‘I pray that you will always feel as you do now,’ said Lehzen fervently.

‘But of course I shall. My crown will make no difference to my heart. We have been together for so long that it seems forever. Do you remember when I was so ill that my hair fell out in handfuls? Every time you dressed it you would assure me that it was getting thicker. And you made a funny little puff of it to make it seem thicker. Oh dear, dearest Lehzen!’

Lehzen was too moved for words. She composed her features but after a few moments said in her most authoritative governess’s voice: ‘I think it is time we went for our drive.’

‘Yes,’ said Victoria meekly; and as they went out she was thinking: It can’t be long. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps even today. Queen of England … at any moment.


* * *

The Duchess of Kent heard the clop-clop of horses’ hoofs.

‘The Princess and the Baroness are going for their morning drive,’ she said to Lady Flora Hastings, one of the most devoted of her attendants. The Princess! mused the Duchess. How long before she was Queen? The thought filled her with an excitement she found difficult to control and the person to whom she could express her jubilation was naturally her dear Sir John Conroy, Comptroller of her Household and intimate friend. All through the difficult years of Victoria’s childhood they had been together and now they should be approaching the culmination of their hopes. But were they?

‘My dearest Duchess should contain her feelings,’ said Sir John gently as she burst into his study. He liked the lack of ceremony and although it was noted throughout the household and caused a certain amount of scandal, that did not altogether displease him either. There was a mischievous streak in his nature which often appeared to force him into some action detrimental to his interests merely for the cynical pleasure it gave him.

‘At such a time!’ cried the Duchess. ‘All our hopes and plans are about to be realised.’

‘Your Grace must take into consideration the child herself.’

‘Victoria! Do you know, my dear, I sometimes think that my daughter is lacking in gratitude.’

‘A common failing,’ smiled Sir John.

‘It is not one I expect from my own daughter.’

‘Alas, realisation often falls short of our expectations. My dear spy tells me that His Majesty is sinking fast.’

‘It is fortunate that the Princess Sophia is so friendly towards us … or perhaps I should say towards you.’

Sir John smirked. It was true that the Princess Sophia adored him and was ready to act as spy at Court. She had begged him to take charge of her accounts in addition to those of the Duchess, and this was well worthwhile, Sir John explained to his Duchess. The Princess Sophia could keep them informed of her brother William’s actions and since the Duchess was on such bad terms with His Majesty that was not such a bad thing. Sir John always had excuses to offer her for his friendships with other women. He was of course very handsome, very clever and so many women seemed to find his somewhat sarcastic cynical manner fascinating. Even Lady Conyngham, George IV’s mistress, had not been indifferent to him. So useful, Sir John had said then, to have a foot in the royal apartments; and so he said now, through the Princess Sophia. But the Duchess was well aware that his first loyalties were to her.

‘He can’t sink fast enough for me, the old buffoon,’ snapped the Duchess.

Sir John raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps we should not speak ill of the dead.’

‘I only hope he is. It’s certainly time he was.’

‘Alas, that it did not happen a year or so earlier. Then we should have been on safer grounds. There have been too many storms lately.’

‘I cannot understand her ingratitude.’

‘She has been made aware of her importance.’

‘I have always striven to make her realise what she owes to us.’

‘Ah, there was a serpent in our Eden.’

‘I’d hardly call that skinny caraway chewing spinster that!’

‘Well our dear Princess herself has not been easy to lead. And now that she is past her eighteenth birthday …’

‘By a month!’

‘Alas that’s of no moment. She has reached the milestone and passed it and if we are not very careful she will be flying away from us.’

‘It must not be, John. After all we have done! Where have we failed?’

‘Our failure is in the character of your daughter. My God, she can be obstinate; when she sets those little lips together and those blue eyes are stormy … one fears the worst.’

‘But a child! Surely …’

‘I have written to Lord Liverpool asking him to advise her to instate a secretary.’

‘Yourself?’

He nodded. ‘She will not have it. She has definitely made it clear there will be no post for me in her household.’

‘And her mother?’ The Duchess’s eyes flashed. ‘Is she to be banished?’

‘She can hardly go as far as that. But we shall have to tread warily. Our little Princess has quite a considerable opinion of herself.’

‘I wrote to her a few days ago, feeling that to set down my feelings in writing might have more effect than mere words. I told her that her popularity with the people is due to the way in which I have brought her up and that she should not have too high an opinion of her own cleverness.’

‘I trust she realised the wisdom of those words, but I fear she did not in view of her actions. Ah, long ago we should have rid the household of the Baroness Lehzen. We should have been firm.’

