How very different from Mr Gladstone! She liked to discuss the last Prime Minister with the man who had replaced him. What did Mr Disraeli think of those rumours about Mr Gladstone? Was it really true that he prowled about the streets inviting loose women to accost him? The story as she had heard it was that he was so concerned for these women that when they approached him he tried to reform them and instead of going home with them as they asked, he invited them home with him, where, if they accepted his invitation, they would find Mrs Gladstone waiting with hot soup and a warm bed that they might spend the night in comfort and the next morning be persuaded to mend their ways.

‘What an odd manner for a Prime Minister to behave!’ said the Queen.

Mr Disraeli agreed that it was indeed very odd.

‘It lays him open to all kinds of suspicion,’ went on the Queen. ‘Does he not realise that?’

‘Oh perfectly, Madam. But he is such a figure of virtue that he believes none could seriously suspect him of having other motives than those of reform towards his protégées.’

‘He is a strange man. Many people might think he is immoral.’

‘His friends have warned him about these nocturnal prowlings, M’am,’ said Disraeli, ‘but he is a man of purpose.’

‘I wonder,’ said the Queen, her lips pursed; then she remembered that Albert would have said it was unchristian to suspect vice where it was not proved and Albert would probably have thought Gladstone an admirable man. She dismissed the thought, hastily remembering that Albert had not liked Mr Disraeli at all and had thought of him as a flamboyant upstart – but then of course Albert had not really known him.

She went on: ‘Sometimes I wonder whether he is a secret Papist. He seems to concern himself so much with religion and this Irish question.’

‘It is hard to imagine Mr Gladstone either a papist or a libertine,’ said Disraeli wryly. ‘The two have been known to go together – but not in a Mr Gladstone.’

‘Poor Mrs Gladstone,’ said the Queen.

And they shelved gossip to discuss the position with India.


* * *

Bertie was deeply interested in India. In view of the situation he believed that he, who had proved himself such an excellent ambassador, should visit that country.

He visualised a glorious and splendid tour, with wonderful Arabian Nights type of entertainments put on for his benefit. The government should put up the money for the expenses of such a tour for it was clear that the heir to the Crown and Empire should not travel like a pauper.

He said nothing to Alix. She did not come into his plans. He certainly did not wish to have her with him on the journey. He wanted to be free to enjoy it.

He raised the matter with Disraeli and other ministers who responded cautiously. Bertie, however, wilfully misconstrued their attitude as enthusiasm and went to Windsor to see the Queen.

‘Mama,’ he said eagerly, ‘you know that your ministers believe that it would do great good if I toured India, and this is just the time to do it.’

The Queen was always uneasy when Bertie was out of England; she was never sure what mischief he would get into. Often, though, Disraeli had mentioned the ambassadorial qualities of the Prince of Wales and that, although he was apt to be a little indiscreet at times, his journeys had on the whole done immense good for the country’s relations with foreign powers.

The Queen listened. If Mr Disraeli believed it would be good for the Prince of Wales to travel in India perhaps he was right.

‘What of the money to provide for the cost of all this?’

‘Oh, Mama, that’s a small point.’

‘I should have thought it was a very big one,’ said the Queen. ‘I can give nothing and I know you are in debt. But if the government is willing to meet your expenses I see no reason why the trip should not be arranged.’

Bertie was jubilant. ‘Of course the government will pay, Mama,’ he said. ‘It is such an excellent project.’

‘Alix must not go,’ said the Queen sharply.

Bertie smiled. That was just what he thought.

‘It will be a wrench to part from Alix,’ he said, ‘but I’m sure she’ll realise that she can’t leave the children and come with me.’

He was pleased. It was going better than he had dared hope.


* * *

Alix was distressed.

‘Bertie,’ she cried, ‘is it true that there is a project afoot for a trip to India?’

‘Oh, nothing definite,’ said Bertie airily. ‘Dizzy’s been turning over the idea in his mind. Seems to think I rate as a good ambassador.’

‘When would they want us to go?’ asked Alix.

Bertie was silent for a few seconds and then plunged: ‘I don’t think they want you to go, Alix.’

