The Widow of Windsor

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.

A fiftieth birthday was indeed a time for brooding. They would all come to see her today and she would talk to them about Dearest Papa’s virtues and how different it would have been if he had been with them on this day.

Thinking of him she remembered a difference of opinion they had had when he wanted to make their circle more intellectual. He had thought it would be interesting for her, and she had refused. She had feared that ‘those people’ would talk over her head. How foolish she had been and how long it had taken her to learn her lessons under that kind and tender guidance.

But now that she herself had written a book – ‘Fellow author’ Disraeli had called her – she felt that she would like to meet people of literary talents. She had found Disraeli’s conversation most enlivening and she believed he had not been bored with hers. Then there was Sir Arthur Helps who had edited her book for her. He was also a very interesting man.

She had already met Lord Tennyson because Albert had said he was a great poet and she had wanted him to know how In Memoriam had comforted her.

Sir Arthur talked to her about Thomas Carlyle and when his wife died the Queen sent personal condolences. Later she met Carlyle and the poet Browning.

She told Louise that she was going to read some novels and she read Thackeray and George Eliot; but the books which appealed to her most were those of Charles Dickens.

‘So feeling,’ she said.

In November a daughter was born to the Prince and Princess of Wales. She was christened Maud Charlotte Mary Victoria.

This was Alix’s fifth child. She was delighted with her family and wished that she could become an ordinary housewife so that she could devote herself to them exclusively.

Bertie stared down at the paper in his hand. He could not believe it. This simply could not happen to him! How dared they order him to appear in court! How dared they presume … how dared they suggest …!

He felt sick. He wanted to shut himself away. He wanted no one to know of this until he had decided what to do. It was true that Lady Mordaunt had been a friend of his; he had called on her when her husband was away; he had enjoyed several delightful meetings when the two of them had been alone; she was very pretty and twenty-one and he had thought her charming.

And what had she done? She must be mad. Yes, that was the answer, she was mad, for she had made some sort of confession to her husband declaring that she had committed adultery with Sir Frederick Johnstone (his great friend from Oxford days) and Lord Cole, another crony and, among other men, the Prince of Wales.

The result was that her husband, Sir Charles Mordaunt, was suing for a divorce and although he did not name the Prince as co-respondent – that was reserved for Sir Frederick and Lord Cole – Bertie’s name was mentioned, Lady Mordaunt’s counsel was serving a subpoena on him and he must appear as a witness.

The Prince of Wales in the witness box in an unsavoury divorce case! What would the people say? What would Alix say? What would the Queen say?

Bertie was numb with anxiety. This was worse than anything that had happened to him. Curragh Camp was nothing to this. He could not think how to act. He must have advice and the advice he needed was that of a lawyer. He thought immediately of Lord Hatherley, the Lord Chancellor. He shivered at the thought. William Page Wood, Lord Hatherley, was a brilliant lawyer – perhaps the best in the country – but very austere. Bertie knew that for years he had acted as Sunday School teacher in Westminster, the parish where he lived. He would necessarily be unsympathetic but at the same time he would realise what a scandal could mean to the country, and he could be relied on to give the Prince of Wales the best possible advice.

Bertie was right. The Lord Chancellor listened attentively.

‘I am innocent,’ declared Bertie. ‘The lady must be insane. I am sure this will be proved but in the meantime I have received this subpoena to appear in court.’

This was a very grave situation, commented Lord Hatherley. The Prince could plead privilege but that he believed would be most unwise, for he was of the opinion that if any obstruction was placed on his Highness’s appearing in court that would be construed as proof of his guilt. He would have to appear in court, and of one thing he must make certain: the Queen must hear of this first through him. That was imperative. And no doubt, added Lord Hatherley, the Prince would wish to be the first to inform the Princess of Wales.

Bertie realised the wisdom of this and went straight to Alix, who was immediately alarmed by his downcast expression.

‘Bertie, what on earth has happened?’

‘Something terrible.’

‘The children …’

Bertie shook his head. ‘Oh no.’ Alix sighed. As long as there was nothing wrong with the children she could feel relieved. ‘It’s … Alix, I’ve got a thing called a subpoena. They’re going to take me to court.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘It’s Lady Mordaunt. She’s gone mad, I think. She’s made some sort of confession to her husband and he’s trying to divorce her …’

‘And you …?’

‘Oh no. It’s Fred Johnstone and Cole. They’re cited as co-respondents, but she’s made some wild statements about me and her lawyers have sent this thing.’

‘Oh God!’ said Alix.

‘Well, she must be mad.’

‘But she has named you.’

‘She’s mentioned me. The woman’s insane …’

‘But you were friendly.’

‘Oh come, Alix, I’m friendly with so many. It’s part of my duties.’

He was bland even though very anxious. Alix’s voice was trembling a little as she murmured: ‘And she has no reason …’

‘Of course not,’ said Bertie indignantly.

She felt wretched and miserable. She thought of Lady Mordaunt – young, twenty or not much more, very pretty, very gay. Bertie had called on her frequently, she knew. He must have visited her often when her husband was absent.

‘I’ve spoken to Hatherley,’ said Bertie. ‘He said I must tell Mama without delay.’

The Queen re-read Bertie’s letter. It was his painful duty, he had written, to tell her that he had been subpoenaed to appear as a witness at the court of Lord Penzance …

Her son! The Prince of Wales! Ordered to go to court! A divorce case and Bertie’s name mentioned! She could feel almost thankful that Albert was not here to suffer this.

