The Queen's Husband (34 page)

The Queen was now getting so heavy that her thoughts were largely taken up with her approaching confinement. Lord Melbourne wrote almost as frequently as he had in the past; he called often and so she did not miss him as she had feared she would. Albert admired the new Prime Minister and it was wonderful how he was able to ease the situation between Peel and the Queen. (‘Although,’ she often said, ‘I shall
never
like him; and as for his ever taking the place of dear Lord Melbourne that is quite impossible.’) Lehzen fussed a good deal and was always insisting that she rest and should not be disturbed. She even tried to get Albert out of the bedroom, but Albert would not accept this.

Victoria was less irritable and not nearly so nervous as she had been before the birth of the Princess Royal. That young lady was however giving them cause for anxiety. Pussy would not eat; and she was always crying. Sir James Clark had said she could not take rich foods and put her on ass’s milk and chicken broth. Albert said he thought this was not enough for the child and Lehzen insisted that if these were the doctor’s orders they must be followed.

‘Certainly they must,’ said the Queen. It was, as Lehzen had said, Pussy’s teeth which were coming through which made her peevish. It was the same with all children.

And on the 9th of November the Queen’s labour began; she had arranged with Albert that ministers and dignitaries should not be told until the birth was imminent. She was not going through what she did last time with people gathered in the next room listening to her cries of agony.

The child was born. She lay back exhausted and triumphant.

Albert, beside her, beaming with pride and joy, had given her the good news.

‘My dear love, we have a Prince of Wales.’

  Chapter XI  

NOT THE QUEEN, BUT ALBERT’S WIFE

There was great rejoicing throughout the country. All the dreary prognostications of the Queen’s going the same way as her cousin Charlotte were forgotten. Only two years married and she had two children and the second was a healthy boy.

The press could not forgo its lampoons but they were goodnatured. Sir Robert Peel and Lord Melbourne were depicted as the palace nurses – Melbourne holding the Princess Royal and Peel holding the Prince of Wales.

‘My baby’s better than yours,’ was the inscription in the balloon coming from Melbourne’s mouth.

‘But I have the boy,’ was that from Peel’s.

The bells rang; the cannons fired; and the Queen recovered quickly from her confinement.

There was great discussion about the boy’s name.

‘I want him to be called Albert after his father,’ said Victoria; ‘and I fervently hope that he grows up
exactly
like him.’

Albert was, she realised, not a name that had been used for English kings and she must remember that this lusty child who screamed a good deal to show what a fine pair of lungs he had, was the future King of England. Edward was a name which had been used by kings many times. There had been six already, so it would have to be Edward she supposed.

Lord Melbourne, who was writing as frequently as ever and on as diverse subjects as he did before, attempted to imply that the name of Edward would be more suitable for the future King of England. It was a good English appellation, wrote Lord Melbourne, and has a certain degree of popularity attached to it from ancient recollections. Albert? Yes, that was an excellent name, went on the tactful Lord Melbourne. It was Anglo-Saxon like Ethelred, but it had not been so much in use since the Conquest.

The Queen laughed. Since Lord Melbourne had ceased to be her Prime Minister she was relying so much on her husband; she was, if that were possible, more in love with him since the birth of the Prince of Wales than before.

‘I shall insist that the boy’s name is Albert,’ she said. ‘I know dear Lord Melbourne thinks Edward more suitable; but as I want him to be like his father in
every
respect, I shall name him Albert – though Edward could come next.’

She sat down to write to Uncle Leopold.

Our little boy is a wonderfully strong and large child with very dark blue eyes but somewhat large nose and a pretty little mouth. I hope and pray he may be like his dearest Papa. He is to be called
Albert
and Edward is to be his second name.

Baron Stockmar, who considered it his duty to know what went on at Court, was disturbed because of the Queen’s feelings for Lord Melbourne.

He had never approved of the Queen’s almost fanatical devotion towards her Prime Minister, but there had been some excuse because of Melbourne’s position. Now he no longer held that position yet the Queen and he continued to behave as though he did.

