by Jean Plaidy
‘A most painful business, Your Highness.’
‘Then it is a pity everything is not done to stop it,’ she answered.
‘I am in complete agreement. That is why I have come to Your Highness. The Prince could have great influence here. This case must not come before the public.’
‘And you think I can prevent that?’
‘I think Your Highness might persuade the Prince to prevent it.’
‘I have no say in these matters.’
‘You have influence with the Prince and I believe that if you could make known to him what bringing this matter into the public eye would entail it would be an end to it. I must explain to Your Highness that if Aylesford takes this to court, the Prince will be subpoenaed and this will be a repetition of the Mordaunt case. Although this time it will not go so easily for the Prince.’
‘I don’t understand you, Lord Randolph.’
‘Lady Aylesford, Your Highness, received letters from the Prince of Wales. When this trouble arose and divorce was threatened, she gave those letters to my brother, Lord Blandford. If Lord Aylesford went on with the divorce, these letters would be published.’
Alix put her hand to her brow. Letters! It was always letters in these scandals. Oh, Bertie, how could you be so indiscreet as to write letters to these women! There had been letters in the Mordaunt case – fortunately they had not been too revealing. She trusted these were not either.
Lord Randolph tried to dispel her hopes. ‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘if the contents of these letters were revealed I fear the Prince of Wales would never sit on the throne.’
He left Alix in a state of great anxiety.
When the Prince heard what was happening he was furious. What angered him most was not the fact that the letters might be published but that Churchill had dared to go to Alix and inflict such agonies upon her. He knew how she would feel and he hated himself for having become involved with Lady Aylesford. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Alix.
He raved to his friend Lord Charles Beresford.
‘I’ll never speak to Churchill again. I’ll see him hounded out of society. I’ll challenge him to a duel.’
‘Your Highness couldn’t do that,’ put in Beresford.
‘What do you mean I couldn’t do it? I will do it. I’ll have his blood for this.’
‘It would be treason, Your Highness.’
‘Treason. I’d like to see him in the Tower. I’d like to have him before a firing squad. And if I decide to challenge him to a duel I’ll do so, Beresford, remember that.’
The Prince, usually mild-mannered and good-tempered, had inherited a spark of the Queen’s hot temper; and when it was aroused – though it rarely was – it could be alarming.
Lord Charles knew that he had no alternative but to carry the challenge to Churchill.
When he received it Lord Randolph replied that it was absurd. He could not of course accept the challenge. At the same time he had no intention of changing his course of action. If there were divorce proceedings the letters the Prince of Wales had written to Lady Aylesford would be published.
The Queen of course had been informed. As usual when the family was in real trouble she stood firmly behind it. Bertie was the victim of unscrupulous people, she said.
Mr Disraeli was naturally her great comfort.
‘Bertie assures me,’ she told him, ‘that the letters are innocent.’
‘I am sure they are, M’am, but the wrong construction can be put on innocent matters, and people are inclined to believe the worst. His Highness is quite right not to attempt to interfere in Lord Aylesford’s private affairs.’
‘I shall let the Prince know that I believe he has acted rightly, by not allowing this man Churchill to blackmail him – for that’s what it is.’
‘That’s what it is, M’am,’ agreed Disraeli.
‘Perhaps he should delay his return until the unfortunate affair has blown over.’
Disraeli thought that if Aylesford decided to divorce his wife it might be a long time before it blew over; and although it was not right for the Prince to persuade Lord Aylesford not to take divorce proceedings, it might be suitable for someone to do so other than the Prince.
The Queen waited for Disraeli to suggest a name.
‘The Earl of Hardwicke could, I think, be very persuasive.’
The Queen smiled. She could trust her Prime Minister to do everything that was possible.
When Disraeli explained to Lord Hardwicke how important the Aylesford affair was to the Prince of Wales, Hardwicke promised to do his utmost to persuade Aylesford that to continue with the divorce would mean the loss of the Prince’s favour.
The Queen wrote to Bertie that dear Mr Disraeli was dealing with the matter so that he could be assured that the affair was in the best possible hands.
Bertie, however, did not like Disraeli. The Prime Minister was one of those clever fellows, erudite as Bertie could never be, of a literary turn of mind, making constant allusions to classics of which Bertie – who rarely opened a book – was ignorant. Bertie felt he had more in common, oddly enough, with Mr Gladstone.
And now, he supposed, Disraeli was smiling to himself at the thought of the Prince in another scrape.
On his journey home he had heard that the Queen had been proclaimed Empress of India and he considered it a great slight that he had had to discover this through newspapers when he would have thought it would have been the duty of the Cabinet to inform the Prince of Wales before making the news public.
Disraeli had need of all his clever diplomacy to placate the Prince on this issue; and he worked persistently on the Earl of Hardwicke.
Bertie’s feelings on nearing home were apprehensive. He had to face his wife and his mother; strangely enough it was meeting with Alix which alarmed him most.
He wrote to her that he wanted to see her before he saw anyone else and he wanted to see her alone. He must talk to her.
Several members of the royal family had gone to Portsmouth to meet him and Alix arranged that they should all stay behind while she went out and boarded the yacht as it lay off the Needles.
She was greeted fervently by Bertie. He had forgotten how beautiful she was, he told her; he wanted her to know how he had missed her; it was wonderful to be home.
He embraced her almost furtively while he wondered how much she knew about the Aylesford affair.
Alix was so delighted to see him that she could not hide her joy.
‘Bertie, it has been so long! The children are almost wild with joy. They wanted to come out with me but you said come alone.’
‘Yes, Alix. It’s this fellow Churchill. I’ll swear I’ll never speak to him again. I challenged him to a duel, I was so angry. Making insinuations about me. All the time I was thinking of you. I am accustomed to having lies told about me. It’s the effect it has on you that bothers me. That scoundrel came to see you … talking the most ridiculous nonsense.’
Alix sighed, then she was smiling happily. It was so comforting to believe it was nonsense. So she did not ask Bertie the questions he so clearly did not wish to be asked. She could not have this reunion spoiled for anything in the world.
The children were so excited when they went ashore. They jumped all round him, demanding stories about tigers and elephants.
‘Later, later!’ cried Bertie, beaming bonhomie and happiness. How could anyone have wanted to make him anxious when there was so much in life that he enjoyed!
Shortly after his return the Earl of Hardwicke was able to report to the Prime Minister that Lord Aylesford had decided not to divorce his wife. Everyone was relieved – the Prince of Wales more than anyone else. But he refused to receive Randolph Churchill; and as the latter could not be invited to any gathering which the Prince honoured with his presence, and as only such gatherings were considered worth attending, Randolph and his beautiful wife were outcasts.
She was an American so they decided to travel in America for a while; but the
Queen did not think this was enough and because the affair had to some extent become public knowledge, it seemed necessary that Churchill should offer a formal apology to the Prince of Wales.
Although the Prince accepted the apology he made it clear, when the Churchills returned to England, that he had no desire for their company.
Chapter XIX
‘THE KISS OF DEATH’
Mr Gladstone was making himself a nuisance to the government. But then didn’t opposition leaders always criticise those who were in power? The Queen would have thought Mr Gladstone would have had more principle; it would have been some compensation for his lack of charm. Mr Disraeli, on whom she was relying more and more, and who never failed to amuse and please her however awkward the matter with which they had to deal, cared passionately for the prestige of England and was determined not only to maintain but increase it. How proud he had been when he had had her proclaimed Empress of India. ‘Victoria Regina et Imperatrix,’ he had announced, making her a sweeping bow; and she could not have been more delighted than he was.
‘How my Mary Anne would have rejoiced in this day,’ he told her lugubriously; and they both shed tears for their dear departed.
She stood firmly beside Mr Disraeli in all his endeavours. She had told him that she was worried about him.
‘You are no longer a young man,’ she told him severely, ‘and I am very concerned about your health.’
‘Dear Madam,’ he cried, ‘you are not going to suggest that I retire?’
‘That is the very thing which I am anxious to avoid. But leading the House of Commons is too much for you and I am sure Mary Anne would have agreed with me when I say that I do not wish you to do so any longer. So I am offering you a peerage. I am sure the Earl of Beaconsfield will continue to serve me for many more years from the House of Lords than would have been possible in the Commons.’
He was elated yet melancholy. Here he was at the very pinnacle of success. Not even in his wildest dreams could he have visualised a greater glory. He was the Queen’s dearest friend and although he referred to her now and then to his intimates as ‘The Faery’ in a rather mocking mood, he loved her. Not in the romantic, tender way in which Melbourne had loved the young girl; but with a great affection tinged with irony; he stood back and laughed at himself – a very old man with dyed hair and touched-up complexion pretending to be a gallant admirer of a plump though still graceful mother of nine, never beautiful, now very plain, scorning as she did all adjuncts to beauty, in her widow’s garb to which she persistently clung. She was the only person in the world who was important to him. He came home to the house where Mary Anne used to wait for him and he thought of recounting to her his conversation with the Queen; how delighted she would have been. ‘But with Mary Anne gone,’ he said to one friend, ‘I am dead … dead though in the Elysian fields.’
What a prop Lord Beaconsfield was in the troubles that followed! thought the Queen. He reminded her of Lord Palmerston in his political outlook – not in any other way, of course; she had never liked Lord Palmerston. There was trouble between Turkey and Russia as there had been in the days of that most unsatisfactory Crimean War when Palmerston had acted so promptly. Lord Beaconsfield wanted to protect Turkey from Russia; Mr Gladstone was against English help to Turkey and indeed he did all he could to embarrass Lord Beaconsfield and the government. There was a point when the country was on the brink of war with Russia for Lord Beaconsfield had assured her that on no account must Russia get a hold on the Baltic ports; how magnificently he had extricated the country from that affair and brought about, as he said so succinctly, ‘Peace with honour.’
She was so relieved. She hated war; she could never forget the sufferings endured by the poor soldiers and in the end it almost always turned out to have been so unnecessary. In addition, there was also the family conflict – Alix’s sister Dagmar being Russian now through her marriage. How very awkward it would have been for the two sisters if there had been war between the countries into which they had married. And Alix was so fiercely loyal to her family – which was right of course, but when one married one’s family was one’s husband’s. People who were not royal were fortunate never to have to face problems like that.