‘Lehzen has been a good watchdog. She would guard her with her life.’

‘While making sure that she loses nothing by it.’

Sir John did not exactly reproach the Duchess but the reminder was in his words that had she followed his advice the Baroness would have been banished to Germany years ago.

The Duchess spread her hands. ‘What can we do now?’

Sir John took them and smiled that cynical smile of his.

‘We’ll wait. When she realises what it means to be the Queen she may discover that she needs help … and we shall be at hand to give it. You, her gracious mother; I her Secretary and Comptroller-to-be; and behind us good Baron Stockmar, who as your brother Leopold’s ally, will surely be on our side. Do you think our German spinster can stand against such as we are?’

‘There is … Victoria,’ said the Duchess.

‘Ah, Victoria!’ murmured Sir John.


* * *

The Princess Victoria had retired for the night and the Baroness Lehzen sat in her bedroom reading. Before getting into bed the Princess had opened her wardrobe door and gazed solemnly at the black bombazine dress which was hanging there in readiness.

Her eyes had filled with the tears which came so readily.

‘Oh, Lehzen,’ she said, ‘it seems so heartless to have everything ready like this, as though we can’t wait for it to happen. Poor Uncle William! I hope he doesn’t realise it.’

‘Kings are different from ordinary mortals,’ soothed Lehzen.

‘And queens too,’ sighed Victoria. ‘Lehzen, I fear I shall never sleep tonight.’

But like the child she would always seem to Lehzen, almost as soon as she had laid her head on her pillow she was fast asleep.

Lehzen had straightened the quilt and kissed the warm pink cheek. The Princess looked so young asleep, with those prominent blue eyes, which could be alternately softly sentimental and stormy, closed, and the little mouth with the rather prominent teeth and the receding chin, which mistakenly gave an impression of weakness, in repose.

My poor darling, thought Lehzen, what burdens of state will be laid upon those young shoulders. But I shall be there.

That was one thing on which Lehzen was quite determined. She would be there. She must be. To leave this beloved child would be like dying, for she had dedicated her life to Victoria. Everything that the child had become was due to her upbringing. The Duchess of Kent could take little credit.

It had been a wonderful day when she had come from Germany to serve in the household of the Duchess of Kent – a step upwards for the daughter of a Lutheran clergyman. She had been the governess of Feodora, the Duchess’s elder daughter by her first marriage, but like everyone in that household she had succumbed to the charm of the pink-cheeked, plump little baby. And when that baby was five years old and Louise Lehzen had become her governess she was overjoyed. From that day Victoria was more important to her than anything else on earth. And the most endearing characteristic of this delightful child was her affection and her fidelity. Lehzen was to her the mother she had needed; and although the Duchess of Kent had watched over her daughter with the utmost care, never forgetting for one moment that there was a possibility that she would ascend the throne, she failed to give what Victoria needed most – love. Louise Lehzen was at hand to make up for the Duchess’s deficiency in this respect.

Even the Duchess, who had, under Sir John’s directions, attempted to banish her to Germany, was aware of her devotion to Victoria, and trusted her as she would no one else.

That was why she sat here in the Princess’s bedroom now and would remain there until the Duchess came to bed; for it was a rule of the Palace that Victoria must never be alone; and when she retired for the night, Lehzen must sit in her room until the Duchess came to her bed, which was in the same room as Victoria’s.

From the pocket of her gown she took a handful of caraway seeds and thoughtfully nibbled them. They were sent to her specially from her native Coburg and she rarely took any food without them. They were sprinkled on her bread and on her meat; some of her enemies at the Palace laughed at her and said this caraway seed habit was a loathsome one. She smelt of caraway seeds, they said, although the Baroness did not believe there was any odour attached to her favourite food. She knew she was not attractive; she was constantly unwell, a martyr to migraine; and she knew that many of the Duchess’s women laughed at her behind her back. Never mind. What did it matter? She was dearly loved by the only person she cared about and whenever Victoria talked of her devotion for her dear Lehzen tears would fill her eyes. Lehzen smoothed her cap and stroked her rather hooked nose and let her thoughts dwell in the past and then fell to wondering what was happening in the sick room at Windsor.

In due course the Duchess appeared. This was the sign for Lehzen to depart. The Duchess, a colourful figure in her beribboned head-dress and gown a mass of lace and flounces was, Lehzen supposed, a handsome woman. And the Duchess was well aware of it. No one could have had a higher opinion of herself than the mother of Victoria.

‘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.