I thought of Bertie as a little boy and how sometimes I had thought Albert too harsh with him; I remembered the tears when he had been beaten and how I had tried not to think of it. I remembered storms that had blown up between Albert and me because I thought Albert was too harsh with Bertie, too soft with Vicky.

I sat down and wrote to Bertie. I said I believed in him, but there were always people to attack us, but that he must stand up and come through this ordeal. He must know that his mother stood with him.

Bertie came to see me. He was so soft and gentle and grateful. He opened out and said that he was afraid at times he was a little indiscreet. He had written letters to Lady Mordaunt but they were quite innocuous. He had never been her lover; but he had known of her relationships with Cole and Johnstone. She was their affair, not his.

I said, “If you are innocent, people will realize it. Innocence is the best defense a person can have.”

“Mordaunt has got Sergeant Ballantine to act for him. He is rather a terror.”

“Stand up and tell the truth, Bertie, and you will be a match for anyone.”

He embraced me. Oddly enough he seemed closer to me than he ever had.

Public interest was great. The papers were full of the case. I knew that this was a very serious matter for whatever the verdict Bertie would be thought guilty. People took a delight in condemning others—especially those in high places.

I heard an account of the proceedings. Bertie went into the box and answered the probing questions put to him by Sergeant Ballantine; he did it with calm and honesty, I believe; he admitted that he knew Lady Mordaunt and had been a friend of hers before marriage.

“Has there been any improper or criminal act between you and Lady Mordaunt?”

It was the vital question and Bertie answered with great firmness, “There was not.”

Bertie was exonerated. Moreover it was proved that Lady Mordaunt was insane and the case was dismissed.

What a piece of luck for Bertie. I did hope it would be a lesson to him for the future.

I wondered what Vicky, Alice, and Lenchen were hearing of it.

I felt compelled to write to Vicky for I felt sure that her opinion of Bertie was very low already, and that she was convinced of his guilt.

“I do not doubt his innocence,” I wrote, “and his appearance in court did good, but it was painful and lowering. The heir to the throne should never have come into close contact with such people. I hope this will teach him a lesson. I shall use it as an example to remind him of what can happen, when the need arises. Believe me, children are a terrible anxiety and the sorrow they cause is far greater than the pleasure they give.”

How true that was!

But I was thankful that Bertie had emerged from a very delicate situation—not unscathed, for although his evidence had been accepted and Lady Mordaunt was proved to be mad, these matters always leave a smear.


* * *

JUST AS I was recovering from the shock of the Mordaunt case, trouble blew up in Europe. Lord Clarendon, on whose judgment I had relied so much, died, and Lord Granville took his place. Granville was a good man but I did not think he matched Lord Clarendon; and at this time we needed the very best of men at the Foreign Office. Conflict had been brewing for some time between France and Germany. I wrote to the rulers of both countries urging caution, but my entreaties were ignored and in July of that year Napoleon declared war. I thought that was unnecessary folly and when I heard that he wanted to destroy the independence of Belgium, I was firmly on the side of Germany.

Belgium was especially dear to me. How thankful I was that Uncle Leopold had not to suffer this threat to his kingdom. In spite of the fact that I did not like Bismarck my links with Germany were strong. It was almost a family affair. On the other hand I had friendship with Napoleon. Bertie was especially fond of him. So …we were about to be torn apart again. Oh, the stupidity of war and the men who insist on making it.

Vicky's husband and Alice's were both deeply involved and were actually fighting the French. I sent hospital stores to Alice at Darmstadt and I watched the progress of the war with great horror.

It was soon clear that the French were no match for the Germans who were overrunning France. I wrote to Vicky and Fritz, begging them to use their influence to stop the bombardment of Paris. To Bismarck's fury they asked for this not to be done and he complained bitterly of petticoat sentimentality hampering German progress.

I thought: A little more petticoat government and perhaps countries would not so easily become involved in wars that bring bereavement and tragedy to so many families.

