The Queen's Husband

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘Stockmar is one of the wisest men in the world.’

  ‘Only one of them?’ said the Queen ironically. ‘Sometimes I think he is more concerned with politics than human feelings. If Vicky does not love Fritz then I should not agree to the marriage.’

  ‘Do you think I would? My great desire is to see the child happy.’

  ‘No, I didn’t think so for a moment. You dote on her. That’s obvious. Perhaps that’s why you have been so harsh with Bertie. The poor child can’t help it because he is not Vicky.’

  ‘My dear love, what are you saying?’

  ‘Well you do favour her, don’t you? And she has been just as naughty as Bertie. She has at times been quite rebellious and coquettish with some of the equerries. I have had to reprimand her. And you, Albert, who set yourself up as being so calm, have just turned a blind eye to Vicky’s shortcomings. The child has been quite spoiled.’

  ‘You have been stern enough with her.’

  ‘Someone had to correct her. It’s no wonder that she adores her dearest Papa and thinks Mama a little cruel now and then.’

  ‘You are overwrought,’ said the Prince. ‘It is the thought of your daughter’s growing up, becoming almost a woman.’

  She looked at him tearfully. ‘Yes, Albert, that is it.’ She held out her hand and he took it. ‘She will go away from us and this will no longer be her home … only a place she will visit. It’s sad, Albert.’

  Albert was very sad. The idea of losing his beloved Vicky affected him more than it did Victoria. ‘It is the way of life, my love,’ he said mournfully.

  ‘And whatever comes, Albert, we have each other.’

  ‘That, my dear child, is something for which we must always be thankful.’

  He smiled at her tenderly and happiness was restored.

  Albert loved to organise the family whether it was hunting moths and butterflies, reading, climbing or acting the plays they enjoyed so much. As he felt better and his rheumatism had subsided he thought that a ride to Craig-na-Ban would be enjoyable. All the family, apart from the very young children, including Fritz, were to set out on their ponies accompanied by John Grant and good John Brown. They would go up into the hills on their ponies and a carriage would pick them up at a point to be decided on by the Prince.

  They set out, Victoria and Albert leading; it was soon very clear that Vicky and Fritz were going to straggle.

  The Queen and Albert exchanged significant glances.

  ‘As long as they are not out of sight,’ murmured Albert.

  Vicky and Fritz were talking earnestly.

  ‘What a beautiful place,’ Fritz was saying.

  ‘Mama thinks it is the most beautiful in the world. Papa is enamoured of his Thuringian forest and loves this because he says it resembles it. Uncle Ernest said it was not in the least like Germany. What do you say?’

  Fritz looked at her earnestly: ‘I can only give my attention to one thing at the moment.’

  ‘Fritz,’ cried Vicky, ‘you are not referring to me as a thing!’

  Fritz laughed delightedly. She was bright and animated; who would believe she was only fourteen? She was almost ready for marriage – or would be in a year or so.

  Fritz himself being twenty-four was impatient, and he realised that Vicky was well aware of this.

  ‘You will have to grow up quickly,’ he said.

  ‘I grew up at an early age,’ retorted Vicky. ‘And you know girls are said to mature earlier than men.’

  ‘What is the equivalent age in a woman compared with that of a man of say … twenty-four?’

  Vicky pretended to consider. ‘That would depend. Eighteen shall we say, sixteen, in some cases perhaps fourteen.’

  Vicky pressed her heel against the pony’s side and he trotted a little faster. Fritz came up to her and pressed a piece of white heather into her hand.

  ‘I just picked it,’ he said. ‘I am told it means good luck.’

  ‘Thank you, Fritz.’

  ‘Your good luck,’ he said soberly, ‘will be mine.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Vicky.

  ‘Because,’ replied Fritz, ‘I hope that one day you will be my wife.’

  Vicky opened her eyes very wide and stared at him. She had known of course why he had come and there had been many sly allusions from the members of the household. She was excited. Fritz was so handsome. And of course he would one day be King of Prussia.

