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Kitabı oku: «Queen Victoria: A Personal History», sayfa 3

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Having married the impoverished, 32-year-old Prince Ernest Christian Charles of Hohenlohe-Langenburg, Princess Feodora went away with him to the enormous, uncomfortable Schloss Langenburg, leaving Princess Victoria to comfort herself with her dolls (one hundred and thirty-two of them – little wooden, painted mannequins made by herself and Lehzen and dressed as historical personages and characters from the theatre and opera, all of them listed in a copybook).16

Her mother had been lonely too. Having overcome the first shock of her husband’s death, she had struck the few people with whom she came into close contact as being, in Lady Granville’s words, ‘very pleasing indeed’, friendly and approachable.

But she herself, as she said, felt ‘friendless and alone’ in a country that was not her own, endeavouring to speak a language which she had not yet mastered, being, as she said with not altogether sincere self-denigration, ‘just an old goose’.17

She was well aware that, as a German, she was not well liked in the country at large and, as the widow of the Duke of Kent and mother of Princess Victoria, much resented by the Duke of Clarence, heir to the throne after the death of his elder brother, the Duke of York, in 1827. Nor did King George IV care for her.

When the Prime Minister had suggested to the King that some provision ought to be made for his sister-in-law’s child, the fatherless Princess Victoria, the King declared that he would not consider it: her uncle Leopold was quite rich enough to take care of her as well as her mother. The Duchess accordingly had to borrow £6,000 from Thomas Coutts, the banker.18 Later, however, the Government came to her aid by proposing an allowance of £4,000 a year; but, since a grant of £6,000 was at the same time proposed for Princess Victoria’s cousin, Prince George of Cumberland, son of the deeply distrusted and malignant Duke of Cumberland, she refused to consider the proposal. The offer to the Duchess was then raised to £6,000 and she accepted it.

At the same time, Prince Leopold assured her that he would be happy to continue the allowance he made her of £3,000 a year. She was at first reluctant to accept this; but being still heavily in debt she eventually agreed to it, even though she was finding her brother increasingly and tiresomely irritating and, as she put it, ‘rather slow in the uptake and in making decisions’ as well as annoyingly preoccupied.

Prince Leopold had, indeed, other matters on his mind, not to mention sexual desires to gratify. After pursuing a succession of other women, he had fallen in love with a German actress who, looking ‘wondrously like’ his departed Charlotte, was brought over to England and ensconced alternately in a house in Regent’s Park and a ‘lonely desolate and mournful’ little house in the grounds of Claremont Park where he spent his time either gazing at her longingly while she read aloud to him or picking the silver from military epaulettes to make into a soup tureen.19

He had also become involved in negotiations for his elevation to a European throne. He had been offered the throne of Greece in 1830 after that country had secured its freedom from Turkish rule and, having declined to become King of Greece, he agreed two years later, after typical hesitation, to be crowned King of the Belgians once Belgium had secured its independence from the King of Holland. The next year he married Princess Louise, the daughter of Louis-Philippe, King of the French.

Before leaving for Brussels he volunteered to give up the grant of £50,000 a year he had received upon his marriage to Princess Charlotte but this gesture, gratefully accepted, was less well regarded when he announced that some £20,000 would have to be retained for various expenses, including the upkeep of Claremont.

Princess Victoria was very sad to have to say goodbye to her uncle. He had done his best to take the place of the father she had never known. Ponderous and, on occasions, exasperating as he could be, she loved him and admired him greatly. ‘To hear dear Uncle Leopold speak on any subject,’ she said, ‘is like reading a highly instructive book.’20 He was the first of those several older men upon whom, throughout her life, she was to rely for help and reassurance. But her mother bore her brother’s departure for the Continent far more equably than she would have done at the time of her arrival in England. For the need she had always felt for support, protection and comforting advice had been met by her late husband’s beguiling equerry, John Conroy.

4 CONROY

‘I may call you Jane but you must not call me Victoria.’

PRINCE LEOPOLD described John Conroy as a ‘Mephistopheles’; but the Prince’s sister, the Duchess of Kent, did not know what she would do without him. He had been a ‘dear devoted friend’ of the Duke, she said, and he had not deserted the widow, doing all he could to help her by dealing with her affairs, financial and otherwise. Whereas Leopold was cautious and deliberate, inclined to see difficulties before advantages, Conroy exuded a confidence which the Duchess, comforted by positive men, found reassuring.

