‘You will have Ernest.’

‘But he will not be a jailer like …’

Silence. She was going to say like Mamma, thought Victoria. And it’s true. Mamma is like a jailer. How I should like to be free too.

Feodora put her arms about her.

‘But I must not spoil your pretty dress. When I go away, Vicky, I want to take your dress with me. I want to take it out and look at it and remember just how you looked today.’

‘Oh, you shall,’ cried Victoria. It was a notion which greatly appealed to her sentimental heart. Then the realization of her loss came back to her and tears filled her eyes.


* * *

The bells were ringing all over Kensington to tell people that this was Feodora’s wedding day. There were crowds gathering outside the Palace because people had heard that the King was coming to give the bride away, making this a royal occasion.

The Duchess, overpowering in lace ribbons and feathers, presided noisily in the Grand Hall. Everyone must be in exact order of precedence. There was Victoria, looking very pretty – and what was more important, healthy – in her white dress, her fair hair specially curled for the occasion. Lehzen had spent a long time on it. Everyone, thought the Duchess, must be aware of the child’s blooming looks. There was Clarence – what a ridiculous old fellow! – and Adelaide, her eyes on Victoria with that amused affection she had for all the children. And Victoria was speaking to her, telling her about the dolls, which was most unsuitable. Victoria must be told of this later. But it was really Adelaide’s fault for encouraging her. One would have thought this was a cosy family meeting in some quite inferior country gentleman’s home, instead of a wedding in the royal family with the King due to arrive at any moment.

The wedding was to take place in the Cupola Room – so suitable for such ceremonies. Victoria had been christened here. What an occasion when the King had been so unkind to the baby’s parents and refused to give permission for the child to have the names they had chosen for her. They had wanted Georgiana, Elizabeth. Queen’s names both of them. And the King – Regent he had been then – had insisted on Alexandrina Victoria. But it was amazing how one quickly grew accustomed to names. Victoria now seemed as much like a Queen’s name as any of them.

Oh dear, the King was late. Was he going to humiliate the Duchess of Kent again.

‘It looks to me as though the King is not coming,’ said bluff Clarence. Trust him to put it as crudely as that.

Adelaide as usual tried to disguise her husband’s crudity. ‘I heard that His Majesty had begun to feel unwell again.’

‘He’s always up and down,’ said Clarence. ‘One of these days there’ll be no up.’

A shocked silence, during which Clarence noticeably became more royal. He was waiting for George’s death, thought the Duchess, almost as eagerly as she was waiting for his quickly to follow that of the King.

‘His Majesty’s resilience is wonderful,’ said Adelaide. ‘As we have often seen.’

Clarence, seeing himself as King, decided to take charge of the situation. They weren’t going to hang about any longer. It was clear to him that George wasn’t coming.

He took Feodora’s hand. ‘Come, my dear, your Uncle Clarence will do the King’s job. He’ll give you away to your husband, but you look so pretty that I’d never want to give you away unless it was necessary.’

The Duchess’s chagrin was obvious. An insult! How dared that rouged roué treat her so. No excuses. No apologies. This was the second time the Cupola Room had seen her humiliated.

But everyone was glad for the ceremony to proceed and Clarence – who would soon be King in any case (but not for long, prayed the Duchess) – led the bride to the altar which had been set up and Victoria the bridesmaid followed her sister looking so sweet that many found it difficult to take their eyes from her.

So was Feodora married to Ernest Prince of Hohenlohe-Langenburg; and afterwards Victoria went among the company carrying a ribbon-trimmed basket from which she gave the guests mementoes of the occasion.

And, as the Duchess later remarked to Sir John, in spite of the discourteous behaviour of that old man who called himself a King, the wedding had been a great success.


* * *

The day after the wedding the Duchess of Kent decided to travel to Claremont to see how the newly married couple were getting on.

‘Poor Feodora,’ whispered Charles when they were in the carriage. ‘I’m sure she would like to be alone for a while with her husband, but Mamma must be in charge of everything and everyone.’

Victoria regarded her brother with awe. There was some secret in his life and she wished she knew more of it. Something to do with a lady named Marie Klebelsberg whom he wished to marry but who, like most people members of her family wished to marry, was Most Unsuitable.

How sad, thought Victoria, that both Feodora and Charles had chosen unsuitable people. Not that that affected Feodora now because she was suitably married.

Charles sat staring ahead of him while the Duchess watched him uneasily; Victoria, who loved to go on journeys, forgot Charles’s unsuitable behaviour and enjoyed the countryside; she was delighted at the prospect of seeing Feodora again even though very shortly her sister would be leaving Claremont for Germany.

And there was Claremont – the house she loved to visit because it was the home of dearest Uncle Leopold and there he had been so happy when he was married to Princess Charlotte who was Victoria’s cousin by birth and aunt by marriage with dear Uncle Leopold.

At Claremont she had known the happiest days of her life; and Feodora had agreed that she had enjoyed the same at Claremont. Not only was Uncle Leopold there but also Louisa Lewis who had served Princess Charlotte and stayed on as a sort of chatelaine of Claremont. Louisa declared that the happiest days for her, now that she had lost her beloved Charlotte, were those when Victoria came to Claremont because she saw in Victoria so much of Charlotte.

It was so comforting to give such pleasure to people merely by being oneself and listening to entrancing stories of the mad behaviour of Princess Charlotte.

And there was Louisa waiting to greet them and ready with such a sweeping curtsy for Mamma that even she was satisfied.

