The Widow of Windsor

by Виктория Холт

  ‘There have been most regrettable isolated incidents, M’am, and these have happened to other sovereigns because there are certain madmen in the world; but the hazards faced on poor tracks in mountainous country could be avoided, and I, with the backing of your Majesty’s ministers, would ask you to desist from placing yourself in danger.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said the Queen. ‘The Prince Consort delighted in driving at night. It never occurred to him that there was any danger, and I am sure if there had been he would have been the first to be aware of it. He was always solicitous for my safety.’

  She was an obstinate woman, thought old Pam; and with the backing of the defunct Prince Consort she was immovable; so there was no point in wasting further time on that subject. They must let her continue with her night drives and be thankful for the Prince of Wales who was taking on far more of the royal duties than the Sovereign herself.

  * * *

  The Prince and Princess of Wales had taken a great fancy to Sandringham. It was Bertie’s pleasure to bring with him friends from London to pass a very gay week or so in this royal residence which had never held the same place in the Queen’s affections as Osborne or Balmoral. Perhaps, he said with a grimace, this was what he liked so much about it. It seemed at Osborne and Balmoral that his father still lived on; everywhere in those houses his influence was apparent. It was quite different at Sandringham.

  Alix loved it too; there she could have been very happy indeed. It could have been a sort of Rumpenheim, but wherever Bertie was, there must be people. He took the utmost pleasure in arranging house parties. His friends would go and shoot and then return for lavish banquets and gay parties with dancing, drinking and gambling which went on far into the night.

  Her pregnancy was causing her a certain amount of discomfort, and although Bertie was as kind and tender as she could wish for, she sometimes had the notion that he was rather glad for her to retire early. He himself never seemed to tire; he would stay up half the night and then be out early in the morning in search of some fresh amusement. She hardly ever emerged from her room until eleven o’clock and she was sometimes late for luncheon. Bertie was occasionally faintly reproving and she promised herself that she would overcome her habit of unpunctuality. She often thought of how her father would disapprove.

  Then one day she and Bertie were about to ride out to the hunt when a messenger arrived at Sandringham with news. King Frederick of Denmark was dead and Prince Christian, Alexandra’s father, had now become King.

  Alexandra clapped her hands with excitement. Papa, King of Denmark. It was wonderful. Then she thought of poor old Uncle Frederick who had always been so kind to them all in his odd way; she wondered briefly what would become of Countess Danner.

  But she was the daughter of a king and she could not help being excited about that.

  * * *

  The Queen, still nursing a sore thumb, was hoping that John Brown’s knee had improved, for the faithful man when he had jumped out of the carriage had injured it and he had limped for days afterwards. She was very sorry to have been obliged to leave Balmoral and come back to Windsor and all the trials which that entailed. Lord Palmerston, who had called on her, hinted that it would be far more convenient if she were in London; but she had no intention of going to London. Lord Palmerston had something very grave to discuss.

  ‘Schleswig-Holstein again, M’am,’ he said. ‘It was inevitable that there should be trouble when Frederick died.’

  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t a very high opinion of the new Queen of Denmark.’

  ‘She can hardly be blamed for what has happened,’ replied Palmerston. ‘It’s Frederick of Augustenburg who has marched into Holstein.’

  ‘But he was exiled years ago.’

  ‘His father was beaten when he was, Your Majesty will remember, by King Frederick. But King Frederick is dead and there is a new King and Queen, the parents of our Princess of Wales. This is what the Prussians have been waiting for. They want Augustenburg set up as a puppet of theirs.’

  ‘We can’t allow that,’ said the Queen.

  ‘It’s a tricky situation. Schleswig-Holstein has always been an uneasy spot.’

  ‘And what do you suggest should be done?’

  ‘For the moment,’ said Lord Palmerston, ‘wait and see.’

  This sounded a little like Lord Melbourne.

