Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria (45 page)

When we returned to the Palace there was great consternation. It had been a narrow escape. The villain had got away. It was considered to be dangerous for he might very well try again.

Lehzen was in a state of nerves. She wrung her hands and said I must not go out again. It was too dangerous. She went about muttering that she wished she could lay her hands on the villain.

I said, “I do not propose to stay in forever.”

I talked about it to Albert when we were alone.

“We have to go out,” I said. “So let us go…well protected. It may be that he will make another attempt. They will be on the alert for him and catch him.”

Unknown to Mama and Lehzen we set out with two equerries guarding us one on either side of the carriage.

Rather surprisingly the man appeared again with the pistol and this time the police were waiting for him. He was seized, but not before he had fired.

I was glad that he had been caught. Otherwise we should have been expecting to see him every time we rode out.

It always depressed me to know that there were people who wanted to kill me; but I always felt calm at the time of danger, which surprised me as well as others. I cannot explain this, but my grandfather appeared to have it for on the occasion when he came within inches of being killed he presented an exterior of almost indifference.

Sir Robert Peel came at once to the Palace. He was deeply distressed.

“The man is named John Francis, Your Majesty. He is in his early twenties… and a joiner.”

“Is he mad?” I asked.

“He doesn't appear to be, Ma'am.”

“Sir Robert, I cannot bear to think he will die because of this.”

“His object was to kill Your Majesty.”

“All the same…I do not like it. I always think these people are mad and can't be blamed for that. It is an illness in a way.”

“Your Majesty is magnanimous.”

“I should like his life to be spared. I do not want anyone to die because of me.”

“One has to make an example of these people,” said Albert. “Otherwise we shall have others trying out the same sort of thing just to gain notoriety.”

Sir Robert said, “Mercy toward this man could only be a matter for the Government to decide. It is not a royal prerogative, but I will put Your Majesty's wishes before Parliament.”

He did; and as I had stated my wishes so firmly, instead of being hanged, John Francis was to be transported for the term of his natural life.

I
T SEEMED THAT
Albert was right.

He had said I was sentimental over Francis and such leniency as had been shown might encourage others to imitate him. I had disagreed with this and had retorted that I was glad that I did not have the death of John Francis on my conscience. Albert was exasperated but in a tender way and that discussion did not end in a display of temper on my part. I found I
quite enjoyed having these little disagreements with Albert, so that we could put our points of view and discuss them; but now that Lehzen's future was settled, although she was still with us making her preparations to depart, they were usually pleasant little
tête-à-têtes
, with Albert usually gently persuading me to take his opinion.

He said now that if John Francis had had his just deserts we should never have heard of John William Bean.

He came into our lives one day when Albert and I were driving to chapel in St. James's. A boy—a poor deformed creature, not more than four feet high, with a humped back—dashed out of the crowd to our carriage. He was carrying a pistol that he pointed at us.

Two other boys dashed after him; one of them seized the hunchback and brought him to the ground, the other took the pistol.

“Mischievous children playing games,” said Albert as we drove on. “You see, my love, it is unwise to let sinners go unpunished. People think they can treat us with impunity.”

I pointed out that John Francis had not gone unpunished; he had been sent to Australia for life. That was a punishment surely—perhaps as harsh as death. I was glad I did not have his
blood
on
my
hands.

Albert shook his head as though he considered my reasoning illogical.

When we returned to the Palace we heard that the police, thinking it was a game being played, had reprimanded the boy while complimenting the other two—they were brothers named Dassett—on their prompt action.

But the matter was not to be as easily dismissed as that. One of the Dassett boys had kept the pistol and on examination, although it was packed with paper and tobacco, it was also found to contain gunpowder. Had it been fired, it could have been highly dangerous.

This brought the matter into another light. The police, ashamed of having allowed a possible assassin to escape set about a hunt for the hunchback, and because of his physical appearance, he was not hard to trace. They discovered him quickly. He was not a child; it was his deformity that had made him seem so. He worked in a chemist's shop. Very shortly he was arrested. He was of the same leaning as John Francis.

“These people,” said Albert, “are revolutionaries in the making. They are the kind which abounded in France at the end of last century.”

What I remembered chiefly about that incident was the manner in which Sir Robert Peel—who was in Oxford at the time—came with all speed to the Palace.

When I heard he had arrived I guessed it was because of the Bean case and asked that he be brought to me immediately.

I shall never forget the sight of his face when he came in. He was clearly distraught.

“I came as soon as I heard, Your Majesty,” he said in a shaking voice.

“It was good of you, Sir Robert,” I replied. “But you see we are safe and sound.”

He looked at me and I saw the tears well into his eyes. “Your Majesty,” he muttered, “pray excuse me.”

He turned and stumbled away.

I was deeply touched. The dear man was so concerned for my safety that he, whom I had always thought so cold, so aloof—although he and Albert had now convinced me that he was a fine politician—was moved to tears in his relief at my safety.

Bean was sentenced to eighteen months imprisonment.

But what was so significant about this matter was that my feelings toward Sir Robert Peel changed. I could trust him as I had trusted Lord Melbourne. He had become a dear friend. I had to agree that he was a more efficient politician—as I was now beginning to see more and more clearly—than that brilliant raconteur, that man of immense charm and social grace, my dear Lord Melbourne.

Sir Robert never prevaricated; he always wanted to get things done. He came to the Palace to discuss his concern about the two attempts on my life which were particularly disturbing because they had followed so quickly upon each other.