Although of Irish descent, with forbears who were proud to trace their lineage back to a royal chieftain of the early fifth century, Conroy had been born in Wales in 1786. He had obtained a commission in the Royal Artillery when he was seventeen and had been transferred to the Horse Artillery two years later. But thereafter he had not progressed as well in the Army as he considered his talents deserved, despite his marriage to a General’s daughter, the rather nondescript, indolent niece of the Duke of Kent’s friend, Bishop Fisher, by whom he was to have six children. He had not served in either the Peninsular War or the Waterloo campaign; and the Duke of Kent’s attempts to find him a suitable staff appointment had not been successful. He had entered the Duke’s household as equerry in 1817; and the death of the Duke three years later had given him the opportunity to worm his way into a position far more rewarding and influential than he could have hoped for in the Army.

The same age as the Duchess, he was a good-looking man of insinuating charm, tall, imposing, vain, clever, unscrupulous, plausible and of limitless ambition. Overbearing with those whom he sought to dominate, he was both short-tempered and devious. Charles Greville, the diarist and Clerk of the Privy Council, dismissed him as ‘a ridiculous fellow’.1 Conroy immediately recognized that by exerting a compelling influence over the susceptible and self-doubting Duchess of Kent, by isolating her household at Kensington from outside contacts and interference, he might be able to exercise unbounded control over her bright, spirited, affectionate and popular but obstinate and ‘naturally passionate’ child.

At the same time, Conroy made up his mind to win the confidence of King George IV’s sister, Princess Sophia, who had apartments at Kensington Palace. She was nine years older than himself. Cloistered at Windsor in her father’s lifetime, in what she and her sisters referred to as ‘the nunnery’, she had fallen in love with one of her father’s equerries, General Garth, and had secretly borne him a child. Conroy had little difficulty in charming the impressionable and mentally rather unstable woman whose considerable finances he controlled, and with the help of whose liberality he was able to acquire a house in Kensington for £4,000 as well as a country house near Reading, Aborfield Hall, and an estate in Wales for £18,000.2 Princess Sophia – whose generosity was said to be at least partly owing to Conroy’s skill in dealing with the ‘bullying importunities’ of her illegitimate son, Captain Garth3 – having appointed Conroy her unofficial Comptroller, was induced to apply to her brother, the King, for suitable ranks to be bestowed upon the Duchess of Kent’s household. The King, who was fond of his adoring sisters, responded promptly: Louise Lehzen was created a Hanoverian baroness by His Majesty in his right as King of Hanover, while Conroy was created a Knight Commander of the Hanoverian Order.

Sir John Conroy, while so successfully beguiling both the Duchess of Kent and Princess Sophia, failed lamentably in his efforts to win the confidence of Princess Victoria whom he treated with that kind of bullying jocularity which children find so offensive. He told her she reminded him of the Duke of Gloucester, one of the least well-favoured members of her family; he said her economical habits, including the saving of her pocket money, must have been inherited from her parsimonious grandmother, Queen Charlotte; he teased her in the naive belief that she would be amused by his facetiousness rather than offended by what she described as ‘personal affronts’. She grew to hate him. The Duke of Wellington believed that this hatred sprang from her having witnessed ‘some familiarities’ between her mother and Conroy; and when Charles Creevey remarked to the Duke that he ‘concluded he was her lover’, the Duke replied that he also ‘supposed so’.4 In later life Victoria strongly denied that her mother and Conroy could have been lovers, and she was no doubt right to disbelieve that they were; but her detestation of Conroy was nonetheless virulent and the Duchess’s fond feelings for her Comptroller soured the feelings between mother and daughter. So too did they sour the friendly feelings which the Princess had earlier felt for Conroy’s daughter, Victoire, a rather dull girl, and one of the few children of her own age with whom Victoria was allowed to associate.

