Bertie was now very anxious. He had foolishly put his name to that paper and since it would have to be brought forward it seemed very likely that he would be called once more to give evidence in court.
He fretted; being older and wiser now than he had been at the time of the Mordaunt affair, he saw how momentous this was. For the second time he, the future King, was being drawn into an unsavoury case. He did what he did before: told Alix the story before she should get full details from another source.
Alix was firm in his defence. Loyal Alix. But she was quiet and there was a sadness in her demeanour. It was beastly of that horrible man who had cheated at cards, to drag Bertie into all this unwelcome publicity just because he had been good-natured enough to try to help. She had always disliked Gordon-Cumming. Not that she had met him often but on the occasions when she had she thought him most unpleasant. But all the same she did deplore the life Bertie lived.
The Queen was less sympathetic.
‘Baccarat!’ she cried to Sir Henry Ponsonby. ‘What a manner in which to spend his time! And I dare say he gambled for enormous sums. What are the people going to say?’
The people had plenty to say, for when the case was tried the Prince of Wales received his subpoena and was obliged for the second time to give evidence in a court. The case went overwhelmingly against Gordon-Cumming. He was finished both militarily and socially. The Army turned him out and no club would receive him; he could only retire in disgrace.
But the chief actor in the drama seemed to have been the Prince of Wales. Few people mentioned Gordon-Cumming while Bertie’s name was on all lips. His extravagance was discussed. Only a short while ago he had been moved by the state of the London poor. What a pity he did not spend some of his income on alleviating their condition instead of throwing it away on horses and baccarat. He was dissolute, the Press implied. It was such conduct as this which had brought about the downfall of the French Monarchy at the end of the previous century. Monarchy should beware.
The Queen was horrified. ‘Bertie’s conduct has brought us all into disrepute,’ she wrote to Vicky. ‘It was very distressing.’ She summoned Bertie; she spoke to him very severely.
‘This dreadful gambling must stop. What dearest Papa would have said I cannot imagine. It is very wrong of you, Bertie, to go to such houses … the houses of worthy middle-class people who have made their money by hard work. I gather Mr Wilson built ships which is a very laudable thing to do. You go there; you corrupt such hard-working people. Naturally they are delighted to have you because of the prestige Royalty always gives. But how much longer will it if we all behave as you do? It will not be for long I fear. I could almost be glad that dearest Papa is not here. This would have made him despair of you.’
Poor Bertie! He was indeed in disgrace.
Nephew Wilhelm made sure that the very most was made of the scandal.
The Prince of Wales had a new motto, said one German paper: ‘Ich Deal.’
Wilhelm even went farther. He wrote to dear Grandmama telling her how shocked he was by the scandal of Tranby Croft. He was very concerned because he had bestowed on his uncle the honorary rank of Colonel in the Prussian Guard. He did not care that his Colonels should be concerned in scandals of this nature, particularly with people who were of an age to be their sons.
Bertie spluttered with rage. ‘The insolent young puppy!’ he cried.
‘He is no puppy,’ said the Queen. ‘He is the Emperor of Germany and I may tell you that the Queen of England shares his disgust.’
The Times joined in the general condemnation of the Prince of Wales.
The gambling gentlemen had made Gordon-Cumming sign a pledge that he would play no more baccarat. Would it not be a good thing if someone could persuade the Prince of Wales to sign such a pledge?
To be treated like a naughty boy at his age was most humiliating. Bertie turned for comfort to Alix as he always did at such times, only to find that she had become aloof. He was deeply wounded and he kept remembering the insolence of that young puppy, his nephew, the Emperor of Germany.
Chapter XXVII
EDDY AND GEORGE
Alix was deeply wounded. It was not so much the Tranby Croft affair although it was very humiliating to read what was said of her husband in the papers; what hurt most was this persistent pursuit of women. When Bertie was a young man it was forgivable, but now that he was nearly fifty, there was something rather ridiculous in a squat fat man behaving like a young Casanova.
She decided to go to Copenhagen for a visit and take her two youngest daughters, Victoria and Maud, with her. It was pleasant to be in the old home but the health of her parents worried her, that of her mother particularly. Queen Louise was very feeble and now completely deaf. All the same it was pleasant showing her daughters the old haunts and telling them about her own happy childhood.
When the time came to leave Copenhagen Alix was in no mood to return to Sandringham. She wanted Bertie to understand that while he could be very happy without her, so could she be without him. He very much enjoyed the company of other women; she enjoyed that of her family; and as she had had a very pressing invitation from Dagmar she had decided to take her daughters to see their aunt at her Villa Livadia on the Black Sea.
Poor Bertie was nonplussed. Sandringham seemed empty although he had filled it with his noisy friends.
He no longer enjoyed the shooting; there was no point in having the clocks half an hour fast and that small matter seemed to change Sandringham completely. When he saw George and Eddy they kept talking about Mother dear and asking when she was coming home and what had possessed her to go straight to Russia after staying in Copenhagen. Why didn’t she come home to them?
Even Daisy couldn’t restore the Prince’s good humour. Daisy was beautiful, witty, astringent, but nothing seemed the same without Alix’s tolerant good-humour. And, he kept remembering, she had been a little aloof over the Tranby Croft affair.
He started to fret about the family. Eddy had always given him some concern because he could never learn anything. It was not that Bertie wished his son to be a scholar, he himself had never been that; but Eddy simply could not absorb anything; he could scarcely read and he was quite slow-witted. It was alarming to contemplate that he could be King one day. George was the bright one. He had always outshone Eddy; and he was a good boy, conscientious and humble too. Louise was now married to the Duke of Fife and the Prince wondered whether he was too old for her. She was twenty-two; he was forty. The Duke was a friend of Bertie’s; he was rich, had been a Member of Parliament and was a good man of business. The Queen had approved of the match and had in fact bestowed his Dukedom on him at the time of his marriage – although she had to be persuaded to do so. The two other girls, Victoria and Maud, were with their mother. Did they know of her disappointment in him and would it affect their feelings towards him?
He was discovering that he was very much a family man. It was true he loved his wild parties, and passionate friendships with women were essential to him; but he wanted Alix there in the background of his life, and he knew now how much he loved his family. He had always been kind and tolerant to them; making sure that they should never feel towards him as he had towards his own father, but he had not realised before how necessary they were to him. Sandringham had become lonely; the flowers didn’t look the same. Alix loved them and had done quite a lot of the arranging herself. Her dogs were moping; there was in fact a melancholy air about the place. Bertie wanted Alix to come home. It seemed as if the whole place was crying out for her.