But his reputation fitted his appearance and this was largely due to the fact that about nine years before my birth he had been involved in a very unsavory case when his valet, a man called Sellis, was found in his bed with his throat cut. The Duke himself was wounded in the head, and this could have been fatal if the weapon which had struck him had not come into contact with his sword. There was no explanation of what happened but Sellis did have a beautiful wife and Ernest’s reputation with regard to women was rather shady. The general belief was that Uncle Ernest had quarrelled with his valet over the latter’s wife and had wounded himself in the affray. It was a most unpleasant case and never forgotten.
About three years before Charlotte’s death he had married a woman whose reputation was as sinister as his own. This was his cousin Frederica, daughter of the Duke of Mecklenburg—so her aunt was Queen Charlotte of England—who had been married twice, once to Frederick of Prussia and once to Frederick of Solms-Braunfels, both of whom had died mysteriously.
So there was Uncle Ernest with Aunt Frederica, and suspicion of murder had been attached to them both; and it was not entirely due to my mother’s hatred of them that I felt this repugnance.
Uncle Sussex was the sixth son and ninth child of King George and Queen Charlotte. He lived in Kensington Palace so I saw him now and then during my childhood. He was what is known as an eccentric, and his contribution to the family scandal was, as had come to be expected, through marriage. He was not promiscuous. As a matter of fact, that was not really a great sin of the uncles. Even George IV was faithful—more or less—to his women while they kept their positions. Uncle Sussex fell in love with Lady Augusta Murray when he was on the Continent and they were married there; and when they came to England they went through the ceremony once more. Alas, although it was a love match it was not approved of by the King and Parliament, so it was not recognized as a marriage. The happy pair did not mind that at first. But such considerations blight a marriage, I suppose. Sussex had always been a rebel. I remembered hearing that when he was very young he had been locked in his bedroom for wearing Admiral Keppel’s colors at the time of an election—and the King was against Admiral Keppel. It may have been that there was such a strict rule in the household that the children were certain to rebel. Uncle Sussex went on rebelling all his life.
When King George was put away and his eldest son became Regent, Sussex was welcomed back to Court. He had made a second marriage to Lady Cecelia Buggins, the widow of Sir George Buggins, and that was when they were at Kensington Palace. Being eccentric, Sussex never considered what people thought of his actions, and as he was an intellectual he was looked on with suspicion by most members of the family—except the Regent, of course; but Sussex was in a way a good man and gave his support to benevolent causes. It was only his marriages which had brought him notoriety.
The last uncle was Uncle Adolphus, the Duke of Cambridge, and it seemed that the younger uncles were less wild. Uncle Adolphus was the seventh son and the tenth in the family; he had gone to Germany and distinguished himself in the army. When Clarence had been floundering round, looking for a wife, he had promised to keep an eye open for a suitable one for him and his questing eye had fallen on Princess Augusta, the daughter of the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel. He had written to Clarence extolling her beauty. The letters grew more and more adulatory until it was obvious that Adolphus himself was in love with the lady. This was actually the case, for he married her himself. Yes, Cambridge was really the most ordinary of the uncles.
So there they were, my rather disreputable uncles, the princes of the House of Hanover, which must be kept going at all cost. So any eligible uncle must do his duty and build up the succession. Ambition, which had lain dormant when it seemed that healthy bouncing Charlotte would live and produce a batch of healthy sons, as her grandmother had done, had been fanned into a bright blaze. There was not one of the eligible dukes who did not aspire to producing the heir to the throne.
Clarence, Kent, Cumberland and Cambridge were on their marks, as it were. There was speculation throughout the family… and the country. Who was going to reach the coveted goal?
Poor Aunt Adelaide produced and lost her child, so Clarence had set off to a bad start. Both Cumberland and Cambridge produced sons—both christened George, a good name for a king; but they were the younger sons, and if Clarence failed and the Duchess of Kent was fruitful, the palm would go to the Kents.
How exciting it must have been! I could imagine poor blustering Uncle William urging on Aunt Adelaide; and Cumberland grinding his teeth and plotting Heaven knew what with his sinister wife whose reputation matched his own. Cambridge? Well, he would be gently hopeful, I supposed; but his chances were a little remote as it was hardly possible that the others would fail completely.
I heard of a strange thing which had happened to my father. It was remembered when I was born and he found that, instead of the longed for son, he had a daughter. He had been in the forest of Leiningen, before his marriage, when I think he must have been beset by doubts and anxiously considering the suffering he was about to inflict on Madame St. Laurent. He had been on his way to visit my mother, and put up for the night at an inn. While he was seated with a few members of his company, a gypsy came in, and selecting him from the group, asked if she might tell his fortune.
They laughed and feigned their disbelief in such arts as people do, while at the same time, they find them irresistible. The gypsy took his hand and told him he was going to marry shortly and that he would be the father of a great queen.
This amazed him, for if she had read his thoughts and was trying to give him what he wanted, it would have been a king.
He said: “No. A king.”
But the gypsy shook her head. “A queen,” she insisted.
He was much impressed. So much so that his mind was made up. He must recognize his duty to the family and the State; he must marry Victoria and make sure that Madame St. Laurent was well looked after.
There was no Salic law in England and the gypsy had said a great queen.
Well, that was the prophecy, and, as I believe first and foremost in honesty, I will say that it came as near true as any prophecy can.
The year 1819 dawned. It was the year of royal babies. In March the Clarences had a little girl who did not survive. The Cambridges had a boy. May saw two more babies. The Cumberlands’ George was born on the 27th, but before that, on the 19th, I made my appearance.
My father was exultant. He was sure then that the gypsy’s prophecy was coming true.
I LIKED TO IMAGINE my nursery. There was such rejoicing. It would have been pleasant to know what an important baby I was. But perhaps that would not have been good for me and I should have been even more willful and petulant than I actually was in those early years.
Louise Lehzen, who was to have charge of me, had brought her pupil, the Princess Feodore, my half-sister, over to England to live with us. It was from her and from Feodore—and I came to love both dearly—that I learned so
