The Queen's Husband

Chapter XVI BERTIE IN TROUBLE

Bertie was once more in disgrace. Since the coming of Alfred, who was now of an age to take notice, he had begun to speak fluently and to take an interest in his brother. Alfred applauded most things Bertie did and quite clearly admired him, so Bertie began to have quite a good opinion of himself. He could not compete with clever Vicky of course but in the little boys’ world he shared with Alfred he was supreme.

He would shout at Alfred, push him or pull his hair; but whatever he did Alfred bore stoically and gazed at him with admiration.

It was different during lessons because then he must sit with Vicky and hear her recite her French poetry or almost always come up with the right answers to sums. He felt it was no use trying to compete and so much more fun to think up some new game to play with Alfred and Alice too, who admired him. He might not be the favourite with his parents but he was with his younger brother and sister.

Miss Hildyard, one of the governesses, said that as he was not attending he had better stand in a corner.

He shook his head. ‘I won’t stand in the corner,’ he said truculently. ‘I am the Prince of Wales and Prince of Waleses don’t stand in corners.’

‘It’s not Waleses,’ said clever Vicky, ‘Because there’s only one Wales.’

‘That is right, Vicky,’ said Miss Hildyard, ‘and Bertie will go and stand in the corner.’

‘I won’t,’ declared Bertie.

And as Miss Hildyard tried to seize him he cried: ‘Don’t dare touch the Prince of Wales.’

Vicky burst out laughing and said he had a temper as bad as Mama’s and wouldn’t Mama be in a temper when she heard how naughty Bertie had been. ‘Because you will tell her, won’t you, Miss Hildyard?’

Miss Hildyard said she was sorry to have to complain of Bertie’s naughtiness and if he would be a good boy and go and stand in the corner until his fit of naughtiness had passed she would say nothing to His Royal Highness Bertie’s father, nor to Her Majesty Bertie’s mother.

Bertie considered this but Vicky was watching him so he picked up a book and threw it at the window. There was a cracking as the glass splintered. Vicky said: ‘Oh!’ Bertie stared at what he had done; and when they had all recovered from the shock Miss Hildyard said that now she would have no alternative but to report Bertie’s wickedness (he noticed with alarm the different description of his conduct) to his father.

So there was Bertie standing before his father, and in the latter’s hand was a long thin cane. Bertie knew from experience that this would soon be applied to him and he dreaded the ordeal, but he was not sure which was worse, the actual sting of the cane or the lecture which preceded it.

Bertie, said his father, was a great anxiety to his parents. He had no sense of responsibility. If he grew up into a good man (which his father feared was very unlikely) he might if his mother died be the King of England.

Bertie had heard this before but he listened to it every time awestruck. Somehow Papa managed to imply that if Mama died it would somehow be his fault because he would then be the King.

Because he was the Prince he owed it to God, his country and his parents to be more than ordinarily good, but alas, his wicked nature prevailed and he was more than ordinarily bad; and because this was so it was his father’s painful duty – which hurt him far more than punishment could hurt Bertie – to administer a more than ordinarily severe beating. Bertie would now place himself across the chair which was waiting to receive him and suffer the full force of his father’s blows.

Bertie had no recourse but to obey and as the blows descended his cries were loud and protesting.

At last the Prince seemed satisfied and Bertie was sent to his room, there to remain until he was in a sufficiently penitent mood to say he was sorry to Miss Hildyard, to Mama and to his father for the great grief he had made them suffer.

Bertie lay face downwards on his bed sobbing. It was too uncomfortable to lie the other way.

The door opened and he knew it was Mama. She sat by the bed.

‘Bertie, I hear you have again been very wicked.’

Bertie did not answer.

‘You have been rude to Miss Hildyard; you have broken a window; and worst of all you have grieved Papa.’

Bertie was moved to stutter: ‘He … he didn’t have to …’

‘What do you mean, Bertie? Do you think Papa would shirk his duty? You, by your wickedness, have forced him to beat you. You know how that must have hurt him.’

‘He hurt me,’ said Bertie fiercely.

‘Then how much more do you think Papa has been hurt?’

‘He wasn’t beaten.’

‘Oh, Bertie, will you never understand anything? There are things that hurt more than canes. You have the best, kindest, dearest Papa in the world and you have made him unhappy by making it necessary for him to beat you.’

Bertie thought it wiser to sob.

