by Jean Plaidy
Bertie was right. The Lord Chancellor listened attentively.
‘I am innocent,’ declared Bertie. ‘The lady must be insane. I am sure this will be proved but in the meantime I have received this subpoena to appear in court.’
This was a very grave situation, commented Lord Hatherley. The Prince could plead privilege but that he believed would be most unwise, for he was of the opinion that if any obstruction was placed on his Highness’s appearing in court that would be construed as proof of his guilt. He would have to appear in court, and of one thing he must make certain: the Queen must hear of this first through him. That was imperative. And no doubt, added Lord Hatherley, the Prince would wish to be the first to inform the Princess of Wales.
Bertie realised the wisdom of this and went straight to Alix, who was immediately alarmed by his downcast expression.
‘Bertie, what on earth has happened?’
‘Something terrible.’
‘The children …’
Bertie shook his head. ‘Oh no.’ Alix sighed. As long as there was nothing wrong with the children she could feel relieved. ‘It’s … Alix, I’ve got a thing called a subpoena. They’re going to take me to court.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘It’s Lady Mordaunt. She’s gone mad, I think. She’s made some sort of confession to her husband and he’s trying to divorce her …’
‘And you …?’
‘Oh no. It’s Fred Johnstone and Cole. They’re cited as co-respondents, but she’s made some wild statements about me and her lawyers have sent this thing.’
‘Oh God!’ said Alix.
‘Well, she must be mad.’
‘But she has named you.’
‘She’s mentioned me. The woman’s insane …’
‘But you were friendly.’
‘Oh come, Alix, I’m friendly with so many. It’s part of my duties.’
He was bland even though very anxious. Alix’s voice was trembling a little as she murmured: ‘And she has no reason …’
‘Of course not,’ said Bertie indignantly.
She felt wretched and miserable. She thought of Lady Mordaunt – young, twenty or not much more, very pretty, very gay. Bertie had called on her frequently, she knew. He must have visited her often when her husband was absent.
‘I’ve spoken to Hatherley,’ said Bertie. ‘He said I must tell Mama without delay.’
The Queen re-read Bertie’s letter. It was his painful duty, he had written, to tell her that he had been subpoenaed to appear as a witness at the court of Lord Penzance …
Her son! The Prince of Wales! Ordered to go to court! A divorce case and Bertie’s name mentioned! She could feel almost thankful that Albert was not here to suffer this.
Bertie declared that he was innocent. Of course there were malignant people who were ready to make the most cruel accusations against royalty. Unkind things had been said against her and John Brown. Poor Bertie! Strangely enough when she came face to face with real disaster she found she could be very strong. It was only when she contemplated something alarming that her spirits quailed. So Bertie was commanded to appear in court because a loose woman had mentioned his name. Very well, Bertie must appear in court and if he told her he was innocent she believed him. She sat down at her desk and wrote a tender letter. She believed that he had been maligned; she had the utmost confidence in him; and she wanted him to know that his mother was with him.
Bertie was touchingly grateful and was more frank than he had ever been before. He told her that he feared Sergeant Ballantine, whom Sir Charles Mordaunt had engaged to act for him, would twist everything he said and try to compromise him. He was in a terrible dilemma. To go into the box and have his words twisted by a brilliant lawyer or to stay out and let people impute his absence to guilt.
The Queen was anxious. She could not explain her fears to Mr Gladstone. How she wished dear Mr Disraeli was her Prime Minister now. Of course Bertie was wrong to have put himself in such a position where this was possible. If he had not moved in ‘fast’ circles no one would have been ready to believe this whatever that mad woman and her clever Sergeant Ballantine said. Whatever happened Bertie had done himself a great deal of harm.
The Lord Chancellor agreed with her. The monarchy was not so firm that it could afford such scandals as this. Mr Gladstone thought that the Queen’s love of seclusion had already irritated public opinion; for the Prince of Wales to be connected, however innocently, with such an unsavoury divorce case would not improve it.
‘How difficult it is for royalty,’ said the Queen with some asperity. ‘I am blamed for living too quietly; my son for living too riotously. People are never satisfied.’
There was great excitement when the case opened. It was the first time a Prince of Wales had ever been summoned to the witness box. The majority were certain that he had been Lady Mordaunt’s lover. Albert Edward – Teddy as he was beginning to be called by the people – was another such as his great-uncle George IV who had amused the people with his scandalous love affairs.
The Mordaunt story was gradually revealed to an avid public. Lady Mordaunt had given birth to a child and a few days after its birth it had been discovered that there was something wrong with the child’s sight and it would almost certainly be blind. This had so upset Lady Mordaunt that she had become hysterical.
When her husband came into her bedroom she cried out: ‘It is my fault the child is blind. You are not the father. Lord Cole is the father. I have been wicked and done wrong.’
‘You are distraught,’ said Sir Charles, trying in vain to soothe her.
‘No,’ cried Lady Mordaunt. ‘I have been unfaithful to you with Lord Cole, Sir Frederick Johnstone, the Prince of Wales and that’s not all …’
Sir Charles, very distressed, tried to comfort his wife.
