by Jean Plaidy
‘And I can happily say that I am in agreement with Your Majesty. And like Your Majesty I do not care to see rewards given where they are not merited. I hope to have the pleasure of congratulating His Royal Highness on the service he has done to his country but I do not think Your Majesty’s Government would agree to bestow the Order on Bruce.’
‘I shall expect a report on this,’ said the Queen shortly.
Palmerston bowed.
He was laughing to himself as he left her. The Order of the Bath for that old spoilsport! Not if he knew it! He chuckled to think of Bertie’s escape from the ridiculous restrictions they placed on him.
And, he said to himself, no ribbon for Bruce.
The Queen should have known that Lord Palmerston always had his own way.
So General Bruce was not rewarded for his services in North America.
Life at Cambridge, whither the Prince of Wales was sent after his return, seemed more than ever intolerable after the freedom he had enjoyed on his tour. He was getting so tired of General Bruce that on one or two occasions, he couldn’t resist telling him what he thought of him. The Prince’s outbursts of temper were reported in detail to his parents.
Was there no escape? Only time could release him and he longed for the day when he would be independent.
One day he was so bored with the hours of study, so weary of his jailors that he seized an opportunity and left the house.
He had no idea where he was going, but decided that he would first go to London. Then perhaps he could go to stay with someone who would keep him hidden. When he was at Oxford he had been allowed to hunt and had there become friendly with two young men, members of the Oxfordshire Hunt, Frederick Johnstone and Henry Chaplin. They would be at Oxford. He might telegraph them and go there. They could keep him hidden. What a lark! And it would serve them all right.
These two young men had told him how the press laughed at the way he was being brought up. The press was on his side. He believed the people would be. This would show them.
When he arrived at the station two men came towards him; they stood on either side of him.
‘The carriage is waiting, Your Highness,’ they said.
‘Carriage?’ he stammered. ‘What carriage?’
‘General Bruce telegraphed the palace from Cambridge, Your Highness.’
There was the royal carriage. What could he do but get in and be driven to Buckingham Palace?
There he had to face his parents. It was the old question: Whatever can we do with Bertie?
At length they decided to send him to the Curragh Camp in Ireland.
Chapter XXVII
THE BETROTHAL OF ALICE
Disturbing news came from Vicky in Berlin. She was pregnant again. The Queen was angry.
‘Oh, it is too soon,’ she cried, and the Duchess of Kent agreed with her.
Victoria was inclined to be a little short with Albert. Men, she remarked to the Duchess, never really understood what a woman had to suffer. Even Albert was a little obtuse on the subject.
But when Vicky was safely delivered of a baby girl there was great excitement at Windsor. She called the family together and told them that they had become little aunts and uncles.
‘Oh, Albert,’ she said, ‘how I should love to see darling Vicky and the babies! But the two of us together.’
Albert said it must be arranged. It was, and on a lovely September day the Queen and Albert with Alice and a suitable retinue left Gravesend to visit Vicky.
How they enjoyed travelling through Germany on the railway! The scenery was perfect – the river, the red-roofed houses nestling below mountains, the pine forests touched Albert so deeply that his eyes glistened with tears as he passed through his own country. He would never quite recover from the homesickness which beset him from time to time.
At Frankfurt they found Fritz and his parents who had come to meet them, and at the Hotel d’Angleterre other relations were waiting to welcome them.
The next day they resumed their journey. Victoria was watching Albert; she could understand the appeal of this country which could be beautiful, inviting and forbidding all at the same time. Here were the homes of woodcutters and trolls, creatures of the forest who peopled the fairy stories which Lehzen had told her in the past and which Albert would consider too frivolous for their children. How exciting to see the vineyards and the little villages clustering round their churches, the faces of the people tanned by weather. The women wore handkerchiefs tied over their heads, which was a custom among the women of the Highlands. How moving to see their dearest daughter waiting to embrace them.
The Queen could scarcely wait to see the grandchildren.
As soon as they were refreshed they came down to the room which looked out over the streets of the town and the market place and Vicky said they must meet their grandson. Victoria was trembling at the prospect. How great was the deformity? Had Vicky understated it for fear of alarming her mother?
Little Wilhelm came in clinging to the hand of his English nurse. What a little love in his white dress with black bows (for they were all in mourning for Albert’s step-mother, who had recently died). The Queen knelt down and embraced him. He smiled at her. He was plump as a child should be and had a beautiful white skin and sturdy shoulders. She did not want to look too closely at his arm, which a cleverly made sleeve partially disguised. If one did not look too closely it merely appeared that he was holding it rather awkwardly.
‘Why,’ she cried, ‘he has Fritz’s eyes and Vicky’s mouth.’
They all agreed that this was so.
Once the Queen had trained herself not to look too closely at little Wilhelm’s arm she was happy for Vicky. She must not have any more children just yet if that were possible, though.
She whispered: ‘We have to stand together sometimes, my darling. It is a little in all clever men’s natures to despise our poor degraded sex. They think that we poor creatures are born for their amusement. Even dear Papa is not quite exempt.’
