The Widow of Windsor

Chapter VII ADVENTURE IN THE HIGHLANDS

How difficult it was, thought the Queen, to remain in seclusion when one was the Sovereign. Lord Palmerston, her Prime Minister, had never been a favourite of hers, although she had come to realise the need for a strong man at the head of affairs, and she supposed he was that. But Albert had never approved of Palmerston who had scarcely led a good life in his youth, although it was true that when he settled down and married Lord Melbourne’s sister they were devoted to each other and lived in harmony. But Palmerston’s eyes would always follow a beautiful woman speculatively and Albert had noticed it and disapproved. Every man could not of course be like her Angel, but a Prime Minister she believed should show more decorum than Lord Palmerston was accustomed to. He was referred to as ‘Pam’ by the people, who for some odd reason adored him. How unpredictable the people could be! They had never appreciated Albert. But Pam was better than Cupid, the name by which the Prime Minister had been known in his youth – for obvious reasons.

Now Lord Palmerston was warning her that there was likely to be trouble over Schleswig-Holstein, that matter which had never really been settled; this would mean of course trouble between Prussia and Denmark for Denmark would not willingly give up the provinces because Bismarck told them to.

How tiresome! And if only Albert were here, he would understand and see that something was done.

‘There are three people who understand the Schleswig-Holstein controversy,’ said Lord Palmerston. ‘The Prince and he’s dead and myself …’

‘The other one?’ she had asked.

Lord Palmerston had replied with the utmost irreverence and that rather wicked smile of his. ‘God, Your Majesty.’

She sighed for the tact and sympathy of Lord Melbourne – long since dead and only now occasionally remembered.

She was worried too about Alfred. Bertie had ceased to be such a concern now that he was married to dear sweet Alix who was so good for him. Alfred had had a very unpleasant adventure in Malta. It concerned a woman. Oh dear, she did hope the boys were not going to be tiresome in that respect. First Bertie at the Curragh Camp – and what fearful results that had had! She wondered Bertie could sleep at night for thinking of it; but she was sure he never did – think of it, that was. His sleep would be quite undisturbed. And now Alfred in Malta.

Bertie had said: ‘Oh, Mama, one doesn’t want to make too much of these things. Poor old Affie, he had to amuse himself somehow.’

She was annoyed. Bertie had too much confidence since his marriage. He was always appearing in public and Alix with him and people cheered them madly wherever they went.

‘Very commendable,’ was Lord Palmerston’s comment. ‘Makes up for your hiding yourself away, M’am, and satisfies the people.’

Lord Palmerston had always taken Bertie’s side.

But she did realise that Alfred’s affair at Malta was not of the same magnitude as his future as Duke of Saxe-Coburg. Albert had always intended Alfred to take over Ernest’s dukedom when he died.

Ernest was not in the least like his brother Albert. Oh, the irony of fate that the saint should be taken and the sinner left. One could not probe too deeply into the life Ernest had led. There were women, and debts in plenty, and no children at all, which was why Saxe-Coburg was to go to Alfred. Albert had often talked to her about Ernest. He just could not believe, he used to say, how that brother of his, with whom in his youth he had been inseparable, could have turned out as he did. But Ernest had changed from the innocent youth who had roamed the forests round Rosenau with his brother and hunted for specimens for their museum. She had always declared that when the influence of Albert was removed Ernest had gone to pieces.

The throne of Greece had become vacant and this had been offered to Alfred. This offer had thrown the Queen into a flutter. It was gratifying, of course, but Albert had always talked of Alfred as though he were the future Duke of Saxe-Coburg and she had declined the honour on Alfred’s behalf.

Ernest had immediately declared that he would take on the kingdom of Greece, at the same time retaining his Duchy of Saxe-Coburg.

This was something the Queen could not tolerate. Alfred would be expected to go to Saxe-Coburg as heir to that Duchy and govern while Ernest was in Greece. Oh dear, no. That would not do at all. Albert would have disapproved most strongly. Ernest would be the real ruler, Alfred a deputy. The affairs of Saxe-Coburg under the dissolute Ernest were in a sorry state and it was very likely that if Alfred became deputy ruler he could fall into his uncle’s ways and – more practically – perhaps be held responsible for their results.