‘She has some fever,’ he told the nurse. ‘She doesn’t know what she is saying. I believe women suffer in this way sometimes after having a child.’
Two of the nurses replied that during her confinement before the birth Lady Mordaunt had told them quite seriously that the child was not her husband’s and that she had committed misconduct with the men she had mentioned.
Sir Charles went to his wife’s bureau and found bills which showed that she had stayed at hotels with Sir Frederick and Lord Cole, and as there were also letters to her from the Prince of Wales, Sir Charles believed he had a case.
People recalled the trial of Queen Caroline. This was of less importance than that, of course, but very diverting. ‘Gay old Teddy’ was the universal comment. ‘Well, he was bound to get found out sooner or later.’
There was a great drive to prove Lady Mordaunt insane. Her own father stated that he believed this to be so, and that she was suffering, as several doctors affirmed, from puerperal mania.
The mention of letters from the Prince of Wales caused a great deal of excitement but disappointment followed when these were published in The Times and proved to be somewhat innocuous, even though they did show that the Prince was on terms of cosy friendliness with Lady Mordaunt although not with Sir Charles, apparently, for the outraged husband told the court that he had never invited the Prince to his house in spite of the fact that His Royal Highness was a frequent visitor there in his absence. Teddy’s visits, laughed the public, were made when Sir Charles was out of the way naturally.
The excitement reached its climax when Bertie took his stand in the witness box. Calmly and clearly he answered the questions put to him.
Yes, he was acquainted with Lady Mordaunt before her marriage. She had visited Marlborough House. He had seen a great deal of her both before her marriage and after.
At last came the all-important question: ‘Has there ever been any improper familiarity or criminal act between yourself and Lady Mordaunt?’
The Prince threw back his head and answered firmly: ‘There has not.’
The court broke into applause which the Judge repressed and Bertie left the court with relief. The case
was over – dismissed on account of Lady Mordaunt’s insanity.
Bertie felt jaunty. He had come through that with honours, he believed. Even Ballantine had not dared to go too far with the Prince of Wales.
‘The gross implications which have been wantonly cast on me are now cleared,’ he wrote to his mother.
The Queen read his letter and sighed. It was not as simple as that. She knew well enough that whatever the outcome of the case people were going to believe Bertie guilty. His conduct was not without reproach. There were all those gambling debts and the rumours of how he was always in the wake of some woman. Vicky had heard it said on the Continent and so had Alice. Bertie was a gambler, he drank too much and was too interested in food; but his besetting weakness was women.
The Lord Chancellor shook his head over the affair and Mr Gladstone was not very happy about it, while Reynolds’ Newspaper was asking whether a young man who paid visits to a young married woman in her husband’s absence was really innocent.
There was the expected spate of cartoons. A paper was being sold in the streets called The Infidelities of a Prince; and although this recounted in florid terms the adventures of George IV when Prince of Wales it was bought by many on the understanding that it was an account of the exploits of their own Teddy.
Bertie pretended to shrug it aside. Alix was quiet and rather sad. It was all so different from what she had dreamed in the Yellow Palace.
Chapter XV
THE FATAL FOURTEENTH
It was a sad spring. Alix felt depressed and her rheumatic pains increased. There was restraint between her and Bertie and sometimes when he reproved her – very gently – for her unpunctuality, she had to stop her temper from flaring up and demanding the truth about the Mordaunt affair.
She told Bertie that she thought she would like to get away to the country for a while. Sandringham? suggested Bertie. No, she decided; she would like to go on a visit. The Duchess of Manchester had invited her to Kimbolton and she would like to accept. Bertie was almost pathetically eager to meet her wishes. In fact she believed that he was silently imploring her to put the Mordaunt affair from her mind and not ask embarrassing questions.
It was pleasant at Kimbolton, but wherever she went people cheered her and she fancied that their show of friendship was tempered with sympathy because of Bertie’s infidelities.
Why, she asked herself, should she be so hurt? She had always known in her heart that Bertie was unfaithful. How different, though, to know these things oneself than to be aware that they were being publicly discussed. Pride, her mother would say. Wounded dignity.
She had a great desire to see her mother; she felt that at home she could express her true feelings and throw off the pretence which was necessary at such a time.
When she returned to Marlborough House she told Bertie of her desire to visit Copenhagen to see her family. Bertie, determined to give her what she wanted, said that he would persuade Mama.
The Queen did not need a great deal of persuading. She understood Alix’s feelings very well; and she had been telling herself since the Mordaunt affair how fortunate she was in Albert, who had never given her the faintest cause for uneasiness in that respect.
Bertie went with her as far as Calais and when he said goodbye he looked so sad and sorry that she kissed him fervently. Whatever else he was Bertie was the kindest man in the world.
It was wonderful to be back at Bernstorff. Queen Louise, alas grown very deaf now, was a great comfort. They talked of Alix’s affairs and she found herself defending Bertie. He was always so kind and good to her. Of course he loved gay society and this could be dangerous, but at heart he was the most indulgent of husbands.
‘One must not ask too much of life,’ said Louise.
