The Widow of Windsor (30 page)

‘Alas, M’am,’ said Mr Disraeli. ‘Gladstone has defeated us on the Irish question with a majority of sixty-five.’

‘This is intolerable.’

‘It has to be tolerated, I fear.’

‘What do you propose to do?’

‘Offer my resignation.’

‘Which would mean that That Man would be my Prime Minister.’

‘I fear so, M’am.’

‘I should not like that at all.’

‘Alas, but it is a state of affairs which Your Majesty would be forced to accept. There is only one alternative. Your Majesty could refuse to accept my resignation. Then there would have to be a general election. This could not take place for six months because that time would be needed to arrange the new constituencies which are the result of the new Reform Bill.’

‘That is the answer,’ said the Queen. ‘You have offered me your resignation, which I refuse to accept. You will remain in office until the election in which time perhaps opinions may have changed.’

Disraeli bowed.

‘Very well, M’am. I shall continue for a little longer to be Your Majesty’s Prime Minister.’

How much longer would these pleasant
têtes-à-têtes
continue? It reminded her so much of the past when Lord Melbourne had been defeated in the House by Sir Robert Peel. How she had disliked Sir Robert although she had come to respect him. Albert had made her see Sir Robert differently. But she would never feel that respect for Mr Gladstone. There was a man whom she could never like. His wife was a quiet, pleasant creature; she had been Catherine Glynne before the marriage, a member of a very good Whig family who owned Hawarden Castle in Flintshire. It was said that she was devoted to her husband.
Poor
Mrs Gladstone!

John Brown told her that she was foolish to be so drear. He implied of course that as long as
he
was there to see to her needs she would be well looked after. It was true, she knew; but she would miss Mr Disraeli; and the idea of his party replaced by Mr Gladstone’s was
most
depressing.

As if she had not enough to worry about without Mr Gladstone’s bringing in his dis-establishment of the Irish Church! It always came back to Bertie. He was becoming just a little truculent. Success went to his head and he had been over-congratulated about the Irish tour.

She was really worried about him. She was constantly hearing snippets of gossip, and she did wonder, as was often suggested to her, whether they were a little exaggerated.

The idea of the heir to the throne –
her
throne – dancing attendance on an actress as he apparently did on that Hortense Schneider and prowling round her dressing-room when
The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein
, in which the enchanting actress was appearing, was over. And it was not as though this actress was the only one; Alix should really try to keep a firm hold on him. Alix was a little careless. Her inability to appear anywhere on time was really rather trying. That … and Bertie’s escapades together with the dissension the terrible wars had caused in the family, and the impending ministerial crises made life very hard to bear.

Now Bertie was writing to her in a very arrogant way, merely because for his own good she had remonstrated with him about attending the Ascot races every day. It was not necessary, she pointed out. Put in an appearance, yes. But to be there every day and gamble as he did was quite unnecessary – more than that it was undesirable.

He pointed out that every year she gave him a lecture on the races and it was a ceremony to which the people looked forward especially when the royal carriages were driven up the course. It would be very uncivil if he stayed at home and would be frowned on.

Was this a reproach to her because she shut herself away so much? Bertie was the last one to understand how she suffered over the loss of Beloved Albert. After all if he had not gone to Cambridge to remonstrate with Bertie he might be here today. He had written:

‘I am always most anxious to meet your wishes, dear Mama, in every respect, and I always regret if we are not quite
d’accord
– but as I am past twenty-eight and have some knowledge of the world and society you will, I am sure, at least I trust, allow me to use my own discretion in matters of this kind …’

If only Albert were here, how different it would be. She and Bertie would never be
d’accord
, as he put it.

She felt sad and lonely. The children were all growing up and away from her. Louise would be the next to marry. And now Mr Disraeli was going to be replaced by unsympathetic Mr Gladstone whom she could never like.

John Brown came in and found her sitting in the gloom.

He lighted the lamps and said: ‘It does ye no good mawthering in the dark, woman.’

He saw the traces of tears on her cheeks and brought out that which in his opinion was the never-failing remedy – a wee dram of good Scotch whisky.

She found herself smiling. ‘Now, Brown, you’ll be making me bashful.’

‘Not you,’ said Brown, ‘ye’ve never been near bashful in your life.’

He was affectionately contemptuous. Dear honest Brown! He did her so much good.

Prince Alfred whose somewhat gay life had given the Queen many a qualm, returned home from abroad that July and a concert was held at the Crystal Palace in order to celebrate his arrival. Bertie and he went to the concert and rather to the surprise of the audience Alix joined the royal party. This greatly pleased the people for she was heavily pregnant and not expected at such a time. There was a great ovation for her. The leading singers were Patti and Mario and the Princess applauded with great enthusiasm. After the concert there was to be a firework display and as the celebrations were in honour of Alfred, the great moment was to be when a model of the ship
Galatea
, on which he had sailed, was illuminated. Alix stood on the balcony with the rest of the party and although she was feeling rather tired she would not leave until the display was over.

