The Widow of Windsor

Chapter XV THE FATAL FOURTEENTH

It was a sad spring. Alix felt depressed and her rheumatic pains increased. There was restraint between her and Bertie and sometimes when he reproved her – very gently – for her unpunctuality, she had to stop her temper from flaring up and demanding the truth about the Mordaunt affair.

She told Bertie that she thought she would like to get away to the country for a while. Sandringham? suggested Bertie. No, she decided; she would like to go on a visit. The Duchess of Manchester had invited her to Kimbolton and she would like to accept. Bertie was almost pathetically eager to meet her wishes. In fact she believed that he was silently imploring her to put the Mordaunt affair from her mind and not ask embarrassing questions.

It was pleasant at Kimbolton, but wherever she went people cheered her and she fancied that their show of friendship was tempered with sympathy because of Bertie’s infidelities.

Why, she asked herself, should she be so hurt? She had always known in her heart that Bertie was unfaithful. How different, though, to know these things oneself than to be aware that they were being publicly discussed. Pride, her mother would say. Wounded dignity.

She had a great desire to see her mother; she felt that at home she could express her true feelings and throw off the pretence which was necessary at such a time.

When she returned to Marlborough House she told Bertie of her desire to visit Copenhagen to see her family. Bertie, determined to give her what she wanted, said that he would persuade Mama.

The Queen did not need a great deal of persuading. She understood Alix’s feelings very well; and she had been telling herself since the Mordaunt affair how fortunate she was in Albert, who had never given her the faintest cause for uneasiness in that respect.

Bertie went with her as far as Calais and when he said goodbye he looked so sad and sorry that she kissed him fervently. Whatever else he was Bertie was the kindest man in the world.

It was wonderful to be back at Bernstorff. Queen Louise, alas grown very deaf now, was a great comfort. They talked of Alix’s affairs and she found herself defending Bertie. He was always so kind and good to her. Of course he loved gay society and this could be dangerous, but at heart he was the most indulgent of husbands.

‘One must not ask too much of life,’ said Louise.

But the charm of the old home had necessarily diminished since the family had broken up. There were no cosy chats with Dagmar, and she missed the babies.

The visit was a short one, for war had broken out between France and Prussia and the Queen sent a peremptory message. Alix must return at once.

Bertie was already leaving for Copenhagen in order to escort her home.

The Queen was distressed. She hated war and had always been determined that England must be kept out of any conflict if at all possible. Lord Clarendon, before his death, had told her that trouble was brewing over the Spanish succession and that if the Prussians tried to bring in a German heir to the throne, as they were trying to do, Napoleon would never allow it and would even go as far as war.

How right he was, for now Napoleon had declared war on Prussia.

This would be another split in the family. Vicky and Bertie were at loggerheads now. Vicky must naturally support her adopted country and Bertie was anti-Prussian out of sympathy with Alix who because of the Danish-Prussian war over Schleswig-Holstein and the defeat of her father, hated the Prussians fiercely.

If Bertie were going to Denmark he must be warned not to be indiscreet. He must remember that everything he said was noted and that he was a representative of his country; he had already angered the Prussians by his sympathy with the Danes and although everyone understood his desire to be loyal to Alix, that was not a very good thing to do.

Bertie promised to be discreet and went off to bring Alix back.

It was most provoking, sighed the Queen. Not only the dreadful war which brought about such unnecessary suffering but the conflict in the family. Both her sons-in-law, Vicky’s husband the Crown Prince of Prussia, and Alice’s Louis of Hesse Darmstadt, were fighting with the Prussians. Poor Alice, who at her father’s death had proved what a good nurse she could be, was working hard at a hospital in Darmstadt and looking after the wounded from both sides of the conflict. The Queen was proud of Alice – the quiet one – who had always been so efficient. Alice wrote that she had founded the Women’s Union for nursing the Sick and Wounded in War and that she felt that this was doing so much to alleviate sufferings imposed by this cruel war.

The Queen was terrified that Napoleon would be victorious, although she knew that Bertie and Alix were secretly on his side. Bertie had always been fascinated by Napoleon and it had been reported to her (though Bertie did not know this) that there had been one dreadful occasion when Bertie as a boy had told Napoleon, in the hearing of several people, that he wished he were his father. What terrible sacrilege! Fortunately Albert had never heard of this disloyalty. Oh, the wickedness of Bertie!

