The Widow of Windsor (34 page)

Mr Gladstone was disturbed by what he referred to as the royalty question.

There was now a republic in France and Germany was united as one great Empire under Prussian hierarchy. This had been proclaimed in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles – the more to stress the defeat of France.

‘The point is,’ said Mr Gladstone to his Foreign Secretary, Lord Granville, ‘it is always dangerous for Royalty in general when a royal crown is lost. This would not have been so important a few years ago when the monarchy in this country commanded great respect. There were complaints against Albert as the German who wanted to rule this country, but there was no doubt in any mind that he was a sober-minded religious man, determined to do all in his power for what he believed to be right. He might have been called a dull man but everyone knew he was a good one.’

Lord Granville grasped the point.

‘Yet if we have lost one Emperor we have gained another.’

‘Power-crazy Germans,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘And in place of a monarchy across the Channel we have a republic. Republics are catching. As I said, a few years ago the monarchy had a certain popularity. That has been lost over the last few years. The Queen’s insistence on remaining in seclusion is in a large part responsible. The scandal about her relations with John Brown another. She is defying the people. They want her to appear in public. They want a Queen to be a Queen. The Prince of Wales compensated in some respect, but since this disastrous Mordaunt affair, his popularity has waned a great deal. He is often hissed at when once he was cheered. Pity is expressed for the Princess because of the way in which her husband treats her. The Queen is never seen and the people have no respect for the Prince of Wales. That is the sad state of affairs and so we have a royalty question.’

Lord Granville could only agree with everything the Prime Minister said. If the Queen would rouse herself a great deal of good could be done.

But the Queen refused to rouse herself. She could only find consolation in the Highlands with John Brown in attendance. She arrived at Balmoral for the autumn holiday and while she was there a very interesting event took place.

The hills were looking particularly beautiful and there was so much to remind her of the old days when she and Albert had loved to walk across this very grass. The Lord Chancellor, Lord Hatherley, was with them; he was very solemn and she did wish he would not reproach her about her seclusion, though very mildly of course which was as much as he dared to: but Beatrice was there and she was always pleasant company. On this occasion Louise had gone for a walk with the Marquis of Lorne and some other friends so there were two parties.

The Queen talked to Lord Hatherley about the manner in which Albert had described the countryside and how he had revelled in it, seeing a resemblance to his native forests and mountains. It was such a pity they had cut down so many of the trees. Why did people have to spoil everything? she demanded.

Lord Hatherley murmured that the timber would no doubt be put to very good use. The Queen said that she would like to call at the little inn Brown talked so much about. He had worked there once for a while before coming into the royal service.

They called at the inn in which the Queen was very interested and kept smiling to herself, imagining Brown in such a place.

It was when they returned to Glassalt Shiel that the significance of the day became apparent. Louise came to her room and before the dear child spoke she knew.

‘My dear child, you look very happy,’ she said.

‘Oh, Mama, I am. Lorne has proposed and I have accepted him.’ Louise looked anxiously at her mother. ‘I knew you would approve.’

‘I shall pray that you will be happy, my child.’

‘I told Lorne that you would not withhold your consent.’

The Queen sighed. ‘I would never wish my dear children anything but their happiness. Of course
I
am going to miss you. I am losing all my children, one by one.’

‘We are not lost, Mama.’

‘But it seems that you grow away after marriage. Think! Beatrice is the only daughter I have left now and I suppose she will soon be thinking of leaving me.’

‘At least, Mama, I shall not leave the country.’

‘That is a great comfort to me, my dearest child. And I am fond of Lorne. He is a good young man. This will be the first time that a Sovereign of this country gives consent for a royal Princess to marry outside royalty since the days of Henry VIII when he allowed his sister Mary to marry the Duke of Suffolk.’

‘I know, Mama, and so does Lorne. We appreciate your goodness and we shall endeavour to show our gratitude all through our lives.’

‘My dearest, all I shall want is to be shown that you are happy.’

They embraced fondly and the Queen said how sad it was that Dearest Papa was not here to see his daughter’s happiness.

There was no point in delaying the marriage and six months later Louise and the Marquis of Lorne, heir to the Duke of Argyll, were married in St George’s Chapel, Windsor. Giving way a little to pressure the Queen allowed the marriage to be celebrated with a certain amount of pomp and although she would not wear a dress of any other colour than black she did make a concession by ornamenting it with glittering jet and wearing diamonds and rubies.

So Louise became the future Duchess of Argyll.

Napoleon had now escaped to England and had joined the Empress and his son at Chislehurst. The Queen at once visited them there and wept with them for the loss of their position and assured them that as long as they needed a refuge it was theirs in England.

