The Widow of Windsor

Chapter X THE END OF PAM AND THE RISE OF DIZZY

The Queen was secretly dismayed. For several hours of the day she would not even think of Albert. It had happened since Brown had come to Osborne and she realised how right they had been to send for him. Now of course when she went to Balmoral he would go with her, and if she had to go to London he would be there. The prospect of going to London was not nearly so distasteful when she considered that Brown would be there.

Brown was so reliable, so courageous, so amusing, with his dour Highland ways, such a relief after ordinary people. Of course, none of the people who surrounded her appreciated him and they were astonished by what she ‘put up with’ (as they expressed it) from a servant.

‘Brown is no ordinary servant,’ she would say with a laugh. ‘One does not get devotion like that from ordinary servants, I do assure you.’

He looked after the horses and the dogs, but that did take up a great deal of his time and she really needed him to have a more personal post. He was to have a salary of £120 a year – rather large, it was true, but the man needed some compensation for leaving his home. How amusing it was to see his delight when she talked of going to Balmoral. She had arranged that each morning he should come to her room to receive the orders for the day. She looked forward to seeing him and hearing his dry comments on the weather – always so amusing. He had a contempt for the South of which he made no secret which showed how loyal he was to his native land.

Bertie and Alix didn’t like him. Poor Bertie, he was so superficial he could not see the sterling worth of Brown. She was afraid that he was mixing with the wrong sort of people and Lord Palmerston had hinted to her that Bertie’s gambling debts were reaching alarming proportions. She did not believe Parliament would increase Bertie’s allowance, and she could understand their being reluctant to do so. What would he spend the money on? Horse-racing and fast women.

Poor Alix, the Queen was afraid she had to put up with a great deal, and Alfred was turning out to be almost as bad as his elder brother. Who would have thought that with the example Albert had set them they could behave as they did.

So it was natural that Bertie and Alfred should not appreciate Brown. Alice from Darmstadt had written that she thought it an excellent idea that Brown should have come South. It must mean a great deal to dearest Mama to have a servant about her on whom she could rely.

As for Lenchen she was very much aware of the virtues of Brown. She remarked to her mother that his blue eyes were so penetrating and missed nothing and how well they went with that curly beard. He was so strong too. Lenchen at least appreciated John Brown.

June had come and Alix’s confinement was near. She had been quite well and after a reception went to a concert. During it she began to experience mild pains and was eager to get back home. She went to bed immediately and very shortly after another son was born.

The Queen was delighted. Two boys in such a short time was excellent and it seemed as though Alix was going to be as fruitful as she was herself, always a comfort for a Queen – which Alix would one day be, of course. Although one could have too many. She often thought of those seemingly perpetual pregnancies when she remembered she had been a little irritable and rather a trial to poor Albert.

The new baby was of course much stronger than poor fragile little Eddy; and it was so pleasant to see dear sweet Alix sitting up in bed looking so pretty and happy too, because there was no doubt that Alix was born to be a mother.

The baby was to be called George.

‘George!’ cried the Queen. ‘Why George?’

Alix explained that the Cambridges had always been great friends of hers in the days when Cousin Mary came to Rumpenheim and Alix was only three years old.

‘Poor Mary Cambridge,’ said the Queen. ‘So large and still unmarried.’

‘I thought it would please them to call the baby George after the Duke.’

‘Poor George!’ said the Queen. ‘There was a question at one time of my marrying him.’

‘As there was of my father,’ said Alix with a smile. ‘There were so many eager to marry the Queen of England.’

The Queen admitted this. ‘And how fortunate I was to have succeeded in marrying the most perfect angel that ever existed. But then his very virtues make me miss him all the more.’

Alix hoped the Queen was not going to lapse into one of her monologues on the virtues of Albert, which Bertie had said had become slightly less frequent since the arrival of Brown. At least, he added, that was one good reason for bringing Brown south. Bertie was so irreverent.

Alix talked about the beauties of little George and how it was easy to see even at this stage that he was remarkably intelligent.

