The Widow of Windsor

by Виктория Холт

  They dined alone. ‘You see,’ she had said, ‘there are always so many people around us. I thought it would be much more fun to be alone for once.’

  Poor Bertie! He did his best; but it seemed difficult to maintain the conversation; he missed his gay friends. It was obvious that that was one of the occasions which was not a success. Alix knew that she must not do that again. But it was rather startling.

  There was amazing news from home. Her brother William had been elected to the Greek throne. How strange to think of little Willy as a King. He was to change his name to George as being more suitable for a Greek Monarch, and to leave for Greece immediately.

  It seemed incredible. Here she was the Princess of Wales and Willy the King of Greece when a year ago they were living humbly in the Yellow Palace.

  Sometimes she thought of the family at home. They would be as sorry to lose Willy as they had been to lose her. She had thought that everything was worth while because of the love between herself and Bertie, but when she realised that charming as Bertie was he often glanced at the clock when they were alone together and brightened considerably when some of his gay friends arrived, she began to have some misgivings.

  Then she discovered that she was pregnant.

  Bertie was delighted. He was very solicitous. She must not tire herself. He thought that perhaps late nights were not doing her any good. She should retire early.

  She had said: ‘Oh yes, I should like that!’ Still being naive enough to think that he would be with her. She had forgotten the little dinner for two which had not been a success.

  He was so tender. He would make her sit down and himself wrap a rug about her legs. He would tell the servants to bring a tray to her room. And then he would kiss her and leave her.

  He liked to go out and join his friends at some of the fashionable clubs where he was often incognito. It amused him to take a cab as a private person.

  Alix stayed in her room, thinking how comfortable it was to enjoy an early night. But she did wonder what Bertie was doing.

  She was often fast asleep when he retired for the night. It wasn’t quite what she had imagined in the beginning.

  * * *

  The Queen usually spent autumn in the Highlands which was the best time with the heather on the hills and the beautiful fresh air. Dear Balmoral! Some people said it was more like a German schloss than a Scottish castle. That was because it was Beloved Albert who had planned it. The old Balmoral – which they had become fond of when they had first come to Scotland – was not good enough for her, Albert had said; he had wanted to build something more worthy. She had been reading through her old journals – a habit she had fallen into lately and which she found morbidly fascinating. Often Alice or Lenchen would find her with the tears streaming down her cheeks while she read of past happiness. There was a nice little hall, she had written, and a billiard room with the dining-room next to it. A good broad staircase and the sitting-room above the dining-room. She remembered it so well. ‘Castle’ had been rather a pretentious name for old Balmoral. But what happy days they had had there in the beautiful wooded hills which had reminded dear Albert so poignantly of his homeland and the Thuringian forests.

  How different the new Balmoral with its forty-foot-square tower and the oriel windows. Now it was quite magnificent, as Albert had said, a royal residence.

  And what a comfort to be there with the dear servants. Annie MacDonald was such a treasure and she was beginning to think that there was no one quite like John Brown.

  She smiled at the thought of him. He was very tall and handsome; very strong; so brusque in his manners that he never failed to make her chuckle. And faithful. That was what she looked for now. Albert had said he was the best man on the estate. He and the head gillie, John Grant, were completely trustworthy, Albert had remarked. In fact Albert had often stressed that when he went out on a day’s shooting he found the company of these two servants more to his liking than that of some of the noble guests whom duty forced them to entertain. She agreed with Albert on this as on everything else.

  She liked as many of her children to be with her as possible. The fact that Alice was still in England meant that she and her husband could join the Scottish party; Bertie and Alix of course had their affairs in London – and very gay they were by all accounts; and as she had said to Vicky she thought that Alix showed the strain and was looking peaky; she was not very strong and rather highly strung, she feared. Of course Bertie was not like his father who had always been the most solicitous of husbands and whose great concern had been for his wife’s comfort.