“I do believe,” said Sir Robert, “that Bean's was not really a serious attempt on Your Majesty's life. He is simple-minded, looking for notoriety, no doubt. He is a poor thing. But we cannot allow people who feel so inclined to think they may amuse themselves by making even mock attempts on Your Majesty's life. I propose to bring in a new Bill immediately. Attempts on the Sovereign's life will be punished by seven years' transportation, or imprisonment for three years, added to which the accused will be publicly whipped.”

“Why do you think there are these attempts?” I asked.

Sir Robert was thoughtful. “Of one thing I am certain. It is not criticism of Your Majesty. You have shown yourself caring for your people, graciously friendly on those occasions when you make public appearances and your family life is exemplary.”

I thought of those wild storms and the angry words that passed
between Albert and me; and I made up my mind that there should be no more such scenes, but I was becoming more and more convinced that I was to blame for them.

“No. It is not Your Majesty who arouses this discontent in the minds of unstable people. It is the state of affairs in the country.”

I knew he was referring among other dangers to the Chartists with their People's Charter. Albert had talked to me a great deal about this. In the days when Lord Melbourne had been my mentor he would have shrugged them aside. “Tiresome people who had nothing to do but make trouble.” But discussions with Albert had taught me that they were demanding electoral reform and voting by ballot. They were rioting in various parts of the country, and riots always sent a shiver of alarm down people's spines because the French Revolution was not so very far behind us, and we all knew what happened to that unfortunate country. Those of us in high places were particularly apprehensive for we would never forget what had happened to our counterparts in France.

There was always trouble abroad. Wales was in revolt with the people calling themselves Rebecca and her daughters; Cobden was making a nuisance of himself and causing concern to Sir Robert over the Corn Laws; and in Scotland there was some controversy over the Established Church.

All these things added up to unrest and when there was hardship in a country people expressed their dissatisfaction by turning against their rulers.

Albert had made me aware of all these things, and as a queen I should be aware. I was so grateful to Albert. He not only kept me informed; he was improving my mind by reading history to me. It was wonderful to sit beside him. I loved being read to, and what would have seemed incredibly dull to study by myself, became interesting when Albert read it.

I was changing. I was growing up; and when I thought of how I had behaved to Sir Robert, calling him the dancing master, failing to recognize his worth, I was quite ashamed. My eyes were opened. Albert had opened them.

The Bill for the protection of the Sovereign's Life went through Parliament with the greatest ease. They had all been impressed, said Lord Melbourne when he came to see me, by the courage I had shown. He looked at me with that loving expression, now a little sad; but he was genuinely delighted because I had at last discovered the worth of Sir Robert Peel, and I felt that was very noble of him. After all Sir Robert was his
political enemy; and there had been a very special relationship between Lord Melbourne and myself. Yet he was so anxious for
my
well-being that he was glad that I was appreciating Sir Robert and Albert.

What a good friend he had always been!

I
ALMOST FELL
into a trap over the Cambridges, and it was really Lord Melbourne who helped to extricate me from what might have been a dangerous situation. Sir Robert was very clever with political matters, but I think my dear Lord Melbourne understood more about people and how they would act in certain circumstances, and why. Lord Melbourne had been an inveterate gossip; and when I looked back over our relationship it had been more—or at least equally—concerned with the private lives of the people who surrounded us than it had with politics.

I had been on uneasy terms with the Cambridges ever since the Duchess had refused to stand up for the toast when Albert's name had been proposed. Of course they would never forgive me for not marrying their son George.

I must confess to a certain pleasure when I heard that Lady Augusta Somerset was pregnant and that George was responsible.

I discussed the matter with Albert. He was always upset by immorality and particularly so when it touched the family. The Cambridges had been consistently hostile to him and he said that it was a chance for me to show my disapproval and that I would not allow them to continue to insult us.

“You have been so lenient with the people around you,” said Albert with a mixture of tenderness and censure. “You have accepted people who have been at the center of scandal—your own Prime Minister, who was at one time your constant companion, for instance, was not untainted by scandal.”

A short while ago that would have been the beginning of a storm, but although I felt my anger rising as it always did at criticism of those of whom I was particularly fond, I said calmly, “People are sometimes involved in scandal when they are innocent. I never believed they should be blamed. Your father and brother have scarcely been blameless in that respect, but in my eyes that only makes you seem the more virtuous because of your defense of them.”

Albert did not pursue the matter. He was very sensitive about the misdeeds of his family.

However he did think some action should be taken about the Cambridges and in this case I was only too eager to agree.

“Invite the Duchess to a Drawing Room, and tell her that you cannot receive Lady Augusta.”

“And George?”

Albert admitted that was difficult, George being a prominent member of the royal family, and in line for the throne.

The Duchess was soon asking for an audience, which I gave her, and I must admit that I looked forward to the encounter with some relish.

“I must know the reason for Your Majesty's ban on my lady-inwaiting,” she said.

“Dear Duchess,” I replied. “I should have thought the reason was obvious.”

“It is not to me, Your Majesty.”

“Ask your son or your lady-in-waiting. They should know. The Prince and I are aware of the lady's condition, and we will not accept immorality at Court. We shall not receive those who err in a certain way—and if members of the royal family are concerned, so much the worse. But we will stamp out laxity.”

“I can assure Your Majesty that you have been misinformed…as you were on another occasion.”

Any reference to Flora Hastings always unnerved me. It was not only the trouble it had brought me. It was the thought of that poor girl dying of a terrible disease and all the time being accused of immorality.

The Duchess left in a state of great indignation. As she departed she said she could not allow this matter to rest there.

I was very disturbed, particularly when I discovered that there was no truth in the rumor.

Lord Melbourne, who even now he was no longer Prime Minister was still living a very social life, was very much aware of what was going on in people's private lives.

I was delighted when he asked if he could see me privately.

“Dear Lord Melbourne,” I welcomed him. “This is like old times.”