Having established his position at Kensington, Sir John Conroy – who did not now trouble to conceal his occasional irritation with the Duchess who, so he said, lived ‘in a mist’ – set about what became known as ‘the Kensington System’, a process by which, in Conroy’s words, Princess Victoria would become the ‘Nation’s Hope’, the ‘People’s Queen’.5 This entailed ensuring that the child became completely dependent upon her mother who – should the girl’s uncle, the Duke of Clarence, die before she came of age at eighteen – would become Regent. In the meantime, there must be no risk of anyone beyond the Kensington household gaining any influence over the Princess. She must continue to sleep in her mother’s room; she must never be left alone in any other room; when going downstairs she must be accompanied by an adult to hold her hand; she must never have the opportunity of talking to a visitor unless a third person were present. She must be strictly shielded from anyone who might endeavour to gain her confidence; furthermore, she must be separated from other members of the Royal Family, in particular from her uncle, the wicked Duke of Cumberland, who, so Conroy liked it to be supposed, as an additional reason for keeping her isolated, was quite capable of having her poisoned or otherwise disposed of so that he could succeed to his brother’s throne.

Well aware of the system being adopted at Kensington, the Duchess of Clarence wrote to her sister-in-law to advise her against a policy which was attributed – ‘rightly or wrongly’, she could not judge – to Sir John Conroy, ‘a man of merit’ but one whose family was ‘not of so high a rank that they alone should be the entourage and companions of the future Queen of England’. She must not allow Conroy to exercise ‘too much influence over her but keep him in his place’. The Duchess of Kent, a willing accomplice in the ‘system’, paid no attention.6

As well as being separated from the Royal Family, the Princess must also be shielded from any English lady who might have undesirable connections and friends; and Baroness Lehzen, being German, and ‘entirely dependent’ upon the Duchess, happily had none of these. The Princess must also, like her mother, ‘acquire popularity and a wide following’, clearly distinguishing her from all her dissolute relations.

Fortunately, though little was known about her, the glimpses which the public were permitted to see had already created a favourable impression of Princess Victoria. She had been seen riding her white donkey in Kensington Gardens with ‘an old soldier, a former retainer of her father’s, leading her bridle rein’, ‘riding in a pony chaise over the gravel walks, led by a page’, and walking along the paths there followed by a very tall footman looking like ‘a gigantic fairy’.7 Lord Albemarle, a member of the Duke of Sussex’s household, had watched from a window of the Palace ‘a bright, pretty little girl’ in a large white hat ‘impartially’ dividing the contents of a watering can ‘between the flowers and her own little feet’.8 Charles Knight, the publisher, also caught a glimpse of her one day having breakfast with her mother on the lawn outside Kensington Palace and running off to pick a flower in the adjoining meadow. ‘I passed on,’ Knight wrote, ‘and blessed her.’9

Charles Greville saw her at a children’s ball, given by the King and attended by the ten-year-old Queen of Portugal, and he thought that ‘our little Princess’ was a ‘short, vulgar-looking child, and not near so good-looking as the Portuguese’.10 But this was not a characteristic verdict. Most of those few people who came across her were more likely to share the opinion of Lady Wharncliffe, who was invited to dinner at Kensington where the Princess was occasionally allowed down from her bedroom to sit at the table, eating her ‘bread and milk out of a small silver basin’. Lady Wharncliffe was delighted with ‘our little future Queen’.

She is very much grown, though short for her age [she wrote], has a nice countenance and distingué figure, tho’ not very good; and her manner the most perfect mixture of childishness and civility I ever saw. She is born a Princess without the least appearance of art or affectation…When she went to bed we all stood up and after kissing Aunt Sophia, she curtsied, first to one side, and then the other, to all the Ladies, and then walked off with her governess. She is really very accomplished by taste, being very fond both of music and drawing, but fondest of all of her dolls. In short I look to her to save us from Democracy, for it is impossible she should not be popular when she is older and more seen.11

The Duke of Wellington’s friend, Harriet Arbuthnot, was equally taken with the little girl, ‘the most charming child’ she ever saw. ‘She is a fine, beautifully made, handsome creature,’ Mrs Arbuthnot continued, ‘quite playful & childish [she was nearly nine], playing with her dolls and in high spirits, but civil & well bred & Princess-like to the greatest degree.’12 She was graceful in her movements and walked with a regal air, an accomplishment attributed to her having had to submit on occasions to a bunch of prickly holly pinned to the front of her dress to keep her head up.

