The Widow of Windsor Read online

* * *

  The dining-room at Osborne had been turned into a chapel. The Queen sat near the altar under the Winterhalter picture of the family. She had made no concessions to the occasion and was wearing her widow’s black with the cap which Princess Beatrice did not care for.

  The Archbishop of York read the service and the Queen felt drawn to him because he was so clearly moved. She knew that his wife had died about three years previously and he was still mourning her. Before the ceremony they had talked of their dead and wept together.

  The Queen sat forlornly thinking of how different it should have been. A fine wedding in London with dear Albert, splendid in uniform, leading Alice to the altar.

  This, she thought, is like plunging a dagger into my already bleeding heart.

  When the married couple left for their honeymoon, which was to be spent at Ryde, she would send for Lenchen and tell her about her own wedding all those years ago and how nervous she had been, how young and inexperienced, how their father had looked as handsome as a god and even then she had not known what a blessing was being conferred on her.

  My only consolation now is to do what he would have wished, she told herself.

  So now she must concern herself with Bertie, for Albert had constantly said during that last year they had had together: ‘Bertie must marry. His nature is too ardent for him to remain a virtuous bachelor. His only hope is a good woman.’

  A good woman. Princess Alexandra? There must be no delay. But she must make sure first that Princess Alexandra was the right wife for Bertie.

  Bertie himself was thinking: What a wedding! More like a funeral. Poor Alice. She’ll be better off, though, with a husband and a life of her own. Poor Lenchen. It’s her turn now to look after Mama. And my turn for marriage! What will it be like to have a wife? He was quite eager to find out.

  He kissed his sister after the ceremony. ‘Bless you,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Bertie … dearest Bertie.’

  Her eyes smiled into his.

  Your turn next, they said.

  Chapter III

  THE FAMILY AT THE YELLOW PALACE

  Seventeen years before the death of the Prince Consort, there was great expectation in the Yellow Palace on the Amaliegade Street in Copenhagen where Prince Christian and his wife Louise were expecting their second child. Their son Frederick, known as Fredy, was just a year old.

  Christian and Louise were poor; the Yellow Palace did not belong to them and it was only by the grace of King Christian that they were allowed to occupy it; but they were in love and happy. Christian was not ambitious; Louise was more so; but in these early days of marriage her great desire was to have a family and live for them. So, in spite of the expense of a new baby the child would be warmly welcomed into the household.

  Louise stood at the window, with little Fredy beside her, watching Christian leave for the barracks. He was tall and handsome and if he were poor she did not care, for besides being extremely good looking he was kind, gentle and as anxious as she was to bring up their family in a proper manner. They had often talked about the children they would have. Theirs should be a happy family, although of course the children would be reprimanded when necessary, even punished – but only in a manner which would be good for them.

  Oh yes, they had often made plans for the family, and now Fredy was to be joined by a little brother or sister.

  Christian turned to wave; his groom, whose livery, she noticed, should have been replaced some months ago, helped him on to his horse, bowed, and Christian waving to his wife at the window rode off.

  She smiled, thinking of her tall blue-eyed husband, Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg – a very magnificent-sounding title for a penniless Prince. But they were fortunate because of the kindness of the King, which was good of him really for they had no claim on him. Christian was merely the fourth son of Duke Frederick of Schleswig-Holstein; and even the eldest son had inherited a bankrupt kingdom because the Napoleonic Wars had ruined them; but since there was a family connection, King Christian VIII had befriended his young namesake, had given him a commission in the Royal Guard and the Yellow Palace for his home.

  They were lucky. The palace was not unlike a French château of the smaller type. One stepped into it straight from the street, entering by big gates which opened on to a courtyard. It was an exciting house, even though some of the rooms were small; there were odd winding staircases and passages and nooks and crannies in unexpected places. It was, in any case, a home, and they were grateful for it.