  ‘Well,’ said Fritz, ‘are you surprised, horrified, shocked or perhaps a little pleased?’

  ‘Perhaps a little pleased would fit the case better than any of those other conditions you mentioned.’

  Yes, thought Fritz, Vicky was certainly exciting. He was glad he had spoken and he did not think the Queen was going to be too displeased about that.

  As soon as they returned to the castle Vicky went to her mother’s room.

  ‘My darling,’ cried the Queen and embraced her.

  ‘Oh, Mama, you know.’

  The Queen smiled. ‘My love, I was aware of dear Fritz’s feelings for you. Papa and I had decided that he would be a good match for you. But you know that if you did not care for him we should never have forced you. He was not going to speak to you yet.’

  ‘I know, but it slipped out. Perhaps I wheedled it out of him.’

  The Queen laughed.

  ‘Oh dear, dear Mama!’

  ‘There must of course be no wedding for some time. You would have to be seventeen.’

  ‘Oh, Mama, three years.’

  The Queen laughed again so indulgently. ‘It is not very long, my dearest.’

  ‘Three whole years without Fritz!’

  ‘Oh, you have progressed so far already, have you?’

  ‘Well Mama, as soon as Fritz gave me the white heather I knew. I shall keep that piece of heather for ever.’

  Albert came in. He must have heard Vicky’s arrival.

  Vicky flew into her father’s arms and the Queen felt a twinge as she saw the tender expression in Albert’s eyes.

  ‘So, my love, you have forestalled us all, eh?’ said Albert.

  ‘Papa, dearest Papa. I have just thought of something dreadful. When I marry Fritz I shall have to leave you.’

  ‘My love, it is the way of the world. A daughter must leave her parents and cleave to her husband.’

  ‘But, Papa, to leave you …’ There was a brief pause and Vicky seemed suddenly to be aware of her mother. ‘And Mama …’ she added.

  ‘My dear,’ said the Queen, ‘you shall visit us often and perhaps Papa and I will visit you. But I have been telling her, Albert, that there can be no marriage yet. She seems to have forgotten that she is a child of fourteen.’

  ‘You were very young when you married Papa.’

  ‘Not fourteen, nor even seventeen. I was nearly twenty.’

  ‘How old!’ wailed Vicky.

  ‘Your Papa and I were in love just as you and Fritz are. But of course I had great responsibilities, which you will have later. But you will have a husband to stand beside you. I had no one until your father came. And what a difference that made to me!’

  ‘I can only hope,’ said Albert, ‘that you, dear daughter, will be as happy as your mother and I have been.’

  Fritz left a few days later, already engaged to Vicky; and the two people behaved like a young couple deeply in love. There were tears at their parting and Albert sat down to tell his friend Stockmar all about it, knowing that the news would cheer him greatly. It was always so pleasant when those for whom marriages had been arranged obligingly fell in love.

  ‘The young people are ardently in love,’ he wrote. ‘An abundance of tears was shed at their parting.’

  As for himself he was ‘tortured and tormented by rheumatism and could hardly hold the pen’.

  The Queen came in while he was writing.

  ‘Writing to the Baron?’ she said. ‘Well, he will be delighted, and you are because he is.’

  ‘I am glad that he will be pleased but chiefly I am
glad for our daughter. I am sure this is the best possible match for her.’

  ‘We can no longer treat her as a child. This has turned her into a woman overnight.’

  ‘She is still the same little Vicky.’

  ‘Oh, no, she is not. She is soon going to be a wife. I do hope she does not start having children too soon.’

  ‘My love, that is a matter for the future.’

  ‘I can’t bear to think of our child being submitted to that ordeal too soon.’

  ‘We shall hope that in due course she gives Prussia an heir.’

  ‘But not too soon, I trust,’ said the Queen.

  ‘Oh, she will delight in children.’

