Chapter Fifteen

Marlborough House, Home of the Prince and Princess of Wales, London, Thursday, 22 March 1866

THE DRAWING-ROOM OF MARLBOROUGH HOUSE was a vast space littered with gilded chairs, sofas, and chaise-longues. Artful clusters of tables were strewn with albums, Sèvres figures, and enamelled snuff-boxes. The potted palms were so tall they almost brushed the ornately corniced ceilings. The upholstery was embroidered with gold thread, the windows draped with thick velvet. Margaret and her mother had been invited by Alexandra, Princess of Wales, to take informal tea with the queen, who would be accompanied, as always, by Louise.

“You are the only guests,” Alix informed them when they arrived. “Lady Margaret, you are to take tea with Louise separately. Her Majesty is eager to hear the details of your sister’s lying-in from your mother. You did bring Lady Kerr’s letter with you, Duchess?”

“I have it here,” Mama said, holding up her reticule. “It is unusually frank and quite unfit for the ears of any unmarried woman. I commend your idea of seating Margaret and Louise separately.”

“Talking of seating,” Alix said, frowning at the elaborately laid tea-table, “I am not sure where to place Her Majesty. The day is cold and I have had the fire lit, but as you know the queen does not like the room to be too hot.”

“Oh no, she cannot abide the direct heat. I suggest you place her here,” Mama said, pointing, “and then if you have the table moved over there, you can take that seat, and I shall risk being lightly toasted by the fire.”

“Thank you, an excellent plan.”

Margaret watched, fascinated, as Alix summoned several footmen to carefully dismantle the elaborately laid tea-table, move it, and then replace everything, a process that took several minutes. Her Majesty’s place was marked by not one but two tea-cups and saucers, for it was her habit to pour her tea from one cup to another until it was adequately cooled.

“My goodness, are you sure we are the only guests?” Margaret asked, her eyes wide at the volume and variety of food being set out.

“Signor Francatelli always excels himself when the queen comes to tea,” Alix informed her with a prim smile. “He was Her Majesty’s chief cook for a couple of years, and though it was back in the forties, when she was just married, he insists that no-one understands her palate as he does.”

“He certainly panders to her sweet tooth.” The bread and butter, sandwiches, and ices would be served when Her Majesty arrived, though Margaret couldn’t see where they would fit on the table. Several bonbon dishes in the shape of scantily clad Greek goddesses holding up urns were set at carefully measured intervals. The salted almonds were at the greatest distance from the queen’s place, while the pralines and sugared almonds were closest. Italian macaroons were stacked in a pyramid, while the Naples and champagne biscuits were set out on a plate like a mosaic. The queen’s favourite chocolate sponge was three tiers high, but there was also a rich plum cake, a plain sponge, a selection of pastries, and another elaborate concoction with icing as delicate as lace.

“Here she is,” Alix said, though Margaret had heard no announcement.

“At least you will have the opportunity to enjoy your tea with Louise,” Mama whispered as the three women arranged themselves into a welcoming party. “I find I have barely finished my first sandwich by the time our monarch has finished her tea.”

As ever, Margaret was surprised by the queen’s diminutive stature as she made her curtsy to the rotund, frowning figure garbed in black. Her Majesty nodded a vague greeting, but she had one eye on the tea-table and the other on Mama.

“You brought the letter, Duchess?”

“Indeed, ma’am, I have it here.”

“If you will take this seat, ma’am,” Alix said, rushing forward.

“I don’t want to be too near the fire. This room is hot.” Shedding several shawls and mantles, which were caught adroitly by the Princess of Wales, Her Majesty took her seat, and Mama waved Margaret away.

Louise, needing no further urging, grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to the far corner of the room. “Thank heavens for your sister’s timely delivery. Now we can have a proper gossip. I take it,” she added belatedly, “that all went well with the birth?”

“Oh yes.” Margaret took her seat at the smaller but only slightly less laden tea-table. “I have never seen Mama so relieved as when she received the letter yesterday morning. When my father said that Kerr would be disappointed not to have had the son he was hoping for, she drew him such a look. They have called the little girl Cecil, after Kerr’s mother and his sister who died, sadly, the day before my new niece was born.”

