by Jean Plaidy
The press could not forgo its lampoons but they were goodnatured. Sir Robert Peel and Lord Melbourne were depicted as the palace nurses – Melbourne holding the Princess Royal and Peel holding the Prince of Wales.
‘My baby’s better than yours,’ was the inscription in the balloon coming from Melbourne’s mouth.
‘But I have the boy,’ was that from Peel’s.
The bells rang; the cannons fired; and the Queen recovered quickly from her confinement.
There was great discussion about the boy’s name.
‘I want him to be called Albert after his father,’ said Victoria; ‘and I fervently hope that he grows up exactly like him.’
Albert was, she realised, not a name that had been used for English kings and she must remember that this lusty child who screamed a good deal to show what a fine pair of lungs he had, was the future King of England. Edward was a name which had been used by kings many times. There had been six already, so it would have to be Edward she supposed.
Lord Melbourne, who was writing as frequently as ever and on as diverse subjects as he did before, attempted to imply that the name of Edward would be more suitable for the future King of England. It was a good English appellation, wrote Lord Melbourne, and has a certain degree of popularity attached to it from ancient recollections. Albert? Yes, that was an excellent name, went on the tactful Lord Melbourne. It was Anglo-Saxon like Ethelred, but it had not been so much in use since the Conquest.
The Queen laughed. Since Lord Melbourne had ceased to be her Prime Minister she was relying so much on her husband; she was, if that were possible, more in love with him since the birth of the Prince of Wales than before.
‘I shall insist that the boy’s name is Albert,’ she said. ‘I know dear Lord Melbourne thinks Edward more suitable; but as I want him to be like his father in every respect, I shall name him Albert – though Edward could come next.’
She sat down to write to Uncle Leopold.
Our little boy is a wonderfully strong and large child with very dark blue eyes but somewhat large nose and a pretty little mouth. I hope and pray he may be like his dearest Papa. He is to be called Albert and Edward is to be his second name.
Baron Stockmar, who considered it his duty to know what went on at Court, was disturbed because of the Queen’s feelings for Lord Melbourne.
He had never approved of the Queen’s almost fanatical devotion towards her Prime Minister, but there had been some excuse because of Melbourne’s position. Now he no longer held that position yet the Queen and he continued to behave as though he did.
People were talking, Stockmar told himself, and this would never do.
He had been visiting a friend’s house when the subject had been brought up and someone had said that there was no doubt that the Queen and her one-time Prime Minister corresponded daily because Mrs Norton, who was known to be a great friend of Lord Melbourne’s (hadn’t he once been cited as co-respondent when George Norton had tried to divorce her), had said so.
Stockmar brooded on this conversation and shortly afterwards found occasion to visit Sir Robert Peel.
He congratulated the new Prime Minister on the ease with which he had slipped into office.
‘I am pleased to see that the Queen is contented,’ said Sir Robert – and added with a wry smile, ‘at least far more contented than I had dared hope in the circumstances.’
Stockmar, who prided himself on his Teutonic frankness, said: ‘The friendship with Lord Melbourne never pleased me. The Queen’s emotions were too much involved.’
‘She was so young at the time of her accession and Melbourne has all the necessary airs and graces to please a young girl. So many of us lack them.’
‘Countries are not ruled by airs and graces,’ replied Stockmar.
‘True,’ agreed Peel, ‘and I hope now that the Queen will find all her happiness in the circle of her family.’
‘The friendship with Lord Melbourne persists,’ said Stockmar.
‘It is my sincere endeavour to please Her Majesty and her personal friendships are not the concern of her government.’ His tone became suddenly serious. ‘But if I were to discover that the Queen were taking advice on public matters in another place, I should without hesitation resign and would not remain in office another hour.’
Stockmar agreed that this was the only proper course of action, and as the guardian of palace morals, believed it was his place to act.
He immediately wrote to Lord Melbourne.
When Lord Melbourne received Stockmar’s letter he was very angry.
‘God eternally damn it,’ he cried. ‘Flesh and blood cannot stand this. Who is this interfering old German? Germans! I always disliked them. And the Queen has married one!’
Then he laughed at himself. Of course it was wrong to continue to write to the Queen. Of course it was not ethical. But what could he do? For four years she had been his life. He had thought of little else but how to guide her, how to amuse her. And she had cared for him too. He knew she had cried bitterly when they had had to say good-bye.
He was a fool. He was past sixty and in a strange way he was in love with a girl of twenty-two, a queen who was married to a young German Prince and was madly in love with her husband at that.
He wanted them to be happy. He had helped them to be happy and like a fool he was clinging to this correspondence bcause it was all he had left.
He waited for her letters each day. He treasured her affectionate remarks. He looked often at the little charm she had given him to attach to his keys. ‘It will bring you luck,’ she had said. ‘I worry about your health you know.’ Then there were the etchings which she herself had made. She had given them to him because she knew he would treasure something that had meant a good deal to her.
But he was gradually losing his hold. If the letters stopped that would be the end. She would always remember him with tenderness but he would no longer have a part in her life. But it had to be. That had been clear right from the beginning.
