Виктория Холт - The Widow of Windsor

Dear sweet Alix! How lovely she looked in black! The colour suited her. She was a beautiful woman and seemed to look elegant on every occasion.

‘Dear Mama,’ said Alix, ‘you must not go to the funeral.’

‘I should be there, my dear child.’

‘No, no, Mama. These bitter winds are dangerous. It is standing about in the cold at funerals which causes many people to be ill.’

The Queen allowed herself to be persuaded. She disliked those occasions in any case and to tell the truth Eddy had not been a great favourite of hers. She preferred George; and she had felt some anxieties about Eddy’s being King when she and his father were gone. She did not think he had the stamina nor the sharp mind to be a good ruler. When she considered the manner in which one was beset on all sides by politicians she realised fully the special qualities required by a monarch. Eddy definitely lacked these; Bertie had a certain dignity which would carry him through; besides he was going to be very mature before the Crown came to him. George could be moulded; George was very much aware of his duty. He was brighter than poor Eddy had been. She mourned for the poor boy but mostly for dear sweet Alix who was clearly so stricken.

She tried to comfort her with accounts of her own grief when she had lost her dear Saint. She had also lost two children – Alice her dear dear daughter, and Leopold whom she had come to believe had been her favourite son.

‘We all have to suffer, dear Alix. And you have darling George to comfort you.’

* * *

The Queen faced fresh trials. Lord Salisbury’s government was defeated and she had no alternative but to invite Mr Gladstone to form a new government. How very trying! Mr Gladstone hobbled in on a stick and, as she herself found she was unable to walk without a stick, a faint smile touched her lips.

‘You and I, Mr Gladstone, are lamer than we used to be,’ she said.

Mr Gladstone, respectful as ever, smiled ruefully. But she had no intention of letting him think that she felt any more friendly towards him. The fact that he was old did not endear him to her. He was still that dreadful Mr Gladstone. He was so pale and shrunken that he looked as though he should be in his grave already. At his age he should know better than to cling to office. She was highly suspicious of him expressing his noble sentiments and so anxious all the time to be Prime Minister – though clearly unfit. G.O.M. Grand old man! Gom. It sounded wicked said like that. And with his dreadful Home Rule ideas and his preoccupation with prostitutes … he made her very wary.

Still there was nothing she could do but accept him and hope that the people would soon come back to their senses. She could never hope for another Lord Melbourne, dear Disraeli or clever Sir Robert Peel; but Lord Salisbury had been quite effective and she hoped it would not be long before he returned.

She was convinced that Mr Gladstone was quite mad. He now wanted to bring into the Cabinet a man with an evil reputation. This was Henry Labouchere who owned the newspaper Truth which had made a practice of lampooning and criticising the royal family. Labouchere was a most immoral man; it was rumoured that he had lived with Mrs Labouchere for some years before he had married her, which, said the Queen, made him quite unfit for her Cabinet. She would not accept him and she could not understand how Mr Gladstone could expect her to. She would have thought Mrs Gladstone would have explained if he did not understand himself; but then she doubted Mrs Gladstone had much say in affairs. Poor Mrs Gladstone!

She insisted that if this man – ridiculously known as Labby – wished to be in her Cabinet he must give up his paper Truth; she knew very well he would never do this.

So in a way she had scored a victory over Mr Gladstone and his strange friends. Although as she pointed out to her secretary, good faithful Ponsonby, that was not the relationship a monarch looked for in her Ministers.

Her seventy-fourth birthday arrived. How old I am! she thought. There could not be much longer left to her. She was tired in any case and her rheumatism was so bad that there were often days when she could not walk. She had a cataract on her eyes which was making it increasingly difficult to read. She thought of waltzing with Albert, although he had never really liked dancing. But to her that had been sheer bliss. She thought of Brown’s strong arms carrying her from couch to bed.

Life had lost its savour.

* * *

The Queen had created Prince George Duke of York. It was necessary now that his position had changed. Dear George, he had much preferred to be the second son; but now he was taking his duties very seriously.

