‘Yes,’ said Stockmar. ‘But leave this to me. I will go to the schoolroom and discover what is happening there; and perhaps a tutor should be appointed for the Prince of Wales – a man of learning who will not hesitate to use the rod.’

Stockmar was conducted to the schoolroom where Vicky was seated at the table writing out French verbs and Bertie was being coaxed to read by Miss Hildyard.

There was consternation. Miss Hildyard rose and curtsied as the children wriggled down from their seats.

What a nasty old man with Papa and Mama! thought Bertie; and then was aware that the old man in question was staring at him.

‘Bertie, come and greet our dear good friend Baron Stockmar,’ said Mama.

Bertie came forward and was peered at. There was a smudge of blue paint on his blouse. Vicky had pointed it out an hour ago and he could feel those nasty old eyes concentrated on it.

If all the grown-ups would turn their backs for a minute he would put out his tongue at that old man just to show Vicky what he thought of their Baron Stockmar.

‘So this is the backward one,’ said the Baron. ‘Why’s that, eh?’

‘Because,’ said Vicky, ‘he is not the forward one.’

‘Vicky will speak when she is addressed,’ said Papa gently. ‘It is for Bertie to answer.’ But Bertie did not care about being backward and wasn’t frightened of the old Baron.

‘Sullen, it seems,’ said the Baron. ‘Well, we must remedy that.’

The Baron turned away and they all began talking to Miss Hildyard.

Baron Stockmar inspected the books and asked questions about the lessons. Some of the governesses, trying to show Bertie in the best possible light, said that he was a very sociable child; he was very good with the younger children, who adored him and he would play with them for hours; in fact the first person they looked for when coming into the nursery was Bertie.

‘Sociability,’ said the Baron, ‘is a bad sign. It shows a frivolous nature.’

‘He is rather inventive,’ said Miss Hildyard.

‘Inventive?’

‘Yes, Baron. He has a lively imagination.’

‘You mean he tells lies?’

‘Oh no.’

‘But yes,’ said the Baron. ‘What else?’

‘He devises amusing games for the children.’

‘Games. Lies! That child is on the road to disaster. And no aptitude for lessons! That will have to be remedied.’

He went on to say that sometimes it was necessary to apply learning with the cane. The governesses were disturbed by this picture of Bertie as a desperate character when he was merely a normal little boy, but it was impossible to attempt to change the Baron’s view, particularly when it was supported by Bertie’s parents.

When he was alone with the Queen and the Prince, Stockmar said: ‘I think we should appoint a tutor for the young villain and give him firm instructions that he must get results, which with such a child must mean meeting recalcitrance with severity.’

Stockmar found the man. He was Henry Birch, the rector of Prestwich, who having taught boys at Eton and being a Reverend gentleman, seemed highly suitable.

Bertie awaited his arrival with some trepidation.


* * *

It was September and the thought of escaping from London delighted both the Queen and Albert. The very name Osborne was, as the Queen said, like music in their ears and now that Albert had such plans for improving the place there was an added excitement in planning a trip to their dear island.

The children were happy there. There they could play on the beach and run about in the gardens of eight hundred acres, conscious, as their parents were, of a freedom they did not normally enjoy. Bertie had occasional uneasy twinges about the future but he was not one to worry about what might be coming to him. The present was his concern and how best to enjoy it. If he could escape from tutorial control he knew how to do that very well.

Even Papa seemed different in Osborne and would sometimes play games which made him seem like an ordinary person; and Mama would watch them playing and applaud everything Papa did. Still it was good fun and gave Bertie a pleasant, comfortable feeling to be on such terms with his parents.

When they arrived that September there was a great deal of talk about the foundation stone which had been laid for a new Osborne. The old one was on the point of collapse and a new Osborne was in the process of being built. There was an exciting smell of paint in the house. One part of it was completed and this was where they lived while the rest of it was being planned by the Prince.

The Queen declared her contentment to be at Osborne. ‘Oh how I should love to live the simple life always,’ she cried.

Albert agreed that it would have been far more comfortable for them both if they had been wealthy gentlefolk instead of royalty. Secretly Albert wondered whether Victoria was entirely sincere – although she would be aware of this of course; one of her greatest qualities was her honesty – because she was always very conscious of her dignity as Queen and sprang to defend it if it was assailed in the smallest way … sometimes by him. As for Albert, because he was conscientious and sometimes found his duties arduous, they were at least self imposed. It was difficult to understand all the truth, in any case there were so many facets of it that perhaps there was not a simple answer to any one of their problems.

But here they were at Osborne and this was a special occasion because for the first time they were occupying the new Osborne – and although there was so much to be done in the house, they were in a way entering it for the first time.

Such an occasion must be celebrated.

As they came into the house – the Queen going first – one of the maids threw an old shoe after her. For the moment the Queen thought that she was the victim of an attack and turned sharply, but there was Mary Kerr, one of her Scottish ladies-in-waiting, standing there unabashed and explaining to Her Majesty that she had to throw the shoe after the Queen otherwise there would have been no luck in the house.

Everyone – even the Prince – joined in the laughter and the Queen picked up the old shoe and thanked Mary for it.

