The Queen's Husband (68 page)

But it must come to an end of course and the sad part was leaving Coburg and Vicky and Fritz, and darling little Wilhelm.

‘We must come again, soon,’ said the Queen.

Albert merely smiled at her. He could not shake off the strange premonition that he had seen his home for the last time.

Later that year Prince Louis of Hesse came to England. It was not his first visit and when he had come previously he had taken a great liking to Alice and she to him. The Queen had first met him some fifteen years before, when she had been travelling on the continent; he had then been a boy of eight and she had described him as ‘nice and intelligent’.

He had come specially to see them on their recent tour, much to Alice’s pleasure, and the Queen and Albert had discussed the young people. Albert thought that Louis would be an excellent match for Alice.

And so soon following on their recent encounter here he was in England – and there was no question why.

Victoria smiled indulgently to see the young people together and one evening after dinner when there was some company present she saw them talking very earnestly by the fireplace, unaware of the rest of the company. She went over to them and Alice in some confusion said: ‘Louis has just proposed to me, Mama. I want you to give us your blessing.’

The Queen pressed her daughter’s hand firmly and whispered: ‘Come to our room later.’

When Alice arrived, her parents were both there and Albert sent for Louis. The pair were embraced and told how happy they had made their parents, for the Queen had heard from the Prince and Princess of Hesse-Darmstadt that they knew Louis greatly admired Alice and were happy that this should be so.

When they had gone the Queen sighed deeply.

‘So, Albert, we are to lose another daughter.’

‘It is something to which we must reconcile ourselves,’ said Albert.

‘My love, as long as I have you I am content,’ said the Queen. ‘When I think of those horses running wild and what might have happened …’

‘It did not,’ said Albert, ‘and I am still with you.’ The Queen smiled. ‘I thank God daily for your escape,’ she said. ‘Oh, Albert, if the children all marry and leave us I shall not mind as long as I have you. You are my all in all.’

Albert smiled a little sadly. He had begun to wonder what would happen to her if he were no longer there.

  Chapter XXVIII  

A FATAL JOURNEY

In the middle of March the Duchess of Kent underwent a slight operation. She had a painful abscess under her arm which had been making her feel depressed and wretched so it had been decided to remove it. She had been recuperating satisfactorily in her home of Frogmore when suddenly she became seized by shivering fits.

A few days later Sir James Clark arrived at Buckingham Palace with the news that he was disturbed by the Duchess’s condition.

‘We must go to her at once,’ cried the Queen, and she with Albert and Alice took the train to Windsor.

How long that journey seemed, and all the time Victoria was thinking of the old days at Kensington Palace when she and her mother had had such ‘storms’.

When at last they reached Frogmore the Queen went straight up to her mother’s bedroom. The Duchess lay on a sofa, propped up by cushions and wearing a silk dressing-gown. She looked almost like her normal self but that was because the blinds were drawn and the room was so darkened.

Victoria knelt by the sofa and kissing her hand held it against her cheek. The Duchess looked at her daughter and Victoria saw with a pang of dismay and horror that she did not know her. She could not bear it. She went out of the room to give vent to her tears. Albert came in to comfort her.

‘We will stay for the night,’ he said.

Oh, blessed Albert! What would she do without him?

She would never forget that night. She lay sleepless, listening to every hour as it struck. At four o’clock she could bear no more, and she rose and went to her mother’s room. The Duchess was breathing heavily and there was no sound but the ticking of the old repeater watch in its tortoiseshell case which had been her father’s and had stood in the bedroom she had shared with her mother up to the time of her accession.

She stood looking at her mother and then went back to her room and tried in vain to sleep.

The next morning it was clear that the end was near. The Queen could not bear to look at that familiar face now so changed and suddenly she was aware of Albert who lifted her up and carried her from the room.

‘Is it all over, Albert?’ she asked.

Albert, who rarely wept, was weeping then as he said: ‘Yes, my love, it is all over.’

The death of the Duchess had a deep effect on the Queen.

She was filled with remorse, remembering those battles of the old days. The entries in her journal brought them all back too vividly for comfort. How unkind she had been to dearest Mama! She remembered the occasion when she had refused to see her and insisted that she had to make an appointment before they met. Her own mother!

There were the accounts of how she had considered herself a prisoner – Mama’s prisoner. When all Mama had wanted to do was protect her. She and Baroness Lehzen had behaved as though the Duchess was their enemy. It was terrible. Not until Albert had come had she realised that. Albert had done that for her as he had done everything else.

She was overcome by a deep melancholy. If only Mama could come back and she could talk to her.

The Queen’s melancholy was noted and so exaggerated that rumours persisted on the Continent hinting that she had inherited her grandfather’s malady. Any member of the family only had to step out of the line of conventional behaviour for someone to remember the madness of George III.

Stockmar wrote urgently to Albert from Coburg. The Queen must understand what a situation her conduct was bringing about. She must stop mourning for her mother. She must be seen in public. These rumours must be quashed. They could be dangerous.

Albert realised this and remonstrated with the Queen.

He agreed that she had been an undutiful daughter before her marriage. But the blame for that must rest with the Baroness Lehzen who had influenced her so strongly. Had she not tried to make trouble between Victoria and her own husband?

Albert could always handle her. She saw his point. While she had him, she said, she had everything to live for.

She became gay again. The period of mourning was over.

But, alas, Albert’s health did not improve.

Trouble came from an expected quarter.

Stockmar wrote to break news which, he said, perhaps not strictly truthfully, he would rather have kept to himself.

It was well known on the Continent that while he was at Curragh Camp the Prince of Wales had formed a liaison with an actress. This affair had gone as far as it was possible for such an affair to go. It seemed as though the Prince of Wales was fulfilling their doleful prophecies.

When Albert read the letter his first thought was: The Queen must not know.

She would be horribly shocked; this might bring on that dangerous mood of depression. He must if possible keep this from her.

What could he do to a young man of nineteen? He thought of his brother Ernest and the evil which had befallen him. Bertie, it seemed, was going to be such another.

He must go to Cambridge and see Bertie. He must discover the truth of this matter. He had a streaming cold and he could feel the fever in his body; his frequent shivering was a warning, but it was his duty to go to Cambridge and when had he ever shirked his duty?

The weather was bleak, cold and damp, and although the symptoms which were affecting him warned him that he should stay in bed, he went off to Cambridge.

When Bertie saw how ill his father looked he was immediately contrite. He spoke naturally and without the embarrassment he usually felt in his father’s presence.

‘Oh, Papa, you shouldn’t have come in this weather.’

Albert looked at him sadly. ‘My son,’ he said, ‘it was my duty to come. You will know why, when I tell you I am aware of your conduct at the Curragh Camp.’

Bertie flushed scarlet.

‘You may well be ashamed,’ said his father. ‘I confess I could scarcely believe it even of you. How could you behave in such a way?’

Bertie stammered that it was not really such an unusual way to behave. Other fellows …