by Jean Plaidy
What should I do without Brown? I wondered.
Each morning he would come unceremoniously to my room with a “What'll ye be wanting today?” as though I were a fractious child whose wish must be consulted to keep me quiet. It always amused me and the sight of him cheered me up.
Just over a week after my fall it was not Brown who came to my room for orders but one of the other servants.
“Where is Brown?” I asked.
“He is unable to wait on Your Majesty this morning.”
Oh, I thought, amused. I supposed he had been a little “bashful” on the previous night.
“Very well,” I said.
I would tease him about it when he appeared.
But Brown did not appear. Later in the morning I sent for him. One of the others came instead.
“His face is swollen, Your Majesty,” I was told.
“Face swollen! What has happened? Has he had a fall or something?”
I had to find out for I could glean nothing from the servant.
“I want to see him,” I said. “Send him to me.”
He came and the sight of him shocked me. His face was indeed red and swollen.
“What on earth has happened, Brown?” I asked. “I dinna ken,” he said shortly. And I could see that he was ill. I told him to go back to bed at once. Then I sent for Dr. Jenner.
When Jenner had examined Brown he came to me and told me that he was suffering from erysipelas.
“Is that dangerous?” I asked.
Dr. Jenner shook his head.
“I want the best attention for him. You yourself, Dr. Jenner, and Dr. Reid.”
“That is hardly necessary, Ma'am …” began Dr. Jenner.
“It is my wish,” I said regally.
Dr. Jenner bowed. There would be gossip, I guessed, because I had ordered the royal physician to attend John Brown. But I did not care. He was of great importance to me.
ANXIOUS AS I was over John Brown, I was delighted to hear that Helen had been safely delivered of a little girl. So Leopold was a father!
I must visit the mother and child at once even though I had to be carried out to the carriage. Alas… not by John Brown.
I found Helen recovering from the birth looking fit and well, but lying on a sofa. Leopold had one of his bleeding bouts and the doctors had warned him to take the utmost care for a while, so he was on another sofa. And because of my indisposition one had been put in for me.
The three of us reclining on sofas made quite an amusing scene.
The child was brought in and admired. Leopold was in the highest spirits; and as for Helen she was very proud of herself. It was a happy occasion but when I went back to Windsor I was greeted by alarming news. John Brown had taken a turn for the worse.
“For the worse!” I cried. “But I thought that from which he was suffering was not very serious.”
“Your Majesty, he does not seem to be able to throw off the illness.”
“But he has twice the strength of an ordinary man!”
“That does not seem to help him, Your Majesty. John Brown is very ill indeed.”
I was deeply disturbed. I went to see him immediately. He looked quite different and he did not recognize me. He was muttering in delirium.
Oh no, I thought, this is too much!
But, alas, what I had begun to fear, happened.
The next morning they came to tell me that John Brown had died in the night.
I COULD NOT believe it. Not another death. People were dying all around me. Was that part of the pattern of getting old? It seemed only a short time before that I had lost my dear friend Lord Beaconsfield. John Brown had been a comfort to me then…and now he had gone.
It was such a blow that it stunned me. I could find no solace anywhere. None of the family mourned with me. They had never liked him and deplored my relationship with him. They did not understand, of course. They had called him one of the servants. He had not been a servant. He was something far closer than that.
I wanted to raise some memorial to him. Sir Henry Ponsonby was very uneasy. He dropped veiled warnings. We did not want to give the Press a field day. No doubt there would be damaging speculations as to my relationship with him if too much attention was paid to his passing.
I did not care. I was tired of the Press and trying to placate a fickle people. They listened to cruel libels and slander; and then when Bertie had nearly died and I might have been assassinated they found they loved us dearly. What was such shifting affection worth?
It was one's friends like Lord Beaconsfield and honest John Brown who mattered.
I had a statue of John Brown set up at Balmoral. I charged Lord Tennyson to write an inscription and he wrote:
Friend more than servant, loyal, truthful, brave,
Self less than duty, even to grave.
I discovered that Brown had kept diaries and thinking what a magnificent job Sir Theodore Martin had made with his Life of the Prince Consort, I asked him to write a life of John Brown. I believe pressure must have been brought to bear on Sir Theodore for he declined on the grounds of his wife's ill health. I guessed that Sir Henry Ponsonby may have had something to do with this. Sir Henry was a dear friend but he had always been uneasy about the scandals concerning John Brown and he did not, I know, want these to be increased, which he believed would be the case if a life of Brown was brought out. But I wanted to show the world what a wonderful person he had been.
As Theodore Martin would not write the book I engaged a Miss Macgregor to edit the diaries with me.
To soothe myself I published an addition to Leaves from a Journal with More Leaves from a Journal of Our Life in the Highland.
With mingling sadness and pleasure I recalled those days with Albert when the children were young. It brought it all back so vividly. I could relive it all, but the sorrow of remembering what was past, was hard to bear.
I had many congratulations, but the family was shocked.
I heard that the old Duchess of Cambridge had said that Leaves was vulgar, such bad English, trivial, and boring.
