Виктория Холт - The Widow of Windsor

She was a little alarmed, partly because everyone was telling her that she must do this and not do that and she felt quite bewildered.

The Queen turned out to be small and plump and had kind blue eyes. At the same time there was something rather terrifying about her; Alix feared all the time that she would do something which was wrong. But perhaps that was because she had been warned so frequently.

The Queen asked questions about her mother and father; and whether she was enjoying England. And then she was tapped on the shoulder and understood that she was to stand aside while someone else spoke to Her Majesty.

Afterwards the children went into the gardens and she met Lenchen, who was really Helena and was two years younger than herself which was a comfort, and Louise who was two years younger than that.

They were sweet and as Vicky wasn’t there and Bertie and Alfred didn’t want to play with girls she had a very pleasant time with Alice, Lenchen and Louise. She told them about the Yellow Palace and Rumpenheim and Bernstorff; their eyes glowed with excitement and they kept asking questions.

‘Of course,’ she said, ‘there is nothing so grand as this.’

Lenchen grimaced and said: ‘But your palaces sound so much more fun.’ Then she added: ‘And you should see Windsor. It’s worse than this.’

‘Osborne and Balmoral are lovely,’ said Alice.

‘Oh, what a pity Alix can’t go to Osborne and Balmoral,’ cried Louise.

Then they told her about Osborne in the Isle of Wight and how they could see the sea from the windows; and how they played on the sands and went sea bathing. And Balmoral … Balmoral was the best of the lot although there was no sea. They rode out on their ponies and Papa would take them for long walks and they collected stones and grasses and flowers and Papa knew all about flowers.

Alix questioned this as she would have done at home. Her father said that only God knew all about everything.

‘Only God and our papa,’ said Lenchen.

‘Who said your papa did?’ Alix wanted to know.

‘Our mama,’ replied Lenchen. ‘And she must be right because she is the Queen.’

That settled it.

So it was a very happy afternoon at Buckingham Palace in spite of the grandeur and the terrifying aspect of the Queen.

Riding back to Cambridge Lodge in the carriage Mary asked Alix how she had enjoyed visiting the Queen.

‘Very much,’ replied Alix. ‘Well, not exactly the Queen but the Princesses.’

‘You will be able to tell them at home that the Queen of England spoke to you.’

Alix agreed though she doubted that Fredy, Willy and Dagmar would be impressed. Uncle Frederick was a king and nobody was very excited when he spoke to them.

At last it was time to go home and there was the excitement of reunion with the family. They all wanted to hear what had happened and see what presents she had brought for them.

But after a while the excitement was forgotten and the visit seemed to have happened long, long ago.

But the Cambridges did not forget.

‘What a charming child Alix is!’ said the Duchess to Mary. ‘I’m not surprised you’re taken with her. One day the Prince of Wales will need a wife.’

‘That’s years away.’

‘You’d be surprised how time flies. And when he does I don’t see why your Alix shouldn’t be in the running.’

Mary was very pleased with the idea. She would bear it in mind.

One of the loveliest days of the year at the Yellow Palace was Christmas Eve, when the old traditional feast of Jul took place. For weeks before they had all been unbearably excited, making their presents for each other which must be kept a secret, and how difficult that was with children running in and out of the schoolroom at any time of the day. Alix was good with her needle – far better than she was at mathematics, geography or history; although she was moderately good at languages and better still at music; she excelled most at sport and riding which pleased her father; her mother was gratified by her aptitude with the needle, particularly her flair for clothes as, she confided to Christian, if she made a brilliant marriage and was able to employ the best dressmakers in the world, she would be outstanding by her individual way of wearing her clothes. This was a feminine angle which Christian shrugged aside; all he knew was that Alix, secretly his favourite daughter, was a delight to look at, and to see her turning somersaults on the lawns of Bernstorff or in the gardens of the Yellow Palace filled him with admiration and pride.

It was cold and the snow was piling in the streets.

‘Just what Christmas ought to be!’ said Alix.

Little Dagmar, three years younger than Alix, regarded her sister as an oracle and Alix reminded her of other Christmases at the Yellow Palace when the poor people had come in and been given cake and wine by the family.

‘I remember Mama’s watching how much they ate and drank because she was afraid there wouldn’t be enough to go round.’

‘I wish we didn’t have to be so poor,’ said Dagmar.

Alix considered this and decided that it would be better if they had more money and didn’t have to wonder whether they could afford things – although they were richer now that Papa was Crown Prince. Then she thought of the grandeur of Buckingham Palace and launched into a description of that imposing building, the grand staircase and the drawing-room where she had seen the Queen.

‘But the Yellow Palace is really nicer,’ she added, ‘and our mama and papa are really much more …’ she paused for a word … ‘cosy than theirs. Poor Alice! Poor Lenchen! They had to be very careful, because their papa is very easily shocked and the Queen their mama says everything he does is right.’

‘Everything our papa does is not right,’ pointed out Dagmar. ‘Mama is always telling him …’

Alix smiled. ‘I’d hate to have a father who is always right. No papa is as nice as ours even if he is wrong sometimes.’

Dagmar was prepared to agree with Alix as always.

So they talked as they stitched at their presents, with that wonderful sense of excitement because at any moment they might have to be slipped into a drawer if the intended recipient came into the room.

Christmas Eve came at last, with all the Christmas trees – one for each member of the family. The children tiptoed in with awe and wonder to examine them. Their names were on each table – Fredy, Alix, Willy, Dagmar, Thyra. They squealed with pleasure for each had their candles which would look beautiful when it grew dark – and in the centre of the room was the big tree laden with gifts in brightly coloured packages for everybody.

It was so exciting. Alix dressing for dinner – a very special occasion – tried on a red sash with her white muslin dress. Oh no, she thought, the blue would be best; and there was the blue sash with the little white flowers on it embroidered by Dagmar for her birthday. She must wear the blue sash – Dagmar would be so pleased. She put it on and studied the effect. How gracefully the skirt fell. The dress was as good as anything she had seen in the expensive shops. It was as good as anything she had seen worn at Cambridge Lodge and Buckingham Palace.

The red sash was more suitable for Christmas, because red was a Christmas colour. She changed the sash. Yes, definitely the red. But Dagmar would like the blue.

The blue … the red … She changed half a dozen times and then decided that it was better to please Dagmar than wear the Christmas colour.

The bell had gone. Oh dear, she should be down now and it was difficult to tie the sash exactly right, which she must of course do.

The family were at the table when she arrived. Papa gave her a reproachful look, but as it was Christmas Eve she would not be punished by standing up to drink her coffee and not be given second helpings, or perhaps go without her sweet. But she was contrite because dear Papa cared so much that people were where they should be at precisely the appointed minute.