Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria (36 page)

I H
AD NOTICED
that Ernest was not looking well. I mentioned this to Albert and he looked rather embarrassed.

I could see that he was turning over something in his mind and I said, “Is anything wrong with Ernest?”

Albert looked sad and said, “Yes, there is something wrong…very wrong.”

“You must tell me.”

“I have been wrestling with myself, trying to make excuses for not telling you.”

“You remember we said we would not have any secrets from one another.”

He nodded.

“We vowed to each other,” I persisted.

“I know. But this is most distasteful and I want to protect you from all that is unpleasant.”

“Distasteful? Ernest? What is it?”

“He has an illness.”

“Poor Ernest.”

“Brought on by his own folly.”

I immediately thought he had carelessly caught cold, but that did not seem a matter to make such a fuss about.

“It is a punishment God gives to those who sin. He … er … has had intimate relations with a woman who has given him a very shameful disease.”

“Ernest has!”

“You seem surprised. I was not…entirely. I knew of his habits.”

“Poor Ernest!”

“It is his just deserts.”

“I suppose he did not realize…”

“That he was going to get the disease? Of course he did not. He thought he could sin with impunity.”

“Poor Ernest! Is he very ill?”

“No. I thank God that it is only a mild attack. He will soon recover. He is responding to treatment.”

“Oh, I am so glad.”

“It should be a lesson to him.”

“A rather hard one.”

“Hard ones are often the most effective. I have told him many times that he should marry.”

“Oh yes, poor Ernest, he should.”

“If he would only settle down and give up this wild life.”

“It is hard to believe two brothers could be so different,” I said.

Albert looked gratified and pressed my hand.

“He will see our happiness and perhaps that will make him feel inclined to marry.”

“I think he has studied us. He talks glowingly of our Cousin Ferdinand's happiness with Queen Donna Maria. He has stayed with them in Portugal, you know.”

“I remember Maria. She came here when I was about ten years old. My Uncle George gave a ball for her to which I was invited because she was exactly my age. And it was one of those to which Mama allowed me to go. I remember she was very beautiful but she fell down at the ball and hurt herself. She cried and had to be taken to her apartments.”

“She has turned out to be a very good wife to Ferdinand. He is her
King
Consort. Ernest said she received no one until Ferdinand had seen them. It is a most felicitous match. I am sure it did a great deal to make Ernest realize how happy a marriage can be.”

“Portugal is not a very important country, of course,” I reminded him. “I daresay things are arranged differently there.”

“A very happy marriage,” repeated Albert. “Ferdinand is a very lucky man.”

I turned the conversation back to Ernest. Was he to know that I had been told of his illness? Albert looked pained. “I am sure he would be very upset if he thought you had. Though I hate deception…”

“Leave it to me. I will say nothing unless Ernest mentions it to me.”

“He would never do that,” said Albert, deeply shocked.

I did not suppose that he would; and although I was horrified at the awful fate that had overtaken Ernest, I was thinking more of Albert's comments about Ferdinand and Queen Donna Maria.

I
N SPITE OF
Albert's original reluctance to have George Anson as his secretary, a friendship was growing up between them. George Anson was one of those intellectual types whom Albert wanted to introduce into the Court to enliven our evenings; and as Anson had developed a deep respect for Albert—which was understandable—they spent a great deal of time together. Baron Stockmar was often with them and they formed a triumvirate, discussing the affairs of the country, for Albert had a great
interest in politics. I was amazed to discover—gradually—how much Albert knew of them, and he had a good notion of how the country was being governed.

We were having tea one day—I always enjoyed these sessions for we took it without fuss—just like an ordinary husband and wife, which I thought was pleasant and very cozy.

On these occasions I liked the servants to leave us. I poured the tea myself, and so much enjoyed making sure that Albert was looked after.

Albert would sit there, amused, humoring me, smiling that very beautiful, pleasant smile of his, and I would be admiring him and thinking how handsome he was. It was irritating that in the papers they referred to him as “pretty” and hinted that he was not the English ideal, which was far more manly.

Of course he was manly! It was merely that he had magnificent blue eyes and a beautiful trim figure. People were jealous, of course.

I don't know how the conversation turned to my ministers. I had wanted Albert to help me choose some material for a ball gown. Albert had exquisite taste—a little quieter than mine—but I liked to hear his opinion and was pleased to take up his suggestions.

“There seems to be a lack of morality among many of your ministers,” he was saying. “Lord Palmerston has quite an unsavory reputation.”

“Oh,” I said laughing, “Lord Melbourne tells me they call him Cupid, because he brings love to so many ladies.”

Albert looked hurt.

I said apologetically, “I thought it rather suited him.”

“It does not say a great deal for his character.”

“Oh, he is a very astute man. Lord Melbourne thinks highly of him.”

“I do not think Lord Melbourne would be overconcerned about a fellow minister's morals.”

“Lord Melbourne is a very understanding man.”

I knew this subject of morals was a dangerous one because under Lord Melbourne's tuition I had begun to acquire a leniency toward those whose behavior was not exactly exemplary. “We are all human,” Lord M would say. “Some more human than others.” I remembered giggling at that.

“Even the Duke of Wellington is not blameless,” went on Albert.

“You are thinking of Mrs. Arbuthnot.”

“I regret to say I am.”

“Would you like some more tea, Albert?”

He handed me his cup.

“I was therefore,” continued Albert, “delighted to discover that there is one Member of Parliament at least—and one in a high place—who is absolutely beyond reproach.”

“Oh?” I replied, rather flippantly perhaps. “Who is this saint? Not my dear Lord M.”