‘I am going to leave you to think about this. But you must be a better boy. Remember how you have grieved your Papa and me and I am sure that when you think of that and how you love him and me you will be very sorry for what you have done and turn over a new leaf.’

With that she left him.

He didn’t believe Papa was more hurt than he was because nobody could be. He started to cry again. And he didn’t love Papa. He didn’t love Mama much either.

This was a startling discovery to make but at least it made him stop thinking of his smarting body.

The Queen was discussing the problem of Bertie with the Prince.

‘Something will have to be done about him, Albert.’

‘I have given him a caning which he will remember for some time.’

‘Poor Albert. It was courageous of you. I know how you must have felt about that. But it had to be done and it was best that you should do it. I’m afraid a tutor’s caning would have little effect on Bertie. Now he realises that you are angry with him he will understand that he must mend his ways.’

‘I was not angry, my love. I was hurt that our son could behave so badly.’

‘I know, Albert.’

‘Someone must take a firm hand with him. These tutors and governesses are aware that he is the Prince of Wales and can’t forget it. Bertie knows this. He can be shrewd enough; it is only where his lessons are concerned that he is stupid. Something will have to be done.’

‘If only you could teach him, Albert, that would be the best thing possible, but of course you are so fully occupied. My dear Albert, I fear you are overworked already.’

Albert said that his great desire was to help the Queen and this meant keeping up to date with everything that was going on. But he had an idea.

‘I shall write to Stockmar and explain our predicament to him. I shall implore him as he loves us both – which I know he does – to come at once. After all the education of the heir to the throne is as important as anything can be.’

The Queen thought that an excellent idea.

‘Trust you, Albert,’ she smiled, ‘to hit upon the right solution.’

Politics were soon claiming the Queen’s attention. Some politicians, she remarked to Albert, seemed determined to plague her. There was for one, that dreadful man with the greasy dyed hair, Mr Disraeli, who had made everything so difficult for dear Sir Robert; another man whom she detested was a Mr Gladstone. He had recently resigned because he objected to the government’s proposal to increase a grant to an Irish college where men were trained to become Roman Catholic priests. ‘What a dreadful man to make such a fuss over such a matter,’ declared the Queen. She had seen him once or twice and taken an immediate dislike to him, although he did have a charming wife. But perhaps the chief nuisance was Lord Palmerston.

In the days when Lord Melbourne had been Prime Minister she had enjoyed Lord Palmerston’s company. She knew that he had led a rather shocking life and this, she regretted to think nowadays, had then attracted her. She had thought him interesting and had been amused when Lord Melbourne had told her that he was nicknamed Cupid, for reasons which were clear to all. Later she had heard that when visiting Windsor he had been seen making his way along the corridors to certain ladies’ bedrooms during the night. Very, very shocking. Albert was aware of this side of Lord Palmerston’s nature and had he been the best of Ministers could never have liked him because of it.

Within the last few years Lord Palmerston had settled down. After being a very gay bachelor for fifty-five years, he had suddenly married; and the lady he had chosen to be his wife was a widow three years younger than he was, who happened to be Lord Melbourne’s sister. Emily Lamb had been married when she was very young to Lord Cowper and rumour had it that Lord Palmerston and she had been very great friends for some years. The friendship was perhaps too intimate for propriety; in any case when Lord Cowper died Palmerston married his widow.

Fanny, Lady Cowper’s daughter by her first marriage, who was lady-in-waiting to the Queen, did not like the idea of her mother’s marrying an old roué like Lord Palmerston; the Queen now heartily agreed with her; as she said to Albert, there was something very unpleasant about widows’ remarrying … In the event of the direst possible tragedy of which she could not bear to think for one moment, she could never bring herself to act in such a way.

And now that Lord John Russell was the Prime Minister, Lord Palmerston was once again Foreign Secretary; poor, poor Lord Melbourne having no place in the Cabinet. He said, with that generosity which she remembered so well, that of course it was quite right that he should not be offered one, for he was too infirm to hold it, but it seemed so hard when one remembered the past.

Lord Palmerston seemed to respect no one. He managed whenever possible to devise a course of action for himself and then explain it after he had carried it out. It was wrong, but he could always shrug himself out of any difficult situation, pretending that it was of no great importance.

The Queen suspected him of withholding state papers from her. She resented his attitude towards Albert which was that the Prince was merely a pleasant young man who must not be allowed to think that his opinions carried any weight.

