Then came the walk through the Abbey—I with my crown on my head, the orb in my left hand, the scepter in my right. I felt loaded, for it was certainly uncomfortable to carry so much and keep the crown on my head.

As I walked through the Abbey the cheers rang out to the rafters, and I walked slowly, as though, I told Melbourne, I was performing a balancing feat. He said no one would have believed it. I looked as though I had been carrying a crown, scepter, and orb all my life, I carried them so expertly.

There was one more error—a painful one for me—when the Archbishop rammed the ring on the wrong finger for which it was far too small. I almost called out with pain and afterward we had great difficulty in getting it off.

I could not help being relieved when I was seated in my carriage, crown balanced on my head, scepter and orb in my hands and we rode back through the crowds to Buckingham Palace.

The cheers were deafening and the loyal greetings heart-warming. it was half-past four when we left the Abbey and I was not inside the Palace until after six.

Lehzen was there with dear old Spath.

They helped me change and I told Spath how pleased I was to see her. Lehzen said, “I was so proud of you. You looked…perfect. The people thought so too. And now you are exhausted.”

“Indeed I am not,” I said. “I just feel exalted. Wasn't the singing magnificent?”

“It was you who were magnificent,” said loyal Lehzen; and she and Spath looked at each other and wept.

I said, “This is not an occasion for tears. It is the proudest day of my life and I shall never forget it.”

Dash rushed up, fearful that he was being forgotten. He leaped into my arms and started to lick my face.

“A little respect please, dear Dashy,” I said. “Your mistress is now a crowned Queen.”

But he wasn't going to let that make any difference.

“It is time for your bath, you naughty old dog,” I said. “You have been in the pond and then rolling in the grass.”

I then turned up my sleeves and gave Dash his bath.

Lehzen said, “That is a strange thing to do after a coronation.”

We dined at eight that night. My uncles, my sister, and brother were with us; and I was delighted that Lord Melbourne was one of the party.

At the table I sat next to Uncle Ernest and Lord Melbourne was on the other side of me as though to protect me from Uncle Ernest of the unsavory reputation. But I must say that he had behaved impeccably at the coronation, and none would have guessed that he had had plans to take my throne.

Lord Melbourne asked me if I was tired.

I said, “Not in the least. And you, Lord Melbourne?”

“No. I am wide awake. I must admit that the Sword of State I had to carry was very heavy. I wondered how you were getting on with the scepter and the orb.”

“It was the crown which weighed me down.”

“Symbolic,” he said. “The duties of the crown are sometimes arduous.”

“Unless one has a good prime minister to lighten the load.”

He pressed my hand.

“You did well,” he said. “Excellently. The robes suited you, particularly the Dalmatic.” He then remarked about Soult's reception and said that the English were a very kind people where their enemies were concerned, so kind that they had gone out of their way to give a special acclaim to Soult just in case he might have thought they were being cool to him, which any other nation would have been.

Lord Melbourne talked in his witty way about the peculiarities of the English, which I found most amusing.

He was beside me during the whole evening. Again and again he told me how beautifully I had done. “Every part of it,” he said.

“I wished that I had known what was going on all the time,” I said. “There were occasions when I was quite in the dark. I should have been told. Some of those churchmen did not know any more than I did.”

“It is a thing you cannot give a person advice on,” said Lord Melbourne. “It must be left to a person. And you did it all perfectly…with such taste.”

“Well, I should be satisfied with that… coming from such a dear friend.”

He looked at me very tenderly and said it was wonderful that I was not exhausted.

“Tonight,” he added, “I think you must be more tired than you think you are.”

“I had hardly any sleep the night before. There was such a noise in the streets and the guns woke me at four.”

“There is nothing more that keeps people awake than any consciousness of a great event's going to take place—and being agitated. You should retire and get some sleep with the satisfaction of knowing that all went off splendidly and that it was all due to you.”

I would, I told him; but before he left we went onto the balcony and watched the fireworks in Green Park.

