by Jean Plaidy
‘You mean one of Alexandra’s brothers. Not the eldest. He will be King of Denmark.’
‘The next one perhaps,’ said Palmerston.
‘He’s so young.’
‘Princes have responsibilities thrust early upon them as Your Majesty well knows from personal experience.’
She nodded gravely.
But he had not really come to talk to her about the Greek throne. He was concerned with Prussia – deeply concerned.
Bismarck, it seemed, was the real ruler of Prussia and he was out for conquest. He was talking of a united Germany and his slogan was ‘blood and iron’.
‘Very descriptive words, Your Majesty,’ commented Palmerston, ‘and leaving us in no doubt of their meaning.’
‘William of Prussia would abdicate in favour of the Crown Prince,’ he went on, ‘but I do not think the Crown Prince is eager for it. Nor is Bismarck.’
‘My daughter and her husband don’t like the man.’
Old Pam’s smile was impish. ‘Alas, M’am, sometimes monarchs have to accept statesmen they don’t like.’
She agreed with dignity that this was sometimes a great trial to them. And she secretly thought how often it occurred to her that she would be rather relieved to be rid of those two old men, Palmerston and Russell. The alternative, though, was Disraeli with greasy curls and painted face or Gladstone with his thundering virtue. Indeed, monarchs did suffer from the statesmen the people gave them.
But Lord Palmerston had come not only to talk of Greece and Prussia but of her own seclusion. He hinted that this had gone on long enough and that the people didn’t like it.
‘Bertie and Alix I hear are seen very frequently in society.’
‘And a good thing it is that they are socially inclined,’ said Lord Palmerston. ‘It makes the situation less tricky.’
Less tricky! What an expression!
‘The people like to see their Sovereign now and then, you know. They like to see the crown and the sceptre and the purple velvet.’ His eyes dwelt on what Baby called her ‘Sad Cap’.
‘They must be made to understand my tragedy,’ she said sharply.
Palmerston sighed. ‘In the meantime, M’am, we will be grateful to the Prince and Princess of Wales for keeping the people happy.’
‘I don’t think there should be so much night life. And I hear that the Prince of Wales is sometimes seen in places less reputable than they should be.’
Palmerston smiled. ‘The people like him for it. So I think we should be grateful to his Highness … all of us. A gay Prince of Wales makes up for a Queen in mourning.’
It was straight speaking, but what one must expect from Lord Palmerston.
If he was hinting that she should come out from retirement he would have to learn that she had no intention of doing so.
As for Bertie – he was inclined to wildness; but at the moment she supposed she must not reprove him, since he was – so the Prime Minister suggested – taking the burden from her shoulders.
Bertie had seemed all that one could want in a husband. Often Alix asked herself how many princesses achieved what she had – a real love match. Bertie could be passionate lover and tender husband all at once. He was proud of her beauty; he was constantly telling her that she was the most beautiful woman in the assembly. It was fun to be with him; he laughed a great deal; he was amused by her occasional struggles with the English language; he explained jokes to her which she had failed to see; and the honeymoon was the happiest time of her life – and afterwards, too. Bertie loved society; they settled in at Marlborough House and entertained a great deal, but after a few weeks it occurred to Alix that they were rarely alone. She enjoyed company; it was the greatest fun to wear beautiful clothes and be admired. She and Bertie had similar tastes in many ways. They liked gay, light-hearted people. They never wanted to discuss anything that might be called ‘serious’. She had lived very simply in Copenhagen; he had been repressed all his life. She was now being shown a new and glittering world; he was having everything that had been denied to him before. They were both determined to make the best of it.
The first shadow crossed her mind one day when she had thought how pleasant it would be if she and Bertie dined alone in Marlborough House. They had driven in the Park in the morning and received the acclaim of the people; they had gone to a reception in the afternoon where several people had been presented to the Princess of Wales; and she had told Bertie she had a surprise for him that evening. He was to invite no one to Marlborough House. Then he would wait and see.