I never liked the woman!
Even Bertie raised objections.
He thought it should not be generally circulated. “It is all right for those of us in the family circle to read it,” he said, “but not beyond that.” He added, “It is rather private.”
“I think people are interested.”
“I think people are too interested in our doings.”
“There is nothing for me to be ashamed of in mine,” I said aiming a direct shaft at Bertie which went home. I added that Lord Beaconsfield had found Leaves enchanting. Perhaps because he was a writer himself and understood such things. He had often referred to us as fellow authors.
“He was always overeager to flatter. I heard he once said that he believed in flattery for all, but with royalty it had to be laid on with a trowel.”
I smiled. I could well believe the dear man had said that. But he really meant he had admired my book. He understood how one wanted to write as people like Bertie never would. But then when he was a boy he had shunned the pen—and had many a beating for it. No, Bertie could not be expected to understand.
I believe there was a conspiracy to prevent Brown's Life being written and I suspected Sir Henry to be at the root of it; and of course he would have plenty of supporters, including the Prince of Wales.
Sir Henry then said he would consult the Bishop of Ripon, Dr. Cameron Lees of Edinburgh, about the Life of Brown.
“These are men who know about these things, Your Majesty,” he said. He then brought in Lord Rowton. I wondered what Brown would have thought if he could have known about this. Important people were making such a to-do over his simple writings.
Dr. Lees thought it would be desirable to postpone the Life for a while. They called in Randall Davison, the Dean of Windsor, who applauded the decision to postpone; and he ventured the opinion that it would be desirable if no more Leaves were published.
I
was very angry with him. Was the wretched Dean implying that the publication was vulgar and unseemly in my position?
I could not prevent myself showing my anger; and the Dean, realizing how offended I was, sent in his resignation. He said that he had displeased me and was sorry for it; but there was not a word about changing his mind.
It was true that my anger rose quickly; but it did as speedily depart.
I began to think about the Dean. It was wrong that he should resign over such a matter. He had offended me and he knew it. Yet he had spoken what he believed to be the truth. I must bear no grudge for that and in my heart I knew that he was right.
In view of all the scandal attached to my relationship with John Brown, the publication of his journals would only add to that. My life with Albert and the children was private too. I would read my journals; I would recall it all. I must accept the truth, and honor those who gave their opinions to me at the risk of their careers.
I must be wise. No more Leaves then, and the memoirs of my beloved Highland servant must be indefinitely postponed.
IT WAS A year since John Brown had died and I was still mourning. There were memories of him everywhere—especially at Balmoral. Helen was pregnant again and her little Alexandra was still little more than a baby. It was obvious that Helen was going to be fruitful and it was a mercy to know that the dreadful hemophilia was only passed on through the female side to the sons, so Leopold's children would be safe.
Leopold had one of his bouts of illness and the doctors had suggested he go off to the south of France. I heard from Helen that his health was greatly improved there.
On the very anniversary of John Brown's death, the twenty-seventh of March, I received a telegram from Cannes to say that Leopold had fallen and injured his knees. Because on that day I had awoken to a cloud of depression thinking of my Highland servant whom I missed so much, I was filled with apprehension. I had a suspicious feeling about dates. My dearest Albert and Alice had actually both died on the 14th December. It was small wonder that I felt this significance. So strong was my premonition that I thought of leaving for Cannes, but before I could make plans to do so another telegram arrived. Leopold had a fit which had resulted in hemorrhage of the brain. Leopold was dead.
Ever since we had known he was suffering from this fearsome malady we had been expecting this. Many weeks of anxiety I had suffered on Leopold's account. But later I had felt better about him and since his marriage and the birth of his first child I had begun to wonder whether I had been unduly anxious. I had reminded myself that he had so many of those bouts of bleeding but had always recovered from them.
But Death was all round me. I felt there was no escaping from it. I wondered all the time at whom it would point its finger next.
They brought home Leopold's body and it was buried in St. George's Chapel at Windsor.
Two children lost to me as well as my beloved husband!
Three months after Leopold's death, Helen gave birth to a son.
THE POLITICAL SITUATION was worrying; and each month it was brought home to me that Mr. Gladstone's methods were not those that had proved so successful in Lord Beaconsfield's day.
The trouble came from Egypt, which was at that time almost entirely administered by us. The inhabitants of the Sudan were led by a fanatical man called the Mahdi; and they were now menacing the Egyptian frontier. It was the task of the English government to decide whether to put down the rebellion or abandon the Sudan and cut it off from Egypt. The decision to abandon it was naturally taken by Gladstone and his supine supporters. How different it would have been if Lord Beaconsfield had been in command! Gladstone was terrified of what he called Imperialism. Had we been stronger in Egypt, as we should have been under Lord Beaconsfield, the Mahdi would never have risen against us. People like Gladstone with their weak so-called peace-loving policies, were the ones who were responsible for wars. We were drawn into these affrays through our weakness, never through our strength. Lord Palmerston had realized that and what was called his gun-boat policy had triumphed again and again. He believed in sending out a warning before hostilities commenced. Now the garrisons in Sudan must be rescued. The government was naturally dilatory in this, but the public demanded that General Gordon be sent out in order to negotiate with the Mahdi about the release of the beset garrisons.
