The Widow of Windsor (3 page)

After all, thought Bertie, I am almost of age. The Queen was always talking of lying beside his father in the mausoleum which was being erected at Frogmore and when she did, Bertie would be King of England, so naturally those about him must remember this.

How pleasant to visit the Pyramids, to stand close to the Sphinx, to ride on camels over the sand and later to journey on to Palestine.

The Rev. Arthur said that it was an important occasion because it was the first time since the fourteenth century that an English heir to the throne had visited Jerusalem. Here, Richard Coeur de Lion and Edward I had come to fight their crusades.

‘Most inspiring,’ said Bertie; he would tell the Queen about it on his return.

He felt quite drawn towards Stanley, perhaps because he had turned out so much better than he had expected, and when news reached them that Stanley’s mother had died Bertie was very sympathetic. His easy manner of getting along with people was a great comfort to his new friend and Stanley was deeply touched when Bertie passed on to him a copy of
East Lynne
by Mrs Henry Wood which Bertie thought so entertaining that it would take his mind from his trouble. It was scarcely the type of literature with which Dr Stanley was in the habit of passing his leisure hours, but he appreciated the thought behind the offer.

They spent Easter Sunday at Lake Tiberius and from there journeyed to Damascus, Beirut, Tripoli, Constantinople and Athens. It was exciting travelling through these exotic places; and the more he travelled the more apparent became the Prince’s flair for behaving in a manner which was acceptable to the people. He had a natural charm; the stammering Bertie whom his parents had deplored had become the garrulous, charming young man, invariably affable and with a very natural interest in beautiful women. Bertie began to realise that this failure to please his parents had in fact been his complete difference from his father.

He thought affectionately of the family at home – the sisters and brothers – and whenever he could find exotic articles, the sort of things they wouldn’t have seen before, he bought them to take back to them. Vicky was interested in flowers; these he collected for her and dried them so that she would have some sort of idea of the kind of flowers that grew in far-off places.

During the tour poor General Bruce fell ill and it soon became clear that he was suffering from a fever which he had contracted in some foreign place.

The Queen was most concerned because Albert had chosen him to be Bertie’s mentor and therefore she regarded him as the best possible choice for the role.

Bertie was less concerned; he remembered what life had been like under General Bruce, not always very pleasant, and although the General had changed his attitude towards him a little as he was growing older, Bertie had very much resented the restraint he had put on him.

He was finding that little had changed while he had been away. His mother was as mournful as ever. He had hoped that a lapse of time would have lessened her grief. But not so; it was as fresh as ever and her presence in her black mourning garment and widow’s cap made gaiety impossible.

The children were delighted with the gifts he had brought. They shrieked with delight as they dressed up in the strange garments he had brought for them. Alice smiled quietly and when their mirth grew too noisy she reproved them gently.

‘Don’t let Mama hear you laughing so much.’

So it was a rather grim home-coming.

Alice was a little unhappy because Prince Louis could not provide her with a home just at first. There was some wrangling going on about finding a palace for the pair which, considering he was heir to the Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt, was, said the Queen, remarkable. However, it did mean that Alice would not have to leave her immediately; but she would be a wife and that would change her a little. With a husband beside her she would have less time to devote to her stricken Mama.

‘Lenchen will do all for you that I have done,’ Alice consoled her. ‘She is growing up fast.’

‘Dear child! She tries hard. But there is no consolation for me, Alice. It lifts my spirits a little, though, to realise what satisfaction it must be to you to know how much dear Papa enjoyed your reading to him only a little while before he was taken from us. Do you remember the day when nothing would please him … not even Sir Walter Scott?’

Oh dear, thought Alice, she will go on talking about scenes from the past and work herself into such a state of misery that she will be ill.

‘I remember, Mama,’ she said; and began to talk about the possibility of Bertie’s marrying.

But it was so easy for the Queen to lead the conversation back to the happy days of her married life and the terrible loss and the certain knowledge that there could never again be any joy in her life.

