The Queen's Husband

by Jean Plaidy

She was desolate, she wrote, longing for his return.

  He could smile. He had achieved a great victory. Never again would he be shut out from her confidence. Never would the Queen forget that she was the wife.

  He owed his success to following the advice of Stockmar and of course to his own calm God-fearing nature.

  Stockmar must come back to England. He must consult him about Bertie. The boy who was to be King of England must be disciplined.

  It gave him a certain feeling of chagrin that the child who could scarcely string a sentence together (and Vicky could chatter away at his age) and when he did stuttered, should one day be King of England, while he, Albert – handsome, clever, so beloved, could never be anything but the Prince. Even Victoria, for all her devotion, could not change that.

  Perhaps that was why Bertie irritated him mildly.

  He dismissed such a thought; it was unworthy of the man Albert believed himself to be. After all Bertie was his son. In bringing Stockmar to advise, in imposing a strong discipline, he was giving Bertie the best possible upbringing.

  Soon he was on his way back to Windsor. Victoria was in a fever of excitement.

  It was six o’clock in the evening when he arrived and she was watching for him. She flew to meet him and flung herself into his arms.

  ‘Albert! You are indeed back. What happiness to see you again.’

  Albert kissed her, called her his dear little wife, told her how much he had missed her.

  ‘Oh never, never, never let us be parted again!’ cried the Queen.

  The next morning Albert wrote in his diary:

  ‘Crossed on the 11th. I arrived at six o’clock in the evening at Windsor. Great joy.’

  Soon after his return it was Victoria’s twenty-fifth birthday.

  ‘What a truly great age!’ she cried. Seven years since she had ascended the throne! More than four years a wife and three children in the nursery and another soon to be born. What a great deal had happened since she was eighteen! Birthdays made one think back over the past. She would write to poor Lord Melbourne to let him know that she had not forgotten him. Was it only six years ago that she had looked upon him as a god? What a foolish girl she had been! But then she had not had Albert to guide her.

  Albert had given her as a birthday present a beautiful portrait of himself.

  ‘There is nothing, nothing I could have liked better,’ she cried. ‘Oh, Albert, it is just like you. You look so serious and so manly. I shall always love it and remember the day you gave it to me.’

  Her eyes full of tears, she studied the picture with the group of angels in the background holding a medallion on which were the words Heil und Segan.

  ‘Health and blessing,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, Albert, my darling, may you always enjoy them both.’

  Before the end of May the Emperor of Russia caused a great deal of consternation by announcing that he was paying a visit to England – and was on his way. ‘But we have made no preparations,’ cried the Queen.

  ‘We will take care of him,’ replied Albert calmly. ‘I wonder what his motive is. You can be sure it is political.’

  ‘I am grateful to have you and Sir Robert at my side at such a time,’ said the Queen fervently.

  ‘Good relations between this country and Russia can do nothing but good,’ said Albert; so the Queen was sure this was so.

  The Emperor was a little eccentric, as might be judged from his rather unceremonious arrival. First he went to the house of the Russian ambassador and there spent a night, but it was not long before he was installed in Windsor Castle. A magnificent edifice, he called it, and one of which the Queen must be justly proud. ‘It is worthy of you, Madame,’ he told her, for he was very gallant.

  In spite of the fact that he was given one of the finest bedrooms in the castle he sent his valet down to the stables to procure hay and when this was brought a leather sack (which he had brought with him) was stuffed with it. He slept on this sack wherever he was and it always accompanied him on his travels.

  He was very good-looking and in his youth had been reckoned to be one of the most handsome men in Europe. But there was something a little odd in his face.

  Discussing this with her children’s governess, Lady Lyttleton, the Queen decided that it was because he had light eyelashes and his eyes were so large and bright.

  ‘They have no shade,’ said Lady Lyttleton.

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed the Queen.

  ‘And occasionally one can see the white above his eyeball which makes him look savage.’

  ‘I believe he got that from his father, Emperor Paul. I have heard it mentioned.’

