‘No, and within a day or two of you and May returning home, the Royal Household will also be leaving. Balmoral is a feast for the eyes in September and October, when all the mauve Michaelmas daises in the castle gardens are out, but when October comes to an end it begins losing its charm. Any minute now you’ll catch a glimpse of the castle’s turrets. We’re nearly there.’
May’s appreciation of beauty was deeply satisfied as, not long afterwards, their carriage rounded a bend in the track and, beyond the glittering gleam of the River Dee, the castle lay in front of them, its white stone glistening in the pale November sunshine, its fairy-tale turrets, towers and battlements rising against a background of steep pine-covered hills, a mountain peak soaring wild and romantic in the near distance.
‘It’s spectacular,’ she said to Henry. ‘And much bigger than I’d expected. ‘I’d imagined it as being smaller; almost on the scale of White Lodge.’
Henry shot her his attractive Battenberg smile. ‘The original Scottish castle was very wee, as they say in Scotland. What you see in front of you is Prince Albert’s rebuilt and far larger creation, and we need to be grateful to him. Comfortable amenities in the original castle would have been nil. Thanks to Albert, Balmoral is stuffed with water-closets and there are more than enough bathrooms.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Dolly was thankful he could look forward to a hot bath after the long hours of travelling up from London. ‘Am I going to be able to bag a stag while I’m here, Henry? A Balmoral stag would be a real feather in my cap.’
‘Absolutely. In November, stalking is obligatory for male guests, as are kilts. You’ll soon find yourself wearing one, even if you haven’t brought one in your luggage.’
On arrival they were greeted by Beatrice, and by two of Beatrice and Henry’s four young children.
‘Mama will greet you in a little while, when you have had time to freshen up,’ Beatrice said as a housekeeper whisked May’s maid and Dolly’s valet away and the luggage was taken care of. ‘The children have been so looking forward to your arrival. Drino, Ena, say hello and shake hands nicely with Uncle Dolly and Aunt May.’
As five-year-old Alexander and four-year-old Ena shyly did as they were bid, May wondered why so many of Aunt Queen’s tribe were christened with one name and then known only by a shortened version of it or a nickname, and of how bewildering to a child the habit of referring to members of the family as Aunt and Uncle was, when the relationship was one of distant cousinship.
‘When you are rested, May, and when you have seen Mama, I’ll take you on a visit to the nursery to see Leopold and baby Maurice,’ Beatrice said, accompanying them to their rooms. ‘They are both such little sweethearts, May. I’m sure you are going to utterly adore them.’
May had never understood the raptures so many women went into when confronted with a small mewling infant, much preferring children who were older and could be talked to. She knew, however, that this view wasn’t one she could happily share with Beatrice, who had given birth to Maurice only weeks ago.
‘Maurice is a very healthy little boy,’ Beatrice said, answering the question that hovered over all of Aunt Queen’s grandsons, adding with a new note in her voice – a note of anxiety – ‘but Leopold is more . . . delicate. It is something we are hoping he will grow out of.’
‘If he’s a haemophiliac, it isn’t something he’s likely to grow out of,’ Dolly said bluntly an hour later as they headed in the direction of the Queen’s drawing room. ‘This decor is a bit over-much, don’t you think? Tartan, tartan everywhere. Tartan-patterned carpets, tartan-patterned curtains. I bet you anything that the chairs and sofas in the drawing room will be covered in tartan. What the Prime Minister must make of it all when he comes up here for his meetings with her, I can’t imagine.’
May didn’t respond. She was too nervous. Would Aunt Queen come straight out with whatever it was she wished to speak to her about, or would she keep her in suspense? And what if her nervousness was unnecessary and the Queen merely did want nothing more than to get to know her a little better?
The way she was greeted eased her nervousness, for immediately after she had risen from her curtsey to her, the Queen – who was scarcely five foot tall – stood on tiptoe, kissed her on both cheeks and said, ‘What an elegant young lady you have become, May. I do hope you and Dolly had a pleasant journey. I have always enjoyed travelling on a train, although I prefer it if the train doesn’t go too fast. If it does, I always send a message to the driver that he is to slow down.’
