Three days later, I was back at home at Arborfield Hall, and in some ways it was as if I had never left. There was the piano, and – oh! – the very same books on the schoolroom table. But then I noticed the place by the window frame where my old governess, Miss Moore, had marked my height with a pencil. I stood near it. I was taller now, much, much taller.
‘Ah, Miss V,’ my mother said, as I went into her room. ‘What’s the weather like outside? Is it raining?’
I wanted to shout that I had been away for seven years. Seven years! Surely she had noticed?
For a moment, just as if I were ten once again, I felt unable to summon up the words. ‘Yes, Mamma, it’s raining,’ was what came out.
Now she was looking at me closely, almost with her full attention. ‘You’ve changed your hair,’ she said eventually. ‘Ringlets. Like Jane.’
‘It’s more than my hair that has changed,’ I said, approaching her bed in expectation of further questions.
But she rolled away so that I couldn’t see her face. I drooped. Mr White the butler and our old cook had been more pleased to see me than she was. From the back she seemed to look exactly as I remembered, except for maybe a further paling of her skin and fading of her own hair.
Then I saw it.
By her bed, on the table, stood a green bottle.
I recognised it as soon as my eye fell on it. I had seen a bottle like that before. I had seen it in the hands of the duchess when she was distressed or anxious, and I knew my father provided it.
Had he led both of them to the drops they drank so deeply? Was my mother really so sleepy as she seemed – or was this somehow his fault as well?
At that moment, I decided I would sit with her every single morning, and try to get her to take an interest in the world.
As I leaned over and looked at her lying on the pillows, her eyelashes fluttering upon her cheek, I felt like I was the mother and she the vulnerable little girl. It made my heart ache in a newly unpleasant way.
I sighed.
I crept out and softly closed the door. Like everything else at Arborfield, it swung smoothly on its oiled hinges, falling into its frame with barely a click.
After a few overtures, the Arborfield servants left me alone, and I took to my old solitary round of walks in the shrubbery, piano practice and long hours sitting with my mother, book in hand. I sadly missed Dash, as I had left him behind to comfort Victoria.
My mother continued hardly to register that I was there, but I think that as the days went by she began to like having me in the room. I read aloud letters from my brothers, now serving in the army all over the world. Once, she even took my hand and smiled. It was peaceful, sitting there beside her, and slowly, gradually, I began to feel I was doing her some good.
But her reactions were so weak, her progress so slow. As the days grew into weeks, I started to feel angry that my father was still controlling my mother through his bottle, even though he was far away from us. He would not control us any longer, I decided. He could not know that, each day, I stealthily removed the green bottle from my mother’s room and tipped away half an inch or so of its contents, filling up the gap again with water. As the days went by, the green bottle’s contents gradually grew weaker and weaker. My mother seemed not to notice, and I vowed that when at last it was all water, I would tell her and promise her that she didn’t need it any more.
I felt that this was really important, and that only I could do it. And yet with nearly every post, a letter arrived from Victoria full of complaints and her constant suggestions that I should return. Sometimes the letters hardly made sense, and I feared that her own health was declining alongside her uncle the king’s. I was torn. I began to think that perhaps my duty lay there too. She would need me as the king’s end drew near.
But I could not quite bring myself to write to my father to say that I was coming back to the palace.
April was almost May before something happened to shake me out of my dream-like state. I had begun to dwell often on the fact that it was nearly a whole year since, on that Kensington Palace staircase, I had first laid eyes on Albert. I was now quite old enough to be married, and indeed a letter had recently come announcing Jane’s engagement. ‘At last!’ was all that my mother had to say.
One evening I was all alone in the drawing room, my mother having gone up to bed.
And of course I was thinking of him. I always was.
With a start, I realised that there had been a knock, and that I had said ‘Come in!’ mechanically, without even thinking about it. Mr White was in the room, closing the door behind him and turning to me with a bow. ‘A young … gentleman to see you, miss. Should I ask Maria to summon Lady Conroy? He seems to have arrived with luggage.’
‘Oh!’ I rapidly turned to the fireplace and picked up the tongs so that he would not see my face. ‘No, White, no need to disturb my mother.’ I thought quickly. ‘Did he give a name?’
‘Of course, miss. I believe it was Grooch, or Grotch, or something of that nature. He seems, miss, to be a foreigner.’
Where had I heard that name before? Of course, it was what Prince Ernest always called Albert. ‘Albert the Grouch’ was his name for his brother. My heart almost stopped beating. Albert? Was this – hope against hope – Albert, come to see me?
But at the same time I almost had to laugh at White’s distaste. I was in complete disarray and urgently tried to gather my scattered thoughts. ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ I eventually managed to say. ‘I was expecting Mr Grouch. But not tonight. Maybe a letter has gone astray or some travel arrangement has collapsed. Please ask Maria to prepare the blue guest room.’
He bowed and turned, and instantly my hands flew to my hair and dress. Was it smooth? Was my dress straight? Was this really the person I thought it might be?
Had White guessed the reason I had selected the blue room for Mr Grouch? The answer was that it was next door to my own, and I wanted to be as near as possible to my ‘foreign’ visitor.
There was conversation in the hallway, and I swallowed an imprecation to the Almighty as I heard the housemaid’s voice. They were interfering in my arrangements! ‘No need, no, please do not disturb Lady Conroy,’ he was saying. ‘I am already well acquainted with Miss V. Conroy, from the palace, you know.’
That was his voice. It was him!
Then he was bounding into the room. For a moment we both stood on the hearthrug, trembling and looking at each other. White softly closed the door. At the exact same moment, Albert and I both laughed, and we hurled ourselves into each other’s arms.