A matter which had for some time been considered one of international importance had become a crisis. The question was the marriage of the young Queen Isabella of Spain and her sister. Louis Philippe had long had an eye on Spain. Before he came to the throne it had been an ambition of the French that Spain and France should be one. This might be brought about by the marriage of the King’s son to the young Queen of Spain. This was something which would never be permitted and Louis Philippe knew it. But he had a plan. As it would never be accepted by the rest of Europe that the son of the King of France should marry the Queen of Spain he would not press this. Instead his son, the Duc de Montpensier, should marry the young Queen’s sister, the Infanta Fernanda, while the Queen married her cousin, the Duke of Cadiz.

Before any objection could be made to this, the marriages had taken place. It was then discovered why Louis Philippe and Guizot, that wily Foreign Minister of his, had made the arrangement. The Duke of Cadiz was impotent; therefore the Spanish throne would go to the heir of Fernanda and Montpensier and thus Louis Philippe would achieve the influence he had hoped for.

When the Queen realised what had happened she raged against Louis Philippe.

‘What a sly old man! And when you think how he pretended to be such friends with us and gave the children those lovely presents.’

‘We should be wary of people when they give us presents,’ said Albert.

‘But these were such lovely presents and Vicky loved her doll. It had eyes that opened and shut and had real eyelashes; and Bertie’s soldiers were beautiful.’

‘If our foreign service had been more efficient we should have seen this coming,’ said Albert.

‘I never did like that man Palmerston and why Little Johnny wanted to give him the Foreign Office I can’t imagine. Of course Johnny married a widow in the first place. Lord Melbourne told me that Johnny, on account of his size, used to be called the Widow’s Mite.’

Albert did not smile; he did not appreciate such jokes. She supposed they were not really very funny but she did remember laughing immoderately at the time.

‘Then of course there was that sad affair of his wife’s death. It upset me so much and then he married again and they are very happy together … not a widow the second time.’

‘It is a pity,’ said Albert, ‘that he brought Palmerston into the Cabinet.’

It was not long before there was a big difference between the royal pair and the Foreign Minister. Lord Palmerston had such odd ideas. There was Civil War in Portugal and one would have thought that in such a conflict he would have been on the side of the royalists. Not so; his sympathies were with the people.

‘I consider Lord Palmerston to be a most dangerous man,’ said Albert.

So of course the Queen agreed.

Stockmar, in answer to the entreaties of the Queen and Albert, arrived in England. He was warmly greeted and carried off to Windsor for conferences with the anxious parents of the Prince of Wales.

‘We are very worried about Bertie,’ announced the Queen. ‘He refuses to learn and is so high-spirited that it is sometimes difficult for his tutors and governesses to control him.’

‘I have forced myself to cane him many times,’ said the Prince. ‘It was distressing but necessary.’

‘It may well be that he is being pampered by people in the nurseries and schoolroom,’ said the Baron. ‘That could be responsible. And if he says he won’t learn he must simply be made to learn.’ Stockmar’s dry old face twisted into a reluctant smile. ‘I think you may well have been a little soft with the child.’

‘My parental feelings had to be overcome,’ said Albert.

‘Albert was wonderful,’ murmured the Queen. ‘I have been deeply impressed by the way he has handled the difficult matter.’

‘Yes,’ said Stockmar. ‘But leave this to me. I will go to the schoolroom and discover what is happening there; and perhaps a tutor should be appointed for the Prince of Wales – a man of learning who will not hesitate to use the rod.’

Stockmar was conducted to the schoolroom where Vicky was seated at the table writing out French verbs and Bertie was being coaxed to read by Miss Hildyard.

There was consternation. Miss Hildyard rose and curtsied as the children wriggled down from their seats.

What a nasty old man with Papa and Mama! thought Bertie; and then was aware that the old man in question was staring at him.

‘Bertie, come and greet our dear good friend Baron Stockmar,’ said Mama.

Bertie came forward and was peered at. There was a smudge of blue paint on his blouse. Vicky had pointed it out an hour ago and he could feel those nasty old eyes concentrated on it.

If all the grown-ups would turn their backs for a minute he would put out his tongue at that old man just to show Vicky what he thought of their Baron Stockmar.

‘So this is the backward one,’ said the Baron. ‘Why’s that, eh?’

‘Because,’ said Vicky, ‘he is not the forward one.’

‘Vicky will speak when she is addressed,’ said Papa gently. ‘It is for Bertie to answer.’ But Bertie did not care about being backward and wasn’t frightened of the old Baron.