  ‘He looks somewhat autocratic.’

  ‘Yet sad, and he does not smile much. All the same he is most friendly and the Prince says that it is a good thing that he should come and visit us in this way.’

  It was Albert who guessed at the Emperor’s reasons.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘it is because we visited the King of France recently, and he does not wish us to be too friendly with the French.’

  Sir Robert Peel, who had had many conversations with the Emperor, confirmed this. The latter had also wished to discuss the question of Turkey, which appeared to be on the verge of collapse.

  He told Sir Robert: ‘I don’t want an inch of Turkish soil, but I won’t allow anyone else to have one.’

  Meanwhile the Emperor was fêted everywhere – at the opera, at the races, at reviews and banquets, all given in his honour. The Queen was enchanted when he said of Albert: ‘Nowhere will you see a handsomer young man; he has such an air of nobility and goodness.’

  That was enough to win her heart, so she forgave the Emperor for descending on them so suddenly and obliging her in her present state, which was beginning to become irksome, to appear so often at tiring ceremonies in public.

  The children were waiting for the summons to the small drawing-room that they might say goodbye to the Emperor, and Lady Lyttleton was trying to impress upon them the importance of the occasion.

  ‘He is the Emperor of Russia. You must be very polite to him. Do you hear that, Bertie?’

  Bertie nodded.

  ‘He doesn’t know anything,’ said Vicky, giving her brother a contemptuous push.

  Bertie returned the push; and said ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

  ‘He played with my bricks today,’ complained Vicky. ‘They were Mama’s bricks. She used to play with them in Kensington.’

  Bertie laughed, delighted to have played with Mama’s bricks, for although he spoke very little he could understand what was being said.

  ‘You are not to do it, Bertie,’ said Vicky severely.

  ‘Will,’ answered Bertie.

  Lady Lyttleton said: ‘Now, now. We don’t want any quarrelling, do we, or Mama will not be pleased.’

  They were both sober at the thought.

  ‘Nor,’ added Lady Lyttleton, ‘will Papa.’

  ‘Papa loves me,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Of course he loves you all,’ said Lady Lyttleton. ‘You, Bertie and Alice.’

  ‘He loves me best,’ announced Vicky. ‘So does Mama.’

  ‘You’re a conceited little girl,’ said Lady Lyttleton.

  ‘What’s conceited?’

  ‘What you are.’

  ‘Then,’ said Vicky, ‘it must be nice.’

  This was too much for Bertie, who kicked his sister.

  ‘That was a very ungallant thing to do,’ said Lady Lyttleton.

  Bertie looked very pleased with himself and was sharply told: ‘And that is not a nice thing to be.’

  ‘Course it isn’t,’ retorted Vicky, ‘if Bertie’s it.’

  ‘Now this is not the way to prepare yourself to meet the great Emperor, is it? Why can’t you be like Alice? Look at her … smiling away so contented and happy.’

  ‘We can’t be babies all the time,’ said clever Vicky.

  It was time for them to make their way to the small drawing-room. There was the Emperor – a glittering f
igure, big and grand; Mama and Papa were standing together talking to him.

  ‘And these are the little ones,’ said the Emperor. ‘Ah, the Prince of Wales.’

  Vicky thought she should be seen first but the Emperor had picked up Bertie, who was smiling rather shyly and enjoying the attention. Mama and Papa were smiling kindly too.

  ‘And the Princess Royal.’ Now it was Vicky’s turn. He clearly thought her very charming, but even Vicky was too overcome to show off. She had planned to say the sentence in French, which she had learned off by heart, and which she had said to Mademoiselle Charier who taught her French. Mademoiselle Charier had told Mama, who had thought it was wonderful, and had written it in a letter to Uncle Leopold to tell him what a clever daughter she had – cleverer than his Charlotte. It was only pretence, of course, on Mama’s part, that Uncle Leopold’s Charlotte was more good and prettier than Vicky. She could see that in Mama’s eyes and by the way Papa looked at her and the way Mama held her tightly when she said that in spite of Charlotte’s being so wonderful she wouldn’t change Vicky for her.