“Good grief, what a tragic coincidence. Was she having a baby, too?”

“She was a nun, Lou, so I doubt it. Thank you. No cream for me. I try to stick to lemon these days.”

Louise poured the tea. “As you know, my sister Vicky is expecting her fifth, while Alice is already having her third, and she’s been married less than four years. It seems to be raining babies. Do help yourself to cake. Signor Francatelli makes the most fabulous coffee and walnut log. Good enough to tempt even me to sample a crumb or two.”

“No, thank you, I’m not hungry.”

“That has never stopped you before.”

“The press monitor my figure even more strictly than Mama. It has rather curtailed my appetite for cake.”

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry. Don’t look so stricken, M. But it’s all ancient history now, isn’t it?”

“Provided I don’t put another foot wrong. Sometimes I feel like one of those poor little insects trapped between two slides under a microscope, you know?”

Louise chuckled. “I know the feeling, wriggling under intense scrutiny! Are you coping, M.? You certainly look very well, and that gown is most becoming; though if you don’t mind a little hint, less is more when it comes to lace.”

“I agree, but Mama would not countenance my wearing anything plainer to come to tea with the queen.”

“And your hair, too,” Louise persisted, “the epitome of a well-behaved coiffure with not a single wilful curl. Most impressive. I congratulate you.”

“Never mind how I look.” Margaret pushed her tea-cup to one side and pulled her chair closer. “I have something to tell you.”

Louise also pushed her cup to one side, her smile fading abruptly. “Do not say you have been foolish again? You have worked so hard to re-establish yourself, and I have so enjoyed having your company. I pray you have done nothing to deprive me of it.”

“I have been making secret forays to Lambeth.”

“Lambeth! If it is to visit the Archbishop of Canterbury at Lambeth Palace, then I fail to see how anyone could dare find fault with that.”

“You are on the right lines, but about half a mile and a world away.” Margaret reached across the table for her friend’s hand but stopped midway when Louise shrank away. “There is no need to start distancing yourself. Mama knows all about it—well, some of it. It is my reward for my exemplary behaviour; though when she agreed, I don’t think she had any notion my visits would prove so life-changing. To be honest, I didn’t either but—oh, it has been! In the last five weeks I have learned so much, experienced so much, I am a different person entirely.”

“Five weeks, and you have said nothing to me.”

“Don’t you dare take offence. What I’m about to tell you, I’ve told not another soul. If you will pour me another cup of tea and cut me just a tiny sliver of cake, I will reveal all.”

To her relief, Louise smiled, albeit reluctantly, and reached for the tea-pot. “Go on, then.”

“AND THERE YOU HAVE IT,” Margaret concluded, sometime later, her tea cold and her cake untouched. “I’m sorry. I’ve not let you get a word in.”

“My goodness, M., but you are a dark horse. I had not an inkling of any of this. To think that you have been spending every spare minute rubbing shoulders with heaven knows who and catching heaven knows what—” Louise broke off, shaking her head. “I sincerely hope that you douse yourself in vinegar when you return home. And the smells! You have a nose like a bloodhound, too. How do you cope?”

“At first I carried a lavender sachet around. Susannah makes them for Sebastian—Father Sebastian, that is. But I barely notice now.”

“It is all so very extreme. If you must do good, couldn’t you have contented yourself with—oh, I don’t know, knitting stockings for the poor?”

“It’s not about doing good, Louise. It’s about learning what real life is like. It’s about being part of something and feeling useful. The women there take me at face value. They tease me for my unworldliness, and they laugh at me for my ignorance, but I don’t mind at all. They are rough and vulgar, but they are kind, too. I feel valued there, more than I do at home, frankly.”

“I’m astonished,” Louise said, “that you prefer a den of iniquity to Montagu House.”

“It’s not a den of iniquity! There is a great deal of industry in the parish. There’s a gasworks, pottery works, any number of breweries, and a vinegar works, too, but it is very poorly paid work; and people marry young there, so they tend to have large families. It is a hard-working community of decent people struggling to survive.”

“So says the saintly Father Sebastian, I presume?”

