The Summer Queen

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘But that’s only eight weeks away!’ she had said in panic to her mother.

  Her mother, for whom the wedding couldn’t come soon enough, had gleefully replied that there was no time to be lost and they must immediately set about organizing her wedding gown and buying her trousseau.

  So much had to be crammed into the eight weeks of their engagement that there was no time for her to be alone with Georgie – something May sensed Georgie was grateful for, and which only added to her pre-wedding nerves.

  Georgie, too, was suffering from pre-wedding nerves and at White Lodge, with the wedding only days away, he and her mother had a most undignified falling-out. Princess Mary Adelaide’s chatty exuberance and her constant interference with everything to do with the wedding had long been a source of intense irritation to Georgie and suddenly, when she was happily in full flow, his face flooded red and he shouted that he was tired of listening to her.

  May’s poor mother collapsed into a chair with shock. May was stupefied with horror. And Georgie speedily left the house.

  A full day passed without an apology from him and May knew it was up to her to break the deadlock, if her wedding day wasn’t to be one on which her mother and her bridegroom were not on speaking terms. So she wrote conciliatorily, and then a little untruthfully:

  Dearest Georgie,

  Mama has already quite forgotten your little spat of the other day. I quite sympathize with your outburst of temper. Mama can be very irritating, and at the moment things annoy us which we would not normally bother about. It is a very stressful period, and I am looking forward to the time after the wedding when we will be alone together.

  She paused and then quickly, before she lost her nerve, she added:

  Forgive me for being so shy with you. I am trying hard not to be, for it is too silly for us to be uncomfortable together, when we are so soon to begin lovingly spending our lives together.

  Believe me when I say this little note comes with all my heart, May x

  Ill at ease expressing his emotions verbally, Georgie much preferred putting his feelings on paper. Ever since he had been in his teens, his mother’s deafness had been so profound that writing to her had always been the way he expressed his love for her; and it was to be the way, all through their marriage, that he would most comfortably express his feelings for May. He wrote back to her now:

  Thank God that we are able to understand each other so well. I will try in the future to have patience with your mother, who I know means well. I, too, suffer from being shy, and my shyness may make me appear cold and indifferent, and for that I can only apologize.

  Your husband-to-be, Georgie

  The remaining days until the wedding were taken up with receiving deputations of ladies from towns all over England, presenting their wedding gifts; sitting to have her portrait painted – wishing it was being painted by Thaddeus; attending a dinner for two hundred, in her own and Georgie’s honour, at Marlborough House; going to command performances at the Royal Opera House and the Theatre Royal; making the obligatory trip to Frogmore to receive Prince Albert’s posthumous blessing; and, most importantly, having fittings for her wedding gown and trousseau.

  The silk gown made for her wedding to Eddy had been embroidered with mayflowers. The wasp-waisted, off-the-shoulder, cloth-of-silver wedding gown now being made for her was lavishly embroidered with roses and shamrocks. With it she would wear a wreath of orange blossom intertwined with myrtle and her mother’s wedding veil, secured with a Rose of York diamond diadem, a present to her from the Queen.

  All through the latter part of June and the beginning of July, London had sweltered in a heatwave, and May’s wedding morning dawned bright and clear, with the same promise of heat in the air.

  At eleven-thirty Georgie’s mother and all the royal wedding guests left for St James’s Palace and the Chapel Royal in open landaus, through streets crammed with cheering, flag-waving crowds. Fifteen minutes later, Georgie left the palace accompanied by his father, Next, in the state Glass Coach and to thunderous ovations, came the Queen accompanied by Princess Mary Adelaide. The Queen, dressed in black silk, wore the Riband of the Garter across her ample chest, and the diamond coronet she had worn at her own wedding was perched on top of her wispy, snow-white hair.

  With rising tension, May watched every departure from a window of Buckingham Palace and then, accompanied by her father and Dolly, hurried downstairs to where her own carriage was waiting.

  The route to the Chapel Royal took them up Constitution Hill, through Piccadilly and along St James’s Street, and on every inch of the way she was greeted with the same kind of thunderous ovation that the Queen had met with.

