But all the same I did not quite like any criticism of one who seemed so perfect to me as Uncle Leopold.
My fifteenth birthday was approaching and I was hoping that Aunt Adelaide would give another ball for me. I had so enjoyed the one on my fourteenth birthday, and surely Mama could not spoil it this time. In three years time I should reach the all-important age of eighteen.
Mama was getting more and more contentious; each day she said something detrimental about Uncle William because he refused to die; and there were only three years left. Any little rumor about his illness sent her into transports of delight. It seemed to me very wrong to wish another person dead with such vehemence. It was like murder…in a way.
Shortly before my birthday I had sad news from Uncle Leopold. His baby was dead.
Dear Uncle Leopold, how sad he must be! He wrote to me at length about his sorrow. He was desolate. Life was cruel to him. He and Louise were staggering under the blow.
I tried to comfort him, repeating many of those homilies he had delivered to me over the years, and he wrote back saying my letter brought him consolation.
Aunt Adelaide had not forgotten my birthday. She visited Mama and when I was present she reminded us of the coming birthday.
“We must have another juvenile ball,” she said. “I know how much you enjoyed the one we gave on your fourteenth birthday. The King and I were saying we must do it again. I shall never forget the sight of you opening the ball with your cousin George.”
I saw Mama bridle and feared the worst.
“Dear Adelaide,” she said, “it is kind of you, but you have forgotten that I am in mourning for my brother's child.”
The Queen looked startled. “Oh …I had forgotten…”
“I do not forget such a bereavement in my family.”
“Perhaps,” said the Queen seeing my crestfallen looks, “Victoria might come. It is her birthday and there should be some celebration.”
Mama raised her eyebrows in that haughty way she had, and her earrings trembled. “I cannot see how Victoria could fail to be in mourning too. Leopold is her uncle… her very favorite uncle.”
The Queen looked as near annoyance as I had ever seen her. There was a look of resignation on her face. “Very well,” she said, and soon after that she left.
“How insensitive!” said Mama. “Some people have no family feeling.”
“I think she only wanted to please me.”
“She might have known that it is not the time for dancing and that if you have any fine feelings at all, it is the very last thing you would want to do.”
I was silent—sullen perhaps. I did not see what good I could do to Uncle Leopold's baby by staying at home on my birthday.
I think Aunt Adelaide had been very put out, but being herself she did not want to spoil my birthday any more than it had been already.
The next day she wrote to my mother and said that she was sorry there would be no ball, but she would call at Kensington Palace on the morning of my birthday to convey her good wishes and those of the King.
Then Mama did an outrageous thing that made me more ashamed than I had been over the birthday.
She sent a note to the Queen saying that as she was in mourning— and the Princess with her—she was unable to receive visitors.
I was shocked. I could not help talking to Lehzen.
“How dare Mama tell the Queen she is not receiving! Receiving! She talks like a queen herself. Oh, Lehzen, I am so ashamed.”
Lehzen shook her head but did not leap to the defense of my mother. I supposed she was remembering that Mama had allowed Sir John to attempt to dismiss her.
But the birthday was not quite so mournful as I had feared it might be, for on it I received a letter from Feodore; and its contents delighted me. She was coming to see us.
Feodore was now a happy mother of four children. There were Charles and Eliza, little Hermann and now another baby named Victor. Although we had corresponded regularly, it was six years since I had seen my dear sister and the prospect of actually talking to her again was so exciting that it made my birthday a happy one.
I would notice the change in her, Feodore warned. Well, I expected she would notice a change in me! I tried to remember what I had been like at nine. I could picture my beautiful Feodore as she had been on her wedding day…perfectly. She was always pretty—prettier than I ever would be, I supposed.
Even Mama was delighted at the prospect of seeing Feodore. She bustled about giving orders and preparing for their arrival. She kept talking about the dear little babies and for once seemed to have forgotten her obsession with Uncle William's long-delayed death and her own importance in the country.
It was a lovely June day when they arrived. Such excitement there was! Lehzen, chewing away at her caraway seeds, was in a state of bemused delight. And there was Feodore, getting out of the carriage with her husband, Ernest, and the children.
I dashed forward but Mama laid a hand on my shoulder and she herself went forward to kiss Feodore.
Then it was my turn.
“Darling, darling Vicky!”
“Dearest, dearest Feodore!”
“Oh, how you have grown!”
So had she. She was no longer the sylph-like girl who had left England; she was quite plump, but beautiful as ever, and all my love for her came flooding back and I was so happy to see her.
Oh, the joy of that reunion! I put an arm through Feodore's; and Mama had her arm around her. Mama looked really happy. She did love Feodore even though she was not destined for a crown. She loved the babies too. Even Mama seemed different while Feodore was there. I quite liked the Count Hohenlohe-Langenburg and I adored the children. They called me Aunt Victoria. It felt very strange to be an aunt but I loved it.
“We will have such talks,” I said; and Feodore squeezed my hand.
When they had all rested awhile, it was decided that Feodore and I should go for a drive with Lehzen in the Park and that was the greatest delight to me.
Lehzen was laughing all the time and we chatted away about those days when we were all together, and the things we used to do. Feodore told us about the babies and I believed she had forgotten all about Augustus and how he used to talk to her while I watered the flowers—which was a very good thing, because what everybody had wanted for her had turned out to be right.
A program had been arranged for Feodore's stay and we were to visit Windsor. I guessed Mama would have liked to have refused but the invitation was extended to Feodore and Ernest and they accepted graciously, so there was little Mama could do.
On that first day we were to go to the opera. Feodore said she was so tired and Mama, looking at her tenderly, said, “Well, my darling, you must go to bed. It has been a long day for you and I do not want you to be exhausted.”
I cried impulsively, “Feodore, go to bed and I will sit with you and we will talk until you go to sleep.”
“No,” said Mama firmly. “You must go to the opera. It will be expected.”
So I went although I should have loved to stay with Feodore. But I have to admit I did enjoy the opera. Giulia Grisi was singing and I thought her voice quite divine; and it was Rossini's L'Assiedo di Corrinto. Moreover the opera was followed by Les Sylphides in which Taglioni danced. So I was in a state of bliss.
To have seen Feodore, Grisi, and Taglioni in one day made it one of the most thrilling of my life so far.
I awoke next morning with the glorious feeling of anticipation and the first thing I said to myself was: Feodore is here.
What joy there was during those days! I contrived—rarely—to be alone with Feodore for then we would talk easily and naturally. But, of course, either Mama or Lehzen was usually there. I loved the children. They were so affectionate and so amusing.