Two days later her child was born a little prematurely, but all seemed to be well. The child was a girl and Alix was delighted. She now had her pleasant little family of four – two boys and two girls – four-year-old Eddy, three-year-old Georgie, one-year-old Louise and now the baby.

As she sat dreaming there, thinking of her own childhood and how excited they had all been at the arrival of a new baby, she felt a wave of nostalgia for the simple life.

Bertie came in, the proud father, and he was delighted with the child. He wanted to bring Eddy and George in to see their new sister. ‘I promised them,’ he said.

And so they came and stood wonderingly by the bed, and Bertie lifted them up on to his knee and she was touched by his tenderness towards them. Bertie had suffered in his own childhood and he was going to make certain that he was as different a father from his own as it was possible for a man to be. The boys loved him with a devotion which fear could never have put there and he charmed them in his good-natured way exactly as he did the people whom he met.

But it was their mother who had first place in their hearts and Eddy was apprehensive that the newcomer might take up too much of her time and affection and Georgie was feeling the same.

How she wished that she could have devoted her time entirely to them. However, for a time, she could forget that she was the Princess of Wales and enjoy being a mother.

So she talked of the new baby and showed her to her little sons and even Louise was carried in from the nursery to join them.

When the children had gone Bertie sat with her for a while and he said that what she needed was a good long holiday away from everything.

Her eyes sparkled. ‘How I should love to go to Copenhagen and take the children with me. I’m longing to show them Rumpenheim and Bernstorff and I know my parents would love to see the babies.’

Bertie grimaced inwardly at the thought of Rumpenheim and Bernstorff; they were so dull and his parents-in-law didn’t know how to give the kind of parties he enjoyed, but he pretended to be enthusiastic. While Alix and the children were in Denmark he might slip off somewhere else – perhaps even to his delightful Paris.

‘Copenhagen yes,’ he said. ‘But I meant a long leisurely tour – say to the Middle East … somewhere where you can enjoy the sun and get rid of all those rheumaticky pains.’

‘It would be very pleasant, Bertie,’ she said. ‘Is it possible?’

‘I’m sure there’d be no difficulty from the P.M.,’ said Bertie. ‘Nor any of his colleagues. Of course, there is Mama.’ He grimaced openly. ‘You can imagine the dismay such a suggestion would rouse from
that
quarter. I have already put my foot down about the races. Really, Mama is quite cut off from real life. What can she know about what the people expect shut away with only that odious Brown to talk to?’

‘She’ll not agree, I’m sure,’ said Alix.

‘Leave it to me,’ said Bertie. ‘You’re going to show your parents the children, I promise you.’

The following month the new baby was christened Victoria Alexandra Olga Mary; her sponsors were headed by Queen Victoria, the Emperor of Russia, and the Queens of Greece and Denmark.

The Queen had moved a little out of seclusion that summer. She had held the first Drawing Room at Buckingham Palace since Albert’s death, had given a party in the grounds of the Palace and reviewed twenty-seven thousand volunteers in Windsor Park. This had been achieved by the gentle persuasion of Mr Disraeli. In August following the christening of the new baby she went to Switzerland.

‘No fuss,’ she had said. ‘Unlike Bertie I like to go about
incognito
.’ So she travelled as the Countess of Kent, stayed at the Embassy in Paris and was rather pleased when the Empress Eugénie came to see her without any formality; then she went to Lucerne and rented the Villa Pension Wallace which was right on the lake and charming. She spent a very pleasant week or so there with John Brown in attendance driving her when she wished to be driven, taking care of her comfort generally; and when she returned home she went almost immediately to Balmoral.

Some time before she had discussed with Brown the possibility of finding a little house where she could enjoy even greater seclusion than she did at Balmoral, for Balmoral was in fact a castle and there were so many servants and it was impossible to live simply as she so often longed to do.

Brown knew the spot. It had been a favourite one for Prince Albert who had often gone to the Loch Muick; it was isolated and she would be sure of not being worried there. So she built a little cottage there where she could live with just a few servants – those who were old friends like Brown and Annie MacDonald, who could forget that she was the Queen and treat her without that homage which she felt was replaced by loyalty and love.

‘This will be somewhere which will not be haunted by
him
,’ she said. ‘Somewhere entirely new which he has had no hand in building.’

It was a beautiful spot, known as Glassalt Shiel, which meant Darkness and Sorrow, and that, she said, was so appropriate to her mood. She could never look on that scene without experiencing a great excitement. The scenery was almost terrifying in its grandeur and she would stand for hours watching the Glassalt burn falling headlong down the mountainside into the forbidding Loch Muick.