Victoria Confesses (9781442422469) Read Free

rules—too many to remember.
    Daisy sat beside me, hands forming a pious steeple, and listened as I recited my prayers. I was not allowed to speak privately even to God! When I had said “amen” and was lying in my bed with the satin coverlet pulled up to my chin, Daisysettled in her usual chair close by. She opened a book and began to read silently by the light of the single candle left burning.
    I closed my eyes, but thinking of the wedding the next morning, I was too excited to fall asleep. Dear Daisy began to snore gently. I heard the door open quietly. I kept my eyes closed, believing it was Mamma. Someone was standing close by my bed, but I sensed that it was not Mamma. I opened my eyes the merest slits. It was Fidi!
    â€œShhhhh,” she warned. “Mamma is still with her guests. They’re speaking German and having a fine time.” Wearing only a thin shift, Fidi was shivering. “Let me come in next to you,” she whispered, and I lifted the coverlet and made room for her. “I wanted to have just a few minutes alone with you,” she said, curling up cozily next to me. “This is the last night I’ll spend here at Kensington. Tomorrow we’ll be at Claremont. Uncle Leopold had a suite of rooms prepared for us. We’re to stay there for a few days, and then we will leave for Germany.”
    â€œWe,” I heard her say. “Us.” In a few hours Prince Ernst would become her husband. “When are you coming back to Kensington?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t know. But I’ll write to you as often as I can, and you must promise to write to me, as well.”
    â€œI promise. But oh, Fidi, what shall I ever do without you?” I had forgotten to whisper. Daisy stirred slightly. Fidi placed her finger on my lips. Daisy sighed and resumed her snoring.
    â€œI wish I could go to Germany with you,” I said, for perhaps the tenth time, or maybe the twentieth.
    â€œDarling Vicky, let me tell you a story—the last I shall tell you, for you’re getting too old for my stories.”
    â€œI will never be too old for your stories,” I insisted.
    Fidi began her story with the part I already knew: There was once a duke named Edward, a son of the king of England, who married a German princess named Victoire. When the princess learned that she was with child, the duke brought her to England so the baby would be born here. I was that baby.
    â€œThis is the part I haven’t told you,” Fidi continued. “A gypsy fortune-teller had once told the duke he would have a child who would grow up to rule England, and Edward believed it. He wanted the baby to be English enough to inherit the throne.”
    â€œAnd you believe it, too?”
    â€œI do,” Fidi said. “The king’s only child died before you were born. The rest of your papa’s brothers are old and fat and gouty, and not a single one of your older cousins is legitimate. As Mamma is fond of pointing out, they are all bâtards and cannot succeed to the throne. It’s very likely that you will someday become queen, Vicky. Your papa planned on it. Mamma wants it. Sir John counts on it, and that’s why he wants to control you.”
    I listened silently to what Fidi was telling me. Can it be true that I shall be queen? Fidi would not lie. Yet the idea was so astonishing that I could scarcely grasp it. I, queen of England?
    â€œI shall miss you terribly,” Fidi was saying. “But I’m also very glad to be leaving Kensington. I’ve felt like a prisoner from my first days here. I can escape—I’m not important to their plans. But I truly fear for you, dear Vicky, for you’re now a prisoner as well.”
    Her words shocked me.
    â€œYou will have the title of queen,” Fidi went on, “but Mamma hopes to be appointed regent, and if she gets her wish, it is Sir John who will actually rule England until you are eighteen—andlong