The Queen smiled fondly. Little babies were not a subject she greatly enjoyed. So his names were to be George Frederick Ernest. But she thought that every member of the family should bear Albert’s name.

Alix said that Albert could be added, of course.

‘A pity Bertie did not think of it,’ said the Queen severely. ‘Of course I should have preferred Albert to come first.’

‘His brother is Albert Victor,’ Alix reminded her.

‘Of course. Well, second perhaps. George Albert and the rest … if he must have George.’

‘Bertie says George is a King’s name and that there have been four of them recently in succession.’

‘But this little fellow won’t be King and as Eddy is called Eddy, he might have had Albert first.’

But she was not talking with her usual vehemence and Alix sensed this.

‘I do believe,’ Alix said afterwards to Bertie, ‘she talks of the Prince Consort out of habit now rather than sorrow.’

Which, said Bertie, was slightly more bearable.

In spite of the assiduous care of John Brown life was a little trying. There was constant anxiety about Bertie and the life he was leading; she had heard many stories of the scandals surrounding her uncles and their debts and the troubles they had got into with women; she greatly feared that Bertie was following in their footsteps. The people were displeased about her seclusion. There were pieces constantly appearing in the papers. Some of the ill-mannered politicians were not averse to standing up and pronouncing tirades against her. It was to say the least annoying.

Was it not enough that she worked hard for the good of the country? Had she not kept them out of war during that dreadful Schleswig-Holstein affair? If it had not been for her those two dreadful old men, Palmerston and Russell, might have dragged them in on the side of Denmark. It was true that she was very annoyed because Austria and Prussia between them had not given the Duchies to the Duke of Augustenburg which had been the object of the war, so everyone had been led to believe, but Prussia had annexed Schleswig and Austria Holstein, which was very wrong. All the same England would not have been justified in going to war.

It was all going to be very awkward because very soon she was going to Coburg to unveil a statue of Albert. All the family would be there and with this distressing conflict still in their minds, together with its disgraceful conclusion, it was going to be very awkward.

And now here was Punch with a most unkind cartoon. Oh, why did royalty have to suffer so much from these vulgar people? There she was, as they liked to portray her, most unflatteringly (not that she had ever been vain about her appearance) as the stone statue of Hermione. And Britannia (Paulina) standing before her with the words in a balloon coming from her mouth: ‘’Tis time; descend. Be stone no more.’

It was really too much to be borne. Not only must she work for their good in secret but she must appear at those worthless ceremonies, those tiresome, tiring public occasions.

Well, she was going to do no such thing; and they must be told so in such a way that there was no doubt about it.

Soon after the birth of little George, Alix and Bertie went to Denmark and stayed at Rumpenheim. How different it was from the old days. Everyone was talking about the war and of course most of the family had suffered very much through it. There was great bitterness and all the family feeling seemed to have disappeared.

Bertie was vehement in his condemnation of the Prussians and he hoped all those who had not stood by Denmark would realise how wrong they were now they saw how the Prussians and Austrians had seized the spoils.

There was speculation that there might well be trouble between those two, and Prussia would be at Austria’s throat before long; they could depend on that because Prussia would not be satisfied with Schleswig merely. Bismarck was stretching his greedy hands across Europe.

It was so different; one could not escape from the consequences of the war.

Dagmar’s fiancé, Nicholas the Czarevitch, had died of tuberculosis and she was very unhappy; but he had a brother Alexander and everyone was sure that Dagmar would have no difficulty in falling in love with him, so although she had lost her prospective bridegroom there was another waiting for her and his position was just as glittering as that of his brother. In fact it was exactly the same position.

It was all faintly depressing. Poor Dagmar felt that too.

And then they must go to Coburg where the Queen was unveiling the statue.

Victoria was in no mood to enjoy the occasion. She could never be in Coburg without thinking of dearest Albert and the happy holidays they had spent there. All her children were to be present because for any one of them to be absent would be an insult to dearest Papa. Albert’s brother Ernest would be there too. How strange that he who had led a somewhat wicked life should still be alive and Albert, who was younger, should have died! She remembered the occasion when she and Albert had witnessed the unveiling of a statue to Beethoven and how they had laughed because when it was unveiled it had its back to them. What good old days – how different from these sad and tragic times!

