousins played with him and he was quite fond of them. I was sure he preferred Alexander—because I did—although Ernest was very charming. Then there were the occasions when I was presented to the people and they cheered me and the guns fired, and I could see how impressed my cousins were because of my importance and popularity.
Mama watched me closely and told me that I must not become arrogant just because the guns were fired and the royal standard flown. “They are for the crown, not you, my child.”
I pointed out then that they must be for Uncle William.
At which she said, “Don't be so trying, Victoria.”
But I liked the truth and could become very obstinate even though I knew it would result in Mama's getting annoyed. She and I were growing farther and farther away from each other. I was seeing her too clearly. I wondered how fond she was of me, and whether it was the crown for which she had such overwhelming affection. She always stood forward and in front of me on ceremonial occasions, as though she were the heir to the throne and the one the people wanted to see even though they shouted my name and “God bless the little Princess.” Of course she liked to hear that because it meant that I was more popular than the King, but all the time she wanted them to cheer her. And the fact was that they did not really like her.
They liked me because I was the heir to the throne, destined to be Queen; I was young and innocent and smiled at them, and looked as though I was pleased. Mama always looked haughty, as though they were far beneath her—and naturally they did not like that.
There was one embarrassing incident when I was to open a pier. Mama suddenly decided that I was becoming conceited and must be taught a lesson. I should not open the pier, she said. She would.
I was astounded. It made me very ashamed to have to be present at such times, for there was great consternation when Mama announced to the Mayor and his counselors that I should not be opening the pier and that she would do it instead.
They were so dismayed, they did not know what to say. Then the Mayor stammered that the crowds had come to see the little Princess.
“They may see her,” said Mama, “but I shall open the pier. Pray proceed with the ceremony.”
Mama was not always very wise. She did not seem to be aware that the people were greatly displeased and they liked her even less after that than they had before.
To make matters worse she, being aware of their disappointment, told them that we could not stay to the luncheon that was to follow the ceremony. We had an engagement elsewhere.
I could imagine the preparations that had gone into the luncheon and the expectations of the people.
Oh yes, Mama could not only be overbearing but foolish, and her behavior spoiled many days that should have been blissful.
I did not write then of my feelings in my journal. How could I for Mama to see? I often thought as I wrote laboriously—best handwriting—how much more relieved I should feel if I could only set down what I felt when it was happening. How much better I should have known myself if I could. But I had to remember that Mama and Lehzen read every word I wrote, and that had been Mama's intention when she gave me the journal. So I wrote an exercise, and only allowed my real feelings true range for enthusiasm over the opera and my pleasure in my cousins' visit—all of which were subjects that would not irritate Mama.
To crown my embarrassment, when we returned to Norris Castle there was a letter awaiting Mama from Earl Grey which stated that standards and royal salutes must only be employed when the King or Queen were in residence.
Still smarting from the reception the people had given her at the opening of the pier, Mama was furious.
HOW SAD IT was to say goodbye to the cousins. I was almost in tears. So were they.
“Please, please, come and see us again soon,” I begged.
They said they would not be happy until they did.
Mama smiled benignly to see the affection between us, and for once she and I shared the feeling of sorrow because they were leaving us.
They were so amiable, good-tempered, and interested in everything.
I wrote in my journaclass="underline" “We shall miss them at breakfast, at luncheon, at dinner, riding, sailing, driving, walking—in fact everywhere.”
I LOOKED FORWARD to Uncle Leopold's letters and was delighted when he wrote to say that as soon as possible, he was going to bring his new wife Louise to England to meet his favorite child.
So that was something to look forward to.
I was so happy when he wrote to say he was expecting to become a father.
“That,” I said to Lehzen, “is just what he needs. It will make him happy. He mourned so long for Princess Charlotte.”
“Oh,” said Lehzen, “I think he revelled in his mourning now and then.”
I did not quite understand, but she would say no more. Was Lehzen a little jealous of my affection for Uncle Leopold? I am afraid that my vanity overcame my better nature when it was a question of people's being jealous, as had been the case with my cousins. It was so comforting to know that I was important to them.