The Queen's Husband

by Jean Plaidy

  The Queen’s relief was intense. As soon as she was alone with Albert she clung to him and asked forgiveness for her ill temper. At this sign of contrition Albert was as always ready to be kind and tolerant.

  ‘You found it trying,’ he said, ‘because it is only two weeks since the baby’s birth.’

  ‘I don’t mind anything, Albert,’ she cried, ‘as long as you and I are together.’

  On the 8th of April they left for Osborne. What peace to be back in the dear house and lie in the drawing-room looking out towards the sea. Yet she was fearful of what was happening in London and she pictured them all flying from England in the royal yacht. To where? If all Europe was in a revolutionary ferment where could they go?

  She almost wished that she were back in London. Perhaps to run away from a crisis was not the best way of handling it. She began to feel rather ashamed. It was of course due to the fact that she had had a child. She always felt depressed afterwards – not herself. It was trifles that upset her. She believed that in a big crisis she could be calm.

  As it was she could not settle to anything.

  The terrible 10th dawned. She walked in the grounds with Albert, discussing the possibilities. ‘I ought to be there, Albert. I wish we had not run away.’

  Albert pointed out that they were here on the advice of the Cabinet and they must take that advice. If the government and the police force were going to deal with a delicate situation it was as well not to complicate the matter by having the royal family to protect. So Albert soothed her and she declared that if they could only escape from state duties, and she could live quietly and comfortably with the best of husbands, she would be the happiest woman in the world.

  Albert patted her hand and said that at least his dear love was back with him and that quick-tempered, rather unreasoning person who supplanted her usually at the beginning of pregnancies and immediately after childbirth had disappeared; he in his turn could be content with almost anything if only his dear love banished that other person for ever.

  ‘Oh, Albert, I will try,’ she promised. ‘Indeed I will.’

  There was exciting news from London. The Chartist march had misfired. Only a fraction of those expected to march arrived at Kensington Common which was to have been the gathering point. When the Police Commissioner told the ringleaders that the march was illegal and must be disbanded, this edict was accepted. The leaders were taken in cabs to the House of Commons where they presented petitions in which they protested about conditions in the country. After that they quietly went away. It was all very orderly.

  What relief!

  There was a scare later on when the rumour reached Osborne that the Chartists were coming to the Island. Many of them had been seen landing at Cowes – rough, unkempt fellows with the blood lust in their eyes.

  Albert set about marshalling the help of everyone on the estate. The farm workers gathered, brandishing their sickles and the builders their shovels, ready to protect the Queen and her family.

  Victoria gathered the children together in the schoolroom and told them that she was not quite sure what was going to happen but they must be prepared for anything.

  They were almost hysterical when the news came that the party of bloodthirsty revolutionaries were a club of young men who had come over to the Island for their day’s outing.

  But that was an indication of the atmosphere during those spring and summer months of 1848. Revolution across the Channel and unrest throughout Europe had produced an atmosphere of tension which the Queen had never known before.

  During that uneasy summer the Queen and Albert often discussed the state of the world. The Emperor of Austria had been forced to abdicate and throughout Germany there was a movement to abolish royalty; Italy was shaken by revolution. Uncle Leopold’s Belgium stood firm, as did the Russian Empire; and in England of course the ‘friends of the revolution’ could get no firm footing. Uncle Leopold was regarded with great respect by the Belgians, who realised what he had done for their country; the Russians under the great Tsar were powerless to revolt; and the English temperament was not suited to revolution and the people could only make half-hearted attempts at it which came to nothing. The general opinion appeared to be the Queen’s, that revolutions brought no good to anyone.

  All the same if there was trouble, the Isle of Wight was easily accessible and therefore not a very safe refuge, and they had the children to think of.

  ‘Albert,’ said Victoria one day, ‘do you remember how much we enjoyed Scotland? I don’t think I ever saw a more beautiful place.’

  ‘I remember it well,’ replied Albert. ‘I was reminded of home.’

  ‘If we had a little home in Scotland rather like dear Osborne we could be sure of a little more privacy there. Let us take a trip there, Albert. Who knows, we might find a dear little house up there just as we have here.’

  Inquiries were set in motion and it was decided to rent a little castle for six weeks. This belonged to the Duke of Fife and was called Balmoral.

  As soon as they arrived both the Queen and Albert were impressed by the beauty of the countryside. Albert declared that it reminded him of home so much that he was sure he could be happy there. The Queen was delighted. Here she and the family could live the simple life. They could all go out together like any family party and they did. Albert was able to shoot the birds and stalk the deer just as he used to at home in Coburg; and the children could ride their ponies while the Queen sat and sketched. It was all very simple and pleasant; and the people of the neighbourhood were delightful, not treating them as royalty at all. In fact these good simple people would have no idea how to treat royalty.

  It was all very refreshing.

  ‘We must come again to Balmoral,’ said the Queen.

  Alone in Brocket Hall Lord Melbourne thought of the happenings of the year which would soon be over. Revolution in France and threatening all Europe – even England could be in danger. And the Queen – the sweet young Queen who had meant so much to him and had been so charmingly innocent – he hardly ever saw now.