Margaret stiffened at her mocking tone. “Sebastian is dedicated and extremely hard-working. He listens to people, Lou, and he doesn’t judge or preach. He doesn’t wear a halo; he simply tries to make the small corner of the world he inhabits a better place. I think he is truly admirable.”

Aware that her defence of Sebastian had been rather too impassioned, Margaret made a pretence of drinking her cold tea. She had said far too much already. Dear as she may be to Louise, her friend made no bones about the fact that she valued her reputation above everything. Besides, the kiss she and Sebastian had shared last week was their secret, too precious for her to disclose to anyone, not even Louise.

She had given up trying to regret that kiss. When she lay awake at night, the memory of the giddy feeling, the rush of blood to her head, the soft pressure of Sebastian’s lips on hers made her want to swoon. It would be beyond shocking of her to kiss him again, but she couldn’t stop imagining that either. Did he lie awake thinking of kissing her? Did he think about her when she wasn’t with him, wonder where she was, what she was doing? Or when she left Lambeth, did she cease to exist for him?

“You look positively moonstruck,” Louise said. “What on earth are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Oh, I nearly forgot,” Margaret said, feeling a flush creep up her throat. Anxious to head off any awkward questions, she reached under the table for her reticule. “I brought you a small gift. Here.”

Louise took the pencil drawing, her brows rising in surprise as she studied the scene. “It is by an amateur hand, but it is really rather accomplished.”

“That is a self-portrait of Billy and his dog, Muffin. Here is another he did, of me.”

“Goodness, he’s captured your likeness very well,” Louise said, diverted as Margaret had hoped she would be.

“I thought I might purchase a selection to send as Christmas presents. Billy would be grateful for the custom.”

“It’s a little early to be thinking of Christmas, but they would make rather nice gifts. Who is the artist?”

“A young boy, no more than twelve or thirteen. He sells his sketches at the market. No-one knows where he lives or whether he has a family.”

“Not even your Father Sebastian?”

“He is not my Father Sebastian. He is very much his own man, and his sister Susannah is very independent of spirit, too. If I could have a tenth of her strength of purpose, I would be a significantly better person.”

“You are certainly a very changed person. What does Killin make of your philanthropic endeavours?”

“He doesn’t know. It’s none of his business what I do with my free time.”

“Yet.”

Margaret’s mouth went dry. She was not officially betrothed to Killin; therefore his opinion was irrelevant. And if you say that often enough, M., you might eventually believe it!

“That’s quite enough about me,” she said firmly. “Tell me your news. Mama showed me the piece in the Times praising the bust you made of Lady Jane. You must be very pleased.”

Louise, always happy to talk about her artistic endeavours, beamed. “It is the first piece I have completed without an ounce of help. I confess, I am very proud of it. It has been discussed widely in the press, so Lady Jane tells me.”

“How flattering.”

“One must not pay any attention when one is lauded in the press, any more than when one is being castigated.” Meeting Margaret’s gaze, she laughed. “Yes, I was flattered, and so, too, was the queen. I think she is finally taking me seriously as an artist, M. Tomorrow we are to visit Baron Marochetti’s studio.”

“How exciting.”

Louise chuckled. “Well I think so. I have such hopes now that the queen will listen to Mrs. Thorneycroft’s pleas for me to have some formal training.”

“Does that mean Her Majesty has no plans to marry you off next? You are turned eighteen now, and . . .”

“Good heavens, no. Mama will need me to act as her scribe when Lenchen is married, and, though that is something I dread, at least it will allow me some time to myself, while a husband would demand all of it. Besides, there is dear Leo to be cared for. I have news on that front, too.”

“Oh no, poor Leopold—has he been ill again?”

“Quite the contrary. He is in excellent spirits. My brother has a new governor.” Louise leaned even closer. “Lieutenant Walter Stirling of the Horse Artillery. A most handsome young man, and the most good-natured of fellows. Leo adores him.”

“By the sound of it, Leo is not the only one who adores him,” Margaret said, completely taken aback.

To her further astonishment, her friend blushed. “I confess, I find him most attractive.”

“Louise!”

“I know, I know, it is a bit rich after all my advice to you, but I swear, M., I’ve never felt so alive as when I am in Lieutenant Stirling’s company. He has the sweetest smile, it makes me quite dizzy; and when he stands next to me, my heart simply pounds. I know, it sounds so extreme and so unlike me, and I barely know the man. Oh, M., do you think I could be developing a passion?”