While in Germany they met Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein, Sonderburg-Augustenburg, the younger brother of the man who had aspired to Schleswig-Holstein, and whose family had now been robbed of their estates by the Prussians and Austrians. He and Lenchen became very interested in each other and as Lenchen was the next daughter for whom she must find a husband, the Queen saw no reason for not agreeing to their betrothal. As far as her daughters were concerned she always remembered the sad case of her aunts who had never been allowed to marry. There had been scandals about some of them and some of them had been very bitter. But then of course poor old Grandpapa George III was always very odd.

Lenchen seemed very happy at the prospect of marriage and she could go home and think about it very carefully because the marriage could not take place for a while.

Vicky was of the opinion that it would be a good match. Vicky herself was in a very difficult position. Her husband was the Crown Prince of Prussia but Bismarck was not at all fond of her and she told the Queen that he had said she was pro-English.

‘What an unfeeling man,’ cried the Queen, ‘to imagine you could ever forget your native land!’

It had been a difficult life in Germany for poor Vicky in that dreadful haunted schloss with her mother-in-law who resented her, and that dreadful Bismarck who was really responsible for the terrible reputation Prussia was getting for being the menace of Europe. And besides that, of course, she was very worried about little Wilhelm with his poor sad arm and all the treatment they were trying to give him.

The Queen was glad when it was time to leave. She was very much looking forward to being at Balmoral. She smiled to think how pleased Brown would be.

Alix was very uneasy. How she hated being in Germany! To have been at Rumpenheim with her sad relations who had lost so much and then to be expected to be friendly with their enemies was unendurable. She was angry when a message arrived for her and Bertie to the effect that the Queen of Prussia would come to Coblenz to greet them as they passed through. It would be a brief meeting fortunately, said Bertie. For form’s sake really.

He was unprepared for Alix’s stony silence. He tried to change the subject but she burst out: ‘Do you think I am going to be polite to the Queen of Prussia when the King and Bismarck have done everything possible to ruin my father, my home and my family?’

‘I know it’s hard to meet them,’ soothed Bertie. ‘But it’s just to greet them and then pass on. They understand it’s a little awkward. That’s why it’s been arranged like this. It’ll be over in an hour.’

‘It will not,’ said Alix.

‘Oh yes, it will,’ murmured Bertie.

‘It will not be over in an hour,’ repeated Alix fiercely, ‘because it is never going to begin.’

Bertie stared at her.

‘My dear,’ he said, ‘do you realise that the Queen of Prussia is coming to Coblenz expressly to see us.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Alix, ‘and there is one thing you must understand, Bertie, I am not going to see her.’

‘It would be an insult.’

‘My parents have been worse than insulted by Prussia.’

‘Alix, I know this, but we couldn’t possibly refuse to see them.’

‘I could,’ she said, ‘and I shall.’

Bertie was reminded of the time when she had had the flag hauled down from the mast. This was a new Alix. She had seemed so easy-going; she did not question him when he stayed out all night. He was aware that she knew of his friendships with other women and she accepted this as necessary to his extreme virility. Dear Alix, such a good wife, he had always thought. So pretty and so accommodating.

But this was different. He now recognised that determination, and knew that he could not ignore it.

He tried pleading with her. ‘What can we do? What excuse can I make?’

‘Excuses! Do we have to make excuses? These people have murdered Danes; they have stolen our territory. Do we have to make excuses because we don’t fall on their necks and kiss them?’

‘We have to remember that this is the Queen of Prussia.’

‘It is precisely because I remember that that I will not see her.’

‘Mama will be displeased.’

‘I am sorry, but if she is that must be so.’

‘Alix, consider …’

But her lips were tightly pressed together and there was a hard glitter in her eyes. She would not leave the train to meet the Queen of Prussia.

Bertie was in a dilemma. He must go alone, which he did.

The Princess of Wales, he explained, was indisposed. Perhaps she had taken the journey too soon after the birth of little George.