  ‘But not in bearing them. Men never understand what we have to suffer. I know, Albert. I do happen to have experienced it eight times. I don’t really think I could endure it again.’

  Albert could see that she was working herself up into a passion and did his best to soothe her.

  ‘Perhaps you will not have to, my child,’ he said.

  She softened at the term of endearment. Dear Albert, she must not upset him; and he did look worn and wan. She knew that his rheumatism was very painful.

  It was impossible to keep the matter of Vicky’s betrothal secret. The press wanted to know what Fritz had been doing at Balmoral. Clearly his visit had had some ulterior motive; the Princess Royal was destined to marry a German – just as her mother had!

  The Princess was confirmed and, thought her mother, looked so touchingly innocent in her pure white dress and she made her responses perfectly. Yes indeed, Vicky was no longer a child.

  ‘It is always Germans,’ said the press. And who was this Prince Frederick William of Prussia? The heir to a little German kingdom! It was obvious whose hand was in this. Once Germans had a foot in at the door they were ready to take charge of the house.

  The Prussians resented the English attitude and there were comments in their press. Why all this fuss? Who was their future King marrying? The Princess Royal of England! They would first like to know what dowry was offered before they crowed too much about its being a good match, and if she married the Prince, the Princess Royal would have to come to Germany to do so.

  When the Queen heard this she was furious.

  ‘I suppose you agree with this!’ she accused Albert. ‘After all you are a German. And Stockmar too, I suppose he thinks it is right and proper for an English Princess to be overawed at the prospect of marrying into Prussia! If it is too much trouble for a Prince of Prussia to come over here to marry the daughter of the Queen of England, he had better not come at all.’

  ‘Now,’ soothed Albert, ‘you are getting worked up again. There is no need to. Of course Fritz will come over here for the wedding.’

  Chapter XXIV

  MUTINY

  The Prince of Wales provided a problem. Mr Gibbs’ stern rule seemed to have profited him little and he had made scarcely any progress with his studies. He was deliberately wilful. Alfred had wanted to go into the Navy and although this was not Albert’s original idea for his future, he believed that if the boy was so enamoured of the life he would probably do well at it. When he was sent to Royal Lodge there had been a terrible scene between the two brothers because they were to be parted. They had wept bitterly and although it was pleasant to see their affection, Bertie’s behaviour afterwards was worse than ever. He had taken to teasing the younger children and there were often battles.

  Leopold was also wilful and could be very naughty at times and sometimes in a fit of temper he would hurt himself and there would be those worrying haemorrhages. What could one do with Leopold but whip him? The Queen’s mother, who adored the children and spoilt them all, said that she hated to hear the children crying after a beating. It hurt her, she declared, as much as it did them and she simply could not bear it.

  ‘I have too many of them to be upset by the tears of one or two,’ said the Queen grimly. ‘I daresay Feodora and Charles were good children and rarely cried, and as for myself I don’t think I did much either … not tears of anger in any case.’

  ‘You had your storms,’ said the Duchess. ‘And little Leo is a good boy at heart. He’s so delicate and that could make him peevish. In fact they are all good children at heart.’

  ‘Even Bertie?’ said the Queen.

  ‘Even Bertie,’ answered the Duchess firmly.

  The Queen sighed. ‘How I wish I could believe that!’

  It was so easy for grandmothers; they had the pleasure of children without the anxieties they created.

  And then to her dismay, the Queen was once more pregnant.

  There was no end to trouble. It now came from the East because the Chinese had boarded a ship and after having arrested the crew as pirates had torn down the British flag. Although this particular ship was registered in Hong Kong it was not at all certain that it had a right to fly the flag, but no matter, the flag must not be insulted, so the British Plenipotentiary in Hong Kong saw no reason why reprisals should not be taken.

  Admiral Seymour was given orders to destroy certain Chinese forts and as a result there was an attempt to kill the Plenipotentiary in Hong Kong.