The family brought her constant anxiety, but she was beginning to think that her children had not turned out so badly. She was growing a little fonder of Bertie who had such a good nature and was so eager to please; he was frivolous and she supposed in his pursuit of women rather wicked but now that memories of Albert were fading a little – although she did not care to admit this and now and then tried to convince herself that this was not so – she had begun to take rather a lenient view of Bertie’s peccadilloes. Alfred she would not easily forgive for behaving so rudely to faithful Brown and calling him a servant to his face; poor Alice was not well; the dear child seemed to have troubles and Louis was rather a weak man. Leopold was a constant anxiety because of his weakness through that disease which she was discovering was in the family. Some of the boys seemed to have it although the girls eluded it. She was terrified that Leopold would one day bleed to death. Arthur was a very good young man – more like Albert than any of them; he did not seem to get into those scrapes which her other sons seemed to find irresistible – strange as it was in the sons of Albert. She trusted Louise was happy with Lorne, but she was not sure; however, they all had their own lives to lead and she herself was very busy with her own. Fortunately she had her dear Lord Beaconsfield to assist her in public life and faithful Brown in private; so she was really quite fortunate.
And when Vicky wrote to her about the behaviour of her eldest son Wilhelm, she realised that she was indeed lucky. Wilhelm was turning out to be a very arrogant young man. She had always suspected that arrogance was his besetting sin; she remembered how he had wanted the place of honour in the pony carriage and how he had driven about at Balmoral and Osborne as though he were the Sovereign.
He always signed himself in family letters as Wilhelm Prince of Prussia, which since his father never signed himself Prince, seemed strange. Wilhelm was more like his grandfather and of course he had been brought up in the shadow of Bismarck.
What hurt Vicky more than anything was that he seemed to have taken a dislike to her and the reason was that she was English. Wilhelm hated the English; he could not bear that England was of more importance in the world than the new German Empire; he dreamed grand dreams fostered by Bismarck. Vicky wrote to her mother that he would allow people to talk in a disrespectful manner about her and instead of reproving them sniggered with them.
‘That is quite shocking,’ replied the Queen. ‘I cannot imagine what Dearest Papa would say if he could know of it. And to think that Wilhelm was his first and favourite grandchild. I suppose it is due to that arm of his. What a tragedy.’
Then Arthur became engaged to Princess Louise Margaret of Prussia. This was rather a shock because the Queen had never thought of Arthur’s marrying. There had seemed to be no need for him to hurry into marriage or indeed to marry at all. He was so good that it was clear he could live quite happily without women – unlike his brothers. So why marry? and if he must, why not wait until a more suitable bride could be chosen? But when she saw the bride she was enchanted by her looks, and susceptible as she was to beauty she immediately forgot her misgivings.
Alice was the one who caused her the greatest concern. The Queen imperiously told Alice that she, with Louis and the children, must take a holiday and there could be nowhere more beneficial than a seaside holiday in England. They should all go to Eastbourne for a few weeks and the sea air and sunshine would do them a world of good. She remembered how much good it had always done to her.
So Alice and her family went to Eastbourne and when they visited the Queen she was still concerned about Alice’s health. Alice was so devoted to her family; she was always engaged in good works. Alice and Arthur were the two who took most after their father.
The Queen lectured Alice on taking greater care of her
health and spoke sternly to Louis. Alice had always taken her duties seriously. She was the one who had nursed her dearest Papa and later Bertie; and had worked so hard during the dreadful Franco–Prussian war. She was so clever; she had translated into German some of Octavia Hill’s essays about the London poor; and her reason for doing so was that she hoped the German authorities might take some notice of what had been done in London to alleviate suffering and follow the example in Germany.
Dear Alice! Yes, she and Arthur were the good ones, and apt to be overlooked when compared with the more forceful Vicky and gay and fascinating Bertie.
The sad season was approaching. December must always be a month of mourning, when she shut herself away with her journals and went over her past life, reading what she had written at the time and trying to recapture some of that rapture which she assured herself living with Albert had been. It was so long ago. Seventeen years ago since that dreadful December day when she had sat by his bed and known that he had left her for ever.
November came and with it a telegram from Alice to say that her daughter Victoria had caught diphtheria and was very ill.
The Queen was disturbed; she immediately wrote pages of advice to Alice. She must not wear herself out with nursing. She knew her daughter and she, the Queen, was not pleased with the wan looks which she had noticed during the summer. The Queen implored, no commanded, Alice to take great care and as diphtheria was catching, she must not expose herself to infection.
After the tragic death of the child who had fallen from the window, Alice had only six children left – five daughters and one son. There was Victoria, who had diphtheria; Alice known as Alicky, Irene, Ella and baby May; Ernie was now the only son.
Every day the Queen waited impatiently for news; she found it difficult to concentrate on anything else. How she wished the family were still in England for she was certain that with dear Jenner at hand they would have been much safer.
