The Queen's Husband

by Jean Plaidy

  A few days later all the children were brought in to see the new baby, led by ten-year-old Vicky and nine-year-old Bertie. Alice, Alfred, Helena and Louise stared wide-eyed at the infant boy in their mother’s arms.

  The Prince said they must all kneel and thank God for the blessing of another brother, which they did, and the Prince and the Queen looked on, finding it difficult, as the Queen said afterwards, to restrain their tears at such a touching scene.

  Albert had become very excited at the prospect of a great Exhibition to be set up in Hyde Park. This, said Albert, would be a great boon to industry, it would provide work for many people and he could see nothing but good coming from it. There would be a great deal of work to be done and they would need a year to do it, but he believed that the whole of Europe would be talking of it and it would be remembered as the greatest spectacle as yet to have been staged.

  The Queen caught his enthusiasm and listened to his talk of projects.

  Dear Albert, he was as excited as a child. He had called in Paxton, the great planner of gardens, and between them they were considering an idea to build a big house of glass – a kind of conservatory – no, more than that. It should be the centre of the Exhibition. A glass palace, one might say.

  The Queen caught his excitement. She was sure it would be a very good thing. How much better if the ministers could plan this kind of thing instead of always being at each other’s throats on some issue or other.

  But even about this project they had to argue and try to spoil it. Albert and his committee had decided that the great exhibition should be held in Hyde Park and several of the Members of Parliament were arguing against this. Poor Albert was in despair when The Times too came down against it.

  ‘It’s such folly,’ groaned Albert. ‘If we are turned out of the park, the work is done for.’

  But such a terrible tragedy occurred that all the thoughts of the Exhibition were driven temporarily not only from the Queen’s mind but from Albert’s too.

  On the 28th of June Sir Robert Peel was riding in Constitution Hill when his horse suddenly shied and he was thrown to the ground. He was so badly injured that he could not move and lay on the ground until some people passing in a carriage saw him, pulled up and recognising him, took him home to his house in Whitehall Gardens.

  He could not be taken to his room but was put on a sofa in one of the downstairs rooms and there he remained for four days until he died.

  The Queen was very upset; so was Albert.

  ‘He was a great man,’ said Albert. ‘I shall never forget what he did for me in the days when I was so bitterly misunderstood.’

  The Queen thought with remorse of those meetings with Sir Robert when she had believed he was about to replace Lord Melbourne. She had been so beastly to him and had called him ‘the dancing master’. But that was when she had been so blind and looked upon Lord Melbourne as a sort of god, so that anyone who dared to attempt to replace him must seem like a monster.

  She wrote condolences to heart-broken Lady Peel. How sad! There was so much trouble. Poor Aunt Sophia had died two years ago; Aunt Gloucester was behaving very oddly and was clearly feeble in the mind, for at Louise’s christening she had forgotten where she was and, leaving her seat in the middle of the service, came to the Queen and knelt before her. It had all been very distressing and she had managed to coax Aunt Gloucester back to her seat but not before everyone present had noticed such odd behaviour. And now Uncle Cambridge was very ill and it seemed likely that he would not be long for this world. All the aunts and uncles were slowly going, dropping off the tree of life like over-ripe fruit. Then came the news from Belgium that dear Aunt Louise, who had suffered so terribly when her family were driven out of France, was herself ill and incurable, which hurt Victoria most of all, for Uncle Leopold’s wife was dearer to her than any of the old aunts and uncles.

  The Queen said that she and some of the children must go to visit Uncle Cambridge, who was very ill, and they must do their best to cheer him up. So with Bertie, Alfred and Alice and one lady-in-waiting, she set out. Uncle Cambridge was too ill for them to remain long and on their way back she was telling the children about the days when she lived in Kensington Palace. As they were turning in at the gates of Buckingham Palace the crowd came very close to the carriage. In view of those occasions when she had been shot at, the Queen felt a little nervous and was leaning forward to protect the children if necessary when suddenly a man stepped close to the Queen and lifting his heavy-handled cane brought it down with great force on her head. The fact that she was wearing a bonnet may well have saved her life. Before she lost consciousness she saw Bertie’s face flush scarlet and a bewildered Alfred and Alice staring at her in dismay.

