Виктория Холт - The Queen's Husband

‘A mother can be sure.’

‘I can conceive circumstances where even she might not be sure.’

‘You are making me an object of your insults. Pray don’t.’

‘You are an obvious object for insult. How can I know that you have not brought a bastard into my house?’

She ran to him, her eyes blazing; she would have struck him but he caught her wrist and twisted her arm till she screamed with the pain.

‘Albert is your son,’ she said.

‘I believe you,’ he said, releasing her. ‘If I thought he were not, I would kill you.’

‘Always be good to Albert. He is not as strong as Ernest.’

‘Albert is my son and shall be treated as well as his elder brother.’

That placated her to some extent; but she felt desolate. She knew that she would be sent away, but for the first time she realised how wretched she would be when she was unable to see her children. Perhaps she would never see them again.

‘Yes, Ernest,’ she said, ‘Albert is your son. Never doubt it. I swear it.’

He looked at her searchingly and there was still a niggling doubt in his mind. His impulse was to seize her, to throw her to the ground, to beat the truth out of her. But Albert is my son, he assured himself. He must believe it. It was unthinkable that he could accept anything else. He had feared that under stress she might confess that Albert was not his son. What if Ernest were not also? Then he would be a man without sons. That was unthinkable. He loved the boys in his way. They were his. Ernest surely was, there could be no doubt of that. Ernest had his looks. And so was Albert. It was true those fair delicate looks were inherited from his mother but many babies resembled their mothers and bore no likeness whatsoever to their fathers.

He could not afford his suspicions. Albert was his son and no one must doubt that in the years to come.

He looked at his wife with hatred.

‘You will not take the boys away from me,’ she said.

‘Are you mad? You play the whore and then think it would be pleasant to be the mother for a while. You will never see the boys again.’

‘That would be too … cruel … wicked.’

‘What a pity you did not think of that before.’

‘Ernest, listen to me, I beg of you. I’ll go away. You can divorce me … never see me again. I admit I have done wrong, but please … I beg of you don’t take my babies from me.’

‘It’s a pity you did not think of your children when you were with your lover.’

‘I have thought of them constantly. Only they made my life worth while.’

‘They … and Szymborski?’

The Duchess broke down and wept.

‘Be ready to leave the schloss tomorrow morning early,’ said the Duke. ‘I want no one to see you go. You will just disappear.’

The Duchess, thinking of her little boys, began to weep silently.

The boys were recovering. Grandmother Saxe-Coburg stayed with them and she was constantly in and out of their room.

‘Why doesn’t Mama come?’ Alberinchen asked Ernest.

Ernest thought she might have whooping-cough too.

Grandmother Saxe-Coburg said that fresh air was good for the boys while they were getting better, so they were taken out into the pine forests. They played games and pretended they were the kidnapped princes. But Albert could not forget his mother and made up his mind to ask his grandmother what had become of her.

One day when she was reading to him he put a finger on the page and said: ‘Where is my Mama?’

The Dowager Duchess hesitated for a moment and then she said: ‘She’s gone away.’

‘She did not say goodbye.’

‘There was no time.’

‘Was she in a hurry?’

‘Yes, she was in a great hurry.’

‘When is she coming back?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Alberinchen and his grandmother did not answer: and when she saw the questions trembling on his lips she said: ‘I’ll tell you a story.’

That quietened him; his enormous blue eyes were fixed on his grandmother while he waited for her to begin.

‘Three months before you were born another little baby was born right over the sea in a place called Kensington.’

‘Over the sea?’ repeated Albert.

‘Yes, in England, which is a big country. There are many in our family as you know, and the little baby girl who was born in Kensington three months before you is your cousin. Her name is Alexandrina Victoria. She is a little mayflower because she was born in May.’

‘What sort of flower am I?’

‘Boys are not flowers. You are an August baby. But one day you will grow up and so will the little girl at Kensington. Then you will meet because that is what your Uncle Leopold wishes. And I’ll tell you a secret, little Alberinchen. If you are very good when you grow up you shall marry the Princess in Kensington.’

Albert’s eyes were round with wonder. He was not sure what it meant to marry; but that story about the baby girl of Kensington was his story too.

There were changes in the household. The nurses were dismissed.

‘The boys have to grow up and learn to be men,’ said the Duke. ‘Now that their mother has gone there shall be no more pampering. Albert particularly needs a man’s hand. He will have to stop this crying habit.’

Herr Florschütz came to be the new tutor; he immediately set about discovering what standard the boys had reached and found them to be rather forward for their ages. Lessons were going to begin in earnest now. Alberinchen was not dismayed for he was a little brighter than Ernest and he enjoyed coming in first with the answers.

He was constantly asking when his mother was coming back and began to wonder because the answers were always evasive.

The two grandmothers disagreed as to the desirability of Herr Florschütz’s taking the place of the nurses.

‘Poor mites,’ said Grandmama Saxe-Gotha. ‘They need a woman’s tender hand.’

But Grandmama Saxe-Coburg was of the opinion that Herr Florschütz would make a much better attendant than the nurses for he was expected to combine these duties with those of a tutor, the Duke’s income being inadequate to his position and his necessarily large household.

‘His mother was a bad influence on Albert,’ was her verdict. ‘He was growing too much like her. A man’s firm hand is what he needs.’

The grandmothers seemed to be the only women who came into close contact with the boys. Albert screamed less but dissolved into tears at the least provocation. Herr Florschütz was immune from tears. He just allowed Albert to cry; and Ernest said he was a bit of a cry baby.

Albert cried sometimes quietly in his bed when he thought of his mother. Sometimes she had come to tuck them in. Why had she gone away without telling him, without even saying goodbye? Why did his grandmothers look strange when he asked about her? When was she coming back?

He had a little gold pin which she had given him. She had used it once when a button had come off his coat.

‘There is a nice little pin, Alberinchen,’ she had said. ‘It will hold your coat together until the button is sewn on and after that you must keep it and remember always the day I gave it to you.’

So he had and he would take it to bed with him and put it under his pillow; and first thing in the morning he would touch it and remember.

It became the most precious thing he had.

Once Grandmama Saxe-Coburg came into the bedroom and, bending to kiss him, saw that he was crying quietly.

‘My little Alberinchen,’ she said, ‘what is it? Tell Grandmama.’

‘I want my Mama,’ he said.

‘You mustn’t cry,’ she said softly. ‘Only babies cry. You must be brave and strong. Otherwise you won’t be able to marry the little Princess of Kensington.’