  At the Chapel Royal her bridesmaids were waiting for her. As they fell in behind her, the organist began to play the ‘Wedding March’, and as she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm – hardly able to believe how her life was about to change – Georgie, handsome in naval uniform, looked towards her and made her a courtly bow.

  Her mother cried when, four hours later and after the wedding breakfast, it was time for May and Georgie to leave for Liverpool Street station, where the train to Sandringham, at which they were to spend their honeymoon, was waiting for them.

  ‘Life is going to be so quiet at White Lodge without you, May.’ The words came from the bottom of Princess Mary Adelaide’s heart. ‘What on earth am I going to find to chat about, with only your papa for company?’

  It was a question that, with the best will in the world, May had no answer for.

  Liverpool Street station was thronged with relatives wanting to wave them on their way, and it was only when the train at last steamed out of the station that May was able to take off her hat trimmed with ostrich plumes and white rosebuds and collapse into one of the royal carriage’s deeply comfortable armchairs.

  ‘Thank God we don’t have to smile any more,’ Georgie said devoutly. ‘You don’t mind if I close my eyes and have a snooze, do you, May? It never occurred to me that getting married would be so exhausting.’

  She didn’t mind. She, too, was in dire need of a little peace and quiet. Until now she had refused to allow herself to think of anything other than the nervous tension of the ceremonial procession from Buckingham Palace and the wedding service. Now that those two hurdles were behind her, she had no excuse not to face what she had always known would be her biggest hurdle – Sandringham.

  It was still so linked to memories of Eddy’s agonizing death that it was the last place on earth she would have chosen for their honeymoon. She had hoped for Florence, or indeed anywhere that didn’t have such painful memories. Instead, Georgie had chosen for them to spend their honeymoon at York Cottage on the Sandringham estate. Even worse, York Cottage, only a hundred yards from the big house, was where they were to make their home.

  She bit her lip, knowing she had to forget the unhappy memories associated with Sandringham and think instead of how she and Georgie were on the threshold of making lots of new, happy memories there.

  As the train steamed north-east out of London, May’s thoughts turned to how the two of them were going to manage the coming night. Would Georgie know what to do? Had he had any previous experience?

  She certainly hadn’t, but her mother, a stranger to embarrassment, had told her what to expect.

  ‘The first time isn’t comfortable,’ she had said frankly, when she had finished explaining the mechanics of what would take place, ‘but you’ll get used to it. You can get used to anything, given time. And Georgie is a gentleman,’ she had added reassuringly. ‘And that always helps.’

  That evening in York Cottage they had a game of bezique and then several games of Halma. At last, as the drawing-room clock chimed ten o’clock, Georgie said, putting the Halma pieces back into their box and not meeting her eye, ‘It’s time to turn in, I think, May. It’s been a long day.’

  They walked up the stairs together and then, in their separate dressing rooms, changed into their nightclothes. Her nigh
tdress, made of white silk lavishly embellished with French lace, demurely long-sleeved and high at the throat, fell reassuringly all the way down to her ankles. Dismissing her maid, she gave a last look in the mirror and, with her heart pounding, entered the lamplit bedroom.

  A nightshirted George was sitting up in bed, waiting for her. ‘You look very pretty, May,’ he said, sounding as nervous as she felt, as she got into bed beside him. ‘I like you with your hair unbraided.’

  She lay down an inch or two away from him.

  Georgie extinguished the lamp.

  Several minutes went by and, in the deep darkness, she began to wonder if he had gone to sleep. Finally he said hoarsely, ‘I’m going to have to lift the hem of your nightdress, May.’

  Her mother had told her that when the moment came, it would help if she focused her mind on something else. She began mentally listing all the things that needed doing to York Cottage, if it was ever to be a comfortable home for the two of them. Georgie, whose only previous sexual experience had been with a prostitute in West Wickham to whom Eddy had kindly introduced him, proceeded to do what he always did. He did his best.

  Within weeks May was pregnant.