  Vicky with Fritz and the children Wilhelm, Charlotte and little Henry were having a brief holiday in Scotland too which was very comforting. She could never forget that Vicky had been her father’s favourite and although she had been a little jealous of those whom she had – quite wrongly she realised now – imagined had cut her out a little, she now felt drawn towards Vicky who was more like her wonderful father than any of the others.

  Dear Vicky, she had her troubles and what a disaster it was that Beloved Papa was not here now to advise her. The King of Prussia was very weak and quite under the influence of that dreadful Bismarck whom Vicky and dear Fritz, quite rightly, could not endure. Not only that but little Wilhelm was a source of anxiety. Such a bright little fellow. Albert had loved him especially and seen great qualities in him. How criminal of those doctors and nurses to be so careless at his birth. Poor Vicky was heartbroken about his deformity. The Queen would never forget how her daughter had described her son’s christening when the dear child had been half covered up to hide his arm which was without any feeling and hung helplessly. And now some of the doctors were talking about cutting his neck and in fact the poor child had been submitted to wear a horrible machine; he had to put it on for an hour every day. Vicky had explained that it was a belt about his waist with a rod at the back with something rather like a bridle attached to this. Into this the poor little boy’s head was fixed. It was very complicated. But of course the decision to operate was unthinkable unless it was going to be a complete success. The doctors had some notion of strengthening muscles and bringing the arm back into use. Very depressing but now Vicky was in Scotland with the children and little Wilhelm was spared the humiliation of his horrid machine. It seemed much better to accept the fact that his arm would never be right and do the best to disguise it. No wonder the poor child liked to assert himself now and then. He must feel this deeply.

  It was very pleasant to have talks with Vicky. Somehow she could talk more freely to her eldest daughter than to the others. Vicky was such a woman of the world. Alice for all her married state still seemed innocent and unworldly. She could discuss having children, female ailments and feelings with Vicky. Vicky had a wisdom which the others were not old enough or not experienced enough to share; and although she could discuss with Alice Mr Gilbert Scott’s proposal for a magnificent Memorial to be set up in Kensington to dear Albert, to Vicky she could talk of Affie’s affair and his obvious love of the gay life and Bertie’s life with Alix, for the Queen was well aware that Bertie was leading a life of his own in some of the gayer clubs while Alix stayed at home.

  Trouble seemed to be never far off, both in domestic and foreign affairs; and with such a family as hers, the two were often unhappily combined.

  Alice came in to suggest they go for a drive to Clova. ‘It would do you good, Mama,’ said Alice.

  The Queen sighed. ‘It was always one of Beloved Papa’s favourite spots.’

  ‘Grant won’t be able to come with us as he is with Vicky in Abergeldie.’

  ‘My dear child, we can well do without Grant. Remember we have Brown.’

  ‘Oh yes, Mama, I believe you feel safer with him than with any of the others.’

  ‘He’s a good faithful soul.’

  ‘Inclined to forget his place, Mama, at times, don’t you think?’

  ‘Brown never forgets his place, which is to protect me. I can tell you, Alice, that I
would well dispense with the bowing and sycophantic greetings and addresses I get from some people. I, as Beloved Papa did, always prefer sincerity.’

  ‘Well, Brown will accompany us to Clova. I will go and tell Lenchen that you wish to go. What do you think – about half past twelve?’

  ‘That would be very suitable, my love.’

  Dear Alice! she thought. She does not look really well. I don’t think she is very strong. Such a comfort, though. And Louis is rather helpless. It’s very sad he can’t provide a home for Alice. Poor Alice, she had not been so well since her confinement. A very sad time. Dear little Victoria Alberta – the Queen was very pleased with those names – had been born in Windsor Castle in the same bed which the Queen had used in confinements and Alice had actually worn the same shift which her mother used for all her children. It had been such a trying time because dear Alice looking so wan had resembled Beloved Papa when he was on his deathbed; and when Louis had come in and been so tender and loving and embraced dear Alice she had suddenly seen herself and Albert after the birth of one of the children; and it was all very hard to bear.

