That phrase stayed with me for long after I had read his letter, and a rather disloyal thought came into my mind. No one's tool…No. Not even yours, dear Uncle.

A few days before my birthday Lord Conyngham called at the Palace. A message was sent to me asking me to go to the drawing room. When I arrived there I knew something important had happened. Mama looked very angry and Sir John was certainly put out.

Lord Conyngham bowed to me and said, “I have a letter from His Majesty who has commanded me to put it into no hands but yours.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the letter.

Mama would have taken it from me and I guessed that she and Sir John had tried to get their hands on it before I arrived; but Lord Conyngham had had express orders from the King to give it to no one but me.

I felt very important.

Mama said, “Well, open it, my love.”

I was aware of Sir John's snake-like eyes upon me and I replied, “I will open it in my sitting room.”

I was very confident of myself. Only a few more days to go before I reached my eighteenth birthday. It would be too late now for Mama to interfere with me. Her hopes of becoming Regent of England were over. It was time for her to realize I was grown up and would brook no interference.

I walked out of the room and when I opened the letter I read that the King was offering me ten thousand pounds a year and an establishment of my own—apart from that of my mother.

My joy was intense. I felt like a person who has been in prison and at last sees freedom ahead.


* * *

BUT OF COURSE I could not escape so easily. Mama and Sir John discovered what was in the letter and together they drew up a draft for me to sign. When I read it I refused to sign for it stated that while I gratefully accepted the ten thousand pounds, I begged to remain as I was because of my youth and inexperience. The draft set out, too, that my income should not be “Mother-free.”

I said I should like to consult one of the ministers—Lord Melbourne, for instance.

They went on and on. Mama would not stop telling me all she had done for me. I had misjudged my strength. I had so recently emerged from my captivity. I was still unsure of myself and needed advice. I thought of Uncle Leopold but I knew he would say “Sign”; for it was he who had said I needed to be with my mother for a while yet.

I thought: If I sign this, it is only for a few days. When I am eighteen, I shall do as I please.

I signed, to stop my mother's constant haranguing and to escape from the evil looks of that man.

As soon as I had left them I repented of what I had done, and I wrote a statement to the King in which I said that the draft was not my own.

I knew he would understand, and he apparently did.

At last the great day came. My eighteenth birthday. I was of age.

While I lay in bed contemplating what this meant, I heard the sound of singing below my window. It was George Rodwell, who was the Musical Director at Covent Garden, and I learned later that he had composed the song he was singing expressly for me on my eighteenth birthday.

I guessed that Mama had arranged this as a special treat, and instead of gratitude for such thoughtfulness in giving me the sort of pleasure I liked best, a notion came into my head that she was very worried and was trying hard to placate me.

The King had sent me a grand piano—one of the finest I had ever seen. I rushed to it and began to play while Mama looked on scowling. I knew she would have liked to send it back. But she could not. It was mine—and I was eighteen years old.

There was to be a grand ball in the evening at St. James's to celebrate my birthday—another gift from the King and the Queen. How wonderful! Mama must not spoil this. I wanted to tell the King how happy his gift had made me and that I should never forget to be grateful to him every time I played my beautiful piano.

It seemed that everyone was aware of the importance of the day. A deputation came from the city of London to congratulate me. Mama was at my side when I received it.

How she irritated me! She would never learn. I had been thinking she must realize now that she could no longer treat me as a child; but when I was about to reply to the deputation and thank them most sincerely for their good wishes and all the trouble they had taken to come to the Palace, Mama pushed me aside and talked to them herself. It was clear to me that I was not yet prepared to show my intentions. She still overawed me as she had when I was a child. So I was silent while she told them that I owed everything to her upbringing, a woman who had been left without a husband, how she had sacrificed herself for me, how she had never failed in her duty.

They were dismayed and disappointed because they had wanted to speak to me and they did not really like Mama; they did not like her fussy clothes, nor her accent. Why she, who had been so insistent that I should have no trace of a German accent, could not see that they resented hers, I could not imagine.

I found I was frowning at Mama with cold dislike.

Later in the day we rode through the streets.

“We must show ourselves,” said Mama.

And I wanted to reply, “No, Mama, I must show myself. It does not matter whether you accompany me or not.”

But there she was, regally inclining her head while the people shouted my name. I smiled at them and waved; and it was heart-warming to see how they loved me.

But Mama still seemed to think that all the cheers were for her.

Then it was time to get ready for the ball at St. James's. As always on these occasions I felt twinges of apprehension wondering what trouble would arise between the King and Mama.

How I loved a ball! I wanted to dance and dance all night. Nothing else could have given such a happy finale to a great occasion. And Mama would spoil it all—if she possibly could.

But she did not that time, which was due to no lack of venom on her part. It just turned out that neither the King nor the Queen were able to attend.

It was a wonderful ball. Dancing, I forgot all the irritations and fears of the past year. I opened the ball with the Duke of Norfolk's grandson who was an excellent dancer and executed his steps with perfection. I felt as though I were dancing on air.

And that was just a beginning.

I danced all the time and I was so happy as we rode home through the streets and there were still people out to cheer me.

Eighteen years old! The milestone passed!

How exuberantly I wrote in my journal next day about the crowd in the streets who had stood about just to see me ride by.

“I was very much amused,” I wrote.


* * *

I STAYED IN my sitting room. I hardly spoke to Mama; and when she came to bed at night I pretended to be asleep.

She and Sir John were very apprehensive.

Mama wrote notes to me. I think she believed she could impress me more by writing than by speaking because when she spoke she became so angry. There were tirades of wrath, to which I appeared to shut my ears. I would sit stolidly while she raved, and then make an excuse to go.

She and Sir John must have felt me slipping out of their grasp and that was very worrying to them both—particularly perhaps to Sir John. Mama would always be mother of the Queen and have some standing because of that, even though she did fail in her grandiose schemes for becoming Regent, whereas Sir John was in danger of losing his career.

“You are still very young,” wrote Mama, “and all your success so far has been due to your mother's reputation…”

No, Mama, I thought. If I have had any success that has been mine in spite of my mother.

“Do not be too sanguine about your own talents and understanding …”

No, Mama, I am not. I am just determined not to be the puppet of you and your friend, Sir John…

We were now well into June and the news from Windsor was grave. The King was very weak.

On that never-to-be-forgotten Tuesday morning of the twentieth of June in the year 1837 I was awakened from my sleep to find Mama standing beside my bed.

“Wake up, Victoria,” she said, “the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham are here with the King's physician. They are waiting to see you.”

“Why, Mama? What time is it?”

“Six o'clock,” she said. “But never mind the time. They are waiting to see you.”

I knew what this meant and an awesome feeling swept over me.

I rose and put on my dressing gown and slippers.

“Come,” said Mama, and she led me into the sitting room.

At the door, I paused and looked at her.

“I shall go in alone, Mama,” I said.

She stared at me.

But I knew then what position I held. I could feel the crown on my head. I had no need to do what she told me now.

“Alone,” I repeated firmly.

She looked stunned, but she did not attempt to detain me.

The three men knelt down as I approached, and I knew what that meant. I held out my hand for them to kiss as naturally as though I had rehearsed it.

They called me Your Majesty and I felt a great surge of emotion. There were tears in my eyes and in theirs. I suppose I looked so young and defenseless with my hair streaming down my back and wearing only my dressing gown and slippers.

The Archbishop told me that the King had died happy and had directed his mind to religion and was prepared for his death.

I turned to Lord Conyngham and asked after the Queen for I knew how she loved him.