Her Prime Minister came down to Windsor to see her rather reproachfully because she was not in London which would have made communication with her ministers so much easier. She gave him her severe and rather haughty look which seemed to amuse him, a fact of which she was aware and deplored, but of course she could not tell him that she did not like his manner. She never had liked his manner, but she had been forced to admit since that terrible and most unsatisfactory Crimean war that the country could not do without him.

He bowed over her hand. He must be nearly eighty, she thought. Quite clearly he painted his cheeks. How unmanly! And yet how could one accuse Palmerston of effeminacy? He merely wanted to pretend that he was as well as ever. She had heard that he had been seen solemnly climbing over the railing before his house and when he was on the other side, equally solemnly climbing back. A policeman watching him had very naturally thought he was intoxicated and going over to him discovered to his amazement that the climber was not only sober but the Prime Minister.

‘I just wanted to see if I still had enough agility to climb those railings and back. And I did, so you see, there’s life in the old dog yet,’ was his comment.

The story was repeated and the people of course had loved him for it and shouted ‘Good Old Pam, there’s life in the old dog yet!’ wherever he went. How strange that all Albert’s good works had gone unrecognised – or almost so – and this absurd escapade had brought Palmerston even more popularity with the masses.

What was it about him? she wondered. That air of confidence and nonchalance. He knew she didn’t like him and he simply didn’t care; his attitude reminded her constantly that it was the people who selected their rulers. And they were behind Pam.

She asked after his gout. He said it bothered him from time to time.

‘And Lady Palmerston is well?’

‘She is and will be honoured when I tell her that Your Majesty enquired.’

‘You have come over this affair of Greece of course.’

‘That, M’am, and the even more important question of Schleswig-Holstein.’

‘There is trouble brewing there.’

‘There’s always trouble brewing there. And with Bismarck in the ascendant the situation is not improved.’

‘The Prince Consort would never have agreed to Alfred’s taking the Greek throne. And I think we should strongly oppose its going to my brother-in-law.’

Palmerston seemed to agree with this opinion. He thought it was possible that one of the Danish Princes might be offered the Greek throne. He could see no harm in that.

‘You mean one of Alexandra’s brothers. Not the eldest. He will be King of Denmark.’

‘The next one perhaps,’ said Palmerston.

‘He’s so young.’

‘Princes have responsibilities thrust early upon them as Your Majesty well knows from personal experience.’

She nodded gravely.

But he had not really come to talk to her about the Greek throne. He was concerned with Prussia – deeply concerned.

Bismarck, it seemed, was the real ruler of Prussia and he was out for conquest. He was talking of a united Germany and his slogan was ‘blood and iron’.

‘Very descriptive words, Your Majesty,’ commented Palmerston, ‘and leaving us in no doubt of their meaning.’

‘William of Prussia would abdicate in favour of the Crown Prince,’ he went on, ‘but I do not think the Crown Prince is eager for it. Nor is Bismarck.’

‘My daughter and her husband don’t like the man.’

Old Pam’s smile was impish. ‘Alas, M’am, sometimes monarchs have to accept statesmen they don’t like.’

She agreed with dignity that this was sometimes a great trial to them. And she secretly thought how often it occurred to her that she would be rather relieved to be rid of those two old men, Palmerston and Russell. The alternative, though, was Disraeli with greasy curls and painted face or Gladstone with his thundering virtue. Indeed, monarchs did suffer from the statesmen the people gave them.

But Lord Palmerston had come not only to talk of Greece and Prussia but of her own seclusion. He hinted that this had gone on long enough and that the people didn’t like it.

‘Bertie and Alix I hear are seen very frequently in society.’

‘And a good thing it is that they are socially inclined,’ said Lord Palmerston. ‘It makes the situation less tricky.’

Less tricky! What an expression!

‘The people like to see their Sovereign now and then, you know. They like to see the crown and the sceptre and the purple velvet.’ His eyes dwelt on what Baby called her ‘Sad Cap’.

‘They must be made to understand my tragedy,’ she said sharply.

Palmerston sighed. ‘In the meantime, M’am, we will be grateful to the Prince and Princess of Wales for keeping the people happy.’

