Vicky replied that while she was horrified by Bertie’s misdemeanour, she believed that he should not be judged too harshly. He would know that dearest Papa had died and that one of the last things he had done was to visit him, his eldest son, to remonstrate with him over his disgraceful behaviour in Ireland. Bertie must feel heartbroken because of this.

Heartbroken! thought the Queen. Bertie’s feelings were too facile for heartbreak. He was not like the rest of the family. He was far more inclined to enjoy life than take it seriously.

Vicky believed that Bertie should continue with the tour of the Holy Land which Papa had mapped out for him, and while he was away the Queen would not be tormented by thoughts of his wicked conduct and travel could have a good influence on Bertie. One thing that had occurred to Vicky was that Bertie needed to be married.

Vicky spoke from the experience of her married status. Bertie, she said, was clearly not capable of great restraint and it might well be that if he remained unmarried there would be other escapades. The influence of a good wife could work miracles; and Mama would remember that dearest Papa had been considering this before he died.

He had, it was true. He had compiled a list of suitable princesses – not that there were many, for they must be worthy and Protestant, and preferably German of course. He had so relied on Vicky’s judgement that he had asked her to keep her eyes open for a suitable bride for Bertie; and Vicky, good daughter that she was, had taken a journey through Europe visiting different capitals and had carried out her father’s instructions. None of the princesses was entirely suitable for Bertie who would, in Vicky’s opinion, need a beautiful and charming wife if he were going to be kept on a straight moral course.

Did Mama remember Countess Walburga von Hohenthal – but of course Mama remembered dear Wally. She was Vicky’s very favourite lady-in-waiting because she was so gay and witty, fun to be with, and more English than anyone at the Prussian Court. As a matter of fact she had married Augustus Paget, the Minister to Denmark, and was now English by marriage. When she had gone to Denmark to marry him she had seen the family of Prince Christian, and Alexandra, his eldest daughter, was the most delightful Princess Wally had ever seen. Wally had thought at once what a good wife Alexandra would be for Bertie.

And, emphasised Vicky, it was imperative to get Bertie married.

So, thought the Queen, first a visit to the Holy Land and then marriage for Bertie.

Alice was peeping round the door, holding Baby Beatrice by the hand.

Four-year-old Beatrice was the only one who could comfort the Queen – although she would not admit to being comforted at all, which seemed sacrilege to Albert’s memory – but Alice had seen her eyes light up at the sight of the child.

Beatrice ran forward and climbed on to her mother’s lap.

‘Oh, Mama,’ she cried, ‘you are still wearing your sad sad cap.’

‘Yes, my love,’ said the Queen.

‘Take it off, Mama,’ said Beatrice.

‘Mama cannot do that.’

‘But it is a sad cap.’

‘Mama is sad.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Papa has gone away.’

‘Perhaps he’ll come back.’

The Queen’s eyes filled with tears.

‘He will if Baby wants him to,’ said Beatrice confidently.

‘Oh, my love, and Baby wants her dear papa.’

Beatrice was thoughtful. ‘Baby wants Mama to take off her sad cap,’ she announced.

‘Mama, would you like me to take her away?’ asked Alice.

But the Queen shook her head.


* * *

Bertie was delighted to leave England and escape the sombre atmosphere which the Queen created about her. How could he endure the reproachful looks which came his way?

Why couldn’t his mother understand that he had only acted as thousands of young men did; in fact what he had done was taken as a matter of course by worldly people. A young man had to sow his wild oats; and how ever much he was restrained was certain sooner or later to find a way of breaking out.

He was going to be married fairly soon and he was not displeased by the idea. They were considering Alexandra of Denmark and if she passed the stringent test his mother would insist on, it was almost certain that she would be his bride.