  She was not only a wife but a mother now – a mother of six – and it seemed only yesterday that that wide-eyed girl had stood before him so touching, so affectionate, so eager to learn.

  They had been as close and as intimate as people can be who are not lovers – yet they were lovers. It is possible to love not physically but with heart and mind. He was her ideal; she was his creation, and he was now nothing to her but poor Lord Melbourne; yet to him she had remained the meaning of existence. He could still see her now and then, receive a letter from her – congratulations on his birthday, perhaps, but it was only on such occasions that she ever thought of him.

  Life was wearying. His books were there. Sometimes he would sit fingering them, for the very touch gave him pleasure; but he would read a page and not know what he had read and he would hear himself murmur: ‘Oh, no, Ma’am, I couldn’t agree with that.’ In his mind he was seeing her, talking to her, thinking of her … always her.

  There was greatness in her. He hoped Albert would not suppress it. ‘Damned morality,’ he growled. ‘Too much of it can strangle the mind. May she be preserved. Victoria the Queen …’

  ‘He must not overpower you, Ma’am. Oh, you adore him. You were always too ready to adore those you had affection for. You saw only black and white, good and bad, and nobody is entirely bad, no one entirely good, not even Albert.’

  He chuckled to himself, remembering how she had told him she had no wish to marry. And then Albert came and that was the end of her objections; and the end of her great friendship with her Prime Minister.

  His servant came in and found him talking to someone whom he must have imagined to be sitting opposite him. It was nothing. Lord Melbourne had talked increasingly to himself in the last few years. But suddenly he fell to the floor in a fit and the servant knew that this was no ordinary day in Lord Melbourne’s life. He was right. It was the last one.

  The Queen was saddened by t
he news.

  ‘He was my great friend,’ she reiterated. ‘He came to me on the day of my accession and I trusted him absolutely.’

  ‘Perhaps too much,’ said Albert.

  ‘Perhaps. But he was such a dear good man. I remember how his eyes used to fill with tears almost every time he saw me, and he was not an emotional man at other times. He realised the great responsibility.’

  ‘He was not a great statesman,’ Albert reminded her.

  ‘No, but he was a dear good man.’

  The Queen wept silently. She owed him that; but very soon she was hardly thinking of him at all and when she did it was to find that she was inclining towards Albert’s view of him.

  ‘Poor, poor Lord Melbourne,’ she said.

  Chapter XVIII

  LORD PALMERSTON OFFENDS THE QUEEN

  The Queen was happy to see the dawn of another year. That of 1848 had not exactly been a comfortable one. The shadow of revolution seemed to have passed and although there were troubles enough, revolution, the greatest horror of all, seemed remote.

  Lord Palmerston was a constant cause of irritation. The Queen had had to reprimand him for withholding state papers from her; his excuse was that during the difficult period when it was feared that the mob might march on Buckingham Palace and the Queen had gone first to the Isle of Wight and then to Scotland it had not been easy to have these papers brought to her. It was absolutely impossible to snub the man. He was impervious to royal darts and behaved as though they had been administered by some irresponsible child. His greatest fault was making a decision, acting on it and then presenting it as fait accompli.

  ‘How I should like to be rid of that man Palmerston!’ sighed the Queen.

  But she must be thankful that life was comparatively peaceful and that she was not pregnant … at the moment. She was nearly thirty. Really I am getting old, she thought; she had been Queen for twelve years, a wife for nine and was the mother of six. Looking back, she could say that life had been eventful.

  The political situation was as always unsteady. How she wished that Sir Robert were back in office. It was a most extraordinary state of affairs for the House seemed to be divided between the free traders and the protectionists and Lord John’s Ministry was kept in office by the support of Sir Robert and his supporters. The Leader of the House, Lord George Bentinck, had died suddenly and his place taken by that flamboyant man who seemed always to be calling attention to himself, Benjamin Disraeli.

  Then … the Queen was pregnant again. Was there to be no end of this child-bearing? Certainly this had been a slightly longer respite than usual. It was not that she did not want more children, but she did want a little rest.

  Last summer had been such fun at Osborne. The children had enjoyed it so much and she was delighted that Bertie was so much better than he used to be. He had lost that frightful stammer and she had excellent reports from Mr Birch. It was true that when Albert asked questions, which he often did, Bertie sometimes stumbled or gave the most ridiculous answers, but she insisted that he had improved.

  She herself gave the children reading lessons; and she was so happy when they sat together each reading a paragraph and passing the book round as they went along. Albert would sit there smiling at them, correcting them when they mispronounced a word, for they read a great deal in German. Then they would say the poem they had learned, and even little Helena had her piece to say.

  Vicky usually scored. She was such a clever child and, as the Queen said to Albert, they mustn’t be hard on poor Bertie because he couldn’t compete with such a clever sister. Albert was not sure and inclined to be a little severe, and Victoria accused him, when they were alone, of favouring Vicky a little too obviously.

