by Jean Plaidy
He feared his dear little Victoria was very frivolous. But this was not the time perhaps to attempt to improve her.
‘Look,’ she cried, ‘there is the castle.’
‘Magnificent,’ said Albert with deep feeling.
‘Dear Albert, I am so glad you like it. It will be one of your homes now.’
‘It will be my favourite home,’ he said.
‘Because we shall spend our honeymoon there? Oh, Albert, what a delightful thought.’
‘That and because it is in such a beautiful setting. I hope we shall come here often.’
‘It is difficult of course when Parliament is sitting. You see, dear Albert, the Prime Minister cannot keep coming back and forth, nor can he stay at the Castle when there is so much business going on in the House.’
A gentle reminder that she was the Queen.
‘I hope I shall be of use to you,’ he said. ‘I should want you to consult me now and then.’
‘Dear Albert, you can be sure that if the need arose I should certainly do so.’
If the need arose! What did she mean by that? But he must not show irritation on his honeymoon.
They alighted from the carriage and Albert stood gazing in wonder. What splendid Gothic architecture!
‘The terraces were made for Queen Elizabeth,’ chattered Victoria.
‘Beautiful,’ murmured Albert. ‘Grand. Imposing!’ And he thought: How different from Rosenau, and he could not suppress a longing to be there.
‘Those are the private apartments looking east,’ explained Victoria. ‘The state apartments to the north and the visitors’ apartments to the south. But let us go in.’
The past seemed to envelop him as he went inside those thick stone walls, and as he did so he wondered what part he would play in the future. If he were King of this country, if this stately and glorious castle were his and he was introducing his bride to it, how proud and happy he would have been.
But he was the outsider; hers was the hand from which all blessings flowed. ‘Come, Albert,’ she was saying, ‘I will show you my castle.’
In the great banqueting hall Kings of the past had feasted. Here Henry VIII had knighted a sirloin of beef and sported with Anne Boleyn. He pictured them all, the long line of English sovereigns … mostly men but some female … Elizabeth who would allow no man to share her throne and Anne whose husband, stupid Prince George of Denmark, had been given £50,000 a year when he, Albert, had been considered worthy of only £30,000.
‘What are you thinking, Albert?’
‘Of all the Kings and Queens who have lived here.’
‘So you know our history.’
‘But of course.’
‘My clever Albert! But now the castle is mine.’
Mine! he noticed. Ours would have been so much more gracious.
They went to look at the suite which had been prepared for them.
‘The royal bedroom,’ she said with a blush and downcast eyes.
He went through to another room: ‘And this?’
‘My dressing-room.’
‘There is a door leading to another room.’ He opened it. It was a bedroom.
She was beside him. ‘Oh that,’ she said, ‘is dear Lehzen’s room. Hers is always next to mine.’
A cold fear touched him. Why should he be so apprehensive of that woman? She was only a governess.
‘That will be changed now,’ he said, trying to sound authoritative.
‘Oh, no,’ she replied lightly. ‘I could never permit that. Poor darling Lehzen would be broken-hearted. You see, dearest, her room was always next to mine. One could not change that sort of thing. It would be too unkind. Besides, I should not wish it.’
Her loving gaze belied the arrogance of her tone; but he knew the Queen was very close at that moment.
He left her and went down to the drawing-room. She was ecstatically happy. How adorable he was, and how beautiful! Lehzen had not yet arrived. She would be coming later in the evening, so it was not possible to pop in for a chat with her, which was a pity. She had asked dear Lord Melbourne to come down to Windsor the day after tomorrow. She never felt completely happy unless she knew that he was close.
In the meantime there was dear Albert.
How pale she looked. She was really exhausted; and she had not got over the feverish cold which to her – and everyone else’s – consternation had attacked her a week ago. She must be well for her wedding night. She threw off her tiredness and went down to the drawing-room.
Albert was seated at the piano, playing divinely and looking even more divine.
He stopped playing when she entered and rose to embrace her. What bliss, she thought. How I love dear Albert.
‘But, dearest Albert, I interrupted your playing and it was so wonderful.’
He continued to play.
Afterwards he came and sat on a footstool at her feet and they talked of the future. She told him how happy she was to have such a wonderful husband and that she had never spent such a happy evening in the whole of her life in spite of the fact that she could still feel the effects of her recent fever and had had such an exhausting time.
She must retire early, said Albert, and submissively she agreed.
They rose early next morning and before breakfast they took a walk in what Albert called the wonderful fresh air.
February air was indeed fresh, commented Victoria, but it did not matter because she glowed from the warmth of Albert’s love; and she told him that there was nowhere she would rather be than walking in the gardens at Windsor on a cold February morning with her dearest husband at her side.
She was so hungry, she told him; she was ready for a good breakfast.
Albert smiled indulgently and said she was like a child.
