Lenchen grimaced and said: ‘But your palaces sound so much more fun.’ Then she added: ‘And you should see Windsor. It’s worse than this.’

‘Osborne and Balmoral are lovely,’ said Alice.

‘Oh, what a pity Alix can’t go to Osborne and Balmoral,’ cried Louise.

Then they told her about Osborne in the Isle of Wight and how they could see the sea from the windows; and how they played on the sands and went sea bathing. And Balmoral … Balmoral was the best of the lot although there was no sea. They rode out on their ponies and Papa would take them for long walks and they collected stones and grasses and flowers and Papa knew all about flowers.

Alix questioned this as she would have done at home. Her father said that only God knew all about everything.

‘Only God and our papa,’ said Lenchen.

‘Who said your papa did?’ Alix wanted to know.

‘Our mama,’ replied Lenchen. ‘And she must be right because she is the Queen.’

That settled it.

So it was a very happy afternoon at Buckingham Palace in spite of the grandeur and the terrifying aspect of the Queen.

Riding back to Cambridge Lodge in the carriage Mary asked Alix how she had enjoyed visiting the Queen.

‘Very much,’ replied Alix. ‘Well, not exactly the Queen but the Princesses.’

‘You will be able to tell them at home that the Queen of England spoke to you.’

Alix agreed though she doubted that Fredy, Willy and Dagmar would be impressed. Uncle Frederick was a king and nobody was very excited when he spoke to them.

At last it was time to go home and there was the excitement of reunion with the family. They all wanted to hear what had happened and see what presents she had brought for them.

But after a while the excitement was forgotten and the visit seemed to have happened long, long ago.

But the Cambridges did not forget.

‘What a charming child Alix is!’ said the Duchess to Mary. ‘I’m not surprised you’re taken with her. One day the Prince of Wales will need a wife.’

‘That’s years away.’

‘You’d be surprised how time flies. And when he does I don’t see why your Alix shouldn’t be in the running.’

Mary was very pleased with the idea. She would bear it in mind.


* * *

One of the loveliest days of the year at the Yellow Palace was Christmas Eve, when the old traditional feast of Jul took place. For weeks before they had all been unbearably excited, making their presents for each other which must be kept a secret, and how difficult that was with children running in and out of the schoolroom at any time of the day. Alix was good with her needle – far better than she was at mathematics, geography or history; although she was moderately good at languages and better still at music; she excelled most at sport and riding which pleased her father; her mother was gratified by her aptitude with the needle, particularly her flair for clothes as, she confided to Christian, if she made a brilliant marriage and was able to employ the best dressmakers in the world, she would be outstanding by her individual way of wearing her clothes. This was a feminine angle which Christian shrugged aside; all he knew was that Alix, secretly his favourite daughter, was a delight to look at, and to see her turning somersaults on the lawns of Bernstorff or in the gardens of the Yellow Palace filled him with admiration and pride.

It was cold and the snow was piling in the streets.

‘Just what Christmas ought to be!’ said Alix.

Little Dagmar, three years younger than Alix, regarded her sister as an oracle and Alix reminded her of other Christmases at the Yellow Palace when the poor people had come in and been given cake and wine by the family.

‘I remember Mama’s watching how much they ate and drank because she was afraid there wouldn’t be enough to go round.’

‘I wish we didn’t have to be so poor,’ said Dagmar.

Alix considered this and decided that it would be better if they had more money and didn’t have to wonder whether they could afford things – although they were richer now that Papa was Crown Prince. Then she thought of the grandeur of Buckingham Palace and launched into a description of that imposing building, the grand staircase and the drawing-room where she had seen the Queen.

‘But the Yellow Palace is really nicer,’ she added, ‘and our mama and papa are really much more …’ she paused for a word … ‘cosy than theirs. Poor Alice! Poor Lenchen! They had to be very careful, because their papa is very easily shocked and the Queen their mama says everything he does is right.’

