The Widow of Windsor (36 page)

‘You had better take me straight to him.’

Lady Macclesfield inclined her head.

‘And the Princess, how is she taking it?’ asked the Queen.

‘The Princess is wonderful,’ said Lady Macclesfield fervently.

Alix had come to the door of the sickroom with Alice.

‘My dearest children,’ said the Queen with tears in her eyes, ‘what a blessing that you are together at this time.’

She kissed them both and they took her in to see Bertie. He looked unlike himself with the strange glazed look in his eyes and the unnatural flush on his cheeks.

Oh dear God, she thought, it is so like that other nightmare. And it is soon to be the 14th of December.

The very best doctors were attending him – not only the Queen’s favourite William Jenner but Dr William Gull, Dr Clayton and Dr Lowe. The whole country waited for news as the fever soared. Bertie’s failings were forgotten; he had become ‘Good Old Teddy’. He was a jolly good fellow; he liked women; he had a mistress or two, that only showed how human he was. He was a good sport; he was the sort of man they wanted to be King – and he was sick with the typhoid fever.

Forgotten were the grudges against the royal family. The Queen was with her son who was dying of the dreaded fever which had killed his father, and in the streets crowds waited eagerly for bulletins of his progress to be issued. The question on everyone’s lips was ‘How is he?’ He was better; then he was worse; there was some hope; there was no hope. Everything was forgotten but the dramatic illness of the Prince of Wales. The fact that the 14th of December was fast approaching seemed significant. It was more than that – it was uncanny.

During one of the more hopeful periods Alix went to St Mary Magdalene’s Church at Sandringham, having first sent a note to the vicar to tell him she would be there. She wanted him to pray for the Prince that she might join in but she would not be able to wait until the service was over for she must get back to his bedside.

The church was crowded and there was a hushed silence when the Princess, wan with sleepless nights and anxiety, appeared. All joined fervently in the prayers. But, commented the Press, Death played with the Prince of Wales like a panther with its victim. But while the Prince lived there was still hope. Alfred Austin, the poet, wrote the lines by which he was afterwards to be remembered:

‘
Flashed from his bed, the electric tidings came,
He is not better; he is much the same
.’

Alix, with Alice and the Queen, were constantly in the sickroom but Alix did not forget poor Blegge and made sure that he had every care and attention. Alice was a great help; quiet and efficient and having had some practice in nursing during the wars, she devoted herself to her brother and gave that little more than even a professional nurse could have given. Alix thought she would never forget what she owed her sister-in-law. The Queen, in times of real adversity, was always at her best. She would sit quietly behind a screen in Bertie’s bedroom, not attempting to interfere, only to be there in case she could be of use.

It was the 13th of December – the day before the dreaded 14th – and Bertie had taken a turn for the worse. It was a repetition so close that it was eerie.

The doctors were despondent; it was clear that they thought there was no hope. Bertie often lay as though in a coma; at other times he would throw himself about and utter incoherent ravings.

Alix said: ‘Dear Mama, you must get some sleep.’

‘Not yet,’ said the Queen. ‘After … tomorrow.’

‘Mama, it is all over,’ said Alix.

‘Oh no, my dear child,’ replied the Queen firmly. ‘When my dearest Albert was so ill I never gave up hope.’

‘But it was no use, Mama. He died. Blegge has died, Lord Chesterfield has died. And now …’

‘My dear Alix, you must be brave. He is still with us.’

She tried to comfort Alix. The poor child was almost at breaking point. It was the 13th – and everyone seemed certain that Bertie was going to die on the anniversary of his father’s death.

‘Oh God, spare my beloved child,’ prayed the Queen.

Through the night of the 13th she waited and when the 14th dawned she was filled with a terrible apprehension.

Everywhere the tension was felt; it was as though the whole nation held its breath.

The 14th. Ten years to the day. There she had sat by his bedside and he had said: ‘
Es ist das kleine Frauchen
’ and she had asked him to kiss her. She remembered how his lips had moved so that she knew he had heard what she said.

She had sat there while everything that was worth while in life had slipped away from her; and she had plunged then into such utter desolation that she had not before known existed.

And now their son was dying. Poor wayward Bertie whom she had never loved as she should have. He had been a backward child and a disappointment to Albert who had so wanted a clever son. Albert used to worry so much about Bertie’s coming to the throne and not being fit for the heavy responsibilities. Had they always been fair, always kind to Bertie?

It was too late for such thoughts now. In any case Bertie was a man and he had grown far from his mother; the way of life he chose was alien to her, as hers was to him.

But she remembered that there had been moments in his childhood when she had loved him; and he had been so popular with his brothers and sisters, and usually good-tempered. She thought of his pushing his little wheelbarrow in the gardens at Buckingham Palace and Windsor; playing with his bucket and spade at Osborne, or riding his pony at Balmoral.

Alix loved him; his children adored him; there would be many to grieve for poor Bertie.

Dr Gull came to her; there was complete despair in his face. She could not bear to ask how Bertie was; she could not bear to go to his bedside, for there she could not help but see that other face; she could not shut out the echo of his words, ‘
Gutes Frauchen
.’

Oh, beloved Albert, dead for ten years. Am I to lose our son on the anniversary of the darkest day in my life?

A miracle had happened. On the fatal 14th Bertie had come as close to death as it was possible for anyone to do and live. All day long he had seemed to be sinking fast and even the doctors had lost hope.

The Queen implored Dr Gull to tell her the worst but he only shook his head because he could not bring himself to say, ‘The Prince is dying,’ which was what he believed to be the truth.

He left the sickroom and paced up and down the terrace. Only a short while now, he thought; and even he felt himself caught up in that fatalism which had been accepted by almost everyone else. The Prince was going to die on the 14th.

One of the nurses came running out on to the terrace.

‘Doctor,’ she cried, ‘please come at once. I think he is dying.’

The doctor hurried into the sickroom. He looked down at the patient who was lying very still; he was pale and as the doctor took his wrist to feel his pulse he realised at once that the fever had passed.

He turned to the nurse. ‘I believe there is hope,’ he said. ‘The crisis has passed.’

Alix came to the bedside. ‘There is hope …’ she began.

Dr Gull answered: ‘The fever is passed. I think a miracle has happened.’

The Queen embraced Alix; then she turned to Alice. ‘It’s a miracle, no less. He was on the verge of the grave,’ she cried. ‘Very few people have been known to recover who have been as ill as he has been.’

Dr Gull, who had been keeping visitors from the sickroom during the last day, said that the Queen might go and sit at her son’s bedside for a short while, though not to tire him.

Bertie looked at her and the sweetness of the smile on that pathetically pale face touched her deeply.

‘Dear Mama,’ he said, ‘I am so glad to see you. Have you been here all the time?’

She could have wept. ‘I have been watching over you, my darling child,’ she told him.

He smiled faintly and said: ‘Where is Alix?’

Alix came to the bed and she took his hand.

‘No one could have shown you greater love and care,’ said the Queen brokenly. ‘Such tenderness!’

Alix knelt by the bed and her tears fell on to the coverlet.

Dear sweet Alix, thought the Prince. When he was well he would try to make amends. He would live more quietly, the sort of life that she wanted. He would spend more time with her and the children.

The children? His spirits lifted at the thought of them. He longed to be with them, play the old games with them.

There was so much to live for.

Chapter XVI

THE WOULD-BE ASSASSIN

It was a happy Christmas after all. Although for the Queen it was the mourning season she could not but rejoice at Bertie’s recovery. He was still very ill, and although he was on the road to recovery he must not be allowed to overstrain himself.

Alix wanted to show her gratitude for his recovery so she presented a brass lectern to the parish church on which was inscribed:

To the glory of God
A Thanksgiving-offering for his mercy,
14th December 1871
Alexandra

It was a miracle, said the Queen. On the anniversary of the very day on which Albert had died Bertie had come face to face with death and been allowed to return to life. The Queen believed that Albert had been caring for her son and that it was a sign from him. She was sure that the spirit of Albert was not far away. In fact, as she said to Alice, it was this knowledge which enabled her to go on.

Careful nursing was still necessary and Alix was determined that no one but herself should look after her husband. This was the happiest time of her marriage for Bertie relied on her. He had no wish now to be with those brilliant witty friends; he was quite happy to sit and talk with Alix and have the children to see him and talk to him, being as quiet as they could be, for they had been warned not to tire Papa. Never had Alix felt so close to her little family. This intimacy was what she had always longed for; and the fact that Bertie enjoyed it made her very happy.

The Queen was pleased. ‘They are hardly out of each other’s sight,’ she wrote to Vicky. ‘They are like a pair of young lovers.’

She was pleased. Alix was a good sweet girl, though her unpunctuality was tiresome. As for Bertie, he had always had a sweet nature and now that he was not racketing about with a lot of fast friends, he was really very charming. As for the children, although not disciplined as much as the Queen would have liked them to be, they were so devoted to their parents that they obeyed without being forced to do so. They referred to Alix always as ‘Mother dear’, which was rather charming. She would hear young Georgie saying ‘Where is Mother dear?’ Or ‘Mother dear told me this or that.’ And to see those two boys vying for her favour … well, it was quite touching.

Of course Alix was not clever – she hardly ever read a book, nor did Bertie for that matter – and she could never understand politics as a Queen should and she was apt to become over-emotional when these matters touched her family (as she had been over the Danish–Prussian war) and that was not a good thing, but she was a good homely woman, an excellent wife and mother; and after all that was important.

The Queen decided that William Jenner and Dr Gull should be rewarded for their services and Mr Gladstone agreed. It would please the people and Mr Gladstone was relieved because the people had changed their attitude towards the royal family since Bertie’s illness. Royalty had become popular and to see the crowds waiting for the bulletins even in January was astonishing when such a short time before people like Dilke had appeared to have quite a following.

The Prince had come close to death and there was nothing like death for enhancing popularity and as Mr Disraeli commented: ‘To have come closer to death and lived was an even greater achievement than to have died.’

