Charles left soon after and went to see Uncle Leopold.

As a result of that visit Baron Stockmar arrived.

I knew that he had been very close to Albert; he had also been with Uncle Leopold at the time of Charlotte's death. He was three years older than Uncle Leopold and very wise, so I had always heard from my uncle and, of course, I believed every word he said. Uncle Leopold had brought him to England as his physician when he had married Charlotte, and as my uncle himself was plagued by many ailments, he had great need of Dr.Christian Friedrich Stockmar. He had had such confidence in Stockmar that he had sent him to assist in Albert's upbringing, which clearly showed his regard for him.

I greeted Baron Stockmar warmly, so did my mother. He was close to Uncle Leopold and that made me pleased to see him; but I soon realized that he too had my mother's side of the story, and he began by urging me to take Sir John Conroy as my secretary.

I was most emphatic about that. I had grown very much stronger in the last few months. It may have been because of Mama's activities, which made me see her in an increasingly unflattering light; or it may simply have been that I was growing up.

My brother Charles joined with Stockmar in trying to weaken my resolve. I was young, so young, they kept reiterating until I could have boxed their ears. I was so inexperienced, they said.

I pointed out that they, being new to the country, were more lacking in experience of it than I.

They were amazed, but I made it perfectly clear that I would not be forced into making decisions I might regret afterward.

Later Lord Liverpool came to Kensington. He saw Sir John who, I knew, was fighting desperately for his political position. If I had had any say in that it would have been defunct long ago. I guessed he was telling Lord Liverpool that I was unfit to rule, that I needed guidance, that I was young for my years. For he had said these things and often implied them to me.

I managed to see Lord Liverpool alone.

He said, “Since you will not have Sir John Conroy for your private secretary, in the event of your becoming Queen, would you put yourself in the hands of the Prime Minister?”

I had seen Lord Melbourne once or twice and he had made a very favorable impression on me. I replied at once that I considered that most suitable. Perhaps Sir John Conroy could take the post of Keeper of the Privy Purse, suggested Lord Liverpool.

“No,” I said. “Never. Sir John Conroy will have no post in my household.”

I begged Lord Liverpool to try to understand the position into which I had been forced.

He looked at me very steadily and then he said, “I understand.”

I felt much better because I believed that if I could rid myself of my bète noir, John Conroy, and could escape from my mother's rule and take the advice of a man of the world like the Prime Minister—who after all was in charge of the country's affairs—I could face the tasks ahead of me with some confidence.


* * *

THE KING WAS as good as his word in insisting on my attending his next Drawing Room. My mother must have been shaken by that outburst of his, and although she laughed at him and called him an old buffoon, she did realize that when the summons came, it must be obeyed.

She seemed impervious to his insults and declared that he injured himself more than he did her—with which I did not agree. But I had for some time given up agreeing with my mother.

My eighteenth birthday was a short time ahead. Somehow I believed that when I reached that age a great deal of the petty irritation that I had to endure would pass away.

My mother talked of the King as though he were dying. Indeed, I knew he was getting more and more feeble; she was very resentful toward fate, which was allowing me to creep slowly up to my eighteenth birthday while the King still lived. Sometimes it seemed like a race between me and Uncle William. Would he die before I was eighteen? He saw it in that way, too, and I was sure he was determined not to die until I had come of age. He hated my mother as strongly as she hated him—more so perhaps, because he knew she was longing for him to die.

I was dismayed to find the Queen absent. Nothing went smoothly when she was not there. The King told me she was unwell and he had insisted on her resting.

I showed my concern and that pleased him. He said, “She will be about again soon. She does too much, you know.”

“I know how we all miss her when she is absent,” I said.

He nodded and at that moment caught sight of Sir John Conroy, whom my mother had insisted should come in our party.

The King called to the Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Conyngham came hastily to his side.

The King pointed to Sir John. He said, “I won't have that fellow in my drawing room. Throw him out.”

Conyngham looked bewildered. The King growled, “You heard me. Out! Out! I'll not have him here.”

Anyone but Sir John would have been overcome with shame. I had never seen anyone before turned out of the King's Drawing Room.

Sir John smiled insolently at Lord Conyngham and there was a nonchalant smile on his face as he was escorted out of the room.

I was pleased. At least the King shared my opinion, even if others were trying to convince me of the advisability of making him a member of my household.


* * *

I WAS GETTING letters full of advice from Uncle Leopold. Not that there was anything unusual about that. He had always advised me and he was getting more and more concerned. I wondered what Mama was writing to him and what my brother Charles had said to him when he went over to Belgium in such haste.

The eighteenth birthday was approaching fast. They all knew that once I reached it, I would no longer be the child whom they had taken such pains to direct in the way they wanted her to go.

Uncle Leopold was very happy that year because Aunt Louise had given birth to another son and for a while his letters were full of that happy event. I rejoiced with him and secretly would rather hear news of the babies than quite so many injunctions to do this or not do that— which sometimes seemed contradictory to me.