‘I don’t think there should be so much night life. And I hear that the Prince of Wales is sometimes seen in places less reputable than they should be.’

Palmerston smiled. ‘The people like him for it. So I think we should be grateful to his Highness … all of us. A gay Prince of Wales makes up for a Queen in mourning.’

It was straight speaking, but what one must expect from Lord Palmerston.

If he was hinting that she should come out from retirement he would have to learn that she had no intention of doing so.

As for Bertie – he was inclined to wildness; but at the moment she supposed she must not reprove him, since he was – so the Prime Minister suggested – taking the burden from her shoulders.

Bertie had seemed all that one could want in a husband. Often Alix asked herself how many princesses achieved what she had – a real love match. Bertie could be passionate lover and tender husband all at once. He was proud of her beauty; he was constantly telling her that she was the most beautiful woman in the assembly. It was fun to be with him; he laughed a great deal; he was amused by her occasional struggles with the English language; he explained jokes to her which she had failed to see; and the honeymoon was the happiest time of her life – and afterwards, too. Bertie loved society; they settled in at Marlborough House and entertained a great deal, but after a few weeks it occurred to Alix that they were rarely alone. She enjoyed company; it was the greatest fun to wear beautiful clothes and be admired. She and Bertie had similar tastes in many ways. They liked gay, light-hearted people. They never wanted to discuss anything that might be called ‘serious’. She had lived very simply in Copenhagen; he had been repressed all his life. She was now being shown a new and glittering world; he was having everything that had been denied to him before. They were both determined to make the best of it.

The first shadow crossed her mind one day when she had thought how pleasant it would be if she and Bertie dined alone in Marlborough House. They had driven in the Park in the morning and received the acclaim of the people; they had gone to a reception in the afternoon where several people had been presented to the Princess of Wales; and she had told Bertie she had a surprise for him that evening. He was to invite no one to Marlborough House. Then he would wait and see.

They dined alone. ‘You see,’ she had said, ‘there are always so many people around us. I thought it would be much more fun to be alone for once.’

Poor Bertie! He did his best; but it seemed difficult to maintain the conversation; he missed his gay friends. It was obvious that that was one of the occasions which was not a success. Alix knew that she must not do that again. But it was rather startling.

There was amazing news from home. Her brother William had been elected to the Greek throne. How strange to think of little Willy as a King. He was to change his name to George as being more suitable for a Greek Monarch, and to leave for Greece immediately.

It seemed incredible. Here she was the Princess of Wales and Willy the King of Greece when a year ago they were living humbly in the Yellow Palace.

Sometimes she thought of the family at home. They would be as sorry to lose Willy as they had been to lose her. She had thought that everything was worth while because of the love between herself and Bertie, but when she realised that charming as Bertie was he often glanced at the clock when they were alone together and brightened considerably when some of his gay friends arrived, she began to have some misgivings.

Then she discovered that she was pregnant.

Bertie was delighted. He was very solicitous. She must not tire herself. He thought that perhaps late nights were not doing her any good. She should retire early.

She had said: ‘Oh yes, I should like that!’ Still being naive enough to think that he would be with her. She had forgotten the little dinner for two which had not been a success.

He was so tender. He would make her sit down and himself wrap a rug about her legs. He would tell the servants to bring a tray to her room. And then he would kiss her and leave her.

He liked to go out and join his friends at some of the fashionable clubs where he was often incognito. It amused him to take a cab as a private person.

Alix stayed in her room, thinking how comfortable it was to enjoy an early night. But she did wonder what Bertie was doing.

She was often fast asleep when he retired for the night. It wasn’t quite what she had imagined in the beginning.

The Queen usually spent autumn in the Highlands which was the best time with the heather on the hills and the beautiful fresh air. Dear Balmoral! Some people said it was more like a German schloss than a Scottish castle. That was because it was Beloved Albert who had planned it. The old Balmoral – which they had become fond of when they had first come to Scotland – was not good enough for her, Albert had said; he had wanted to build something more worthy. She had been reading through her old journals – a habit she had fallen into lately and which she found morbidly fascinating. Often Alice or Lenchen would find her with the tears streaming down her cheeks while she read of past happiness. There was a nice little hall, she had written, and a billiard room with the dining-room next to it. A good broad staircase and the sitting-room above the dining-room. She remembered it so well. ‘Castle’ had been rather a pretentious name for old Balmoral. But what happy days they had had there in the beautiful wooded hills which had reminded dear Albert so poignantly of his homeland and the Thuringian forests.