‘And how are our young couple today?’ she asked.

‘Your Grace, they have gone for a walk round the gardens. I will have them informed of your arrival.’

Uncle Leopold had appeared, and Victoria noticed with gratification that his first smiles were for her.

‘Welcome, my darling, to Claremont.’

‘Dearest, dearest Uncle.’ How beautiful he was – even more so at Claremont than in Kensington because it was his home and he seemed more comfortable here. Victoria’s heart overflowed with love. She really believed that she did love Uncle Leopold more than anyone else in the world.

They went to the drawing-room which was not large by Kensington or Windsor standards, but homely. She supposed that Bushy was rather like this, although she was never allowed to go there. Mamma would not permit it, which hurt dear Aunt Adelaide; there was some reason why it was not suitable for her to go. Thank Heaven, it was suitable to come to Claremont.

Would dear little Victoria like to take a walk over the lawns with Uncle Leopold. The view of Windsor Castle was better in the winter than in the summer.

Victoria would love to be anywhere alone with Uncle Leopold. So he took her hand, and while Mamma talked to Louisa Lewis about the arrangements she had made for the honeymoon, and Charles went off on his own, Victoria and Uncle Leopold walked in the gardens and assured each other of their undying love, admitting that they could feel no such love for any other. So that was very comforting since she was soon to lose Feodora.

‘You are sad because your dear sister is going away,’ said Leopold, ‘but I am here, my darling. Do you know that I have just refused the offer of a crown … for your sake.’

‘Oh, Uncle Leopold!’

‘Yes, the Greeks wanted me to become their King. That would have meant leaving England. I could not endure that. Not when my dear little love of a niece is here.’

She clung to his hand, tears in her eyes; they stood and embraced; Uncle Leopold wept too; like the King, he wept in a pleasant way without any reddening or swelling of the eyes. It was elegant weeping. I must learn to weep as they do, thought Victoria; because hers was the kindly sentimental nature which demanded much shedding of tears.

But how pleasant it was to walk with Uncle Leopold through the gardens which he had helped to create and which he loved, and to hear him talk of Charlotte and the great tragedy of his life.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I had to guide Charlotte. She was a hoyden, a tomboy, which is not really very becoming for a prospective Queen. I was constantly warning her. Dear Charlotte. Sometimes she would get a little angry with me and accuse me of being over-critical.’

‘Angry with you, Uncle Leopold!’

‘Not really angry. She was devoted to me. The short time we were married was the only time she was ever happy. She said so often. Every criticism was for her own good.’

‘Did she know that?’

‘I think she realised it. She was not always very wise. I think my dear little Victoria may well be wiser than Charlotte.’

He pressed her hand. She would be wise. She would listen. She would not complain at criticism – especially the loving tender criticism such as Uncle Leopold would give her.

‘Dearest Uncle, you will always be near me?’

‘While you need me.’

‘I know I am going to need you all my life.’

It was the answer he wanted.

When they returned to the house Feodora and her bridegroom were there. Feodora looked rather flushed and excited and she whispered to Victoria that she was full of hope that she would be happy.

And while the grown-ups talked, Victoria was allowed to visit Louisa Lewis in her own room which was a part of the ritual at Claremont and when the door shut on them Louisa said as she always did: ‘There now, we can be comfortable.’

And comfortable they were, for it did not matter what one said to Louisa. She thought everything clever and so like Charlotte, which was the highest praise she could bestow. Victoria was growing fast; Louisa was astonished every time she saw her. She was getting more like Charlotte every day.

‘Charlotte was not pretty, was she?’

‘Charlotte had no need of prettiness. She was the most lively, attractive girl I ever saw.’

‘Was she a little like the Duke of Gloucester?’

‘Good gracious me, what a question. The Duke of Gloucester! The Princess Mary’s husband … now what put it into your head that Charlotte could be one little bit like him?’

‘Someone told me that I was like him.’

‘You … a dainty pretty little girl like you! That was nonsense.’

‘I thought it was,’ said Victoria. ‘I think the person who said it was angry with me and wanted to alarm me.’

‘Nobody could be angry with you for long. In any case, my love, don’t you believe it. Oh dear, you’ve torn your dress. Let me mend it. How Charlotte used to tear her things! She kept me and Mrs Gagarin busy, I can tell you. Poor Gagarin, she adored Charlotte; every stitch was put in with loving care.’

Louisa threaded her needle. ‘I’ll mend this so that no one knows you ever tore it. And where did you do it? On the stairs? It wasn’t like that when you set out this morning, I know. The Baroness Lehzen would have seen to that.’

‘I think I caught it on a bramble in the garden.’

‘What a neat clean little girl you are. Now, Charlotte … there was nothing neat about Charlotte. She used to come in sometimes, bounding in so that she would well nigh knock you over; and she would be so excited she wouldn’t be able to get the words out. She’d stutter and grow quite angry with herself. You speak beautifully.’

‘I have to learn how to pronounce my words; I have to read a great deal.’

‘I’m sure you do. And very nice too.’

‘But I think you liked Charlotte’s stutter.’

‘Oh, Charlotte!’ Louisa laughed. ‘She could be a very naughty little girl sometimes … but in a lovable way, if you understand.’

It was rather difficult to understand, thought Victoria, because Louisa somehow managed to convey that Charlotte’s naughtiness was more attractive than other people’s goodness and her stutter far more to be desired than the clearest form of speech.