We hugged tightly, but in the end I became very sad and still. It was a completely unfamiliar feeling to have arms tightly wrapped around me in a great big bear hug. I loved it, but feared the moment it would end.
Then he thrust me away from him and scanned every inch of me, looking for change. ‘A year has made a vast difference!’ he said. ‘You used to be ugly, but you are now almost pretty.’ I hung my head. I loved and hated being teased by him. But I could give as good as I got. It was Albert; he would not mind.
‘And you!’ I said. ‘You are almost tall now. I believe you have grown up. Is that a beard?’
Sheepishly, he ran his hand over his chin.
‘Almost,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry now I teased you. I know you hate it. My Victoria,’ he continued seriously, ‘you are the most beautiful woman in the world! Now, come sit with me and tell me everything.’
But we could neither of us remain seated for long. We paced the rug, I showed him the dank view out of the window, and he poked the fire to warm up my hands, which he said were too cold.
‘And why is your mother in bed at this early hour?’ he asked eventually. ‘It’s only eight o’clock. Is she an invalid?’
I had observed that at Arborfield this was the sort of question that casual acquaintances never ever asked, for my mother’s ill health was shrouded in mystery. But I could deny Albert nothing, and tell him nothing but the truth.
‘Well, she takes drops from a bottle. Every day. They make her very sleepy. I am trying to stop her; we are cutting down. I think … I think my father likes to keep her that way. He gives the same drops to the duchess when she is … you know … too …’
‘Too dramatic, you mean?’
I nodded silently. I felt a wave of relief followed at once by fresh anxiety. For in speaking openly about these doubts for the first time, I realised how convinced I was of their truth.
‘But this is very dangerous!’ Albert went on. ‘It must be laudanum. Once you start taking it, it’s very difficult to stop.’
I had suspected this for some time. But my father … he got the bottles from the chemist, and he seemed so right about everything. Except when he seemed so wrong.
‘Victoria,’ Albert said seriously, putting his hands on my shoulders. ‘You should know that my parents are not … quite normal, either. My mother has left us. She preferred another man. My father has taken up with mistresses. I think that you and I are in something of the same position.’
‘Albert, I really don’t know …’ I trailed off, miserable. But his face was very close, his eyes very insistent that I should continue. ‘I really don’t believe my father is a good man. Not just mistaken or misguided or overbearing. You know I have thought those things before. But now I think he might be wrong … almost evil.’
I found I was panting slightly as I spoke, this admission torn from me only by a love of the truth and a need to speak it to Albert.
‘I have the same doubt,’ he said at once. ‘But don’t be frightened. You are strong. You will manage. And I will help you.’ He cradled my head on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat. The slow hypnotic pace of it gradually stilled my fears, and a soporific peace stole over me, almost like the benison of laudanum itself.
The tap at the door sounded like thunder, and guiltily we sprang apart. ‘Come in!’ Albert said, much too loudly. Maria, our housemaid, was there with the evening tea. The sight of two cups rather than one on the tray gave me such a radiant glow of happiness that I could scarcely hide my smile.
‘The room is all ready, miss,’ she said, hardly able to keep her eyes off this mysterious stranger who had arrived so suddenly and unexpectedly.
‘Thank you, Maria,’ I said crisply, and there was nothing for her to do but to leave.
We giggled.
‘I have caused a commotion in this household, have I not,’ Albert said, ‘by walking up the drive out of nowhere?’
‘Indeed you have, but given that for so many years I have been so good, so very, very good, I think I am allowed to be a little bit bad for once, and to have a gentleman caller.’
We sat drinking our tea. He sipped first from his own cup, then from mine, then from his own again, watching me sternly until I performed the same absurd little ceremony.
‘Victoria,’ he said seriously. ‘You are certainly allowed to be bad this once. You deny yourself so much for other people. That’s why I admire you. And I have something to tell you. I have been with the Princess Victoria. I have come to tell you that you must return to the palace.’
‘Is it the king?’ I asked, quickly putting down my cup. But I was a little uncertain. Surely if the king were dead, he would have told me straight away.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It is not the king. It is something else. It is not for me to tell you, though. She must tell you herself.’
Silence fell. I knew at once what he meant. After the excitement of our meeting, the serious question of our future lay between us. My stomach felt like it was falling into a deep chasm. So it had come so soon, this horrible question of his marriage, Uncle Leopold’s marriage … Victoria’s marriage.
I schooled myself.
‘When is the wedding to be?’ I asked in a small voice.
Of course, she wanted to tell me all about it, to make preparations. With a heavy heart I realised that she probably wanted me to be her bridesmaid. It was sweet, so bittersweet, of her.
‘It’s not that,’ he said quickly, seeing my distress. ‘No, not that at all.’
‘But what can it be?’ I cried out. I was almost shouting in my anguish. ‘What can she have to say to me?’
‘Dearest,’ he said, flying over and seizing me again in his arms. ‘You are strong, stronger than anyone else I know. You must be strong now. I would tell you if I could, but I cannot. It is a matter of honour. But look at me. Look at me.’
I raised my red, smarting eyes to his face.
It was true that he looked happy and calm.
‘Something has happened,’ he said. ‘She knows I am here with you. She is happy for me to be here, happy, I tell you. Will you trust me? Will you trust me and go back to Kensington Palace to discover what awaits there?’
I stared at him. My face must have been a picture of consternation. What could he mean?
But then I saw the tiniest pinprick of light in the darkness that had surrounded me for many months. Albert believed in the future. It was written on his face. And if he believed, I could believe too.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I will.’