Free Victoria by Anna Kirwan Page A

is comical to watch.

1 October
    Lehzen and I costumed two new dolls, one as the singer Maria Malibran in her role as Mathilde in William Tell , and the other as Lady Durham dressed for the opera. We have started a list of all the dolls we’ve dressed so far. There are 46 of them. I don’t count the first four, for they are so untidy now, I show them to no one. I was only learning to sew then – my stitches were but three to the inch.

8 October
    O’Hum’s birthday this month. I cannot think what I ought to do for a gift. For my birthday, he and Mamma gave me my red plush saddle for Rosa. But I haven’t enough money to do so much.

9 October
    I have had an idea. I am painting a portrait of Victoire for O’Hum’s gift. Mr Westall says I do a nice likeness when I set my mind to it. Toire sits v still, and when she wants to make a remark, she whispers, as if her face will not move so much if she does not speak normally. She says, “Are my eyes open wide enough? I don’t wish to appear drowsy. But perhaps it is more effective to look dreamy and thoughtful. Does my hair appear smooth? The weather is so damp today, I’m sure it could not be as sleek as it ought to be. Oh, do make my frock blue! Yellow is not my best colour.”
    I wonder if she’s ever been told that a picture is better than a thousand words.

10 October
    I fear I have become impatient with my painting, as well as with Toire. I recall our visit to the British Museum to see Lord Elgin’s collection of Greek sculpture from the Parthenon of Athens. Now I feel painting is a poor, flat thing compared to statues. If I were a real artist, I’m sure I should learn to sculpt.
    And to think that Uncle Leopold might undertake to govern Greece, so rich in Classical art. Yet I cannot bear the thought of his going away.

31 October
    Oh, Feo, how can such things come about? What did we ever do, to deserve such bitter pain? Life will never be sweet, never. I hate Captain Conroy. It is only today that it has become calm again. But it is a terrible calm, like a church after a funeral.
    Captain Conroy’s birthday – oh, fie on the day. Mamma gave him one of my Duke Papa’s field watches as a gift, and I wish she had not done it. She said it was because he was so devoted to Papa and shared her memories of him better than others do. I thought that was unfair, for I can’t help not remembering, and I’m sure my Papa’s own brothers and sisters remember him as well as Captain Conroy does, probably better. But she as good as admitted he told her himself he’d like to have it, and, as she said, she could not very well turn down a request that revealed such loyalty and devotion.
    I gave him the picture I painted (as well as some tobacco in a very handsome tin I bought with my own pocket money). Toire and I stood there while he inspected it, and he said, “Oh, hmm, very nice, very nice indeed. Tell Westall he’s done a good job on you, Your Highness. You’ve a great deal of talent, not all little girls do.” But he didn’t say it was pretty, and Toire was let down.
    I would feel more sympathy toward her if she had not been so grumpose to me all day afterward. It was not my fault and I did make her frock blue and even put blond lace on the sleeves, which came out well.
    There is just something about O’Hum’s sensibility to gifts. Toire gave him savon bergamot , a pleasant, manly soap. Uncle Sussex recommended it, and it was a v nice choice, I would have thought. O’Hum said, “Oh, hmm, thank you, m’girl,” nary a word more.
    A great many guests came to dinner. He had to hold forth – every opinion of his own was awesome for cleverness, and no one else had information he would admit was correct, but he was entirely wise about everything, and he would explain why. It was all his especial friends and people for whom he does favours. They all drank a great deal of