Her voluminous black silk dress was relieved by white lace at the neck and cuffs. Over her hair, which was worn in a bun, was a widow’s white cap decorated with two satin streamers. With only minor variations, it was the way she had dressed ever since her beloved Albert had died. Frank had once joked – well out of her hearing – that she could easily be mistaken for an elderly and arthritic housemaid.
He was wrong, of course. Small, plump and plain as she was, Aunt Queen oozed imperial regality.
‘In a moment we will go into the dining room for lunch, and then afterwards Henry will walk with Dolly to nearby Ballochbuie, where there is a cairn that marks his marriage to Beatrice.’ She gave May a surprisingly shy smile. ‘And I would like you to accompany me on my afternoon carriage ride, May. The Scottish air is so pure and invigorating that I go out once in the morning and again in the afternoon, no matter what the weather, for I find it very erfrischend.’
The carriage was a comfortable four-horse open one. With a plaid rug over their knees and without being accompanied by a lady-in-waiting, or by Beatrice, they set off, with May steeling herself for what she was certain was going to be one of Aunt Queen’s matchmaking chats.
As they left the castle’s grounds behind them, the Queen said, ‘It was on just such a lovely late-autumn day over forty years ago that Albert and I first saw Balmoral – the original Balmoral, that is. We had often talked of buying a Highland home, and Lord Aberdeen had inherited Balmoral from his late brother and had no wish to keep it. When he asked if we might like to buy it from him, we immediately came north to view it. There was no train line then to Ballater from Aberdeen. It was horse-drawn carriages to Banchory, and then a change of horse and on to Aboyone. The nearer we drew to Balmoral, the prettier and prettier the countryside got, until at last we crossed the River Dee and looked upon the castle for the first time. We knew at once that it would become ours; that Balmoral had simply been waiting for us.’
She clasped her mittened hands together tightly in her lap. ‘We were always so happy here. We rode ponies deep into the glens. We climbed the hills and Albert would spend days stalking stags with his ghillies, while I sat with my attendants and sketched and painted. Nowhere were we freer of the burden of royalty than here. Not even Osborne could match it. Albert said the glorious Highland scenery reminded him of the countryside around his beloved Coburg. As a family, we are all so very much more German than we are English. Unlike dear Willy, who is constantly torn between his German parentage and his English parentage, Albert was all-German, and how I loved him for being so. Although, like you, I was born at Kensington Palace, it is pure German blood that flows in my veins, and your blood is German, too. I know from your dear mama that you have always spent part of every year visiting relations in Mecklenburg-Strelitz and Württemberg and that you speak German fluently and love the country dearly.’
May was at a loss as to how to respond. Technically, of course, her blood was German, but she had never, ever felt German. She thought of herself as being English through and through, and yet quite obviously this was not what the Queen wanted to hear.
‘And I know you also speak French fluently and have more than a little Italian,’ Victoria continued, saving May from having to think up a response that would be adequate and yet, at the same time, truthful. ‘That is very admirable. All royalty should be fluent in as many languages as possible. Since Ella’s marriage to Sergei, I regret very much that I have no Russian. However, all
my children have excellent German, French and Italian. Bertie could speak all three languages fluently by the time he was six, and yet his children’s French and German are deplorable, and Georgie and Eddy’s Italian is next to non-existent. It is something I cannot understand at all.’
The horses broke into a trot and she continued, ‘I believe you are an excellent secretary to your dear mama. Lady Wolverton tells me your mama’s many charities benefit greatly from your clear-sighted input when committee meetings take place. Talents such as these mean that when you make a suitable marriage, you will be a very great support to your husband, and he will need such support, for the life of a royal prince can be a very stressful and lonely one. Now, look over there to the left, May. The peak you see is that of Lochnagar. A hike up its lower slopes is very invigorating and is an expedition you may well enjoy embarking on with Dolly and Henry later in the week.’