When Stockmar came to see him he was his suave self.
‘Well, Baron,’ he said, ‘so you and Sir Robert are uneasy about my correspondence with the Queen?’
‘It must stop,’ said Stockmar. ‘It is highly dangerous.’
‘I don’t know what Her Majesty will say. I am often upbraided for not being prompt enough in my replies.’
‘The Queen must be made to understand. She must be told.’
‘My dear Stockmar, that is not the way to deal with the Queen; the correspondence should gradually discontinue. You may leave it to me.’
Stockmar nodded. He had made his point and he knew Lord Melbourne was a man of honour.
This German is a power at Court, thought Lord Melbourne. He is right, of course, he is shrewd; but there is no wit in him, no humour. What will they do to my sweet Victoria between them – these Germans, Stockmar and Albert?
Christmas had almost arrived and the royal party travelled down to Windsor to spend it at that favoured spot.
The Queen was excited and happy. Pussy seemed to have recovered from her teething troubles and really was fast becoming very bright and amusing. ‘The Boy’ as they called him was clearly very healthy and need give his parents no concern. It was a very happy party. The weather was bright and frosty and the Queen and Albert could enjoy rides and walks in the park and the forest.
There was the excitement of presents. Albert wanted Christmas at Windsor to be exactly as the festival was celebrated in Coburg and it was fun decorating the trees for Christmas. How Pussy loved the flickering candles and even The Boy stared at them in wonderment. Present-giving ceremonies were always a delight to the Queen and it gave her great pleasure to see Pussy with her parcels – although the dear little thing didn’t really understand what it was all about.
The Boy was too young to be of much interest to her, for she had never liked little babies very much. He bawled a good deal and at times – in spite of having his father’s eyes – looked rather
like a little frog. Pussy however looked so pretty and often in the mornings Lehzen would bring her in and sit her on the bed. Lehzen liked to sit on the bed too and demonstrate new phases of Pussy’s cleverness; but often when she came Albert would be there and would take the child from Lehzen and turn his back on the Baroness which she could not ignore, so she had to leave them, although she did not like it one little bit.
Victoria was aware of the dislike these two had for each other and sometimes she felt irritated by one of them and sometimes by the other.
But Christmas was a happy time and she very much enjoyed the ball on New Year’s Eve, when at midnight as the clocks were striking twelve, all the music stopped and there was a fanfare of trumpets to usher in the New Year.
She was standing with Albert who pressed her hand fervently. She saw the tears in his eyes, and she knew he was thinking of all the New Years’ Eves he had spent in his own country.
She told him that night that she understood his feelings and knew that he must often think of his native land which he had left for her sake.
‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate that, my dearest Albert,’ she said. ‘I often think of it and I know then that you mean more to me than anything on earth … even more than the darling babies.’
He was deeply moved, but he was asking himself: more than Lehzen?
It must be so, for the time was coming when she would have to choose between them.
Baron Stockmar was watching the situation between Victoria and Albert with deep attention. His goal was to see Albert in the role of supreme guide and counsellor of the Queen. It was the very reason why he was in England; he had a wife and family in Coburg with whom he spent only a few months of the year; but he had long come to the conclusion that his mission in life was not to follow the medical profession which was what he had set out to do but to take a hand in governing Europe. He had soon discovered his bent when he had won the confidence of King Leopold and now that of Albert. Albert relied on him; he had been responsible in educating Albert to take his role; he had stimulated Albert’s interest in politics; and he was certainly not going to stand by and see Albert pushed aside by a woman who had been the Queen’s governess for years and so wormed her way into that loyal heart.
Not only had Stockmar Albert’s confidence but that of the Queen also. She had been fond of him since the days when Uncle Leopold had been living in England; it was almost a command of Leopold’s that she should be and in those days she had obeyed Leopold without question. Stockmar’s attitude was unusual; he ignored court etiquette; he would suddenly leave a gathering without asking the Queen’s permission; he would even pack up suddenly and leave for Coburg when the mood took him. This eccentric and completely independent attitude added to his prestige, and even the Queen would not have wished to offend him.
Stockmar had told Albert that the Baroness must leave the Court, and it was his task to see that this took place.
Albert, who was in full agreement with this point of view, continued to hesitate. The Queen’s uncertain temper, his dislike of scenes, his fears of his own inadequacy overwhelmed him; and he delayed taking action.
The baptism of the Prince of Wales was to take place on the 25th January.
Soon after the New Year the Queen and her family had returned to Buckingham Palace. Victoria had lost the exuberance which she had felt at Christmas and was moody and depressed.
‘It’s after the birth,’ said Lehzen. ‘It often happens to women.’
Lehzen herself became ill and the doctor diagnosed jaundice which turned her yellow and made her look even less attractive than usual. Pussy was losing weight and cried a great deal. She was jealous of the new baby and screamed every time she saw him.