  She was very uneasy, though, for trouble between Denmark and Prussia, which this obviously was, was really trouble in the family.

  Chapter VIII

  THE UNEXPECTED BIRTH

  Alix was plunged into great unhappiness. She could imagine what was going on at home. Her dear father, a few weeks King of Denmark, to be plunged into war, and such a war. She knew that the Germans were determined to set up Augustenburg in Schleswig-Holstein. She dreamed of Schleswig-Holstein; it had always been a kind of bogey in her life. She remembered as a child hearing those dreadful words at the time when Papa had gone away from home for so long fighting the enemy. But on that occasion they had won the battle; and she had thought it was over; now she realised that all that happened was an uneasy truce.

  Everything had seemed so wonderful; herself Princess of Wales, William King of Greece, Fredy the heir to the crown of Denmark and Dagmar courted by the Czarevitch of Russia. So important they had become which was good for Denmark, for it was, after all, only a very small country. And now the mighty Prussians were threatening to crush it.

  This had happened at the worst moment. She was feeling the discomforts of pregnancy: she was beginning to understand that the romantic relationship between herself and Bertie was somewhat superficial and that if she were to keep his affection she must never ask too many questions or attempt to discover what his activities were when he was not in her company; and now she had this anxiety about her father. She realised how deeply she loved her parents and because Bertie had told her something of his own childhood she could be grateful for what she had unquestioningly accepted as natural; a happy childhood with parents who had loved her and brought her and her brothers and sisters up with a discipline that had its roots in love. That precious security which children needed more than anything had been hers. Poor Bertie had sadly missed it. Perhaps that was why he now so fervently pursued what he called pleasure.

  She knew her father well. Although he had been trained as a soldier he was not meant to fight. One comfort was that her mother would be beside him to help him; and her mother had always believed that she was born to rule.

  But it was worrying and her happy world had disintegrated.

  Now she could not complain of Bertie’s attitude towards her. He joined in her indignation; it was monstrous, he said, that Prussia should support that upstart Augustenburg. England ought to come to the assistance of little Denmark. When she awoke in the night after some dreadful nightmare in which she had seen soldiers storming the Yellow Palace and poor Papa trying in vain to fend them off, it was Bertie who bent over her whispering comforting words.

  ‘Don’t fret, Alix,’ he said. ‘England will do something. I happen to know old Pam’s on our side.’

  Our side. Oh yes, she had a great deal to be thankful for in Bertie.

  But she went on worrying; she couldn’t eat and her sleep was often disturbed. Those dreaded words Schleswig-Holstein seemed to hammer continually in her brain.

  * * *

  When the Queen considered the problem she naturally thought of Albert. What would he have thought had he been here now? Albert had always been patriotic towards his own country, so he would have been on the side of Germany and that would be against the Danes.

  Albert would be right because he always had been right, and of course she would wish to follow Albert in all things. Lord Palmerston might hint at the dark practices of which he suspected the Prussians might be guilty; Bertie might rave against them, it was typical of the British press to write sentimentally about Little Denmark; and poor Alix was naturally broken-hearted; but the Queen felt that Albert would believe th
at Augustenburg had first claim on Schleswig-Holstein and one could not be sentimental about that sort of thing.

  Vicky was writing from Berlin and how could she fail to support the country to which she now belonged. What was happening in Denmark, she said, was King Christian’s own fault; he should not have taken the crown knowing what a flimsy claim he had. Of course he was dear Alix’s father and she was sorry for Alix, particularly in her present condition. It was most unfortunate; moreover, there were rumours on the continent that Bertie was rather fond of the society of ladies whose reputation was not of the best. Another trial for poor Alix! Still, that did not alter the rights of the situation.

  If only dear beloved Albert had been here it would all have been so much easier to make everyone understand, and she had no doubt that he would have come up with the right solution and been able to persuade either the Prussians to desist or Christian to give way. But alas for the world, Albert was no more.