‘Don’t forget, Albert,’ she laughed. ‘I am three months older than you.’
‘No one would believe it,’ he said.
‘They know it.’ She was solemn suddenly. ‘That is one of the drawbacks of being royal. People know everything about one.’
‘Everything?’ he queried. ‘Isn’t my dearest Victoria inclined to exaggerate?’
‘I was not aware of it.’
‘Well your remark was not exactly truthful.’
She looked concerned. ‘And one must be truthful. I will remember in future. Thank you, Albert, for pointing it out. I see that you are going to be good for me.’
He loved her in that moment. All was going to be well. She was enchanting, his dear little wife. He had been overawed because of the manner in which those around her behaved to the Queen.
‘Come, my precious angel,’ she said, ‘let us go in to breakfast.’
Hand in hand they entered the castle, where an unpleasant surprise was awaiting Albert.
The Baroness Lehzen was seated at the breakfast table. She scarcely looked at the Prince; her eyes went at once to Victoria.
‘Good morning, dearest Daisy,’ said Victoria. Daisy! Her name was not Daisy. He had discovered all he could about this Lutheran pastor’s daughter and he knew that her name was Louise.
‘My precious love, how are you this morning?’
‘Oh, so happy, my dear.’
The Baroness gave a nod of approval. Then she said good morning to the Prince as though she had just become aware of him.
She poured Victoria’s coffee.
‘Just as you like it, my love.’
‘Oh, thank you, dear Lehzen.’
Lehzen handed Albert his coffee.
He was mortified and angry, but he could not show it. Their first breakfast the morning after their wedding day and the Baroness Lehzen had to share it with them!
Chapter VI
THE HONEYMOON IS OVER
On the third day after the wedding, the honeymoon was over and the Duchess of Kent arrived at Windsor accompanied by Albert’s brother and father.
Albert was delighted to see them; he felt that his father and brother would give him support; as for the Duchess, she made a special
point of being gracious to him, telling him that she felt already that she had another son. Being indiscreet she hinted that Victoria was not the most grateful of daughters but that she had been led astray by a certain person – not very far from them at this moment, and indeed never very far from the Queen – and this was a matter of great grief to her.
Albert knew that the Duchess’s enemy was the Baroness Lehzen and he was beginning to regard that tiresome woman as his also, which made a bond between him and his mother-in-law.
The Duchess put her finger to her lips in a conspiratorial gesture when she told him this; and as they could talk in German, which came easier to the Duchess than English in spite of the years she had lived in England, they understood each other very well.
They were allies from the very beginning.
It seemed that the entire Court was soon invading the privacy of Windsor. Lord Melbourne arrived and the effect this had on Victoria was startling. If he had been her own father she could not have treated him with greater respect and affection. She called him her dear Prime Minister and affectionately Lord M; they were always talking together; and often she would be alone in one of the closets with him, or they would walk together in the gardens.
The Duchess told Albert confidentially that Victoria was rather impulsive and had become attached to Lord Melbourne as she was inclined to do with certain people. Perhaps Albert might suggest to her at some time that there was no need to be quite so friendly with any of her ministers.
In less than a week after the wedding Victoria and Albert were back in London. There were levees and receptions and Albert was beginning to feel more and more wretched every day.
Now that the glamour of the wedding was over the press was looking critically at Albert and unpleasant cartoons and lampoons were appearing each day. Some said that Albert had come over to help himself to English gold; others said the Queen was master in the house and the Prince merely there for one purpose.
There were even unpleasant and rather coarse sketches on the stage concerning the royal pair. One comment was that they were seen walking early in the morning following the bridal night, and this was not the way to provide the country with a Prince of Wales. But money was the main theme of these comments. The Coburgs had a reputation for easing themselves into the best positions in Europe. Albert was accused of being greedy, of trying to snatch the crown from Victoria’s head, of selling himself to the Queen of England for £30,000 a year which was a fortune to a man who had only £2,500.
It was humiliating. In his father’s kingdom it would not have been allowed.
‘We cannot interfere with the liberty of the press,’ Victoria told him. ‘Lord Melbourne is constantly saying this.’
‘So we have to accept these coarse libels?’
‘They have always been, Albert. We must forget them.’
‘That,’ he said coolly, ‘is very difficult.’
‘My dearest Albert, I assure you when these things are said of you it hurts me far more than when they are said of me.’
He embraced her. ‘You are a good wife,’ he told her.
‘That is what I want to be. I shall strive all my life to please you, Albert.’
How could he help feeling hopeful when she said such things, for she was so frank and she always meant what she said.
The cynical new version of the National Anthem did not exactly displease him. They were singing it in the streets now; and often he heard the words whispered below those of the original ones.
God save sweet Vic, mine Queen
Long live mine little Queen,
God save de Queen.
Albert is victorious
De Coburgs now are glorious
All so notorious
God save the 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 honour and obey
And I will have de sway
Albert de King.
