Виктория Холт - The Widow of Windsor

Bertie had taken a long holiday convalescing after his illness but the better he grew the more he invited scandal. He was as at home in Paris as he was in London and he had a wide circle of friends there – aristocratic, elegant, extravagant and, the Queen feared, immoral.

There was no controlling Bertie – and Alfred was as bad without having half his brother’s charm and good nature.

Children were a trial; and not only children! Poor Napoleon had died at Chislehurst and many of his adherents had come over to attend his funeral. They had tried to work up enthusiasm for a protest against the new republic and Bertie behaved tactlessly in his good-hearted generous way by inviting several of the agitators to Sandringham, because he said they were friends of his. Mr Gladstone was most put out and very critical. The Prince’s sense of political decorum was sadly lacking, he said.

So life was becoming as difficult as it had been before Bertie’s typhoid attack. And now Alfred was set on marrying the Grand Duchess Marie Alexandrovna, the daughter of the Czar of Russia. The Queen did not like the idea of a match with Russia. She knew that Bertie and Alix were in favour of it because Alix’s sister Dagmar was married to the Czarevitch and Marie Alexandrovna was consequently connected to them by marriage.

It was all so distressing and what sort of a husband would Alfred make the young woman after the kind of life he had led? At least if Bertie was gay that had come mainly after marriage – so she believed. Of course there had been that disgraceful affair at the Curragh Camp.

Alfred, however, was set on the marriage, and negotiations with the Russians were by now well ahead so she supposed she had better see the girl. In accordance with her custom she would invite her to Balmoral that she might inspect her and make sure that she would be a suitable wife for Alfred.

The Czar’s reply was that he had no intention of sending his daughter on approval; and the Queen must meet them somewhere midway between Russia and England. The Queen was indignant. Was she – the Queen of England – expected to run after these Russians! Alice, who had been taken so tenderly into the maternal embrace since the death of her little son, wrote that as Alfred was so eager for the match, couldn’t Mama make the journey, say, to Cologne? That would be such a help and a kindly gesture in a way.

Really, her daughters could be very arrogant at times. How dared little Alice, who lived somewhat humbly, one must admit, in Hesse Darmstadt, attempt to dictate to the Queen of England. She wrote one of her vehement letters scattered with italics. Did the dear child think she should tell her mother, the Queen of England, what she should do. She would remind Alice that she had been twenty years longer on the throne than the Emperor of Russia, and was, she believed, the Doyenne of Sovereigns and a reigning Sovereign which the Empress at least was not.

Bertie invited the Czarevitch and his wife Dagmar to come to England with their children, who were quite charming, particularly the eldest boy, so that the Queen forgot her animosity to the Russians and found them quite pleasant, which paved the way to her acceptance of Marie Alexandrovna.

Soon she was telling herself that alliance with Russia was a good thing because it might have the excellent effect of increasing friendship between England and Russia.

She had a serious talk with Alfred.

‘I hope you will lead a different life now you are about to be married,’ she told him. ‘It would never do to be on such terms with fast women as I know you have been.’

Alfred was rather sullenly silent, refusing to discuss past misdemeanours, which boded little good for his marriage, for it seemed hardly likely that his attitude would have been such if he had decided to turn over a new leaf.

* * *

Mr Gladstone was being his difficult self. He had made one of the longest speeches of his career – it lasted three hours – on his Irish University Bill. Many Irish families would not allow their sons to attend the Protestant Dublin University and Gladstone wanted to form a new centre of learning for Catholics. The expense would have been great and as the Bill was not even supported entirely by Irish Catholics, Mr Gladstone found himself unable to carry it through. It was rejected by 287 votes to 284 and to the Queen’s great delight Gladstone had no alternative but to resign.

Gleefully she sent for Mr Disraeli, but he was too clever to take office in the circumstances; he knew full well that he must wait for that triumph. Gladstone must battle on. Disraeli wanted office after a general election when he felt sure he would be in with a big majority.

