of her encounter with one of her ladies, Lady Charlemont, well known to be a bluestocking, who had asked Lady Tavistock, the Queen’s Lady of the Bedchamber, if she might take books out of the library at Windsor. ‘“Oh yes, my dear,” said Lady Tavistock, not knowing what reading means, “as many as you like.”’
Upon which Lady Charlemont swept away a whole row, and was carrying them away in her apron. Passing thro’ the gallery in this state, whom should she meet but little Vic! Great was her perturbation, for in the first place a low curtsy was necessary, and what was to come of the books, for they must curtsy too. Then to be found with all this property within the first half hour of her coming and before even she had seen Vic!…But Vic was very much amused with the thing altogether, laughed heartily and was as good humoured as ever she could be.2
Creevey’s good opinion of the Queen was commonly shared. Charles Greville, never a man to pay an idle or ill-considered compliment, had an opportunity to study her closely when, acting in his office as Clerk to the Privy Council, he attended a meeting of the Council in the Red Saloon at Kensington Palace soon after eleven o’clock on the morning of her accession, and was much impressed by her behaviour.
She had already had a conversation with ‘good, faithful’ Baron Stockmar over breakfast, written to her uncle, King Leopold, signing herself for the first time ‘your devoted and attached Niece, Victoria R.’ and to Princess Feodora, assuring her that she would ‘remain for life’ her ‘devoted attached Sister, V.R.’.* She had also written a letter of condolence to her aunt, Queen Adelaide, whom she addressed as ‘Her Majesty the Queen, Windsor Castle’ and, when it was intimated to her that she should have written ‘Her Majesty, the Queen Dowager’, she replied, ‘I am quite aware of Her Majesty’s altered status, but I would rather not be the first person to remind her of it.’3 In her letter she assured her that she must remain at Windsor Castle just as long as she liked.
At nine o’clock she had received the Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, talking to him ‘of COURSE quite ALONE’ as she intended ‘always’ to do with all her Ministers, and assuring him, as King Leopold had advised her to do, that she intended to ‘retain him and the rest of the present Ministry at the head of affairs and that it could not be in better hands than his’.4 She had had another brief conversation with him before entering the Red Saloon for the Council meeting, going into the room by herself ‘quite plainly dressed, and in mourning’.† She had been asked if she would like to be accompanied by the Great Officers of State, but she had decided to go in ‘quite alone’.5
There never was anything like the first impression she produced [Charles Greville wrote in his diary], or the chorus of praise and admiration which is raised about her manner and behaviour, and certainly not without justice. It was very extraordinary, and something far beyond what was looked for. Her extreme youth and inexperience, and the ignorance of the world concerning her, naturally excited intense curiosity to see how she would act on this occasion, and there was a considerable assemblage at the Palace, notwithstanding the short notice which was given.6
She bowed to the company, took her seat, read a short speech written for her by Lord Melbourne in ‘a clear, distinct’ voice ‘without any appearance of fear or embarrassment’, then offered her hand to be kissed by the Privy Councillors who came forward to be sworn one after the other, following her two uncles, the Dukes of Cumberland and Sussex,* and blushing ‘up to the eyes’, so Greville noticed, as these ‘two old men’ knelt before her to swear allegiance.
Her manner to them was very graceful and engaging; she kissed them both and rose from her chair and moved towards the Duke of Sussex, who was farthest from her and too infirm to reach her. She seemed rather bewildered at the multitude of men who were sworn…[But] she went through the whole ceremony (occasionally looking at Melbourne for instruction when she had any doubt what to do, which hardly ever occurred) and with perfect calmness and self-possession, but at the same time with a graceful modesty.7
She was ‘perfectly composed and dignified’, ‘though a red spot on either cheek showed her mental agitation’, Lord Dalmeny confirmed; while the Duke of Wellington declared that ‘if she had been his own daughter he could not have desired to see her perform her part better’: her personality not only filled her chair, ‘she filled the room’. It was noticed with satisfaction that not by a smile or gesture did she indicate partiality, favour or disapproval for any of the Councillors who came forward to kiss her hand.
Her voice [one of the Tory Councillors, John Wilson Croker, said] which is naturally beautiful, was clear and untroubled and her eye was bright and calm, neither bold nor downcast…There was a blush on her cheek which made her look both handsome and interesting; and certainly she did look as interesting and handsome as any young lady I ever saw.8
Such praise of her modest yet regal demeanour could be heard all over London during the next few days as she fulfilled one engagement after another. When the Council meeting was over on the first day of her reign (and she was seen through the glass door rubbing her hands and skipping away like a schoolgirl) she saw both Lord Melbourne and Baron Stockmar again; she also saw the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Home Secretary, Lord John Russell, and the Master of the Horse, Lord Albemarle. She appointed Dr James Clark her physician and created a special office in the Household, that of Attendant on the Queen, for Baroness Lehzen who wisely declined accepting an official position for fear of arousing jealousy but who, the Queen said, must ‘ALWAYS remain’ with her as her ‘friend’.9 She dismissed Sir John Conroy from her Household and would have liked to have had him dismissed from her mother’s also, but this she could not yet contrive to do. She had her bed removed from her mother’s room and arranged for a doorway to be made between Lehzen’s bedroom and the room where she herself was to sleep. Before going to bed that night, she went downstairs to say ‘goodnight to Mama etc’.10
In her long diary entry for that day this was the first mention of the Duchess since she had been awakened by her at six o’clock that morning. It was immediately apparent that the relationship between her mother and Conroy and herself was now to be transformed. On this the first night of her reign she had her dinner alone, and was clearly determined to demonstrate her independence: her mother was not to presume to come to her whenever she liked. ‘I had to remind her,’ she told Lord Melbourne, ‘who I was.’ ‘Quite right,’ Melbourne commented, ‘disagreeable but necessary.’
Lord Melbourne advised her not to answer the notes the Duchess sent her and to let him reply to them formally on her behalf. ‘My appeal was to you as my daughter,’ the Duchess replied crossly, ignoring the Prime Minister’s missives, ‘not to the Queen.’
When the Queen and her mother did dine together for the first time there was trouble over the precedence accorded to the Duchess who was placed at table below the Queen’s aunts. ‘Oh! what a scene did she make.’ Then there was trouble over the Duchess’s demand for the rank and precedence of Queen Mother which her daughter rejected immediately. ‘It would do my mother no good,’ she said, ‘and would no doubt, offend my aunts.’ Frequently she discussed her relationship with the Duchess with Lord Melbourne to whom she admitted her dislike of her. Melbourne advised her to be patient and polite, however much her mother exasperated her by her constant complaints and criticisms, her protestations that she ate too much or went to the theatre too often: it would never do if the Queen were held responsible for a formal break in their relationship. All the same, Melbourne made no secret of his own opinion of the Duchess in his talks with the Queen. She was ‘a liar