How different the new Balmoral with its forty-foot-square tower and the oriel windows. Now it was quite magnificent, as Albert had said, a royal residence.

And what a comfort to be there with the dear servants. Annie MacDonald was such a treasure and she was beginning to think that there was no one quite like John Brown.

She smiled at the thought of him. He was very tall and handsome; very strong; so brusque in his manners that he never failed to make her chuckle. And faithful. That was what she looked for now. Albert had said he was the best man on the estate. He and the head gillie, John Grant, were completely trustworthy, Albert had remarked. In fact Albert had often stressed that when he went out on a day’s shooting he found the company of these two servants more to his liking than that of some of the noble guests whom duty forced them to entertain. She agreed with Albert on this as on everything else.

She liked as many of her children to be with her as possible. The fact that Alice was still in England meant that she and her husband could join the Scottish party; Bertie and Alix of course had their affairs in London – and very gay they were by all accounts; and as she had said to Vicky she thought that Alix showed the strain and was looking peaky; she was not very strong and rather highly strung, she feared. Of course Bertie was not like his father who had always been the most solicitous of husbands and whose great concern had been for his wife’s comfort.

Vicky with Fritz and the children Wilhelm, Charlotte and little Henry were having a brief holiday in Scotland too which was very comforting. She could never forget that Vicky had been her father’s favourite and although she had been a little jealous of those whom she had – quite wrongly she realised now – imagined had cut her out a little, she now felt drawn towards Vicky who was more like her wonderful father than any of the others.

Dear Vicky, she had her troubles and what a disaster it was that Beloved Papa was not here now to advise her. The King of Prussia was very weak and quite under the influence of that dreadful Bismarck whom Vicky and dear Fritz, quite rightly, could not endure. Not only that but little Wilhelm was a source of anxiety. Such a bright little fellow. Albert had loved him especially and seen great qualities in him. How criminal of those doctors and nurses to be so careless at his birth. Poor Vicky was heartbroken about his deformity. The Queen would never forget how her daughter had described her son’s christening when the dear child had been half covered up to hide his arm which was without any feeling and hung helplessly. And now some of the doctors were talking about cutting his neck and in fact the poor child had been submitted to wear a horrible machine; he had to put it on for an hour every day. Vicky had explained that it was a belt about his waist with a rod at the back with something rather like a bridle attached to this. Into this the poor little boy’s head was fixed. It was very complicated. But of course the decision to operate was unthinkable unless it was going to be a complete success. The doctors had some notion of strengthening muscles and bringing the arm back into use. Very depressing but now Vicky was in Scotland with the children and little Wilhelm was spared the humiliation of his horrid machine. It seemed much better to accept the fact that his arm would never be right and do the best to disguise it. No wonder the poor child liked to assert himself now and then. He must feel this deeply.

It was very pleasant to have talks with Vicky. Somehow she could talk more freely to her eldest daughter than to the others. Vicky was such a woman of the world. Alice for all her married state still seemed innocent and unworldly. She could discuss having children, female ailments and feelings with Vicky. Vicky had a wisdom which the others were not old enough or not experienced enough to share; and although she could discuss with Alice Mr Gilbert Scott’s proposal for a magnificent Memorial to be set up in Kensington to dear Albert, to Vicky she could talk of Affie’s affair and his obvious love of the gay life and Bertie’s life with Alix, for the Queen was well aware that Bertie was leading a life of his own in some of the gayer clubs while Alix stayed at home.

Trouble seemed to be never far off, both in domestic and foreign affairs; and with such a family as hers, the two were often unhappily combined.

Alice came in to suggest they go for a drive to Clova. ‘It would do you good, Mama,’ said Alice.

The Queen sighed. ‘It was always one of Beloved Papa’s favourite spots.’

‘Grant won’t be able to come with us as he is with Vicky in Abergeldie.’