Albert said that a few days at Claremont away from it all would do Victoria good and he was going to insist on their going – just the two of them. To his surprise Victoria agreed and they spent a few happy days there. Victoria told him she so much enjoyed Claremont now; she had lost her silly fancies because at the house just before Pussy was born she really had believed that she too might die. It was a morbid silly fancy, she knew; but all that had gone now that she had Pussy and The Boy.
But the thought of Pussy, whom she was beginning to love dearly, made her anxious. The little girl was now a delightful toy, very pretty to look at and the sight of her in her little white merino dress trimmed with blue (a present from the Duchess of Kent who would have to be watched because she was spoiling her) and the little lace cap on her head, she really was a darling – especially when she talked, which Lehzen said was quite remarkable for one of her age. Pussy really was an unusual child. Albert did not call her Pussy; for him she was Vicky to distinguish her, as Albert said, from that very important Victoria, her Mama.
So now that she was at Claremont she wanted to get back to see how Pussy was.
It was a bitterly cold day when they returned; they hurried up to the nursery and were disturbed to discover that Pussy’s health had not improved while they were away.
Albert picked up the child and exclaimed in horror. ‘She has lost more weight, I am sure,’ he said. He turned and saw the Baroness’s eyes on him. With her yellowish face and the hatred in her eyes she looked really malevolent.
Albert went on, ‘The child is being starved.’
One of the nurses, who took her cue from the Baroness and understood from her that the Prince was of small account, replied almost rudely: ‘We follow the doctor’s instructions here, Your Highness.’
Albert walked out of the nursery, followed by the Queen.
‘This is a conspiracy,’ he said. ‘Everyone – yes, everyone – is conspiring to keep me out of the nursery.’
Victoria, who was as worried as Albert by their daughter’s health, cried out in anger: ‘You mean that for me, I suppose.’
‘I mean that I am worried by the manner in which my child is treated.’
‘You would like to drive me out of the nursery, I suppose,’ cried the Queen, her temper taking possession of her so that she was scarcely aware of what she said. ‘Yes, that is what you would like to do so that you would then be at liberty to let our child die.’
The Prince could not believe he had heard correctly. To let his beloved child die! The Queen had gone mad. Oh, that violent temper. How could he deal with it? When it seized her she lost all logic, all sense of proportion. But to accuse him of wanting to see his little Vicky dead! It was too much. He was about to offer a protest as vehement as hers when he remembered the warnings of Melbourne and Stockmar.
‘I must have patience,’ he said; and turning abruptly left her.
Alone he reasoned with himself. If he exercised control, which he was quite capable of doing, Victoria would get the better of the argument. She lost her temper and made unforgivable statements; he remained calm and later forgave her; it was a recurring pattern; then it all started again. If he wished to live in peace he would be obliged to stifle his opinions for fear of upsetting her. No, it was not the way.
He was going to say what he felt; if Victoria could lose her temper so must he; if she was going to fling abusive statements at him he was going to retaliate.
As he guessed it was not long before she came to him; she stormed in, her eyes blazing.
‘So you have been trying to avoid me?’
‘That is not so, although I can understand why you should think it considering the manner in which you behave.’
‘I! It was you, Albert, who criticised the nursery. They are doing everything for Pussy and you came in and upset them all.’
‘It was time they were upset.’
‘How can you say such a thing!’
‘Because it’s true and I am not going to stand by and watch my daughter neglected.’
‘Neglected! When we are all worried so much about the child that we are ill ourselves. Nobody could care more for her than Daisy …’
The mention of that ridiculous name gave Albert the spurt he needed. He really did lose his
temper.
‘It is your Daisy who is at the root of the trouble. She is unfitted to have the care of the child just as she was unfitted to have charge of you. It is for this reason that we have these displays of ungovernable rage which should have been checked in your infancy.’
‘Albert, I don’t think you realise what you are saying.’
‘I realise fully, and I shall no longer be treated as though I am of no importance in this house.’
‘You forget I’m the Queen.’
‘That would be impossible. You constantly remind me of the fact.’
‘How … dare you …’
‘Listen to the truth for once.’
‘Albert! Have you gone mad?’
‘Is it mad to dare speak the truth to the Queen? No doubt you think so. But let me tell you this, I am going to do it.’
‘I wish,’ said the Queen, ‘that I had never married.’
‘At least,’ retorted Albert, ‘that could be one point on which we are in agreement.’
She stared at him in amazement. This was unlike the Albert she knew.
He decided that there was no turning back. He went on: ‘Your Doctor Clark has not looked after the child in a proper manner. He has poisoned her with his calomel and you have starved her. I am of no account here. You are the Queen. I was merely brought in to provide you with heirs to the throne. I shall have nothing more to do with this matter. Take the child away, do as you like, and if she dies you will have her death on your conscience.’
Victoria stared at him; but he had left.
She began to sob wildly.
‘There,’ soothed the Baroness, ‘try to lie still. I will give you something warm and soothing. Your poor head must be aching. As if you haven’t enough with all you have to do without people behaving in such a way as to distress you.’
The Queen was scarcely aware of the ministering Lehzen; words kept going round and round in her head. What he had said. What she had said. What had she said? She wished she had never married! She had actually said that to Albert!