Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series) (31 page)

But she must know. The suspense would be unbearable if she did not. And if it were so? No! Fate could not be so cruel. There had been three failures. There could not be another attempt.

She was aware of Victoria quietly leaning against Adelaide playing with the rings she was wearing.

‘My stepdaughter, Lady Erroll,’ Adelaide said, ‘is very happy. She is expecting a child.’

‘Excellent news,’ said the Duchess of Kent. Was that a certain lilt she heard in Adelaide’s voice? What did it mean? Was it possible?

‘If it is a girl she wants to call it Adelaide.’

‘And you will allow this?’ asked the Duchess of Kent whose manner always grew cold when the FitzClarences were referred to.

‘I shall be delighted.’

The Duchess of Kent could restrain herself no longer.

‘You yourself look much happier than you have since … the tragedy. Is there any reason?’

There was a tense silence in the room. Victoria listening intently wondered what it could mean.

‘I have hopes again.’

Hopes! Oh God! thought the Duchess of Kent. It is as I feated.

They could not talk in front of the child, of course; but it was clear enough. Adelaide sitting there, quiet, serene,
smug
! thought the Duchess of Kent. I cannot bear it. It was like the distant funeral bell tolling dismally. The birth of Adelaide’s ‘hopes’ could only mean the death of her own.

Adelaide begged that Prince Leopold and the Duchess of Kent would excuse her. She wanted to pay her respects to the dolls before she left and she was going to ask Victoria if she might do this.

Victoria was taking her aunt’s hand, forgetting the strange conversation she had not understood, and together Adelaide and Victoria went to the nursery while back in the drawing-room Leopold was trying to restrain his sister and begging her not to have hysterics until
after
the Duchess of Clarence had left.

Adelaide grew happier as it became certain that her hopes were well-founded. She would take care, she promised herself; everything that could be done to achieve a safe delivery should be done. She kept reminding herself that but for that bitterly cold day her baby Elizabeth would have lived. She could bear a child – and a healthy one.

Elizabeth Erroll’s baby was born and like the daughter of George FitzClarence was christened Adelaide. William was delighted both to be a grandfather and that his son and daughter should have wanted to name their children after their stepmother.

At least, thought Adelaide, I am surrounded by babies. And that made her very happy. Not only was she constantly with her step-grandchildren but there was her niece Victoria too. She never lost an opportunity of visiting Kensington Palace and she and Victoria were the best of friends. But she must be careful for she sensed that the Duchess of Kent was a little jealous of Victoria’s love for her.

But however much she might enjoy the company of other people’s children, desperately she wanted her own. Only when she had her own child would the pain of Elizabeth’s loss begin to fade.

As the time for her confinement drew near she stayed at Bushy; she was very large and believed that presaged a strong and healthy child.

The FitzClarences were constantly with her, George’s wife and Elizabeth – mothers themselves – giving her advice, the rest cosseting her.

And then came the day when her pains started … far too early. She was hurried to bed to have a miscarriage.

She was desperately unhappy. It seemed a double misfortune since there had been two babies and she could not help picturing herself with her twins, one in each arm.

Had any woman ever longed for a child as she did? she wondered. Had any ever been so heartbreakingly disappointed.

William came and sat by her bed. He wept with her.

‘My poor, poor Adelaide,’ he said. ‘But I still have you.’

And that was some comfort.

He had written to the King, he said, to tell him the sad news.
His Majesty, now at Brighton, feeling far from well, would be desolate.

William was right. The King sent his deepest condolences. He was genuinely sorry for he was disliking the Duchess of Kent more than ever; the airs she gave herself were intolerable to him and he would very much like to see her relegated to the background by the birth of a child to William and Adelaide.

William himself had no liking for the lady who had been extremely rude about his dear sons and daughters. Why should this upstart Duchess imagine herself too good to know
his
children? A most unpleasant woman! he decided.

Adelaide, however, was fond of young Victoria so she continued to visit Kensington Palace. He did not wish to spoil Adelaide’s pleasure so he did not suggest she should forgo these calls. But it was galling when the haughty Duchess refused to come to Bushy because she feared she might come into contact with some of the FitzClarence family.