  The 14th of December had arrived again – the second anniversary of his death. There was nothing else to be thought of on that day but the great emptiness that was left by his departure. She and the children would visit the mausoleum and spend some time there; and afterwards she would shut herself in her room and read her journals and mourn afresh.

  * * *

  Christmas was not a very happy season. Alix was sick and wretched, with the terrible Schleswig-Holstein business hanging over everything like a black cloud. In addition, her pregnancy was not proving an easy one and there were occasions when she felt really ill – a fact which she strove hard to keep from Bertie who liked everyone about him to be carefree.

  Vicky was writing rather censoriously from Berlin in definitely anti-Danish terms; the Queen’s half-sister, Feodora, whose daughter was married to the Duke of Augustenburg, was vigorously on the side of the rebels; and Alix, remembering other Christmases at the Yellow Palace, longed for the old Scandinavian Jul and those days when the only tragedy in life was being late for meals and having to go without a second helping or take her coffee standing up.

  On one occasion she had been unable to contain herself and had burst out in an anti-Prussian tirade before the Queen. Victoria had always been affectionate to Alix but in that moment her expression was cold and her manner regal.

  ‘My dear Alix,’ she said as though Alix was anything but dear to her, ‘I see that I must give orders that Schleswig-Holstein is a subject which shall not be discussed among the family in my presence.’

  Alix could have burst into tears. It was all so sad and changed. Only Bertie was comforting and quarrelled with Vicky on his wife’s behalf.

  But, as the Queen said, it was particularly distressing when political matters became family affairs.

  Bertie and Alix stayed at Frogmore which Bertie said was less depressing than Windsor and, being in the Windsor Royal Park, was accessible to the Castle and therefore they would not offend Mama by taking up residence there.

  It was bitterly cold that winter and Virginia Water was frozen over. When Alix saw it she thought of skating parties at home and declared her desire to go on the ice.

  Bertie looked dubious and the Countess of Macclesfield, Alix’s chief lady of the Bedchamber, was horrified at the idea. Alix had come to rely on Lady Macclesfield who was very motherly – she had twelve children of her own – and ever since Alix’s arrival in England had been in charge of the household which was very useful from Alix’s point of view.

  ‘In your condition,’ said Lady Macclesfield, ‘it would be folly.’ And Alix meekly agreed.

  Bertie, however, was planning a party; he was of the opinion that everything should be celebrated by a party and when ice hockey was suggested he was enthusiastic.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Alix,’ he said, ‘you come and watch us. The fresh air will do you good.’

  How gay Bertie was! He had forgotten all about the troubles of Schleswig-Holstein. Alix wished that she could throw off her troubles as easily as he could – although of course Schleswig-Holstein was not exactly his trouble, although she was terribly afraid that all was not going well for Denmark.

  Bertie was calling wildly to his friends as he slid across the ice. She longed to join them but she was beginning to feel rather sick.

  She did not want to spoil Bertie’s game by leaving the scene, so she stood there smiling and applauding and suddenly she was in pain.

  She turned to one of the women and said: ‘I think I’ll go back to Frogmore now. It’s a little cold.’

  At a break in the game Bertie came to her and composing her features she said that she thought she would return to Frogmore because it was rather cold.

  ‘It’s beautifully warm,’ said Bertie, glowing from the game; and she smiled at him.

  ‘It’s colder standing about. I should have been on the ice.’

  ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t be,’ said Bertie tenderly, but she could see he was longing to join his friends, so she left promptly and went back to the house.

  It was fortunate that she did for no sooner had she entered than she was in great pain.

  Lady Macclesfield came running to her.

  ‘Good heavens,’ she cried. ‘It can’t be. It’s two months too soon.’

  But it was.

  * * *

  It was fortunate that a sensible woman like Lady Macclesfield was in charge. Her first act was to get Alix to bed and send to the town of Windsor for Dr Brown, a doctor who, because his practice was there, had served the royal family on other occasions. He had become well known because of this and had a good reputation.