Then there was more sorrow when General Bruce died.

The Queen felt this to be a terrible blow.

‘Poor Bertie. What will he do now? Where will he turn? He has lost the dearest of fathers and now that good and honest man who was chosen to care for him and advise him has gone. He has sacrificed himself for Bertie for if he had not accompanied him on his travels he would never have caught that dreadful fever. Another death! Another valued life gone!’

‘Now,’ she confided to Alice, ‘there will be the task of finding a new governor for Bertie. Oh, if your dear father were here how easy it would be. What a burden he took from my poor shoulders. Every day I realise more and more the tragic depth of my loss.’

Alice’s wedding day was approaching.

‘Is it a funeral or a wedding?’ the Prince of Wales asked his favourite sister.

‘Poor Mama,’ said Alice. ‘She cannot forget Papa’s death even on my wedding day.’

‘The people won’t like it … a private wedding with no processions and no rejoicing!’

‘Bertie, how could we have rejoiced so soon after dearest Papa’s death?’

Bertie smiled at her affectionately. Poor Alice! She had borne the brunt of looking after the Queen while he had been enjoying life in the Middle East.

‘It’s no use living in the past,’ said Bertie. ‘Once you get away you’ll feel better.’

Alice gave him her quizzical smile. ‘It’ll be your turn next, Bertie,’ she said.

He agreed.

The dining-room at Osborne had been turned into a chapel. The Queen sat near the altar under the Winterhalter picture of the family. She had made no concessions to the occasion and was wearing her widow’s black with the cap which Princess Beatrice did not care for.

The Archbishop of York read the service and the Queen felt drawn to him because he was so clearly moved. She knew that his wife had died about three years previously and he was still mourning her. Before the ceremony they had talked of their dead and wept together.

The Queen sat forlornly thinking of how different it should have been. A fine wedding in London with dear Albert, splendid in uniform, leading Alice to the altar.

This, she thought, is like plunging a dagger into my already bleeding heart.

When the married couple left for their honeymoon, which was to be spent at Ryde, she would send for Lenchen and tell her about her own wedding all those years ago and how nervous she had been, how young and inexperienced, how their father had looked as handsome as a god and even then she had not known what a blessing was being conferred on her.

My only consolation now is to do what he would have wished, she told herself.

So now she must concern herself with Bertie, for Albert had constantly said during that last year they had had together: ‘Bertie must marry. His nature is too ardent for him to remain a virtuous bachelor. His only hope is a good woman.’

A good woman. Princess Alexandra? There must be no delay. But she must make sure first that Princess Alexandra was the
right
wife for Bertie.

Bertie himself was thinking: What a wedding! More like a funeral. Poor Alice. She’ll be better off, though, with a husband and a life of her own. Poor Lenchen. It’s her turn now to look after Mama. And my turn for marriage! What will it be like to have a wife? He was quite eager to find out.

He kissed his sister after the ceremony. ‘Bless you,’ he said.

‘Oh, Bertie … dearest Bertie.’

Her eyes smiled into his.

Your turn next, they said.

Chapter III

THE FAMILY AT THE YELLOW PALACE

Seventeen years before the death of the Prince Consort, there was great expectation in the Yellow Palace on the Amaliegade Street in Copenhagen where Prince Christian and his wife Louise were expecting their second child. Their son Frederick, known as Fredy, was just a year old.

Christian and Louise were poor; the Yellow Palace did not belong to them and it was only by the grace of King Christian that they were allowed to occupy it; but they were in love and happy. Christian was not ambitious; Louise was more so; but in these early days of marriage her great desire was to have a family and live for them. So, in spite of the expense of a new baby the child would be warmly welcomed into the household.

Louise stood at the window, with little Fredy beside her, watching Christian leave for the barracks. He was tall and handsome and if he were poor she did not care, for besides being extremely good looking he was kind, gentle and as anxious as she was to bring up their family in a proper manner. They had often talked about the children they would have. Theirs should be a happy family, although of course the children would be reprimanded when necessary, even punished – but only in a manner which would be good for them.