  King Christian lived near by in the Royal Palace and Prince Christian and Louise were often invited to pay an informal visit; close by in an imposing mansion lived Louise’s parents – the Landgrave and Landgravine of Hesse-Cassel. The Landgravine had been Princess Charlotte, and was King Christian’s sister.

  It was all rather cosy and informal for Charlotte was good to the family at the Yellow Palace and was constantly sending gifts and between the King and the Landgravine they just managed on Christian’s pay which was only ten pounds a month. Not very much to sustain life in a palace – even one such as the Yellow Palace – and maintain some semblance of royalty. But Prince Christian was happy; he was proud of his position in the Army; he had a wife whom he admired as well as loved, a son and another child on the way; he asked only to be able to keep them in comparative comfort.

  Louise turned from the window. There were the servants to receive their orders – not many of them, only those whom her mother said she must have. Louise could manage very well. What a difference there had been in the Yellow Palace since she had taken over! Now all the cobwebs were swept away and the furniture shining; meals were served hot and promptly. She was a wonderful housewife.

  The Landgravine tut-tutted and reminded her that she was the niece of the King, to which Louise replied gravely that she had reason to remember that with gratitude for to the King they owed their home and Christian’s post in the Guards so she was not likely to forget.

  The Landgravine was impatient. ‘With your looks and your talents you should not be an ordinary hausfrau. And when I think of Frederick … the only heir to the throne, what will become of Denmark I can’t imagine!’

  Frederick, the King’s only son, was a trial to everyone except himself of course and his cronies – and there were many of them. They consisted of the artists and writers with whom he liked to sit and drink, and his mistresses with whom he walked arm in arm through the streets; or if they were shopping he would carry their parcels for them like any bourgeois husband. Frederick was a scandal in the royal family.

  But she and her little family were aloof from royalty in a way. They rarely went to Court functions simply because they wouldn’t have the suitable clothes and jewels. Even in the regiment Christian was poor. But who cared? Certainly they did not.

  Life in Copenhagen was full of interest. She had enjoyed taking Fredy down to the harbour and showing him the big ships – Danish some of them, others coming in from all over the world. She would walk along the Sund pushing her son in his baby carriage like any matron of the town.

  And now there would be another child.

  She turned away from the window, shivering a little for it was very cold. Soon it would be Christmas. The baby should arrive a few weeks before the festival, she hoped. How wonderful that would be. Little Fredy would have his first Christmas tree and a little brother or sister as well.

  The next day, which was the first of December, her child was born. It was a girl.

  * * *

  There was a great deal of discussion about the child’s name, between her parents that was. She was not considered to be of sufficient significance for the King or the Landgravine and her husband to think it mattered what she was called.

  Louise, however, suggested that it would be a pleasant gesture to name her Alexandra after the sister of Alexander of Russia who had been married to her brother and had recently died.

  Christian said this was a capital idea; he u
sually thought Louise’s ideas were capital. So the name was decided on. It was to be Alexandra Caroline Marie Charlotte Louise Julie.

  ‘Now,’ said Christian, ‘everybody can be satisfied.’

  The King was kind and professed to be very interested in the child’s birth. He said she must have the silver gilt font for her baptism which was always used by members of the royal family.

  Young Christian and Louise expressed their gratitude, the font was sent to the Yellow Palace and Alexandra was baptised.

  How pleasant to have another child. Little Fredy was delighted. He couldn’t say Alexandra but he managed Alix and from then on the baby was known by that name.

  Louise wheeled her round to the grandparents’ palace which was only a short distance away. The Landgravine was delighted with her granddaughter and had presents waiting for her and some extra money for her daughter which she presented with the comment, ‘How you manage, my dear, I do not know.’

  But Louise smiled serenely and assured her mother that she managed adequately and repeated that the generosity of the King and herself made life quite easy for them.

  The old Landgrave was less amiable but he loved his daughter. He was quick-tempered and somewhat eccentric; he spent hours in his enormous library reading the books in the order of which they had been acquired and placed on the shelves.

  He peered at the baby and declared that she was unattractive.

