So I went although I should have loved to stay with Feodore. But I have to admit I did enjoy the opera. Giulia Grisi was singing and I thought her voice quite divine; and it was Rossini's L'Assiedo di Corrinto. Moreover the opera was followed by Les Sylphides in which Taglioni danced. So I was in a state of bliss.

To have seen Feodore, Grisi, and Taglioni in one day made it one of the most thrilling of my life so far.

I awoke next morning with the glorious feeling of anticipation and the first thing I said to myself was: Feodore is here.

What joy there was during those days! I contrived—rarely—to be alone with Feodore for then we would talk easily and naturally. But, of course, either Mama or Lehzen was usually there. I loved the children. They were so affectionate and so amusing.

We went to Windsor, where Feodore was received most kindly by the King and Aunt Adelaide, although I must admit the King rather pointedly ignored Mama, and my happiness was tinged with apprehension while we were there because I was terrified that a storm would blow up between them and I pictured Mama marshalling us all out at short notice.

But Feodore's visit did seem to soften even her and I believed she did want Feodore to enjoy it. Feodore was of a gentle, peace-loving nature; she accepted life more readily than I did. Perhaps Mama was right and I had been affected by the knowledge that I might step one day into a very exalted position. It may be that that gives one a determination not to be subdued.

The best way to be alone with Feodore was to go riding, and this we did frequently. There were others with us of course but with little maneuvering we could sometimes escape from them. One day we did this and as we walked our horses through a narrow lane I said to her, “I believe we have escaped.”

Feodore looked at me quickly and said, “Do you sometimes feel you would like to escape?”

“I should like to be alone sometimes.”

Feodore smiled. “I understand. Do you sometimes feel like a prisoner?”

“Yes, I think I do. You see there is always someone there. I even have to sleep in Mama's bedroom. One of the things I want most is a room of my own where I can go sometimes… and be alone.”

“I understand.”

“When you were there…did you feel like that?”

“Mama was determined to take care of us but sometimes she seemed like a jailer. But you will soon be eighteen, Victoria, and then…”

“Then I shall be free.”

“You will be the Queen. Does that frighten you a little?”

“It makes me very serious.”

“You will be good, I know.”

“I shall try. And I shall be free.”

“I think,” she said, “that you will know how to have your way. It is not long now. You will marry, as I did.”

“That meant freedom for you.”

“One is never really free. There are always obligations.”

“Yes, but free to be alone sometimes.”

She said suddenly, “What did you think of the cousins?”

“They were charming.”

“We have several cousins. I wonder what you will think of the SaxeCoburgs. I find them the most charming of all.”

“Uncle Leopold has written to me about Ernest and Albert. He thinks I shall enjoy meeting them very much. I believe they will visit us one day.”

“I feel sure they will.”

“What are they like, Feodore?”

“Very handsome. Uncle Leopold watches over them with great care.”

“As he does over me.”

“He has a great family feeling.”

“Tell me about the cousins. What do they look like?”

“They are tall and good-looking. My favorite of the two is Ernest.”

“Oh, why? Uncle Leopold writes most glowingly of Albert.”

“They are both admirable. Ernest is so honest and good-humored.”

“Is not Albert honest and good-humored?”

“Oh yes, but Albert is more clever, sharper. What I mean is Ernest is more… innocent.”

“I do long to meet them.”

“They must miss their mother.”

“Why?”

Feodore looked at me sharply. “I suppose you haven't heard the scandal?”

“You mean about the cousins?”

“Well, not exactly about them. It is their parents.”

“Do tell me.”

Feodore hesitated and I wailed, “Oh, Feodore, don't be like the rest of them. Don't have secrets from me. They are always implying that I am too young for this and that. Don't be like that, dear Sissy.”

Feodore said, “Well, I suppose you will know one day. Their mother was Luise of Saxe-Gotha, and when she married Duke Ernest of SaxeCoburg it should have been a happy match. But something went wrong. After the birth of her eldest son, Ernest, there was trouble between her and the Duke. He was not as faithful as he might have been; she was lonely and there were people at Court to flatter and amuse her. There was scandal about her, and soon after Albert was born at Rosenau. It is a beautiful yellow stone castle surrounded by trees—oak, beech, elm, and ash…. You can look out from the windows to the Thuringian Forest. There Albert was born on a lovely August day.”

