The Widow of Windsor (31 page)

So she had her house – her ‘Widow’s House’ she called it and although members of her family tried to dissuade her from living even for a short while in such a lonely spot, she did find to some extent what she sought there – peace.

The Queen was at Glassalt Shiel when she received a note from Bertie suggesting that Alix needed some relaxation and that she wished to take the children to see their grandparents in Denmark. The six months’ tour of Europe and the Middle East had been voted desirable by the government but the Queen could not approve of Alix’s taking the children out of the country.

She wrote to Bertie: ‘They are the children of the country, which seems to have been forgotten, and while you and Alix are away they should be left in the care of one person only and that is the Queen.’

It was rather selfish of Alix to wish to take them with her. She was going to see her parents. That should be enough for her.

Bertie, always bold when he did not have to come face to face with his stern mama, wrote back in the vein he was beginning to adopt. Alix was certainly not selfish, he replied. She was devoted to her children and he could not understand why obstacles should be put in the way of a proud young mother who wished to take her children to see her parents.

The Queen – always fair – saw the point of this and decided that the three elder children might go; it was of course impossible for such a young baby to travel. At the same time the Queen criticised the way the Wales children were being brought up.

‘Papa always believed in discipline,’ she wrote. ‘It is an absolute necessity in the bringing up of children. I fear, Bertie, that your children are allowed to run wild, and what the result of that will be I cannot imagine.’

Bertie, bold from afar, hinted that it had not always had the desired effect and that neither he nor Alfred who had been submitted to it had turned out very satisfactory from her point of view. He believed that if children were treated severely they grew shy and instead of loving their parents feared them. Of one thing he was determined, his children were not going to be afraid of him. They were not now and they never should be.

The Queen could do nothing. Bertie had always been unmanageable; and she had to admit that Eddy and George were two dear little boys even though there was such a lack of parental control.

Meanwhile Alix and Bertie set off with the three elder children and after a stay in Copenhagen where they had spent Christmas the children were sent home while their parents continued their tour visiting Egypt, Russia and Greece.

The Queen was at Balmoral while the general election was taking place. She would not believe that the country could really pass over Disraeli for the sake of Mr Gladstone although Mr Disraeli had feared this would be the case; and she was very despondent when she heard that Mr Gladstone’s government were in power with a majority of one hundred and twenty-eight.

Now she would have to return to London and what was worse send for Mr Gladstone and ask him to form a ministry, at the same time saying good-bye to dear Mr Disraeli.

She would not behave as she had in the past when Lord Melbourne had resigned; she understood that she had been rather foolish then; Albert had taught her that this was something she had to accept. It was none the more palatable for that.

When Mr Disraeli came to see her she almost wept with sorrow and anger.

This was going to be a terrible wrench she feared; she felt such confidence in him; and to think that he was to be replaced by that unsympathetic Mr Gladstone was most upsetting.

Disraeli said that they must accept this trial and hope for better things.

‘It is the only thing left to do,’ said the Queen.

She received Mr Gladstone coolly. He was quite humble and she could not complain that he did not treat her with due respect, but he was so dull and made such boring speeches that she felt as though she were a public meeting. There was a slight compensation for the loss of Mr Disraeli because some of Mr Gladstone’s colleagues were good friends of hers. She had always been fond of Lord Clarendon who was now the Foreign Secretary as well as Lord Granville who was the Colonial Secretary; and with the Duke of Argyll who was the Secretary of India she was on terms of affection. As a matter of fact Louise and Argyll’s son, the Marquis of Lorne, were
very
friendly, and there was a possibility that they would wish to marry. If they did she would not stand in their way. She was so tired of all the family squabbles and members of it fighting on different sides in these dreadful wars. At least if Louise married Lorne they would be of one nationality; and she had always been especially fond of the Scots.

She sent for Disraeli and told him that she wanted to reward him for his services to her and the country. Would he accept an earldom?

