But it was an indication of what was to come. One morning he awakened to find that he could not move one arm. He had had a stroke.
The Queen was deeply concerned when she heard of this. She sent the kindest messages; as soon as he was well enough she would come to see him or he must come to see her. Every day there was word from her.
He recovered and was almost his normal self.
He called on the Queen and she was delighted to see him, though secretly finding him rather wan. She noticed that he dragged one foot a little and his arm hung rather awkwardly.
When she remembered the handsome, alert man who had called on her at the time of her accession she felt a little sad. Albert comforted her and so did the children.
Then she began to think of her former much loved Prime Minister Lord M as ‘Poor Lord Melbourne’.
A new year had arrived and before January was out, Albert heard that his father was dead. Duke Ernest had been ailing for some time and Baron Stockmar had often warned the Prince that he must expect his father’s death at any time; but this did not lessen the blow when it came. Albert’s family feeling was strong and there was despondency throughout the palace. Albert sat with his head buried in his hands while the Queen knelt beside him and they talked of ‘Dearest Father’. They had forgotten the fact that he had been continually importuning them, that his morals were questionable; in death they saw only his virtues.
‘My dearest Albert,’ said the Queen, ‘I suffer with you. That helps. Your grief is shared you know.’
‘You are all to me now,’ replied Albert mournfully.
They both poured out their wretchedness to Doctor Stockmar who was in Coburg with his family. They wanted him to return to England. They needed him. Dr Stockmar promised that he would come, but in the meantime Albert should return to Coburg for his father’s funeral.
The Queen was horrified.
‘It will be the first time during our married life that we have been separated, Albert!’ she exclaimed.
‘I know, my love, but this is a necessity.’
Victoria wept silently. ‘And at such a time, my darling, you need me.’
Albert admitted this, but it was his duty to leave her. He could not allow his father to go to his grave unattended by his son.
‘Of course you must go, my dearest,’ cried the Queen. ‘Oh, if only I could come with you.’
‘Alas, my love, you have your duties here.’
She was touched by Albert’s thoughtfulness, for a few days later he told her that he had written to Uncle Leopold to ask if Aunt Louise might come to Windsor and spend the time of his absence with the Queen.
‘I thought she was the one who could best compensate you for not having me here,’ said Albert.
‘No one could do that,’ answered the Queen, ‘but Aunt Louise would come nearest to it. Oh, Albert, how good of you to think of me in the midst of all your sorrow.’
‘My dear love,’ replied Albert, ‘you are constantly in my thoughts.’
There was another cause for mild depression. She was once more pregnant. She loved her family but, as her mother said, a little longer rest between the children’s arrival would be desirable. Of course she was strong and obviously made to bear children, but it seemed that no sooner was one delivered than another was conceived.
Besides, she did feel wretched at the beginning of her pregnancies and this, together with the knowledge that she was to part with Albert, made her desolate.
But for Albert’s sake she tried not to show her feelings. He was delighted about the child. He longed for a boy this time and the thought of the new arrival, she knew, did a good deal to cheer him, so perhaps it was selfish of her to dread the coming ordeal so much.
Aunt Louise came to Windsor and it was wonderful to show her the children and confide to her about the one that would make its appearance some time during the month of August.
On a bleak March day Albert left for Coburg.
‘Write to me, darling,’ begged the Queen, and Albert promised he would. True to his word he wrote as soon as he reached Dover and a few days later there was another letter from Cologne.
‘Your picture has been hung everywhere so you look down on me from the walls … Every step takes me farther away from you – not a cheerful thought.’
He had met Uncle Leopold on his journey through Belgium and he understood this dear kind uncle was making his way to England to join his wife and comfort Victoria.
Victoria read the letters through again and again. Only this absence could make her realise the extent of her love for her husband. She was a little jealous of his devotion to his family, which was wrong of her, she admitted. Even the children could not compensate her. When she was in the nursery she was sad because Albert was not there to crawl round with Vicky on his back and bounce Fat Alice on his knee and shake his head over Bertie’s shortcomings.
Albert has become everything to me, she thought.
His brother Ernest came to meet Albert when he arrived in Gotha. The two brothers embraced.
‘It is good to see you, Ernest,’ said Albert. ‘Alas, that it should be in such sad circumstances.’
Ernest was always philosophical. ‘We mustn’t regret too much. He would have been an invalid if he’d lived. You can imagine how he would have felt about that. It was the best thing possible.’
Albert replied that if they could look upon it in that way, it would be an immense relief.
‘But, my dear brother, it is the only way because it is the truth.’
Ernest was a little worldly and Albert wondered what sort of life he was leading. He took after their father in his interest in women. Albert stopped himself thinking ill of the dead.
‘Ernest, you are the Duke now. You will have your responsibilities.’
‘But I won’t be nearly as important as you are, Albert. Uncle Leopold tells us that in all but name you are the King of England.’
‘Victoria is a good loyal wife. We are very happy.’
‘I knew you’d do it. She dotes on you. You are very good-looking, Albert. And that moral rectitude of yours … well, I suppose it really works.’
‘You are teasing, Ernest. I suppose it takes our minds off dear Papa.’
Albert’s step-mother looked pathetic in the long black veil worn by German widows. She was staying at Albert’s grandmother’s house and they greeted each other affectionately for they had always been fond of each other. His grandmother almost swooned with joy at the sight of him.
‘Oh, my little Alberinchen!’ she cried and clung to him.
They all wanted to hear about his life in England and temporarily the purpose of his visit was forgotten while he talked to them of Victoria and the children and how devoted they all were to each other and how each day Victoria deferred more and more to him.
‘It was not always so,’ he explained. ‘At the beginning she had evil advisers, but once I had cleared them off we became very very happy together.’
His grandmother and step-mother could not hear enough of the children. The cleverness of little Vicky was his main theme.
‘Alberinchen with a daughter!’ cried Grandmother Saxe-Coburg. ‘And she nearly four years old! Why you will soon be finding a husband for her, Albert. Some handsome German Prince, eh?’
Albert agreed that the time would soon pass.
‘And a son too! Tell us of little Bertie.’
‘He is strong and quite handsome but not as sharp as his sister.’
‘That’ll come,’ said Grandmama Saxe-Coburg wisely.
He gave them the presents Victoria had sent for them and as soon as he was alone he was writing to her: