by Jean Plaidy
To be treated like a naughty boy at his age was most humiliating. Bertie turned for comfort to Alix as he always did at such times, only to find that she had become aloof. He was deeply wounded and he kept remembering the insolence of that young puppy, his nephew, the Emperor of Germany.
Chapter XXVII
EDDY AND GEORGE
Alix was deeply wounded. It was not so much the Tranby Croft affair although it was very humiliating to read what was said of her husband in the papers; what hurt most was this persistent pursuit of women. When Bertie was a young man it was forgivable, but now that he was nearly fifty, there was something rather ridiculous in a squat fat man behaving like a young Casanova.
She decided to go to Copenhagen for a visit and take her two youngest daughters, Victoria and Maud, with her. It was pleasant to be in the old home but the health of her parents worried her, that of her mother particularly. Queen Louise was very feeble and now completely deaf. All the same it was pleasant showing her daughters the old haunts and telling them about her own happy childhood.
When the time came to leave Copenhagen Alix was in no mood to return to Sandringham. She wanted Bertie to understand that while he could be very happy without her, so could she be without him. He very much enjoyed the company of other women; she enjoyed that of her family; and as she had had a very pressing invitation from Dagmar she had decided to take her daughters to see their aunt at her Villa Livadia on the Black Sea.
Poor Bertie was nonplussed. Sandringham seemed empty although he had filled it with his noisy friends.
He no longer enjoyed the shooting; there was no point in having the clocks half an hour fast and that small matter seemed to change Sandringham completely. When he saw George and Eddy they kept talking about Mother dear and asking when she was coming home and what had possessed her to go straight to Russia after staying in Copenhagen. Why didn’t she come home to them?
Even Daisy couldn’t restore the Prince’s good humour. Daisy was beautiful, witty, astringent, but nothing seemed the same without Alix’s tolerant good-humour. And, he kept remembering, she had been a little aloof over the Tranby Croft affair.
He started to fret about the family. Eddy had always given him some concern because he could never learn anything. It was not that Bertie wished his son to be a scholar, he himself had never been that; but Eddy simply could not absorb anything; he could scarcely read and he was quite slow-witted. It was alarming to contemplate that he could be King one day. George was the bright one. He had always outshone Eddy; and he was a good boy, conscientious and humble too. Louise was now married to the Duke of Fife and the Prince wondered whether he was too old for her. She was twenty-two; he was forty. The Duke was a friend of Bertie’s; he was rich, had been a Member of Parliament and was a good man of business. The Queen had approved of the match and had in fact bestowed his Dukedom on him at the time of his marriage – although she had to be persuaded to do so. The two other girls, Victoria and Maud, were with their mother. Did they know of her disappointment in him and would it affect their feelings towards him?
He was discovering that he was very much a family man. It was true he loved his wild parties, and passionate friendships with women were essential to him; but he wanted Alix there in the background of his life, and he knew now how much he loved his family. He had always been kind and tolerant to them; making sure that they should never feel towards him as he had towards his own father, but he had not realised before how necessary they were to him. Sandringham had become lonely; the flowers didn’t look the same. Alix loved them and had done quite a lot of the arranging herself. Her dogs were moping; there was in fact a melancholy air about the place. Bertie wanted Alix to come home. It seemed as if the whole place was crying out for her.
One day a fire broke out in the house and there was a possibility that it would be completely destroyed. That seemed fitting, he thought. Everything had changed. If Sandringham went it would seem like a part of his married life being wiped out. It was symbolic. The house was saved although quite a number of their valuable possessions were lost. Nothing went right without Alix.
George was not well. Bertie worried a great deal about the boys and more so now that Alix was away. During a house party at Sandringham at which George was present, Bertie noticed that the young man was unduly flushed and seemed a little vague, which was unlike George.
Bertie was afraid that his son had a fever and since his own attack and those which Leopold had suffered, and of course the death of their father, Bertie was always alarmed when one of the children showed signs of a high temperature.
He told his friends that the house party was over. He thought George needed quiet and he certainly could not have that with a house full of guests. He was going to take George to London.
No sooner were they installed in Marlborough House than the doctors diagnosed enteric fever.
Bertie was distraught; but at least it gave him the chance to send for Alix.
The thought of her beloved son in danger brought Alix with the girls in great haste back to London. By this time George was beginning to recover and there was great rejoicing. Bertie, delighted to have Alix back, had no desire to see Lady Brooke – in fact he had no desire to be anywhere but in the heart of his family.
Alix was happy; but experience had taught her that it was a state of affairs which would not last. Bertie would continue to be the kind, tender and considerate husband; but nothing could wean him from his pursuit of beautiful women.
At the end of that year Alix had a surprise which made her very happy. Eddy had been spending a few days at Luton Hoo where the Danish ambassador and his wife were having a house party. Alix’s old friend Princess Mary of Teck was there with her daughter May. May was a forthright girl, quite attractive and of course royal. She had naturally been a friend of Alix’s children all her life for Alix and Mary had never forgotten those early days at Rumpenheim, and often talked of them.
So what a pleasure it was when Eddy wrote that he had asked May to marry him and she had agreed.
Bertie was all for celebrating the occasion, when Alix reminded him that it would first be necessary to get the Queen’s consent.
‘She’ll give it. She’s fond of May,’ said Bertie.
‘Yes, but no one must be told before she has given it. You know how she hates to be left out of these matters.’
So Bertie went to see the Queen at Windsor.
Memories of Tranby Croft still rankled and the Queen’s greeting was cool, but when he told her that Eddy wished to marry May of Teck she smiled.
‘An excellent arrangement,’ she said. ‘Dear Eddy needs a strong wife and he’ll get one in May. She’s well educated and of good character. I believe she helps her mother who is devoted to good works. A good steadying influence.’
The engagement was announced and there was a house party at Sandringham to celebrate it.
How different, thought Bertie, from what it had been like recently! All the damage occasioned by the fire had been put right and it was just like the old Sandringham, with the clocks half an hour fast and Alix still not being punctual. Bertie chided her affectionately and they laughed about her inability to overcome it.
‘I’m glad you have it,’ said Bertie. ‘It’s just a little something to set against all my sins.’
Alix was happier than she had been since the early days of her marriage. Her darling Eddy – whom she could not help loving more than any of her other children, perhaps because he was her firstborn, perhaps because he was a little simple and not as clever as his brothers and sisters and therefore seemed to need her care – now had dear capable May to look after him; and it was wonderful to think that Mary’s daughter and her son should be united. It brought those early days at Rumpenheim into greater significance. And in the far distant future Eddy would be King of England and May Queen.
It was a bitterly cold winter and one or two people at the house party developed influenza. This was a particularly virulent type and quite a n
umber of the guests were smitten with it. Princess May had a bad cold and her mother insisted that she remain in the house. It was not long before Eddy caught it.
Alix was an excellent nurse and she did not realise at once that this was any more than an ordinary attack but in a day or so the doctors began to show some alarm and it was clear that Eddy had something more than ordinary influenza. They were soon talking about the approach of the crisis; and then it became widely known that the Duke of Clarence was very ill indeed.
Alix was frantic. Her best-loved firstborn was in danger. Eddy lay listlessly in bed; he had never had a great deal of mental or physical energy and now it all seemed to have deserted him.
The crisis came; Eddy did not rally. It was incredible. He could not be dying. He was a young man who had just become engaged to be married.
She stood by his bed and saw life slowly ebb away. She felt numb with misery. Eddy … gone.
The nation was stunned. He was so young. He had not been sickly. It had seeped out that he was no intellectual giant and that his inability to learn had worried his family and tutors. But death was the last thing that had been expected.
She knew that some zest had gone out of her; nothing would ever be quite the same again. She had lost her beloved son; her husband was not what she had dreamed romantically that a husband should be; she could not view the future with any great joy. She loved the simple life; her happiest days had been spent at Sandringham with her family, without the crowds of noisy smart people with whom Bertie so liked to surround himself; that life was not for her. The Queen was growing old. Surely even she could not live much longer and when she died great responsibilities would descend upon her and Bertie.
There was another one whose life would be changed; her son George. Dear George, who had always been such a devoted son and had longed so much to have the place in her heart which she had given to Eddy! George had always been so much more worthy – a good boy, hard-working, not really clever – only seeming so in comparison with Eddy – and now he had taken a step towards the throne.
She asked George to come to her and when he did she embraced him tenderly.
‘Darling George,’ she said, ‘you know what this means? We have lost dearest Eddy and you are now the eldest son.’
‘I know, Mother dear. I shall have to work hard. I shall have to try to be worthy.’
She smiled at him. ‘My dear, good, quiet George, you will be worthy. That is one thing of which I have no doubt whatsoever.’
How she wished that the funeral could be quiet. She told Bertie that it would be a comfort if their dear boy could be buried in Sandringham churchyard. He had loved Sandringham, as they all had.
Bertie shook his head. ‘There’ll have to be a grand funeral in St George’s Chapel. Don’t forget Eddy was in line for the throne. But we’ll have a memorial service in Sandringham and that will be the family occasion.’
The Queen was horrified. Eddy dead. How tragic! Poor dear sweet Alix! The Queen embraced her when she came in answer to a summons.
‘My dearest child, my heart bleeds for you.’
Dear sweet Alix! How lovely she looked in black! The colour suited her. She was a beautiful woman and seemed to look elegant on every occasion.
‘Dear Mama,’ said Alix, ‘you must not go to the funeral.’
‘I should be there, my dear child.’
‘No, no, Mama. These bitter winds are dangerous. It is standing about in the cold at funerals which causes many people to be ill.’
The Queen allowed herself to be persuaded. She disliked those occasions in any case and to tell the truth Eddy had not been a great favourite of hers. She preferred George; and she had felt some anxieties about Eddy’s being King when she and his father were gone. She did not think he had the stamina nor the sharp mind to be a good ruler. When she considered the manner in which one was beset on all sides by politicians she realised fully the special qualities required by a monarch. Eddy definitely lacked these; Bertie had a certain dignity which would carry him through; besides he was going to be very mature before the Crown came to him. George could be moulded; George was very much aware of his duty. He was brighter than poor Eddy had been. She mourned for the poor boy but mostly for dear sweet Alix who was clearly so stricken.
She tried to comfort her with accounts of her own grief when she had lost her dear Saint. She had also lost two children – Alice her dear dear daughter, and Leopold whom she had come to believe had been her favourite son.
‘We all have to suffer, dear Alix. And you have darling George to comfort you.’
The Queen faced fresh trials. Lord Salisbury’s government was defeated and she had no alternative but to invite Mr Gladstone to form a new government. How very trying! Mr Gladstone hobbled in on a stick and, as she herself found she was unable to walk without a stick, a faint smile touched her lips.
‘You and I, Mr Gladstone, are lamer than we used to be,’ she said.
Mr Gladstone, respectful as ever, smiled ruefully. But she had no intention of letting him think that she felt any more friendly towards him. The fact that he was old did not endear him to her. He was still that dreadful Mr Gladstone. He was so pale and shrunken that he looked as though he should be in his grave already. At his age he should know better than to cling to office. She was highly suspicious of him expressing his noble sentiments and so anxious all the time to be Prime Minister – though clearly unfit. G.O.M. Grand old man! Gom. It sounded wicked said like that. And with his dreadful Home Rule ideas and his preoccupation with prostitutes … he made her very wary.
Still there was nothing she could do but accept him and hope that the people would soon come back to their senses. She could never hope for another Lord Melbourne, dear Disraeli or clever Sir Robert Peel; but Lord Salisbury had been quite effective and she hoped it would not be long before he returned.
