into tears; she was not sure why. Her feelings were prompted by apprehension, and elation, fear yet pride.
Now she knew why she was never allowed to be alone, why the rest of the family frolicked at Aunt Adelaide’s parties and she was not allowed to go. She was important … more so than the other children … because now it seemed almost certain that one day she might be a Queen.
Lehzen allowed her to weep and after a while she dried her eyes.
‘I understand now,’ she said, ‘why you have always urged me to study so hard. I am not so free as my cousins. I must learn history and English and Latin. Oh, I understand so much now.’ She put her hand into Lehzen’s. ‘I will be good,’ she said, as though she were taking an oath of allegiance.
‘My dearest Princess,’ said Lehzen with emotion, ‘when the day comes you will be a great Queen.’
Nothing could be quite the same after that. She no longer played with the dolls. She kept them, though, for she could not bear to part with them; but she stopped her childish conversations with them. She applied herself to her lessons; she was less inclined to indulge in ‘storms’; all the time she was haunted by a crown and sceptre.
She came to the conclusion that one was much happier if one were not so near the throne – like the two Georges, Cumberland and Cambridge. And yet sometimes it was very exciting to contemplate the future. She thought of Uncle King – so old and ill and who would really be rather repulsive if he were not so charming – and she thought: One is always aware that he is the King. He has royal dignity; he has never lost his regality. That was how it must be with Victoria.
‘Queen Victoria.’ She whispered the words to herself sometimes.
Then she would tell herself: But if Aunt Adelaide had a child – and why should she not because she so loved children and longed for one – Victoria would have to stand back. It was not likely but it was not impossible.
She began to dream of her accession to the throne, of the people lining the streets to see her ride to her coronation. She would look after the dear people. She would be a great Queen.
There was one thing of which she was absolutely sure: I will be good.
All through June the King’s death was awaited. He had clung to life for so long; he had been on the point of death for years and always had rallied; but there could be no doubt now.
He lay in his overheated room unconscious of what went on around him; he consumed quantities of cherry brandy; he was almost blind; he suffered from delusions and believed he had won the Battle of Waterloo. Then he would have moments of lucidity when he was his old witty charming self.
But by the beginning of June it was generally believed that the end was near.
Lady Conyngham went through drawers and cupboards; she wanted to miss nothing and now was the last chance to reap the harvest. Once the King was dead her day would be over. She loaded her bags with treasures which she would swear the King had given her, and prepared herself for hasty departure at the appropriate moment.
Cumberland waited. He now had to look to William, for William had managed so far to elude the strait-jacket – thanks to that wise little wife of his. William would be proclaimed King on George’s death and Cumberland was determined to see that he was disqualified. He was sure that would not be difficult. William had shown a most unbecoming impatience and he was over excitable.
Cumberland would get his way, he was sure of it.
But he must be prepared to clear the way to the throne.
So while the old King lay on his deathbed his end was eagerly awaited by those who gazed enviously at his crown.
Victoria in Kensington Palace was told that Uncle King was very ill and there would almost certainly soon be another Uncle King – William instead of George. And Uncle William was very old and often ill and then … Victoria.
And on June 25th King George IV died and the Duke of
Now she knew why she was never allowed to be alone, why the rest of the family frolicked at Aunt Adelaide’s parties and she was not allowed to go. She was important … more so than the other children … because now it seemed almost certain that one day she might be a Queen.
Lehzen allowed her to weep and after a while she dried her eyes.
‘I understand now,’ she said, ‘why you have always urged me to study so hard. I am not so free as my cousins. I must learn history and English and Latin. Oh, I understand so much now.’ She put her hand into Lehzen’s. ‘I will be good,’ she said, as though she were taking an oath of allegiance.
‘My dearest Princess,’ said Lehzen with emotion, ‘when the day comes you will be a great Queen.’
Nothing could be quite the same after that. She no longer played with the dolls. She kept them, though, for she could not bear to part with them; but she stopped her childish conversations with them. She applied herself to her lessons; she was less inclined to indulge in ‘storms’; all the time she was haunted by a crown and sceptre.
She came to the conclusion that one was much happier if one were not so near the throne – like the two Georges, Cumberland and Cambridge. And yet sometimes it was very exciting to contemplate the future. She thought of Uncle King – so old and ill and who would really be rather repulsive if he were not so charming – and she thought: One is always aware that he is the King. He has royal dignity; he has never lost his regality. That was how it must be with Victoria.
‘Queen Victoria.’ She whispered the words to herself sometimes.
Then she would tell herself: But if Aunt Adelaide had a child – and why should she not because she so loved children and longed for one – Victoria would have to stand back. It was not likely but it was not impossible.
She began to dream of her accession to the throne, of the people lining the streets to see her ride to her coronation. She would look after the dear people. She would be a great Queen.
There was one thing of which she was absolutely sure: I will be good.
All through June the King’s death was awaited. He had clung to life for so long; he had been on the point of death for years and always had rallied; but there could be no doubt now.
He lay in his overheated room unconscious of what went on around him; he consumed quantities of cherry brandy; he was almost blind; he suffered from delusions and believed he had won the Battle of Waterloo. Then he would have moments of lucidity when he was his old witty charming self.
But by the beginning of June it was generally believed that the end was near.
Lady Conyngham went through drawers and cupboards; she wanted to miss nothing and now was the last chance to reap the harvest. Once the King was dead her day would be over. She loaded her bags with treasures which she would swear the King had given her, and prepared herself for hasty departure at the appropriate moment.
Cumberland waited. He now had to look to William, for William had managed so far to elude the strait-jacket – thanks to that wise little wife of his. William would be proclaimed King on George’s death and Cumberland was determined to see that he was disqualified. He was sure that would not be difficult. William had shown a most unbecoming impatience and he was over excitable.
Cumberland would get his way, he was sure of it.
But he must be prepared to clear the way to the throne.
So while the old King lay on his deathbed his end was eagerly awaited by those who gazed enviously at his crown.
Victoria in Kensington Palace was told that Uncle King was very ill and there would almost certainly soon be another Uncle King – William instead of George. And Uncle William was very old and often ill and then … Victoria.
And on June 25th King George IV died and the Duke of
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