But the charm of the old home had necessarily diminished since the family had broken up. There were no cosy chats with Dagmar, and she missed the babies.
The visit was a short one, for war had broken out between France and Prussia and the Queen sent a peremptory message. Alix must return at once.
Bertie was already leaving for Copenhagen in order to escort her home.
The Queen was distressed. She hated war and had always been determined that England must be kept out of any conflict if at all possible. Lord Clarendon, before his death, had told her that trouble was brewing over the Spanish succession and that if the Prussians tried to bring in a German heir to the throne, as they were trying to do, Napoleon would never allow it and would even go as far as war.
How right he was, for now Napoleon had declared war on Prussia.
This would be another split in the family. Vicky and Bertie were at loggerheads now. Vicky must naturally support her adopted country and Bertie was anti-Prussian out of sympathy with Alix who because of the Danish-Prussian war over Schleswig-Holstein and the defeat of her father, hated the Prussians fiercely.
If Bertie were going to Denmark he must be warned not to be indiscreet. He must remember that everything he said was noted and that he was a representative of his country; he had already angered the Prussians by his sympathy with the Danes and although everyone understood his desire to be loyal to Alix, that was not a very good thing to do.
Bertie promised to be discreet and went off to bring Alix back.
It was most provoking, sighed the Queen. Not only the dreadful war which brought about such unnecessary suffering but the conflict in the family. Both her sons-in-law, Vicky’s husband the Crown Prince of Prussia, and Alice’s Louis of Hesse Darmstadt, were fighting with the Prussians. Poor Alice, who at her father’s death had proved what a good nurse she could be, was working hard at a hospital in Darmstadt and looking after the wounded from both sides of the conflict. The Queen was proud of Alice – the quiet one – who had always been so efficient. Alice wrote that she had founded the Women’s Union for nursing the Sick and Wounded in War and that she felt that this was doing so much to alleviate sufferings imposed by this cruel war.
The Queen was terrified that Napoleon would be victorious, although she knew that Bertie and Alix were secretly on his side. Bertie had always been fascinated by Napoleon and it had been reported to her (though Bertie did not know this) that there had been one dreadful occasion when Bertie as a boy had told Napoleon, in the hearing of several people, that he wished he were his father. What terrible sacrilege! Fortunately Albert had never heard of this disloyalty. Oh, the wickedness of Bertie!
In a way she could understand the fascination of Napoleon; she herself had been a little impressed by him; he had such Gallic charm and he had really made her feel that he was a little in love with her. How very foolish, but the man, though far from handsome, was charming. But what had that to do with his wicked act of declaring war on Prussia? The Queen was torn in her emotions; the family was so involved.
Strangely enough the Prussians seemed to be gaining the ascendancy. Of course the Germans had always been magnificent soldiers and so ready to be disciplined, but she would have thought that the might of France must prevail.
Alix showed clearly that she hoped the Prussians would be beaten and Bertie had made some very indiscreet remarks which Vicky strongly resented. Then she became triumphant because it was clear that the French were in difficulties. Paris was threatened.
‘What will Bertie and Alix say now?’ wrote Vicky maliciously.
Bertie said it was terrible to think of the most beautiful and exciting of cities – Paris – being under bombardment.
Vicky’s retort was: ‘What mischief that court and still more the fascinating Paris has done to English Society!’ Which was of course a sly dig at Bertie who had so much enjoyed slipping into Paris for a brief stay where he had hosts of friends – all very elegant, very gay, witty, amusing and far from virtuous.
September came and with it the battle of Sedan and the surrender of the Emperor.
Alix and Bertie had gone with the children to Abergeldie for the autumn holiday and they were there when news reached them that the Empress Eugénie had esca
ped from France and landed in England.
Bertie was horrified. ‘To think of that charming lady in flight. It’s terrible. We’ll have to make her see that we welcome her.’
Alix agreed. She was very sad because once more the Prussians had been victorious.
At first they had had no idea where the Empress Eugénie was and they were being entertained at Dunrobin Castle when the news came that she and her son, the Prince Imperial, were in Chislehurst.
Bertie immediately wrote to her and told her that his house in Chiswick was at their disposal.
Lord Granville, who had taken over Lord Clarendon’s post at the Foreign Office, was worried. The Prince and Princess of Wales were too impetuous; their sentiments did them credit but they did not seem to realise that they were out of their element when they dabbled in politics. The Prussians were victorious; the Emperor was deposed; and here were they, representatives of a foreign power, showing sympathy with the fallen enemy.
The Queen had been very uneasy when she heard that Eugénie was in England. They had entertained each other and professed friendship, but she, unlike Bertie, realised the political implications.
Lord Granville came to see her, accompanied by Mr Gladstone. It was most unfortunate, they declared.
The Queen replied that she considered it presumptuous of the Prince and Princess to have acted as they had; and while they were wondering how the impulsive couple could be extricated from the difficulty in which they had placed the government, Eugénie replied to the Prince thanking him for his gesture but telling him that she had already been presented with Camden House at Chislehurst, so she had no need to avail herself of their generous offer.
