My mother relied on him a great deal. She was always saying that she had few friends, but while she had Uncle Leopold and Sir John Conroy she felt ready to face the hostile country in which—on my account—she was forced to live.
There were some members of my father's family who tried to be friends. There were my two aunts, Princess Sophia and the Duchess of Gloucester. They were old then. Sophia had never married but long ago she had been at the center of a scandal. A certain General Garth had fallen in love with her and she with him. The consequences were grave and Sophia had to be hustled out of the palace to give birth to a child. The voluminous skirts proved useful and her sisters helped to smuggle her to Weymouth where she was delivered of a boy. Sophia was unrepentant; she had loved the general and she loved her son, who still came to see her. The children of George III had been brought up so oddly that they all seemed to be involved in scandalous situations. My grandfather had refused to allow any of his girls to marry. He had loved them dearly… too dearly. Poor Grandpapa! He must have been mad for a long time before people realized it. Well, Sophia offered friendship to my mother and so did Aunt Mary of Gloucester, who had married Silly Billy Gloucester late in life.
Another one who would have been kind to her was Adelaide, at that time Duchess of Clarence; but my mother regarded the Clarences as the enemy and was very suspicious of Adelaide who, when she was Queen, I came to know as one of the kindest ladies it had ever been my good fortune to meet. But there was no overcoming Mama's prejudices. So she need not have been so entirely without friends as she liked to believe herself to be.
Nine days after my father's death, there occurred another one of the greatest importance.
Poor Grandpapa, blind and mad, passed away, and the Prince Regent became King George IV.
LOOKING BACK IT is difficult to decide between what I remember and what was told me. There are certain things though, which stand out very clearly in my mind and one was the visit to Windsor and my meeting with the King.
I was playing with the dolls and talking to Feodore about them. I adored my sister. She was very pretty and twelve years older than I, so she seemed very grown up. I was about seven at this time, so she must have been nineteen. I also had a half-brother, Charles, who was three years older than Feodore, but he was in Leiningen looking after his estates there, although he did come to England now and then. Feodore was with us all the time, and I do believe she loved to be with me as much as I did with her.
She was very interested in the dolls—almost as interested as Lehzen. Lehzen thought they were wonderful. It had been her idea that I should start the collection in the first place; and she and I made some of the costumes together.
Being Lehzen, who always had her eyes on education, she pointed out that the dolls represented historical characters. Of course we had Queen Elizabeth. “The great Queen,” Lehzen called her, but when I learned more about her, I did not like her so very much. She seemed to have acted in a way that was not always good.
Aunt Adelaide, who always showed affection for me and would have liked to see me more often if Mama would have permitted it, gave me a beautiful doll. It was bigger than all the others and it had such splendid clothes that Lehzen said we should not attempt to dress it in any other way. So among my collection of historical dolls, it was just the Big Doll, and she always reminded me of kind Aunt Adelaide.
Feodore was saying that Queen Elizabeth's dress had a little rent in it. I knew this. I had torn it myself when I had thrown her down rather roughly. I had just heard that when she had died there had been three thousand dresses in her wardrobe, which was an excessive number. She had clearly been very vain and I was going to let her have a rent in her skirt for a while.
“She is the most beautiful of the dolls,” said Feodore. “I am sure Lehzen will mend that tear very soon.”
“It won't hurt her to have a torn skirt for a while, the vain creature.”
Feodore laughed. “I believe you do not like Queen Elizabeth very much,” she said.
At that moment Mama came in. She was quivering. Mama often seemed to quiver, either in rage or excitement. It was because of all the feathers she wore, and the pendants about her neck and in her ears, the frills on her bodices and the rustling of her skirts. It gave an impression of perpetual violent emotion.
She had something to tell us. Normally she would have sent for us and we should have had to go to her, not forgetting to curtsy respectfully. We must always show our respect for Mama, always remember what she had done for us, sacrificing herself all the time for our good.
But as this was a matter of great importance, she had dispensed with the usual formalities.
“At last,” she announced, “that man has seen fit to invite us to Windsor.”
I knew at once that she was talking of my uncle, the King, for he lived at Windsor.
“I am of two minds as to whether I shall accept the invitation, but …” began Mama.
I knew she meant that she would accept the invitation and I happened to have gleaned that it was a source of irritation to her that we had not been invited before.
“I suppose, as after all he does call himself King…”
“Do not other people call him King?” I asked innocently. I was very direct, and as Mama and Lehzen constantly told me, at this stage of my development I took what people said too literally. In any case, Mama had implied that it was only the King who called himself King.
“You must learn not to make foolish interjections,” said Mama, quivering more than before. “The fact is we are going to Windsor. I shall insist that we are treated with due respect. Hold your head up. Have you been wearing your holly necklace?”
“Yes, Mama, but I think I can manage without it.”
“It does not appear to be so. I shall decide when you may dispense with it. Why are you not wearing it now?”
“Lehzen said that when I was playing with the dolls I could leave it off.”
She was referring to the sprig of holly attached to a cord that I had to wear around my neck to induce me to hold my head high, for when I did not my chin came into contact with the prickles. It was a form of torture that I greatly disliked, and whenever I could I would inveigle Lehzen into letting me go without it.
I could see that Mama's annoyance with me was really her dislike of the King; but at the same time she was pleased that he had invited us to Windsor.
She looked at her elder daughter and said, “You shall accompany us, Feodore.”
“That will be lovely, won't it, Sissy?” I said.
Feodore hugged me. I sometimes felt that she wanted to protect me from Mama's severity.
“You will enjoy the visit,” she said.
“Yes, especially if you are there.”
Mama softened a little. She liked to see the affection between us two.
“Well then,” she went on. “I shall make plans. Victoria, you must remember to behave perfectly so that there can be no criticism. The King is very insistent on good manners. It is the one virtue he himself has managed to retain. People will be watching you. Any little slip will be noticed, you can be sure. There will be malicious eyes on you and tongues to wag if you misbehave.”
I was already beginning to feel nervous. But Feodore pressed my hand reassuringly and I thought: She will be there, so it will be all right.
That this was a most important visit was obvious. Mama might express her contempt for all my paternal uncles—the King among them—but when all was said and done he was the King and we were all—even Mama—his subjects.