The new baby was named Philippe and Uncle Leopold told me that little Leopold was very interested in his brother, but not at all impressed by his appearance. After putting his head on one side and regarding the newly born infant for some moments he said, “Pas beau frère.”

“He now thinks better of him,” wrote Uncle Leopold, “but he makes an odd little face when he sees him. Later on they will have titles and I think young Leopold will be the Duke of Brabant and Philippe Count of Flanders.”

I smiled to think of those two children with such grand titles; and how happy I was because Uncle Leopold had found happiness at last, after all he had suffered in his marriage to Charlotte.

Now, all too rarely, he wrote of his family. There were constant injunctions on how I was to choose my household, how I was to act with my ministers… when the time came. I was beginning to be apprehensive and hoping that the time would not come just yet.

Uncle Leopold wrote, “My object is that you should be no one's tool.”

That phrase stayed with me for long after I had read his letter, and a rather disloyal thought came into my mind. No one's tool…No. Not even yours, dear Uncle.

A few days before my birthday Lord Conyngham called at the Palace. A message was sent to me asking me to go to the drawing room. When I arrived there I knew something important had happened. Mama looked very angry and Sir John was certainly put out.

Lord Conyngham bowed to me and said, “I have a letter from His Majesty who has commanded me to put it into no hands but yours.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the letter.

Mama would have taken it from me and I guessed that she and Sir John had tried to get their hands on it before I arrived; but Lord Conyngham had had express orders from the King to give it to no one but me.

I felt very important.

Mama said, “Well, open it, my love.”

I was aware of Sir John's snake-like eyes upon me and I replied, “I will open it in my sitting room.”

I was very confident of myself. Only a few more days to go before I reached my eighteenth birthday. It would be too late now for Mama to interfere with me. Her hopes of becoming Regent of England were over. It was time for her to realize I was grown up and would brook no interference.

I walked out of the room and when I opened the letter I read that the King was offering me ten thousand pounds a year and an establishment of my own—apart from that of my mother.

My joy was intense. I felt like a person who has been in prison and at last sees freedom ahead.


* * *

BUT OF COURSE I could not escape so easily. Mama and Sir John discovered what was in the letter and together they drew up a draft for me to sign. When I read it I refused to sign for it stated that while I gratefully accepted the ten thousand pounds, I begged to remain as I was because of my youth and inexperience. The draft set out, too, that my income should not be “Mother-free.”

I said I should like to consult one of the ministers—Lord Melbourne, for instance.

They went on and on. Mama would not stop telling me all she had done for me. I had misjudged my strength. I had so recently emerged from my captivity. I was still unsure of myself and needed advice. I thought of Uncle Leopold but I knew he would say “Sign”; for it was he who had said I needed to be with my mother for a while yet.

I thought: If I sign this, it is only for a few days. When I am eighteen, I shall do as I please.

I signed, to stop my mother's constant haranguing and to escape from the evil looks of that man.

As soon as I had left them I repented of what I had done, and I wrote a statement to the King in which I said that the draft was not my own.

I knew he would understand, and he apparently did.

At last the great day came. My eighteenth birthday. I was of age.

While I lay in bed contemplating what this meant, I heard the sound of singing below my window. It was George Rodwell, who was the Musical Director at Covent Garden, and I learned later that he had composed the song he was singing expressly for me on my eighteenth birthday.

I guessed that Mama had arranged this as a special treat, and instead of gratitude for such thoughtfulness in giving me the sort of pleasure I liked best, a notion came into my head that she was very worried and was trying hard to placate me.

The King had sent me a grand piano—one of the finest I had ever seen. I rushed to it and began to play while Mama looked on scowling. I knew she would have liked to send it back. But she could not. It was mine—and I was eighteen years old.

There was to be a grand ball in the evening at St. James's to celebrate my birthday—another gift from the King and the Queen. How wonderful! Mama must not spoil this. I wanted to tell the King how happy his gift had made me and that I should never forget to be grateful to him every time I played my beautiful piano.

It seemed that everyone was aware of the importance of the day. A deputation came from the city of London to congratulate me. Mama was at my side when I received it.

How she irritated me! She would never learn. I had been thinking she must realize now that she could no longer treat me as a child; but when I was about to reply to the deputation and thank them most sincerely for their good wishes and all the trouble they had taken to come to the Palace, Mama pushed me aside and talked to them herself. It was clear to me that I was not yet prepared to show my intentions. She still overawed me as she had when I was a child. So I was silent while she told them that I owed everything to her upbringing, a woman who had been left without a husband, how she had sacrificed herself for me, how she had never failed in her duty.

They were dismayed and disappointed because they had wanted to speak to me and they did not really like Mama; they did not like her fussy clothes, nor her accent. Why she, who had been so insistent that I should have no trace of a German accent, could not see that they resented hers, I could not imagine.

I found I was frowning at Mama with cold dislike.

Later in the day we rode through the streets.

“We must show ourselves,” said Mama.