The Widow of Windsor

by Виктория Холт

  Lord Granville grasped the point.

  ‘Yet if we have lost one Emperor we have gained another.’

  ‘Power-crazy Germans,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘And in place of a monarchy across the Channel we have a republic. Republics are catching. As I said, a few years ago the monarchy had a certain popularity. That has been lost over the last few years. The Queen’s insistence on remaining in seclusion is in a large part responsible. The scandal about her relations with John Brown another. She is defying the people. They want her to appear in public. They want a Queen to be a Queen. The Prince of Wales compensated in some respect, but since this disastrous Mordaunt affair, his popularity has waned a great deal. He is often hissed at when once he was cheered. Pity is expressed for the Princess because of the way in which her husband treats her. The Queen is never seen and the people have no respect for the Prince of Wales. That is the sad state of affairs and so we have a royalty question.’

  Lord Granville could only agree with everything the Prime Minister said. If the Queen would rouse herself a great deal of good could be done.

  But the Queen refused to rouse herself. She could only find consolation in the Highlands with John Brown in attendance. She arrived at Balmoral for the autumn holiday and while she was there a very interesting event took place.

  The hills were looking particularly beautiful and there was so much to remind her of the old days when she and Albert had loved to walk across this very grass. The Lord Chancellor, Lord Hatherley, was with them; he was very solemn and she did wish he would not reproach her about her seclusion, though very mildly of course which was as much as he dared to: but Beatrice was there and she was always pleasant company. On this occasion Louise had gone for a walk with the Marquis of Lorne and some other friends so there were two parties.

  The Queen talked to Lord Hatherley about the manner in which Albert had described the countryside and how he had revelled in it, seeing a resemblance to his native forests and mountains. It was such a pity they had cut down so many of the trees. Why did people have to spoil everything? she demanded.

  Lord Hatherley murmured that the timber would no doubt be put to very good use. The Queen said that she would like to call at the little inn Brown talked so much about. He had worked there once for a while before coming into the royal service.

  They called at the inn in which the Queen was very interested and kept smiling to herself, imagining Brown in such a place.

  It was when they returned to Glassalt Shiel that the significance of the day became apparent. Louise came to her room and before the dear child spoke she knew.

  ‘My dear child, you look very happy,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Mama, I am. Lorne has proposed and I have accepted him.’ Louise looked anxiously at her mother. ‘I knew you would approve.’

  ‘I shall pray that you will be happy, my child.’

  ‘I told Lorne that you would not withhold your consent.’

  The Queen sighed. ‘I would never wish my dear children anything but their happiness. Of course I am going to miss you. I am losing all my children, one by one.’

  ‘We are not lost, Mama.’

  ‘But it seems that you grow away after marriage. Think! Beatrice is the only daughter I have left now and I suppose she will soon be thinking of leaving me.’

  ‘At least, Mama, I shall not leave the country.’

  ‘That is a great comfort to me, my dearest child. And I am fond of Lorne. He is a good young man. This will be the first time that a Sovereign of this country gives consent for a royal Princess to marry outside royalty since the days of Henry VIII when he allowed his sister Mary to marry the Duke of Suffolk.’

  ‘I know, Mama, and so does Lorne. We appreciate your goodness and we shall endeavour to show our gratitude all through our lives.’

  ‘My dearest, all I shall want is to be shown that you are happy.’

  They embraced fondly and the Queen said how sad it was that Dearest Papa was not here to see his daughter’s happiness.

  * * *

  There was no point in delaying the marriage and six months later Louise and the Marquis of Lorne, heir to the Duke of Argyll, were married in St George’s Chapel, Windsor. Giving way a little to pressure the Queen allowed the marriage to be celebrated with a certain amount of pomp and although she would not wear a dress of any other colour than black she did make a concession by ornamenting it with glittering jet and wearing diamonds and rubies.

  So Louise became the future Duchess of Argyll.

