Victoria Read Free

always so kind to us and so generous. O’Hum says Uncle Leopold does everything little by little and does not know how to get his horse over a hedge. This is not true. Uncle Leopold rides well.

3 April
    Rain this morning, and fog. At half past nine the Reverend Mr Davys came to the drawing room for my morning Bible lesson. We have been reading about Jacob’s sons, and how abominably they treated their half brother Joseph. I must say, I am glad Feo and Charles never behaved to me that way! Well, Feo never did. When Charles is around, he does always take sides with a Certain Person. He calls the rest of us “hens”. We are not amused by that.
    I asked Mr Davys why all the older brothers were so jealous of Joseph’s coat. Would not the older sons inherit so much more of their father’s fortune that one nice coat to wear would not be too much for little Joseph?
    But he said, “I believe they … ahh … they wanted to be the ones to receive their father’s blessing.”
    Then he rustled around in his chair the way he does. It often takes him a while to phrase his answers, and his hair looks like jackstraws by that time. Even Uncle Leopold says he is a lesson in patience.
    By and by, Mr Davys said, “But, perhaps, you know, it was not so easy for Jacob to love the ones who were only eager to have what he’d leave them? Perhaps, not so easy as to love the one who … ahh … loved him for himself. Expecting no preference, you know.”
    His hair was sticking out like little bird wings around his ears. I fancied he looked something like Mercury in his winged cap. But even so, he looked very meaningful when he said that. I think he wants me to understand why my Uncle King is so fond of me and so perfectly, stylishly polite and utterly selfish toward Uncle Billy and Aunt Adelaide, and Uncle Sussex, and Uncle Cambridge, and Uncle Cumberland, and His Lordship the Duke of Wellington, and Uncle Leopold, and all.
    Of course, Mamma enjoys a degree of almost sisterly affection with my Aunt Sophia, as she does live here in Kensington Palace with us and Uncle Sussex. Mamma says my Papa was sorry for his princess sisters who were never permitted to marry. The whole of Grandfather George III’s immediate family is not hostile to us, even though Mamma is a trifle more German in her habits. After all, the Royal Family of England also holds the Throne of Hanover, and that means we are all somewhat German.
    But some of Papa’s relations are no more fond of O’Hum than I am, I can tell. (Uncle Sussex calls him “that Irishman” – I heard him.) But Mamma is inclined to trust Aunt Sophia’s sympathies, because before Papa died, he advised Aunt to entrust matters of her household purse to the Captain. It is unfortunate that Aunt Soap (she doesn’t mind my calling her that) tells the Captain everything that is going on.
    Uncle Leopold says Papa put “that devil” in charge of his affairs because O’Hum always saw to it that the horses were well kept, at least. And, for Papa, His Royal Highness the Duke of Kent, Uncle says, it was decent logic, because my Papa’s military planning was one of his studied strengths.
    So, all in all, O’Hum treats Princess Sophia just as sparsely as the rest of us, though she is a princess whose own father was King. But we do have nice horses and carriages. I would be very sorry not to have my mare, Rosa, I know.
    I just wish O’Hum would allow Mamma to speak to me in German. I don’t know so many words in French, and she is never quite sure what she’s saying in English. This may seem an exaggeration, but I constantly feel that if I would like her to hug me, I must be prepared to stand before her and explain what “a hug” is . By that time, some visitor will have sent a calling card in, and there won’t be time for her to attend to my request.
    By the way – there was soft bread again