He thanked her in the flowery manner at which he was an adept. He was honoured; he was flattered; he would never forget, etc.; but he declined the earldom.

‘Yet I have one thing for which I should be grateful.’

‘Please tell me what it is,’ said the Queen.

Then he told her that Mary Anne was ill – very ill. She was dying slowly.

Disraeli wept genuine tears and the Queen, greatly moved, wept with him.

She understood
absolutely
; her heart bled for him; she had suffered it all before him.

‘With Your Majesty it was a sharp blow – so much harder to bear,’ said her tactful ex-Prime Minister. ‘At least fate is giving me time to prepare myself.’

The Queen admitted this and wanted to know what it was that he desired.

‘It is for her. I should like her to be made a peeress in her own right.’

Oh, how devoted! How unselfish! The Queen could not hide her emotion.

A peerage for Mrs Disraeli – certainly.

‘I know,’ she said, ‘that you once dedicated a book to the perfect wife. I should like Mrs Disraeli to know that
I
believe her to have a perfect husband.’

Mary Anne – now the Countess of Beaconsfield – could not contain her delight. She displayed her coronet whenever possible. She called herself Dizzy’s Beaconsfield. What a wonderful husband she had!

She had perhaps two years to live – and not very pleasantly she knew. Each week the pain would grow a little more. Never mind, she would hide it as best she could. She would manage. She remembered that occasion not so long ago when she had been accompanying Dizzy to the House and he was going to make one of the most important speeches of his career. She had planned to drop him at the House and drive home to wait for him there. He had been a little nervous. That fearful Mr Gladstone with his heavy manner – not a bit witty like dear Dizzy – could be very formidable. All the way he had sat murmuring what he was going to say and when he alighted and slammed the door of the carriage he caught her hand in it. She did not cry out because she had known that would have disturbed him and he would have been worrying all the time how badly she was hurt. So while he said good-bye to her she sat with a smile on her face ignoring the agony and let the coachman drive on without telling him that her hand was caught in the door. As soon as Dizzy had disappeared she called the coachman to release her. Well, if she could hide pain then she could hide it now. She did not wish to worry him.

‘Poor Dizzy!’ she said now. ‘But you’re only out of office temporarily.’

‘Oh, only temporarily,’ he assured her.

‘What will you do? After all to be Leader of the Opposition will not demand half the time that a Prime Minister has to devote to his duties. There is one blessing, though. Your Beaconsfield will be able to see more of you.’

‘I look forward to it,’ he told her. ‘We’ll go down to Hughenden. I can finish my book and we can have a very cosy time together.’

‘Very nice,’ she said, ‘for Beaconsfield.’

‘And for Disraeli,’ he assured her.

He was reconciled. He wanted to spend time with Mary Anne. There was tragically little left, and he knew in his heart that he would one day take his place on the Government bench of the House – just as surely as he knew that when he did his beloved Beaconsfield would not be at hand to comfort him, to cherish him, to give him that which he had finally learned through her was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Chapter XIV

THE MORDAUNT CASE

How tiring was Mr Gladstone! He gave the impression of having too much to do in too short a time. He was too energetic and so sure of himself, backed up by that enormous majority in the House. He was all for reform. In fact he seemed to live for reform. Not only did he want to interfere with the Church but the Army and the Navy as well. He would take up the matter of whether sailors should be allowed to have beards with or without moustaches as though it were some war which had to be won. He could not express himself simply; the Queen could not understand the documents he presented to her – nor even his letters. One sentence would last for pages. Oh, tiresome Mr Gladstone! Someone had told her that when he proposed to Mrs Gladstone he had done so in a letter which was so long and involved that the poor woman was quite bewildered and refused him. And at that, commented the Queen, the Queen is not surprised. Although he persuaded her to marry him later.
Poor
Mrs Gladstone!

One grew quite weary trying to keep up with all the papers and to grasp what the man was writing about; how different it had been with dear Lord Melbourne; and with Sir Robert there had been Albert. Mr Gladstone made her realise afresh how much she
needed
Albert. If only
dear
Mr Disraeli could come back. How could people have been so stupid as to give Mr Gladstone that big majority.