She was convinced that Mr Gladstone was quite mad. He now wanted to bring into the Cabinet a man with an evil reputation. This was Henry Labouchere who owned the newspaper Truth which had made a practice of lampooning and criticising the royal family. Labouchere was a most immoral man; it was rumoured that he had lived with Mrs Labouchere for some years before he had married her, which, said the Queen, made him quite unfit for her Cabinet. She would not accept him and she could not understand how Mr Gladstone could expect her to. She would have thought Mrs Gladstone would have explained if he did not understand himself; but then she doubted Mrs Gladstone had much say in affairs. Poor Mrs Gladstone!
She insisted that if this man – ridiculously known as Labby – wished to be in her Cabinet he must give up his paper Truth; she knew very well he would never do this.
So in a way she had scored a victory over Mr Gladstone and his strange friends. Although as she pointed out to her secretary, good faithful Ponsonby, that was not the relationship a monarch looked for in her Ministers.
Her seventy-fourth birthday arrived. How old I am! she thought. There could not be much longer left to her. She was tired in any case and her rheumatism was so bad that there were often days when she could not walk. She had a cataract on her eyes which was making it increasingly difficult to read. She thought of waltzing with Albert, although he had never really liked dancing. But to her that had been sheer bliss. She thought of Brown’s strong arms carrying her from couch to bed.
Life had lost its savour.
The Queen had created Prince George Duke of York. It was necessary now that his position had changed. Dear George, he had much preferred to be the second son; but now he was taking his duties very seriously.
His sister the Duchess of Fife invited him to Sheen Lodge to a house party and who should be there but Princess May, now seeming to have recovered from the loss of her fiancé.
George asked her to marry him and to the delight of everyone she accepted.
‘How very convenient,’ said the Queen. ‘Dear George, he is clearly aware of his duty.’
They were very soon married in the Chapel Royal at
St James’s in the presence of the Queen.
Chapter XXVIII
THE DIAMOND JUBILEE
The Queen had been on the throne for sixty years. This was a cause for great celebration. There must be a glittering Diamond Jubilee.
She was seventy-eight; she was old and tired; and life, she was fond of saying, had not been easy. But this was an occasion which even she could not evade.
The last few years had been a trial to her. Gladstone’s government had been defeated and replaced by that of Lord Rosebery; and now Lord Salisbury was back in office again.
A very sad event had happened. Beatrice’s husband Prince Henry of Battenberg had volunteered for active service in Ashanti. She would never forget poor Beatrice’s sorrow when he left; and the fact that they had lived with the Queen made this all the harder to bear. Poor darling Baby, how very sad for her! Henry had been sent home with a fever – how that dreaded fever in some form or other took its toll of her family! – and he had died on the way. But Baby had her dear children to support her. It was ironical. Poor Beatrice and Henry had been happy whereas Louise and Argyll were far from that and there had been a great deal of talk because Louise had refused to stay with him in Canada.
The Czar of Russia had become very ill and Dagmar, Alix’s sister, who had always dominated him since the assassination of his father, was very anxious. Her son Nicholas had married Alicky, Alice’s daughter – a beautiful girl, so intelligent and self-sufficient, as she had had to be, poor darling, since she had been so young when her mother had died. Alicky was one of the Queen’s favourite grandchildren and she was pleased to see her so well married, although she did doubt whether great crowns were always a blessing.
So life went on – the children became parents in their turn and had their grandchildren; and she seemed to go on living. Sometimes she wondered whether she was indestructible; and yet how sadly she felt her age at times. But she could still enjoy having the family round her; she liked the children as long as they were not little babies who always reminded her of frogs and had tiresome habits such as dribbling and even more unpleasant ones; but as they began to grow up they were sometimes delightful. It had been a joy to have a visit from Alicky with Nicky her husband and their baby girl; it was very pleasant to see George and May together. What a blessing they so fortuitously had fallen in love after the death of poor Eddy, and had two sweet little boys already.