  ‘Let’s hope it will be a boy,’ Georgie said, cracking open a bottle of champagne. ‘If it is, he will be Edward Albert Christian George Andrew Patrick David. Edward after Papa. Albert because Granny Queen will insist on it. Christian after Motherdear’s papa. George after myself. And Andrew Patrick David after the three patron saints of Scotland, Ireland and Wales.’

  May tightened her lips. Her own father’s name was conspicuously absent and she knew why. Francis was quite simply not an English-enough-sounding name. There and then she decided that, if the baby was a boy, she would at least ensure that within the family he would be known by the name she liked best of the seven. He would be David.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  APRIL 1894, COBURG

  Alicky was at the Ehrenburg Palace in readiness for her brother Ernie’s marriage to Ducky Edinburgh, although whether she was still Ducky Edinburgh, now that her father had succeeded a paternal uncle as the ruler of Coburg, she didn’t know and didn’t care.

  And although I have always liked Ducky, I think our relationship might become difficult, once she moves into the Ducal Palace and takes over all the responsibilities I’ve taken care of for so long.

  Alicky was in the middle of a letter to May:

  The trouble with Ducky is that as well as being lively – something I truthfully don’t mind – she is also, like her mama, assertive and bossy, and those are traits I do mind, and I know that living under the same roof as her is not going to be easy. As you are in a similar position with your mama-in-law, I know you will understand. How Georgie can bear living in such close proximity to Sandringham House – for a five-minute walk away on the Sandringham estate is no distance at all – I can’t imagine, and to have Aunt Alix calling in on the two of you without any warning, and even at breakfast time, would tax anyone’s patience.

  On a much different note, it is very nice seeing so many members of the family again, and all at the same time. Vicky, Irène and Ella and their husbands have already arrived in Coburg, and I cannot remember the last time we have all been together in such a way. Vicky and Louis have brought all three of their children with them, and Irène and Heinrich have brought Waldemar with them. He is five now, but as he has inherited the family blood disease, they cannot let him run about and be boisterous like other boys of his age. Ella and Sergei arrived yesterday, as did Vladimir and Paul, Sergei’s Grand Duke brothers, and best of all – and oh, with what mixed feelings I write this – Nicky is due to arrive by train this afternoon. One part of my heart is singing with joy at the very thought of being with him again, while the other half is utterly broken at the knowledge that my Lutheran faith means I can never truly be his.

  I do so, so, so wish that you had been able to travel and be here with me over the next week when Nicky is here, but fully understand that as your happy event is due in only a few weeks, it is utterly impossible for you to do so. Willy is going to be here and doubtless will have a handful of his sons with him. I don’t know if Dona will also be attending the wedding, for if Willy can attend things without her, he generally does so.

  And before I forget, Granny Queen and Uncle Bertie are expected at any moment. Coburg is such a tiny little duchy, and it has quite lost its head at the thought of Granny Queen gracing it with her presence. But of course, as Grandpa Albert was raised in Coburg, her attendance has never been in any doubt.

  There came the sound of horse-drawn carriages entering the palace’s cobbled courtyard and many feet running along corridors and down the stairs.

  Putting her pen down, Alicky ran to the window in the hope that the carriages signalled her grandmother’s arrival. She was just in time to see Missy step down from the leading carriage and, with Nando a few steps behind her, run into the arms of her loving mama.

  It was time, as a sister of the groom, to socialize with her cousin and soon-to-be sister-in-law, and even though doing so was always torture for her, she had never found it difficult with Missy. Neither, according to Ernie, had many other people, including one of Nando’s equerries, and an officer in his uncle, King Carol’s, Imperial Guard.

  In order to welcome Russia’s Tsesarevich to Coburg, the city’s small railway station was thick with bunting, streamers and white-blue-and-red Russian flags, the cheering populace kept at a distance by barriers and policemen. Two students were holding a giant home-made banner aloft on which was written WELCOME TO COBURG TSESAREVICH NICHOLAS. A military band was in place, ready to strike up the second Nicky and his entourage stepped from their imperial train, while a guard of honour was in place to escort him.

  Alicky wasn’t alone on the platform waiting to greet him, for the parents of the bride, her Uncle Affie and Aunt Marie were with her, as were many wedding guests who had arrived in the tiny principality earlier in the week.