In a way she could understand the fascination of Napoleon; she herself had been a little impressed by him; he had such Gallic charm and he had really made her feel that he was a little in love with her. How very foolish, but the man, though far from handsome, was charming. But what had that to do with his wicked act of declaring war on Prussia? The Queen was torn in her emotions; the family was so involved.

Strangely enough the Prussians seemed to be gaining the ascendancy. Of course the Germans had always been magnificent soldiers and so ready to be disciplined, but she would have thought that the might of France must prevail.

Alix showed clearly that she hoped the Prussians would be beaten and Bertie had made some very indiscreet remarks which Vicky strongly resented. Then she became triumphant because it was clear that the French were in difficulties. Paris was threatened.

‘What will Bertie and Alix say now?’ wrote Vicky maliciously.

Bertie said it was terrible to think of the most beautiful and exciting of cities – Paris – being under bombardment.

Vicky’s retort was: ‘What mischief that court and still more the fascinating Paris has done to English Society!’ Which was of course a sly dig at Bertie who had so much enjoyed slipping into Paris for a brief stay where he had hosts of friends – all very elegant, very gay, witty, amusing and far from virtuous.

September came and with it the battle of Sedan and the surrender of the Emperor.

Alix and Bertie had gone with the children to Abergeldie for the autumn holiday and they were there when news reached them that the Empress Eugénie had escaped from France and landed in England.

Bertie was horrified. ‘To think of that charming lady in flight. It’s terrible. We’ll have to make her see that we welcome her.’

Alix agreed. She was very sad because once more the Prussians had been victorious.

At first they had had no idea where the Empress Eugénie was and they were being entertained at Dunrobin Castle when the news came that she and her son, the Prince Imperial, were in Chislehurst.

Bertie immediately wrote to her and told her that his house in Chiswick was at their disposal.

Lord Granville, who had taken over Lord Clarendon’s post at the Foreign Office, was worried. The Prince and Princess of Wales were too impetuous; their sentiments did them credit but they did not seem to realise that they were out of their element when they dabbled in politics. The Prussians were victorious; the Emperor was deposed; and here were they, representatives of a foreign power, showing sympathy with the fallen enemy.

The Queen had been very uneasy when she heard that Eugénie was in England. They had entertained each other and professed friendship, but she, unlike Bertie, realised the political implications.

Lord Granville came to see her, accompanied by Mr Gladstone. It was most unfortunate, they declared.

The Queen replied that she considered it presumptuous of the Prince and Princess to have acted as they had; and while they were wondering how the impulsive couple could be extricated from the difficulty in which they had placed the government, Eugénie replied to the Prince thanking him for his gesture but telling him that she had already been presented with Camden House at Chislehurst, so she had no need to avail herself of their generous offer.

While the Queen was sighing with relief more news came to her from Germany that her old governess, the Baroness Lehzen, had died. Deeply moved, she took out her journals and read of those long ago days when Lehzen had meant so much to her and had in fact been the most important person in her life. She thought of the early days and the dolls Lehzen had dressed for her. How they had loved those dolls! At that time she had thought that she would need Lehzen for ever and ever and that she would always be the most important person in her life. And then Albert had come – and he and Lehzen had disliked each other and Albert had shown her that Lehzen must go and now she believed that that had broken poor Lehzen’s heart.

I owed her so much, she thought, and however misguided she was, she adored me.

So the Queen wept and thought of the past and how sad it was that poor Lehzen was no more.

Mr Gladstone was disturbed by what he referred to as the royalty question.

There was now a republic in France and Germany was united as one great Empire under Prussian hierarchy. This had been proclaimed in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles – the more to stress the defeat of France.

‘The point is,’ said Mr Gladstone to his Foreign Secretary, Lord Granville, ‘it is always dangerous for Royalty in general when a royal crown is lost. This would not have been so important a few years ago when the monarchy in this country commanded great respect. There were complaints against Albert as the German who wanted to rule this country, but there was no doubt in any mind that he was a sober-minded religious man, determined to do all in his power for what he believed to be right. He might have been called a dull man but everyone knew he was a good one.’

Lord Granville grasped the point.

‘Yet if we have lost one Emperor we have gained another.’