They dined alone. ‘You see,’ she had said, ‘there are always so many people around us. I thought it would be much more fun to be alone for once.’
Poor Bertie! He did his best; but it seemed difficult to maintain the conversation; he missed his gay friends. It was obvious that that was one of the occasions which was not a success. Alix knew that she must not do that again. But it was rather startling.
There was amazing news from home. Her brother William had been elected to the Greek throne. How strange to think of little Willy as a King. He was to change his name to George as being more suitable for a Greek Monarch, and to leave for Greece immediately.
It seemed incredible. Here she was the Princess of Wales and Willy the King of Greece when a year ago they were living humbly in the Yellow Palace.
Sometimes she thought of the family at home. They would be as sorry to lose Willy as they had been to lose her. She had thought that everything was worth while because of the love between herself and Bertie, but when she realised that charming as Bertie was he often glanced at the clock when they were alone together and brightened considerably when some of his gay friends arrived, she began to have some misgivings.
Then she discovered that she was pregnant.
Bertie was delighted. He was very solicitous. She must not tire herself. He thought that perhaps late nights were not doing her any good. She should retire early.
She had said: ‘Oh yes, I should like that!’ Still being naive enough to think that he would be with her. She had forgotten the little dinner for two which had not been a success.
He was so tender. He would make her sit down and himself wrap a rug about her legs. He would tell the servants to bring a tray to her room. And then he would kiss her and leave her.
He liked to go out and join his friends at some of the fashionable clubs where he was often incognito. It amused him to take a cab as a private person.
Alix stayed in her room, thinking how comfortable it was to enjoy an early night. But she did wonder what Bertie was doing.
She was often fast asleep when he retired for the night. It wasn’t quite what she had imagined in the beginning.
The Queen usually spent autumn in the Highlands which was the best time with the heather on the hills and the beautiful fresh air. Dear Balmoral! Some people said it was more like a German schloss than a Scottish castle. That was because it was Beloved Albert who had planned it. The old Balmoral – which they had become fond of when they had first come to Scotland – was not good enough for her, Albert had said; he had wanted to build something more worthy. She had been reading through her old journals – a habit she had fallen into lately and which she found morbidly fascinating. Often Alice or Lenchen would find her with the tears streaming down her cheeks while she read of past happiness. There was a nice little hall, she had written, and a billiard room with the dining-room next to it. A good broad staircase and the sitting-room above the dining-room. She remembered it so well. ‘Castle’ had been rather a pretentious name for old Balmoral. But what happy days they had had there in the beautiful wooded hills which had reminded dear Albert so poignantly of his homeland and the Thuringian forests.
How different the new Balmoral with its forty-foot-square tower and the oriel windows. Now it was quite magnificent, as Albert had said, a royal residence.
And what a comfort to be there with the dear servants. Annie MacDonald was such a treasure and she was beginning to think tha
t there was no one quite like John Brown.
She smiled at the thought of him. He was very tall and handsome; very strong; so brusque in his manners that he never failed to make her chuckle. And faithful. That was what she looked for now. Albert had said he was the best man on the estate. He and the head gillie, John Grant, were completely trustworthy, Albert had remarked. In fact Albert had often stressed that when he went out on a day’s shooting he found the company of these two servants more to his liking than that of some of the noble guests whom duty forced them to entertain. She agreed with Albert on this as on everything else.
She liked as many of her children to be with her as possible. The fact that Alice was still in England meant that she and her husband could join the Scottish party; Bertie and Alix of course had their affairs in London – and very gay they were by all accounts; and as she had said to Vicky she thought that Alix showed the strain and was looking peaky; she was not very strong and rather highly strung, she feared. Of course Bertie was not like his father who had always been the most solicitous of husbands and whose great concern had been for his wife’s comfort.