“I know. It was three months after I was born.”

“Yes. You are almost of an age. He was a particularly beautiful child from the moment he was born. Some babies are very ugly… and they grow prettier every day. That was not so with Albert. He was born beautiful…His father was at that time the Duke, his father having died. Luise loved her child—even more, they said, than she had loved her first-born, Ernest. He was like an angel, she said, with his blue eyes, well-shaped nose, and dimples. He was only about three years old when the trouble, which had been brewing for some time, burst out into an open scandal.”

“What scandal?”

“Luise, left alone by her husband, had made certain friendships; one was with a certain Leutnant von Hanstein. She had a great enemy at her husband's Court in Maximilian von Szymborski who was determined to destroy her. This he succeeded in doing by fomenting scandals and rumors and blowing them up out of all proportion to reality; and in time the Duke was so convinced that his wife was unfaithful that he decided to divorce her.”

“Divorce!” I cried. “How terrible! Oh, poor little Albert and Ernest.”

“Yes. The children loved their mother dearly but she was taken from them. There was great sorrow in the household. But the people loved Luise. They thought she had been wronged and they called for von Szymborski's blood. He had great difficulty in getting out of the country alive. But there was a divorce. Albert was seven years old at the time. Luise married von Hanstein, but when she was only thirty years old she died.”

“What a sad story! What happened to Albert and Ernest?”

“They were left to the care of their grandmothers … and Uncle Leopold. They were greatly loved but they must have missed their mother.”

“I am sure they did. She seemed so gentle and so falsely accused. I long more than ever to meet my Saxe-Coburg cousins.”

“The Duke was married again to Mary of Württemberg, but I don't think that was a very happy marriage either.”

“He should not have been led astray by that wicked von Szymborski. How strange it is. Albert had no mother and I had no father. It seems as though there is a special bond between us…”

I rode on thoughtfully. I could not keep Cousin Albert out of my mind.

It was too much to expect life to go on smoothly with Mama and the King under one roof. Every day when I rose I used to pray that nothing would go wrong, that Mama would continue in the more mellow mood, which Feodore's presence seemed to have brought about. Now, I thought, she is acting more like a mother than a would-be regent.

The King arranged that we should go to the races, and what fun it was to be in the royal box and watch the dear horses vying with each other. I jumped up in joy and urged them on until Mama laid a restraining hand on my shoulders, and I saw the King was amused and rather liked it that I seemed to forget my dignity for a moment.

Aunt Adelaide was smiling. She said, “We must do this again.”

But trouble came as I feared it would.

It was one evening before dinner. Mama seemed suddenly to remember how important she was and to fear that the relaxation of the last few days may have given the impression that she was ready to be relegated to obscurity.

We were waiting to go in to dinner. The King was getting impatient, no doubt wondering why the Queen did not give the sign for us to leave for the dining room.

Aunt Adelaide was nervously trying to continue talking so that people did not notice the time. But the King suddenly shouted, “Are we waiting for that woman?”

Everyone knew who “that woman” was, and I felt myself growing very hot.

“She is a nuisance,” went on the King. “We will go in without her.”

Then Mama appeared, looking quite splendid in bows and feathers and swinging jewelry. I was beginning to think that she was often a little overdressed.

Aunt Adelaide said smoothly as though nothing had happened, “Shall we go in to dinner now?”

She was the most tactful woman I had ever known. She hated scenes and with a husband like Uncle William she had plenty of practice in avoiding them.

We went in and I sat between the King and the Queen, and although he was pleasant enough to me, I kept intercepting the glares he sent in my mother's direction.

It was a small incident really but it did spoil the complete perfection of Feodore's visit.

Alas, it was time for Feodore to go. We parted in tears. She said she would come again and I must go to her. It was doubly hard to have to part from the dear little children. That was the worst of these visits from relatives. When they were over, one was so very sad.