Adelaide was delicate for some time after the miscarriage and William believed a holiday would be good for her.

‘Let us do a bit of travelling,’ he said. ‘We will go and stay with Ida and perhaps look in at Würtemburg to see my sister. She would be delighted and you two were fond of each other.’

Adelaide agreed that she would enjoy a continental tour! Not that it would make her forget. Nothing could do that; but William was obviously elated at the idea; and who knew, there might be hope yet of realizing her greatest dream.

So they made plans to leave and it was with some sorrow that she discovered she would not be in London to celebrate Victoria’s birthday.

She wrote to her before she left:

Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide send their love to dear little Victoria with their best wishes on her birthday and hope that she will become a very good girl, being now three years old.

Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide also beg little Victoria to give dear Mamma and dear Sissi a kiss in their name; and to Aunt Mary, Aunt Augusta and Aunt Sophia too, and also to the Big Doll.

Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide are very sorry to be absent on that day and not to see their
dear, dear
little Victoria, as they are sure she will be very good and obedient to dear Mamma on that day and on many, many others. They also hope that dear little Victoria will not forget them and know them again when Uncle and Aunt return.

So for Victoria it was a birthday without the presence of Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide. She missed Aunt Adelaide very much indeed. But her mother was by no means displeased.

Victoria was growing far too fond of Aunt Adelaide, who spoiled her in any case. Why, there were times when the Duchess of Kent believed that the child –
her
child – was more anxious for the society of her Aunt Adelaide than that of her own dear Mamma.

Shortly afterwards on a sunny June day the
Royal Sovereign
carrying the Duke and Duchess of Clarence left Walmer for Flushing; the holiday had begun, but as the yacht left the Downs it struck rough weather and most of the passengers were ill so it was a great relief when the coast of Belgium was sighted and they came to Antwerp.

Adelaide was delighted to be on dry land again and after a short stay at Antwerp they went on to Ghent to see Ida and her family.

What a joyful reunion and how delighted was poor little Louise and her brother Wilhelm!

‘Children always love Adelaide,’ said William rather sadly; and Ida went on quickly to talk of how they had enjoyed their stay in London and were all hoping to come again.

‘We’ll be glad to see you at Bushy whenever you care to come,’ replied William. ‘And I know I speak for Adelaide, too.’

The time in Ghent passed too quickly. There was so much to tell Ida. At first it was not easy to talk of her disappointments but in time she was able to and Ida’s ready sympathy was comforting.

‘You will have a healthy child one day, Adelaide,’ said Ida. ‘I am sure of it.’

‘How I wish I were! I believe though that the Duchess of Kent is fearful.’

‘Oh, that woman.
I
believe she is very ambitious.’

‘It is natural that she should be. Little Victoria is the most
enchanting creature whom her mother has quite made up her mind is going to be the Queen of England. I wish that the Duke of Kent had been older than William, then she might not have been so fearful.’

‘Adelaide!’ cried Ida aghast. ‘You don’t think that she
ill-wishes
you.’

Adelaide smiled. ‘Dear Ida, she is not a wicked woman, and I so well-wish myself that I am sure the fervency of my wishes would outweigh hers.’

‘I am not so sure,’ said Ida. ‘Ambition is a frightening thing.’

‘Then don’t let’s talk of it. Tell me about Louise and Wilhelm, and all that is happening here.’

‘Oh, we get along well. I am always hoping to find a doctor who can do something for Louise. And we are not rich, you know. I did not make a grand marriage as you did.’

‘It was a happy marriage, Ida. What could be better than that?’

‘And you are not happy?’

‘But of course I am. William is kind and he is really a good man, Ida.’

Ida looked a little sadly at her sister. Her marriage to the ageing Duke could scarcely be called romantic; and she was still childless after several attempts.

So, thought Ida, I would still say ‘Poor Adelaide’.

It was very pleasing to the sisters to feel that no great distance separated them. When Adelaide left Ghent it was after having received a promise from Ida that she would visit her next year.

