It was a very uneasy situation for the new government and none knew better than the Prime Minister how insecure was his position.
He had an idea that if the Prince and Princess of Wales visited Ireland some good might come of it.
The Queen said she was always uneasy when Bertie was out of the country for she could never be sure what he was up to.
‘His Highness has been remarkably successful as our ambassador abroad and the Princess is so attractive that no one, not even the Irish, could fail to be charmed by her.’
‘She is pregnant, you know,’ said the Queen.
‘But the child is not due until July.’
The Queen hesitated; she could usually be persuaded by the Prime Minister who made her feel that the suggestion in the first place had been in her mind.
‘I am sure a great deal of good will come of it,’ went on Disraeli. ‘His Highness’s method of living does not appeal to Your Majesty because it’s shall we say a little riotous now and then, but I know you are thinking, M’am, with me that it is an excellent plan for the Prince to do something at which he excels and he has proved himself to be a wonderful ambassador.’
‘The government would have to pay his expenses.’
Disraeli wilted a little; then he said: ‘I am sure this could be agreed upon.’
And so on the 15th of April Alix and Bertie boarded the Victoria and Albert at Holyhead bound for Kingstown.
The Irish visit was a great success. Bertie was charming as usual and managed to say the right thing at the appropriate time and his gaiety very quickly endeared him to the Irish. His appearances at the races were applauded; so was his natural bonhomie. The Prince of Wales was a good fellow and for a time the Irish were ready to forget their grievances. The brilliant banquets and balls which were given in his honour were a long way from the hungry forties and Disraeli calling on the Queen congratulated her on the inspired notion to send the Prince to Ireland.
‘Which was your notion,’ said the Queen with a smile.
‘I sensed it was in Your Majesty’s mind,’ replied the Prime Minister, ‘laying it on with a trowel’, as he would have said.
She was far too sensible and honest to believe him but it was gallant and courteous to put it like that.
When the royal pair arrived home the Queen sent for them to come to Windsor and she congratulated them on the success of their tour.
‘Mr Disraeli is so pleased,’ she told them.
She studied Alix anxiously. The dear sweet girl seemed so much better, although she confessed that her knee was still stiff. She walked with a limp which because of her elegance was somehow attractive.
Others thought so too because it became quite a fashion to walk with what began to be called the Alexandra Limp.
Poor Mr Disraeli was going through a very uneasy time and this caused a great deal of worry to the Queen. That irritating Mr Gladstone would interfere in Ireland and he insisted on bringing forward his Bill for the dis-establishment of the Irish Church. Disraeli, who had taken over a weak ministry from Lord Derby, was in no position to resist.
He came to see her at Windsor. He kissed her hand fervently and gazed at her with mournful eyes which warned her that this idyll which had begun to mean so much to them both was threatened.
‘Alas, M’am,’ said Mr Disraeli. ‘Gladstone has defeated us on the Irish question with a majority of sixty-five.’
‘This is intolerable.’
‘It has to be tolerated, I fear.’
‘What do you propose to do?’
‘Offer my resignation.’
‘Which would mean that That Man would be my Prime Minister.’
‘I fear so, M’am.’
‘I should not like that at all.’
‘Alas, but it is a state of affairs which Your Majesty would be forced to accept. There is only one alternative. Your Majesty could refuse to accept my resignation. Then there would have to be a general election. This could not take place for six months because that time would be needed to arrange the new constituencies which are the result of the new Reform Bill.’
‘That is the answer,’ said the Queen. ‘You have offered me your resignation, which I refuse to accept. You will remain in office until the election in which time perhaps opinions may have changed.’
Disraeli bowed.
‘Very well, M’am. I shall continue for a little longer to be Your Majesty’s Prime Minister.’
How much longer would these pleasant têtes-à-têtes continue? It reminded her so much of the past when Lord Melbourne had been defeated in the House by Sir Robert Peel. How she had disliked Sir Robert although she had come to respect him. Albert had made her see Sir Robert differently. But she would never feel that respect for Mr Gladstone. There was a man whom she could never like. His wife was a quiet, pleasant creature; she had been Catherine Glynne before the marriage, a member of a very good Whig family who owned Hawarden Castle in Flintshire. It was said that she was devoted to her husband. Poor Mrs Gladstone!
John Brown told her that she was foolish to be so drear. He implied of course that as long as he was there to see to her needs she would be well looked after. It was true, she knew; but she would miss Mr Disraeli; and the idea of his party replaced by Mr Gladstone’s was most depressing.
As if she had not enough to worry about without Mr Gladstone’s bringing in his dis-establishment of the Irish Church! It always came back to Bertie. He was becoming just a little truculent. Success went to his head and he had been over-congratulated about the Irish tour.
She was really worried about him. She was constantly hearing snippets of gossip, and she did wonder, as was often suggested to her, whether they were a little exaggerated.
The idea of the heir to the throne – her throne – dancing attendance on an actress as he apparently did on that Hortense Schneider and prowling round her dressing-room when The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein, in which the enchanting actress was appearing, was over. And it was not as though this actress was the only one; Alix should really try to keep a firm hold on him. Alix was a little careless. Her inability to appear anywhere on time was really rather trying. That … and Bertie’s escapades together with the dissension the terrible wars had caused in the family, and the impending ministerial crises made life very hard to bear.
Now Bertie was writing to her in a very arrogant way, merely because for his own good she had remonstrated with him about attending the Ascot races every day. It was not necessary, she pointed out. Put in an appearance, yes. But to be there every day and gamble as he did was quite unnecessary – more than that it was undesirable.
He pointed out that every year she gave him a lecture on the races and it was a ceremony to which the people looked forward especially when the royal carriages were driven up the course. It would be very uncivil if he stayed at home and would be frowned on.
Was this a reproach to her because she shut herself away so much? Bertie was the last one to understand how she suffered over the loss of Beloved Albert. After all if he had not gone to Cambridge to remonstrate with Bertie he might be here today. He had written:
‘I am always most anxious to meet your wishes, dear Mama, in every respect, and I always regret if we are not quite
d’accord
– but as I am past twenty-eight and have some knowledge of the world and society you will, I am sure, at least I trust, allow me to use my own discretion in matters of this kind …’