"The day before yesterday, as I stood at Kensington Palace, watching the flames of Westminster Palace rise into the night sky, I was truly scared. I stood by the window, watching those familiar towers collapse bit by bit, watching the flames lick the golden cross on the roof, watching the bell that never spoke suddenly fall silent as if burnt into silence."
These words echoed powerfully, even the seasoned Fleet Street journalists in the back rows couldn't help but raise their heads.
Closer to the front, Lady Leisen's eyes were slightly red as she gently crossed herself across her chest, seemingly praying for the child she had raised.
The Duchess of Kent lowered her eyes, and the hand that always held her gloves finally relaxed slightly.
She had read Victoria's speech draft and even once doubted whether it was too plain. If not for knowing it was jointly revised by Sir Arthur Hastings and Alfred Tennyson, she might have asked Conroy to redraft it.
