A Most English Princess by Clare McHugh

Author:Clare McHugh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

17

Berlin, November and December 1861

At Königsberg Vicky caught a bad cold, and back in Berlin after the exhausting coronation week she suffered with a high fever and ear abscesses that left her temporarily deaf. Her mother-in-law sent frequent notes commanding her to get up for the ceaseless rounds of dinners, receptions, teas, concerts, and opera performances filling these, the frenetic opening weeks of the winter season, the first of the new reign. As ever, Augusta was never content in public unless accompanied by a deferential and uncomplaining Vicky and a full suite of ladies. She was like a slave, captive to Augusta’s compulsions, and the queen’s morbid restlessness exhausted Vicky and depressed her. Fritz’s mother put little of her impressive energy to good use, and since the coronation her need to be out and deferred to by all as the sovereign’s wife had reached a high pitch. Vicky supposed it was some compensation for the king’s lack of love, but she, Vicky, was relieved to be ill and unable to leave her bed for the moment.

ON THE FIRST afternoon Dr. Wegner allowed her to dress and go downstairs, she still wore a cloth tied around her head. It was November 5, Guy Fawkes Day. Vicky imagined that at Windsor they must be erecting the huge bonfire always lit on this occasion. She had just sat down to write to Mama and to Alice when a maid interrupted to say the queen had sent word she would call at four. Vicky sighed. Fritz’s mother was not losing any time, so eager was she to upbraid her in person.

At least Fritz arrived home early and was with her when Augusta swept into the drawing room as the clock chimed the hour.

“You look quite recovered,” the queen said, settling herself in a large armchair opposite the sofa where Vicky sat.

“Mama, don’t be ridiculous,” said Fritz. “Can’t you see she still has her head bound? Wegner insists she can only be up for a few hours.”

“But the fever’s gone?” the queen asked.

“Yes, thank goodness, though I still have pain,” said Vicky.

“Quite a lot of pain!” Fritz said, indignant. “The doctor has Fräulein Stahl pouring oil in her ears both morning and night.”

Vicky touched the cotton wrapping gingerly to be sure it hadn’t slipped out of place.

“If you’re here to see when Vicky can leave the house, to wait on you, it won’t be this week, or next,” Fritz continued.

“That’s not why I’ve come,” replied his mother coldly. “We need to complete plans for the celebration.” The queen had announced some time ago that she would host a banquet on November 21, to celebrate Vicky’s twenty-first birthday, but as the proposed guest list featured only Augusta’s friends, Vicky hadn’t looked forward to it.

“No, we will cancel that,” said Fritz.

“I will not have the occasion go unmarked,” said the queen imperiously.

“We will make no plans until my wife is completely well,” answered Fritz.

Mother and son glared at each other. So unlike Fritz to confront the queen. He usually advised “keeping Mama quiet” by doing exactly what she desired.

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