The Emperor had surrendered at Sedan and Paris fell into the hands of the Germans. The war was over.

I was sorry for Napoleon and Eugénie and hated to see them so humbled. I had quite liked the Emperor; he had been a charming guest and Eugénie was very attractive.

Now they were outcasts with nowhere to go. Eugénie appealed to me and I offered her refuge in England. She came to Chichester. Napoleon was a prisoner of the Germans and they held him for some months, but when he was free he came to join Eugénie at Chichester.

Although I did disapprove of his policies and my sympathies were with the Germans—for most of my family were in that country and through Albert and my mother my ties with them were strong—I did not forget that Napoleon and Eugénie had been my friends.

Poor things! They were so grateful. How are the mighty fallen! I thought. A lesson to us all.


* * *

IT WAS A very sad day for me when I heard that poor Lehzen had died. Memories came flooding back and I felt a twinge of conscience. We had been very close and in my young days she had been the most important person in my life. My dear Daisy! And I had called her “Mother” on some occasions. And then… she had gone and I hardly saw her again. Albert had made me see that he and she could not be under the same roof. I had to make a choice and of course it must be Albert. I thought of us—dressing the dolls together, doing our reading; she had guarded me like a watchdog and would have given her life for me if necessary.

How sad that it had to be as it was!

I mourned her and regretted that she had passed so completely out of my life, but I had never forgotten her. Dear Lehzen!

But she had been happy in her last years. She had loved her nieces and nephews and no doubt planned for them as she had once for me.

I hoped she had been happy and not thought too often and too sadly of the days at Kensington Palace.

Gladstone and his ministers were in a state of tension over what was happening on the Continent. The German States were united under one great Empire. This had been proclaimed to the world in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles—stressing German supremacy over the French. It was a typical Bismarck gesture to hold the ceremony there. So now, instead of several small states, there was one Empire, a formidable power astride the Continent. Moreover, at the same time, France had become a republic.

Mr. Gladstone came to see me and standing before me—I would not invite him to sit down and he could not do so until I did—declaimed at length on the dangerous situation. A king had been deposed. All royalty must regard that with apprehension. It was very necessary for all sovereigns to have the people behind them.

The burden of this harangue was that the people's approval was not won by monarchs who shut themselves away. At the moment even the popularity of the Prince of Wales had foundered. The Mordaunt case had done him no good and whatever the verdict of the court there would be some mischief-makers who would try to make him seem guilty.

I told him to consult Dr. Jenner who had insisted that I needed quiet and rest.

“It was hard work that killed the Prince Consort,” I said. “He never spared himself. If he had he would be here today.”

Mr. Gladstone went on with his speech about the dangers following the new state of affairs in Europe.

My mind wandered. Poor Mrs. Gladstone, I thought. How does she endure the man?


* * *

I THINK ALEXANDRA was very sad at that time. She must have been very disillusioned about Bertie. I wondered what she thought of the Mordaunt case. But by this time she would have learned what he was like. Poor Alexandra. She had lost her baby, little Alexander. She consulted me about having a stained-glass window put into the church at Sandringham as a memorial. I thought it an excellent idea, and I think it cheered her considerably to talk about it with me.

Her rheumatic pains were troubling her again. When I thought of that bright and pretty girl I had first seen and how feeling she had been putting on a black dress to show she understood my mourning, I was saddened. She was beautiful—nothing could alter that; but she had lost her gaiety.

Perhaps I should speak to Bertie. Perhaps not. Speaking to Bertie had never done any good.

When we were at Balmoral, Louise had become very friendly with the Argylls and particularly with the Duke's son and heir, the Marquess of Lorne. I was rather taken aback when Louise told me that Lorne wanted to marry her.

A commoner! I thought. That was not really very suitable.

“My dear child,” I said, “what do you feel?”

“I love him, Mama. I want to marry him. I hope you will give us your blessing.”