Dear Baby! How Albert would have smiled. I think he might have spoilt Baby as he had Vicky. He may have looked to Baby to take Vicky's place. I shall never be able to forget how heartbroken he was when Vicky went away.

There was more trouble from the children. Wilhelm was crawling on the floor. He had pulled the cairngorm out of his dirk, which was part of his costume and thrown it across the chapel floor. It happened during a silence and caused quite a noise.

Arthur bent down and whispered something to him and Wilhelm then bit Arthur's leg. Leopold tried to remonstrate and Wilhelm turned his attention to his leg.

Oh dear, I thought, I hope Leopold does not bleed.

Between them they managed to subdue Wilhelm and the service went on.

Everyone came back to the Castle for the wedding breakfast. I felt incapable of joining them. It had been a very emotional experience. There had been too many memories of that happy day when my own wedding had been celebrated.

Lenchen came to me afterward. They told me that Wilhelm had thrown her muff out of the carriage and that Baby had said in a very loud voice, when they were driving through Windsor and she had seen the shops, “I did not know before that they had stays in shops.”

We smiled. Baby could always amuse. She did produce some very funny comments.

After the wedding breakfast the bride and groom left for Osborne where they should spend their honeymoon.

I sighed with relief. Bertie was married.

Mr. Disraeli and Mr. Gladstone

LORD PALMERSTON CAME DOWN TO WINDSOR TO SEE ME. I sensed a certain reproach in his manner. He was thinking that the period of mourning should be coming to an end. He was really rather insensitive. As if my mourning would ever end!

He told me that he was delighted with the popularity of the Princess of Wales. She and the Prince were cheered everywhere they went; and the people were pleased with the marriage.

“Princess Alexandra is a dear girl,” I said.

“She and the Prince make an excellent combination, Ma'am,” replied Palmerston. “It is a good thing that the Prince has no aversion to appearing in public.”

He gave me a sly look. I thought: I have never liked you, Lord Palmerston, but I know Albert thought you were a good politician and of course you are; but you are quite unlike Lord Melbourne. Oh, how I wished he were with me now—not the old man he had become but the Lord M I had known when I first came to the throne.

“The people like to see their Sovereign from time to time.”

“Lord Palmerston,” I retorted, “I have suffered the greatest blow that life could have dealt me.”

“The world knows it, Ma'am.”

Again that irony as though they knew, not because of Albert's saintly reputation, but because I forced the knowledge on them.

My manner turned especially cold and regal.

“I hope, Lord Palmerston that you have not brought bad news. Trouble never seems to be very far away.”

“It is life, Ma'am. But we have had this excellent wedding and we have the popularity of the young royal couple. That is something to rejoice in…particularly as Your Majesty has become such a recluse. The Prince is doing an excellent job. Let us be grateful for that. There is this matter of the throne of Greece.”

“Oh, is Duke Ernest being difficult again?”

“He is withdrawing from the contest. The next contender is a brother of the Princess of Wales.”

“Indeed!”

“It seems to me a good solution, Ma'am. Duke Ernest will remain in Saxe-Coburg and in due course it will be that duchy for Prince Alfred.”

“The eldest son of the Danish family will be the king of that country in due course.”

“Exactly, Ma'am. That is why it will not be the eldest son. It will be the next.”

“Is he not very young?”

“Royalty frequently has to shoulder burdens of state at an early age, as Your Majesty well knows.”

I sighed fleetingly thinking of that morning at Kensington Palace when I had awakened to find myself Queen.

“It seems that there is a universal agreement on this matter—which is a boon to us all,” said Lord Palmerston. “But alas I see trouble ahead in that affair of Schleswig-Holstein. Bismarck is intent on one thing: aggrandizement of Prussia.”

“I do not like what I hear of that man. The Crown Prince and Princess of Prussia find him somewhat distasteful.”

“Alas, Ma'am, there are times when sovereigns are obliged to endure statesmen whom they do not like.”

He gave me that half-mocking look. He knew very well how much I had disliked him until Albert had discovered how good he could be dealing with the Crimean War and the Mutiny. He would have heard that I had abhorred Sir Robert Peel in the beginning, even though in time he had become my very good friend.

“Let us hope that does not grow into real trouble,” I said coolly. “We can hope, Ma'am, but at the same time we must be prepared.”

I knew him well. He had come down for two main reasons: chiefly to warn me that I should show myself to the people who were getting a little irritated by my seclusion, and also to prepare me for trouble over those wretched Duchies of Schleswig and Holstein. Conflict between European states was always distressing, because I was related to so many heads of states and would find myself in the middle of warring relations, each trying to urge me to take their side. I did not relish that.

He left me with the wish that he would see me soon in London, to which I gave no definite reply, for I felt I could not face the people yet.

He said nothing about one other matter that was worrying me. Alfred, it seemed, was going the same way as Bertie. There was a scandal about his relations with a young woman whom he had met when stationed at Malta.

I wished to know more of this, but I found it very hard to discover the facts. Bertie, of course, considered it a natural occurrence—commonplace, in fact. All young men had these affairs. They passed. They were not of any real consequence. I mentioned the matter later to Lord Palmerston who shrugged it aside with equal nonchalance.

“There will always be these rumors about royalty, Ma'am. Do not concern yourself with them. The people are indulgent. In fact, they like their princes to be human.”