Vicky with Fritz and the children Wilhelm, Charlotte and little Henry were having a brief holiday in Scotland too which was very comforting. She could never forget that Vicky had been her father’s favourite and although she had been a little jealous of those whom she had – quite wrongly she realised now – imagined had cut her out a little, she now felt drawn towards Vicky who was more like her wonderful father than any of the others.
Dear Vicky, she had her troubles and what a disaster it was that Beloved Papa was not here now to advise her. The King of Prussia was very weak and quite under the influence of that dreadful Bismarck whom Vicky and dear Fritz, quite rightly, could not endure. Not only that but little Wilhelm was a source of anxiety. Such a bright little fellow. Albert had loved him especially and seen great qualities in him. How criminal of those doctors and nurses to be so careless at his birth. Poor Vicky was heartbroken about his deformity. The Queen would never forget how her daughter had described her son’s christening when the dear child had been half covered up to hide his arm which was without any feeling and hung helplessly. And now some of the doctors were talking about cutting his neck and in fact the poor child had been submitted to wear a horrible machine; he had to put it on for an hour every day. Vicky had explained that it was a belt about his waist with a rod at the back with something rather like a bridle attached to this. Into this the poor little boy’s head was fixed. It was very complicated. But of course the decision to operate was unthinkable unless it was going to be a complete success. The doctors had some notion of strengthening muscles and bringing the arm back into use. Very depressing but now Vicky was in Scotland with the children and little Wilhelm was spared the humiliation of his horrid machine. It seemed much better to accept the fact that his arm would never be right and do the best to disguise it. No wonder the poor child liked to assert himself now and then. He must feel this deeply.
It was very pleasant to have talks with Vicky. Somehow she could talk more freely to her eldest daughter than to the others. Vicky was such a woman of the world. Alice for all her married state still seemed innocent and unworldly. She could discuss having children, female ailments and feelings with Vicky. Vicky had a wisdom which the others were not old enough or not experienced enough to share; and although she could discuss with Alice Mr Gilbert Scott’s proposal for a magnificent Memorial to be set up in Kensington to dear Albert, to Vicky she could talk of Affie’s affair and his obvious love of the gay life and Bertie’s life with Alix, for the Queen was well aware that Bertie was leading a life of his own in some of the gayer clubs while Alix stayed at home.
Trouble seemed to be never far off, both in domestic and foreign affairs; and with such a family as hers, the two were often unhappily combined.
Alice came in to suggest they go for a drive to Clova. ‘It would do you good, Mama,’ said Alice.
The Queen sighed. ‘It was always one of Beloved Papa’s favourite spots.’
‘Grant won’t be able to come with us as he is with Vicky in Abergeldie.’
‘My dear child, we can well do without Grant. Remember we have Brown.’
‘Oh yes, Mama, I believe you feel safer with him than with any of the others.’
‘He’s a good faithful soul.’
‘Inclined to forget his place, Mama, at times, don’t you think?’
‘Brown never forgets his place, which is to protect me. I can tell you, Alice, that I would well dispense with the bowing and sycophantic greetings and addresses I get from some people. I, as Beloved Papa did, always prefer sincerity.’
‘Well, Brown will accompany us to Clova. I will go and tell Lenchen that you wish to go. What do you think – about half past twelve?’
‘That would be very suitable, my love.’
Dear Alice! she thought. She does not look really well. I don’t think she is very strong. Such a comfort, though. And Louis is rather helpless. It’s very sad he can’t provide a home for Alice. Poor Alice, she had not been so well since her confinement. A very sad time. Dear little Victoria Alberta – the Queen was very pleased with those names – had been born in Windsor Castle in the same bed which the Queen had used in confinements and Alice had actually worn the same shift which her mother used for all her children. It had been such a trying time because dear Alice looking so wan had resembled Beloved Papa when he was on his deathbed; and when Louis had come in and been so tender and loving and embraced dear Alice she had suddenly seen herself and Albert after the birth of one of the children; and it was all very hard to bear.