  At the same time she sent an equerry to the Castle to inform the Queen of what was happening and gave orders that a special train should leave for London to tell the Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Palmerston and the Lord Chamberlain of the baby’s imminent arrival.

  Then she went back to Alix, who was in great pain. There was no doubt that the child was about to be born and there was nothing ready for it.

  Dr Brown arrived immediately and even so he was only just in time, and he and Lady Macclesfield between them delivered the child. A boy.

  There were no clothes ready so Lady Macclesfield took off the flannel petticoat she was wearing, because of the intense cold, and wrapped the little boy in it. Alix was exhausted and the seven-months’ child was naturally rather feeble and would need special care.

  It was fortunate that Lord Granville, a member of the Cabinet, happened to be staying at Frogmore, so that Lady Macclesfield was able to present the new baby – wrapped in her petticoat – to him. He was not the Archbishop of Canterbury nor the Prime Minister nor the Lord Chamberlain, whom custom asked should be present at a royal birth, but the circumstances of a seven-months’ child were extenuating and it was decided that Lord Granville would do on this occasion.

  The Queen came hurrying over to Frogmore to see her new grandson. Such a feeble little thing, but then she had never liked little babies. And dear sweet Alix, who had had so much anxiety about her parents and that dreadful Schleswig-Holstein affair, was very weak.

  Alix began to recover in a few days and holding her baby in her arms she was able to forget for a while the tragic happenings in Denmark.

  * * *

  Vicky wrote from Berlin, very excited by the news. She criticised the parents of the newly born child, though, and hinted that they had brought on the premature birth by their conduct. Bertie’s gay life was talked of freely and it was really rather embarrassing, she pitied poor dear Alix. But Alix herself had not taken proper care; she had kept late nights too and not rested enough. Why, on the very occasion of the birth she had been out skating.

  The Queen replied she was pleased to have a grandson and it was amazing that the birth had been all over in an hour. Good Dr Brown from Windsor had done very well and they must be grateful to Lady Macclesfield who, the dear good soul, had done everything that the nurses were trained to do. It was necessary to take the utmost care of the child and keep him in cotton wool. Seven-months’ childre
n were naturally more difficult to rear than those who had enjoyed the full period of gestation. She thought this would be a lesson to Alix and Bertie to take greater care in future.

  Settled in at Frogmore the Queen thought longingly of Osborne. She disliked births but felt it her duty to be present. She told Vicky she would have liked to be with her at the birth of her children. She fancied she could be a little comfort to them and it was pleasant to be of some use in the family now that Dearest Papa was no longer there to need her.

  She forgot her annoyance with Alix over Schleswig-Holstein because the dear girl looked so pretty in bed and she could always feel lenient towards people at whom it was pleasant to look.

  The question of the child’s name arose.

  Bertie wanted to call him Victor. It will be a change in the family, he said.

  Alix liked it, too.

  ‘It should be Albert Victor,’ declared the Queen. ‘His grandfather would have been so proud of him, and the least we can do is to keep green the memory of that Dear Being.’

  ‘Albert Victor,’ said Bertie trying it out.

  ‘It’s very good,’ said the Queen. ‘And when you are King, Bertie, I wish you to be known as King Albert Edward.’

  ‘It’s departure from precedent,’ Bertie pointed out, which was irritating because on so many occasions that was just what he was always trying to do.

  ‘All the same,’ said the Queen, ‘it is what I wish. I want Papa’s name to be perpetuated; and it is a way of reminding people of everything he has done for this country.’

  Bertie did not pursue the question. It would probably be a matter for the government to decide when the time came.

  In the meantime there was the christening of Albert Victor to be performed. This was to take place at St George’s Chapel with the necessary ceremony due to one who could one day be the King of England. The Queen planted a small evergreen tree at Frogmore in memory of his birth; and so he was christened Albert Victor Christian Edward.