Виктория Холт - The Queen's Husband

But how different was the reality. The Prince of Wales was not to attend lectures; he was not to mix with other undergraduates; Colonel Bruce would choose the people who were to visit him. He was not to smoke and he would have a private tutor.

‘Why do I have to go to Oxford?’ demanded Bertie. ‘It’s no different from being anywhere else.’

‘The only use of Oxford is that it is a place of study,’ said his father. ‘You seem to have the idea that you are going there to indulge in riotous living.’

The Dean of Christ Church, Henry Liddell, protested at the manner in which the Prince of Wales was being treated. If he were going to get the best from Oxford he should attend lectures, forget his rank and mingle freely with people of his own age.

Albert laughed this idea to scorn. ‘The man seems to forget that Bertie is going there to work.’

Oxford under the governorship of Colonel Bruce was a bore and Bertie longed to escape from it.

There was great excitement at Windsor. Vicky was coming home for a brief visit. The change in Albert was remarkable. He seemed ten years younger. As for the Queen, she was so delighted at the prospect of seeing her daughter that she had been in a good mood ever since she had known Vicky was on the way.

And there she was – looking a little older, a little more mature, Vicky the mother.

‘My dearest child!’

The tears, the embraces, the adoration for dearest Papa! Dear, dear Vicky, what a happy day that was, with the children all dancing round her and Alice trying to lure her sister away so that they could talk secrets.

Baby Beatrice, the darling, amused them all, because she was very bright and a little spoilt. Albert could only gaze fondly at his dearest daughter but there was no need for words to convey their feelings.

‘I hope I shall see Bertie,’ said Vicky.

‘Bertie is at Oxford,’ said the Queen, her face growing stern.

‘I am sure he will enjoy that.’

‘He is not going there to enjoy , my dear child,’ said Albert tenderly, ‘but to work. I hope he has realised that by now, for he had not when I last had news of him.’

‘Poor Bertie!’ said Vicky.

Later her father talked to her about Bertie. He was in despair, he said. The Prince of Wales grew more frivolous rather than less so and he thought that they would have to marry him early or there would be trouble. He did not wish to discuss this in front of the Queen who was apt to get over-excited about Bertie’s shortcomings, but he was an anxiety. If Vicky would keep her eyes open for a suitable wife for Bertie it would be interesting. If any visiting royalty came to Berlin she might have a chance of studying them. What Bertie needed was a serious young woman – a princess from the right Royal House, of course.

‘Your mother and I have discussed this with Uncle Leopold and he has given a list of Princesses who might be suitable. I must show it to you.’

Albert was delighted to be able to treat this beloved daughter as an adult. He smiled as she looked down at the paper he handed her.

‘Most of them are German, Papa,’ she said.

‘They are probably the best suited. German women and German men make the best spouses,’ he added smiling.

‘I have heard of this Danish Princess Alexandra. She is very beautiful.’

‘Uncle Leopold has put her right at the end of the list.’

‘Well naturally, Papa,’ said Vicky with a laugh. ‘She is not German.’

Albert said: ‘And you, my dearest child, will keep your eyes open for some beautiful suitable German Princess for your brother.’

Vicky promised that she would.

Vicky sought an opportunity to be alone with her mother.

‘Mama,’ she said, ‘I have something to tell you.’

The Queen smiled, ready for one of those cosy woman-to-woman talks which she enjoyed so much.

‘Come and sit beside me, my love. There, now we can be comfortable. My dearest child, you know you can tell me anything .’

‘I know, Mama, but it hurts me to tell you this.’

‘Vicky, dearest, what is it?’

‘It’s the baby. You heard what a bad time I had.’

‘Papa and I were almost frantic.’

‘I’m so glad you were not there. It was so long, Mama, and so … so …’

‘I know, my dearest. You can’t tell me anything about those horrors. Baby is my ninth child. To think I have endured that nine times!’

‘Wilhelm’s was a breech birth, Mama.’

‘My dear, dear child.’

‘His arm was dislocated as he was delivered.’

The Queen stared in horror.

‘It has made a slight deformity. Apart from that he is a very healthy child.’

‘Can nothing be done?’

‘The doctors say no.’

‘So he will go through life with this … deformity.’

Vicky nodded. ‘It may be so.’

‘Oh, my darling! And you have only just told me.’

‘I wanted to tell you myself, Mama. I didn’t want to write it. But you must not fret. In every other way he is perfect.’

The Queen nodded.

Vicky said she must see Bertie so she arranged to visit him at the university. She took Lady Walburga Paget with her. Wally, as this lady was called, was the sister of the Countess Hohenthal, Vicky’s lady-in-waiting; Wally was young, vivacious and very beautiful, and Vicky had found her friendship of great help in the gloomy haunted schloss.

Bertie’s delight in seeing his sister and her very charming friend was obvious. He sat laughing and chatting with them and paying great attention to Wally, much to her and Vicky’s amusement.

They were having a very merry time until Mrs Bruce, the Colonel’s wife, came in and found them together. Her frigid manner showed her disapproval and when Vicky and Wally had left she told the Prince of Wales that she would have to report the matter to her husband who would no doubt wish to inform Her Majesty and His Highness Prince Albert what had happened.

‘Good God!’ cried the Prince, and the expression made Mrs Bruce wince, ‘can’t I see my own sister?’

Mrs Bruce had made a very alarming discovery. The Prince of Wales was not only lazy, unable to concentrate and below normal intelligence, but he was also fond of women.

When this was reported to Albert he was deeply concerned. It was something he had always suspected. Bertie’s free and easy manner, so different from his father’s, was a pointer. Albert too had noticed the manner in which some of the ladies of the household regarded Bertie.

A new danger was in sight.

They must be doubly watchful.

The manner in which the Prince of Wales was being treated was beginning to be one of the main topics in the press. He was not given the dignity due to his rank, it was said. He was treated like a schoolboy. The people wanted to see more of him. They had liked what they had seen.

It was decided that he should visit Rome. He was excited at the prospect until he learned what he might have suspected. A plan was laid out for him. Italian lessons in the morning, reading from eleven until twelve; after the midday meal he could visit art galleries and study architecture, then French lessons from five until six. It was inconceivable that he should have the evenings to himself. They were to be given over to private study, reading and music.

‘Why should I go to Rome to do all that?’ demanded the Prince. ‘It’s almost exactly what I do at home.’

He then went to Edinburgh University because, as the Queen said, the Scots would expect the Prince to have some education in their country. While there he had quarters in Holyrood House with the omnipresent Colonel preventing him enjoying life.