How blasé they were, these men! How different from that incomparable being!


* * *

IT WAS AUTUMN—and Albert had always said that was the best time for Balmoral. At first I wondered whether I could endure to be there, but I liked to do exactly what we had done in the past. It seemed that Albert's spirit was close to me in that dear country.

Alice and her husband were with us. More than anyone Alice understood my grief. She had always been so gentle—I think the best loved of all my daughters. She was not clever, like Vicky, but Vicky had often irritated me by the way in which she monopolized Albert. Alice had always been my girl. I was sorry in a way that she had married and wished, selfishly, that I could have kept her with me; but I often had to remind myself of my poor mad grandfather who had ruined the lives of his daughters because he loved them so much that he could not bear to part with them—and most of them had lived frustrated lives. I would never be like that. However it was a comfort to have Alice with me.

They had decided, all of them, to come to Scotland for a holiday.

I had talked with Vicky and Fritz who were uneasy about the rise of Bismarck. King William, under the spell of Bismarck, had disagreed with his parliament and offered to abdicate. If he had done so Vicky and Fritz would have been Queen and King; but after a while the King decided against that, kept the throne and made Bismarck his chief minister. Vicky and Fritz were so openly opposed to Bismarck, whom the people supported, that they became very unpopular throughout Prussia. Bismarck's slogan was “Blood and Iron,” which meant that his aim was to see Prussia the dominant power in Europe.

I had known for some time that this was going on and asked myself what Albert would have done. Prussia was pitting itself against Austria who was the leader of the German states. What Bismarck really wanted was a unification of all the German states, presumably led by Prussia— which meant Bismarck.

It was pleasant to think that Vicky could have a brief respite here in Scotland, but what a tragedy that Albert was not here to solve Prussia's problems.

We had left Vicky and Fritz with their children at Abergeldie. They would join us later at Balmoral; and one morning Alice came to me and said, “Let us go to Clova. You know how you love it, Mama.”

I smiled at her sadly. “So many memories, my love.”

“I know. But they are everywhere. Do come. It will do you so much good.”

“Very well. If you wish it.”

“Just Lenchen, you, and I, Mama.”

I nodded. “Tell Brown to make some of that broth of his. Your father used to say that he had rarely tasted anything as good as Brown's broth in the Highlands.”

It was rather a hazy morning when we set out. Old Smith was driving the carriage. He was getting rather old and had been in our service for thirty years. Brown said he was getting unfit to drive the carriage, but Albert had said that he was a good man and I like to keep about me the old servants of whom Albert had approved.

By about half-past twelve we had reached Altnagiuthasach and Brown set out the picnic in his usual efficient way, warming the broth and cooking the potatoes. He chided me in his bluff way for not eating enough. “You should eat something, woman. Ye've no more appetite than a wee birdie.” I took some more broth like an obedient child, and I could not help smiling because of the way he spoke to me. He did not think of me as the Queen. Alice and Lenchen were a little shocked—although after all this time they should have been used to it. I could not explain that it comforted me to be bullied a little. Moreover it showed Brown's concern for me, which was genuine—far more so than all the gracefully worded sympathy I received in London.

After the picnic had been cleared away, we rode, as we used to, up and over Capel Month. It was snowing a little and the view was magnificent. We had always paused at this spot with Albert so that he could point out the beauties of the scenery. He taught us to appreciate so much. The weather made progress rather slow, and the sun was beginning to set as we came to Loch Muick. I was very tired and sad and not at all sure whether it was good to revive so many memories of happier days.

Back at Altnagiuthasach we stopped and Brown made tea, which was warm and refreshing.

By this time it was dark and as we moved on it seemed to me that Smith was driving the carriage somewhat erratically. Brown was on the box behind and we had gone about two miles out of Altnagiuthasach when the carriage seemed to turn up on one side.

“What is happening?” I demanded.

“Oh Mama,” cried Alice, “I believe we are turning over.”

She was right. I am not sure what happened but the next moment, I found myself lying face downward on the ground. The carriage was lying on its side and the horses were down. It was frightening.

Then I heard Brown's voice, “The Lord Almighty have mercy on us. Who ever did see the like of this before?”

He came to me and lifted me up.

“I thought ye were all killed,” he said. “Are ye all right?”

I found I was not badly hurt though my face was scratched and my right thumb was throbbing painfully.

“Brown,” I said, “help the others.”

Poor Smith stood by, confused and helpless. Poor old man. Brown was right. He was past it.

Brown extricated Alice and Lenchen from the wreckage and though they were bruised and their clothes torn, they were not really hurt. Efficient Brown cut the traces and soon had the horses on their feet. I was greatly relieved to see that they were not harmed either.

“What do we do now?” I said. “Here we are stranded on a lonely mountain.”

“I'll send Smith back with the horses,” said Brown. “And they can send another carriage.”

“Do you think he'll be all right? He's very shaken. He is so… old.”

“He has to be all right. I'm not leaving ye here … you and the young women.”

I felt it was wonderful to have a strong man to take charge. Dear Brown! Albert had been right—as always—to see in him an excellent servant.

And so we waited. Brown found some claret, which was comforting; and Willem, Alice's black serving boy who had been on the box, held the lantern so that we were not completely in the dark.