I told him that I felt complete confidence in him and he must take the risk.

He left for Berlin where the conference was to be held and I was greatly disturbed when I heard that he and Prince Gortchakoff had reached deadlock, and Beaconsfield had remarked that if they could not come to an agreement the dispute would have to be settled “by other means.”

I daresay Russia was not so eager to enter into conflict with us as she was with little Turkey; and a compromise was reached. Lord Beaconsfield returned home, bringing with him, as he said, “Peace with honor.”

I was delighted to see him and welcomed him warmly. I was determined that all should know how I appreciated the good work he had done for the country, and I awarded him the Order of the Garter.

I suppose everyone knew of the happy relationship I enjoyed with my Prime Minister. I was certainly seeing more of people and they all knew that I had paid a visit to his country seat at Hughenden when I had planted a tree in honor of the occasion.

With the companionship of Lord Beaconsfield and the faithful attendance of John Brown, I felt I was very fortunate.


* * *

LEOPOLD WAS A continual anxiety. He had just recovered from a very bad illness. I was always so worried even if he were only slightly ill. I dreaded that fearful bleeding. He was so reckless. He wanted to live as other people did—and I could understand that, but he assumed a certain indifference to danger, which was very worrying for me.

I was slightly more reconciled to Bertie. Everybody liked him though none looked up to him, but it seemed that his character was the key to his popularity. Everyone had looked up to Albert—or should have done— but not many people really liked him.

Bertie was always considerate to the servants, and as I was the same, I liked that in him.

There are often troubles in families. I knew that Vicky was having trouble with young Wilhelm. He had always been an arrogant child, and I supposed that, to one of his temperament, having a deformed arm must be very frustrating. He always signed himself “Prince Wilhelm of Prussia” even to me. He was so proud of being Prussian and made no secret of the fact that he despised his English blood, which enraged me. He actively disliked Vicky, it seemed—his own mother! What infuriated him most, I believe, was that England was more important in the world than Germany, and Bismarck and his grandparents had instilled in him that this must not always be so. He never defended his mother when people spoke against her—which they did often because she was half-English. He laughed with them at her and her foreign ways. I knew Vicky was most distressed about this son of hers.

There was one thing that endeared Bertie to me. He might be unsatisfactory in many ways, but I was sure he would never listen to disparagement of me. He was a good son if one could forget those peccadilloes he fell into, mostly with regard to women.

Then there was Arthur. He was the most like Albert of all my children, and I never thought he would marry; but quite suddenly he fell in love and in an unexpected direction.

He chose Princess Louise Margaret, daughter of Prince Frederick Charles—a nephew of the German Emperor—and Princess Marianne of Prussia. It was rather an unfortunate choice because the Prince and Princess were separated. I wished he would not rush into this. If he had wanted to marry I could have found him a more suitable bride. But Arthur had made up his mind and I had never believed in forcing the children into a marriage that was distasteful to them.

However, when I met the girl I found her quite charming; and although she was not good-looking she had a very pleasant profile. I thought it was rather wonderful of Arthur to have rescued her from a broken home and I told myself that Louischen—which by this time she had become—was more likely to appreciate a man like Arthur and make a good marriage because she had experience, through her parents, of the other kind.

I wrote to Vicky telling her how sorry I was about Wilhelm's behavior. It made me realize that I was rather fortunate after all. Alfred and Leopold were often careless and wanting in consideration; Arthur had always been good and attentive; and I was beginning to think that those terrible scrapes through which Bertie had passed had been a lesson to him. And I did not think that any one of them would tolerate anyone's speaking ill of me.

But the child I was really worried about was Alice. She was not in good health. Bearing all those children had been too much for her. She was devoted to them all and had suffered tragically when little Frittie had died. He had been cursed with that terrible disease which it seemed passed through the family to the sons by the mothers. I had passed it on to Leopold and Alice had to Frittie. She had never really recovered from his death.