  She would send for Annie MacDonald and prepare herself for the drive, although she didn’t really need Annie as much as she used to because Brown seemed to have taken charge even of her clothes. Sometimes he would chide her because he considered her cloak too thin. ‘The mist’ll get right through to your bones, woman,’ he would say in his dear blunt way which showed that he was careless of whether he offended her because his main concern was her health. The dear, good, faithful creature! Albert had always been so amused by his rough ways.

  They were ready to depart at twelve, just herself, Alice and Lenchen. The younger ones were doing lessons with Tilla, Miss Hildyard who had been with them for so long and was such a dear good creature.

  Lenchen was fussing about luncheon because they were taking some broth with them and some potatoes ready to boil. There was absolutely no need to fuss. Brown would take care of everything. It would be dark when they came back but Albert had always enjoyed night driving and as he had said with Grant and Brown they were perfectly safe.

  Smith the coachman was driving and Brown was on the box beside him and Willem, Alice’s little Negro boy-servant, was standing up behind.

  How she loved the dear hills and glens where she had walked so often with the Beloved Being; there was something to remind her everywhere. She was telling Alice and Lenchen how she used to take out her book and sketch while Papa went shooting and the children used to ride on their ponies.

  ‘We remember, Mama,’ said Lenchen patiently. ‘We were there, you know.’

  Alice looked gently reproving but none of the children had Alice’s sympathetic ways.

  It was very pleasant to stop at Altnagiuthasach where the efficient Brown warmed the broth and boiled the potatoes. ‘What a long time they take to boil,’ said the Queen to which Brown replied: ‘Ye’ll nae be wanting them half cooked, so have a wee bit of patience.’ At which Alice blenched but the Queen just smiled at another manifestation of Brown’s stalwart protection.

  How good the broth and potatoes tasted when they were ready. ‘Worth waiting for,’ said Brown with reproach in his voice for his impatient mistress.

  ‘Well worth waiting for,’ agreed the Queen, for in spite of her sorrow she could always enjoy her food. She recalled happy picnics of the past when Dear Papa had been so hungry and declared that nothing tasted as good as John Brown’s broth and boiled potatoes eaten on the moors.

  With great efficiency Brown had the plates and dishes washed in a burn and stored away and soon they were on their way again. And there were the snow-tipped Clova Hills, breathtakingly beautiful.

  ‘I hope you girls appreciate this wild beauty. Beloved Papa was especially fond of it.’

  Her daughters assured her that Clova was one of their favourite spots too. But, said Alice, wasn’t it time that they started to return? They would be very late as it was and there had been one or two flurries of snow.

  The Queen smiled at the kilted figure of her faithful Highlander. All would be well, she assured her daughter.

  But this was not quite true. It had grown dark and Brown had lighted the lamps; and as they drove along, the carriage gave a lurch and she realised they were off the road. She could hear Brown’s remonstrating with Smith, who had evidently taken a wrong turning. Brown descended and taking a lantern, walked ahead of the carriage holding the light high.

  ‘Whatever has happened to Smith?’ cried Alice. ‘He should be able to see the road very well.’

  Poor Smith, thought the Queen, he was getting old. He had been driving them for thirty years. He really must be persuaded that he was too old for the task. A fine discovery to make at nightfall on one of the roads through the Highlands! She was thankful that Brown was with them.

  Suddenly the carriage tilted to one side.

  Alice took the Queen’s hand and held it firmly. ‘I think … we’re upsetting,’ she cried.

  She was right. At that moment the carriage had overturned; the Queen had been tipped out and was lying face down on the ground. The horses were down and Lenchen cried out in terror.

  Brown was bending over the Queen.

  ‘The Lord have mercy on us!’ he cried. He lifted the Queen in his arms. ‘Are you all right, woman?’ he asked.

