The Queen's Husband (43 page)

POOR
LORD MELBOURNE

Victoria sat fanning herself while Albert crawled round the nursery floor with Pussy on his back. How he doted on that child! Not that he spoilt her. Albert was far too wise for that, but Victoria had noticed how as soon as he stepped into the nursery his eyes went to his little Vicky. She was becoming quite imperious, knowing the effect she had on them both; but she really was the prettiest, liveliest child of three they had ever seen.

How different was The Boy. He was healthy enough, but at the age of two he could scarcely speak at all, let alone chatter away
intelligently
as Pussy had at that age.

‘What is the name of my big ship?’ demanded Pussy. ‘Tell me, Mama.’

‘If it is the yacht on which Papa and I have been sailing it is the
Victoria and Albert
. It was named after Papa and myself.’

‘I’m Victoria, not Pussy really,’ said the amazing child, ‘so perhaps it was named after me.’

Was there ever such intelligence? Albert’s eyes shone with pride as, still on all fours, he carried his shrieking daughter over to her mother.

‘Gee up,’ said Pussy.

‘Oh, I have become a horse have I?’ inquired Albert.

Pussy considered this. ‘No, a ship is best.’

She took Albert’s hair and began to pull it.

‘You will hurt your dear good kind Papa,’ chided the Queen. ‘Your cousin Charlotte would never do that.’

Pussy was all eagerness to hear about Cousin Charlotte. She clambered down from Albert’s back and came to sit on her mother’s lap.

‘Cousin Charlotte is my Uncle Leopold’s little girl. She is Aunt Louise’s too.’

‘Why?’ asked Pussy.

‘Because they are her mother and father.’

‘Is she big?’

‘Oh, yes. She is big and pretty and not nearly so naughty as some people I know.’

‘Pussy?’ asked the Princess Royal delightedly.

Bertie wanted to hear about this, so he toddled over and clutched his mother’s skirts.

‘Well, Bertie,’ she said, ‘you have come to hear too, have you?’

‘M’m, m’m, m’m!’ said Bertie. Really it was distressing that he could only mumble. When one considered Pussy at his age! After all he was only a year behind her.

She picked up Pussy and sat her on her knee.

Albert stood up, his eyes adoring Pussy, while the Queen told her daughter about the wonderful trip they had had visiting the King of France and then dearest Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise who had this wonderful daughter Charlotte.

Pussy listened attentively and then suddenly said triumphantly: ‘If Charlotte is so good why didn’t you have her instead of me?’

At which tears came into the Queen’s eyes and she held her daughter tightly. ‘Papa and I wouldn’t take
anyone
in place of you, my darling,’ she said.

‘M’m, m’m, m’m!’ said Bertie, but neither of them noticed him.

Later the Queen said that she had been so impressed by the excursion to the hunting-lodge of the King of France that she had thought it would be exciting if they had a small place they could go to. They both loved Windsor but it was a castle. What she meant was a small house where they could forget affairs of state and live like an ordinary family, where they would be more close, more intimate – just like any mother and father in the heart of their family.

Albert was enthusiastic and they decided to discuss the affair with Sir Robert Peel.

She was so happy to be back with the family. She was often in the nursery and the only child who really gave her cause for anxiety was Bertie. He seemed unable to learn, she remarked to Albert, not because he was exactly stupid, although Pussy’s extraordinary intelligence often made him seem so, but because he had no inclination to learn. He was lazy; and it made it all the more difficult because the nurses made such a fuss of him, and when he was taken out people would look at him in his carriage or wherever he happened to be and admire him. One woman in the park had actually put her head into the baby carriage and given him a great smacking kiss.

Bertie seemed to relish this, as though he already knew that he was the Prince of Wales and if he couldn’t compete in the nursery he would in the streets.

Pussy was as bright and as naughty as ever. Even Albert who, while being devoted to the children, was always ready to be stern with them for their own good, could not resist Pussy. Ever since they had returned from the trip to Belgium she talked of Cousin Charlotte and sometimes when she was planning some especially naughty act she would put her head on one side – like a judge, Albert said – and murmur: ‘Now I wonder what Charlotte would do.’

Victoria and Albert went into fits of laughter over Pussy’s slyness – when they were alone of course. It would have been quite wrong to have let her know how her piquant naughtiness amused them.

They were so anxious that the children should have the right upbringing. ‘You remember, my dearest love, what the Baroness Lehzen did to you.’

Victoria was almost ready to agree that Lehzen had been very wrong in so many things.

‘You can’t start too early,’ said Albert; and Victoria was worried about the manner in which they should say their prayers. It was a point she had meant to raise with Feodora when they had last been together. So she wrote asking how her children performed this necessary duty.

Feodora replied that they said them in their beds, not kneeling. ‘How absurd to find that necessary, as it could have nothing to do with making our prayers more acceptable to the Almighty or more holy.’