Almost immediately after, the Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt had died and Louis had succeeded him; and although it was a small state, much diminished by that odious Bismarck, official duties weighed heavily.

Alice was first and foremost a family person. She had been my devoted daughter—little Fatima, the placid one. When she married, of course, she had moved away from me, and we had had our little upsets; but she was still the best-loved child.

I was in a state of horror when I heard that her daughter Victoria had diphtheria and she was very ill indeed. Two days later her daughter Alix—called Alicky—caught it; then Baby May was the next victim. Then Ernest, her only son, and Ella.

It was November when the telegrams came. It was a time of year that I had dreaded since Albert's death. Memories always came back to me more vividly at that time. I had come to think of the fourteenth of December as a day of ill omen, when horrible catastrophes would overtake me. Bertie had come near to death on that date and by a miracle survived. But I did dread that time of year.

Alice had only six children left to her. They were the center of her life. She was essentially the mother I had never been. How she must have suffered when that little one had fallen from the window … and in a moment of delight at seeing her!

I waited eagerly for news. I could not sleep and the first thing I looked for in the mornings was news of Alice.

It came and it was very depressing. Louis had caught the terrible disease and Alice herself was the only one who was well.

I wrote pages to her. She must take care of herself. She must leave the care of her family to nurses. She must never go close to them for that was how the disease was passed on. She must not be tempted to embrace or kiss them. She must leave the entire care of them in the hands of servants, doctors, and nurses.

Alice wrote back almost indignantly. I did not seem to understand. This was her beloved family. Did I imagine she would leave them in the hands of others? Indeed no. She was going to nurse them herself.

Lord Beaconsfield came and shared my grief.

“I wish that I could go there,” I cried. “I would nurse them. I would send Alice away to safety. Dear Lord Beaconsfield, she is the most loved of all my children. She was always so different…so gentle. Albert loved her, although Vicky was his favorite… but Alice was mine. She was such a good girl. She and Arthur are the only two in the least like their father. If I caught the disease, what would it matter? My life finished on that tragic fourteenth of December.”

He looked at me sorrowfully and said, “Dear Madam.”

I smiled faintly. He was such a comfort to me.

There was further sad news. Little May—five years old, the baby and pet of the household, had died.

Alice's grief was terrible. The whole family was stricken.

The worst was to come. I heard afterward what had happened. Her son, Ernest, who was also a victim, was so sorrowful when he heard of his little sister's death, and feeling that he himself would be the next, had turned to his mother in an access of grief, and she had embraced and kissed him.

The result of that embrace was that Alice herself was stricken.

This was what I had feared and I summoned as many of the family as I could and told them. They were in despair. Alice had been greatly loved and it was only two days to the fourteenth of December.

I was proud of them all as they gathered around to comfort me. Bertie was as charming as he knew how to be, and was especially so on occasions like this.

I prayed to God. I prayed to Albert. I tried to make terms with the Almighty. Save Alice and take me instead. Give me Alice and do anything You will. I had already, on that other fateful fourteenth been dealt the cruellest blow that could possibly have befallen me and I was ready to face anything—just anything in return for Alice's life.

The thirteenth came. There was no news. I went through the day in a haze of apprehension, and I awoke to the fateful fourteenth.

Brown fussed over me, scolding me, telling me I was “a foolish woman who could do nae good by fretting.”

I had almost known it would happen. I took the telegram in a state of numbed acceptance.

Alice was dead.


* * *

THEY STOOD AROUND me, my dear family. Alice was the first child I had lost and the tragedy was almost more than I could bear.

Bertie put his arms around me and tried to comfort me. He had especially loved Alice. When they were young she had often tried to cover up his misdemeanors. I was sure she had saved him from many a beating.

We knew then how she had caught the infection. In expressing her love for her son, and trying to comfort him she had caught the disease herself. Beatrice wept bitterly and so did Alexandra. Dear girl, she was very much one of the family.