He hobbled round effectively now and then giving a little grimace to indicate how bad the pain was but Uncle Leopold so obviously enjoyed his ailments that his calling attention to them added nothing sombre to the occasion, for with his painted cheeks, his built-up shoes to make him look taller, and his pleasant wig, he still retained signs of the singularly handsome man he had been in his youth.
He had promised himself many little chats with Alexandra. He knew so much about the English Court and way of life that he wanted to give her the benefit of his knowledge. If she were in any difficulty at any time she would know that all she had to do was to write to him.
Alix listened charmingly. She was sure, she said, that she would never learn anything about politics. They were so complicated.
‘You must remember that you will have a certain influence with your husband, my dear child. And he will become more and more important, particularly if the Queen remains in seclusion as she has since the Consort’s death. You could have a part to play. Always remember your own country and your own good friends. The stability of Denmark … and Belgium … is very necessary to European peace. I should not like to see that threatened or it could mean great trouble. Always remember that if you are bewildered about anything, you can always write to me for advice. I will be to you what I was to the Queen in the days when she needed me.’
Alix thanked him, but she was determined not to meddle in politics. She was sure Bertie would not like it.
Leopold said that he had a surprise for her. Would she care to see?
She was eager to but when she saw the dress of Brussels lace and realised that it was to be her wedding gown she was dismayed.
The Queen had told her that she was presenting her with a wedding dress of Honiton lace – and how could she have two wedding dresses?
Alix said the dress was beautiful; then she hurried to her parents to explain her dilemma to them.
‘The Queen would be furious if you did not wear the wedding dress she is giving you,’ said Christian.
‘Leopold will be if she doesn’t wear his,’ was Louise’s answer.
‘What can we do?’ Christian wondered.
‘I must consult the ambassador,’ said Louise. ‘This is too important a matter for us to settle.’
So the battle of Honiton and Brussels lace began. The Queen was indignant. It was impossible for dear sweet Alix to be married in foreign lace. Everybody knew, commented Leopold, that Brussels lace was the best in the world. But the Queen did not think it was to be compared with Honiton lace. Her own wedding dress had been trimmed with Honiton lace. She could not – and what was more would not – give her consent to dear sweet Alix’s being married in anything but the wedding dress which she had provided.
Leopold realised that he must back out graciously.
So Honiton won.
The Queen’s own yacht, Victoria and Albert, was waiting for the party at Antwerp. They sailed to Flushing and prepared to cross the Channel.
The crossing was smooth and when the Victoria and Albert came into the Margate Roads the guns roared forth. Boats came out to the yacht carrying loyal messages of greeting; and the welcome was as great at Southend and Sheerness.
As they approached Gravesend, Louise whispered to her daughter that it was time she went to her cabin to change the simple dress she was wearing. Bertie would doubtless come out to meet her and this was one of the occasions when it was imperative that she must be ready on time.
Alexandra put on a mauve Irish poplin dress which had been specially made for this occasion and over it she wore a long cloak of the same colour as her dress but of velvet trimmed with sable; on her head was a poke bonnet in white, decorated with tiny roses.
The effect was charming and when her parents saw her even they were startled by her beauty, which the exhausting journey had done nothing to impair.
Bertie had come out on his private yacht and on the deck of the Victoria and Albert they greeted each other. When Bertie kissed her warmly a cheer went up from the spectators and together they prepared to go ashore.
On the pier, some sixty girls dressed in red and white – Danish colours – were waiting to throw down flowers for her to walk on; the pier itself was decorated with orange blossom; what was so charming were the heads of deputations who came to present her with flowers for they had learned Danish phrases to say to her and their quaint pronunciation amused her.
Then began the drive to London where they would take the train for Windsor.
The entry into London was so enthusiastic as to be alarming. Alix had never seen so many people. They had heard accounts of the beauty of the Princess and were determined to see for themselves; and when they discovered that reports had not been exaggerated, they were delighted. The March wind was biting but that deterred no one. There they were in their tens of thousands all come to welcome the new Princess of Wales. Bertie was already very popular. Royal scandals always managed to seep out and it had long been known that Bertie was at variance with his parents. The Prince Consort had tried to cram learning into his son. Bertie had resisted. The Prince had tried to make another such as himself of the Prince of Wales. But the people did not want another. One German saint was enough. In fact they did not accept Albert as a saint. To many of the public people he was an ambitious man who had tried to rule England and had suppressed all the natural gaiety of the Queen. But Bertie had stood out against that. Bertie was gay; there were rumours of a little affair at the Curragh Camp of which a great deal had been made, and who could blame Bertie, kept down as he was? Bertie was human, something his father was not. ‘Good old Teddy,’ said the people. So they wanted to see what sort of bride he was getting. And when they saw her, very pretty, charmingly dressed, elegant and smiling, they were delighted with her.
‘Long live the Danish Princess,’ they cried. ‘And long live the Prince of Wales.’
Moreover there would be a royal wedding and that always meant a good time. The Queen had been in mourning too long. The people were tired of it. They would now have some gaiety.
The journey through London was a nightmare. The people’s enthusiasm had got out of control and the farther the procession penetrated into the capital, the more terrifying an ordeal it became. The people were exuberant. They wanted to show their enthusiasm. They crowded round the carriages and brought them to a halt. At the Mansion House Alix’s carriage was almost overturned and she clung to the upholstery in dismay. The people, some well dressed, some ragged, pressed about her. There were shrieks in the crowd as some feared they would be trampled to death. When the carriage was brought to a standstill several men pushed forward and tried to unharness the horses shouting their intention to drag the bride’s carriage to Paddington.
It was frightening. Alix had never seen so many people, and tempers in the crowd ran high when there were disputes among the spectators. It seemed at one time that the police would be unable to keep order and that there would be a riot.
The Prince’s equerry, however, came to the rescue. He appealed to the crowd to let them pass. Alix smiled at those who pressed round and in her quaint English begged them to let her get through. They fell back. She was so gentle and she perhaps made them realise how they were adding to her ordeal. In any case the crowd fell back and the carriages were able to make their slow progress to Paddington.
They were very late arriving at Windsor and then it was raining. Alix was rather pleased about this. The ride through London had been tiring as well as often terrifying and it was a blessing to be able to ride in a closed carriage.