‘Come, Alix, be reasonable.’
‘No, no, no!’ declared Alix.
Bertie did not insist. He was always diffident about showing his authority. If there was a violent disagreement between them she might refer to those amatory adventures of which she must have heard hints. They must never be mentioned; while they were not it was as though, when they were together, they had not existed. So Bertie was patient and kind; and he explained to the King and Queen of Prussia that Alix had suddenly become so unwell that she was confined to her bed and unable to see them.
It was hardly likely that such an insult to the King and Queen of Prussia could be allowed to pass. The Queen wrote direct to Queen Victoria and told her that her Danish daughter-in-law had insulted the King of Prussia, for she did not believe that Alix had been too unwell to receive them.
How very tiresome of Alix! thought Queen Victoria. Of course she must not insult the King and Queen of Prussia! What was Bertie thinking of to allow it? Racing and other women, she supposed! Oh dear, if Albert had been alive, none of this would have happened.
She wrote to Vicky and Alice. They were at hand. They must speak to Bertie and impress on him the importance of retaining good relations with Prussia … not that she herself secretly felt very friendly towards them after the manner in which they had behaved, but it was not the fault of the King and Queen. It was that dreadful Bismarck. And Alix must be made to realise this.
Bertie was in despair. He could not bear to insist that Alix receive the Prussians. Vicky and Alice had both written to him pointing out his duty – Alice did so diffidently but Vicky was very positive. In despair he begged Alix’s mother to come and help him with the difficult task as she was with them when the imperative demand came from Vicky. Bertie and Alix must name a date when the King and Queen of Prussia could call on them.
Louise was in a dilemma. Alix could be stubborn; like most easy-going people she would drift along and then suddenly take a stand and when she did there was little hope of moving her. Moreover she had been very ill and was by no means recovered. Louise said that she would meet the Prussian King and Queen in her daughter’s place, even though it would be repugnant to her.
This would not do, wrote Vicky authoritatively. Alix must be made to receive the King and Queen of Prussia. It was necessary for Bertie to act. He sent the invitation and then went to Alix.
She regarded him stonily.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but there was nothing else I could do. If I could have spared you that I would have done so. I understand your feelings … but the pressure was too great.’ He kissed her lightly on the top of her head. ‘It’ll soon be over,’ he comforted.
How like him! He could not really understand and although he was kind, there was just a shadow of impatience. Wasn’t she making rather a fuss over something that was not so very important?
She was silent and he went on explaining: ‘Mama insists, I’m afraid. And there’s Vicky and Alice …’
‘Those two interfering old women,’ she cried. ‘What has it to do with them!’
Bertie laughed. ‘I know Vicky behaves as though she is my governess but she’s only a year older than I, and Alice is two years younger.’
But Alix could not smile. She felt sick and humiliated.
She knew, though, that there was no help for it. The King came as arranged and her manner was so correct, although she was seething inwardly, that the King at least was not aware of her resentment.
The Queen had noticed for some time that Lord Derby was not looking well. He was after all a very old man and the tasks imposed on Prime Ministers could hardly be expected to be good for their health.
She was constantly asking him how he was and showering him with sympathy which would have been gratifying if he had not known that she was not so anxious to see him in better health as to see him in retirement.
The reason was that if he gave up office the obvious sequel would be that she must send for the man who had rapidly become her favourite politician.
She was at Osborne that February when Lord Derby came to the conclusion that he would delay no more. He wrote to her telling her of his decision and advising her to send for Benjamin Disraeli.
This she did with the utmost pleasure.
She smiled as he came into her drawing-room and she held out her hand for him to kiss. He bent over it with a flamboyant bow and kissed it with fervour. Then he made a charming speech, for he was very clever with words; he offered her loyalty and devotion. And she felt her spirits lifted as she had on that first day when Lord Melbourne had visited her and she had just become the Queen of England.
It was a moving scene and she felt more at peace, she told herself, than she had since Albert’s death.
Her new Prime Minister thereupon began to enchant her in much the same way as Lord Melbourne had. He discussed matters of state with her intermingled with amusing anecdotes about the people they knew; he assumed she would act in such and such a way because such superb intelligence as she possessed would make her realise immediately why such and such must be done.
And while he talked his eyes would admire her in a manner which was unmistakable and she glowed to such admiration because she was sure it was genuine. After all she was young compared with him and everyone knew how he doted on his Mary Anne and thought her beautiful when she was older than he was and really quite ugly – so it seemed very plausible that the Queen must in fact seem to him the attractive woman that he could not help implying that she was.
She was certain that it was going to be a delightful relationship.
In great spirits Disraeli left Osborne.
Mary Anne was waiting up for him. She was well over seventy but she seemed young in candlelight with her eyes dancing with the delight which only his triumphs could put there.
The champagne was waiting; the little supper laid out and there she sat watching him eat, her wrinkles scarcely perceptible by candlelight, her rather girlish giggle and her adoring inconsequential chatter making a young girl of her.
‘Tell me all, Dizzy, tell me all! What did she say? Oh, she was delighted, I am sure. And so she should be. It was time old Derby went. I’ll swear that was just what she was waiting for. Did she tell you so, Dizz?’
‘Her Majesty was graciously pleased to accept me as her Prime Minister.’
Mary Anne giggled afresh.
‘And you kissed her hand and bowed wonderfully I know, and now you will make her agree to everything you wish. I know you, Dizzy, I know your methods.’
‘I have my simple rules,’ admitted Dizzy. ‘Never deny, never contradict and sometimes forget.’
‘And these will be applied to Her Majesty?’
‘They are made for her.’
‘And she will never know about those rules. She will believe just what you want her to. Clever Dizzy. When I think of those days when I was married to Wyndham Lewis and you were a struggling author with political ambitions …’
‘Encouraged by the wife of the Member for Maidstone.’
‘Yes, we did encourage you. Not that you needed encouragement. You always knew that you were meant for greatness and so did I … which is strange because in many ways I am such a stupid woman.’
‘Nonsense. You are the cleverest woman in the world. That’s why I married you.’
‘You married me for my money.’
‘I needed it,’ he said plaintively.
‘And now you don’t need my money?’
‘I need you more than ever.’