Oh yes, they had often made plans for the family, and now Fredy was to be joined by a little brother or sister.

Christian turned to wave; his groom, whose livery, she noticed, should have been replaced some months ago, helped him on to his horse, bowed, and Christian waving to his wife at the window rode off.

She smiled, thinking of her tall blue-eyed husband, Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg – a very magnificent-sounding title for a penniless Prince. But they were fortunate because of the kindness of the King, which was good of him really for they had no claim on him. Christian was merely the fourth son of Duke Frederick of Schleswig-Holstein; and even the eldest son had inherited a bankrupt kingdom because the Napoleonic Wars had ruined them; but since there was a family connection, King Christian VIII had befriended his young namesake, had given him a commission in the Royal Guard and the Yellow Palace for his home.

They were lucky. The palace was not unlike a French château of the smaller type. One stepped into it straight from the street, entering by big gates which opened on to a courtyard. It was an exciting house, even though some of the rooms were small; there were odd winding staircases and passages and nooks and crannies in unexpected places. It was, in any case, a home, and they were grateful for it.

King Christian lived near by in the Royal Palace and Prince Christian and Louise were often invited to pay an informal visit; close by in an imposing mansion lived Louise’s parents – the Landgrave and Landgravine of Hesse-Cassel. The Landgravine had been Princess Charlotte, and was King Christian’s sister.

It was all rather cosy and informal for Charlotte was good to the family at the Yellow Palace and was constantly sending gifts and between the King and the Landgravine they just managed on Christian’s pay which was only ten pounds a month. Not very much to sustain life in a palace – even one such as the Yellow Palace – and maintain some semblance of royalty. But Prince Christian was happy; he was proud of his position in the Army; he had a wife whom he admired as well as loved, a son and another child on the way; he asked only to be able to keep them in comparative comfort.

Louise turned from the window. There were the servants to receive their orders – not many of them, only those whom her mother said she must have. Louise could manage very well. What a difference there had been in the Yellow Palace since she had taken over! Now all the cobwebs were swept away and the furniture shining; meals were served hot and promptly. She was a wonderful housewife.

The Landgravine tut-tutted and reminded her that she was the niece of the King, to which Louise replied gravely that she had reason to remember that with gratitude for to the King they owed their home and Christian’s post in the Guards so she was not likely to forget.

The Landgravine was impatient. ‘With your looks and your talents you should not be an ordinary
hausfrau
. And when I think of Frederick … the only heir to the throne, what will become of Denmark I can’t imagine!’

Frederick, the King’s only son, was a trial to everyone except himself of course and his cronies – and there were many of them. They consisted of the artists and writers with whom he liked to sit and drink, and his mistresses with whom he walked arm in arm through the streets; or if they were shopping he would carry their parcels for them like any bourgeois husband. Frederick was a scandal in the royal family.

But she and her little family were aloof from royalty in a way. They rarely went to Court functions simply because they wouldn’t have the suitable clothes and jewels. Even in the regiment Christian was poor. But who cared? Certainly they did not.

Life in Copenhagen was full of interest. She had enjoyed taking Fredy down to the harbour and showing him the big ships – Danish some of them, others coming in from all over the world. She would walk along the Sund pushing her son in his baby carriage like any matron of the town.

And now there would be another child.

She turned away from the window, shivering a little for it was very cold. Soon it would be Christmas. The baby should arrive a few weeks before the festival, she hoped. How wonderful that would be. Little Fredy would have his first Christmas tree and a little brother or sister as well.

The next day, which was the first of December, her child was born. It was a girl.

There was a great deal of discussion about the child’s name, between her parents that was. She was not considered to be of sufficient significance for the King or the Landgravine and her husband to think it mattered what she was called.

Louise, however, suggested that it would be a pleasant gesture to name her Alexandra after the sister of Alexander of Russia who had been married to her brother and had recently died.