‘Power-crazy Germans,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘And in place of a monarchy across the Channel we have a republic. Republics are catching. As I said, a few years ago the monarchy had a certain popularity. That has been lost over the last few years. The Queen’s insistence on remaining in seclusion is in a large part responsible. The scandal about her relations with John Brown another. She is defying the people. They want her to appear in public. They want a Queen to be a Queen. The Prince of Wales compensated in some respect, but since this disastrous Mordaunt affair, his popularity has waned a great deal. He is often hissed at when once he was cheered. Pity is expressed for the Princess because of the way in which her husband treats her. The Queen is never seen and the people have no respect for the Prince of Wales. That is the sad state of affairs and so we have a royalty question.’

Lord Granville could only agree with everything the Prime Minister said. If the Queen would rouse herself a great deal of good could be done.

But the Queen refused to rouse herself. She could only find consolation in the Highlands with John Brown in attendance. She arrived at Balmoral for the autumn holiday and while she was there a very interesting event took place.

The hills were looking particularly beautiful and there was so much to remind her of the old days when she and Albert had loved to walk across this very grass. The Lord Chancellor, Lord Hatherley, was with them; he was very solemn and she did wish he would not reproach her about her seclusion, though very mildly of course which was as much as he dared to: but Beatrice was there and she was always pleasant company. On this occasion Louise had gone for a walk with the Marquis of Lorne and some other friends so there were two parties.

The Queen talked to Lord Hatherley about the manner in which Albert had described the countryside and how he had revelled in it, seeing a resemblance to his native forests and mountains. It was such a pity they had cut down so many of the trees. Why did people have to spoil everything? she demanded.

Lord Hatherley murmured that the timber would no doubt be put to very good use. The Queen said that she would like to call at the little inn Brown talked so much about. He had worked there once for a while before coming into the royal service.

They called at the inn in which the Queen was very interested and kept smiling to herself, imagining Brown in such a place.

It was when they returned to Glassalt Shiel that the significance of the day became apparent. Louise came to her room and before the dear child spoke she knew.

‘My dear child, you look very happy,’ she said.

‘Oh, Mama, I am. Lorne has proposed and I have accepted him.’ Louise looked anxiously at her mother. ‘I knew you would approve.’

‘I shall pray that you will be happy, my child.’

‘I told Lorne that you would not withhold your consent.’

The Queen sighed. ‘I would never wish my dear children anything but their happiness. Of course I am going to miss you. I am losing all my children, one by one.’

‘We are not lost, Mama.’

‘But it seems that you grow away after marriage. Think! Beatrice is the only daughter I have left now and I suppose she will soon be thinking of leaving me.’

‘At least, Mama, I shall not leave the country.’

‘That is a great comfort to me, my dearest child. And I am fond of Lorne. He is a good young man. This will be the first time that a Sovereign of this country gives consent for a royal Princess to marry outside royalty since the days of Henry VIII when he allowed his sister Mary to marry the Duke of Suffolk.’

‘I know, Mama, and so does Lorne. We appreciate your goodness and we shall endeavour to show our gratitude all through our lives.’

‘My dearest, all I shall want is to be shown that you are happy.’

They embraced fondly and the Queen said how sad it was that Dearest Papa was not here to see his daughter’s happiness.

There was no point in delaying the marriage and six months later Louise and the Marquis of Lorne, heir to the Duke of Argyll, were married in St George’s Chapel, Windsor. Giving way a little to pressure the Queen allowed the marriage to be celebrated with a certain amount of pomp and although she would not wear a dress of any other colour than black she did make a concession by ornamenting it with glittering jet and wearing diamonds and rubies.

So Louise became the future Duchess of Argyll.

Napoleon had now escaped to England and had joined the Empress and his son at Chislehurst. The Queen at once visited them there and wept with them for the loss of their position and assured them that as long as they needed a refuge it was theirs in England.

Almost immediately after Louise’s marriage Alix gave birth to another child. This time things did not go well. The child was weak and it was thought wise hastily to christen him. He was given the names Alexander John Charles Albert and the next day he died.

Alix was heart-broken. Life seemed to be going wrong for her. She had not yet recovered from the shock the Mordaunt case had given her, though often she asked herself why she should have been so distressed because something she had always known existed was brought out into the open.

Bertie was as kind and charming as he knew well how to be. They had lost little Alexander, he reminded her, but they had their two boys and three little girls and no one could say that was not a fine family. She tried to be comforted. After all, she had a fine family; and whatever his faults Bertie was always kind to her.