  Almost immediately she recovered from the faint and heard her lady-in-waiting say: ‘They’ve got him.’

  People were crowding round the carriage. She cried: ‘I’m all right. I’m not hurt.’

  This was not true; she was badly bruised and it was clear that the padded bonnet had saved her from great injury.

  She had arranged to go to the Opera that evening and declared that she would not be put off by a few bruises delivered by a madman. Her reception at the Opera was such that it almost made it all worth while. Her forehead yellow and blue, a black eye and a throbbing headache could be forgotten in the loyal demonstrations of the people.

  Her assailant turned out to be a certain Robert Pate, a man of good family whose father had been High Sheriff of Cambridge, and who himself had held a commission in the Army for five years. He was sentenced to seven years transportation. It was rather an alarming incident because it seemed without motive and Pate had shown no sign of insanity on any other occasion. Many people had often seen him strolling in the park, a dandy who swaggered somewhat but otherwise was normal.

  The Queen did not believe he was insane, and she thought it was horrid that defenceless women should be so exposed. An attempt to kill her because of some imagined grievance or antagonism to monarchy would have been understandable, but to strike a defenceless young woman on her head with a cane was brutal and inhuman.

  She shrugged the incident aside and thought of that unhappy wife, Lady Peel, and when she contemplated what widowhood meant she could not grieve long because of a knock on the head.

  Uncle Cambridge died as they had expected he would and that was sad. She wrote to tell Uncle Leopold of it and added:

  Poor dear Peel was buried today. The sorrow and grief at his death are so touching, and the country mourns over him as over a father. Everyone seems to have lost a personal friend … My poor dear Albert, who has been so fresh and well when we came back from Osborne, looks pale and fagged. He has felt, and feels, Sir Robert’s loss dreadfully. He feels he has lost a second father.

  It was true. Albert was very depressed. He did get depressed rather easily. And what with this terrible attack on her, Uncle Cambridge’s death, the people who were so dreadfully carping about the proposed Exhibition and now the loss of Sir Robert, he thought the outlook was very gloomy indeed.

  ‘There were so many we could have spared more easily,’ he said; and she knew he was thinking of all those short-sighted people who were trying to foil his plans – and of course Lord Palmerston.

  There was no doubt about it, Lord Palmerston was very trying.

  For instance the affair of General Haynau was dreadfully mishandled by him. It was true that the General had come to England uninvited after being involved in the suppression of the Hungarian rising, during which he had become notorious for his excessive cruelty. There were rumours of his conduct which in the hands of the press were exaggerated no doubt, thought the Queen. In any case he was said to have hanged soldiers whom he captured, to have burned people alive in their houses and gone so far as to flog noblewomen. The cruelty practised by this man was an echo of mob behaviour during the French revolution.

  Cartoons of him appeared in the press. Although these were caricatures the General had several distinguishin
g features (tall and thin, deep-set eyes and bushy brows) which were accentuated and he was immediately recognizable when one day he visited Barclay’s Brewery which he wanted to inspect. Unfortunately he wrote his name in the visitors’ book and this coupled with his rather striking appearance made it clear to the brewer’s employees that he was the notorious General. They were incensed and decided to show their disapproval and one man threw a load of straw down on his head which sent him sprawling in the yard.

  There was a cry of: ‘Down with the Austrian butcher!’ and the workmen seized him and rolled him in the dirt; they let him get up and as he ran they ran with him; he escaped into a public house and ran upstairs, but the mob caught him and chased him down to the river’s edge and were about to throw him in when he was rescued by a police launch.

  When the Queen heard what had happened she discussed it with Albert.