The Queen of Prussia coldly agreed that this might be so, but she knew of course that the Princess of Wales had insulted her; she had been fully informed of the incident of the flag.

The little Danish Princess gave herself airs which was extraordinary considering she had never been of great importance and but for the fact that the Prince of Wales had married her would have been even less so after the defeat of the Danes.

She would have to learn that she could not insult Prussia with impunity.

The Queen broke her journey on the way back at Ostend in order that she might see Uncle Leopold.

Poor Uncle Leopold, he was getting very old now. She remembered sadly how beautiful he had seemed when she was a child and she had called him her second father. There was still something very impressive about him. She could see the paint very clearly on his wrinkled cheeks. Poor dear man, striving to look well, and she remembered how when he had been young he had loved to talk of his ailments. He said his rheumatism was crippling him then; it wasn’t, of course, but it was just that he enjoyed imagining himself a martyr. She had heard him and old Baron Stockmar talking of their ailments with almost as much excitement as they did politics.

And now he was rather a sad sight, still in his built-up shoes to give him height and his wig which somehow called attention to his ageing face. But he was as warm and affectionate as ever.

She was still his dearest child and he still attempted to advise. Now he was lecturing her on her love of seclusion. ‘It is not wise, my dearest child. The people want to see you. We can’t afford to shut ourselves away. We have to think of the people all the time.’

‘It’s so tiresome that they should want to see me.’

‘Even more tiresome, my dear child, when they lose interest in us, or worse still turn against us. The Prince and Princess of Wales will take the popularity which should be yours.’

‘Bertie gives me great cause for alarm.’

‘He’s a very wild young man, I believe. He takes after my father-in-law, George IV.’

‘Yes, I fear so. That sort of thing is in the family … like getting fat. I’ve noticed Bertie is putting on weight.’

‘Too much rich food and wine, you should tell him.’

‘Bertie is becoming quite unmanageable.’

‘All the more reason why you should take your place in society.’

She listened patiently. Dear Uncle, he did like to manage everything. He had always been so. She remembered how she had remarked on this to Albert.

‘I remember,’ said Leopold, ‘when your Cousin Charlotte first became my wife …’

The Queen’s attention strayed. He was rambling on about how docile Charlotte had been, how she had looked up to him, how she had been a little jealous of him …

Victoria had heard it all before. Dear Uncle, he was getting so old.

She would be glad to be back in Balmoral.

Old Pam was beginning to feel his age. He was past eighty, but he was not going to give up. ‘If it wasn’t for the gout,’ he told his wife Emily, ‘I’d be as good as I was twenty years ago.’

But there was the gout and that spring he had had a particularly bad bout of it. He had gone down to Brocket Hall which Emily had inherited on the death of her brother, Lord Melbourne, and she had induced him to stay there for a bit. But as she said, it was hopeless trying to keep Pam quiet. The despatch boxes came down regularly and he was up half the night dealing with them, because he liked to ride in the day and he urged her to continue giving her parties in the evening. There were frequent dinner parties at Brocket Hall and he liked the guests not all to be old. A sprinkling of young and pretty women was always desirable and he continued to have an eye for them which Emily assured him she was aware of.

‘Oh, I’ve followed the path of virtue since I married you, Em,’ he told her. ‘I never sin outside my thoughts.’

She was afraid for him and wondered how he would feel if he was no longer able to continue in politics; he was afraid of what would happen to her if he were to die. Theirs was a devotion which was almost incongruous but it was steadfast as both knew.

With the coming of October he began to feel ill but he tried to hide it. He would have a day in bed and the next day he would be up and go out with Emily for a drive.

Lord Russell thought it wise to advise the Queen that he was anxious about the Prime Minister’s health.

What joy to be at Balmoral! Brown was in his element. This was the place. This was the life. The Queen was planning trips she would take with John Brown.

‘Aye,’ said Brown, ‘that’s a bit of a rough road, woman.’

‘Nonsense, Brown. We should be perfectly safe with you. We will go to Loch Oishne. It was always a favourite spot of the Prince Consort’s.’