People were talking, Stockmar told himself, and this would never do.

He had been visiting a friend’s house when the subject had been brought up and someone had said that there was no doubt that the Queen and her one-time Prime Minister corresponded daily because Mrs Norton, who was known to be a great friend of Lord Melbourne’s (hadn’t he once been cited as co-respondent when George Norton had tried to divorce her), had said so.

Stockmar brooded on this conversation and shortly afterwards found occasion to visit Sir Robert Peel.

He congratulated the new Prime Minister on the ease with which he had slipped into office.

‘I am pleased to see that the Queen is contented,’ said Sir Robert – and added with a wry smile, ‘at least far more contented than I had dared hope in the circumstances.’

Stockmar, who prided himself on his Teutonic frankness, said: ‘The friendship with Lord Melbourne never pleased me. The Queen’s emotions were too much involved.’

‘She was so young at the time of her accession and Melbourne has all the necessary airs and graces to please a young girl. So many of us lack them.’

‘Countries are not ruled by airs and graces,’ replied Stockmar.

‘True,’ agreed Peel, ‘and I hope now that the Queen will find all her happiness in the circle of her family.’

‘The friendship with Lord Melbourne persists,’ said Stockmar.

‘It is my sincere endeavour to please Her Majesty and her personal friendships are not the concern of her government.’ His tone became suddenly serious. ‘But if I were to discover that the Queen were taking advice on public matters in another place, I should without hesitation resign and would not remain in office another hour.’

Stockmar agreed that this was the only proper course of action, and as the guardian of palace morals, believed it was his place to act.

He immediately wrote to Lord Melbourne.

When Lord Melbourne received Stockmar’s letter he was very angry.

‘God eternally damn it,’ he cried. ‘Flesh and blood cannot stand this. Who is this interfering old German? Germans! I always disliked them. And the Queen has married one!’

Then he laughed at himself. Of course it was wrong to continue to write to the Queen. Of course it was not ethical. But what could he do? For four years she had been his life. He had thought of little else but how to guide her, how to amuse her. And she had cared for him too. He knew she had cried bitterly when they had had to say good-bye.

He was a fool. He was past sixty and in a strange way he was in love with a girl of twenty-two, a queen who was married to a young German Prince and was madly in love with her husband at that.

He wanted them to be happy. He had helped them to be happy and like a fool he was clinging to this correspondence bcause it was all he had left.

He waited for her letters each day. He treasured her affectionate remarks. He looked often at the little charm she had given him to attach to his keys. ‘It will bring you luck,’ she had said. ‘I worry about your health you know.’ Then there were the etchings which she herself had made. She had given them to him because she knew he would treasure something that had meant a good deal to her.

But he was gradually losing his hold. If the letters stopped that would be the end. She would always remember him with tenderness but he would no longer have a part in her life. But it had to be. That had been clear right from the beginning.

When Stockmar came to see him he was his suave self.

‘Well, Baron,’ he said, ‘so you and Sir Robert are uneasy about my correspondence with the Queen?’

‘It must stop,’ said Stockmar. ‘It is highly dangerous.’

‘I don’t know what Her Majesty will say. I am often upbraided for not being prompt enough in my replies.’

‘The Queen must be made to understand. She must be told.’

‘My dear Stockmar, that is not the way to deal with the Queen; the correspondence should gradually discontinue. You may leave it to me.’

Stockmar nodded. He had made his point and he knew Lord Melbourne was a man of honour.

This German is a power at Court, thought Lord Melbourne. He is right, of course, he is shrewd; but there is no wit in him, no humour. What will they do to my sweet Victoria between them – these Germans, Stockmar and Albert?

Christmas had almost arrived and the royal party travelled down to Windsor to spend it at that favoured spot.

The Queen was excited and happy. Pussy seemed to have recovered from her teething troubles and really was fast becoming very bright and amusing. ‘The Boy’ as they called him was clearly very healthy and need give his parents no concern. It was a very happy party. The weather was bright and frosty and the Queen and Albert could enjoy rides and walks in the park and the forest.