  Now Baby Alice, crowing with pleasure, was clearly very interested in the rather strange-looking Emperor.

  Then they were all sent back to the nursery and Lady Lyttleton said they could watch the Emperor leave.

  He and Papa went off together to Woolwich and Mama came into the nursery to tell them that they had behaved very well for the Emperor and she was very proud of her little family.

  She was a little sad, Vicky noticed, as she always was when Papa went away.

  ‘Where is Woolwich?’ asked Vicky.

  ‘It is not far from London. Papa will say goodbye to the Emperor there and come back to us. You will like that, won’t you, Pussy?’

  ‘I am not Pussy,’ said Vicky. ‘I am the Princess Royal.’

  The Queen exchanged glances with Lady Lyttleton. Really this daughter of hers was most astonishingly precocious – and clever of course. If only her brother took after her!

  No sooner was the Emperor’s visit over than there was trouble and the Queen feared that she was going to lose Sir Robert Peel. It would have been ironic if she had paused to think back a few years when Lord Melbourne’s Ministry had been in danger of being replaced by the Opposition with Sir Robert at its head. At that time this had seemed the greatest tragedy of her life. Now she was in despair lest Sir Robert’s Tories should be defeated and a Whig government take their place. Poor Lord Melbourne could never return as Prime Minister of course, but she had to admit that if he could she would not have wanted him. Albert had taught her to realise that Sir Robert was a better Prime Minister than Melbourne had ever been, and how she relied on Sir Robert. It was most tiresome that with the Emperor’s visit just over and her body becoming more and more cumbersome, this crisis had to arise.

  Sir Robert was concerned about the high cost of living and the riots which occurred because of this and proposed to ease matters by reducing the tax on sugar. The motion was defeated because of the defection of some members of his own party.

  The Queen was very angry. Albert told her that a Jewish member of the party had placed himself at the head of the rebels. His name was Benjamin Disraeli and he was clearly angry because Sir Robert had not given him a post in the cabinet.

  ‘A most undesirable person,’ said Albert. ‘He has married a woman years older than himself … for her money of course.’

  ‘How very shocking!’ said the Queen.

  ‘She was the widow of Wyndham Lewis,’ explained Albert, ‘the member for Maidstone – a forward person, she has written to Sir Robert asking him not to ignore her husband but to give him a post in the government.’

  ‘What dreadful people! And now he is making this trouble.’

  ‘He is, you might say, a ringleader.’

  ‘Oh, if only people would be patriotic and think of the country rather than their own ambitions.’

  Albert agreed. When Sir Robert called they would discuss the matter, and see if resignation could be avoided.

  To the Queen’s delight it was. The government asked for a vote of confidence and even people like that dreadful Mr Disraeli did not want to see the Whigs in power so the government had its vote of confidence.

  ‘But it makes one realise,’ she confided to Albert, ‘how very insecure the government is.’

  No sooner was this crisis over than another arose – this time with the French who, secretly angry because of the visit of the Emperor of Russia, seized the sovereignty of Tahiti and put the British ambassador there under restraint.

  The French were prevailed upon to make reparations and Lord Aberdeen, the Foreign Minister, with Sir Robert and Albert, were attempting to bring about more friendly relations with France when she was brought to bed to give birth to her fourth child.

  To Albert’s great joy it was a boy.

  He was christened Alfred.

  Chapter XV

  IN ALBERT’S NATIVE LAND

  Life had become more simple. The Queen, once gay, fond of balls and banquets, had become eager to retire from the limelight. Certain members of the Court considered her old-fashioned, rather dowdy and above all, prim. Inspired by Albert, she was taking a very stern attitude towards moral lapses, forgetting that once she had admonished him for his puritanical views. Albert was right in this, she believed, as he was in everything else.