Brown muttered that he was nae going to be responsible if she got it into her head to travel too far away and come back by night.

The Queen laughed. ‘Oh, you’ll look after us. You always do.’

She was so delighted to be back among the beloved hills. But there was this terrible news about Lord Palmerston. She did hope he was not going to be so ill that she would have to return to London. She would write to Lady Palmerston and send her sympathies. How difficult it must be to nurse a man like Lord Palmerston. She was sure he would never do what he was told.

In the meantime she would forget her Prime Minister and enjoy the simple life. What fun it was when Dr Macleod came in and told them about a most horrible murderer with whom he had talked when he visited the prison. Dr Pritchard had murdered his wife and mother-in-law and had been a dreadful character. It was really very distressing to realise that there were such terrible people in the world. But he of course was no longer in it, having been hanged by the neck last July.

Death, she thought. We all came to it. Dear Albert now lay in the mausoleum at Frogmore and how often during the months following his death had she longed to lie there beside him.

Now … She thrust aside the thought, because it was quite a long time since she had wished she were there with him. It was not that she was forgetting, she reminded herself. She was merely reconciled to living out the span allotted to her.

All the same it was very interesting to listen to Dr Macleod and the next day which was Sunday they went to church where prayers were said for the recovery of Lord Palmerston.

Lord Palmerston lay in bed wondering whether he would reach his eighty-first birthday. He had breakfasted off mutton chops and port wine and told Emily that he felt better after such an excellent meal.

Emily came and sat by his bed but refused to allow him to get up. His protests were mild enough for he did not really feel well. But to cheer Emily when the doctor called he told him that he wanted to be up and about and couldn’t think why they were keeping him in bed. ‘You’ll die if you go out in this weather,’ warned the doctor.

‘Die!’ cried Palmerston with the accustomed wit. ‘My dear fellow, that’s the last thing I shall do.’

A few days later he was dead.

He was buried in Westminster Abbey and crowds witnessed the ceremony. They were silent crowds and the spirit of genuine mourning was evident. He had been the people’s darling with his amorous adventures in his youth which had earned him the name Cupid, becoming on his marriage to Emily the reformed rake, his wit, his unruffled good humour, his refusal to bow to royalty, his ability in foreign affairs – all this was remembered at the passing of good old Pam.

The Queen was saddened because she hated death.

‘But,’ she said, ‘I never really liked him.’

The Queen hated these ministerial crises and she was really very perturbed to contemplate that Lord Palmerston was no more. Although she had never liked him, she had to admit that she was feeling his loss deeply. He had been a strong man and that was what the country needed, particularly when it no longer had Albert to lead the way. He had been very courageous, anyone must admit that; and he had been calm; of course he had thought that he was infallible and he had been most disrespectful at times, but the country was going to miss him and apart from his vanity he was a great man. Moreover he had been the Prime Minister and there was nothing to do but summon Lord John Russell and ask him to step into Palmerston’s shoes.

Poor Lord John, he was getting so old, but what alternative was there?

When she considered her ministers nowadays she thought longingly of Sir Robert Peel, that great good man whom she had failed to appreciate until Albert had revealed his virtues to her. There was hardly one man of stature in her government now because she refused to consider Mr Gladstone whom she could never like. But there was one … She smiled tolerantly, thinking of him. Mr Disraeli was such a feeling man, and even his enemies – and he had many – would admit that he was clever. In the first place she had thought him rather odd – so was his wife, a very flamboyant woman, a widow too and she had never believed in widows remarrying. But Mr Disraeli had shown himself to be a charming man. While Mr Gladstone had fulminated against the cost of the Albert Memorial, Mr Disraeli had made such a delightful speech. Nothing was too expensive, in his opinion, to honour the great Prince Consort. She had warmed towards him immediately; and when they had spoken together he had talked of Albert as an Ideal and had so understood her grief that there was an immediate rapport between them.

