The Queen and Lord M

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That solemnity which etiquette, decorum and decency insisted should prevail could scarcely hide the excited expectation in the Palace of Kensington on that June morning in the year 1837.

The old King was dying. Ever since he had come to the throne seven years before it had been expected that either the tomb or the straitjacket would be his imminent fate, but he had survived those seven years as King of England largely due to the devotion of his Queen – the meek and virtuous Adelaide – who on account of her imperfect complexion had been known slightingly as ‘Her Spotted Majesty’ and whose gentle and unselfish nature had caused her to be regarded as insignificant, which was far from the case.

The girl to whom the King’s condition was of greater importance than to anyone else in the kingdom was very much aware of what was happening. She sat before a mirror while the Baroness Lehzen dressed her hair and there was a book on her lap from which she had been reading aloud, and trying to pretend that she was interested in it. She was no good at pretence of any kind, but perhaps on such an occasion a little duplicity could be forgiven. Oh dear, she thought, how shut in I am! I’m hardly allowed to think for myself.

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