She planned a memorial window to the child to be placed in Sandringham church depicting Christ blessing the children.

The people, however, were determined to be dissatisfied. So the Princess had lost her baby. It was small wonder, was the verdict, when it was considered what anxieties she must suffer. Nobody was going to believe in the Prince’s innocence over the Mordaunt case. Why was he only cross-examined by the defending counsel? If Sergeant Ballantine had got at him it would have been a very different story. There was a special law of course for royalty.

Parliament were asking for an annuity for Prince Arthur and the radical party had so agitated against it that in the division fifty-four votes were cast against it.

It was quite obvious, said Mr Gladstone, that the royalty question was assuming alarming proportions. There was a wave of feeling against the monarchy and the fact that a Republic had so recently replaced a monarchy across the Channel was a pointer.

The Queen must emerge from her seclusion for this was at the root of the matter.

It was said that when she was in Scotland she took long drives; she walked; she even climbed hills; she visited the local people when they were sick and took great interest in the life of the neighbourhood; she even danced reels with her Highland servants; but continually she complained of ill health which prevented her from doing her duties in London.

‘She must return,’ said Mr Gladstone.

Was she to have no peace? she demanded. Overwork and anxieties killed that Noble Being, the Prince Consort. She was sure some of her ministers and her subjects would like to see her worn out in the same way.

Dr Jenner – that good faithful man – supported her. He assured Mr Gladstone that the Queen was in no position to take on a strenuous public life. At that time she was badly stung by a wasp and this seemed to set off a train of ailments. She was distracted by her neuralgia; and an abscess had developed in her arm. It was years since she had felt so ill – not since long ago before her accession to the throne when she had had typhoid fever.

The trouble was that having pleaded her inability to face the public because of her weak physical condition, now she was really ill people did not believe it. Reynolds’ Newspaper took up the attack with fervour. After commenting on the gambling habits of the Prince of Wales with reference to his amorous adventures, it turned on the Queen. A pamphlet was produced called What Does She Do With It? which referred to the Queen’s income. What did she do with all the money that was bestowed on her? How did she spend it, cooped up in Balmoral or Osborne, living her cosy quiet life with Mr John Brown in attendance?

Everyone was reading What Does She Do With It? and again Mr Gladstone stressed the danger of the situation. Vicky wrote that dear Mama must see what was happening and take the lesson of France to heart.

‘Do none of them understand that I am ill?’ cried the Queen. If only Mr Disraeli had been Prime Minister instead of that difficult Mr Gladstone! As it was there was no one who could comfort her but John Brown who told her to stop bothering her head about them and come for a nice little drive up to the Spital of Glenshee and he’d take some cold chicken and boil some potatoes and they’d have a drop of whisky with it, or claret if she preferred.

There were days when she was so ill that she could not walk without pain; then John Brown would lift her as easily as though she were a baby and carry her from her bed to her couch.

‘How strong you are, Brown!’ she would murmur.

‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘I manage. Ye’re still an armful, woman, but not what ye was.’

Indeed she had lost nearly two stone in weight. When those unfeeling people saw her they would realise how ill she had been and that this was no pretence.

But at least she had Brown to comfort her.

Alfred came up to Balmoral to see her. What a trial Alfred was! He was just as wild as Bertie but lacked Bertie’s charm. He began to make trouble as soon as he arrived and he and Brown were soon on bad terms. Brown’s habit of acting as a sort of guardian of her apartments irritated her family. Bertie had felt the same. They resented the fact that they, the Queen’s sons, had more or less to ask Brown’s permission to see the Queen.

‘Mama,’ Alfred said, ‘do you think it wise to allow Brown so many liberties?’

‘My dear Alfred,’ she replied, ‘pray do not presume to tell me how to manage my household. If you would only turn your attention to your own affairs they might be managed a good deal more satisfactorily than they are at present.’

This was a reference to one or two scrapes Alfred had got into with women. Alfred thought that was beside the point. Dalliance with women was a noble enough occupation; treating servants as friends closer than one’s own flesh and blood was not. But although it was easy to grumble about these matters in the Queen’s absence, it was not possible to do so in her formidable presence.

Vicky arrived with her children and she too was horrified by the ascendancy of John Brown.

Trouble came to a head when a band of musicians who had been playing for the servants to dance Highland reels irritated Alfred who ordered the music to stop. Brown wanted to know why the musicians had stopped playing and was told by the servants that the Duke of Edinburgh had ordered it.