She had shown her approval by seeing that he and his wife had good seats for Bertie’s wedding; and she thought it was rather touching how devoted he was to Mrs Disraeli who was thirteen years older than he was; and she of course adored him. They reminded her of herself and Albert and that made her warm all the more to Mr Disraeli. He of course was a Tory as dear Sir Robert had been – but he had not been a great friend of Sir Robert; he had as a matter of fact been one of those responsible for the downfall of that great man. But politics were politics and Mr Disraeli had to defend his principles even if it meant going against his leader, which showed of course how honourable Mr Disraeli was.

However, there was no question of Mr Disraeli’s forming a government at this stage. All she could do was write to Lord John Russell.

The melancholy news of Lord Palmerston’s death reached the Queen tonight. This is another link with the past that is broken and the Queen feels deeply in her desolate and isolate condition how, one by one, tried servants and advisers are taken from her. The Queen can turn to no other than Lord Russell, an old and tried friend of hers, to undertake the arduous duties of Prime Minister and carry on the government.

Poor little Johnny Russell – so old and tired. How much better it would have been if she could have sent for that stimulating and exciting personality, Mr Disraeli.

Only two months after the death of Lord Palmerston another tragedy occurred which touched the Queen far more deeply.

Uncle Leopold died.

She had talked of Lord Palmerston’s death as a broken link with the past, how much more so was Leopold’s.

She shut herself in her room and wept thinking of her childhood when he had seemed godlike to her, perfect in every way, the father whom she had sadly missed, the adviser and the friend. Of course as time went on he had sought to rule her, but that was his way; and first Lord Melbourne and then Albert had been beside her to teach her that much as she loved this dear uncle he must not be allowed to rule England. Dear Uncle Leopold who had been first Charlotte’s husband and then Louise’s and had arranged that all his relations should marry throughout Europe most advantageously. He had been a great power in the world and a great influence on her life.

He wished to be buried at Windsor. Of course it should be so. His body should be brought over and there should be a very sad ceremony for this beloved relation.

She was horrified when the Belgian Government refused to allow his body to be sent to England. He was the King of the Belgians, it was said, and England was not his native land.

The Queen was both furious and tearful.

‘You’ll be upsetting yourself, woman,’ said John Brown, ‘for no good at all.’

‘You’re right, of course, Brown, but this was my beloved uncle, the friend of my childhood, and he is dead.’

‘We all have to die when our time comes,’ mumbled Brown.

How right he was.

‘It’s the Catholic Clergy who are raising objections,’ went on the Queen.

Brown’s lips curled; he didn’t think much of any church but that of Scotland.

‘Nasty beggars,’ he said, which made the Queen smile and feel so much better.

It was most unfortunate that with the passing of Lord Palmerston and the premiership of Lord John, Mr Gladstone should have become the Leader of the House while remaining Chancellor of the Exchequer. This meant that the Queen was obliged to see more of him and as she confided to John Brown, she could never take to the man. She would never forgive him for voting against granting the money for the Albert Memorial; he was so different from Mr Disraeli, whom the more she saw the more she liked. She had forgotten that she had once thought him a mountebank; now he was amusing and exciting. The manner in which he kissed her hand was so reverential and he spoke of Albert in hushed tones as though he were speaking of the Deity.

Mr Disraeli understood the Queen’s grief; he never tried to minimise it, he often dwelt on its magnitude; he told her of his devotion to his own dear Mary Anne although it was absurd to compare the strange, quite ugly creature with beautiful Albert; but in Mr Disraeli’s eyes his wife was a beauty which was very touching, particularly after all the unkind things which people said about his marrying her for her money.

She had sent him a copy of the Prince’s speeches bound in white morocco; he replied by letter containing elegant phrases which exuded gratitude and in person he expressed his delight in the gift with tears in his eyes so that she had no doubt of his sincere appreciation.

But of course he was in Opposition, which was very irritating, because while Johnny Russell’s government remained, unfortunately that tiresome Mr Gladstone must be often in her company.

Only one thing could she find in his favour. Mrs Gladstone was devoted to him. She often wondered what it must be like to be married to such an unattractive man. Poor Mrs Gladstone!