She would send for Annie MacDonald and prepare herself for the drive, although she didn’t really need Annie as much as she used to because Brown seemed to have taken charge even of her clothes. Sometimes he would chide her because he considered her cloak too thin. ‘The mist’ll get right through to your bones, woman,’ he would say in his dear blunt way which showed that he was careless of whether he offended her because his main concern was her health. The dear, good, faithful creature! Albert had always been so amused by his rough ways.
They were ready to depart at twelve, just herself, Alice and Lenchen. The younger ones were doing lessons with Tilla, Miss Hildyard who had been with them for so long and was such a dear good creature.
Lenchen was fussing about luncheon because they were taking some broth with them and some potatoes ready to boil. There was absolutely no need to fuss. Brown would take care of everything. It would be dark when they came back but Albert had always enjoyed night driving and as he had said with Grant and Brown they were perfectly safe.
Smith the coachman was driving and Brown was on the box beside him and Willem, Alice’s little Negro boy-servant, was standing up behind.
How she loved the dear hills and glens where she had walked so often with the Beloved Being; there was something to remind her everywhere. She was telling Alice and Lenchen how she used to take out her book and sketch while Papa went shooting and the children used to ride on their ponies.
‘We remember, Mama,’ said Lenchen patiently. ‘We were there, you know.’
Alice looked gently reproving but none of the children had Alice’s sympathetic ways.
It was very pleasant to stop at Altnagiuthasach where the efficient Brown warmed the broth and boiled the potatoes. ‘What a long time they take to boil,’ said the Queen to which Brown replied: ‘Ye’ll nae be wanting them half cooked, so have a wee bit of patience.’ At which Alice blenched but the Queen just smiled at another manifestation of Brown’s stalwart protection.
How good the broth and potatoes tasted when they were ready. ‘Worth waiting for,’ said Brown with reproach in his voice for his impatient mistress.
‘Well worth waiting for,’ agreed the Queen, for in spite of her sorrow she could always enjoy her food. She recalled happy picnics of the past when Dear Papa had been so hungry and declared that nothing tasted as good as John Brown’s broth and boiled
potatoes eaten on the moors.
With great efficiency Brown had the plates and dishes washed in a burn and stored away and soon they were on their way again. And there were the snow-tipped Clova Hills, breathtakingly beautiful.
‘I hope you girls appreciate this wild beauty. Beloved Papa was especially fond of it.’
Her daughters assured her that Clova was one of their favourite spots too. But, said Alice, wasn’t it time that they started to return? They would be very late as it was and there had been one or two flurries of snow.
The Queen smiled at the kilted figure of her faithful Highlander. All would be well, she assured her daughter.
But this was not quite true. It had grown dark and Brown had lighted the lamps; and as they drove along, the carriage gave a lurch and she realised they were off the road. She could hear Brown’s remonstrating with Smith, who had evidently taken a wrong turning. Brown descended and taking a lantern, walked ahead of the carriage holding the light high.
‘Whatever has happened to Smith?’ cried Alice. ‘He should be able to see the road very well.’
Poor Smith, thought the Queen, he was getting old. He had been driving them for thirty years. He really must be persuaded that he was too old for the task. A fine discovery to make at nightfall on one of the roads through the Highlands! She was thankful that Brown was with them.
Suddenly the carriage tilted to one side.
Alice took the Queen’s hand and held it firmly. ‘I think … we’re upsetting,’ she cried.
She was right. At that moment the carriage had overturned; the Queen had been tipped out and was lying face down on the ground. The horses were down and Lenchen cried out in terror.
Brown was bending over the Queen.
‘The Lord have mercy on us!’ he cried. He lifted the Queen in his arms. ‘Are you all right, woman?’ he asked.
‘I … I think so,’ said the Queen.
‘Lord be praised for that,’ he said and the sincerity in his voice brought tears to the Queen’s eyes.