She turned pale; he saw her clench and unclench her hands.

‘So you are planning to go alone?’ she demanded.

‘Everything is quite unsettled so far.’

‘But not so unsettled that it has been decided that I am to stay behind.’

‘There are the children,’ said Bertie. ‘You would hate to leave them.’

‘They would be in good hands. And a wife’s first place is with her husband. I want to come with you.’

‘Well, of course, it’s what we both want,’ said Bertie evasively.

But she knew he didn’t. She wanted to turn away and weep. She knew that he wanted to go off alone; that he would not miss her at all, that he was already planning the pleasures that would be his.


* * *

Bertie had his way; the journey to India was arranged and Alix stayed at home, although she did accompany him to Calais.

Knowing that a very glittering, exciting and novel adventure lay before him, and that poor Alix was hurt to be left behind, Bertie was suitably sad on saying good-bye to her.

‘You have the children to comfort you for this parting,’ he said. ‘I haven’t that consolation.’

No, thought Alix, half angry, half exasperated, but you’ll find ample to make you forget your family!

Everyone noticed how melancholy she was and felt sorry for the poor Princess of Wales who put on such a brave face although the whole nation gossiped about Bertie’s infidelities.

Alix went back to her nurseries and told the children about Papa’s journey and soon their father was sending home accounts of his journey; at least he never forgot to write to them, telling them about his reception in India and the wonderful places he saw. He had shot an elephant and would bring a baby elephant home for the boys to see; he had also killed a tiger. Perhaps he would bring home some tiger cubs for them to play with. They were such lovely little creatures – like big cats and very playful when young.

George would read the letters to Eddy because Eddy could read only slowly and, although the elder, was far behind George in his studies. George had to look after Eddy always and explain things to him when he could not understand them.

So George read and re-read their father’s letters and every day they looked for them.

Disraeli told the Queen that he was really delighted with the work the Prince was doing in India.

‘None could have done it better save yourself, M’am,’ he said. ‘And we should not wish to see our gracious Queen indulging in pig sticking and tiger shooting at which by all accounts His Royal Highness excels.’

Bombay, Calcutta, Poona and Baroda. Everywhere the Prince went he made an excellent impression. Even at Lucknow, where in view of past events there was a hint of hostility, he managed to charm the inhabitants. There was no doubt that Bertie had the right manner to grace such occasions and win the superficial affection of multitudes; everywhere he went he was greeted with enthusiasm. He was given such gifts; he was cheered everywhere. He was called the Future Emperor. No one could have denied that it was an eminently successful and well-timed exercise.

But Bertie’s way of life must mean that he was always on the edge of scandal. Sometimes he managed to skirt skilfully across it; but this he could not always expect to do.


* * *

One of Bertie’s greatest friends was Lord Aylesford, who devoted so much time and energy to sport that he was known as Sporting Joe. He had been a prominent member of the Marlborough House set and Bertie had often been his guest. Sporting Joe had a remarkably pretty and rather flighty young wife who had been on terms of great friendship with the Prince of Wales – even greater than her husband was aware. It had not been possible to take her on the Indian tour but, against the wishes of the Queen, Bertie had included Aylesford in the party.

Lady Aylesford was not of a nature to remain faithful to her husband or to the Prince of Wales during such a long absence and no sooner had they left than she struck up a friendship with another member of their circle, Lord Blandford, heir to the Duke of Marlborough. So serious did this friendship become that Blandford decided to leave his wife and set up house with Lady Aylesford.

When Lord Aylesford heard of this he was very distressed and explained the position to the Prince. Bertie was uneasy. The Mordaunt case was still fresh in his mind. He had been very friendly with Lady Aylesford – as he had with Lady Mordaunt; if Aylesford was going to make trouble and there was a public scandal he might well be drawn into it.

‘Blandford is a scoundrel,’ he cried. ‘I’ll never speak to the fellow again.’

But Aylesford wanted greater satisfaction than the Prince’s disapproval. He must go home, he said. He must know exactly what was happening. Reluctantly the Prince agreed and Aylesford left for England.