‘Sullen, it seems,’ said the Baron. ‘Well, we must remedy that.’

The Baron turned away and they all began talking to Miss Hildyard.

Baron Stockmar inspected the books and asked questions about the lessons. Some of the governesses, trying to show Bertie in the best possible light, said that he was a very sociable child; he was very good with the younger children, who adored him and he would play with them for hours; in fact the first person they looked for when coming into the nursery was Bertie.

‘Sociability,’ said the Baron, ‘is a bad sign. It shows a frivolous nature.’

‘He is rather inventive,’ said Miss Hildyard.

‘Inventive?’

‘Yes, Baron. He has a lively imagination.’

‘You mean he tells lies?’

‘Oh no.’

‘But yes,’ said the Baron. ‘What else?’

‘He devises amusing games for the children.’

‘Games. Lies! That child is on the road to disaster. And no aptitude for lessons! That will have to be remedied.’

He went on to say that sometimes it was necessary to apply learning with the cane. The governesses were disturbed by this picture of Bertie as a desperate character when he was merely a normal little boy, but it was impossible to attempt to change the Baron’s view, particularly when it was supported by Bertie’s parents.

When he was alone with the Queen and the Prince, Stockmar said: ‘I think we should appoint a tutor for the young villain and give him firm instructions that he must get results, which with such a child must mean meeting recalcitrance with severity.’

Stockmar found the man. He was Henry Birch, the rector of Prestwich, who having taught boys at Eton and being a Reverend gentleman, seemed highly suitable.

Bertie awaited his arrival with some trepidation.

It was September and the thought of escaping from London delighted both the Queen and Albert. The very name Osborne was, as the Queen said, like music in their ears and now that Albert had such plans for improving the place there was an added excitement in planning a trip to their dear island.

The children were happy there. There they could play on the beach and run about in the gardens of eight hundred acres, conscious, as their parents were, of a freedom they did not normally enjoy. Bertie had occasional uneasy twinges about the future but he was not one to worry about what might be coming to him. The present was his concern and how best to enjoy it. If he could escape from tutorial control he knew how to do that very well.

Even Papa seemed different in Osborne and would sometimes play games which made him seem like an ordinary person; and Mama would watch them playing and applaud everything Papa did. Still it was good fun and gave Bertie a pleasant, comfortable feeling to be on such terms with his parents.

When they arrived that September there was a great deal of talk about the foundation stone which had been laid for a new Osborne. The old one was on the point of collapse and a new Osborne was in the process of being built. There was an exciting smell of paint in the house. One part of it was completed and this was where they lived while the rest of it was being planned by the Prince.

The Queen declared her contentment to be at Osborne. ‘Oh how I should love to live the simple life always,’ she cried.

Albert agreed that it would have been far more comfortable for them both if they had been wealthy gentlefolk instead of royalty. Secretly Albert wondered whether Victoria was entirely sincere – although she would be aware of this of course; one of her greatest qualities was her honesty – because she was always very conscious of her dignity as Queen and sprang to defend it if it was assailed in the smallest way … sometimes by him. As for Albert, because he was conscientious and sometimes found his duties arduous, they were at least self imposed. It was difficult to understand all the truth, in any case there were so many facets of it that perhaps there was not a simple answer to any one of their problems.

But here they were at Osborne and this was a special occasion because for the first time they were occupying the new Osborne – and although there was so much to be done in the house, they were in a way entering it for the first time.

Such an occasion must be celebrated.

As they came into the house – the Queen going first – one of the maids threw an old shoe after her. For the moment the Queen thought that she was the victim of an attack and turned sharply, but there was Mary Kerr, one of her Scottish ladies-in-waiting, standing there unabashed and explaining to Her Majesty that she had to throw the shoe after the Queen otherwise there would have been no luck in the house.

Everyone – even the Prince – joined in the laughter and the Queen picked up the old shoe and thanked Mary for it.

Dinner was taken in the new dining-room and afterwards the company retired to the drawing-room where the curtains were drawn back and the lights shone forth over the sea. It was a wonderful evening and everyone present wanted to drink the health of the Queen and her husband as a house-warming.

This was done and the Prince said that there was a hymn they sang in Germany on such an occasion and he would like to sing it now.

The Queen’s eyes filled with tears of love, devotion and happiness as she listened to her beloved husband’s voice:

God bless our going out, nor

less Our coming in …

Victoria had rarely seen Albert so obsessed by anything as he was about Osborne. He always worked conscientiously. To see him going through the state papers was a lesson to anyone, she often declared. But one was conscious all the time that this was a duty. Osborne was a pleasure and he was almost childish in his enthusiasm.

‘Come and look at this,’ he would say and take her from what she was doing and explain how it would look when it was finished.

He was in constant consultation with workmen. If it were not somehow disrespectful one would say that Albert was almost like a child with a toy over Osborne. And what a wonderful job he was making of it!

‘Sometimes, my love, I think you should have been an architect. I even go so far as to think that you would have enjoyed being a builder.’

Albert smiled indulgently.

He would slip away at all times to see how the work was progressing. One night at about ten o’clock he left the drawing-room and was making his way through a wooded part of the grounds when he was roughly seized.

A policeman had him by the arm.

‘What are you doing here, eh?’ demanded the policeman.

Albert, who never acted without due thought, was silent, and the policeman went on: ‘Prowling about the place. Up to no good I’ll be bound. You come along with me.’

The servants’ quarters were close at hand and the young policeman, delighted that he had arrested, as he thought, a suspect, opened the door and pushed the Prince into the servants’ kitchen, where they were seated round the table over the remains of supper.

‘Caught this beauty on the prowl,’ announced the policeman.

There was a second or two’s silence after which all the servants rose to their feet. The policeman stared at his captive. One of the women said in a shrill voice: ‘It’s His Highness …’

But there was no need. The policeman knew. The Prince acted characteristically. He turned and walked out without a word. In fact he had said nothing during the entire episode.

As soon as the Prince had gone the babel broke forth. ‘Now you’ve done it.’

‘Fancy arresting his Royal Highness!’

‘You’ll hear more of this, young fellow. There’s one thing we have to remember here. The important one is not so much Her Gracious Majesty but His Royal Highness … and that’s because it’s the way Her Majesty wants it.’

The poor young man could scarcely bear his humiliation, especially as he feared it might end in dismissal, and the next morning when he was summoned to the Prince’s study he felt this was indeed the end.

Trembling with mortification the policeman bowed. The Prince inclined his head. Then he said: ‘I have called you here to commend you on your attention to duty. I have already mentioned to your superiors that you acted with promptitude last night and that you should be put in line for promotion.’

The young man began to stammer, but the Prince coldly waved him away.

The policeman couldn’t resist looking in at the kitchens to tell them what had happened.

‘Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather when you dragged him in last night,’ said the cook. ‘But you couldn’t see from his face what he was thinking.’

‘That’s it,’ said one of the kitchen hands, ‘you never can. He’s like one of them there masks.’

‘Cold as a corpse,’ said the cook. ‘But just – you’ve got to give him that.’

One of the older women shook her head and said: ‘He might have said it last night, that would have made his nibs here sleep better, eh? But that’s him all over – just, I grant you. But he likes to torture you a bit.’

‘Perhaps he tortures himself too,’ said a pert kitchen maid. ‘The good are like that sometimes.’

When the Queen heard of the incident she laughed uproariously. ‘The idea of arresting you, Albert. And how good of you to speak up for the man. It is pleasant to know we are so well protected at dear Osborne.’

Bertie loved the sea and making sandcastles. He shrieked with laughter as the tide came in and flooded the moat. Affie toddled along beside him, shovelling sand into pails, Bertie’s devoted henchman.

A boy – a little older than Bertie – carrying a basket of fish which his father had caught and which he was taking to a customer, strolled along the beach and watched the progress of the castle. Bertie, who always liked to show Alfred how clever he was, demanded to know what the boy was looking at.

‘At the castle,’ said the boy.

Bertie became very haughty. ‘You must not look unless I say you may.’

‘You can’t stop me,’ said the boy.

Bertie jerked the basket from the boy’s hand and the fish were scattered all over the sand, at which the boy’s face grew scarlet and he punched Bertie in the chest. Bertie was unprepared and went sprawling into the sandcastle. He jumped up and came at the fisher boy but he was no match for him. In less than five minutes Bertie was bleeding from the nose and had a bump on his forehead.

Affie began to scream and attendants were soon running up. The fisher boy thought it was wise to retire and Bertie was taken back to the house.

Such an incident could not be passed over unnoticed. The Queen would want to know what had happened to Bertie’s face and the truth must be told.

There was nothing to be done but to consult the Prince, who immediately summoned Bertie.

‘So you have been fighting?’ he said sternly.

Bertie stammered: ‘Y … yes, Papa.’