She went on:

Dear Pussy learning her letters I should love to see and hear. Has Bertie not learned some more words and sentences?

The answer to the last was No.

The Queen feared that Bertie was going to be something of a problem, and Albert said that it might be necessary to introduce a very stern discipline where the boy was concerned.

Alice, dear Fatima, seemed to increase in size every day; she rarely cried and her placid smile was a joy to behold.

Victoria did wish she could spend more time in the nursery, and more and more her thoughts turned to that little country house where they could live
en famille
. They had visited the Isle of Wight several times and both she and Albert thought it very beautiful, so when Sir Robert suggested that Osborne might prove a suitable residence, they agreed at once and plans were set in motion to purchase it.

The savour had gone from life for Lord Melbourne. Each week he realised that the Queen was becoming more remote. She was always gracious, always kind, but the lapses between the receiving and answering his letters was growing greater and he had realised that he must no longer write to her of politics. Gone were the days when she would not act without his advice; he heard, too, that she was becoming more and more attached to Peel. This was a good augury, he admitted, but it hurt him. He thought often of that occasion when she had refused to let him go and how in the amazing Bedchamber Affair had routed Peel solely for the purpose of keeping Lord Melbourne in office. It had been quite a scandal and after it people had publicly called her ‘Mrs Melbourne’; and even now he was still her dear good friend as she told him when they met or she wrote to him; she was loyal and affectionate; and of course he loved her, as she had once loved him. For she had. He had no doubt of that.

During his stormy married life he had found great comfort in literature; he turned once more to that solace. He spent many an evening at Brooks’ where his conversation was still an entertainment. He slept little. His political career kept him busy; he read voraciously into the early hours of the morning but about a year after he had left office he began to feel vaguely unwell. His mind wandered a little; he talked a great deal to himself; a habit he had had for years but previously he had done it in private or was aware of it. Sometimes in the presence of his colleagues at the club he would address a remark to someone who was not present. ‘One of Lord Melbourne’s odd quirks,’ it was said.

But it was an indication of what was to come. One morning he awakened to find that he could not move one arm. He had had a stroke.

The Queen was deeply concerned when she heard of this. She sent the kindest messages; as soon as he was well enough she would come to see him or he must come to see her. Every day there was word from her.

He recovered and was almost his normal self.

He called on the Queen and she was delighted to see him, though secretly finding him rather wan. She noticed that he dragged one foot a little and his arm hung rather awkwardly.

When she remembered the handsome, alert man who had called on her at the time of her accession she felt a little sad. Albert comforted her and so did the children.

Then she began to think of her former much loved Prime Minister Lord M as ‘Poor Lord Melbourne’.

A new year had arrived and before January was out, Albert heard that his father was dead. Duke Ernest had been ailing for some time and Baron Stockmar had often warned the Prince that he must expect his father’s death at any time; but this did not lessen the blow when it came. Albert’s family feeling was strong and there was despondency throughout the palace. Albert sat with his head buried in his hands while the Queen knelt beside him and they talked of ‘Dearest Father’. They had forgotten the fact that he had been continually importuning them, that his morals were questionable; in death they saw only his virtues.

‘My dearest Albert,’ said the Queen, ‘I suffer with you. That helps. Your grief is shared you know.’

‘You are
all
to me now,’ replied Albert mournfully.

They both poured out their wretchedness to Doctor Stockmar who was in Coburg with his family. They wanted him to return to England. They needed him. Dr Stockmar promised that he would come, but in the meantime Albert should return to Coburg for his father’s funeral.

The Queen was horrified.

‘It will be the first time during our married life that we have been separated, Albert!’ she exclaimed.

‘I know, my love, but this is a necessity.’

Victoria wept silently. ‘And at such a time, my darling, you need me.’

Albert admitted this, but it was his duty to leave her. He could not allow his father to go to his grave unattended by his son.

‘Of course you must go, my dearest,’ cried the Queen. ‘Oh, if only I could come with you.’

‘Alas, my love, you have your duties here.’

She was touched by Albert’s thoughtfulness, for a few days later he told her that he had written to Uncle Leopold to ask if Aunt Louise might come to Windsor and spend the time of his absence with the Queen.

‘I thought she was the one who could best compensate you for not having me here,’ said Albert.

‘No one could do that,’ answered the Queen, ‘but Aunt Louise would come nearest to it. Oh, Albert, how good of you to think of
me
in the midst of all your sorrow.’

‘My dear love,’ replied Albert, ‘you are constantly in my thoughts.’

There was another cause for mild depression. She was once more pregnant. She loved her family but, as her mother said, a little longer rest between the children’s arrival would be desirable. Of course she was strong and obviously made to bear children, but it seemed that no sooner was one delivered than another was conceived.