Bravely Gladstone continued in office. He reduced income tax from sixpence to threepence in the pound and held out hope that he would be able to abolish it altogether.

The Queen laughed. A bait, she said, to catch electors, which she was certain would fail.

She was right. At the general election the Conservative party was returned with a majority of 46.

With what joy did the Queen await the arrival of her new Prime Minister. He bowed over her hand; he kissed it lingeringly; tears filled the Queen’s eyes and she was happy to note they glinted in those of her new Prime Minister.

‘This is a very happy day,’ she told him.

‘M’am,’ he replied, ‘I feel alive again.’

It was a reference of course to the death of Mary Anne. He had come back to serve the Queen in the highest capacity and that was to be his great consolation. How well she understood!

‘Mr Disraeli,’ she said, ‘pray sit down.’ It was the great honour. Gladstone had always been obliged to stand, but that had not made him cut short his long addresses. Now she could savour the joy of pleasant human contact and no longer be treated as a public meeting; she would have that sweet sympathy and understanding which was so important to her.

‘This is a day, Mr Disraeli, that I always regard as a very special one in my life.’

Of course Mr Disraeli knew to what she referred. He would never be found wanting in such a point.

‘I remember the date well, M’am. His Royal Highness looking so splendid in his uniform, inspiring us all with hope for the future by his very nobility of countenance. And Your Majesty so young yet so dedicated.’

Of course Mr Disraeli would remember that it was the anniversary of her wedding day.

And how typical of him on such an occasion to shelve tiresome politics and talk of personal things – the last days of Mary Anne’s life and most of all her own sufferings, the virtues of her dear dead Saint and the noble manner in which she had continued to serve her country though in seclusion.

With Mr Disraeli she could view the future in a much happier frame of mind.

Disraeli was not exaggerating when he said he had found a new zest for life, a zest of which the death of Mary Anne had robbed him. The Queen had become the centre of his existence; she sensed this and was comforted and delighted by his feelings towards her. Disraeli could never be the father figure that Lord Melbourne had been; but, a mother herself, she did not need a father now. Disraeli enchanted her. He flattered her in a manner which to many might have seemed outrageous but to the Queen it was all very natural. Disraeli adored her; and she in turn was ready to give him a very special affection.

She found herself waiting for his visits, looking for the light of admiration which leapt into his eyes as he bent over and kissed her hand. He made her feel as though she were a very attractive woman as well as a Queen and she could never quite resist such admiration, perhaps because it had never been apparent in Albert’s feelings towards her. Albert had been the most faithful of husbands and love between them had been great; but never had Albert flattered her. She was his good wife, his dear adoring Victoria but never had he shown this ecstatic admiration which she found in the attitude of Mr Disraeli.

She knew that before his marriage to Mary Anne he had had mistresses and he now had many women friends. Like so many clever men, he found the society of women so much more to his taste than that of men – in every way. Lord Melbourne had been the same; so had Uncle King George IV and, going back much further, Charles II.

Mr Disraeli had that very pleasant gift for gossiping which she had so enjoyed in Lord Melbourne’s time for he had been a past-master at it. Albert had never gossiped and had never approved of the practice; but a Queen should know a great deal about the people around her – personal things, the sort of items which gossip brought out so admirably.

The new Prime Minister was so amusing. His wit delighted her as Lord Melbourne’s had done; in fact it was almost as though history were repeating itself. There she was looking forward to her Prime Minister’s visits, settling down to a little gossip and like Melbourne he would bring in State matters and discuss them in such an easy, light-hearted manner that it all became a pleasure.

India was a topic which absorbed him. He was going to make her Empress of India, he cried, looking at her with great admiration. He called her the Faery Queen very often, and to his friends rather irreverently ‘The Faery’; when she disagreed with him he had a rather arch way of putting his head on one side and saying with a kind of tender reproach: ‘Dear Madam.’ This amused her and carried her on the way to making her see his point of view.