It was several days before Lady Flora came to see me.

Poor woman, she was clearly ill. She knelt before me but I took her hands and made her rise.

“My dear Lady Flora,” I said, “I am truly sorry that this has come to pass.” I spoke with feeling for it was indeed true. “I wish it could all be forgotten. The Duchess is most distressed.”

“The Duchess has always been so tender to me … so loving … so kind.”

Lady Flora's voice broke and I kissed her again.

“I thank Your Majesty,” she said, “and I will try to forget… for the sake of the Duchess.”

I do believe that Flora Hastings would have let the matter drop but, of course, there were those about her who had no intention of allowing this to happen.

Gossip continued, fostered, I suspected, by Conroy, who saw a chance of having his revenge on me.

If only we had met his demands—anything to have got rid of him! Letters were appearing in the Press, and they were all in praise of Lady Flora and against me.

One day Lord Melbourne came to me and said that he had had a letter from Lord Hastings demanding the dismissal of Sir James Clark from the Palace.

“This man is determined to make the matter public,” said Lord M.

“That must not be,” I replied.

“It shall not be, Ma'am, if I can help it.”

There was gossip about Lehzen. “The German woman,” they called her. There were stories of how she had wormed her way into my affections and had ousted my mother. She, they said, was responsible for the terrible ordeal which Lady Flora had undergone. I was becoming more and more distressed. It was all so unfair and so untrue. I was very worried.

I would not have believed that this domestic matter could have been so blown up as to become an attack on me. I was sure that Sir John Conroy was at the bottom of it and that it was he who sent the snippets of gossip to the Press. The story was taken up by foreigners, exaggerated and embroidered.

Lady Flora had written a letter to her uncle, Hamilton Fitzgerald, and when this was published in the Examiner, there was no longer any hope of hushing up the matter. The whole world was talking of it. In this letter Lady Flora had set out the sequence of events as they had happened. She praised the Duchess for having treated her with sympathy and affection and there were veiled criticisms of me. She implied that I should have dismissed Sir James Clark and those who had spread the gossip about her. She said Clark was the tool of certain women, and he alone should not be sacrificed for the sake of others who were more guilty.

Lord Melbourne made a public statement to the effect that I had taken the first opportunity to express my regret and sympathy to Lady Flora; but the Tory Press, headed by the Morning Post was determined to make a battle of it.

The Whigs were limping along in government. The ladies of my bedchamber—who were regarded as the instigators of the plot against Flora Hastings—were all from Whig families. It was unhealthy, it was said, that the Queen should be led by that party just because its chief minister happened to be her very special friend.


* * *

AS IF THAT were not enough, a greater catastrophe loomed.

I knew there was trouble in the House of Commons. This all came about because of what was happening in far-away Jamaica. The abolition of slavery in British colonies had become law as long ago as 1833, and because the slaves in Jamaica had been freed, the planters were now in rebellion and demanding to have them back.

Lord Melbourne, who always believed in delaying unpleasant matters, along with his party, wanted to suspend the law for a while until some agreement could be come to. Sir Robert Peel and his Tories were against this, and when the motion was put before the House, it was passed with such a small majority that Lord Melbourne decided that it was quite impossible to continue in government.

I shall never forget the day he came to me. There was a great sadness about him.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “you know that for some time it has been difficult for your government to carry on its business in the House because we have such a small majority, and to govern for long in such circumstances is certain to become an impossibility. The Cabinet had decided to stand by this Bill regarding the slaves in Jamaica, but Sir Robert Peel is opposing us in the matter and if he should persist and a majority in the House of Commons agreed with him, it would be impossible for Your Majesty's government to remain in office.”

“No,” I said. “No. I will not allow it.”

He looked at me, half smiling. He did not say as much but he was reminding me by the tenderness of his looks that it was not a matter for me to decide.

He did not remain long. He knew I was too upset and that there was nothing he could say to comfort me.

Lehzen found me sitting in my chair staring ahead of me.