He was not sure whether he would rather be thought of as a man scheming for a kingdom or as a helpless boy who must obey his wife.
They were back in Buckingham Palace. Victoria was happy and did not understand that Albert was not entirely so. Her days were fully occupied. There were always state papers awaiting her signature; there were interviews with Lord Melbourne; there were secret conferences with Baroness Lehzen and there was Albert. She told him that the happiest part of the day was when they walked together in the garden, arm in arm, and the dogs gambolled around. She feared darling Dash was getting rather old. He didn’t play quite as madly as he used to; but perhaps she was comparing him with dearest Albert’s lovely Eos.
There was always music. How she loved this shared interest! She would listen enraptured while Albert played something from Haydn – one of his favourite composers; and when they sang a duet together that was perfect bliss.
‘Our voices are in complete harmony, dear Albert, as everything else about us.’
But he had his doubts. He was horrified that she scarcely knew the names of any trees or plants. ‘Oh, is it?’ she would say happily when he told her. The birds were unknown to her. She could not tell the difference between a blackbird and a thrush.
‘How have you been educated?’ he demanded in tender exasperation.
‘Oh, dear Daisy and I were never very interested in that sort of thing.’
‘Daisy! You mean Baroness Lehzen. That is surely not her name.’
‘It is my name for her. I christened her. I think it is a dear delightful name and suits her. I used to call her Mother once, for that was how I thought of her, but somehow that did not seem quite right.’
‘It certainly does not,’ said Albert severely.
‘Oh, dear Albert, you are so easily shocked. Which is right, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘I fear you are very good.’
‘Goodness is nothing to fear, dear angel.’
‘It is something to strive for, I know, Albert. But you are so very good.’
‘I am a little grieved that you and your mother seem to be on bad terms.’
‘Oh, Mama can be very trying.’
‘My dearest Victoria, I am pained to hear you talk thus of your mother.’
‘Dear Albert, if you could know what it was like at Kensington before I became Queen. I was more or less a prisoner. And Mama was constantly quarrelling with my uncle King William and his wife. And you know Aunt Adelaide is the sweetest woman. She would never quarrel with anyone unless they forced her to it; and believe me, Mama did. There have been occasions when I have been really ashamed.’
‘My love, we both wish to obey the commandments I believe, and there is one which begins – “Honour thy father and thy mother”.’
‘My dear love, you are so good yourself that you cannot conceive how tiresome some people can be. Now we will talk of something else because I am weary of the subject.’
There spoke the Queen. Not, Albert, please let us talk of something else, but we will.
He would have to explain that he must have some authority in his own home. He was not here just as a means of giving her an heir to the throne. He was a man; he was a husband; and although she might be Queen, she was also his wife.
But she was rattling on now about dear Lord Melbourne. He was looking older, she thought, and she feared he tired himself out. She was going to speak to him very severely because he obviously did not take enough care of himself.
Albert thought she saw a little too much of Lord Melbourne. Was it necessary?
‘My dear Albert, it is absolutely necessary for me to be continually in touch with my Prime Minister. I am the Queen.’
‘We cannot forge
t that,’ said Albert with some irony which was lost on her.
She must return to her work, she told him; there were state papers to be looked through and signed.
‘Albert, my love, you have no idea of the amount of papers I have to read.’
‘No,’ said Albert, ‘but I should if you would show me and perhaps let me help you.’
‘Why, Albert, how very kind of you!’
He was elated. He only had to ask and she would allow him to read state documents, to discuss them with her. He would be admitted to those conferences which took place in the closet between her and Lord Melbourne.
But how different it was! She was seated at her table. ‘Dear Albert, draw up a chair and sit beside me. There. That is very cosy. Here is the blotting paper. When I sign you can blot them for me and make a neat little pile.’
‘But you must read the papers, surely?’
She laughed delightedly. ‘Oh, I have already discussed all these matters with my Prime Minister. All that has to be done now is sign the papers. And it is such a help to have you there with the blotting paper.’
So that was what sharing meant. He had become a sort of clerk to blot what his employer wrote. That was his sole duty; the contents of the documents to which she put her name were a mystery to him.
He was constantly on the point of explaining to her; in his room he rehearsed what he would say. He would speak out; he would tell her that he felt wretchedly inadequate and he would go on feeling so if he were to be useless.
He discussed the matter with his father and brother. He was safely married now, was their advice; it was for him to tell his wife that he wished to be taken into her confidence.
‘Why,’ said Ernest, ‘she adores you. You only have to ask for what you want.’
But they had only seen his loving little wife; they did not know Victoria the Queen.
Was he afraid of her? That seemed absurd … she was so tiny; and she was so appealing in her devotion. How strange that he could not tell her exactly what was in his mind. He always thought he could; it was only when he was face to face with her that he could not bring himself to explain that he was far from happy.