  Albert would never be really accepted. He was the foreigner, the German; but the happy family life of the royal couple was an example to all and the majority of people applauded it. Albert’s clearly defined lines of right and wrong embraced so whole-heartedly by the Queen became the law of the Court, and the country was affected by them. Respectability was all important. To sin was to be not respectable and therefore if anyone sinned, they could only expect to be received in society if they were never found out. The Queen who could in no circumstances violate her marriage vows considered that only those who deserved to be outcasts from society would do so, and no one who had been involved in scandal could be received by her. Everyone must lead an exemplary moral life. Marriage was sacrosanct. She and Albert set the pattern – which was of course Albert’s – and everyone must conform to it. A subtle change was creeping over the country. The swaggering days of the Regency were far behind. The age of Victoria and Albert had begun.

  The happiest times for the Queen were those when she could escape with Albert and the children to her ‘dear little house’ Osborne on the Isle of Wight. There it was such fun to live quietly without being surrounded by all the trappings of Court life. There the children could enjoy the sea and fresh air and she and Albert could temporarily forget the cares of state and live like an ordinary family.

  Albert, however, had plans for rebuilding Osborne. He made sketches of what he would like the house to look like. She was well aware that he was just a little homesick for Germany, which of course was natural, in spite of their happy life together. She knew how she would feel if she had had to leave her home; but secretly she believed she could have been happy anywhere with Albert. He was with her, of course, and it was only rarely that she saw the nostalgia in his eyes. But when he was in the country he could imagine he was back in his Thuringian forests. Dear Albert, he had such a devoted family. And who could wonder at it? Anyone would adore Albert.

  Baron Stockmar was in constant correspondence and advised them on almost everything they did. Albert said that later on when Bertie was a year or so older he was going to implore Stockmar to come to England because he did want his advice about the education of the boy. Of all the children he was most concerned about Bertie.

  When Parliament was prorogued and it was suggested that she and Albert might visit his family in Germany the Queen was delighted. Sir Robert Peel thought it a good idea and plans were made for the journey.

  The Queen told the children of the proposed trip and of course Vicky wanted to go with them. Bertie looked expectant. He was beginning to understand that he was the Prince of Wales and had a position of special impo
rtance. Albert had said that they must make sure that he did not become arrogant.

  ‘How I should love to take darling Vicky with us,’ said the Queen. ‘But she is so young yet and I should not always be able to keep an eye on her.’

  Albert was regretful too. He would have loved to show his darling to his family. He admitted to the Queen that he had never seen a child who was so bright for her age.

  Vicky cried and pleaded and was a little astonished that her wishes were ignored. Bertie was not sure whether he wanted to go or not. He had an idea that life might be more tolerable for him in the nursery without his parents’ supervision. He was very fond of Lady Lyttleton and found that he did not stammer nearly so much in her presence as he did in that of his parents. So he could regard his parents’ departure with equanimity, which was more than Vicky could. Bertie liked Fat Alice too, who laughed when he tickled her far more than anyone else did, and Baby Affie, as they called Alfred, seemed to like him too.

  They were at Osborne where the children were to stay for the summer holiday when the day came for the departure. Vicky sat on the Queen’s bed with Alice beside her while Victoria dressed. Vicky kept asking: ‘Why can’t I go, Mama? Oh, why can’t I go to Germany?’

  ‘One day you’ll go, my pet. But not this time.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Papa thinks it best.’

  That settled it. Even Vicky knew that what Papa decided must be right. Therefore she must accept the sad fact.

  All the children were at breakfast with them – even Baby Affie who, like Alice, was a good placid child.

  Vicky sat next to her father, looking very sad; and they all talked in German, which they did often because Papa liked it. Vicky could speak it as fluently as she could English; and even Bertie could mumble his few sentences in German as well as he could English.

  When they left, Vicky, Bertie and Alice were all in the doorway with Lady Lyttleton to wave them goodbye. Vicky was almost in tears. Poor brave little Vicky!

  ‘She was heartbroken,’ said the Queen to Albert. ‘But the dear brave child held back her tears.’