‘It’s nae his place,’ declared Brown and commanded the musicians to start up again.

Alfred, discovering that his order had been countermanded by Brown, was furious. He demanded an apology from Brown who refused to give it.

Alfred stormed into his mother’s apartments. This was intolerable, he told her. He had been insulted by a servant.

The Queen listened and said: ‘Brown was in charge of the servants’ dancing. You should not have interfered.’

‘This is monstrous,’ cried Alfred.

‘Are you telling me that I don’t know how to manage my household?’

‘Certainly not, Mama, but this man Brown gives himself such airs. I think he’s drunk … with either spirits or power. His position here is invidious.’

‘What are you talking about, Alfred? Brown suits me very well and brings more comfort into my life than a number of other people.’

‘No man on board my ship would be allowed to behave as he does.’

‘Pray remember,’ said the Queen, ‘that this is not a ship but a royal residence and you are not the captain of it, but I happen to be the Queen.’

Alfred went off grumbling.

Young Wilhelm behaved very badly, making a scene because he was expected to sit in a back seat in the pony carriage bowing to all the people as he passed as though he were their sovereign. He really was becoming very arrogant and he had been extremely rude to Brown who made no effort to hide his dislike of the boy.

One day Vicky’s daughter Charlotte was with the Queen when Brown came in and the Queen told the child to say good morning to him.

‘Good morning,’ said Charlotte with a curt nod.

‘That won’t do,’ said the Queen. ‘Brown expects you to shake hands with him.’

‘I can’t do that, Grandmama.’

‘What do you mean, child? You can’t do that!’

‘Mama says I must not be too familiar with the servants.’

The Queen grew pale with anger.

‘Dinna fash yersel’, woman,’ said Brown. ‘And don’t blame the wee lass. It’s the way they’ve brought her up.’

The Queen sent for her daughter.

‘I am astounded,’ she told her. ‘Charlotte has just behaved in a shameful manner.’

‘But what on earth has the child done, Mama?’ asked Vicky.

‘I have rarely been so ashamed … that a granddaughter of mine could have behaved in such an arrogant, ill-mannered way. She should be whipped and sent to her room and I should insist on this being done if I did not know that she is not to blame. I cannot understand how you young people can expect your children to behave like ladies and gentlemen when I consider the way in which they are brought up. If Dearest Papa were alive he would be so distressed.’

‘But, Mama, I cannot understand what she has done to make you so angry.’

‘She refused to shake hands with Brown … to his face. She said you had forbidden her to be too familiar with servants.’

‘But, Mama, I have forbidden her and Brown is a servant, and she was absolutely right to refuse.’

‘Papa and I brought up you children to show tact and charm to everyone … the highest and the lowest. And I would have you know that I told her to shake hands and she disobeyed me. Did you bring her up to disobey her grandmother and the Queen?’

‘Of course not, Mama.’

‘Well, that is what she did.’

‘The children have always been made aware of your position, Mama, but I and Fritz have always been very anxious to instil in them not to be familiar with servants. That can be very dangerous.’

‘Brown is not an ordinary servant.’

‘We know that well, Mama.’

‘And I will not have him treated as such. During my illness he has been my great comfort. I get precious little from some of you children.’

‘Poor Charlotte,’ went on Vicky. ‘It is a little difficult for her, you know. You would not have her mixing with the servants, I’m sure; and yet she is supposed to treat Brown as though he is … the Prime Minister at least.’

‘That is a ridiculous statement. Brown has never been treated as the Prime Minister. Brown is a very good friend. Papa noticed him and singled him out for special service.’

‘For service, yes,’ said Vicky.

‘And very good service he gives.’

‘We none of us have doubted that, Mama, but you must be aware that there is a good deal of comment concerning Brown’s position in your household and surely in view of the present unrest everywhere even you must be aware that this is not a good thing.’

‘Even I? Are you suggesting that I am less aware of what is going on than others!’

‘You do shut yourself away, Mama, and you must admit the people are getting very restive and there is a certain uneasiness. Mr Gladstone …’

‘Pray don’t talk to me about that man.’

‘He is your Prime Minister, Mama.’

‘It was never my wish that he should be.’

‘But it is the people’s wish.’

