The Queen's Husband (66 page)

‘Your mother and I have discussed this with Uncle Leopold and he has given a list of Princesses who might be suitable. I must show it to you.’

Albert was delighted to be able to treat this beloved daughter as an adult. He smiled as she looked down at the paper he handed her.

‘Most of them are German, Papa,’ she said.

‘They are probably the best suited. German women and German men make the best spouses,’ he added smiling.

‘I have heard of this Danish Princess Alexandra. She is very beautiful.’

‘Uncle Leopold has put her right at the end of the list.’

‘Well naturally, Papa,’ said Vicky with a laugh. ‘She is not German.’

Albert said: ‘And you, my dearest child, will keep your eyes open for some beautiful suitable German Princess for your brother.’

Vicky promised that she would.

Vicky sought an opportunity to be alone with her mother.

‘Mama,’ she said, ‘I have something to tell you.’

The Queen smiled, ready for one of those cosy woman-to-woman talks which she enjoyed so much.

‘Come and sit beside me, my love. There, now we can be comfortable. My dearest child, you know you can tell me
anything
.’

‘I know, Mama, but it hurts me to tell you this.’

‘Vicky, dearest, what is it?’

‘It’s the baby. You heard what a bad time I had.’

‘Papa and I were almost frantic.’

‘I’m so glad you were not there. It was so long, Mama, and so … so …’

‘I know, my dearest. You can’t tell me anything about those horrors. Baby is my ninth child. To think I have endured that nine times!’

‘Wilhelm’s was a breech birth, Mama.’

‘My dear, dear child.’

‘His arm was dislocated as he was delivered.’

The Queen stared in horror.

‘It has made a slight deformity. Apart from that he is a very healthy child.’

‘Can nothing be done?’

‘The doctors say no.’

‘So he will go through life with this … deformity.’

Vicky nodded. ‘It may be so.’

‘Oh, my darling! And you have only just told me.’

‘I wanted to tell you myself, Mama. I didn’t want to write it. But you must not fret. In every other way he is perfect.’

The Queen nodded.

Vicky said she must see Bertie so she arranged to visit him at the university. She took Lady Walburga Paget with her. Wally, as this lady was called, was the sister of the Countess Hohenthal, Vicky’s lady-in-waiting; Wally was young, vivacious and very beautiful, and Vicky had found her friendship of great help in the gloomy haunted schloss.

Bertie’s delight in seeing his sister and her very charming friend was obvious. He sat laughing and chatting with them and paying great attention to Wally, much to her and Vicky’s amusement.

They were having a very merry time until Mrs Bruce, the Colonel’s wife, came in and found them together. Her frigid manner showed her disapproval and when Vicky and Wally had left she told the Prince of Wales that she would have to report the matter to her husband who would no doubt wish to inform Her Majesty and His Highness Prince Albert what had happened.

‘Good God!’ cried the Prince, and the expression made Mrs Bruce wince, ‘can’t I see my own sister?’

Mrs Bruce had made a very alarming discovery. The Prince of Wales was not only lazy, unable to concentrate and below normal intelligence, but he was also fond of women.

When this was reported to Albert he was deeply concerned. It was something he had always suspected. Bertie’s free and easy manner, so different from his father’s, was a pointer. Albert too had noticed the manner in which some of the ladies of the household regarded Bertie.

A new danger was in sight.

They must be doubly watchful.

The manner in which the Prince of Wales was being treated was beginning to be one of the main topics in the press. He was not given the dignity due to his rank, it was said. He was treated like a schoolboy. The people wanted to see more of him. They had liked what they had seen.

It was decided that he should visit Rome. He was excited at the prospect until he learned what he might have suspected. A plan was laid out for him. Italian lessons in the morning, reading from eleven until twelve; after the midday meal he could visit art galleries and study architecture, then French lessons from five until six. It was inconceivable that he should have the evenings to himself. They were to be given over to private study, reading and music.

‘Why should I go to Rome to do all that?’ demanded the Prince. ‘It’s almost exactly what I do at home.’