Without waiting for an answer, which was as well because Margaret was speechless, Louise continued breathlessly. “He has said not one word regarding his feelings, naturally—he is such a gentleman—but I know he senses it, too. You won’t understand, but there is a—a connection when we look into each other’s eyes. Oh, M., your face! You are thinking that your sensible friend sounds utterly foolish.”

I’m thinking that I know exactly how you feel, Margaret thought, before saying, “I think you must listen to your own advice. You are a royal princess; your reputation must be spotless.”

“It is, and shall remain so.”

“If you ensure that this attraction doesn’t develop any further. For heaven’s sake, what would Her Majesty say if she knew you had set your cap at a mere lieutenant?”

“From past experience, she would pack him off to the ends of the earth and confine me to my room until I had learned my lesson. My sister Lenchen had an affaire de coeur,” Louise clarified in answer to Margaret’s baffled look. “When she was about fifteen or sixteen, Helena fell in love with the librarian. I have no intentions of repeating her mistakes, however, and absolutely no desire to be the cause of Lieutenant Stirling losing his post. I am perfectly capable of keeping my feelings to myself. And I know my secret is safe with you.”

“But what will you do about it? You cannot possibly think you have any sort of future with Leopold’s governor?”

“Of course not.” Louise’s expression softened once again. “Right at this moment, M., I’m not interested in the future. I long to feel his embrace. Are you shocked?”

Shocked, but on the other hand secretly reassured to discover that her friend was mortal, and that she was not alone in experiencing such longings. Not that she would say so to Louise. “Compared to what I have been regaled with in Lambeth, that is tame,” Margaret couldn’t resist teasing. “If you had informed me that you longed to feel some other part of him, then I might have been shocked.”

Margaret! What on earth—my goodness, do the women actually discuss such intimacies in front of you?”

“They take great delight in doing so. You would not believe how well-informed I am in matters pertaining to the bedchamber and its consequences.”

“Really?” Eyes wide, Louise leaned closer. “Do tell.”

“Certainly not.”

“That is positively cruel of you. I shall have to discover for myself what you mean, then.”

“Lou, you don’t mean that,” Margaret said, brought abruptly back down to earth. A kiss was one thing, but to contemplate more than that would not only be very wrong, it would be courting danger. “You won’t do anything silly, will you?”

But her friend treated her to a sphinx-like smile. “Lieutenant Stirling is to accompany us to Osborne in April. We shall be incarcerated there, in our own little world. Just like you and your little surrogate family in Lambeth. I intend to make the most of it while I can.”

“What do you mean, make the most of it?”

But Louise simply widened her eyes and shrugged. “I am not sure how long the queen plans to remain at Osborne, though of course we’ll be back for Lenchen’s wedding in July. I am not supposed to tell you yet, but even as we speak, my mother is informing your mother that you have been chosen to be one of the eight bridesmaids.”

“No!”

“You should be delighted—it is the ultimate seal of approval. It means that you are fully restored to society’s good graces, M. Of course you will have to pay for it by wearing a dreadful gown because Helena has appalling taste in clothes as well as in bridegrooms. Have you seen a photograph of Prince Christian? He has many good qualities, I am sure, not least his being amenable to making Windsor his home, but he is hardly the handsomest of men. He is prematurely bald, for one thing.”

“Oh no, Lou,” Margaret said, suppressing a giggle, “it would be kinder to say that he has an extremely high forehead.”

“So high that it looks as if his hair has migrated south to his chin,” Louise quipped, adding, “Oh dear, it looks as if the queen is getting ready to leave.”

“Already!” Margaret jumped to her feet. “Lenchen’s wedding is more than two months away. Surely I will see you before that.”

“I will do my best, but you know what my mother is like. Once she is installed in Osborne she has to be prised out like a winkle. When my sister’s wedding is out of the way, you would be well advised to start preparing yourself for your own.”

“Don’t say that. Killin has not yet renewed his suit.”

“Not yet.” Louise drew her into a rare, brief embrace. “But provided you continue to behave yourself, he undoubtedly will.”