  Napoleon had now escaped to England and had joined the Empress and his son at Chislehurst. The Queen at once visited them there and wept with them for the loss of their position and assured them that as long as they needed a refuge it was theirs in England.

  Almost immediately after Louise’s marriage Alix gave birth to another child. This time things did not go well. The child was weak and it was thought wise hastily to christen him. He was given the names Alexander John Charles Albert and the next day he died.

  Alix was heart-broken. Life seemed to be going wrong for her. She had not yet recovered from the shock the Mordaunt case had given her, though often she asked herself why she should have been so distressed because something she had always known existed was brought out into the open.

  Bertie was as kind and charming as he knew well how to be. They had lost little Alexander, he reminded her, but they had their two boys and three little girls and no one could say that was not a fine family. She tried to be comforted. After all, she had a fine family; and whatever his faults Bertie was always kind to her.

  She planned a memorial window to the child to be placed in Sandringham church depicting Christ blessing the children.

  The people, however, were determined to be dissatisfied. So the Princess had lost her baby. It was small wonder, was the verdict, when it was considered what anxieties she must suffer. Nobody was going to believe in the Prince’s innocence over the Mordaunt case. Why was he only cross-examined by the defending counsel? If Sergeant Ballantine had got at him it would have been a very different story. There was a special law of course for royalty.

  Parliament were asking for an annuity for Prince Arthur and the radical party had so agitated against it that in the division fifty-four votes were cast against it.

  It was quite obvious, said Mr Gladstone, that the royalty question was assuming alarming proportions. There was a wave of feeling against the monarchy and the fact that a Republic had so recently replaced a monarchy across the Channel was a pointer.

  The Queen must emerge from her seclusion for this was at the root of the matter.

  It was said that when she was in Scotland she took long drives; she walked; she even climbed hills; she visited the local people when they were sick and took great interest in the life of the neighbourhood; she even danced reels with her Highland servants; but continually she complained of ill health which prevented her from doing her duties in London.

  ‘She must return,’ said Mr Gladstone.

  Was she to have no peace? she demanded. Overwork and anxieties killed that Noble Being, the Prince Consort. She was sure some of her ministers and her subjects would like to see her worn out in the same way.

  Dr Jenner – that good faithful man – supported her. He assured Mr Gladstone that the Queen was in no position to take on a strenuous public life. At that time she was badly stung by a wasp and this seemed to set off a train of ailments. She was distracted by her neuralgia; and an abscess had developed in her arm. It was years since she had felt so ill – not since long ago before her accession to the throne when she had had typhoid fever.

  The trouble was that having pleaded her inability to face the public because of her weak physical condition, now she was really ill people did not believe it. Reynolds’ Newspaper took up the attack with fervour. After commenting on the gambling habits of the Prince of Wales with reference to his amorous adventures, it turned on the Queen. A pamphlet was produced called What Does She Do With It? which referred to the Qu
een’s income. What did she do with all the money that was bestowed on her? How did she spend it, cooped up in Balmoral or Osborne, living her cosy quiet life with Mr John Brown in attendance?

  Everyone was reading What Does She Do With It? and again Mr Gladstone stressed the danger of the situation. Vicky wrote that dear Mama must see what was happening and take the lesson of France to heart.

  ‘Do none of them understand that I am ill?’ cried the Queen. If only Mr Disraeli had been Prime Minister instead of that difficult Mr Gladstone! As it was there was no one who could comfort her but John Brown who told her to stop bothering her head about them and come for a nice little drive up to the Spital of Glenshee and he’d take some cold chicken and boil some potatoes and they’d have a drop of whisky with it, or claret if she preferred.

  There were days when she was so ill that she could not walk without pain; then John Brown would lift her as easily as though she were a baby and carry her from her bed to her couch.

  ‘How strong you are, Brown!’ she would murmur.

  ‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘I manage. Ye’re still an armful, woman, but not what ye was.’