  ‘Take it away,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to look at that ugly little thing.’

  The Landgravine smiled at her daughter. ‘Don’t take any notice of Papa,’ she said.

  ‘But ugly, Mama!’ cried Louise indignantly. ‘Alix is beautiful.’

  ‘What a good thing all babies are to their mamas. Never mind, my dear, the plain babies often turn out to be the prettiest women in the long run.’

  Louise was astonished. She and Christian had thought their daughter the most wonderful child on earth … as wonderful as Fredy of course.

  She would not bring Alix to see the Landgrave again in a hurry.

  * * *

  Alix’s first memories of Rumpenheim were of the time when she was three years old. Rumpenheim was a beautiful castle on the banks of the River Main, not very far from the town of Frankfurt; the gardens were beautifully laid out, the rooms much larger than those of the Yellow Palace. Rumpenheim was like something out of a fairy tale.

  Nor was it only the house and the gardens which were so entrancing. There were so many people staying at the castle and they all knew each other and at reunions they greeted each other with demonstrations of great affection. When Alix was introduced to them, they kissed her, gave her presents and talked to her about Copenhagen and the Yellow Palace and the Sund.

  Who were these people? she asked her mother.

  Louise, who liked her children to ask intelligent questions, replied that they were all members of her family and the reason they came to Rumpenheim in the summer was that Louise’s grandfather, the Landgrave of Hesse, had left the castle to his family on the condition that, during the summer months, some members of the family were always at the castle.

  What a wonderful grandfather he must have been! commented Alix.

  Her own family had grown in the last few years and she had a little brother William (called Willy) and there was a new baby girl, Dagmar. She loved them all dearly and it was a wonderful cosy feeling to belong to such a family.

  At Rumpenheim was her cousin Princess Mary of Cambridge, who lived in England and was very attractive in Alix’s eyes. She seemed quite old, being thirteen, and she and Alix took to each other from the start. Mary asked permission to wheel the baby Dagmar in her carriage about the grounds and this was given; so while Mary wheeled Dagmar, Alix would trot along beside her and sometimes Mary would lift up Alix and set her in the carriage opposite Dagmar and push them both.

  Because Mary was that wonderful being, not quite an adult and certainly not a child, Alix could feel less restricted in her company than she did in that of grown-ups and at the same time draw on that inexhaustible fund of knowledge which seemed to be Mary’s.

  Mary explained the complicated ties which made them related. Her ancestor King George III of England had had fifteen children, nine sons and six daughters; one of these sons was Adolphus, Duke of Cambridge. He married Princess Augusta, who was the daughter of Frederick, Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel. It was this Frederick who had given Rumpenheim to his family. Frederick’s eldest son had married Alix’s mother’s mother. So Alix would see the family connection between herself and Mary.

  It was very complicated for the little girl to understand but it gave her such a nice warm rich feeling to know that Mary Adelaide was a kind of cousin and that there would be many more summers spent at delightful Rumpenheim.

  Dagmar sat solemnly in her carriage. Poor Dagmar, thought Alix, who could not join in this fascinating conversation.

  Everyday, after lessons, for Louise insisted that there should be lessons even at Rumpenheim, and it was one of her maxims that children were never too young to learn, Alix would seek out Mary and this wonderful thirteen-year-old cousin seemed to find greater pleasure in the company of the child than in that of relations nearer her own age.

  While the children played, their elders discussed serious matters and the affairs of Denmark at this time were giving some cause for alarm.

  The Landgravine Charlotte in her apartments at the palace talked of this with her daughter Louise, for she said they were of greater concern to them than to any of the other members of the family who were at Rumpenheim at this time.

  ‘King Christian cannot live much longer,’ said Charlotte. ‘And then … Frederick.’

  ‘It is alarming to think of it,’ agreed Louise.

  ‘And trouble is brewing all over Europe. There are revolutionary pamphlets being distributed everywhere. They are particularly virulent in France, but I don’t think for one moment that Denmark can escape.’