Christian said this was a capital idea; he usually thought Louise’s ideas were capital. So the name was decided on. It was to be Alexandra Caroline Marie Charlotte Louise Julie.

‘Now,’ said Christian, ‘everybody can be satisfied.’

The King was kind and professed to be very interested in the child’s birth. He said she must have the silver gilt font for her baptism which was always used by members of the royal family.

Young Christian and Louise expressed their gratitude, the font was sent to the Yellow Palace and Alexandra was baptised.

How pleasant to have another child. Little Fredy was delighted. He couldn’t say Alexandra but he managed Alix and from then on the baby was known by that name.

Louise wheeled her round to the grandparents’ palace which was only a short distance away. The Landgravine was delighted with her granddaughter and had presents waiting for her and some extra money for her daughter which she presented with the comment, ‘How you manage, my dear, I do not know.’

But Louise smiled serenely and assured her mother that she managed adequately and repeated that the generosity of the King and herself made life quite easy for them.

The old Landgrave was less amiable but he loved his daughter. He was quick-tempered and somewhat eccentric; he spent hours in his enormous library reading the books in the order of which they had been acquired and placed on the shelves.

He peered at the baby and declared that she was unattractive.

‘Take it away,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to look at that ugly little thing.’

The Landgravine smiled at her daughter. ‘Don’t take any notice of Papa,’ she said.

‘But ugly, Mama!’ cried Louise indignantly. ‘Alix is beautiful.’

‘What a good thing all babies are to their mamas. Never mind, my dear, the plain babies often turn out to be the prettiest women in the long run.’

Louise was astonished. She and Christian had thought their daughter the most wonderful child on earth … as wonderful as Fredy of course.

She would not bring Alix to see the Landgrave again in a hurry.

Alix’s first memories of Rumpenheim were of the time when she was three years old. Rumpenheim was a beautiful castle on the banks of the River Main, not very far from the town of Frankfurt; the gardens were beautifully laid out, the rooms much larger than those of the Yellow Palace. Rumpenheim was like something out of a fairy tale.

Nor was it only the house and the gardens which were so entrancing. There were so many people staying at the castle and they all knew each other and at reunions they greeted each other with demonstrations of great affection. When Alix was introduced to them, they kissed her, gave her presents and talked to her about Copenhagen and the Yellow Palace and the Sund.

Who were these people? she asked her mother.

Louise, who liked her children to ask intelligent questions, replied that they were all members of her family and the reason they came to Rumpenheim in the summer was that Louise’s grandfather, the Landgrave of Hesse, had left the castle to his family on the condition that, during the summer months, some members of the family were always at the castle.

What a wonderful grandfather he must have been! commented Alix.

Her own family had grown in the last few years and she had a little brother William (called Willy) and there was a new baby girl, Dagmar. She loved them all dearly and it was a wonderful cosy feeling to belong to such a family.

At Rumpenheim was her cousin Princess Mary of Cambridge, who lived in England and was very attractive in Alix’s eyes. She seemed quite old, being thirteen, and she and Alix took to each other from the start. Mary asked permission to wheel the baby Dagmar in her carriage about the grounds and this was given; so while Mary wheeled Dagmar, Alix would trot along beside her and sometimes Mary would lift up Alix and set her in the carriage opposite Dagmar and push them both.

Because Mary was that wonderful being, not quite an adult and certainly not a child, Alix could feel less restricted in her company than she did in that of grown-ups and at the same time draw on that inexhaustible fund of knowledge which seemed to be Mary’s.

Mary explained the complicated ties which made them related. Her ancestor King George III of England had had fifteen children, nine sons and six daughters; one of these sons was Adolphus, Duke of Cambridge. He married Princess Augusta, who was the daughter of Frederick, Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel. It was this Frederick who had given Rumpenheim to his family. Frederick’s eldest son had married Alix’s mother’s mother. So Alix would see the family connection between herself and Mary.