His sister the Duchess of Fife invited him to Sheen Lodge to a house party and who should be there but Princess May, now seeming to have recovered from the loss of her fiancé.

George asked her to marry him and to the delight of everyone she accepted.

‘How very convenient,’ said the Queen. ‘Dear George, he is clearly aware of his duty.’

They were very soon married in the Chapel Royal at St James’s in the presence of the Queen.

The Queen had been on the throne for sixty years. This was a cause for great celebration. There must be a glittering Diamond Jubilee.

She was seventy-eight; she was old and tired; and life, she was fond of saying, had not been easy. But this was an occasion which even she could not evade.

The last few years had been a trial to her. Gladstone’s government had been defeated and replaced by that of Lord Rosebery; and now Lord Salisbury was back in office again.

A very sad event had happened. Beatrice’s husband Prince Henry of Battenberg had volunteered for active service in Ashanti. She would never forget poor Beatrice’s sorrow when he left; and the fact that they had lived with the Queen made this all the harder to bear. Poor darling Baby, how very sad for her! Henry had been sent home with a fever – how that dreaded fever in some form or other took its toll of her family! – and he had died on the way. But Baby had her dear children to support her. It was ironical. Poor Beatrice and Henry had been happy whereas Louise and Argyll were far from that and there had been a great deal of talk because Louise had refused to stay with him in Canada.

The Czar of Russia had become very ill and Dagmar, Alix’s sister, who had always dominated him since the assassination of his father, was very anxious. Her son Nicholas had married Alicky, Alice’s daughter – a beautiful girl, so intelligent and self-sufficient, as she had had to be, poor darling, since she had been so young when her mother had died. Alicky was one of the Queen’s favourite grandchildren and she was pleased to see her so well married, although she did doubt whether great crowns were always a blessing.

So life went on – the children became parents in their turn and had their grandchildren; and she seemed to go on living. Sometimes she wondered whether she was indestructible; and yet how sadly she felt her age at times. But she could still enjoy having the family round her; she liked the children as long as they were not little babies who always reminded her of frogs and had tiresome habits such as dribbling and even more unpleasant ones; but as they began to grow up they were sometimes delightful. It had been a joy to have a visit from Alicky with Nicky her husband and their baby girl; it was very pleasant to see George and May together. What a blessing they so fortuitously had fallen in love after the death of poor Eddy, and had two sweet little boys already.

And now she had reigned longer than any English monarch – even longer than her mad grandfather King George III. There must be a celebration such as the people had never seen before. This was one of the occasions when she must agree that there must be no concession to age, fatigue or dislike of ceremonies. This was to be the Diamond Jubilee.

She had been feeling very dejected during the last days because Annie MacDonald, who had served her as wardrobe maid for more than thirty years, had been taken very ill and she knew her to be dying. Annie was the one with whom, as with John Brown, she had felt herself to be so much at home. Like John Brown, Annie had never flattered her but always spoken the truth even if it was critical. She trusted Annie and now she knew that when she returned to Windsor Annie would not be there.

She went to see her before she left.

‘So you’re going to London?’ rasped Annie.

The Queen said: ‘It’s my jubilee, Annie.’

‘Mind you wrap up well. Those bitter winds …’

‘It’s June, Annie. It’s the heat, I fear.’

But Annie’s eyes were glazed. She was far away in the days when she and John Brown used to scold their mistress for not taking care of herself.

Another faithful creature lost!

She travelled from Balmoral to Windsor for a service at St George’s Chapel on the 20th of June, which was the actual date sixty years before when she had acceded to the throne.

The next day she took the train to London.

The Jubilee celebration took place on the 22nd of June. The sun shone brilliantly as the Queen left Buckingham Palace and began the circular tour of her city. She had been determined that the pageantry should stress the significance of Empire. Prime Ministers of the colonies; armed forces culled from all over the world where the British flag flew; delegates from all the dependencies. The troops which formed part of the colourful procession were from Australia, South Africa and Canada; there were Indians who looked magnificent in their brilliant uniforms; soldiers from Africa, Hongkong, Borneo and Cyprus. All the world must know that she was indeed an Empress.