The Widow of Windsor (32 page)

A fiftieth birthday was indeed a time for brooding. They would all come to see her today and she would talk to them about Dearest Papa’s virtues and how different it would have been if he had been with them on this day.

Thinking of him she remembered a difference of opinion they had had when he wanted to make their circle more intellectual. He had thought it would be interesting for her, and she had refused. She had feared that ‘those people’ would talk over her head. How foolish she had been and how long it had taken her to learn her lessons under that kind and tender guidance.

But now that she herself had written a book – ‘Fellow author’ Disraeli had called her – she felt that she would like to meet people of literary talents. She had found Disraeli’s conversation most enlivening and she believed he had not been bored with hers. Then there was Sir Arthur Helps who had edited her book for her. He was also a very interesting man.

She had already met Lord Tennyson because Albert had said he was a great poet and she had wanted him to know how
In Memoriam
had comforted her.

Sir Arthur talked to her about Thomas Carlyle and when his wife died the Queen sent personal condolences. Later she met Carlyle and the poet Browning.

She told Louise that she was going to read some novels and she read Thackeray and George Eliot; but the books which appealed to her most were those of Charles Dickens.

‘So
feeling
,’ she said.

In November a daughter was born to the Prince and Princess of Wales. She was christened Maud Charlotte Mary Victoria.

This was Alix’s fifth child. She was delighted with her family and wished that she could become an ordinary housewife so that she could devote herself to them exclusively.

Bertie stared down at the paper in his hand. He could not believe it. This simply could not happen to him! How dared they order him to appear in court! How dared they presume … how dared they suggest …!

He felt sick. He wanted to shut himself away. He wanted no one to know of this until he had decided what to do. It was true that Lady Mordaunt had been a friend of his; he had called on her when her husband was away; he had enjoyed several delightful meetings when the two of them had been alone; she was very pretty and twenty-one and he had thought her charming.

And what had she done? She must be mad. Yes, that was the answer, she was mad, for she had made some sort of confession to her husband declaring that she had committed adultery with Sir Frederick Johnstone (his great friend from Oxford days) and Lord Cole, another crony and, among other men, the Prince of Wales.

The result was that her husband, Sir Charles Mordaunt, was suing for a divorce and although he did not name the Prince as co-respondent – that was reserved for Sir Frederick and Lord Cole – Bertie’s name was mentioned, Lady Mordaunt’s counsel was serving a subpoena on him and he must appear as a witness.

The Prince of Wales in the witness box in an unsavoury divorce case! What would the people say? What would Alix say? What would
the Queen
say?

Bertie was numb with anxiety. This was worse than anything that had happened to him. Curragh Camp was nothing to this. He could not think how to act. He must have advice and the advice he needed was that of a lawyer. He thought immediately of Lord Hatherley, the Lord Chancellor. He shivered at the thought. William Page Wood, Lord Hatherley, was a brilliant lawyer – perhaps the best in the country – but very austere. Bertie knew that for years he had acted as Sunday School teacher in Westminster, the parish where he lived. He would necessarily be unsympathetic but at the same time he would realise what a scandal could mean to the country, and he could be relied on to give the Prince of Wales the best possible advice.

Bertie was right. The Lord Chancellor listened attentively.

‘I am innocent,’ declared Bertie. ‘The lady must be insane. I am sure this will be proved but in the meantime I have received this subpoena to appear in court.’

This was a very grave situation, commented Lord Hatherley. The Prince could plead privilege but that he believed would be most unwise, for he was of the opinion that if any obstruction was placed on his Highness’s appearing in court that would be construed as proof of his guilt. He would have to appear in court, and of one thing he must make certain: the Queen must hear of this first through him. That was imperative. And no doubt, added Lord Hatherley, the Prince would wish to be the first to inform the Princess of Wales.

Bertie realised the wisdom of this and went straight to Alix, who was immediately alarmed by his downcast expression.

‘Bertie, what on earth has happened?’

‘Something terrible.’

‘The children …’

Bertie shook his head. ‘Oh no.’ Alix sighed. As long as there was nothing wrong with the children she could feel relieved. ‘It’s … Alix, I’ve got a thing called a subpoena. They’re going to take me to court.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘It’s Lady Mordaunt. She’s gone mad, I think. She’s made some sort of confession to her husband and he’s trying to divorce her …’

‘And you …?’

‘Oh no. It’s Fred Johnstone and Cole. They’re cited as co-respondents, but she’s made some wild statements about me and her lawyers have sent this thing.’