“Most certainly not. I was referring to Sir Robert Peel.”

I felt my anger rising. I knew I had always been hot-tempered, but since my pregnancy and all the minor discomforts it had brought with it, I did find it more difficult to keep myself in check.

“My dear Albert,” I said, speaking like the Queen rather than his dear little wife, “I do not wish to hear of the perfections of Peel. I loathe the man. I hope his party
never
comes to power. For I do not wish ever to see him again.”

“From what is happening in the country it is more than likely that he will soon be your prime minister.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“It is foolish, my love, not to face facts.”

“The fact at the moment is that I have a very good government presided over by a man whom I respect. I ask no more than that.”

“My dearest, it is not a matter of what
you
ask. There must soon be an election, and the tottering government will have to retire. These happy little
tète-à-tètes
with Lord Melbourne will have to cease and you will be receiving Sir Robert Peel in his place.”

“You are spoiling this teatime.”

“Dear little wife, please look at the facts. You must, you know. Try to forget your prejudice against Sir Robert. He is a fine man.”

“He is ill-bred.”

“Forgive me, my dear, but that is nonsense. He was educated at Harrow and Oxford. He made a success of his office as Secretary of State for Ireland.”

I began to laugh. “Do you know, Albert,” I said, “that the Irish called him Orange Peel. That was because he was anti-Catholic. Lord Melbourne told me.” I began to laugh because I thought it was really rather a clever nickname. But Albert was not amused.

“Peel is a man to watch. I have a high regard for him,” he said.

“Albert, you do not know him. He is so gauche. When he came to see
me he behaved like a dancing master, and someone said that when he smiled it was like looking at the silver fittings in a coffin.” I was laughing again.

“Cheap abuse,” said Albert. “I noticed none of these things.”

“You have met him?”

“I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance.”

I was astounded. My fury could not be controlled. Albert had gone behind my back! He had sought an introduction to the enemy. I picked up my cup of tea which stood before me and threw it into Albert's face.

Then I gasped… astonished at myself.

Albert did not seem to be so very taken aback. He stood up and I saw the liquid trickling down his chin and onto his coat.

One of the servants had appeared. Albert turned to the man and said, “What do you think of that?” Then he bowed to me and said, “I must go and change my coat.”

I sat staring after him. I felt so foolish, so wretched, and so ashamed.

Oh, but I was angry. How dared he make disparaging remarks about my dear Prime Minister and go out of his way to praise the enemy. How dared he meet Sir Robert Peel! He was only the Queen's husband. He seemed to forget that.

Naturally I was angry. But to throw a cup of tea over him! That was scarcely behavior worthy of a queen! How calm he was! What a contrast to my fury! Apart from the first look of surprise he had made only a brief comment and then gone to change his coat.

Contrition swept over me. How dreadful of me! How could I have lost my temper to such an extent and above all, with my dearest Albert!

I could never be happy again until I had his forgiveness. My anger was lost in remorse.

I remembered what Uncle Leopold had said. One must never let these differences persist. They must be settled before they made a deep rift. How could I have been so foolish? I loved Albert. It was my wretched temper. Even Lehzen, who could see no wrong in me, told me that I should curb it, and Lord Melbourne said—with a twinkle in his eyes— that I was choleric.

I went immediately to Albert's dressing room.

I was about to open the door when I restrained myself and knocked.

“Who is there?” asked Albert.

“It is I. Victoria.”

“Come in.”

He was standing by the window. He turned slowly. I saw that he had changed his coat.

“Oh Albert,” I cried and ran into his arms.

I looked up at him. There was that gentle smile on his beautiful face. How I loved him in that moment. I had treated him shamefully and he was not angry.

“Oh Albert,” I repeated. “How could I?”

He stroked my hair.

“You do forgive me then?”

He was smiling. “I think,” he said, “that you are truly sorry.”

“I did not think…”

“My dear little one, it is often so with you.”

“Yes it is. I am impulsive. I am hot-tempered. In fact, I am not a very nice person.”

He kissed me gently. “That is not true,” he said. “You are a very nice person, but you have your tempers.”

“They arise and explode before I can stop them. I must try to be different.”

He said, “We will together master that little demon.”

I laughed. It was all so easy.

“So it is forgiven?”

“Forgiven and forgotten,” he said.

“Oh Albert,” I cried. “You are so
good
. You are far too good for me.” Albert smiled happily, and I was rather glad of the teacup incident because it showed me how much I loved him—as if I did not know!— and, better still, how much he loved me.

I C
OULD NOT
resist telling Lord Melbourne of the incident when we were alone. Instead of being shocked, he laughed.

“You find it amusing?”

“I confess I do.”

I saw the corners of his mouth twitching, and I could not help laughing with him.

“I hope the Prince was not wearing the Order of the Garter or even the Order of the Bath.”

“Lord M, it was a homely tea party
à deux
.”

“Very homely and fortunately
à deux
.”

“It was really very shocking of me.”

“Just a little example of royal choler, of which no doubt there have been some already and will be a few more.”

“I intend to control myself.”

“Good intentions are always admirable, although some say the road to hell is paved with them.”

“Lord M,” I said, “there are occasions when you are irrepressible.”

“Forgive me. Put it down to the stimulation I receive in Your Majesty's company.”

“There are times,” I said, “when I think Albert is too good, and that makes me feel rather worse than I am.”

“Your Majesty is unfair to yourself.”

“Do you really think I am?”

“A little temper now and then is not such a bad thing. It relieves the feelings and adds a little spice to living.”