She was not sorry when the Russell government was defeated and forced to resign. She had in the past been fond of Little Johnny, but that was in Lord Melbourne’s day and now he was seventy-three and seemed older than Lord Palmerston had been at eighty. Gladstone’s Reform Bill was the reason for the government’s downfall. Clever Mr Disraeli and his leader Lord Derby had put forward more popular measures and as a result Lord John and Mr Gladstone were so badly defeated that they had no recourse but to resign.

Lord Derby came in with his Tories and although he was the Prime Minister the Queen was amused to note that the leading light of the new government was her dear friend Mr Disraeli.

Benjamin Disraeli was jubilant. He could see in the very near future he would achieve the great ambition of his life – to become Prime Minister. And when he did he could be sure of the two women who were most important to him, Mary Anne, his wife, and Victoria the Queen.

Disraeli had always been a favourite with women – particularly those older than himself – but although the Queen was some fifteen years younger than he was, she was a matron, the mother of nine, and since the death of the Prince Consort appeared to be older than her years.

Derby was ailing; there was no doubt of that; Lord John Russell was too old for office; Melbourne was gone, Palmerston was gone. Who was left? The answer was Disraeli, who would tower above them all, his only rival being William Ewart Gladstone whom the Queen disliked more and more as time passed. Poor old Gladstone, he did not know how to treat romantically minded ladies – for the Queen was one no less than Mary Anne.

Disraeli’s great regret was that his sister Sarah was not alive. How she would have enjoyed his triumph. Dear old Sarah who had been so loyal all the years and followed his successes with such glee – how sad that she should die before he had reached the pinnacle.

But it was seven years or so since Sarah had died, and they had buried her in Paddington cemetery. She had never married, although twenty-nine years before her death she had been engaged to William Meredith who had died in Cairo when he and Benjamin were travelling together. Had she married him she would have had a husband and family with whom to concern herself and might not have been so devoted to her brother.

So he had lost Sarah, but he had Mary Anne and nobody could have been more faithful, no one could have lived more for another person than she lived for him.

Returning home late from the House he would always find her waiting up for him; she liked to make sure that there was a snack ready in case he should feel hungry.

On this occasion she would be jubilant, he knew, for she would be fully aware of the situation and what it meant.

‘I’m not clever like you, Dizzy,’ she would often say. ‘I’m a regular dunce.’ But she knew well enough what was good for her Dizzy and she would be fully aware of Lord Derby’s failing powers and that her clever husband was poised waiting to spring into the saddle.

True to custom when he arrived home, there was Mary Anne in a brilliantly coloured peignoir waiting up for him, presiding over a table laid with cold chicken and champagne.

‘Celebrations tonight,’ she greeted him. ‘This is a good day for my dearest Dizzy.’

Dizzy replied with that gallantry which had so delighted the Queen that the best part of it was coming home to Mary Anne.

‘I’ll drink a glass with you,’ she told him. ‘To the next Prime Minister.’

‘A little way to go yet, Mary Anne.’

‘A step or two,’ she admitted.

‘Gladstone’s waiting to spring.’

‘Sanctimonious old devil,’ said Mary Anne.

‘You sound like the Queen.’

‘Is that what she calls him?’

‘Not quite, but she looks really severe when she mentions his name.’

‘And she smiles for my Dizzy.’

‘I know how to treat her. It’s always well to flatter people but where royalty are concerned you lay it on with a trowel.’

Mary Anne giggled; her eyes grew sentimental. ‘Is the chicken good, my dearest? And you were hungry!’ She raised her glass. ‘May you be as good a Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House as you have been a husband to your Mary Anne. And,’ she added, ‘very soon I shall substitute for the first two titles that of Prime Minister.’

‘You go too fast, my dearest wife.’

‘No one goes as fast as my Dizzy.’

‘What should I do without you?’

‘Is that what you asked yourself when you married me for my money?’

‘Not so earnestly as I do now, for you know that if I had to make the choice again I’d marry you for love.’

She smiled at him, eyes glazed with affection.

‘Do you know, Dizzy,’ she said. ‘I believe you mean that.’

‘With all my heart,’ said her husband.