  Indeed she had lost nearly two stone in weight. When those unfeeling people saw her they would realise how ill she had been and that this was no pretence.

  But at least she had Brown to comfort her.

  * * *

  Alfred came up to Balmoral to see her. What a trial Alfred was! He was just as wild as Bertie but lacked Bertie’s charm. He began to make trouble as soon as he arrived and he and Brown were soon on bad terms. Brown’s habit of acting as a sort of guardian of her apartments irritated her family. Bertie had felt the same. They resented the fact that they, the Queen’s sons, had more or less to ask Brown’s permission to see the Queen.

  ‘Mama,’ Alfred said, ‘do you think it wise to allow Brown so many liberties?’

  ‘My dear Alfred,’ she replied, ‘pray do not presume to tell me how to manage my household. If you would only turn your attention to your own affairs they might be managed a good deal more satisfactorily than they are at present.’

  This was a reference to one or two scrapes Alfred had got into with women. Alfred thought that was beside the point. Dalliance with women was a noble enough occupation; treating servants as friends closer than one’s own flesh and blood was not. But although it was easy to grumble about these matters in the Queen’s absence, it was not possible to do so in her formidable presence.

  Vicky arrived with her children and she too was horrified by the ascendancy of John Brown.

  Trouble came to a head when a band of musicians who had been playing for the servants to dance Highland reels irritated Alfred who ordered the music to stop. Brown wanted to know why the musicians had stopped playing and was told by the servants that the Duke of Edinburgh had ordered it.

  ‘It’s nae his place,’ declared Brown and commanded the musicians to start up again.

  Alfred, discovering that his order had been countermanded by Brown, was furious. He demanded an apology from Brown who refused to give it.

  Alfred stormed into his mother’s apartments. This was intolerable, he told her. He had been insulted by a servant.

  The Queen listened and said: ‘Brown was in charge of the servants’ dancing. You should not have interfered.’

  ‘This is monstrous,’ cried Alfred.

  ‘Are you telling me that I don’t know how to manage my household?’

  ‘Certainly not, Mama, but this man Brown gives himself such airs. I think he’s drunk … with either spirits or power. His position here is invidious.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Alfred? Brown suits me very well and brings more comfort into my life than a number of other people.’

  ‘No man on board my ship would be allowed to behave as he does.’

  ‘Pray remember,’ said the Queen, ‘that this is not a ship but a royal residence and you are not the captain of it, but I happen to be the Queen.’

  Alfred went off grumbling.

  Young Wilhelm behaved very badly, making a scene because he was expected to sit in a back seat in the pony carriage bowing to all the people as he passed as though he were their sovereign. He really was becoming very arrogant and he had been extremely rude to Brown who made no effort to hide his dislike of the boy.

  One day Vicky’s daughter Charlotte was with the Queen when Brown came in and the Queen told the child to say good morning to him.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Charlotte with a curt nod.

  ‘That won’t do,’ said the Queen. ‘Brown expects you to shake hands with him.’

  ‘I can’t do that, Grandmama.’

  ‘What do you mean, child? You can’t do that!’

  ‘Mama says I must not be too familiar with the servants.’

  The Queen grew pale with anger.

  ‘Dinna fash yersel’, woman,’ said Brown. ‘And don’t blame the wee lass. It’s the way they’ve brought her up.’

  The Queen sent for her daughter.

  ‘I am astounded,’ she told her. ‘Charlotte has just behaved in a shameful manner.’

  ‘But what on earth has the child done, Mama?’ asked Vicky.

  ‘I have rarely been so ashamed … that a granddaughter of mine could have behaved in such an arrogant, ill-mannered way. She should be whipped and sent to her room and I should insist on this being done if I did not know that she is not to blame. I cannot understand how you young people can expect your children to behave like ladies and gentlemen when I consider the way in which they are brought up. If Dearest Papa were alive he would be so distressed.’