Then I went to bed and that was the end of the most exciting, the proudest, and the most important day in my life up to that time.

I was now the crowned Queen of England.

Flora Hastings and the Bedchamber Plot

I SUPPOSE IT WAS INEVITABLE THAT, AFTER HAVING LIVED IN that state of euphoria bordering on ecstasy, there must be a reversal. Life is like that. It gives and then, when one is lulled into security, it takes away.

After the Coronation, life began to look less rosy, and at the core of all the discord was the odious Sir John Conroy. He was still in the Palace. It seemed ridiculous to me that I, the Queen, could not choose those I would have under my own roof.

Lord Melbourne's reply was, “It is kings and queens, Ma'am, who have less freedom than others to have their chosen friends around them.”

He admitted that Sir John was a big problem. “He is there in the Duchess's household. If she dismissed him, then we should be happy. But she will not, and he will not go unless we agree to all his monstrous demands. Therefore leave him alone. He will depart in time, but we cannot have him go in triumph.”

So we left him alone, but he refused to leave us alone.

There were growing in the Palace two factions: one for me, one for Mama. I did not like it at all, although some of those concerned found it exciting. It suited Mama's sense of drama, and as, since my accession, she had been relegated to a very minor position, it seemed as though, if she could not rule me, she wanted to make things as difficult for me as she could.

There was always a great deal of conflict between her attendants and mine. Lehzen was closer to me than ever.

I said to her, “You are more like my mother.” And once or twice I called her Mother. “I am going to give you another name,” I said. “What about Daisy? I always liked daisies.”

Lehzen laughed, well pleased. She was very happy during those days. She was—with Lord Melbourne, of course—my greatest confidante.

When I read through my journal, Lord Melbourne's name occurred very frequently and I thought it was more endearing to write of him as Lord M. When I told him this, he was amused and said he liked it.

“It is economical, which is a good trait. Even queens must not be too extravagant.”

To add to my uneasiness Lord Melbourne hinted that he was finding it more and more difficult to perform his duties with that small majority.

“Those damned Tories,” he said, “they baulk us at every turn.”

I did not really approve of strong language, but coming from Lord Melbourne it did not seem offensive, merely dashing—and it made me laugh.

“I wish Mama could have a household somewhere else,” I said. “Somewhere outside the Palace.”

He pondered this and said I must remember that I was an unmarried lady, and as such could scarcely live alone.

“Alone! Here! With dear Lehzen and all my ladies. You call that alone?”

“It is thought to be wise for unmarried ladies to have a duenna. That is the custom of the times, and whatever contempt we have in secret for customs outwardly, it is often easier to conform to them. So … until the day you take a husband, the Duchess should remain.”

That was another matter which depressed me slightly. I did not really want to marry. I had so recently become Queen; the people adored me; I had just spent the most wonderful year of my life; I did not want change of any sort.

But it came nonetheless.

My spirits drooped a little. Instead of leaping out of my bed in the mornings I would lie there thinking of what would happen that day, and it did not seem as exciting as it once had. I was putting on a little weight. There were so many dinners to attend, and of course I had to eat. I was discovering that if one were a queen people watched everything one did and commented on it. Not only that, they exaggerated; and this was brought home to me when I heard that people in the streets were saying that I was getting fat.

I was outraged. More so because it was true that I was putting on a little weight.

“It is good for you, my darling,” consoled Lehzen, “you need nourishment.”

Lord Melbourne was less comforting. “You must take more exercise,” he advised.

“I do ride and I do not greatly care for walking.”

“Sometimes it is necessary to do what we do not greatly care for.”

“Walking…in the cold wind! I really do dislike it. My hands get so cold, and so do my feet.”

“You should walk faster. That would keep your feet warm and you should wear gloves.”

“My hands get so red in the cold. That is why I wear my rings to hide the redness—and then I cannot get my gloves on because of the rings.”

“An absence of rings could mean a presence of gloves. Wouldn't that be wiser?”