by Jean Plaidy
All so notorious
God save de Queen.
Ah, Melbourne, soon arise
To get me de supplies
My means are small
Confound Peel's politics
Frustrate de Tory tricks
At dem now go like bricks
God damn dem all
The greatest gifts in store
On me be pleased to pour
And let me reign.
Mine Vic has vowed today
To honor and obey
And I will have de sway
Albert de King.
I was afraid Albert would hear it—that wicked slander and the way in which they attempted to poke fun at his accent.
Nothing it seemed could be kept long from Albert. He was so quick to notice everything. Already he had pointed out things in the household that he thought were not as efficient as they might have been.
“My dearest Albert,” I said, “you must not be hurt by these stupid people.”
“I see,” said Albert, “that they do not like me. At one moment I am an ineffectual fool who must take his orders from his wife; at another I am a scheming adventurer.”
“If they but knew how good you are! Oh, Albert, in time they will. We must be patient.”
He looked at me very steadily and said, “Oh yes, we must be patient.”
And I had an idea that he was talking more to himself than to me.
ALBERT SAID TO me one day, “Do you not find it rather dull…these evenings?”
“Why no, Albert,” I replied. “I love the evenings when we are together, don't you?”
He said, “I think we could invite more interesting people to Court.”
“But the people we see are the Court.”
“At Rosenau we would have writers, scientists, artists … people like that.”
“Oh, I do not like such people. They talk of things of which I know nothing.”
“You could learn and find them very interesting, I am sure.”
“Of course Rosenau was only a little Court. I think this is rather different.”
“Your uncle, King George the Fourth, I believe, entertained people of culture.”
“Oh, he was considered very raffish. The people did not like him, you know.”
“He must have had some very interesting gatherings.”
“I thought you were happy.”
He took my hand tenderly and kissed it. “My little one, you are charming. It is just that I miss certain interests.”
“Oh, my dear Albert, you must not miss anything.”
“You see, you have your work, your talks with your Prime Minister, your papers to study. I…I am just here. I would like to help you.”
“Oh, how good of you! But you see, I have to discuss matters of state which only the Queen can do. There are so many papers to sign. To be the Queen is not only opening things like Parliament and balls. It is not only showing oneself wearing the crown.”
“I want you to know that I am here to help you.”
“Dear Albert!”
It occurred to me then that he had not enough to do. At Rosenau, he was always busy and Albert was not a man who would look for amusement all the time. He was very serious.
Lord Melbourne came and left behind a batch of papers for my signature. I had an idea. I called to Albert.
“Dearest,” I said, “I have work here. Would you help me?”
His dear face lit up with joy.
“With the greatest of pleasure,” he said.
“That is wonderful. Come into the closet.”
He sat beside me.
“What are these papers?” he asked, and picked them up.
Gently I took them from him.
“They are merely for my signature.”
“Oh yes. I gathered that. You are giving your seal to certain documents, but what are the content of these papers?”
“I have discussed it all with Lord Melbourne. All I have to do is sign them.”
I gave him the blotting-paper.
“There, my dearest. I will sign and you shall do the blotting.”
I penned my signature and handed the papers to Albert. I could not understand his expression but I imagined there was a hint of frustration in it, and that he was holding his real feelings very much in check.
I WAS BEGINNING to feel unwell. I was sick in the mornings. Lehzen watched me with knowing eyes.
“Can it be?” she said. “So soon?”
The frightening possibility had occurred to me. I was pregnant. I believe I was never really a motherly person and the thought of childbearing did not bring me much joy. I thought more of the ordeal before me than the outcome. I liked children when they were of an age to talk and be amusing, but little babies had never really appealed to me.
Of course I had considered the possibility. When one is a queen there are hints that it is one's important duty to bear children. But it was a matter that I had shelved because I did not really want to think of it—not yet, at any rate.
I would never forget Louisa Lewis at Claremont who had made such a shrine there for Princess Charlotte; she had kept her room just as it had been when Charlotte was alive; and during those days I had spent at Claremont I had heard so much of Charlotte that she was a living person to me. She had been so merry, so much in love—and with a Coburg prince just as I was, dear Uncle Leopold himself—and then she had died in childbed.
So many people died in such circumstances. There were people at Court … people I had known. They had been young and healthy and then they had died.
It was rather frightening.
“We shall have to take care of you now,” said Lehzen. “What does the Prince say?”
“I haven't told him yet.”
“I am the first to know,” said Lehzen with a smile of satisfaction.
“Yes, Lehzen. You are the first.”
“When shall you tell the Prince?”
“As soon as I see him.”
“Men don't really understand these things.”
“I suppose it is natural that women should understand them more. Yes…as soon as I see him I shall tell him. We don't have any secrets from each other. Uncle Leopold wrote to me before my wedding and he said, ‘Tell each other everything. And if there is a quarrel settle it before nightfall. Never go to sleep with strife between you.' That is good advice, do you not agree, Lehzen?”