I was very anxious particularly when Gordon was besieged by the Mahdi's forces in Khartoum. Again and again I warned the government that forces must be sent out to aid Gordon, but the government was afraid of war. I was glad to say that the public was with me, and finally Lord Wolseley was sent out to Gordon's aid. But he arrived too late. Khartoum was stormed and Gordon killed before Wolseley could get there.
I was horrified and so ashamed of my government. I told them I keenly felt the stain left on England. I had a bust made of Gordon and set up in one of the corridors of the castle.
I hoped the government would see the error of its ways. I hoped they would recall Lord Beaconsfield's energy and genius, which they called Imperialism. They did not understand that having attained the territories we must support them and never, never show weakness.
I was deeply concerned about the garrisons in Sudan and bitterly ashamed of our performance there.
The entire mission was a failure and as a result, the Sudan, which should never have been separated from Egypt, lapsed into barbarism.
Oh dear Lord Beaconsfield! I wondered if he was looking down in dismay at what was happening to all the work that he had so zealously done.
BEATRICE WAS THE only one of the children who had not married. She had always been close to me since the days when she had enchanted us all with her quaint observations.
She had changed a great deal from that amusing little girl. She was not like her sisters, being shy and retiring. I knew she dreaded company and she confessed that she never knew what to say to people.
In a way I was glad of this. I am afraid it was rather selfish of me but I could not bear to face the possibility of Beatrice's leaving me.
I had gone to Darmstadt to attend the marriage of my granddaughter Victoria of Hesse to her cousin Louis of Battenburg. Leopold's death was so recent and very much in my mind, and I had undertaken the journey in the hope that in the heart of my family I could forget.
It was a fateful occasion for at the wedding Beatrice met the bridegroom's brother, Henry of Battenburg; and Beatrice and Henry fell in love.
When Beatrice told me of her wish to marry I was overwhelmed with horror.
“Impossible!” I said. “You have just been carried away.”
Beatrice said this was not the case. She and Henry were deeply in love; they had admitted this to each other and above everything else they wanted to marry.
I said she must forget it. I had suffered enough. Lord Beaconsfield had died; John Brown had died; and so had Leopold. Now I was expected to lose her—the last of my children to be with me!
Poor Beatrice, she was heartbroken; but being Beatrice she just bowed her head and looked resigned.
Of course I spent a miserable time. I could not eat; I could not sleep.
To lose Beatrice! No, I could not face it. That would be the last straw. She would forget. She was not meant for marriage. After all, she was now twenty-seven—old enough for a girl to have put all that behind her. She had come so far without contemplating marriage. Why must she think of it now? It was ridiculous. It was absurd.
And yet I could not bear to see my poor Baby so sad.
This would not have happened, I said to myself, but for Leopold's death. Beatrice was so close to her brothers.
We returned to England, poor Beatrice looked wan and tragic.
I thought: I cannot allow this to happen. I cannot be like my poor mad grandfather. I thought of the aunts who had always been of great interest to me when I was young. They had all seemed so strange—half mad some of them—and they had all had such sad lives. Their father had tried to keep them close to him, which was a very selfish t
hing to do.
I could endure it no more.
I said, “Beatrice, you have changed so much.”
She did not deny it.
I sent for Henry of Battenburg.
I said to him, “You know what Beatrice means to me. I find it impossible to do without her. I feel so lonely at times. I have lost so many who were dear to me. Suppose you were to make your home in England? Would that be possible? You could marry Beatrice and I could still have her with me.”
The joy in his face made me so happy.
I sent for Beatrice.
I said, “Henry is going to live in England. I shall not lose you after all, dearest child…”
We embraced; we laughed; it was wonderful to see my dearest child so happy. It was a long time since I had felt so contented.
It was quite a simple wedding. I called it a “village wedding”; but it was an extremely happy one; and I was delighted to see my child so happy with her Henry and he with her.
POLITICAL STORMS WERE rising at the time of Beatrice's wedding.
Gladstone's government was in difficulties—at which I was not surprised. I was not the only one who was disgusted by the weakness of his Egyptian policy. The country was ashamed, and the budget proposals were defeated, which meant Gladstone's resignation.
I offered him an earldom, hoping this would see the back of him as far as I was concerned; but he declined it.
I was delighted to invite Lord Salisbury, as leader of the Conservative Party, to come and see me, but he was not very eager to form a ministry since he was in the Lords and the task, he thought, should fall to Sir Stafford Northcote who was the leader of the party in the Commons. He really wanted to be in the Foreign Office, but he at last agreed that if he could combine the offices of Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister, and could get, in some measure the support of Gladstone during the few months which remained before Parliament was dissolved, he would do his best to form his ministry.
I must say that Gladstone was not very accommodating but at length Lord Salisbury agreed.