The Queen was angry. How dared her daughter presume to dictate to her! This was intolerable. She began to speak; she talked of the lack of sympathy she received from her children. Alfred and Vicky should have been a comfort to her and what happened? They came down and tried to disturb her household. Since Dearest Papa had died where could she turn for comfort? Because she had a good servant they would like to take him away from her. She had had a sympathetic Prime Minister and in a few months time he was replaced by Mr Gladstone. She felt ill and lonely. Her grandchildren disobeyed her; her children conspired to disrupt her household. She would be rather glad to be lying in the mausoleum at Frogmore beside the only one who had ever really cared for her.

Vicky said: ‘Mama, pray do not distress yourself so …’

‘Pray refrain from giving me your unwanted advice. I wish to be alone.’

‘Mama …’

The Queen regarded her daughter stonily. ‘Surely you heard me express my wish?’

‘Yes, Mama,’ said Vicky with resignation.

‘And send Brown. I will take a little whisky. And then I shall rest.’

There was no way of warning Mama, thought Vicky. This absurd situation with Brown was growing worse rather than improving. He seemed now to be more important than the Queen’s own family.

But there was nothing to be done. That was the way the Queen wanted it and the Queen’s words were law, at least in the family.

Was there no end to trouble? What Does She Do With It? was being circulated all over the place. Royal popularity was at its lowest when one of the more radical members of Parliament, Sir Charles Dilke, made a speech which was a direct attack on the Queen. She failed in her duty, he pointed out; she lived in seclusion at Windsor, Balmoral or Osborne; she only appeared in public at times when she wanted Parliament to vote money for her family; she had a vast income and on what did she spend it? Was she hoarding it? Wasn’t it meant to be spent on ceremonies and State occasions? What was the point of having a Queen who never appeared in public? It would be much less expensive and more to the point to replace royalty by a republic.

The Queen was fuming with rage when she read the report of the speech.

Who was this man Dilke? He should be ostracised. She hoped she would never be asked to meet him. He was obviously a scoundrel.

Mr Gladstone was upset. He was soon on with the old theme. If she would only come out of retirement … if she would be seen in London … it would make all the difference. It was true that she was in communication with her ministers, that she worked on state papers, but a Queen must not only do her duty, she must be seen to do it.

‘I shall do as I wish,’ she said. ‘Those who think that I shall be frightened by this man Dilke have made a very grave mistake.’

She refused to brood on it. It was getting near the end of the year and there was one day which she dreaded more than any other, the 14th of December, the day when Albert had died. Ever since that day ten years ago his memory had been kept fresh; every year when the 14th came round she stayed alone in her room and thought of him and then went to the mausoleum and meditated on his virtues and the great loss his going had brought her.

She was brooding on this when a letter arrived from Alice who was staying with her children at Sandringham with Bertie and Alix.

Sandringham, thought the Queen. Bertie and Alix were too often there, and by all accounts giving very gay parties. Bertie liked to entertain and the entertainments there were said to be lavish. She was concerned by his love of the gay life and Alix could not like it either. She believed, though, that Bertie had a little to vex him in Alix’s way of never being at a place on time. Bertie had ordered that all the clocks at Sandringham should be half an hour fast so that Alix should be helped to keep her appointments. How ridiculous! Alix would soon discover that the clocks were fast and be as late as ever. The Queen disliked clocks to be fast. ‘After all,’ she said, ‘it is a lie.’

She was glad that Alice was at Sandringham. There was something very gentle about Alice and she and Alix had become such good friends.

‘It’s the first time in eleven years that I have spent Bertie’s birthday with him,’ wrote Alice. ‘Bertie and Alix are so kind and give us such a warm welcome showing how they like having us …’

Oh yes, it was good for the children to be together and although the girls had married abroad they could come home fairly frequently. It must be very pleasant for Alice to be in England for that poor Louis of hers was not so comfortably off as one would have liked.

I hope I was right to agree to the marriage. What would Albert have done? This was the Albert season and she sat brooding on that terrible time when he had gone to Cambridge in dreadful weather and come home to her so ill.

There was no one like him. There never would be, Blessed Angel that he was. How fortunate she had been to have twenty years of her life with him – but having known such perfection it was harder to bear his loss.

She heard that Bertie had gone up to Scarborough to Lord Londesborough’s place accompanied by Lord Chesterfield. Alix had stayed behind. The Queen could imagine what gay parties there would be up there. Oh dear, how different he was from Dearest Albert!