She was unusually pretty. Vicky had arranged a meeting. Trust Vicky. She had always liked to command him and in the days of their childhood had had plenty of opportunities of doing so. He might have been Prince of Wales but Vicky had been Queen of the Nursery. She had always been so much brighter and cleverer than he was; and because she was his father’s favourite had been his mother’s also. He thought Alice much more charming than Vicky really, and clever too, but not in such a flamboyant way. Alice was always reading – he himself hardly ever read anything unless he was forced to; she knew quite a bit about painting and architecture, and what Bertie thought of as ‘things like that’; but because she was quiet and didn’t call attention to herself they had tended to overlook her type of cleverness.

Now Vicky was planning and plotting with Mama and the two of them wrote at great length to each other. Mama had always been a great letter writer. There was her Journal too; she was happiest now with a pen in her hands.

So matchmaking Vicky had arranged that he and Alexandra should meet ‘by accident’. Last September she had invited him to visit her. What a contrived meeting!

Vicky had said he must see some of the German cathedrals which were very grand.

‘Not too many,’ he had wailed. ‘In fact none at all.’

‘Bertie, don’t be so unintellectual,’ Vicky had scolded. ‘In any case there is one you simply must see. Speier. It’s magnificent.’

Bertie grumbled but he could see by Vicky’s conspiratorial air that something was afoot, so in spite of the fact that he was heartily sick of being led this way and that and was, as he had confided to some of the few friends he had managed to know at Cambridge, ‘in a straitjacket’, he decided that there might be something more in this visit to Speier Cathedral than he had at first imagined.

He was right. There was. They drove out to Speier; and as Vicky led her brother in by the south door and was pointing out the intricate elegance of the moulding, at the north door the Princess of Denmark entered with two girls.

They greeted each other with just too great a show of surprise so that Bertie knew clever Vicky had arranged this; one of the girls was Princess Dagmar and the other Princess Alexandra. There was no doubt about it, they were two extremely pretty girls, which was surprising, for the beauty of princesses was often exaggerated, disastrously so from the point of view of the princes who had no choice but to marry them.

Alexandra? Yes, he could be quite interested in her; for what was almost as pleasant as her good looks was a certain sense of fun which to fun-starved Bertie was a great asset indeed.

It was quite clear that they took an immediate liking to each other, which would most certainly be reported back home by the vigilant Vicky.

So, in the not far distant future, marriage; and in the meantime, the Holy Land.

Of course he could not expect too much pleasure. He would have to be very solemn – or try to be. But his recent visit to Canada and America had given him a taste for travel and meeting people. It was something he was rather good at. He had an air of jollity which the people seemed to like as certainly as his parents had disliked it. He had what he had heard called ‘the royal gift’. He could remember people whom he had met some time before, and could usually call them by their right names too. Although in his parents’ presence he had been tongue-tied and inclined to stammer, when he was meeting the people he was affable and voluble. The fact was though Bertie in private family life might be a dismal failure, in public life he was a success, and he could not help being thoroughly delighted that this was so. Now with his father it had been the opposite. The saintly Albert, revered by the Queen and the master of his family, had been definitely disliked by the people. Bertie would not have been human if he had not been gratified on those occasions when they had appeared together to notice how the people cheered him, the Prince of Wales, and ignored his father – and sometimes made hostile comment – wickedly gratifying but unavoidably so.

He had to be accompanied by a set of guardians naturally, and, before his death, his father had arranged that the Rev. Arthur Penrhyn Stanley should be of the party. Therefore nothing would satisfy the Queen than that this gentleman should be included.

The Prince groaned. The Rev. Arthur would no doubt be puritanical, otherwise his father would not have chosen him. Also in the party would be General Bruce, that martinet who had had charge of him for some time, Major Teesdale, and Captain Keppel. It was not a large party considering the way royalty usually travelled and that was hopeful.

The journey was exciting. The Rev. Arthur turned out to be a warm and sympathetic character, and General Bruce was no longer the stern governor he had once been.

After all, thought Bertie, I am almost of age. The Queen was always talking of lying beside his father in the mausoleum which was being erected at Frogmore and when she did, Bertie would be King of England, so naturally those about him must remember this.

How pleasant to visit the Pyramids, to stand close to the Sphinx, to ride on camels over the sand and later to journey on to Palestine.