It was not until she was nearly eleven years old that the Princess learned how near she was to the throne. Of course, she knew that she was an honoured little personage. Servants behaved to her with noticeable deference; when she was out walking, gentlemen touched or raised their hats to her. She herself once told a child who put a hand out to play with her toys, ‘You must not touch those, they are mine. And I may call you Jane but you must not call me Victoria.’ According to Baroness Lehzen, a few days after her charge had been cross-examined by the Bishops of London and Lincoln, and having discussed the matter with the Duchess of Kent, the Baroness placed a genealogical table into one of the Princess’s history books. ‘I never saw that before,’ Victoria said; and, after examining the table, she commented, ‘I see I am nearer to the throne than I thought.’13 She then burst into tears. Lehzen reminded her that Aunt Adelaide was still young and might yet have children and, of course, if she did, it was they who would ascend the throne after their father died.

A few weeks later, on 26 June 1830, King George IV died at Windsor Castle and the short reign of King William IV began.

5 PROGRESSES

‘When one arrives at any nobleman’s seat, one must instantly dress for dinner and consequently I could never rest properly.’

WHEN SHE WAS TWO YEARS OLD, Princess Victoria had received a letter from her ‘truly affectionate Aunt’, the Duchess of Clarence, in which the Duchess referred to her as ‘my dear little Heart’; and, when she lost her second baby daughter, she wrote to the Duchess of Kent to say ‘My children are dead, but yours lives and She is mine too.’1

A good-natured, unselfish and religious woman, almost thirty years younger than her husband, she was quite sincere in expressing these sentiments, and upon his accession to the throne she was as kind to her little niece as ever, doing all she could to persuade her guardians at Kensington to allow her to appear at Court. Her husband also strongly expressed his wish to see her there.

On becoming King, William, as good-natured as his wife, ‘began immediately to do good-natured things’. He clearly loved being a king; and, excited by his rank, he strode about the London streets, nodding cheerfully to right and left, relishing his popularity. Expressing a general opinion, Charles Greville said that he was ‘a kind-hearted, well-meaning…bustling old fellow [sixty-five years of age] and, if he doesn’t go mad, may make a very decent King.’ Contrasting his gregarious familiarity with the seclusion in which his predecessor had chosen to spend the last years of his life, the Duke of Wellington, the Prime Minister, told Dorothea Lieven that this was not so much a new reign; it was ‘a new dynasty’.

At Kensington Palace, however, the new reign had no effect whatsoever upon the ‘system’ practised there. Sir John Conroy remained as the Duchess of Kent’s Comptroller, organizing the household and all the particularities of its life, telling the Duchess to report to him upon ‘everything’ that happened to the Princess down to the ‘smallest and insignificant detail’. As soon as he heard of King George IV’s death, Conroy wrote a letter which, signed by the Duchess, was sent to the Duke of Wellington for onward transmission to King William IV. This letter, referring to Princess Victoria as now being ‘more than Heiress Presumptive’ to the throne, required the appointment of the Duchess as Regent ‘without any interference whatsoever’. It also required the appointment of an English lady of rank to be appointed governess to the Princess, superseding Baroness Lehzen, and requested the recognition of the Duchess as Dowager Princess of Wales with an increased allowance for her in her new position in the kingdom.

Dismayed by both the tone and the contents of this importunate letter, Wellington replied that he earnestly entreated her Royal Highness to allow him to consider it as ‘a Private and Confidential Communication; or rather as never having been written’.2 Angered by this rebuff, the Duchess, advised by Conroy, immediately returned a sharp reply, contending that she would find it irksome to be Regent but that she owed it to her conscience for her daughter’s sake to undertake the duty. Wellington answered her letter in a mollifying tone but thought it as well to offer a guarded warning by urging her Royal Highness ‘not to allow any Person’ to persuade her to entertain the idea that there was any ‘Party or Individual of influence in the Country’ who wished to injure the interests of the Duchess and her daughter. Deeply offended by this reference to her Comptroller, the Duchess declined to see the Duke when he proposed to bring her a draft of a Regency Bill, telling him to communicate with Sir John Conroy, and refusing to talk to him for ‘a long time after’.3 The Regency Bill, introduced by the Lord Chancellor in Lord Grey’s government which succeeded Wellington’s in November 1830, did, however, provide for her appointment as sole Regent in the event of King William dying before her daughter reached the age of eighteen, the House of Commons recoiling in horror from the thought that the dreadful Duke of Cumberland might otherwise lay claim to share the appointment with her. When she was told of Parliament’s decision, the Duchess, reduced to tears, said that it gave her more pleasure than anything else had done since the death of her husband.4

Yet the settlement of the Regency question, and the appointment of the Duchess of Northumberland as the Princess’s English Governess, did nothing to improve relations between the Duchess of Kent and the Court which were also soured not only by the Duchess’s attitude towards the King’s illegitimate children but also by political differences; the King and Queen Adelaide both being strong Tories and known to be opposed to the Reform Bill which Lord Grey was endeavouring to push through Parliament; the Duchess of Kent, following her late husband’s example, being as committed a Whig, and welcoming Whigs and reformers to Kensington Palace.