  She was horrified, she declared. Whatever the man had done he was a visitor to these shores and he had been treated most inhospitably.

  To ill-treat such a personage as the General was an insult to Austria and an apology must be sent without delay.

  The Foreign Secretary was fully aware of this and when the Queen sent for him he took with him the draft of the apology. He arrived at the palace urbane and smiling, bowed to the Queen and gave that rather insolent greeting to the Prince which was almost a nod.

  ‘A very regrettable incident,’ said the Queen.

  ‘Very, Ma’am,’ agreed Palmerston. ‘And lucky it was for the fellow that the police came along, otherwise …’ Palmerston smiled almost with relish.

  ‘You have prepared the apology?’ She held out her hand, regal, as always, with this man whom she disliked.

  He handed it to her.

  It was worded to show that Palmerston had no sympathy with the General; it did express a certain mild regret that he had been mishandled but the final paragraph pointed out that he had been unwise to visit England in view of the reputation he had recently acquired.

  When she came to the last paragraph the Queen was flushing hotly.

  ‘That will be considered quite insolent,’ she said. ‘It must be removed at once before the apology is sent.’

  Palmerston smiled. ‘That cannot be,’ he said.

  How dared he tell the Queen what could and could not be!

  ‘It has already gone, Your Majesty.’

  She was speechless. So was Albert. How dared he send such a document without their approval.

  ‘We must immediately send a further apology,’ cried the Queen. Palmerston bowed his head, and said nothing.

  ‘So,’ went on the Queen, ‘you will prepare a draft, Lord Palmerston, and bring it to me for my approval, which will explain to the Austrian Government that there has been a slight error.’

  Palmerston smiled blandly and shook his head.

  ‘No, Ma’am, it would not be possible for Your Majesty’s Foreign Secretary to take such an action.’

  ‘You mean you will not obey my wishes?’

  ‘I mean, Ma’am, that were you to insist on your Foreign Secretary’s taking such an action, I should no longer be Your Majesty’s Foreign Secretary.’

  He then asked leave to retire and it was readily given. When he had gone the Queen’s wrath exploded. How dared he! She would accept his resignation. Master Palmerston should understand that he could not behave towards his Queen in such a manner.

  It was Albert who had to soothe her, Albert who hated Palmerston as much as she did.

  ‘You cannot dismiss your Foreign Secretary, my love. That is for Lord John Russell to do. He is the Prime Minister.’

  ‘Then I shall make my wishes clear to him.’

  ‘My love, this fellow Palmerston is the strongest man in the government, alas. Russell could not stand against him. This is not the way.’

  Of course she knew that Albert was right. Palmerston could not be dismissed as easily as that.

  They discussed the man frequently.

  ‘If only Sir Robert were here,’ wailed the Queen. ‘He at least was a strong man.’

  But Albert doubted whether even Sir Robert would have been able to stand up against Lord Palmerston.

  There was tragic news from Uncle Leopold. Aunt Louise, who had been getting weaker for some time, had died.

  Victoria, who had called her the best beloved of all her aunts, was desolate.

  ‘Poor dear Uncle Leopold,’ she cried. ‘It is the second time in his life that he has been left alone.’

  It was very tragic and the Queen could not help thinking of the dear children who were left motherless.

  ‘How I wish we were nearer,’ she sighed.

  As it was, there was nothing to be done but write long and loving letters to Uncle Leopold, assure him that both she and Albert thought of him constantly, read through his dear letters and remember the happy times she had spent in the company of dear dead Louise.

  Chapter XIX

  NAUGHTY BERTIE

  Baron Stockmar disliked the Prince of Wales. The boy was as unlike his father as it was possible for any child to be. All that the Baron had admired in his protégé, Albert, was missing in Bertie. Albert was reserved, Bertie was loquacious. Bertie already showed signs of being a social success; he was charming the female servants – a very bad sign, noted the Baron. Bertie was gay, sunny-natured and enjoyed amusing people and being amused. In other words Bertie was frivolous. Although he was now learning moderately well he could not exactly be called academically bright. His brothers and sisters – with the exception of Vicky – were inclined to bestow on him that sort of hero worship which was not good for his character. Alfred and Alice were his constant companions. He was very chivalrous towards Alice and shielded her when they were in trouble; as for Alfred he was prepared to take any inferior role in their games just for the joy of serving Bertie.