Bertie declared that he was innocent. Of course there were malignant people who were ready to make the most cruel accusations against royalty. Unkind things had been said against her and John Brown. Poor Bertie! Strangely enough when she came face to face with real disaster she found she could be very strong. It was only when she contemplated something alarming that her spirits quailed. So Bertie was commanded to appear in court because a loose woman had mentioned his name. Very well, Bertie must appear in court and if he told her he was innocent she believed him. She sat down at her desk and wrote a tender letter. She believed that he had been maligned; she had the utmost confidence in him; and she wanted him to know that his mother was with him.

Bertie was touchingly grateful and was more frank than he had ever been before. He told her that he feared Sergeant Ballantine, whom Sir Charles Mordaunt had engaged to act for him, would twist everything he said and try to compromise him. He was in a terrible dilemma. To go into the box and have his words twisted by a brilliant lawyer or to stay out and let people impute his absence to guilt.

The Queen was anxious. She could not explain her fears to Mr Gladstone. How she wished dear Mr Disraeli was her Prime Minister now. Of course Bertie was wrong to have put himself in such a position where this was possible. If he had not moved in ‘fast’ circles no one would have been ready to believe this whatever that mad woman and her clever Sergeant Ballantine said. Whatever happened Bertie had done himself a great deal of harm.

The Lord Chancellor agreed with her. The monarchy was not so firm that it could afford such scandals as this. Mr Gladstone thought that the Queen’s love of seclusion had already irritated public opinion; for the Prince of Wales to be connected, however innocently, with such an unsavoury divorce case would not improve it.

‘How difficult it is for royalty,’ said the Queen with some asperity. ‘I am blamed for living too quietly; my son for living too riotously. People are never satisfied.’

There was great excitement when the case opened. It was the first time a Prince of Wales had ever been summoned to the witness box. The majority were certain that he had been Lady Mordaunt’s lover. Albert Edward – Teddy as he was beginning to be called by the people – was another such as his great-uncle George IV who had amused the people with his scandalous love affairs.

The Mordaunt story was gradually revealed to an avid public. Lady Mordaunt had given birth to a child and a few days after its birth it had been discovered that there was something wrong with the child’s sight and it would almost certainly be blind. This had so upset Lady Mordaunt that she had become hysterical.

When her husband came into her bedroom she cried out: ‘It is my fault the child is blind. You are not the father. Lord Cole is the father. I have been wicked and done wrong.’

‘You are distraught,’ said Sir Charles, trying in vain to soothe her.

‘No,’ cried Lady Mordaunt. ‘I have been unfaithful to you with Lord Cole, Sir Frederick Johnstone, the Prince of Wales and that’s not all …’

Sir Charles, very distressed, tried to comfort his wife.

‘She has some fever,’ he told the nurse. ‘She doesn’t know what she is saying. I believe women suffer in this way sometimes after having a child.’

Two of the nurses replied that during her confinement before the birth Lady Mordaunt had told them quite seriously that the child was not her husband’s and that she had committed misconduct with the men she had mentioned.

Sir Charles went to his wife’s bureau and found bills which showed that she had stayed at hotels with Sir Frederick and Lord Cole, and as there were also letters to her from the Prince of Wales, Sir Charles believed he had a case.

People recalled the trial of Queen Caroline. This was of less importance than that, of course, but very diverting. ‘Gay old Teddy’ was the universal comment. ‘Well, he was bound to get found out sooner or later.’

There was a great drive to prove Lady Mordaunt insane. Her own father stated that he believed this to be so, and that she was suffering, as several doctors affirmed, from puerperal mania.

The mention of letters from the Prince of Wales caused a great deal of excitement but disappointment followed when these were published in The Times and proved to be somewhat innocuous, even though they did show that the Prince was on terms of cosy friendliness with Lady Mordaunt although not with Sir Charles, apparently, for the outraged husband told the court that he had never invited the Prince to his house in spite of the fact that His Royal Highness was a frequent visitor there in his absence. Teddy’s visits, laughed the public, were made when Sir Charles was out of the way naturally.

The excitement reached its climax when Bertie took his stand in the witness box. Calmly and clearly he answered the questions put to him.

Yes, he was acquainted with Lady Mordaunt before her marriage. She had visited Marlborough House. He had seen a great deal of her both before her marriage and after.

At last came the all-important question: ‘Has there ever been any improper familiarity or criminal act between yourself and Lady Mordaunt?’

The Prince threw back his head and answered firmly: ‘There has not.’

The court broke into applause which the Judge repressed and Bertie left the court with relief. The case was over – dismissed on account of Lady Mordaunt’s insanity.

Bertie felt jaunty. He had come through that with honours, he believed. Even Ballantine had not dared to go too far with the Prince of Wales.

‘The gross implications which have been wantonly cast on me are now cleared,’ he wrote to his mother.

The Queen read his letter and sighed. It was not as simple as that. She knew well enough that whatever the outcome of the case people were going to believe Bertie guilty. His conduct was not without reproach. There were all those gambling debts and the rumours of how he was always in the wake of some woman. Vicky had heard it said on the Continent and so had Alice. Bertie was a gambler, he drank too much and was too interested in food; but his besetting weakness was women.

The Lord Chancellor shook his head over the affair and Mr Gladstone was not very happy about it, while Reynolds’ Newspaper was asking whether a young man who paid visits to a young married woman in her husband’s absence was really innocent.

There was the expected spate of cartoons. A paper was being sold in the streets called The Infidelities of a Prince; and although this recounted in florid terms the adventures of George IV when Prince of Wales it was bought by many on the understanding that it was an account of the exploits of their own Teddy.

Bertie pretended to shrug it aside. Alix was quiet and rather sad. It was all so different from what she had dreamed in the Yellow Palace.