Lehzen said, “You must keep your hands and feet warm. You know how cold they get.”
“Not in the summer, my dear old Daisy.”
I knew she was going to start fussing again; and I had quite liked that.
When I told Albert he was really joyous. He could scarcely believe it had happened so soon. “When?” he asked.
“I don't know. By the end of the year. Perhaps the child will be a December baby.”
He took my hands and kissed them. Then he looked at me in amazement.
“You don't look very pleased about it,” he said.
“I believe that having a baby is not exactly a pleasurable experience.”
“Oh, but think of the joy to come, a little one… our own child… yours and mine.”
“Our child,” I said a little tartly, “but I shall be the one who has to bear it.” I was a little irritated for he seemed to have forgotten the danger to me.
“My dear little wife,” he said, kissing me, “thousands of women are having babies all over the world at this moment. You are not going to tell me that the Queen is afraid of doing what others do so naturally?”
I said rather shortly, trying to suppress a spurt of temper, “Lehzen, for all her rejoicing, was really very worried about me. I could see that she was, though naturally she tried not to show me.”
“So you have already told her?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Who else?”
“No one else…so far.”
“So she must be the first to know!”
“She happened to be there.”
“It would seem that Lehzen is always there.”
“Of course she is. She has always been and I hope she always will be.”
“We grow out of old servants.”
“Lehzen is not a servant. You will have to realize that, Albert.”
“I shall have to?”
“Yes, you will have to.”
He looked at me with that pained expression that was beginning to irritate me. It meant that he was holding in his temper, choosing his words with care—an accomplishment that was beyond me.
He said, “We shall have to make an announcement.”
“It is too early.”
“I do not think so. I believe the people will wish to know. The child will be the heir to the throne.”
“I must first ask Lord Melbourne.”
“My wish does not count then?”
“Oh, Albert, how can you say that!”
“Because Lehzen must be told first and Lord Melbourne must decide when we make the announcement. I see clearly that my wishes are of small account.”
Normally I would have flung my arms round his neck and told him that his wishes were of the greatest importance to me, but I felt sick and I knew that for the next months I should have much discomfort to bear.
I said coolly, “You forget my position, Albert. I am after all the Queen.”
“I know it well,” said Albert in a pained voice. “Please do not think that I am likely to forget.”
“Then that is well,” I said; and with that I got up and left him.
WHEN I TOLD Lord Melbourne he was deeply moved. I saw the tears in his eyes and I thought what a dear friend he was.
He said, “May God bless Your Majesty and the little one.”
I was able to tell him of my fears and he was most understanding.
“Very natural,” he said. “But you will have the best attention, and I am sure dear old Lehzen will do the required amount of cosseting; and your blooming health will carry you triumphantly through.”
It was just what I wanted to hear.
“No more galloping through Windsor Forest,” he said admonishingly, “and only the less vigorous of the dances.”
“Albert says I am too fond of food. Perhaps I should eat less.”
“Ah, there are two mouths to feed now. The Hanoverians were always great eaters. They needed food. They liked it. And they believed they should enjoy the pleasures of life—and to them food was one.”
I was laughing with him. It did me much good to listen to him.
“Do you think we should make an announcement?”
Lord Melbourne shook his head. “Much better to let the news leak out… and it will. The people will like that better. Is she? Is she not? It arouses their interest more than a bald statement.”
“Do you think they will be pleased?”
“Delighted. There is nothing they like more than babies. Weddings, coronations…yes. But babies… they are the top. And they go on being babies for a long time. ‘Ah,' say the people. ‘How charming. Our dear Queen is just like us!' ”
“You do not like babies very much, Lord Melbourne.”
“Not in the first stages, but I shall like this baby. It will be a royal baby, a Highness, and your baby, Ma'am.”
I felt so much more at ease talking to Lord Melbourne than I had to Albert.
Albert was very sorry to have upset me and was very kind next time I saw him. I told him that Lord Melbourne thought the news should leak out, and although he would have preferred an announcement, he did not mention the matter again.
We were very happy, and as everyone else was so pleased about the baby, I tried to forget the terrifying ordeal ahead of me and to rejoice with them.
I HAD NOTICED that Ernest was not looking well. I mentioned this to Albert and he looked rather embarrassed.
I could see that he was turning over something in his mind and I said, “Is anything wrong with Ernest?”
Albert looked sad and said, “Yes, there is something wrong…very wrong.”
“You must tell me.”
“I have been wrestling with myself, trying to make excuses for not telling you.”
“You remember we said we would not have any secrets from one another.”
He nodded.
“We vowed to each other,” I persisted.
“I know. But this is most distasteful and I want to protect you from all that is unpleasant.”
“Distasteful? Ernest? What is it?”
“He has an illness.”