A week or so later there was disturbing news. The Prince of Wales had left Scarborough and was at Marlborough House and Lord Chesterfield had been taken very ill. A few days later the Prince was ill.

Bertie left London because he had desired to be at Sandringham and when he arrived there his illness had been diagnosed as typhoid fever.

The Queen could not believe it. Bertie stricken with typhoid fever, the disease which had killed his father ten years ago and at precisely the same time!

It was like a horrible pattern – a judgement.

She felt that the train would never arrive; it was snowing; she sat brooding, thinking of that terrible time ten years ago.

Brown was beside her. ‘We’re there,’ he said gruffly. He fastened the cloak about her. ‘Can’t you stand still, woman?’ he demanded, and she smiled faintly; poor Brown, he was upset because he knew she was.

The carriage was waiting. Brown helped her in and off they went to Sandringham.

The place looked gloomy. She glanced up at it; she did not like it – fast clocks and fast parties. But he was ill now – her eldest son, sick as his father had been.

Lady Macclesfield, that good faithful woman on whom Alix relied, came forward to curtsey.

‘My dear,’ said the Queen, ‘what is the news?’

‘Very bad, I fear, Your Majesty.’

‘And the Princess?’

‘She is with the Prince.’

The Queen nodded.

‘It cannot be typhoid.’

‘I fear so, Your Majesty. And Blegge the groom who accompanied His Highness to Scarborough is suffering from the same disease. They must have caught it there.’

‘You had better take me straight to him.’

Lady Macclesfield inclined her head.

‘And the Princess, how is she taking it?’ asked the Queen.

‘The Princess is wonderful,’ said Lady Macclesfield fervently.

Alix had come to the door of the sickroom with Alice.

‘My dearest children,’ said the Queen with tears in her eyes, ‘what a blessing that you are together at this time.’

She kissed them both and they took her in to see Bertie. He looked unlike himself with the strange glazed look in his eyes and the unnatural flush on his cheeks.

Oh dear God, she thought, it is so like that other nightmare. And it is soon to be the 14th of December.

The very best doctors were attending him – not only the Queen’s favourite William Jenner but Dr William Gull, Dr Clayton and Dr Lowe. The whole country waited for news as the fever soared. Bertie’s failings were forgotten; he had become ‘Good Old Teddy’. He was a jolly good fellow; he liked women; he had a mistress or two, that only showed how human he was. He was a good sport; he was the sort of man they wanted to be King – and he was sick with the typhoid fever.

Forgotten were the grudges against the royal family. The Queen was with her son who was dying of the dreaded fever which had killed his father, and in the streets crowds waited eagerly for bulletins of his progress to be issued. The question on everyone’s lips was ‘How is he?’ He was better; then he was worse; there was some hope; there was no hope. Everything was forgotten but the dramatic illness of the Prince of Wales. The fact that the 14th of December was fast approaching seemed significant. It was more than that – it was uncanny.

During one of the more hopeful periods Alix went to St Mary Magdalene’s Church at Sandringham, having first sent a note to the vicar to tell him she would be there. She wanted him to pray for the Prince that she might join in but she would not be able to wait until the service was over for she must get back to his bedside.

The church was crowded and there was a hushed silence when the Princess, wan with sleepless nights and anxiety, appeared. All joined fervently in the prayers. But, commented the Press, Death played with the Prince of Wales like a panther with its victim. But while the Prince lived there was still hope. Alfred Austin, the poet, wrote the lines by which he was afterwards to be remembered:

‘

Flashed from his bed, the electric tidings came,

He is not better; he is much the same

.’

Alix, with Alice and the Queen, were constantly in the sickroom but Alix did not forget poor Blegge and made sure that he had every care and attention. Alice was a great help; quiet and efficient and having had some practice in nursing during the wars, she devoted herself to her brother and gave that little more than even a professional nurse could have given. Alix thought she would never forget what she owed her sister-in-law. The Queen, in times of real adversity, was always at her best. She would sit quietly behind a screen in Bertie’s bedroom, not attempting to interfere, only to be there in case she could be of use.

It was the 13th of December – the day before the dreaded 14th – and Bertie had taken a turn for the worse. It was a repetition so close that it was eerie.

The doctors were despondent; it was clear that they thought there was no hope. Bertie often lay as though in a coma; at other times he would throw himself about and utter incoherent ravings.

Alix said: ‘Dear Mama, you must get some sleep.’