The family quarrel was exacerbated when the King proposed that the Princess’s name of Victoria should be changed for an English one. Since Victoria had been named after herself, the Duchess naturally was upset by this request; but since the two names, Alexandrina and Victoria, her daughter bore had not been chosen by her but had been forced upon her by the late King, and since she was ready to concede that both, being foreign, were ‘not suited to our national feeling’, she agreed that they might be ‘laid aside’. Soon afterwards, however, she changed her mind and much annoyed the King, who, persisting in his objection to Victoria as a name ‘never known heretofore as a Christian name in this country’, proposed Elizabeth instead. The Duchess declined to consider it.5

Then there was trouble over Princess Victoria’s appearances at Court, which the King and Queen wished were more frequent and which the Duchess and Conroy wanted to be ‘as few as possible’.*

One reason which the Duchess persistently gave for keeping her daughter away from Court as much as possible was the presence of the King’s bastard children, the FitzClarences, who moved into Windsor Castle, one after the other, until it was ‘quite full with toute la bâtardise’.6 Queen Adelaide raised no objection at all to this, but not so the Duchess of Kent. She insisted that nothing would induce her to allow her daughter to mix freely with the offspring of such a shameful relationship. ‘I never did, neither will I ever, associate Victoria in any way with the illegitimate members of the Royal Family,’ she told the Duchess of Northumberland. ‘Did I not keep this line, how would it be possible to teach Victoria the difference between vice and virtue?’7

Quarrels over Princess Victoria’s attendances at Court were followed by a dispute over the Princess’s style as Royal Highness, the word Royal having been omitted in a message to Parliament from the King concerning a proposed increased allowance of £6,000 for the Duchess. Then there was trouble over the Princess’s precedence at the coronation, the King declaring that she must follow his brothers in the procession through Westminster Abbey, the Duchess insisting that she follow immediately after the King. When the King stood firm, the Duchess declared that, in that case, the Princess would not attend the coronation at all – maintaining that she could not afford the expense and that, in any case, the child’s health made her attendance out of the question. The Princess, who had not been consulted, cried bitterly. ‘Nothing could console me,’ she said, ‘not even my dolls.’8 She would have loved to go, she said: it would have been a special treat like her rare visits to Windsor, even though, being well aware of how much her mother disapproved of them, she was sometimes so nervous in the King’s presence on these visits that he once complained of her stony stares. ‘I was very much pleased there,’ she wrote of one such visit, ‘as both my Uncle and Aunt are so very kind to me.’ She felt nothing but ‘affectionate gratitude’ to the King whose wish it was that ‘she should be duly prepared for the duties’ which she was destined to perform.9

Kept apart from the King and Queen for months on end, with her uncle Leopold preoccupied with affairs in Belgium and with her half-sister, Feodora, now living in Germany, the Princess was more and more isolated at Kensington where she felt increasingly defenceless against the rule of Conroy so unquestioningly supported by her mother. Baroness Späth, who had presumed to question the ‘Kensington System’ and was believed to indulge the Princess unduly, had been dismissed after having been in the Duchess’s service for a quarter of a century. It was decided that the time would also soon come to get rid of the Duchess of Northumberland who was not sufficiently subservient to Conroy’s rule. At the same time an extra lady-in-waiting was appointed to the Duchess of Kent’s household in the person of Lady Flora Hastings, daughter of the first Marquess of Hastings.

