by Jean Plaidy
Gleefully she sent for Mr Disraeli, but he was too clever to take office in the circumstances; he knew full well that he must wait for that triumph. Gladstone must battle on. Disraeli wanted office after a general election when he felt sure he would be in with a big majority.
Bravely Gladstone continued in office. He reduced income tax from sixpence to threepence in the pound and held out hope that he would be able to abolish it altogether.
The Queen laughed. A bait, she said, to catch electors, which she was certain would fail.
She was right. At the general election the Conservative party was returned with a majority of 46.
With what joy did the Queen await the arrival of her new Prime Minister. He bowed over her hand; he kissed it lingeringly; tears filled the Queen’s eyes and she was happy to note they glinted in those of her new Prime Minister.
‘This is a very happy day,’ she told him.
‘M’am,’ he replied, ‘I feel alive again.’
It was a reference of course to the death of Mary Anne. He had come back to serve the Queen in the highest capacity and that was to be his great consolation. How well she understood!
‘Mr Disraeli,’ she said, ‘pray sit down.’ It was the great honour. Gladstone had always been obliged to stand, but that had not made him cut short his long addresses. Now she could savour the joy of pleasant human contact and no longer be treated as a public meeting; she would have that sweet sympathy and understanding which was so important to her.
‘This is a day, Mr Disraeli, that I always regard as a very special one in my life.’
Of course Mr Disraeli knew to what she referred. He would never be found wanting in such a point.
‘I remember the date well, M’am. His Royal Highness looking so splendid in his uniform, inspiring us all with hope for the future by his very nobility of countenance. And Your Majesty so young yet so dedicated.’
Of course Mr Disraeli would remember that it was the anniversary of her wedding day.
And how typical of him on such an occasion to shelve tiresome politics and talk of personal things – the last days of Mary Anne’s life and most of all her own sufferings, the virtues of her dear dead Saint and the noble manner in which she had continued to serve her country though in seclusion.
With Mr Disraeli she could view the future in a much happier frame of mind.
Chapter XVIII
THE AYLESFORD AFFAIR
Disraeli was not exaggerating when he said he had found a new zest for life, a zest of which the death of Mary Anne had robbed him. The Queen had become the centre of his existence; she sensed this and was comforted and delighted by his feelings towards her. Disraeli could never be the father figure that Lord Melbourne had been; but, a mother herself, she did not need a father now. Disraeli enchanted her. He flattered her in a manner which to many might have seemed outrageous but to the Queen it was all very natural. Disraeli adored her; and she in turn was ready to give him a very special affection.
She found herself waiting for his visits, looking for the light of admiration which leapt into his eyes as he bent over and kissed her hand. He made her feel as though she were a very attractive woman as well as a Queen and she could never quite resist such admiration, perhaps because it had never been apparent in Albert’s feelings towards her. Albert had been the most faithful of husbands and love between them had been great; but never had Albert flattered her. She was his good wife, his dear adoring Victoria but never had he shown this ecstatic admiration which she found in the attitude of Mr Disraeli.
She knew that before his marriage to Mary Anne he had had mistresses and he now had many women friends. Like so many clever men, he found the society of women so much more to his taste than that of men – in every way. Lord Melbourne had been the same; so had Uncle King George IV and, going back much further, Charles II.
Mr Disraeli had that very pleasant gift for gossiping which she had so enjoyed in Lord Melbourne’s time for he had been a past-master at it. Albert had never gossiped and had never approved of the practice; but a Queen should know a great deal about the people around her – personal things, the sort of items which gossip brought out so admirably.
The new Prime Minister was so amusing. His wit delighted her as Lord Melbourne’s had done; in fact it was almost as though history were repeating itself. There she was looking forward to her Prime Minister’s visits, settling down to a little gossip and like Melbourne he would bring in State matters and discuss them in such an easy, light-hearted manner that it all became a pleasure.
India was a topic which absorbed him. He was going to make her Empress of India, he cried, looking at her with great admiration. He called her the Faery Queen very often, and to his friends rather irreverently ‘The Faery’; when she disagreed with him he had a rather arch way of putting his head on one side and saying with a kind of tender reproach: ‘Dear Madam.’ This amused her and carried her on the way to making her see his point of view.
How very different from Mr Gladstone! She liked to discuss the last Prime Minister with the man who had replaced him. What did Mr Disraeli think of those rumours about Mr Gladstone? Was it really true that he prowled about the streets inviting loose women to accost him? The story as she had heard it was that he was so concerned for these women that when they approached him he tried to reform them and instead of going home with them as they asked, he invited them home with him, where, if they accepted his invitation, they would find Mrs Gladstone waiting with hot soup and a warm bed that they might spend the night in comfort and the next morning be persuaded to mend their ways.
‘What an odd manner for a Prime Minister to behave!’ said the Queen.
Mr Disraeli agreed that it was indeed very odd.
‘It lays him open to all kinds of suspicion,’ went on the Queen. ‘Does he not realise that?’
‘Oh perfectly, Madam. But he is such a figure of virtue that he believes none could seriously suspect him of having other motives than those of reform towards his protégées.’
‘He is a strange man. Many people might think he is immoral.’
‘His friends have warned him about these nocturnal prowlings, M’am,’ said Disraeli, ‘but he is a man of purpose.’
‘I wonder,’ said the Queen, her lips pursed; then she remembered that Albert would have said it was unchristian to suspect vice where it was not proved and Albert would probably have thought Gladstone an admirable man. She dismissed the thought, hastily remembering that Albert had not liked Mr Disraeli at all and had thought of him as a flamboyant upstart – but then of course Albert had not really known him.
She went on: ‘Sometimes I wonder whether he is a secret Papist. He seems to concern himself so much with religion and this Irish question.’
‘It is hard to imagine Mr Gladstone either a papist or a libertine,’ said Disraeli wryly. ‘The two have been known to go together – but not in a Mr Gladstone.’
‘Poor Mrs Gladstone,’ said the Queen.
And they shelved gossip to discuss the position with India.
Bertie was deeply interested in India. In view of the situation he believed that he, who had proved himself such an excellent ambassador, should visit that country.
He visualised a glorious and splendid tour, with wonderful Arabian Nights type of entertainments put on for his benefit. The government should put up the money for the expenses of such a tour for it was clear that the heir to the Crown and Empire should not travel like a pauper.
He said nothing to Alix. She did not come into his plans. He certainly did not wish to have her with him on the journey. He wanted to be free to enjoy it.
He raised the matter with Disraeli and other ministers who responded cautiously. Bertie, however, wilfully misconstrued their attitude as enthusiasm and went to Windsor to see the Queen.
‘Mama,’ he said eagerly, ‘you know that your ministers believe that it would do great good if I toured India, and this is just the time to do it.’
The Queen was alway
s uneasy when Bertie was out of England; she was never sure what mischief he would get into. Often, though, Disraeli had mentioned the ambassadorial qualities of the Prince of Wales and that, although he was apt to be a little indiscreet at times, his journeys had on the whole done immense good for the country’s relations with foreign powers.
The Queen listened. If Mr Disraeli believed it would be good for the Prince of Wales to travel in India perhaps he was right.
‘What of the money to provide for the cost of all this?’
‘Oh, Mama, that’s a small point.’
‘I should have thought it was a very big one,’ said the Queen. ‘I can give nothing and I know you are in debt. But if the government is willing to meet your expenses I see no reason why the trip should not be arranged.’
Bertie was jubilant. ‘Of course the government will pay, Mama,’ he said. ‘It is such an excellent project.’
‘Alix must not go,’ said the Queen sharply.
Bertie smiled. That was just what he thought.
‘It will be a wrench to part from Alix,’ he said, ‘but I’m sure she’ll realise that she can’t leave the children and come with me.’
He was pleased. It was going better than he had dared hope.
Alix was distressed.
‘Bertie,’ she cried, ‘is it true that there is a project afoot for a trip to India?’
‘Oh, nothing definite,’ said Bertie airily. ‘Dizzy’s been turning over the idea in his mind. Seems to think I rate as a good ambassador.’
‘When would they want us to go?’ asked Alix.
Bertie was silent for a few seconds and then plunged: ‘I don’t think they want you to go, Alix.’
She turned pale; he saw her clench and unclench her hands.
‘So you are planning to go alone?’ she demanded.
‘Everything is quite unsettled so far.’
‘But not so unsettled that it has been decided that I am to stay behind.’
‘There are the children,’ said Bertie. ‘You would hate to leave them.’
‘They would be in good hands. And a wife’s first place is with her husband. I want to come with you.’
‘Well, of course, it’s what we both want,’ said Bertie evasively.
But she knew he didn’t. She wanted to turn away and weep. She knew that he wanted to go off alone; that he would not miss her at all, that he was already planning the pleasures that would be his.
Bertie had his way; the journey to India was arranged and Alix stayed at home, although she did accompany him to Calais.
Knowing that a very glittering, exciting and novel adventure lay before him, and that poor Alix was hurt to be left behind, Bertie was suitably sad on saying good-bye to her.
‘You have the children to comfort you for this parting,’ he said. ‘I haven’t that consolation.’
No, thought Alix, half angry, half exasperated, but you’ll find ample to make you forget your family!
Everyone noticed how melancholy she was and felt sorry for the poor Princess of Wales who put on such a brave face although the whole nation gossiped about Bertie’s infidelities.
Alix went back to her nurseries and told the children about Papa’s journey and soon their father was sending home accounts of his journey; at least he never forgot to write to them, telling them about his reception in India and the wonderful places he saw. He had shot an elephant and would bring a baby elephant home for the boys to see; he had also killed a tiger. Perhaps he would bring home some tiger cubs for them to play with. They were such lovely little creatures – like big cats and very playful when young.
George would read the letters to Eddy because Eddy could read only slowly and, although the elder, was far behind George in his studies. George had to look after Eddy always and explain things to him when he could not understand them.
So George read and re-read their father’s letters and every day they looked for them.