Dinner was taken in the new dining-room and afterwards the company retired to the drawing-room where the curtains were drawn back and the lights shone forth over the sea. It was a wonderful evening and everyone present wanted to drink the health of the Queen and her husband as a house-warming.

This was done and the Prince said that there was a hymn they sang in Germany on such an occasion and he would like to sing it now.

The Queen’s eyes filled with tears of love, devotion and happiness as she listened to her beloved husband’s voice:

God bless our going out, nor

less Our coming in …

Victoria had rarely seen Albert so obsessed by anything as he was about Osborne. He always worked conscientiously. To see him going through the state papers was a lesson to anyone, she often declared. But one was conscious all the time that this was a duty. Osborne was a pleasure and he was almost childish in his enthusiasm.

‘Come and look at this,’ he would say and take her from what she was doing and explain how it would look when it was finished.

He was in constant consultation with workmen. If it were not somehow disrespectful one would say that Albert was almost like a child with a toy over Osborne. And what a wonderful job he was making of it!

‘Sometimes, my love, I think you should have been an architect. I even go so far as to think that you would have enjoyed being a builder.’

Albert smiled indulgently.

He would slip away at all times to see how the work was progressing. One night at about ten o’clock he left the drawing-room and was making his way through a wooded part of the grounds when he was roughly seized.

A policeman had him by the arm.

‘What are you doing here, eh?’ demanded the policeman.

Albert, who never acted without due thought, was silent, and the policeman went on: ‘Prowling about the place. Up to no good I’ll be bound. You come along with me.’

The servants’ quarters were close at hand and the young policeman, delighted that he had arrested, as he thought, a suspect, opened the door and pushed the Prince into the servants’ kitchen, where they were seated round the table over the remains of supper.

‘Caught this beauty on the prowl,’ announced the policeman.

There was a second or two’s silence after which all the servants rose to their feet. The policeman stared at his captive. One of the women said in a shrill voice: ‘It’s His Highness …’

But there was no need. The policeman knew. The Prince acted characteristically. He turned and walked out without a word. In fact he had said nothing during the entire episode.

As soon as the Prince had gone the babel broke forth. ‘Now you’ve done it.’

‘Fancy arresting his Royal Highness!’

‘You’ll hear more of this, young fellow. There’s one thing we have to remember here. The important one is not so much Her Gracious Majesty but His Royal Highness … and that’s because it’s the way Her Majesty wants it.’

The poor young man could scarcely bear his humiliation, especially as he feared it might end in dismissal, and the next morning when he was summoned to the Prince’s study he felt this was indeed the end.

Trembling with mortification the policeman bowed. The Prince inclined his head. Then he said: ‘I have called you here to commend you on your attention to duty. I have already mentioned to your superiors that you acted with promptitude last night and that you should be put in line for promotion.’

The young man began to stammer, but the Prince coldly waved him away.

The policeman couldn’t resist looking in at the kitchens to tell them what had happened.

‘Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather when you dragged him in last night,’ said the cook. ‘But you couldn’t see from his face what he was thinking.’

‘That’s it,’ said one of the kitchen hands, ‘you never can. He’s like one of them there masks.’

‘Cold as a corpse,’ said the cook. ‘But just – you’ve got to give him that.’

One of the older women shook her head and said: ‘He might have said it last night, that would have made his nibs here sleep better, eh? But that’s him all over – just, I grant you. But he likes to torture you a bit.’

‘Perhaps he tortures himself too,’ said a pert kitchen maid. ‘The good are like that sometimes.’

When the Queen heard of the incident she laughed uproariously. ‘The idea of arresting you, Albert. And how good of you to speak up for the man. It is pleasant to know we are so well protected at dear Osborne.’


* * *

Bertie loved the sea and making sandcastles. He shrieked with laughter as the tide came in and flooded the moat. Affie toddled along beside him, shovelling sand into pails, Bertie’s devoted henchman.

A boy – a little older than Bertie – carrying a basket of fish which his father had caught and which he was taking to a customer, strolled along the beach and watched the progress of the castle. Bertie, who always liked to show Alfred how clever he was, demanded to know what the boy was looking at.

‘At the castle,’ said the boy.

Bertie became very haughty. ‘You must not look unless I say you may.’

‘You can’t stop me,’ said the boy.

Bertie jerked the basket from the boy’s hand and the fish were scattered all over the sand, at which the boy’s face grew scarlet and he punched Bertie in the chest. Bertie was unprepared and went sprawling into the sandcastle. He jumped up and came at the fisher boy but he was no match for him. In less than five minutes Bertie was bleeding from the nose and had a bump on his forehead.

Affie began to scream and attendants were soon running up. The fisher boy thought it was wise to retire and Bertie was taken back to the house.

Such an incident could not be passed over unnoticed. The Queen would want to know what had happened to Bertie’s face and the truth must be told.

There was nothing to be done but to consult the Prince, who immediately summoned Bertie.

‘So you have been fighting?’ he said sternly.

Bertie stammered: ‘Y … yes, Papa.’

‘And for what reason, pray?’

‘He … he … this boy …’

‘Which boy? Pray try to be less incoherent.’