  Bertie would soon be ten years old and in Baron Stockmar’s view, he was proceeding at no small speed down the road to ruin.

  Something must be done.

  Once his mind had been made up, the Baron lost no time in offering his opinion to the Prince.

  ‘I am deeply concerned about the future of the Prince of Wales,’ said the Baron.

  The Prince was all attention.

  ‘I am not very impressed by his character.’

  ‘He has always been a source of anxiety to me,’ agreed the Prince, ‘as he is to Victoria.’

  ‘We must think, my dear Prince,’ said Stockmar, ‘of that boy’s future. When he is of age he will take precedence over you. When I contemplate that I am truly grieved.’

  The Prince’s emotions were such that he could not allow himself to examine them. They were at the root of his feelings for Bertie – and perhaps the Queen’s. This boy who had few good qualities according to his standards – and they had become the Queen’s – was already superior in rank to his father. Indeed he was second only to the Queen. There was in the Prince’s mind – although he could not examine this either – a certain pleasure that Bertie’s conduct should give them cause for criticism.

  ‘I am grieved too,’ said the Prince and added hastily: ‘I continually ask myself what can be done for his good.’

  ‘That is what we must consider. This man Birch for instance, is he the right tutor for the Prince of Wales?’

  ‘Bertie has learned a little since he came.’

  ‘A little! He should have learned a great deal.’

  ‘Bertie has never been studious.’

  ‘My dear Prince, if Bertie has decided he does not wish to study he must be made to change his mind.’

  ‘There were plenty of canings in the past.’

  ‘Perhaps there should have been more in the present.’

  ‘Mr Birch has been given a free hand. He believes that his method with Bertie will bring results and to a certain extent it has.’

  ‘To an infinitesimal extent,’ said the Baron. ‘And that is not good enough.’

  The Prince agreed.

 
‘So,’ went on Stockmar, ‘what I propose is that we supplant Mr Birch. And I have not been idle. I think I have the man.’

  ‘My dear Baron, what should we do without you?’

  Stockmar smiled complacently. ‘You know how close your affairs are to my heart. I think of you constantly even when I am racked with pain.’ The Baron whose illnesses were as important to him as his love of power digressed slightly to tell the Prince of his latest symptoms. Then he went on: ‘It is Frederick Gibbs, a barrister, who I think will fill the post admirably. He is a very serious man. That is what the Prince of Wales needs. There is too much unbridled laughter wherever he is.’

  Albert was in complete agreement with the Baron as always.

  So Mr Frederick Gibbs was summoned to the palace.

  Bertie stood before his parents who were seated side by side on the sofa.

  ‘Bertie,’ said his mother, ‘your Papa and I have something to tell you.’

  Bertie waited.

  ‘Your dear Papa and I are not satisfied with your progress.’ Bertie’s attention wandered. Another of the lectures, which he received from time to time, was clearly about to begin. He believed he knew how it would go. You must work harder; you must be more serious; life is not all play, and so on. And Mr Birch had promised him that they would go on an imaginary journey round the world; they would have the atlas out on the table and they would imagine they were with Sir Francis Drake. Mr Birch would play the part of Sir Francis and afterwards Bertie would play it with Alfred and Alice and even Helena and Louise could be shipmates.

  As his mind wandered on delights to come he heard his mother say: ‘So Mr Gibbs will be taking the place of Mr Birch and Papa and I are sure that then we shall see some improvement.’

  Bertie started and began to stammer. ‘Mr B … B … B …’

  The Queen and the Prince exchanged glances. There you see, he stammers just as he used to!