‘Not yet,’ said the Queen. ‘After … tomorrow.’

‘Mama, it is all over,’ said Alix.

‘Oh no, my dear child,’ replied the Queen firmly. ‘When my dearest Albert was so ill I never gave up hope.’

‘But it was no use, Mama. He died. Blegge has died, Lord Chesterfield has died. And now …’

‘My dear Alix, you must be brave. He is still with us.’

She tried to comfort Alix. The poor child was almost at breaking point. It was the 13th – and everyone seemed certain that Bertie was going to die on the anniversary of his father’s death.

‘Oh God, spare my beloved child,’ prayed the Queen.

Through the night of the 13th she waited and when the 14th dawned she was filled with a terrible apprehension.

Everywhere the tension was felt; it was as though the whole nation held its breath.

The 14th. Ten years to the day. There she had sat by his bedside and he had said: ‘Es ist das kleine Frauchen’ and she had asked him to kiss her. She remembered how his lips had moved so that she knew he had heard what she said.

She had sat there while everything that was worth while in life had slipped away from her; and she had plunged then into such utter desolation that she had not before known existed.

And now their son was dying. Poor wayward Bertie whom she had never loved as she should have. He had been a backward child and a disappointment to Albert who had so wanted a clever son. Albert used to worry so much about Bertie’s coming to the throne and not being fit for the heavy responsibilities. Had they always been fair, always kind to Bertie?

It was too late for such thoughts now. In any case Bertie was a man and he had grown far from his mother; the way of life he chose was alien to her, as hers was to him.

But she remembered that there had been moments in his childhood when she had loved him; and he had been so popular with his brothers and sisters, and usually good-tempered. She thought of his pushing his little wheelbarrow in the gardens at Buckingham Palace and Windsor; playing with his bucket and spade at Osborne, or riding his pony at Balmoral.

Alix loved him; his children adored him; there would be many to grieve for poor Bertie.

Dr Gull came to her; there was complete despair in his face. She could not bear to ask how Bertie was; she could not bear to go to his bedside, for there she could not help but see that other face; she could not shut out the echo of his words, ‘Gutes Frauchen.’

Oh, beloved Albert, dead for ten years. Am I to lose our son on the anniversary of the darkest day in my life?

A miracle had happened. On the fatal 14th Bertie had come as close to death as it was possible for anyone to do and live. All day long he had seemed to be sinking fast and even the doctors had lost hope.

The Queen implored Dr Gull to tell her the worst but he only shook his head because he could not bring himself to say, ‘The Prince is dying,’ which was what he believed to be the truth.

He left the sickroom and paced up and down the terrace. Only a short while now, he thought; and even he felt himself caught up in that fatalism which had been accepted by almost everyone else. The Prince was going to die on the 14th.

One of the nurses came running out on to the terrace.

‘Doctor,’ she cried, ‘please come at once. I think he is dying.’

The doctor hurried into the sickroom. He looked down at the patient who was lying very still; he was pale and as the doctor took his wrist to feel his pulse he realised at once that the fever had passed.

He turned to the nurse. ‘I believe there is hope,’ he said. ‘The crisis has passed.’

Alix came to the bedside. ‘There is hope …’ she began.

Dr Gull answered: ‘The fever is passed. I think a miracle has happened.’

The Queen embraced Alix; then she turned to Alice. ‘It’s a miracle, no less. He was on the verge of the grave,’ she cried. ‘Very few people have been known to recover who have been as ill as he has been.’

Dr Gull, who had been keeping visitors from the sickroom during the last day, said that the Queen might go and sit at her son’s bedside for a short while, though not to tire him.

Bertie looked at her and the sweetness of the smile on that pathetically pale face touched her deeply.

‘Dear Mama,’ he said, ‘I am so glad to see you. Have you been here all the time?’

She could have wept. ‘I have been watching over you, my darling child,’ she told him.

He smiled faintly and said: ‘Where is Alix?’

Alix came to the bed and she took his hand.

‘No one could have shown you greater love and care,’ said the Queen brokenly. ‘Such tenderness!’

Alix knelt by the bed and her tears fell on to the coverlet.

Dear sweet Alix, thought the Prince. When he was well he would try to make amends. He would live more quietly, the sort of life that she wanted. He would spend more time with her and the children.

The children? His spirits lifted at the thought of them. He longed to be with them, play the old games with them.

There was so much to live for.