  ‘The King, unfortunately, is not popular,’ said Louise. ‘And he won’t be until he gives the people the constitution they want.’

  ‘Which he feels, with some reason, would put his crown in jeopardy if he granted it.’

  ‘It may well be a question of granting it or losing his crown.’

  Charlotte looked with approval at her daughter. She was talented and intelligent; if she were heir to the throne, how much happier for Denmark. But Frederick, with his loose living and his immoral friends, was the heir and Louise was nothing more than a housewife.

  ‘What will happen when Frederick comes to the throne I tremble to think,’ said Charlotte. ‘I have tried to talk of these matters with your father but his temper is so quick and all he thinks of is his library, so that it is quite impossible to discuss them with him.’

  There is one thing that has struck me, Mother,’ said Louise. ‘If the King dies, what will become of Christian’s position in the Army? What if we should be turned out of the Yellow Palace!’

  ‘That would be most unpleasant,’ said the Landgravine Charlotte. ‘You could of course come to us but I don’t know what your father would say to noisy children playing in the gardens.’

  ‘We can only wait and see what happens,’ said Louise philosophically, ‘for there is nothing we can do about it.’

  But she was uneasy and so those summer days at Rumpenheim were not so idyllic to her as they were to her little daughter.

  * * *

  When the King asked his sister Charlotte to call on him at the Royal Palace she sensed his anxiety immediately.

  ‘You look well,’ he told her. ‘Rumpenheim has done you good.’

  ‘It always does,’ she told him. ‘I was glad that Louise and the children were able to stay. It’s so good for them to get away from the Yellow Palace.’

  The King nodded. ‘Louise is a clever girl. You must be proud of her.’ He spoke wistfully and Charlotte knew he was thinking of the unsatisfactory Frederick.

  The King was a good man, but it was a pity
his personality was not one to please the people. He was so reserved that he appeared to be unfriendly. It didn’t matter that he was ready to sacrifice a good deal for the benefit of Denmark, and the reason he did not wish to grant the country a constitution was because he knew it was not prepared for it yet. He had not that natural bonhomie which people demanded in their rulers and it seemed they would prefer a rogue with it, than an idealist without it.

  ‘It’s a pity,’ said Charlotte, ‘that they find it so difficult to make ends meet. But she is an excellent manager and I think Christian realises his good fortune in marrying her.’

  ‘How I wish Frederick could have been as fortunate.’

  ‘Perhaps he would not have realised the worth of such a wife.’

  ‘He seems to be keeping with this new woman.’

  ‘And indulging in adventures meanwhile.’

  ‘Frederick calls himself the cosmopolitan bohemian.’

  ‘And this Louise Rasmussen. I hear she was a Parisian midinette. Is that true?’

  ‘She has also had a post as governess, and she has been a ballet dancer, so she is a woman of many parts. She is well known because they are seen strolling together arm in arm or he waits patiently while she shops and then carries the parcels home for her.’

  ‘Quite domesticated. I should hardly have thought Frederick was that.’

  ‘Frederick is anything that is not usual. I do wonder what will happen, Charlotte, when I’m dead.’

  ‘Frederick will come to the throne.’

  ‘But what will become of Denmark under such a king?’

  ‘Denmark has had some unworthy kings and managed to survive.’

  ‘The great point is that he has no heir and he never will have one.’

  ‘Is that quite out of the question?’

  ‘My dear sister, he has been divorced three times. Each of his wives was selected for her suitability and what was the result – no heirs, no marriage – for each one of them has ended. He cannot marry this woman he is now living with. Even Frederick must see that we cannot have a French midinette for Queen of Denmark. So when I die and Frederick comes to the throne there will be no heir to follow him. There could not be a more disastrous state of affairs. Schleswig-Holstein is always ready to give us trouble. What would happen, do you think, if Frederick died and there was no one to follow him? I can tell you, sister, that I have spent some sleepless nights over this matter.’