‘And was that it?’ Dolly asked when, after dinner, they were finally on their own. ‘No hint as to which royal prince she could have been referring to?’
‘No, but with all the emphasis on how German I was, and how I was able to speak German and had grown up visiting Germany regularly, I can only assume you’re right in thinking it’s Max of Baden that Aunt Queen has in mind.’
‘Then why aren’t you punching the air? There isn’t an unmarried princess in the family – or outside it, for that matter – who wouldn’t happily accept a proposal of marriage from Max.’
‘But I haven’t met him yet. And if, when I meet him, I don’t feel I will be able to live happily with him, then even if he does propose to me, I won’t accept him. And no one – not even Aunt Queen – will persuade me to change my mind.’
For the next eight days there was no further hint that matchmaking plans were being made for May. The basic routine of the house never varied. The Queen breakfasted at ten and then went for a carriage drive, always taking May with her. Lunch was at two and then there was another obligatory carriage ride, the conversation never again touching on marriage, no matter how obliquely.
‘Lord only knows how poor Henry survives the tedium,’ Dolly said glumly as the days passed. ‘I couldn’t. I’m sick to death of going out on the hills with him, his equerry and half a dozen ghillies. By the end of the day I’m frozen to the marrow.’
Although Dolly was bored nearly out of his mind, May wasn’t. She was fascinated by the diligent way the Queen attended to her red despatch boxes; by how state duty was carried out daily, even in the remote fastness of the Cairngorms. The house intrigued her as well. Nowhere was there a clear surface. Every desk, sideboard, occasional table and writing table held a galaxy of silver-framed family photographs. Cheek-by-jowl were bronze casts of small, chubby hands. One was of Beatrice’s hand, made, according to its label, when she had been three. Another was of the childhood hand of Leopold, Aunt Queen’s youngest son, who had suffered from haemophilia and had died from it seven years earlier. Every wall was thick with antlers or paintings, and sometimes both. Everything made of wood had a thistle carved into it.
May would have loved to know what Thaddeus would have made of the glorious hotchpotch garishness. They hadn’t exchanged letters in more than a year, but knowing how delighted he would be to receive a letter on Balmoral stationery, she had written to him during one long, empty afternoon when Dolly had been playing billiards with Henry and everyone else, apart from the Scottish household staff, had been resting.
The day before they were to return to London, the Queen announced that only May would accompany her on her afternoon carriage ride.
‘This is it, May,’ Dolly said, when no one was near enough to hear him. ‘This is when the mystery will be over and we’ll get to know who it is she has in mind for you.’
The weather next day was breezy and bitterly cold. ‘It is,’ the Queen announced as the carriage horses set off at a brisk trot, ‘what the Scottish call a verra raw day.’
She was suitably swathed in a black cloak of heavy warm wool, a black bonnet tied firmly beneath her chin. May had her coat collar up, her fur hat pulled over her ears and her gloved hands tucked deep inside her muff.
‘I take all my guests on this particular carriage ride before they leave Balmoral,’ the Queen continued. ‘It gives glimpses of the memorial cairns that, as a family, we have built over the years. I am far too old and lame now to leave the carriage and climb up to them, for they have all, of course, been built on high crags, but I like to have sightings of them from the road. The first cairn we will come to is on the top of Craig Gowan and was built to celebrate our buying of the estate. I placed the first stone, then Albert laid one and then all the children laid a stone, in accordance with their ages. After that, everyone who had climbed up to the crag with us laid a stone. When the cairn was eight or nine feet high, Albert climbed to the top of it and, to cheers, my darling laid the last stone in place.’
Not for the first time May was struck at the intimate freeness of the Queen’s reminiscences. When sharing her experience of seeing Albert for the first time she had said, as if she was a young girl sharing a close confidence, ‘And I loved him at first sight. It was a coup de foudre, instant and undeniable, for Albert was more than handsome. Albert was beautiful.’