He then went to Edinburgh University because, as the Queen said, the Scots would expect the Prince to have some education in their country. While there he had quarters in Holyrood House with the omnipresent Colonel preventing him enjoying life.

Once he tried protesting to the Queen. The result of this was the rejoinder: ‘But, Bertie, your father has arranged this. Therefore everything he has ordered is for your good.’

What could he do? He could only endure until he was of an age to go his own way. And then? His eyes sparkled at the prospect.

Perhaps, said Albert, it would be a good idea, as some of Her Majesty’s ministers seemed to think, if Bertie went to Canada and America. Bertie was nothing loth. There might be an opportunity of eluding his jailors there.

The Duke of Newcastle was to accompany him and here Bertie saw his chance.

They had a big schedule of public engagements, said the Duke. And when Bruce – now promoted to General – talked of lessons and the routine which had to be followed, the Duke cried: ‘Impossible! There’s no time for that.’

So Bertie attended all kinds of ceremonies; he was the centre of attraction at parades and levees given in his honour. On one occasion he had to make a speech. The Duke wrote it for him but when he gave it he ignored what had been written and said freely what came into his mind. It was a success. Bertie had discovered that he had a flair for making speeches, receiving attention, giving it – in fact after years of failure the ugly duckling had turned into a swan; he had become the perfect Prince of Wales.

Bertie was enjoying himself. Every time General Bruce approached him he would wave his hand and say, ‘No time. Too many engagements!’ and delightedly charm everyone with whom he came into contact.

The Duke of Newcastle was enthusiastic.

‘Your Royal Highness knows just how to get along with people. This is good for our relations with these countries. Her Majesty will be grateful to you.’

Bertie glowed and prepared to spray his charm over the Americans as he had over the Canadians. This was even easier. They could not have enough of him.

A magnificent ball was given for him to which three thousand people were invited. Three thousand! There were many more than that number eager to see the Prince of Wales. They crowded into the ballroom in such numbers that the floor gave way. But it was all part of the pattern. Beautiful women thought Bertie ‘cute’ and wanted to dance and talk with him. The Duke thought that the Prince of Wales should not be persecuted in this way. ‘Oh, I like this kind of persecution,’ said Bertie.

General Bruce was fuming. If he had ever had a doubt that the morals of the Prince of Wales might be a little lax he was certain now.

After this there would have to be even stricter vigilance.

The Queen and Albert were delighted with the reports of Bertie’s tour.

‘It seems that for once he has done rather well,’ said Victoria.

‘We have General Bruce to thank for that,’ replied Albert.

‘Do you think we should reward him in some way?’

Albert thought it would be an excellent idea.

‘The Order of the Bath for Services to the Crown, perhaps,’ said the Queen. ‘I will speak to Lord Palmerston about it.’

When Palmerston called she broached the subject.

‘The North American tour has really been a great success.’

Palmerston agreed that it had been a spectacular success. ‘His Royal Highness’s talents are coming to light,’ he added.

‘We have to thank General Bruce for this. And the Prince and I thought that we should like to show our gratitude with some reward … say the Order of the Bath, for instance.’

‘But Your Majesty is forgetting that this is not Bruce’s triumph. It was the Prince of Wales they liked, not the General.’

‘Bertie did what he was told.’

‘Your Majesty will know that there are ways of doing what one is told. It was not what was done but the manner of doing it. No, it is not Bruce to whom we should be grateful but to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.’

‘I like to see services rewarded,’ said the Queen severely.

‘And I can happily say that I am in agreement with Your Majesty. And like Your Majesty I do not care to see rewards given where they are not merited. I hope to have the pleasure of congratulating His Royal Highness on the service he has done to his country but I do not think Your Majesty’s Government would agree to bestow the Order on Bruce.’

‘I shall expect a report on this,’ said the Queen shortly.

Palmerston bowed.

He was laughing to himself as he left her. The Order of the Bath for that old spoilsport! Not if he knew it! He chuckled to think of Bertie’s escape from the ridiculous restrictions they placed on him.