  A dispute in the House of Commons arose about the manner in which the government had acted and there was to be a motion led by Cobden and Bright to censure it. Lord Palmerston was dubious about its outcome and felt it very probable that it would succeed. The thought of Lord Palmerston’s being forced to resign threw the Queen into a panic.

  She had almost forgotten that a short time ago she had been eager to keep Palmerston out at all costs. The manner in which the Crimean War had been brought to a conclusion had decided her that her old enemy was the strong man the government needed. It had been the same with Sir Robert Peel. She had hated him at first and had later been forced to admit his admirable qualities. Now this was the case with Palmerston.

  ‘He cannot resign,’ she cried. ‘Oh dear, how tiresome these people are! When they have a strong man at the head they do their best to get rid of him. I cannot face a crisis now.’

  Albert tried to soothe her. He was finding her pregnancies almost as trying as she did herself. The baby was due in a month’s time and as she had put on weight considerably she was even more ungainly than usual; and she was aware of it.

  ‘My love, a vote of censure might force the Prime Minister to resign,’ said Albert.

  ‘But he must be told that I do not wish it. I really cannot endure it at this time. Do these people realise that I have to face my ordeal in a few weeks’ time? And to thrust this at me with all it entails! They must be made to see. Albert, I cannot face a crisis like this. I feel so humiliated. This will be the ninth time.’

  ‘Will you leave this to me?’ asked Albert.

  ‘Oh, please, Albert, yes.’

  Albert wrote to the Prime Minister:

  My dear Lord Palmerston,

  The Queen has this moment received your letter giving so unfavourable an account of the prospects of tonight’s division. She is sorry that her health imperatively requires her going into the country for a few days … The Queen feels herself physically unable to go through the anxiety of a Ministerial Crisis and the fruitless attempts to form a new Government out of the heterogeneous elements of which the present Opposition is composed, should the Government feel it necessary to offer their resignation, and would on that account prefer any other alternative.

  But Lord Palmerston could not be dictated to by the Queen’s temporary physical disabilities. His government was defeated; he went to the country and was returned with a large majority. The Queen was delighted; and by that time she had given birth to her ninth child, a daughter, Beatrice, and was once more helped through the birth by ‘blessed chloroform’.

  She had reason later that year to be glad that Lord Palmerston was in office. There were rumours of unrest in India. Many reasons were given for this. Discipline had been relaxed; there had been an effort to convert Indians to the Christian faith, and marriage for Hindu
widows had been made legal.

  British prestige abroad had waned in the last years because of difficulties in Afghanistan and the reverses of the war in the Crimea. It was said that what finally decided the Indians to revolt was the greasing of cartridges with the fat of cows and pigs which they considered sacred. The Mutiny had started.

  When the Queen heard what was happening she was in despair. She wept when she heard of atrocities committed against women and children; she stormed at the incompetence which had allowed such carnage to take place. Why was not something done?

  She sent for Lord Palmerston; she wanted to know why there was this inactivity.

  Lord Palmerston presented the facts in his bland manner. It was deplorable. There was something wrong with their government of India and they must rectify it; but first they must have forces sent out to India; this revolt must be quelled with all speed. It must be realised that the British could not be treated in this way with impunity.

  ‘You will do this! You will do that!’ cried the Queen. ‘But what are you doing? If I were in the House of Commons, Lord Palmerston, I would tell you what I think of some of you.’

  ‘It is as well for those of us with whom Your Majesty does not agree, that Your Majesty is not in the House of Commons,’ said Lord Palmerston with a smile.

  But she knew that if there was a man who could deal with this horror that man was Lord Palmerston.

  She wrote to Uncle Leopold:

  We are in sad anxiety about India, which engrosses all our attention. Troops cannot be raised fast enough. And the horrors committed on the poor ladies – women and children – are unknown in these ages and make one’s blood run cold. Altogether the whole is so much more distressing than the Crimea – where there was glory and honourable warfare and where the poor women and children were safe …