He was deeply concerned.

“You see,” I explained, “all my life I wanted to sleep alone, and I never did until I became Queen. Always I slept in Mama's room and Lehzen was there until Mama came up. I was never left alone for a moment and I thought: As soon as I become Queen, the first thing I shall do is sleep alone. On the very first day I had my bed removed from Mama's room. But when we went to Buckingham Palace I found that I was uneasy. When I am in bed alone I hear creaks in the corridors … sometimes they sound like footsteps, and I think of all the kings and queens who have been murdered in their beds.”

“Oh, but you are quite safe.”

“So thought they… and they were not. I think of the little Princes in the Tower and their wicked Uncle Richard having them murdered.”

“There is a theory that he did not do it.”

“Well, if he did not, who did?”

“It was, some say, Henry the Seventh. Horace Walpole started it a number of years ago.”

“I had not heard it.”

“We must discuss the evidence one day.”

“But that does not alter the fact that they disappeared mysteriously. Then there was Edward the Second, Richard the Second and what about Henry the Sixth and the Duke of Clarence. I believe he was pushed into a butt of Malmsey.”

“What dramatic lives your ancestors lived! But I suppose that is inevitable, taking into consideration the times.”

It occurred to me that kings were not the only ones who had dramatic lives. My dear Lord Melbourne had had his share of drama.

He went on, “But we cannot allow your fears to continue. We must make sure that you sleep soundly. You have your beloved Lehzen near at hand, I believe.”

“She seems very far away at Buckingham Palace.”

“I know what we will do. We will have a hole made in a wall and a communicating door to the next room made—and the next room shall be Lehzen's chamber.”

“I do not want not to be alone.”

“Of course not. To be alone! It is an achievement. You cannot go back to the watchdogs. That work must be put in hand right away and then I feel sure that instead of brooding on the gory ends of your ancestors, you will be lulled to gentle sleep.”

“Oh, Lord Melbourne,” I said, “you are so good. You have an answer for everything.”

And in the shortest possible time the work was done and I began to feel very comfortable at night, and to be entirely pleased that I had made the move to Buckingham Palace.

I wanted to give an entertainment there—a sort of housewarming; but it seemed out of the question because we were in mourning for the death of Uncle William. But Lord Melbourne, who was so advanced, said that he thought mourning was an old-fashioned custom that should have gone out long ago, and he suggested that there should be one day when the Court could go out of mourning. It was to be a concert which, he said, could not be called a riotous entertainment, but really very serious and in keeping with a mourning period.

“What an excellent idea!” I cried; and I started to plan.

I engaged my favorite artiste who was, of course, Madame Grisi. Madame Albertazzi, Signor Lablache, and Signor Tamburini joined her, and I was in an ecstasy of delight listening to their wonderful voices. It was a great success.

It had been an excellent idea to stop the mourning for a day, I told Lord Melbourne. I was sure Uncle William would have approved of that; he had always been one who liked to enjoy life and he would be the last to want people to be miserable because he was dead. Lord Melbourne agreed with me.

A few days later I went on my first official engagement after coming to the throne. It was to open a new gate in Hyde Park in the Bayswater Road, which I christened Victoria. I enjoyed it. I did like seeing the people, but as I remarked afterward to Lord Melbourne, I hoped they would not get tired of seeing me.

“There seems to be no sign of that, Ma'am,” he said.

“Not yet. But they have not seen much of me. I am young, you see, and I may be Queen for a very long time.”

“I pray that may be so,” he said fervently; and I saw the tears in his beautiful eyes. Again I thought how fortunate I was to have him as my Prime Minister.

I said to him, “Later on, when there is less talk of mourning, I should like to give a small dance once a week. Not a big ball… just a little dance for friends. You know I love to dance.”

“We all love doing that which we do well,” he commented, which was a lovely compliment; and he thought that a weekly dance was a good idea.

“Perhaps we could have a band in the Palace to play for us before dinner and during it.”

“Another excellent idea!” declared Lord Melbourne. “I can see you are going to give the Court a more cultural standing.”

“You do think that is a good idea…really?”

“I think all your ideas are good.”

“What of riding on horseback to review the troops?”

