Lord Palmerston was a constant cause of irritation. The Queen had had to reprimand him for withholding state papers from her; his excuse was that during the difficult period when it was feared that the mob might march on Buckingham Palace and the Queen had gone first to the Isle of Wight and then to Scotland it had not been easy to have these papers brought to her. It was absolutely impossible to snub the man. He was impervious to royal darts and behaved as though they had been administered by some irresponsible child. His greatest fault was making a decision, acting on it and then presenting it as fait accompli.

‘How I should like to be rid of that man Palmerston!’ sighed the Queen.

But she must be thankful that life was comparatively peaceful and that she was not pregnant … at the moment. She was nearly thirty. Really I am getting old, she thought; she had been Queen for twelve years, a wife for nine and was the mother of six. Looking back, she could say that life had been eventful.

The political situation was as always unsteady. How she wished that Sir Robert were back in office. It was a most extraordinary state of affairs for the House seemed to be divided between the free traders and the protectionists and Lord John’s Ministry was kept in office by the support of Sir Robert and his supporters. The Leader of the House, Lord George Bentinck, had died suddenly and his place taken by that flamboyant man who seemed always to be calling attention to himself, Benjamin Disraeli.

Then … the Queen was pregnant again. Was there to be no end of this child-bearing? Certainly this had been a slightly longer respite than usual. It was not that she did not want more children, but she did want a little rest.

Last summer had been such fun at Osborne. The children had enjoyed it so much and she was delighted that Bertie was so much better than he used to be. He had lost that frightful stammer and she had excellent reports from Mr Birch. It was true that when Albert asked questions, which he often did, Bertie sometimes stumbled or gave the most ridiculous answers, but she insisted that he had improved.

She herself gave the children reading lessons; and she was so happy when they sat together each reading a paragraph and passing the book round as they went along. Albert would sit there smiling at them, correcting them when they mispronounced a word, for they read a great deal in German. Then they would say the poem they had learned, and even little Helena had her piece to say.

Vicky usually scored. She was such a clever child and, as the Queen said to Albert, they mustn’t be hard on poor Bertie because he couldn’t compete with such a clever sister. Albert was not sure and inclined to be a little severe, and Victoria accused him, when they were alone, of favouring Vicky a little too obviously.

Albert always hotly denied this and one of their little storms might blow up but it would soon be over, and the Queen felt that it was a pleasant family quarrel – after all, Albert’s fault was only in loving their darling daughter too much.

Albert was all for making the children do useful things, so they all had their patch of garden at Osborne, each with a spade and trowel, their own flowerpots and working aprons with their initials on them.

Osborne was growing more and more beautiful every year and there was great excitement about planning the gardens. Albert of course did everything so well.

There was sea bathing too, which was said to be so good for one. Victoria, clad in an all-enveloping bathing costume, would slip out of her bathing machine which had been drawn right down to the sea, and have a dip before climbing back.

It was a wonderful life at Osborne. She was so snug in the little rooms – so different from Windsor Castle or Buckingham Palace; she had had two writing tables placed side by side in her study so that she and Albert could do what work had to be done together.

Once she said to him: ‘Albert, sometimes I wish we could leave the children behind so that we could be quite alone together.’

Albert was pleased but he did not think it very becoming in a parent to wish to be without her family. But he agreed they were too rarely quite alone.

‘Perhaps,’ said Albert, ‘it is because it happens so rarely that it is so precious to you.’

She denied it. If she was with Albert alone every hour of the day those hours would still be as precious to her.

And then there was Balmoral.

The summer was for the Isle of Wight; the autumn, when the hills were purple with heather, was the time for Scotland.

She began to feel that Balmoral excited her even more than Osborne. The country was more wild and rugged; the people more strange. Albert was continually comparing it with the Thuringian forest which meant that he loved it – and so did she.

She ordered that the children be dressed in kilts; Albert wore one too. As for herself she had dresses made in soft satin or royal Stuart tartan. She found the Scottish accent charming; the gillies were such good people; they treated her with a rough sort of courtesy. They might refer to her as ‘me dear’ which was a most unseemly manner in which to address a queen, but she felt so safe with them and she knew that while they would not accord her the dignity of her rank they would give their lives to save her from danger.

Dear good people! she called them. She decided to learn their country dances and took lessons. They were very strenuous but this was before she was sure that she was pregnant again; and when the dancing master told her to try and dance ‘like a lady, me dear’, she took it all in good part and laughed hilariously with Albert about it afterwards.

They must all try to speak in Gaelic; it would help them to understand the people better. ‘The dear Highlanders are such a dignified people,’ she said. ‘They are so strong and so faithful.’

Albert agreed with her. He would take them fishing with him and come back in a good mood if he had caught something big and quite silent if he had failed.

‘No need to ask,’ Victoria would cry gaily. ‘We know by your face.’

Albert always seemed much better when he was in the Highlands. The climate suited him. She was sure he would not get those dreadful winter colds which he sometimes had during the winter if he could live all the time in the country.

‘The winter would be rather severe up here,’ she reminded him, but Albert was used to the icy winters of Germany and he said he would like to skate on the lake.

‘I shall never forget the time of Pussy’s christening when you were skating on the lake at Buckingham Palace. Do you remember?’

The Prince remembered it very well, how the ice had broken under him and he had gone down into the icy water.

‘I had the fright of my life,’ said the Queen.

‘But you were very brave, my dear love,’ said Albert. ‘Very different from your attendants, who almost had hysterics.’

‘I was so concerned for you. Do you know, Albert, I think that was the start of your colds. You seem to get several every winter.’

‘I should be all right in the country.’

‘Skating?’ she asked laughing. ‘I should feel content only if one of these dear Highlanders was with you. John Brown is a very fine young man. So trustworthy.’

Albert agreed that he was and he talked wistfully of life up in the Highlands and heartily wished, as she did, that they could spend more time there.


* * *

But it seemed there always had to be trouble. Ireland was giving great cause for concern. Conditions where the potato famine had brought ruin and starvation were terrible, and the stories of hardship made her weep; she thought it was most unchristian that people should be unable to afford coffins to be buried in and had to be thrown into pits and covered over with earth, so great was the mortality.

The Irish were in a state of revolt – like the rest of Europe, and although she pitied them she was horrified to hear of the murder of landlords.

One day in May she was driving down Constitution Hill when an Irishman named William Hamilton fired at her. When he was captured it was found that his pistol was not loaded, but he was transported for seven years.

The Queen was a little shaken but less so than she had been on previous occasions; and when later in the year it was suggested that she pay a visit to Ireland she did not flinch from it.

Strangely enough the visit was a great success. The Irish, who a short time before had been on the edge of revolution, found their sentimental hearts were touched by the sincere concern of the little Queen.

Soon after the return from Ireland there was good news from India. The Punjab had been taken into the British Empire and the Maharajah, to show his immense respect for the Queen whom he accepted as his ruler, presented her with the Kohinoor diamond.

‘The finest I have ever seen,’ said the Queen. She showed it to the children. ‘But it is what it stands for which is the most important thing.’


* * *

The following May, a few weeks before her thirty-first birthday, the Queen gave birth to another child, a son. Albert was delighted and the Queen struggled out of the lethargy which always followed childbirth in her case to rejoice with him.

A few days later all the children were brought in to see the new baby, led by ten-year-old Vicky and nine-year-old Bertie. Alice, Alfred, Helena and Louise stared wide-eyed at the infant boy in their mother’s arms.

The Prince said they must all kneel and thank God for the blessing of another brother, which they did, and the Prince and the Queen looked on, finding it difficult, as the Queen said afterwards, to restrain their tears at such a touching scene.