  ‘But, Mama, I cannot understand what she has done to make you so angry.’

  ‘She refused to shake hands with Brown … to his face. She said you had forbidden her to be too familiar with servants.’

  ‘But, Mama, I have forbidden her and Brown is a servant, and she was absolutely right to refuse.’

  ‘Papa and I brought up you children to show tact and charm to everyone … the highest and the lowest. And I would have you know that I told her to shake hands and she disobeyed me. Did you bring her up to disobey her grandmother and the Queen?’

  ‘Of course not, Mama.’

  ‘Well, that is what she did.’

  ‘The children have always been made aware of your position, Mama, but I and Fritz have always been very anxious to instil in them not to be familiar with servants. That can be very dangerous.’

  ‘Brown is not an ordinary servant.’

  ‘We know that well, Mama.’

  ‘And I will not have him treated as such. During my illness he has been my great comfort. I get precious little from some of you children.’

  ‘Poor Charlotte,’ went on Vicky. ‘It is a little difficult for her, you know. You would not have her mixing with the servants, I’m sure; and yet she is supposed to treat Brown as though he is … the Prime Minister at least.’

  ‘That is a ridiculous statement. Brown has never been treated as the Prime Minister. Brown is a very good friend. Papa noticed him and singled him out for special service.’

  ‘For service, yes,’ said Vicky.

  ‘And very good service he gives.’

  ‘We none of us have doubted that, Mama, but you must be aware that there is a good deal of comment concerning Brown’s position in your household and surely in view of the present unrest everywhere even you must be aware that this is not a good thing.’

  ‘Even I? Are you suggesting that I am less aware of what is going on than others!’

  ‘You do shut yourself away, Mama, and you must admit the people are getting very restive and there is a certain uneasiness. Mr Gladstone …’

  ‘Pray don’t talk to me about that man.’

  ‘He is your Prime Minister, Mama.’

  ‘It was never my wish that he should be.’

  ‘But it is the people’s wish.’

  The Queen was angry. How dared her daughter presume to dictate to her! This was intolerable. She began to spea
k; she talked of the lack of sympathy she received from her children. Alfred and Vicky should have been a comfort to her and what happened? They came down and tried to disturb her household. Since Dearest Papa had died where could she turn for comfort? Because she had a good servant they would like to take him away from her. She had had a sympathetic Prime Minister and in a few months time he was replaced by Mr Gladstone. She felt ill and lonely. Her grandchildren disobeyed her; her children conspired to disrupt her household. She would be rather glad to be lying in the mausoleum at Frogmore beside the only one who had ever really cared for her.

  Vicky said: ‘Mama, pray do not distress yourself so …’

  ‘Pray refrain from giving me your unwanted advice. I wish to be alone.’

  ‘Mama …’

  The Queen regarded her daughter stonily. ‘Surely you heard me express my wish?’

  ‘Yes, Mama,’ said Vicky with resignation.

  ‘And send Brown. I will take a little whisky. And then I shall rest.’

  There was no way of warning Mama, thought Vicky. This absurd situation with Brown was growing worse rather than improving. He seemed now to be more important than the Queen’s own family.

  But there was nothing to be done. That was the way the Queen wanted it and the Queen’s words were law, at least in the family.

  * * *

  Was there no end to trouble? What Does She Do With It? was being circulated all over the place. Royal popularity was at its lowest when one of the more radical members of Parliament, Sir Charles Dilke, made a speech which was a direct attack on the Queen. She failed in her duty, he pointed out; she lived in seclusion at Windsor, Balmoral or Osborne; she only appeared in public at times when she wanted Parliament to vote money for her family; she had a vast income and on what did she spend it? Was she hoarding it? Wasn’t it meant to be spent on ceremonies and State occasions? What was the point of having a Queen who never appeared in public? It would be much less expensive and more to the point to replace royalty by a republic.