The royalty question had become much less acute.

So it would be very pleasing to the people if William Jenner was gazetted as K.C.B. and Dr Gull was made a baronet.

That was not all. There must be a thanksgiving service, said her ministers.

Bertie had recovered and by the end of February the ceremony was to take place. The people lined the streets to cheer and cry ‘God Save the Queen’ and ‘God Bless the Prince of Wales’. It was very affecting, said the Queen and most fitting and it showed that however much the people were led astray by
wicked
people who wrote
scurrilous
pamphlets and
disgraceful
scoundrels like Sir Charles Dilke who called for a Republic to replace the Monarchy, the people themselves were ready to show their loyalty.

Seated next to Bertie, who still looked pale, and considerably thinner which moved the people deeply, they came through Temple Bar. Behind her on the box was John Brown, looking very handsome and very efficient, keeping a watchful eye on the crowds. ‘I dinna trust these southerners,’ he had told her.

‘Good old Teddy,’ roared the crowd.

And on impulse, her eyes full of tears of gratitude for his survival, she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. It was the right gesture. The crowd roared its approval. The Queen was human. She was a mother rejoicing that her son who had come to the grave was with her once more.

It was very dark in the Cathedral but the service was moving and when it was over they drove once more through the streets.

Mr Gladstone was pleased. This was the sort of ceremony that the people loved and moreover expected from its royalty.

The next day the Queen was riding in her carriage with Prince Arthur, and Brown as usual on the box, when a young man stepped off the pavement and pointed a pistol at her.

It was not a new experience for the Queen although it was some time since the last attempt had been made on her life.

Arthur cried: ‘My God!’ and tried to leap from the carriage; but someone was there before him. The ever-watchful Brown had seen the young man raise his arm and with one bound he was off the box and he had the offender in his grasp.

The Queen could not take her eyes from that stalwart figure on whom she believed she could rely as she could on no one else. What should I do without him? she asked herself. And now he had saved her life.

The Queen lay on her bed, trembling slightly. It could so easily have happened. This was the sixth time an attempt had been made on her life. Could she go on hoping that they would continue to be unsuccessful? How alert Brown was where her safety was concerned! Of course Arthur had tried to seize the man but Brown was there before him. Who knew, if Brown had not been there, Arthur’s efforts might have been too late.

The Prime Minister called. She did not ask him to sit down in her presence. That was a very special favour reserved for a minister who was also a friend. It had never been offered to Mr Gladstone, although Lord Melbourne had arrived at the stage when he took the familiarity as a matter of course and did not always ask her permission. Even on an occasion like this when she had narrowly escaped from death Mr Gladstone put on his speaker-at-a-public-meeting attitude and although he expressed concern at what had happened he was not moved as Mr Disraeli or Lord Melbourne would have been.

The pistol, he told her, had been unloaded and the young man who had pointed it at her was mentally deficient. When questioned he had babbled about frightening the Queen into freeing Fenian prisoners. He was, of course, Irish, and his name was Arthur O’Connor.

‘Those Irish!’ cried the Queen. ‘What trouble they make.’

Later when she heard that O’Connor had been sentenced to a year’s imprisonment she was alarmed. ‘What when he comes out?’ she demanded. ‘Has it occurred to people that he might make another attempt and this time be successful? Could he not be transported?’

As it was the understandably fervent desire of the Queen that O’Connor should be transported, the government offered him the opportunity of leaving the country and paid his passage money so the Queen had nothing more to fear from the dull-witted O’Connor.

There was one who had come out of the affair with honours. This, she said in secret glee, is a vindication. What did Bertie, Vicky and Alfred think now of the man of whom they had been so critical? They had to admit that John Brown had saved their mother’s life and they should be eternally grateful to that good and faithful man.

If they weren’t, she was.

Bertie, however, when she discussed the matter with him, replied that Brown did his duty, he would agree to that; but that was what he was employed for.

‘My dear Bertie,’ cried the Queen, ‘you should have seen the manner in which he leapt from the box and tackled that wicked young man.’

‘Arthur did the same.’

‘Arthur tried to protect me, yes. But Brown was there before him. Why, had the pistol been loaded it could have been fired before Arthur grasped the would-be assassin’s arm.’

‘Before Brown did too, had it been loaded,’ added Bertie. ‘But, Mama, do not let us consider such a terrible possibility.’

‘It is a possibility ever present where royalty is concerned,’ replied the Queen. ‘It has happened to me before and I feel some small consolation in the fact that all those who have had the desire to kill me have been mad.’

‘Pray do not talk of such a thing, Mama,’ said Bertie with real feeling which was touching, particularly as he looked so pale and so much thinner after his illness.

‘My dearest child,’ she said tenderly, ‘I believe you are glad that I have been spared.’

Bertie kissed her hand and the tears came to her eyes. Bertie was really good in many ways.

‘I am going to give good faithful Brown a gold medal commemorating the occasion and twenty-five pounds a year shall be added to his salary.’

‘A very excellent reward for doing his duty,’ said Bertie. ‘And you will let Arthur know how much you appreciate his efforts.’