She noticed that Vicky and Alice were often talking earnestly together; she hoped that Vicky was preparing Alice, for it was easier sometimes for a sister than a mother to do these things.
How pleasant it was to be abroad with Albert! These holidays had been the happiest times of their lives – and particularly holidays in Germany, that dear country with which, because of Albert, she felt so much in tune. She loved the forests, the red-roofed houses, the costumes of the women and the dear people generally. And Albert was always so happy there.
Stockmar came to see them. How he had aged! He talked of his latest symptoms and then he, Albert and the Queen discussed the subject of the Prince of Wales. Stockmar was a little depressing about this and the Queen was sorry for she could not bear that the visit should be spoilt.
It was wonderful to see Ernest and Alexandrine again, but Victoria noticed that Albert was a little depressed. He and Ernest went for long walks together.
During this Ernest told his brother that he was a little worried about his appearance. He was not looking well.
Albert replied that he had constant rheumatism and recurring bouts of fever in addition to colds. He felt very tired. There was a great deal of work to do. Moreover he worried about the children. The Prince of Wales showed ‘wild’ tendencies.
‘I shouldn’t worry about that,’ said Ernest. ‘It’s natural in young men. We settle down. Let us sow our wild oats, Albert. It does us no harm.’
‘I remember its doing you some harm at one time.’
Ernest shrugged.’Poor Bertie!’
‘Poor Bertie will one day be King of England. I wish he had not been the eldest.’
‘Your English branch of the family are noted for quarrels between father and son. Don’t conform to that pattern, Albert. Try to understand the boy.’
‘My dear Ernest, what do you know of our position?’
‘Well, I admit it’s different from mine. But cheer up.’
‘I confess to being depress
ed.’
‘What, among our forests! Doesn’t this remind you of those expeditions we used to take? Remember our trophies.’
‘It reminds me, Ernest … too well. I have a terrible premonition that I shall never see Coburg again.’
‘Come. You need cheering up. What a pleasant creature Alice is.’
‘Yes, she is more placid than Vicky. Not so clever though.’
‘That’s better. Now you’re the fond father. What a lot you have to be thankful for, Albert. A fine family and a wife who thinks you’re perfection itself.’
Albert smiled slowly and the deep depression passed.
Albert was being driven along in an open carriage with four horses when these took fright and the coachman was unable to control them. They came to a level crossing with the barrier up and seeing that a crash was inevitable Albert jumped out of the carriage. Though badly bruised he was able to get up and go to the help of the coachman to find that he was pinned under the carriage. One of the horses was badly hurt, the others had galloped back to the stables where they were seen, and help was immediately rushed to the scene.
When the Queen, who had been out visiting, came to the palace and was informed of the accident she was horrified. She rushed up to Albert’s bedroom to find him lying in bed, his face covered in lint and looking, she noticed with alarm, very shaken.
Dr Stockmar, who was there with the resident doctor, told the Queen that the coachman was badly hurt and that one of the horses had had to be shot.
She could only think of what had happened to Albert and the miraculous escape he had had.
Stockmar was studying the Prince. He did not tell the Queen but it did occur to him that Albert was far from well and that if real illness attacked him he would have very little chance of fighting it.
Albert soon recovered from the accident and apart from a little stiffness, and cuts and bruises, was able to continue his journey. It was a great joy to be at Rosenau for dear Albert’s birthday. It was always such a moving pilgrimage for him to walk in the familiar woods and meet old friends. They even visited Herr Florschütz who had been Albert’s and Ernest’s tutor in the past.
But it must come to an end of course and the sad part was leaving Coburg and Vicky and Fritz, and darling little Wilhelm.
‘We must come again, soon,’ said the Queen.
Albert merely smiled at her. He could not shake off the strange premonition that he had seen his home for the last time.
Later that year Prince Louis of Hesse came to England. It was not his first visit and when he had come previously he had taken a great liking to Alice and she to him. The Queen had first met him some fifteen years before, when she had been travelling on the continent; he had then been a boy of eight and she had described him as ‘nice and intelligent’.
He had come specially to see them on their recent tour, much to Alice’s pleasure, and the Queen and Albert had discussed the young people. Albert thought that Louis would be an excellent match for Alice.
And so soon following on their recent encounter here he was in England – and there was no question why.
Victoria smiled indulgently to see the young people together and one evening after dinner when there was some company present she saw them talking very earnestly by the fireplace, unaware of the rest of the company. She went over to them and Alice in some confusion said: ‘Louis has just proposed to me, Mama. I want you to give us your blessing.’
The Queen pressed her daughter’s hand firmly and whispered: ‘Come to our room later.’
When Alice arrived, her parents were both there and Albert sent for Louis. The pair were embraced and told how happy they had made their parents, for the Queen had heard from the Prince and Princess of Hesse-Darmstadt that they knew Louis greatly admired Alice and were happy that this should be so.
When they had gone the Queen sighed deeply.
‘So, Albert, we are to lose another daughter.’