‘Everything our papa does is not right,’ pointed out Dagmar. ‘Mama is always telling him …’

Alix smiled. ‘I’d hate to have a father who is always right. No papa is as nice as ours even if he is wrong sometimes.’

Dagmar was prepared to agree with Alix as always.

So they talked as they stitched at their presents, with that wonderful sense of excitement because at any moment they might have to be slipped into a drawer if the intended recipient came into the room.

Christmas Eve came at last, with all the Christmas trees – one for each member of the family. The children tiptoed in with awe and wonder to examine them. Their names were on each table – Fredy, Alix, Willy, Dagmar, Thyra. They squealed with pleasure for each had their candles which would look beautiful when it grew dark – and in the centre of the room was the big tree laden with gifts in brightly coloured packages for everybody.

It was so exciting. Alix dressing for dinner – a very special occasion – tried on a red sash with her white muslin dress. Oh no, she thought, the blue would be best; and there was the blue sash with the little white flowers on it embroidered by Dagmar for her birthday. She must wear the blue sash – Dagmar would be so pleased. She put it on and studied the effect. How gracefully the skirt fell. The dress was as good as anything she had seen in the expensive shops. It was as good as anything she had seen worn at Cambridge Lodge and Buckingham Palace.

The red sash was more suitable for Christmas, because red was a Christmas colour. She changed the sash. Yes, definitely the red. But Dagmar would like the blue.

The blue … the red … She changed half a dozen times and then decided that it was better to please Dagmar than wear the Christmas colour.

The bell had gone. Oh dear, she should be down now and it was difficult to tie the sash exactly right, which she must of course do.

The family were at the table when she arrived. Papa gave her a reproachful look, but as it was Christmas Eve she would not be punished by standing up to drink her coffee and not be given second helpings, or perhaps go without her sweet. But she was contrite because dear Papa cared so much that people were where they should be at precisely the appointed minute.

The children were chattering about the trees. They were bigger than last year, there were more candles and hadn’t the big tree looked wonderful? Little Thyra speculated on what the odd-shaped parcel in blue paper contained and wondered whether it was for her.

Louise and Christian exchanged glances. They were very happy with their little family. Christian hoped that they could go on enjoying these simple pleasures for a long time to come; Louise, more ambitious, was a little sad thinking that soon the children would be grown up and it would be necessary for them to marry and go away, for what could there be for any of them in Denmark – except Fredy, of course, who would follow his father to the throne.

After the meal it was present-giving time – the highlight of Christmas when the family assembled round the big tree and there were squeals of delight as paper crunched and gifts emerged and arms were flung round necks and the giver assured that it was just what the receiver had always wanted.

And when the excitement had died down they clustered round the grand piano and Louise played Christmas carols and hymns and they all sang together; then the older children took it in turns to play and Alix and Dagmar performed a duet which their parents loudly applauded.

Alix sat by her father afterwards who said very gently that he wanted to speak to her seriously.

‘You know, my dear, you are a good child but you have one distressing fault. You are constantly unpunctual.’

‘Yes, Papa, I’m so sorry.’

‘But, my darling child, it is no use being sorry only – although sorry you should be. You must try to rectify the fault.’

‘I do, Papa.’

A look of affectionate exasperation crossed Prince Christian’s face.

‘But, Alix, if you really tried how could you fail to succeed? It is so easy. You have to be at a certain spot at a certain time. What but your own carelessness can prevent you?’

‘It’s true, I know, Papa. But somehow I don’t think until I hear the gong and then I am in a fluster.’

‘But, my child, you must think. You must remember what time the gong goes – it is always precisely on the minute so you know it’s coming. You must be ready before it strikes and then … there you are at your place like the rest of us.’

‘But, Papa, is it so important?’

‘My dear child, it is of the utmost importance. It is something you will have to remember when you are older, for to keep people waiting is most impolite, giving the impression as it does of being in no haste to see them since you cannot make the effort to be there on time.’

‘Oh, Papa, I will try … I really will.’

He nodded. ‘I hope you were never late when you were in England.’

‘Well, not often … and it didn’t seem to be so important there.’