She was worried about Bertie whose finances were in a terrible state. He was now in Egypt doing the country so much good, so said Mr Disraeli, and being very popular and visiting the Pyramids and the Sphinx; and the Khedive and the Sultan were being very hospitable. She did hope Bertie was not getting into any trouble there. But Alix was at hand; she should keep a firm grip on him. The children had been sent home and she did enjoy the company of darling Eddy and Georgie and little Louise; her namesake was too young at present to interest her for she never had liked the very young. The two boys were darlings although they were not as respectful as they should be, which of course was due to the way in which Bertie and Alix brought them up; she gathered from little hints they dropped that they were allowed to go into Bertie’s study while he was writing letters and climb all over him and that Alix often put on an apron and bathed them herself. There was no discipline and that should be rectified. But Bertie had uttered a dark warning when he had said that the children had grown to love their
Danish
grandparents in a very short time. He hoped they would feel as affectionate towards their very important English grandmama.

They appeared to like her and called her ‘Gangan’, which was amusing. She tried not to think of what Albert would have said to certain naughtiness. After all if the children were so fond of the King and Queen of Denmark they must have some regard for the Queen of England too.

She approached Mr Gladstone about Bertie’s allowance. Mr Gladstone answered the summons –
so
unattractive because he was so solemn. He bowed very courteously and she told him that she hoped Parliament would agree to give the Prince of Wales a larger income.

Mr Gladstone addressed her as a public meeting with such long sentences that she was not at all sure what he was talking about.

Finally she demanded. ‘But Mr Gladstone, I should be pleased to know what Parliament will decide about the Prince’s allowance.’

Mr Gladstone was off again but she did gather that Parliament had no intention or disposition to augment the income of the Prince of Wales.

Well, of course, she did deplore Bertie’s extravagance; he should not go so often to the races and gamble; he should not entertain fast women. It served him right and was a lesson to him; all the same Mr Gladstone was a very
tiresome
man.

The Prince and Princess of Wales had returned from the East and had reached Paris. The Queen wrote to them there and when Bertie saw the notepaper heavily edged with black he moaned.

‘Oh dear, will Mama never forget?’ he wailed.

Alix was excited; she was longing to be home to see the dear children. She was again pregnant and expecting another in November. She couldn’t have too many, she told Bertie; she adored them all; but she did wonder how they had fared under the eye of the Queen.

Bertie had further cause for groans when he read his mother’s letter:

‘I fear you have incurred enormous expenses and I don’t think there is a disposition to give you any more money.’

‘How do they expect me to maintain myself in dignity,’ he demanded, ‘when they won’t help me pay for it? Imagine the Prince and Princess of Wales travelling abroad like paupers.’

‘Well, they hardly did that,’ said Alix with a laugh.

And Bertie laughed with her. ‘Disraeli would have been far more sympathetic. Gladstone’s such an old preacher. And they say too that he prowls about the West End at night looking for prostitutes.’

‘Only so that he can take them home to Mrs Gladstone and together they can persuade the poor girls to lead a respectable life.’

‘Ha, ha,’ said Bertie.

‘You’re prejudiced,’ accused Alix.

The fact that the government would not increase his allowance did not worry Bertie greatly. Princes always had debts. It was something governments had to accept.

‘She goes on to say that the boys are little dears and Eddy is quite sensible when she has him alone. She thinks they are a little undisciplined. But none of our boys is going to endure what I did from my father.’

‘The way to bring children up is to make them happy and secure. I know that. I was very fortunate.’

‘Now, you’re not sighing for old Bernstorff and the Yellow Palace, are you? You like Marlborough House? You like Sandringham?’

‘Of course. I’ve been doubly lucky.’

He was pleased. She looked at him rather wistfully, though, and thought that she might have been completely happy if Bertie was not sometimes more eager for the company of others than for her own.