In the meantime steps were being taken to bring about the removal, or at least to lessen the influence, of Baroness Lehzen who was treated so rudely that it was hoped she would resign. This merely resulted in Princess Victoria becoming more attached than ever to Lehzen. ‘I can never sufficiently repay her for all she has borne and done for me,’ she wrote. ‘She is the most affectionate, devoted, attached and disinterested friend that I have.’ She was, the Princess added later, ‘my ANGELIC dearest mother Lehzen, who I do so love’. It could not but give grim satisfaction to the Princess, as well as embarrass her, when the King, who warmly supported Lehzen, dismissed Conroy from the Chapel Royal – where his niece, looking so demure in a white lace dress and rose-trimmed bonnet, was about to be confirmed – on the grounds that the Duchess’s retinue was too large. Upon her return to the Palace, upset as much by the Archbishop of Canterbury’s admonitory sermon as by the stuffiness of the Chapel on that hot July day and by her mother’s anger at the King’s behaviour, she burst into tears.

On this day, 30 July 1835, Princess Victoria received a firm letter from her mother telling her that her relationship with Lehzen must now change: the Baroness was to be treated with more formality, less intimate affection. Dignity and friendly manners were ‘quite compatible’. ‘Until you are at the age of 18 or 21 years,’ the Duchess added, ‘you are still confided to the guidance of your affectionate mother and friend.’10

Nothing about the Duchess of Kent’s behaviour exasperated King William more than what he termed the ‘Royal Progresses’ upon which she and Conroy took Princess Victoria so as to make her better known to the people over whom she was destined to rule and to introduce her to the leading families in the counties through which she passed.

The first of these journeys was undertaken in the summer and autumn of 1830 when the Duchess and Sir John Conroy and, as an unwanted companion for the Princess, Conroy’s daughter Victoire, drove to Hollymount in the Malvern hills, calling on the way at Stratford-on-Avon, Kenilworth and Warwick, and paying a visit to the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough at Blenheim Palace. They also went to Earl Beauchamp’s house, Madresfield Court, Malvern and to the Duke of Beaufort’s Badminton House. They visited Hereford, Gloucester and Stonehenge; at Bath on 23 October the Princess opened the Royal Victoria Park; at Worcester she was taken round the porcelain works.

There was another tour two years later when, in the summer of 1832, the Princess and her incompatible entourage set off for north Wales by way of the Midland counties. With the utmost annoyance, the King read of these ‘disgusting parades’, of the vociferous welcome accorded to his niece, of the bands and choirs, of the loyal addresses delivered and graciously accepted, the decorated triumphal arches, the salutes of cannon from the walls of castles, the flags and flowers, the cheering crowds, the escorts of regiments of yeomanry, the presentation of medals. Drawn by grey horses, caparisoned with ribbons and artificial flowers, the post-boys wearing conspicuous pink silk jackets and black hats, the royal party – ‘the Conroyal party’ as the disapproving called it – passed through Welshpool to Powis Castle and Caernarvon, then on to Pla?s Newydd on the island of Anglesey, home of the first Marquess of Anglesey, the one-legged cavalry commander, who had offered them the use of it. They returned by way of Eaton Hall in Cheshire, home of Lord Grosvenor, calling at Chester, where the Princess opened the Victoria Bridge spanning the river Dee, on their way to the Devonshires at Chatsworth where the Princess played her first game of charades and enjoyed her first tableaux vivants.

From Chatsworth they drove to the Earl of Shrewsbury at Alton Towers and then to Pitchford in Lancashire, seat of the Earl of Liverpool, half-brother of the former Prime Minister, whose daughter, Lady Catherine Jenkinson, a young woman of whom the Princess was fond, had been appointed lady-in-waiting to the Duchess of Kent two years before.

In November the royal party reached Oxford where, in the Sheldonian Theatre, to which they were escorted by a troop of yeomanry commanded by Lord Churchill, the Princess was obliged to watch the honorary degree of Doctor of Civil Law being awarded to Sir John Conroy and to listen to the speech of the Regius Professor of Civil Law who, having referred to the ‘singular prudence’ and ‘much industry’ with which Sir John had carried out his duties for the Duke of Kent, declared, ‘Can you wonder that he who had gained the esteem of the Husband, should also have pleased His surviving Consort.’11

Despite the presence of Sir John and his daughter, the Princess had enjoyed the tour, the drives in the carriage, the rides at ‘dear Plâs Newydd’ where her horse, Rosa, had taken her across the fields at an ‘enormous rate. She literally flew.’12

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Litres'teki yayın tarihi:
28 aralık 2018
Hacim:
812 s. 5 illüstrasyon
ISBN:
9780007372010
Telif hakkı:
HarperCollins
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