‘My dear child, we can well do without Grant. Remember we have Brown.’

‘Oh yes, Mama, I believe you feel safer with him than with any of the others.’

‘He’s a good faithful soul.’

‘Inclined to forget his place, Mama, at times, don’t you think?’

‘Brown never forgets his place, which is to protect me. I can tell you, Alice, that I would well dispense with the bowing and sycophantic greetings and addresses I get from some people. I, as Beloved Papa did, always prefer sincerity.’

‘Well, Brown will accompany us to Clova. I will go and tell Lenchen that you wish to go. What do you think – about half past twelve?’

‘That would be very suitable, my love.’

Dear Alice! she thought. She does not look really well. I don’t think she is very strong. Such a comfort, though. And Louis is rather helpless. It’s very sad he can’t provide a home for Alice. Poor Alice, she had not been so well since her confinement. A very sad time. Dear little Victoria Alberta – the Queen was very pleased with those names – had been born in Windsor Castle in the same bed which the Queen had used in confinements and Alice had actually worn the same shift which her mother used for all her children. It had been such a trying time because dear Alice looking so wan had resembled Beloved Papa when he was on his deathbed; and when Louis had come in and been so tender and loving and embraced dear Alice she had suddenly seen herself and Albert after the birth of one of the children; and it was all very hard to bear.

She would send for Annie MacDonald and prepare herself for the drive, although she didn’t really need Annie as much as she used to because Brown seemed to have taken charge even of her clothes. Sometimes he would chide her because he considered her cloak too thin. ‘The mist’ll get right through to your bones, woman,’ he would say in his dear blunt way which showed that he was careless of whether he offended her because his main concern was her health. The dear, good, faithful creature! Albert had always been so amused by his rough ways.

They were ready to depart at twelve, just herself, Alice and Lenchen. The younger ones were doing lessons with Tilla, Miss Hildyard who had been with them for so long and was such a dear good creature.

Lenchen was fussing about luncheon because they were taking some broth with them and some potatoes ready to boil. There was absolutely no need to fuss. Brown would take care of everything. It would be dark when they came back but Albert had always enjoyed night driving and as he had said with Grant and Brown they were perfectly safe.

Smith the coachman was driving and Brown was on the box beside him and Willem, Alice’s little Negro boy-servant, was standing up behind.

How she loved the dear hills and glens where she had walked so often with the Beloved Being; there was something to remind her everywhere. She was telling Alice and Lenchen how she used to take out her book and sketch while Papa went shooting and the children used to ride on their ponies.

‘We remember, Mama,’ said Lenchen patiently. ‘We were there, you know.’

Alice looked gently reproving but none of the children had Alice’s sympathetic ways.

It was very pleasant to stop at Altnagiuthasach where the efficient Brown warmed the broth and boiled the potatoes. ‘What a long time they take to boil,’ said the Queen to which Brown replied: ‘Ye’ll nae be wanting them half cooked, so have a wee bit of patience.’ At which Alice blenched but the Queen just smiled at another manifestation of Brown’s stalwart protection.

How good the broth and potatoes tasted when they were ready. ‘Worth waiting for,’ said Brown with reproach in his voice for his impatient mistress.

‘Well worth waiting for,’ agreed the Queen, for in spite of her sorrow she could always enjoy her food. She recalled happy picnics of the past when Dear Papa had been so hungry and declared that nothing tasted as good as John Brown’s broth and boiled potatoes eaten on the moors.

With great efficiency Brown had the plates and dishes washed in a burn and stored away and soon they were on their way again. And there were the snow-tipped Clova Hills, breathtakingly beautiful.

‘I hope you girls appreciate this wild beauty. Beloved Papa was especially fond of it.’

Her daughters assured her that Clova was one of their favourite spots too. But, said Alice, wasn’t it time that they started to return? They would be very late as it was and there had been one or two flurries of snow.

The Queen smiled at the kilted figure of her faithful Highlander. All would be well, she assured her daughter.

But this was not quite true. It had grown dark and Brown had lighted the lamps; and as they drove along, the carriage gave a lurch and she realised they were off the road. She could hear Brown’s remonstrating with Smith, who had evidently taken a wrong turning. Brown descended and taking a lantern, walked ahead of the carriage holding the light high.