“Poor Ernest.”
“Brought on by his own folly.”
I immediately thought he had carelessly caught cold, but that did not seem a matter to make such a fuss about.
“It is a punishment God gives to those who sin. He … er … has had intimate relations with a woman who has given him a very shameful disease.”
“Ernest has!”
“You seem surprised. I was not…entirely. I knew of his habits.”
“Poor Ernest!”
“It is his just deserts.”
“I suppose he did not realize…”
“That he was going to get the disease? Of course he did not. He thought he could sin with impunity.”
“Poor Ernest! Is he very ill?”
“No. I thank God that it is only a mild attack. He will soon recover. He is responding to treatment.”
“Oh, I am so glad.”
“It should be a lesson to him.”
“A rather hard one.”
“Hard ones are often the most effective. I have told him many times that he should marry.”
“Oh yes, poor Ernest, he should.”
“If he would only settle down and give up this wild life.”
“It is hard to believe two brothers could be so different,” I said.
Albert looked gratified and pressed my hand.
“He will see our happiness and perhaps that will make him feel inclined to marry.”
“I think he has studied us. He talks glowingly of our Cousin Ferdinand's happiness with Queen Donna Maria. He has stayed with them in Portugal, you know.”
“I remember Maria. She came here when I was about ten years old. My Uncle George gave a ball for her to which I was invited because she was exactly my age. And it was one of those to which Mama allowed me to go. I remember she was very beautiful but she fell down at the ball and hurt herself. She cried and had to be taken to her apartments.”
“She has turned out to be a very good wife to Ferdinand. He is her King Consort. Ernest said she received no one until Ferdinand had seen them. It is a most felicitous match. I am sure it did a great deal to make Ernest realize how happy a marriage can be.”
“Portugal is not a very important country, of course,” I reminded him. “I daresay things are arranged differently there.”
“A very happy marriage,” repeated Albert. “Ferdinand is a very lucky man.”
I turned the conversation back to Ernest. Was he to know that I had been told of his illness? Albert looked pained. “I am sure he would be very upset if he thought you had. Though I hate deception…”
“Leave it to me. I will say nothing unless Ernest mentions it to me.”
“He would never do that,” said Albert, deeply shocked.
I did not suppose that he would; and although I was horrified at the awful fate that had overtaken Ernest, I was thinking more of Albert's comments about Ferdinand and Queen Donna Maria.
IN SPITE OF Albert's original reluctance to have George Anson as his secretary, a friendship was growing up between them. George Anson was one of those intellectual types whom Albert wanted to introduce into the Court to enliven our evenings; and as Anson had developed a deep respect for Albert—which was understandable—they spent a great deal of time together. Baron Stockmar was often with them and they formed a triumvirate, discussing the affairs of the country, for Albert had a great interest in politics. I was amazed to discover—gradually—how much Albert knew of them, and he had a
good notion of how the country was being governed.
We were having tea one day—I always enjoyed these sessions for we took it without fuss—just like an ordinary husband and wife, which I thought was pleasant and very cozy.
On these occasions I liked the servants to leave us. I poured the tea myself, and so much enjoyed making sure that Albert was looked after.
Albert would sit there, amused, humoring me, smiling that very beautiful, pleasant smile of his, and I would be admiring him and thinking how handsome he was. It was irritating that in the papers they referred to him as “pretty” and hinted that he was not the English ideal, which was far more manly.
Of course he was manly! It was merely that he had magnificent blue eyes and a beautiful trim figure. People were jealous, of course.
I don't know how the conversation turned to my ministers. I had wanted Albert to help me choose some material for a ball gown. Albert had exquisite taste—a little quieter than mine—but I liked to hear his opinion and was pleased to take up his suggestions.
“There seems to be a lack of morality among many of your ministers,” he was saying. “Lord Palmerston has quite an unsavory reputation.”
“Oh,” I said laughing, “Lord Melbourne tells me they call him Cupid, because he brings love to so many ladies.”
Albert looked hurt.
I said apologetically, “I thought it rather suited him.”
“It does not say a great deal for his character.”
“Oh, he is a very astute man. Lord Melbourne thinks highly of him.”
“I do not think Lord Melbourne would be overconcerned about a fellow minister's morals.”
“Lord Melbourne is a very understanding man.”
I knew this subject of morals was a dangerous one because under Lord Melbourne's tuition I had begun to acquire a leniency toward those whose behavior was not exactly exemplary. “We are all human,” Lord M would say. “Some more human than others.” I remembered giggling at that.
“Even the Duke of Wellington is not blameless,” went on Albert.
“You are thinking of Mrs. Arbuthnot.”
“I regret to say I am.”
“Would you like some more tea, Albert?”
He handed me his cup.
“I was therefore,” continued Albert, “delighted to discover that there is one Member of Parliament at least—and one in a high place—who is absolutely beyond reproach.”