‘Oh God!’ said Alix.

‘Well, she must be mad.’

‘But she has named you.’

‘She’s mentioned me. The woman’s insane …’

‘But you were friendly.’

‘Oh come, Alix, I’m friendly with so many. It’s part of my duties.’

He was bland even though very anxious. Alix’s voice was trembling a little as she murmured: ‘And she has no reason …’

‘Of course not,’ said Bertie indignantly.

She felt wretched and miserable. She thought of Lady Mordaunt – young, twenty or not much more, very pretty, very gay. Bertie had called on her frequently, she knew. He must have visited her often when her husband was absent.

‘I’ve spoken to Hatherley,’ said Bertie. ‘He said I must tell Mama without delay.’

The Queen re-read Bertie’s letter. It was his painful duty, he had written, to tell her that he had been subpoenaed to appear as a witness at the court of Lord Penzance …

Her son! The Prince of Wales! Ordered to go to court! A divorce case and Bertie’s name mentioned! She could feel almost thankful that Albert was not here to suffer this.

Bertie declared that he was innocent. Of course there were malignant people who were ready to make the most cruel accusations against royalty. Unkind things had been said against her and John Brown. Poor Bertie! Strangely enough when she came face to face with real disaster she found she could be very strong. It was only when she contemplated something alarming that her spirits quailed. So Bertie was commanded to appear in court because a loose woman had mentioned his name. Very well, Bertie must appear in court and if he told her he was innocent she believed him. She sat down at her desk and wrote a tender letter. She believed that he had been maligned; she had the utmost confidence in him; and she wanted him to know that his mother was with him.

Bertie was touchingly grateful and was more frank than he had ever been before. He told her that he feared Sergeant Ballantine, whom Sir Charles Mordaunt had engaged to act for him, would twist everything he said and try to compromise him. He was in a terrible dilemma. To go into the box and have his words twisted by a brilliant lawyer or to stay out and let people impute his absence to guilt.

The Queen was anxious. She could not explain her fears to Mr Gladstone. How she wished dear Mr Disraeli was her Prime Minister now. Of course Bertie was wrong to have put himself in such a position where this was possible. If he had not moved in ‘fast’ circles no one would have been ready to believe this whatever that mad woman and her clever Sergeant Ballantine said. Whatever happened Bertie had done himself a great deal of harm.

The Lord Chancellor agreed with her. The monarchy was not so firm that it could afford such scandals as this. Mr Gladstone thought that the Queen’s love of seclusion had already irritated public opinion; for the Prince of Wales to be connected, however innocently, with such an unsavoury divorce case would not improve it.

‘How difficult it is for royalty,’ said the Queen with some asperity. ‘I am blamed for living too quietly; my son for living too riotously. People are never satisfied.’

There was great excitement when the case opened. It was the first time a Prince of Wales had ever been summoned to the witness box. The majority were certain that he had been Lady Mordaunt’s lover. Albert Edward – Teddy as he was beginning to be called by the people – was another such as his great-uncle George IV who had amused the people with his scandalous love affairs.

The Mordaunt story was gradually revealed to an avid public. Lady Mordaunt had given birth to a child and a few days after its birth it had been discovered that there was something wrong with the child’s sight and it would almost certainly be blind. This had so upset Lady Mordaunt that she had become hysterical.

When her husband came into her bedroom she cried out: ‘It is my fault the child is blind. You are not the father. Lord Cole is the father. I have been wicked and done wrong.’

‘You are distraught,’ said Sir Charles, trying in vain to soothe her.

‘No,’ cried Lady Mordaunt. ‘I have been unfaithful to you with Lord Cole, Sir Frederick Johnstone, the Prince of Wales and that’s not all …’

Sir Charles, very distressed, tried to comfort his wife.

‘She has some fever,’ he told the nurse. ‘She doesn’t know what she is saying. I believe women suffer in this way sometimes after having a child.’

Two of the nurses replied that during her confinement before the birth Lady Mordaunt had told them quite seriously that the child was not her husband’s and that she had committed misconduct with the men she had mentioned.

Sir Charles went to his wife’s bureau and found bills which showed that she had stayed at hotels with Sir Frederick and Lord Cole, and as there were also letters to her from the Prince of Wales, Sir Charles believed he had a case.

People recalled the trial of Queen Caroline. This was of less importance than that, of course, but very diverting. ‘Gay old Teddy’ was the universal comment. ‘Well, he was bound to get found out sooner or later.’