“There have to be exceptions to all rules. It is a law of nature.”

“I believe you were really worried about my falling off.”

“It is long since you rode, and reviewing troops can be a long and tedious business.”

“I am going to ride every day when we get to Windsor, and I will show you that I am as good a horsewoman as I ever was.”

“I am sure you will be.”

“In August we shall go to Windsor.”

“Your Majesty knows that there is to be an election.”

I was alarmed. “You will still be the Prime Minister.”

“If we are returned to power, yes.”

“And if not?”

“Doubtless my place will be taken by Sir Robert Peel.”

“Oh no!”

“He is a very worthy gentleman… highly thought of.”

“I could not bear it if you were taken away from me.”

“Then we will do our best to get a majority.”

“I hate those Tories!”

“Some of them are very estimable gentlemen. It is not their fault exactly if their views do not coincide with ours.”

“Of course you will be returned.”

He raised his eyebrows and a terrible misgiving came to me. I knew there had been a great deal of murmuring because the ladies of my household were the wives and daughters of Whigs. Sir Robert Peel did not like it. He thought I should have a mixture of Whig and Tory.

As a matter of fact so did Uncle Leopold. He had written to me telling me to select the ladies of my household with the greatest care, making sure not to let politics come into it. But Lord Melbourne and I had drawn up the list and had had the most amusing things to say about it; and all the ladies were of Whig persuasion naturally because Lord Melbourne was one and therefore so was I. Of course I did not listen to Uncle Leopold as much as I used to. He was after all a foreigner—which seems an odd thing to say about one so close to me—but Lord Melbourne was on the spot and he naturally was far more conversant with English politics than Uncle Leopold could possibly be.

It was my duty to go in state to dissolve Parliament, for according to law there must be a new election on the death of a sovereign. Had it not been for my fear that an election might rob me of Lord Melbourne, I could have enjoyed the occasion. I did feel very exhilarated by such state duties. They were so dignified and I do believe that I performed them well; and in those days there was scarcely a breath of criticism. I really was the beloved little Queen.

I set out in a crimson mantle lined with ermine over a dress of white satin embroidered with gold with a stomacher of diamonds; my tiara was of diamonds, and I looked scintillating.

There were gasps of admiration from the crowds and when I read the speech I felt overwhelmed with pride to be the sovereign of such a country.

When it was over Lord Melbourne came to me; he was very emotional.

“You were splendid,” he said. And later he told me that Fanny Kemble, the actress, who was present, said my voice was exquisite; and she had never heard a more musical rendering of the English language.

I was pleased and I knew that it was not false flattery. I had had to study speech assiduously, for Mama had been intent on eliminating any trace of a German accent, and I had practiced enunciation and perfect pronunciation very thoroughly. Moreover, my voice was one of my assets—both in singing and in speaking; and if I had not been the Queen I might have made some progress as a singer.

But the triumph was tarnished by the persistent fear that the coming election might rob me of my Prime Minister.

A great deal of election fever followed. Harriet talked of it constantly. She showed me an article in the Quarterly Review by a Tory named Croker who called attention to the fact that I was surrounded by the female relations of the Whig leaders; and Sir Robert Peel was making speeches in which he declared that I was ruled by Lord Melbourne, the head of one political party—a matter that must be rectified.

There were headlines in certain periodicals such as: Release the Queen from Whig Tyranny.

Whig tyranny! How dared they! My relationship with the Prime Minister was one of understanding and trust.

A verse was shown to me. It was one which was being circulated throughout the country.

‘The Queen is with us,' Whigs insulting say;


‘For when she found us in she let us stay,' It may be so, but give me leave to doubt


How long she'll keep you when she finds you out.

The Tories were growing in favor, and life, which I should have enjoyed so much because I saw that I could throw myself entirely into my new role and enjoy it to the full, was spoilt by this terrible fear. I tried to imagine Sir Robert Peel visiting me every day—his stiff manners, his serious face—I should not find it nearly so easy to understand politics as I did when they were so amusingly explained by Lord Melbourne. There would be none of those pleasant little chats. I should not be able to take Dash with me. I was sure the little darling would not want to lick the hand of Sir Robert Peel.