Disraeli told the Queen that he was really delighted with the work the Prince was doing in India.
‘None could have done it better save yourself, M’am,’ he said. ‘And we should not wish to see our gracious Queen indulging in pig sticking and tiger shooting at which by all accounts His Royal Highness excels.’
Bombay, Calcutta, Poona and Baroda. Everywhere the Prince went he made an excellent impression. Even at Lucknow, where in view of past events there was a hint of hostility, he managed to charm the inhabitants. There was no doubt that Bertie had the right manner to grace such occasions and win the superficial affection of multitudes; everywhere he went he was greeted with enthusiasm. He was given such gifts; he was cheered everywhere. He was called the Future Emperor. No one could have denied that it was an eminently successful and well-timed exercise.
But Bertie’s way of life must mean that he was always on the edge of scandal. Sometimes he managed to skirt skilfully across it; but this he could not always expect to do.
One of Bertie’s greatest friends was Lord Aylesford, who devoted so much time and energy to sport that he was known as Sporting Joe. He had been a prominent member of the Marlborough House set and Bertie had often been his guest. Sporting Joe had a remarkably pretty and rather flighty young wife who had been on terms of great friendship with the Prince of Wales – even greater than her husband was aware. It had not been possible to take her on the Indian tour but, against the wishes of the Queen, Bertie had included Aylesford in the party.
Lady Aylesford was not of a nature to remain faithful to her husband or to the Prince of Wales during such a long absence and no sooner had they left than she struck up a friendship with another member of their circle, Lord Blandford, heir to the Duke of Marlborough. So serious did this friendship become that Blandford decided to leave his wife and set up house with Lady Aylesford.
When Lord Aylesford heard of this he was very distressed and explained the position to the Prince. Bertie was uneasy. The Mordaunt case was still fresh in his mind. He had been very friendly with Lady Aylesford – as he had with Lady Mordaunt; if Aylesford was going to make trouble and there was a public scandal he might well be drawn into it.
‘Blandford is a scoundrel,’ he cried. ‘I’ll never speak to the fellow again.’
But Aylesford wanted greater satisfaction than the Prince’s disapproval. He must go home, he said. He must know exactly what was happening. Reluctantly the Prince agreed and Aylesford left for England.
With the departure of Aylesford and one or two others – including Lady Aylesford’s brother who had been a member of the party – a great deal of the fun departed. Sporting Joe had a genius for arranging amusing pastimes. The Prince missed him very much and the more he missed him the more he raged against Blandford, the cause of the trouble. His anger was tinged with a certain anxiety which made it the greater, since he himself had perhaps been a little indiscreet with the fascinating wife of Sporting Joe.
He had left India and was in Egypt on the way home when news reached him that Lord Aylesford was planning to divorce his wife and of course he would cite Lord Blandford as co-respondent. In the heat of the affair Aylesford made known the Prince’s criticism of Blandford.
Lord Randolph Churchill, the fiery-tempered younger brother of Lord Blandford, decided to defend the family honour. This defamation of his brother’s character coming from someone like the Prince of Wales was ridiculous, he said. The Prince had known of the affair between Lady Aylesford and Blandford before he left England yet he had insisted on Lord Aylesford’s accompanying him. The family were eager to prevent a greater scandal and tried to persuade Aylesford to drop the idea of divorce.
Lord Randolph, a man of immense vitality, a certain impulsiveness, great ambition, a love of the limelight and a complete lack of discretion, determined to do everything in his power to stop the divorce and stated that the Prince of Wales was the chief instigator of the trouble and that he would never forgive him for calling Blandford a scoundrel. He went on to declare in his club and to acquaintances who, he must
have known, would not keep the information to themselves, that if the divorce were proceeded with, evidence could be produced which could ruin the Prince of Wales.
In his impetuous way he turned his indefatigable energies into an effort to stop the divorce. The Prince could stop it, he was sure; and as His Highness had influence with Aylesford, it seemed that if he were to forbid Aylesford to proceed the outraged husband would comply with his commands.
Meanwhile Churchill asked for an audience with the Princess of Wales.
Alix, who had heard rumours of the scandal, was feeling sick at heart. How different everything might have been if only Bertie had been a faithful husband, or if she could have been indifferent to his infidelities. She had tried not to attempt to discover with which women he was friendly; she had tried to laugh at rumours and to tell herself that a virile man like Bertie needed outlets for his energies which marriage could not supply. He was not the only unfaithful husband. He was so charming, and especially tender and generous when he was indulging in his adventures. He was so good to the children; so eager that she herself should be treated with respect; and she was never allowed to suffer any indignity in public. He would have been angry, even with his mistress of the moment, if she had dared to show a lack of respect towards the Princess of Wales. He was tolerant about her besetting sin of unpunctuality; he tried not to show his exasperation when she was as much as half an hour late, which she knew she often was. It was impossible not to love Bertie deeply. If she could have loved him a little less how much easier it would have been.
She looked at the little man with the burning purpose in his eyes, feigning respect but in fact threatening.