‘Whatever has happened to Smith?’ cried Alice. ‘He should be able to see the road very well.’

Poor Smith, thought the Queen, he was getting old. He had been driving them for thirty years. He really must be persuaded that he was too old for the task. A fine discovery to make at nightfall on one of the roads through the Highlands! She was thankful that Brown was with them.

Suddenly the carriage tilted to one side.

Alice took the Queen’s hand and held it firmly. ‘I think … we’re upsetting,’ she cried.

She was right. At that moment the carriage had overturned; the Queen had been tipped out and was lying face down on the ground. The horses were down and Lenchen cried out in terror.

Brown was bending over the Queen.

‘The Lord have mercy on us!’ he cried. He lifted the Queen in his arms. ‘Are you all right, woman?’ he asked.

‘I … I think so,’ said the Queen.

‘Lord be praised for that,’ he said and the sincerity in his voice brought tears to the Queen’s eyes.

‘See to the Princesses,’ she said.

‘All in good time,’ replied Brown.

Alice and Lenchen, who were not hurt, very soon were helped to their feet. Alice’s clothes were torn and dirty and Lenchen threw herself at her mother begging to be told that no harm had come to her.

The Queen assured her daughters that she was all right but she could feel that her face was sore, and touching it carefully realised that it was swollen; her right thumb was swelling rapidly and was very painful but as no good purpose could be served at this stage by mentioning it, she said nothing.

Smith seemed very confused and naturally Brown took charge of the situation.

‘It’s good luck I’m with ye,’ he muttered and said he wanted someone to hold the lamp while he cut the traces. Poor Smith was distraught and useless so Alice held the lantern and very soon the efficient Brown had the horses up. He was relieved, he said, that they were not hurt and there was only one thing to do. He was going to send Smith off for another carriage and he was staying with them to make sure no harm befell them.

‘Dear good Brown,’ murmured the Queen.

They sat as best they could in the shelter of the overturned carriage and Brown brought a little claret for them. Brown could always be relied upon to produce wine and spirits when they were needed.

‘Mama, how long will it take for them to bring another carriage?’ asked Lenchen.

‘I don’t know, my love, but as Beloved Papa always said we must make the best of any situations in which we find ourselves.’

Brown drank liberally of the claret which shocked Alice but the Queen thought he thoroughly deserved any reward, for what would have happened without him she could not imagine.

‘Smith is too old to drive us,’ said the Queen. ‘This is the last time he shall do so. We should have realised it before. These good faithful servants go on and we are inclined to forget that they become too old for service.’

‘I’ll not have him drive you again,’ murmured Brown.

The Queen smiled and began to talk of how the Prince had always enjoyed drives in the Highlands, particularly at night when he said they became even more like the Thuringenwald.

‘I suppose because you couldn’t see so clearly,’ said Lenchen, which made the Queen frown.

‘Eh, now listen,’ said Brown suddenly when the Queen was talking of how Papa had always presented her with the first sprig of heather he picked each year.

‘Sound of horses,’ said Brown. ‘Someone’s coming this way.’

To the delight of the party it turned out to be Kennedy, another of the grooms who, fearing that some accident had happened since they were so long in returning to the Castle, had come out with the ponies to look for them.

How very thoughtful! said the Queen. Albert had always said what a good servant Kennedy was and Albert as usual was right.

So they were able to leave at once and only when they arrived at Balmoral did the Queen see how bruised her face was. There was something very wrong with her thumb too.

She was so exhausted that she wished to retire at once to her room and ordered that a little soup and fish be sent to her.

She was soon fast asleep but in the morning realised that she had a rather black eye and her thumb really felt as though it were out of joint.

There was a great deal of fuss about the accident. Vicky and Fritz came over to Balmoral to inquire how the party had survived. The Queen’s bruises were greeted with horror and the doctors were attending to her thumb, which they feared had been put out of joint.

The Queen brushed it all aside and when she returned to London Lord Palmerston took her to task for endangering her safety by driving at night through wild country.

‘My dear Lord Palmerston,’ she said, ‘I have good and trusty servants. I can rely on them absolutely.’