  Albert always hotly denied this and one of their little storms might blow up but it would soon be over, and the Queen felt that it was a pleasant family quarrel – after all, Albert’s fault was only in loving their darling daughter too much.

  Albert was all for making the children do useful things, so they all had their patch of garden at Osborne, each with a spade and trowel, their own flowerpots and working aprons with their initials on them.

  Osborne was growing more and more beautiful every year and there was great excitement about planning the gardens. Albert of course did everything so well.

  There was sea bathing too, which was said to be so good for one. Victoria, clad in an all-enveloping bathing costume, would slip out of her bathing machine which had been drawn right down to the sea, and have a dip before climbing back.

  It was a wonderful life at Osborne. She was so snug in the little rooms – so different from Windsor Castle or Buckingham Palace; she had had two writing tables placed side by side in her study so that she and Albert could do what work had to be done together.

  Once she said to him: ‘Albert, sometimes I wish we could leave the children behind so that we could be quite alone together.’

  Albert was pleased but he did not think it very becoming in a parent to wish to be without her family. But he agreed they were too rarely quite alone.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Albert, ‘it is because it happens so rarely that it is so precious to you.’

  She denied it. If she was with Albert alone every hour of the day those hours would still be as precious to her.

  And then there was Balmoral.

  The summer was for the Isle of Wight; the autumn, when the hills were purple with heather, was the time for Scotland.

  She began to feel that Balmoral excited her even more than Osborne. The country was more wild and rugged; the people more strange. Albert was continually comparing it with the Thuringian forest which meant that he loved it – and so did she.

  She ordered that the children be dressed in kilts; Albert wore one too. As for herself she had dresses made in soft satin or royal Stuart tartan. She found the Scottish accent charming; the gillies were such good people; they treated her with a rough sort of courtesy. They might refer to her as ‘me dear’ which was a most unseemly manner in which to address a queen, but she felt so safe with them and she knew that while they would not accord her the dignity of her rank they would give their lives to save her from danger.

  Dear good people! she called them. She decided to learn their country dances and took lessons. They were very strenuous but this was before she was sure that she was pregnant again; and when the dancing master told her to try and dance ‘like a lady, me dear’, she took it all in good part and laughed hilariously with Albert about it afterwards.

  They must all try to speak in Gaelic; it would help them to understand the people better. ‘The dear Highlanders are such a dignified people,’ she said. ‘They are so strong and so faithful.’

  Albert agreed with her. He would take them fishing with him and come back in a good mood if he had caught something big and quite silent if he had failed.

  ‘No need to ask,’ Victoria would cry gaily. ‘We know by your face.’

  Albert always seemed much better when he was in the Highlands. The climate suited him. She was sure he would not get those dreadful winter colds which he sometimes had during the winter if he could live all the time in the country.

  ‘The winter would be rather severe up here,’ she reminded him, but Albert was used to the icy winters of Germany and he said he would like to skate on the lake.

  ‘I shall never forget the time of Pussy’s christening when you were skating on the lake at Buckingham Palace. Do you remember?’

  The Prince remembered it very well, how the ice had broken under him and he had gone down into the icy water.

  ‘I had the fright of my life,’ said the Queen.

  ‘But you were very brave, my dear love,’ said Albert. ‘Very different from your attendants, who almost had hysterics.’

  ‘I was so concerned for you. Do you know, Albert, I think that was the start of your colds. You seem to get several every winter.’

  ‘I should be all right in the country.’

  ‘Skating?’ she asked la
ughing. ‘I should feel content only if one of these dear Highlanders was with you. John Brown is a very fine young man. So trustworthy.’

  Albert agreed that he was and he talked wistfully of life up in the Highlands and heartily wished, as she did, that they could spend more time there.

  But it seemed there always had to be trouble. Ireland was giving great cause for concern. Conditions where the potato famine had brought ruin and starvation were terrible, and the stories of hardship made her weep; she thought it was most unchristian that people should be unable to afford coffins to be buried in and had to be thrown into pits and covered over with earth, so great was the mortality.

  The Irish were in a state of revolt – like the rest of Europe, and although she pitied them she was horrified to hear of the murder of landlords.

  One day in May she was driving down Constitution Hill when an Irishman named William Hamilton fired at her. When he was captured it was found that his pistol was not loaded, but he was transported for seven years.

  The Queen was a little shaken but less so than she had been on previous occasions; and when later in the year it was suggested that she pay a visit to Ireland she did not flinch from it.

  Strangely enough the visit was a great success. The Irish, who a short time before had been on the edge of revolution, found their sentimental hearts were touched by the sincere concern of the little Queen.

  Soon after the return from Ireland there was good news from India. The Punjab had been taken into the British Empire and the Maharajah, to show his immense respect for the Queen whom he accepted as his ruler, presented her with the Kohinoor diamond.

  ‘The finest I have ever seen,’ said the Queen. She showed it to the children. ‘But it is what it stands for which is the most important thing.’

  The following May, a few weeks before her thirty-first birthday, the Queen gave birth to another child, a son. Albert was delighted and the Queen struggled out of the lethargy which always followed childbirth in her case to rejoice with him.