  As the train steamed to a halt, Alicky was oblivious to everyone standing around her. It was five years since they had said goodbye to each other in St Petersburg, and the world had narrowed down to just one person: Nicky.

  He stepped from the train looking splendid in the full-dress uniform of the Imperial Hussars and, as the band struck rousingly into the Russian national anthem, his eyes flew to hers, and Alicky’s chest felt so tight she thought it was going to burst.

  There was no chance of private words together, for first Affie and Marie warmly welcomed Nicky, and then everyone else who had come to the station greeted him. The formalities took an age, but it didn’t matter. From the moment their eyes had met, they had both known instantly that nothing about their feelings for each other had changed.

  All that day and evening, surrounded by extended family, there was no chance for them to be alone together, and that night – the night of Nicky’s arrival – the wedding party went en masse to an operetta.

  Being able to have any private time together the next day was just as impossible, as Granny Queen arrived, accompanied by Uncle Bertie and a squadron of British Dragoons. As Alicky was the Queen’s favourite granddaughter, the Queen never let her out of her sight.

  Only on the second day did she and Nicky finally manage to speak together in privacy.

  ‘And what I have been so bursting to tell you, Alicky darling, is that my parents have finally realized that I am never, ever going to marry anyone but you, and I can now propose to you with their full blessing!’ He held both her hands tightly in his. ‘Papa has not been well, and it has reminded him that he cannot live forever, and he wants to see me married and with sons, and the succession to the throne secured before he dies.’

  He went down on one knee before her. ‘And so dearest, darling, most wonderful Alicky, please say this changes your mind about not marrying me, and that you will marry me. Please, my darling, for I cannot face going through life without you. You are my sun, moon and stars. Please say you will marry me
, Alicky.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, Nicky. I cannot.’ Tears of despair rolled down her face, her voice so thick with tears it was barely audible. ‘Truly, I cannot. When I was very young I made contact with my mama at a seance and she asked me never to forget my confirmation vows, and so, you see, I can never deny being a Lutheran. I cannot accept Russian Orthodoxy. It simply isn’t possible, my darling, truly it isn’t.’

  Nothing he could say would change her mind.

  All Alicky said in a whisper, time and time again and with her hands still held tightly in his, was: ‘No, I cannot, Nicky. I cannot.’

  Everyone in the palace was aware of the situation between the two of them, and the main topic of conversation was not Ernie and Ducky’s wedding the next day, but whether or not Alicky would eventually change her mind and agree to marry Nicky.

  ‘It’s totally infuriating,’ Ducky said crossly to Missy. ‘Tomorrow is my day! I’m the bride. I’m supposed to be the centre of attention. And all anyone is talking about is Alicky and Nicky. Do you think she’s holding out on him in order to spoil my wedding day? She doesn’t want me to marry Ernie, I know that. She’s been First Lady of the Duchy for too long to want me displacing her, but I have never, ever been the centre of attention, because I have never been the pretty one – you have always been the pretty one – and now, just when I could expect to be the centre of everyone’s attention for a few days, it’s all Alicky, Alicky, Alicky!’

  Missy rolled her eyes. ‘Goodness, Ducky, don’t let Alicky rattle your cage before the wedding. It’s going to be difficult enough when you are both living beneath the same roof. You’re suffering from pre-wedding nerves, and the only cure is either several glasses of champagne or a long, hard horse-ride. So which is it to be? Personally, I’d opt for champagne.’

  Ducky hadn’t. With less than twenty-four hours to go before she walked down the aisle, she took her favourite stallion out for a long, breakneck gallop. With a stiff breeze stinging her cheeks, she knew she hadn’t been truthful with Missy as to why she was in such a bad-tempered mood. True, it was annoying that when she should have been the centre of everyone’s attention, she wasn’t, and Alicky was, but that wasn’t the reason she was so overwrought. The real reason was that although she liked Ernie an awful lot – and with good reason, for he was terrifically good-looking and great company – she wasn’t head over heels in love with him. In fact, she wasn’t in love with him at all. She was in love with Grand Duke Kyril Vladimirovich Romanov, Nicky’s cousin.