‘Begging Your Majesty’s pardon, I must point out that they did not prevent the overturn of your carriage.’

‘Accidents will always happen, but there was no alarm whatsoever. John Brown behaved with absolute calm and efficiency. I do assure you, Lord Palmerston, that I feel safer driving through the Highland lanes by night than I have sometimes felt on Constitution Hill in broad daylight.’

‘There have been most regrettable isolated incidents, M’am, and these have happened to other sovereigns because there are certain madmen in the world; but the hazards faced on poor tracks in mountainous country could be avoided, and I, with the backing of your Majesty’s ministers, would ask you to desist from placing yourself in danger.’

‘Nonsense,’ said the Queen. ‘The Prince Consort delighted in driving at night. It never occurred to him that there was any danger, and I am sure if there had been he would have been the first to be aware of it. He was always solicitous for my safety.’

She was an obstinate woman, thought old Pam; and with the backing of the defunct Prince Consort she was immovable; so there was no point in wasting further time on that subject. They must let her continue with her night drives and be thankful for the Prince of Wales who was taking on far more of the royal duties than the Sovereign herself.

The Prince and Princess of Wales had taken a great fancy to Sandringham. It was Bertie’s pleasure to bring with him friends from London to pass a very gay week or so in this royal residence which had never held the same place in the Queen’s affections as Osborne or Balmoral. Perhaps, he said with a grimace, this was what he liked so much about it. It seemed at Osborne and Balmoral that his father still lived on; everywhere in those houses his influence was apparent. It was quite different at Sandringham.

Alix loved it too; there she could have been very happy indeed. It could have been a sort of Rumpenheim, but wherever Bertie was, there must be people. He took the utmost pleasure in arranging house parties. His friends would go and shoot and then return for lavish banquets and gay parties with dancing, drinking and gambling which went on far into the night.

Her pregnancy was causing her a certain amount of discomfort, and although Bertie was as kind and tender as she could wish for, she sometimes had the notion that he was rather glad for her to retire early. He himself never seemed to tire; he would stay up half the night and then be out early in the morning in search of some fresh amusement. She hardly ever emerged from her room until eleven o’clock and she was sometimes late for luncheon. Bertie was occasionally faintly reproving and she promised herself that she would overcome her habit of unpunctuality. She often thought of how her father would disapprove.

Then one day she and Bertie were about to ride out to the hunt when a messenger arrived at Sandringham with news. King Frederick of Denmark was dead and Prince Christian, Alexandra’s father, had now become King.

Alexandra clapped her hands with excitement. Papa, King of Denmark. It was wonderful. Then she thought of poor old Uncle Frederick who had always been so kind to them all in his odd way; she wondered briefly what would become of Countess Danner.

But she was the daughter of a king and she could not help being excited about that.

The Queen, still nursing a sore thumb, was hoping that John Brown’s knee had improved, for the faithful man when he had jumped out of the carriage had injured it and he had limped for days afterwards. She was very sorry to have been obliged to leave Balmoral and come back to Windsor and all the trials which that entailed. Lord Palmerston, who had called on her, hinted that it would be far more convenient if she were in London; but she had no intention of going to London. Lord Palmerston had something very grave to discuss.

‘Schleswig-Holstein again, M’am,’ he said. ‘It was inevitable that there should be trouble when Frederick died.’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t a very high opinion of the new Queen of Denmark.’

‘She can hardly be blamed for what has happened,’ replied Palmerston. ‘It’s Frederick of Augustenburg who has marched into Holstein.’

‘But he was exiled years ago.’

‘His father was beaten when he was, Your Majesty will remember, by King Frederick. But King Frederick is dead and there is a new King and Queen, the parents of our Princess of Wales. This is what the Prussians have been waiting for. They want Augustenburg set up as a puppet of theirs.’

‘We can’t allow that,’ said the Queen.

‘It’s a tricky situation. Schleswig-Holstein has always been an uneasy spot.’

‘And what do you suggest should be done?’

‘For the moment,’ said Lord Palmerston, ‘wait and see.’

This sounded a little like Lord Melbourne.

She was very uneasy, though, for trouble between Denmark and Prussia, which this obviously was, was really trouble in the family.