  ‘I … I think so,’ said the Queen.

  ‘Lord be praised for that,’ he said and the sincerity in his voice brought tears to the Queen’s eyes.

  ‘See to the Princesses,’ she said.

  ‘All in good time,’ replied Brown.

  Alice and Lenchen, who were not hurt, very soon were helped to their feet. Alice’s clothes were torn and dirty and Lenchen threw herself at her mother begging to be told that no harm had come to her.

  The Queen assured her daughters that she was all right but she could feel that her face was sore, and touching it carefully realised that it was swollen; her right thumb was swelling rapidly and was very painful but as no good purpose could be served at this stage by mentioning it, she said nothing.

  Smith seemed very confused and naturally Brown took charge of the situation.

  ‘It’s good luck I’m with ye,’ he muttered and said he wanted someone to hold the lamp while he cut the traces. Poor Smith was distraught and useless so Alice held the lantern and very soon the efficient Brown had the horses up. He was relieved, he said, that they were not hurt and there was only one thing to do. He was going to send Smith off for another carriage and he was staying with them to make sure no harm befell them.

  ‘Dear good Brown,’ murmured the Queen.

  They sat as best they could in the shelter of the overturned carriage and Brown brought a little claret for them. Brown could always be relied upon to produce wine and spirits when they were needed.

  ‘Mama, how long will it take for them to bring another carriage?’ asked Lenchen.

  ‘I don’t know, my love, but as Beloved Papa always said we must make the best of any situations in which we find ourselves.’

  Brown drank liberally of the claret which shocked Alice but the Queen thought he thoroughly deserved any reward, for what would have happened without him she could not imagine.

  ‘Smith is too old to drive us,’ said the Queen. ‘This is the last time he shall do so. We should have realised it before. These good faithful servants go on and we are inclined to forget that they become too old for service.’

  ‘I’ll not have him drive you again,’ murmured Brown.

  The Queen smiled and began to talk of how the Prince had always enjoyed drives in the Highlands, particularly at night when he said they became even more like the Thuringenwald.

  ‘I suppose because you couldn’t see so clearly,’ said Lenchen, which made the Queen frown.

  ‘Eh, now listen,’ said Brown suddenly when the Queen was talking of how Papa had always presented her with the first sprig of heather he picked each year.

  ‘Sound of horses,’ said Brown.
‘Someone’s coming this way.’

  To the delight of the party it turned out to be Kennedy, another of the grooms who, fearing that some accident had happened since they were so long in returning to the Castle, had come out with the ponies to look for them.

  How very thoughtful! said the Queen. Albert had always said what a good servant Kennedy was and Albert as usual was right.

  So they were able to leave at once and only when they arrived at Balmoral did the Queen see how bruised her face was. There was something very wrong with her thumb too.

  She was so exhausted that she wished to retire at once to her room and ordered that a little soup and fish be sent to her.

  She was soon fast asleep but in the morning realised that she had a rather black eye and her thumb really felt as though it were out of joint.

  * * *

  There was a great deal of fuss about the accident. Vicky and Fritz came over to Balmoral to inquire how the party had survived. The Queen’s bruises were greeted with horror and the doctors were attending to her thumb, which they feared had been put out of joint.

  The Queen brushed it all aside and when she returned to London Lord Palmerston took her to task for endangering her safety by driving at night through wild country.

  ‘My dear Lord Palmerston,’ she said, ‘I have good and trusty servants. I can rely on them absolutely.’

  ‘Begging Your Majesty’s pardon, I must point out that they did not prevent the overturn of your carriage.’

  ‘Accidents will always happen, but there was no alarm whatsoever. John Brown behaved with absolute calm and efficiency. I do assure you, Lord Palmerston, that I feel safer driving through the Highland lanes by night than I have sometimes felt on Constitution Hill in broad daylight.’