She knelt down and put her arms round me.

“I am afraid,” I said, “that dreadful Robert Peel is going to force Lord Melbourne to resign.”

“Oh no, my love, not that!”

“Lord Melbourne has been to see me…to warn me.” Then I burst into tears. “I will not have it, Lehzen. I am the Queen, am I not?”

“There!” she soothed me. “It hasn't happened yet. Lord Melbourne won't let it happen. He is clever, that one.”

I tried to believe her. But I could not. Life had changed. Who would have believed that a short time ago I could have been so happy!

The horrible business of Lady Flora was still in everyone's mind. They were still writing about it in the papers; the people in the streets regarded me with dislike.

This I could bear—but not the separation from Lord Melbourne.


IT HAD HAPPENED. The government had resigned. He came to see me looking doleful and I knew that was due to the disruption of our relationship, which had been such a happy one. But for that reason he would not greatly care about resigning the premiership. I think he found managing the country's affairs something of a burden. I knew he would have liked to retire, to be alone, to have more time for reading; he liked good talk and of course he was welcome in the greatest Whig houses throughout the country, where, I heard, the conversation was scintillating and he was always at the center of it.

No, it was the severance of our close relationship which would be so painful to us both.

I could not be dignified and royal—not in the face of such misery. “Why all this bother about Jamaica! Those wretched Tory dogs! They are just seizing on it to make trouble.”

Lord Melbourne's wry smile suggested that he agreed with me.

“Do not blame Jamaica,” he said. “If it were not there the dogs would find another bone of contention. We happen to think we are right in this matter and they think that they are. Sir Robert Peel is a very fine gentleman. I think you might come to like him very well.”

“I hate him! He behaves like a dancing master and when he smiles it is like looking at the silver fittings on a coffin.”

“Have you been gossiping with Charles Greville?”

“His conversation is very lively.”

“The description of Sir Robert is his, I believe. But for all that he is a very able man—dancing and coffins notwithstanding—and he will do his best to serve Your Majesty well. Your Majesty, being of sound good sense in spite of your youth, and having a clear determination to do your duty to the state to which God has called you, will understand this change must be. Alas, I fear the time has arrived when you will be obliged to work with a new government. I believe you will make a great success of it…I shall be nearby and I shall watch you with pride.”

“You will not go away entirely? You will come and dine? I could not bear it if you did not.”

“Your Majesty is gracious to me, and has given me more affection than I deserve.”

“What nonsense! You deserve it all… and more. You are my dearest good friend. You always were and always will be my very own Lord M. You know my feelings for you.”

“I know that you wish me well…Your Majesty has ever been gracious to me; and I trust you will show the same amiability toward Sir Robert, for I assure you he is a very good man.”

“He has one great fault,” I said, “and for that I can never forgive him.”

Lord Melbourne looked at me sadly and I went on, “He is not Lord Melbourne.”

And with that I ran from the room for I could not restrain my tears.


* * *

AND SO I came face to face with Sir Robert Peel.

I had tried to prevail on the Duke of Wellington to form a ministry, but he would not do so. He was, after all, nearly seventy years of age, and I had to agree that that was rather old to take on the burdens of state.

Sir Robert Peel, however, was willing and ambitious. I saw him in the Yellow Closet; I was not going to take him to the Blue Closet, the scene of so many happy meetings with Lord Melbourne.

How I disliked him as he stood there—awkward, graceless, lacking in breeding. How different from my dear Lord M! He was proud and reserved—and very unsure of himself. I rejoiced in that. Let him remain so. He fidgeted, twitching from one leg to the other and I felt like giggling when I thought of Charles Greville's description of the dancing master. The silver fittings on the coffin were only visible when he smiled—and that was rarely.

I found myself looking at his feet. He pointed his toes as though he were about to dance. Oh yes, it was a very apt description!

I began by stressing the unfortunate happenings in Parliament that had made it difficult for Lord Melbourne to continue in office and for that reason I was asking him to form a ministry.