Almost immediately after Louise’s marriage Alix gave birth to another child. This time things did not go well. The child was weak and it was thought wise hastily to christen him. He was given the names Alexander John Charles Albert and the next day he died.

Alix was heart-broken. Life seemed to be going wrong for her. She had not yet recovered from the shock the Mordaunt case had given her, though often she asked herself why she should have been so distressed because something she had always known existed was brought out into the open.

Bertie was as kind and charming as he knew well how to be. They had lost little Alexander, he reminded her, but they had their two boys and three little girls and no one could say that was not a fine family. She tried to be comforted. After all, she
had
a fine family; and whatever his faults Bertie was always kind to her.

She planned a memorial window to the child to be placed in Sandringham church depicting Christ blessing the children.

The people, however, were determined to be dissatisfied. So the Princess had lost her baby. It was small wonder, was the verdict, when it was considered what anxieties she must suffer. Nobody was going to believe in the Prince’s innocence over the Mordaunt case. Why was he only cross-examined by the defending counsel? If Sergeant Ballantine had got at him it would have been a very different story. There was a special law of course for royalty.

Parliament were asking for an annuity for Prince Arthur and the radical party had so agitated against it that in the division fifty-four votes were cast against it.

It was quite obvious, said Mr Gladstone, that the royalty question was assuming alarming proportions. There was a wave of feeling against the monarchy and the fact that a Republic had so recently replaced a monarchy across the Channel was a pointer.

The Queen must emerge from her seclusion for this was at the root of the matter.

It was said that when she was in Scotland she took long drives; she walked; she even climbed hills; she visited the local people when they were sick and took great interest in the life of the neighbourhood; she even danced reels with her Highland servants; but continually she complained of ill health which prevented her from doing her duties in London.

‘She
must
return,’ said Mr Gladstone.

Was she to have no peace? she demanded. Overwork and anxieties killed that Noble Being, the Prince Consort. She was sure some of her ministers and her subjects would like to see her worn out in the same way.

Dr Jenner – that good faithful man – supported her. He assured Mr Gladstone that the Queen was in no position to take on a strenuous public life. At that time she was badly stung by a wasp and this seemed to set off a train of ailments. She was distracted by her neuralgia; and an abscess had developed in her arm. It was years since she had felt so ill – not since long ago before her accession to the throne when she had had typhoid fever.

The trouble was that having pleaded her inability to face the public because of her weak physical condition, now she was really ill people did not believe it.
Reynolds’ Newspaper
took up the attack with fervour. After commenting on the gambling habits of the Prince of Wales with reference to his amorous adventures, it turned on the Queen. A pamphlet was produced called
What Does She Do With It?
which referred to the Queen’s income. What
did
she do with all the money that was bestowed on her? How did she spend it, cooped up in Balmoral or Osborne, living her cosy quiet life with Mr John Brown in attendance?

Everyone was reading
What Does She Do With It?
and again Mr Gladstone stressed the danger of the situation. Vicky wrote that dear Mama must see what was happening and take the lesson of France to heart.

‘Do none of them understand that I am ill?’ cried the Queen. If only Mr Disraeli had been Prime Minister instead of that difficult Mr Gladstone! As it was there was no one who could comfort her but John Brown who told her to stop bothering her head about them and come for a nice little drive up to the Spital of Glenshee and he’d take some cold chicken and boil some potatoes and they’d have a drop of whisky with it, or claret if she preferred.

There were days when she was so ill that she could not walk without pain; then John Brown would lift her as easily as though she were a baby and carry her from her bed to her couch.

‘How strong you are, Brown!’ she would murmur.

‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘I manage. Ye’re still an armful, woman, but not what ye was.’

Indeed she had lost nearly two stone in weight. When those
unfeeling
people saw her they would realise how ill she had been and that this was no pretence.

But at least she had Brown to comfort her.

Alfred came up to Balmoral to see her. What a trial Alfred was! He was just as wild as Bertie but lacked Bertie’s charm. He began to make trouble as soon as he arrived and he and Brown were soon on bad terms. Brown’s habit of acting as a sort of guardian of her apartments irritated her family. Bertie had felt the same. They resented the fact that they, the Queen’s sons, had more or less to ask Brown’s permission to see the Queen.

‘Mama,’ Alfred said, ‘do you think it wise to allow Brown so many liberties?’

‘My dear Alfred,’ she replied, ‘pray do not presume to tell me how to manage my household. If you would only turn your attention to your own affairs they might be managed a good deal more satisfactorily than they are at present.’

This was a reference to one or two scrapes Alfred had got into with women. Alfred thought that was beside the point. Dalliance with women was a noble enough occupation; treating servants as friends closer than one’s own flesh and blood was not. But although it was easy to grumble about these matters in the Queen’s absence, it was not possible to do so in her formidable presence.