There was great delight in the Wales’ nursery when the parents arrived. The children ran around them shrieking, Eddy pushing Georgie aside so that he could reach his mother first. Alix picked him up and kissed him fervently. She couldn’t help it but Eddy was her favourite, because he was her firstborn, she supposed. Then she picked up Georgie and hugged him just in case he had noticed.

‘Come and look at my bear,’ said Georgie.

‘No!’ cried Eddy. ‘Come and look at my donkey.’

‘I can look at them both,’ said Alix.

‘Papa too,’ demanded Eddy.

‘Papa of course,’ replied Bertie.

One of the footmen had made them each a boat which they could sail in the bath. It was the greatest fun; they could not wait to show their parents.

And Bertie soon had a boy on each knee telling them about his strange adventures at the great Pyramids and how they had looked straight into the face of the Sphinx. They had ridden on camels over the sand and he must draw a camel for them because it was really a strange beast.

Soon he was drawing camels while the boys watched intently.

They should ask the kind footman who had made the boats whether he could make camels for them, said Alix.

The boys leaped about with excitement, so delighted were they to have their parents back, and because they jostled Louise out of the way a little, Bertie promised her that on her next birthday he would take them all to the circus.

‘Will Mama come?’ Georgie wanted to know.

‘We shall all go, the whole family. Perhaps Victoria is too young, but everyone else shall go.’

Then he told them about circuses and gave an example of the various noises animals made. Alix put her fingers to her ears. ‘I can’t think what Grandmama England would say,’ she commented.

‘That’s Gangan,’ said Georgie.

‘I hope you were good boys when you were with her.’

‘Oh yes,’ Georgie told her. ‘We had to be because she’s the Queen.’

That day was devoted to the children and at bedtime Alix herself put on a flannel apron, bathed them and took them to bed.

Eddy put his arms about her neck when she tucked him in.

‘I wish you came home from travels every day,’ he said.

Then it was the turn of George and Louise.

The Queen’s birthday dawned. Fifty years old. What a great age! And how different were birthdays now from what they used to be! They were at least a time for remembering and as she lay in bed she thought of waking in Kensington Palace on a birthday morning and wondering what her presents would be and thinking what a great age she was when she was sixteen. So very long ago, in the days when she was so inexperienced and foolish yet aware of a great destiny; and it had taken Albert to teach her good sense, to make her see how she must act. How she missed him! Would she never recover from his loss?

Life would be so much easier if he were here to help her bear it. She needed him to advise her, to stand beside her and support her, to help her with the children too. They were a constant anxiety. Vicky would be Queen of Prussia one day as Albert had always wanted, but could even he have foreseen what conflict would be in the family? Alice always seemed to be in difficulties and she did not think Louis was a very strong man. They had always known that Bertie was wild – Alfred too. In truth apart from the fact that Bertie was Prince of Wales and therefore more vulnerable, Alfred gave greater cause for alarm. There had been that disgraceful affair in Malta; after that he had declared he was in love with a commoner. Really, there was going to be trouble with Alfred. Lenchen, of course, was married now and how she missed her and it was not very gratifying to remember that her husband, Christian of Schleswig-Holstein – that ill-fated place – was so poor that he found it difficult to support his wife and family. Louise might marry Lorne although it was hardly suitable, the dear young man, whom the Queen liked very much, not being royal. Arthur gave her less cause for anxiety than any of them; he was so like Albert and she was sure that if that Beloved Being could see his son today he would be gratified. No, she did not believe Arthur would cause her anxiety. Leopold was a constant source of it – poor child, he was the only one of her children who was not healthy. It was a pity for if Arthur had inherited his father’s angelic nature, Leopold had inherited his brains. He had been so ill recently that she had feared they were going to lose him, but he had recovered and she had begged him to take care. Then there was Baby Beatrice – not such a baby now being twelve years old, but she would always be Baby and, perhaps because Dearest Papa had not been there, was just a little spoiled.