After Craig Gowan the next two cairns, Lenchen’s and Louise’s, were sited almost within sight of each other. ‘Although the plaque says Helena, not Lenchen,’ the Queen said. ‘The German form of Helena would not have been suitable on a plaque such as this, which was built to mark her marriage to dear Christian.’
As the carriage rocked to a halt at the best viewpoint, she said, ‘Christian is a prince of Schleswig-Holstein, and seeing his and Lenchen’s cairn has reminded me that Prince Ernst of Schleswig-Holstein made a proposal of marriage to you a little while ago; a proposal that, to my very great surprise, you did not accept. Was your refusal because, as an only daughter, you had no wish to live so far away in Germany?’
May’s tummy muscles tightened. She could let the Queen believe her assumption was correct, or she could tell her the truth. She took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I had met Prince Ernst some time ago at Marie-Louise’s birthday party and I . . . I felt no attraction for him and was sure we were not compatible. That was the reason I didn’t accept his proposal.’
The Queen pursed her lips and was silent for so long that May was terrified she was going to be asked to step down from the carriage and walk all the way back to Balmoral.
Not until they had covered the short distance to where there was a glimpse of the cairn marking the marriage of Aunt Queen’s fourth daughter, Louise, did the Queen say, ‘Then, on reflection and considering your unfortunate position as a Serene Highness and your consequent lack of any previous royal marriage proposals, I think you showed great strength of character, May. And strength of character is always commendable.’
Once again there was no comment that May could suitably make, and she was deeply grateful when the Queen changed the subject and asked her what it was she had enjoyed best about her years of living in Florence.
‘And it was then that the dear girl absolutely blossomed,’ the Queen said later that evening to Beatrice. ‘There was such enthusiasm in May’s voice as she spoke of her visits to the Uffizi and the art-history classes she had attended, and she spoke of her preference for Donatello over Michelangelo in a way that has almost led me to think like her. As well as being clear-headed, sensible and possessing beautiful natural dignity, May is highly educated, has experience of living in a continental country – something I think is so important – and, above all, she is cultured. It is no wonder her dear mama praises her so highly.’
Beatrice laid her embroidery in her lap. ‘So I take it your tentative wedding plans for her are tentative no longer, Mama?’
‘Absolutely not. And if, when I pass on my opinion to the prospective bridegroom, he accepts my judgement, then I see no reason why dear May’s engagement should not take place at the very latest by Christmas, and the wedding by Eas
ter.’
Chapter Twenty-One
NOVEMBER 1891, LUTON HOO
‘I wonder,’ Dolly said, as their train steamed across the border into England, ‘if we are likely to find Max of Baden waiting for us at Euston.’
May made a dismissive motion with her hand. Such a speculation was highly unlikely – and one she didn’t even want to think about.
As it turned out, the only people waiting to greet them were their parents and their brother Alge, who, now seventeen, had just been accepted at the Royal Military College and looked, all of a sudden, enormously self-assured and grown-up.
Back home at White Lodge, May gave her parents a detailed account of what had happened at Balmoral and, like Dolly, her father immediately seized on the fact that the very eligible Max of Baden was currently in London.
‘It is a very interesting coincidence, nicht wahr?’
‘I don’t think so, Papa.’ May was tired from the journey, and tired of the subject. ‘Aunt Queen may well have Max in mind for me, but if she has, I doubt if Max is aware of it. And if I’m wrong about that, then I’m not interested in a suitor who has spoken to Aunt Queen about his interest in me and yet has still not troubled to meet me.’
And on that deflating note, she excused herself from the table and went to bed.
At breakfast next morning she was greeted by the news that Maximilian of Baden’s visit to London had been swiftly curtailed, as a close relative had died and he was, by now, already on his way back to Germany.
‘And according to your Uncle Christian, who was with Max when he received the news, he left unfinished business behind him,’ her father said, a meaningful tone in his voice. ‘In two weeks’ time, Liebling, he could well be back.’
May felt neither relief nor disappointment, but she did wish that, when talking to Aunt Queen about Florence, she had told her how much she would like to live there. As she wrote in her next letter to Alicky:
The Summer Queen Page 21