They then proceeded with their journey, calling on Elizabeth, the Landgravine of Hesse-Homburg, and her rather odd husband, with whom Elizabeth declared herself well pleased, although she admitted that he had to be asked very persuasively to bath. Then to Saxe-Meiningen where Adelaide’s mother and brother, the Duchess Eleanor and Duke Bernhard, were delighted to see the visitors.

But the Duchess was disturbed by her daughter’s misadventures in childbirth. ‘Dearest child,’ she asked, ‘do you take the greatest care?’

‘The utmost, Mamma,’ replied Adelaide.

‘You were always a little delicate,’ sighed the Duchess. ‘Not like Ida and …’

She did not add that Ida’s husband was young and vigorous and that the Duke of Clarence was scarcely that. What a pity that the Duke of Saxe-Weimar was not the Duke of Clarence and vice versa. It was far more important for Adelaide to have children than for Ida; and yet ironically – one might say mischievously – it was the younger daughter who was productive when the elder one could have given birth to a monarch.

But what concerned Duchess Eleanor as a mother was the health and happiness of her daughters. She need have no fears for Ida – but Adelaide. Adelaide so deserved happiness; and there was a haunting sadness about her which the Duchess knew was due to frustrated motherhood.

Still, she was having her effect on William. He was far less crude than he had been at the time of their marriage. When they parted the Duchess Eleanor gave her daughter injunctions to come again soon and declared what happiness it was to her to know that she could see all her family from time to time.

And after that followed a brief visit to the Queen of Würtemburg who welcomed her brother and sister-in-law with great warmth. They were shocked by the sight of her, for her body had become not only gross but oddly shaped. She had the family tendency to grow fat and unlike her brother, King George IV, she had never corseted. Her face had grown so large that eyes had sunk into flesh; she was an extraordinary sight and scarcely human, but she was kind and felt very friendly towards Adelaide and was full of commiseration over the loss of her children. Adelaide was sorry to leave her sister-in-law but she was beginning to feel an eagerness to be back in the peace of Bushy with her younger stepchildren where the elder ones called frequently bringing the children which they knew made them exceptionally welcome.

Back in England, settling happily at Bushy, visiting Kensington Palace, seeing how the little Victoria had grown, was certainly very pleasant.

The Duchess of Kent though was decidedly jealous, for on Adelaide’s first call after the return to England, Victoria so far
forgot her good manners as to fly at her aunt and put her chubby arms about her knees and bury her face into Aunt Adelaide’s gown in an excess of affection.

‘Victoria!’ cried the Duchess of Kent in an angry voice.

And Victoria, flushing with shame, withdrew herself and curtsied to Aunt Adelaide in the manner laid down in the nursery.

Adelaide laughed and picked up the child in her arms.

‘Oh, we are too good friends for ceremony, my precious.’

At which Victoria chuckled with relief and putting her arms about Adelaide’s neck gave her a resounding kiss.

We must put a stop to this, thought the Duchess of Kent.

‘I must apologize for my daughter’s behaviour,’ she said to Adelaide.

‘I like it,’ was the reply.

‘So,’ complained the Duchess of Kent afterwards to John Conroy, ‘shattering all the good sense I have been trying to instil into the child. But what can you expect of a woman who receives those dreadful FitzClarence bastards as though they are her stepchildren.’

‘And how is the Big Doll?’ Adelaide wanted to know.

‘She is very well, Aunt Adelaide. And she will be pleased to see you. She has missed you. She told me so.’

Victoria must be taught not to tell lies, thought the Duchess of Kent.

‘And may I see her?’

‘Oh, please come, Aunt Adelaide. And I have some more dolls. Aunt Augusta gave me one dressed like Queen Elizabeth. And Aunt Mary has promised me another.’

‘That is a lovely idea. Perhaps you will make a collection.’

‘What
is
a collection?’

The Duchess of Kent watched in exasperation while they looked at the dolls and the Duchess of Clarence behaved in what she could only call a most
infantile
manner.

Now, she thought, she will be calling often; Victoria will be visiting St James’s – but not Bushy, never Bushy, that is something I will never allow – and Victoria is growing up. She is advanced for her years. She picks up things quickly …
sometimes, I think, too quickly. We shall have to be very watchful.