‘It is something to which we must reconcile ourselves,’ said Albert.
‘My love, as long as I have you I am content,’ said the Queen. ‘When I think of those horses running wild and what might have happened …’
‘It did not,’ said Albert, ‘and I am still with you.’ The Queen smiled. ‘I thank God daily for your escape,’ she said. ‘Oh, Albert, if the children all marry and leave us I shall not mind as long as I have you. You are my all in all.’
Albert smiled a little sadly. He had begun to wonder what would happen to her if he were no longer there.
Chapter XXVIII
A FATAL JOURNEY
In the middle of March the Duchess of Kent underwent a slight operation. She had a painful abscess under her arm which had been making her feel depressed and wretched so it had been decided to remove it. She had been recuperating satisfactorily in her home of Frogmore when suddenly she became seized by shivering fits.
A few days later Sir James Clark arrived at Buckingham Palace with the news that he was disturbed by the Duchess’s condition.
‘We must go to her at once,’ cried the Queen, and she with Albert and Alice took the train to Windsor.
How long that journey seemed, and all the time Victoria was thinking of the old days at Kensington Palace when she and her mother had had such ‘storms’.
When at last they reached Frogmore the Queen went straight up to her mother’s bedroom. The Duchess lay on a sofa, propped up by cushions and wearing a silk dressing-gown. She looked almost like her normal self but that was because the blinds were drawn and the room was so darkened.
Victoria knelt by the sofa and kissing her hand held it against her cheek. The Duchess looked at her daughter and Victoria saw with a pang of dismay and horror that she did not know her. She could not bear it. She went out of the room to give vent to her tears. Albert came in to comfort her.
‘We will stay for the night,’ he said.
Oh, blessed Albert! What would she do without him?
She would never forget that night. She lay sleepless, listening to every hour as it struck. At four o’clock she could bear no more, and she rose and went to her mother’s room. The Duchess was breathing heavily and there was no sound but the ticking of the old repeater watch in its tortoiseshell case which had been her father’s and had stood in the bedroom she had shared with her mother up to the time of her accession.
She stood looking at her mother and then went back to her room and tried in vain to sleep.
The next morning it was clear that the end was near. The Queen could not bear to look at that familiar face now so changed and suddenly she was aware of Albert who lifted her up and carried her from the room.
‘Is it all over, Albert?’ she asked.
Albert, who rarely wept, was weeping then as he said: ‘Yes, my love, it is all over.’
The death of the Duchess had a deep effect on the Queen.
She was filled with remorse, remembering those battles of the old days. The entries in her journal brought them all back too vividly for comfort. How unkind she had been to dearest Mama! She remembered the occasion when she had refused to see her and insisted that she had to make an appointment before they met. Her own mother!
There were the accounts of how she had considered herself a prisoner – Mama’s prisoner. When all Mama had wanted to do was protect her. She and Baroness Lehzen had behaved as though the Duchess was their enemy. It was terrible. Not until Albert had come had she realised that. Albert had done that for her as he had done everything else.
She was overcome by a deep melancholy. If only Mama could come back and she could talk to her.
The Queen’s melancholy was noted and so exaggerated that rumours persisted on the Continent hinting that she had inherited her grandfather’s malady. Any member of the family only had to step out of the line of conventional behaviour for someone to remember the madness of George III.
Stockmar wrote urgently to Albert from Coburg. The Queen must understand what a situation her conduct was bringing about. She must
stop mourning for her mother. She must be seen in public. These rumours must be quashed. They could be dangerous.
Albert realised this and remonstrated with the Queen.
He agreed that she had been an undutiful daughter before her marriage. But the blame for that must rest with the Baroness Lehzen who had influenced her so strongly. Had she not tried to make trouble between Victoria and her own husband?
Albert could always handle her. She saw his point. While she had him, she said, she had everything to live for.
She became gay again. The period of mourning was over.
But, alas, Albert’s health did not improve.
Trouble came from an expected quarter.
Stockmar wrote to break news which, he said, perhaps not strictly truthfully, he would rather have kept to himself.
It was well known on the Continent that while he was at Curragh Camp the Prince of Wales had formed a liaison with an actress. This affair had gone as far as it was possible for such an affair to go. It seemed as though the Prince of Wales was fulfilling their doleful prophecies.
When Albert read the letter his first thought was: The Queen must not know.
She would be horribly shocked; this might bring on that dangerous mood of depression. He must if possible keep this from her.
What could he do to a young man of nineteen? He thought of his brother Ernest and the evil which had befallen him. Bertie, it seemed, was going to be such another.
He must go to Cambridge and see Bertie. He must discover the truth of this matter. He had a streaming cold and he could feel the fever in his body; his frequent shivering was a warning, but it was his duty to go to Cambridge and when had he ever shirked his duty?
The weather was bleak, cold and damp, and although the symptoms which were affecting him warned him that he should stay in bed, he went off to Cambridge.
When Bertie saw how ill his father looked he was immediately contrite. He spoke naturally and without the embarrassment he usually felt in his father’s presence.