‘And for what reason, pray?’

‘He … he … this boy …’

‘Which boy? Pray try to be less incoherent.’

When Papa said ‘pray’ it usually meant one really was in trouble but Bertie felt confident that he was not in the wrong about this. It was that wicked boy who had beaten him; he had scarcely been able to touch his adversary; Bertie put a hand to the bump on his brow and said: ‘Affie and I were building castles and the boy came along. He stared without asking if he could. I knocked his fish all over the sand.’ Bertie wanted to giggle at the thought of the squirming fishes. He elaborated a little: ‘Great big fishes … a big whale and he was going to swallow Affie so I picked up a big stick.’

‘You will go to your room, Bertie, and wait there until I send for you,’ said his father.

Bertie went to his room but was not disturbed. The boy would be punished for fighting the Prince of Wales and he liked his story about the whale. He went on with it in his mind. It swallowed Affie and it was like the Jonah story. Bertie kept it and talked to Affie from inside and then he climbed into the whale and rescued Affie.

His father sent for him and when he went into the study the Prince said: ‘We are going to see your fisher boy. I have discovered who he is.’

Bertie felt very proud. Now he would stand beside his father and that boy would know what a bad thing he had done.

The fisher boy came into the room where the Queen and the Prince received visitors. With him was a man who was clearly his father. They looked very shy and awkward as though they wondered what was going to happen to them – and well they might, thought Bertie.

The Prince had gripped Bertie’s shoulder and pushed him forward.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you are here. My son has an apology to make to yours. He is very sorry he behaved so churlishly. Now, Bertie, let me hear you say how much you regret your conduct and that you promise not to behave in such a way again.’

Bertie was astounded. Papa had got it wrong. It was the boy who must apologise to him.

‘I am waiting,’ said the Prince.

He really meant it. Somehow, Bertie was in the wrong again. He couldn’t understand it but there was nothing to be done but obey so he said that he was sorry that he had upset the basket of fish. He had behaved badly and would never do it again.

‘And now,’ said Papa to the visitors, ‘I will have you conducted to the kitchens where you will be amply compensated for the loss you suffered.’

The boy and his father, as confused as Bertie, bowed their way out. The Prince was still gripping Bertie’s shoulder. He looked at him with an expression of mournful regret in his face but Bertie saw a gleam in his eye which he always associated with an imminent caning.

He was right.

‘You will go to your room and prepare for a beating, which I shall administer myself. Lies I will not tolerate. First you disgrace us by indulging in a fight with a fisher boy and then you tell me monstrous lies.’ He put his hand to his forehead. ‘I have no alternative but to beat the wickedness out of you.’

Bertie went fearfully to his room.

They could not stay at Osborne for ever. With the opening of Parliament imminent it was necessary to return to London, but the whole family was sad to leave dear Osborne.

‘Never mind,’ said the Queen, ‘we shall be back soon, and won’t it be fun to see what dearest Papa’s plans have added to the house. How fortunate we are to have such a clever Papa!’

Vicky said that Papa had told her what he was going to do about the new staircase. He had shown her the drawings.

Surely not, thought the Queen, before he has shown me! Really sometimes she thought Albert thought more of his daughter than of his wife.

Albert certainly doted on their eldest daughter. She supposed it was because Bertie was such a disappointment.

Down on the shore they went to embark on the royal yacht. One of the yachtsmen picked up Vicky and carried her on board, but Vicky hated to be carried. She thought it made her look like a child, and in front of Bertie too. ‘There you are, my little lady,’ said the yachtsman as he set her down.

Vicky said coldly: ‘It would be well for you to remember that I am a Princess, not a little lady.’

The Queen, who had been standing by, said sharply: ‘You had better tell the kind sailor that you are not a little lady yet although you hope to be some day.’

Vicky was startled. It was not often that she was reproved by her parents. She blushed scarlet with mortification. Bertie was sorry for her. He knew what it meant to be snubbed in public. He allowed himself to be lifted aboard without protest.

And back at Buckingham Palace was Mr Birch.

Bertie regarded him with some suspicion when he was brought to the schoolroom by his father and Baron Stockmar.

‘You will find the Prince of Wales somewhat backward, I fear,’ said the Baron. ‘He is not exactly devoted to study. But I have worked out a curriculum for you to follow and I think if you will abide by this you cannot go far wrong. I have His Highness’s approval of what I have mapped out. But you will see for yourself.’

Bertie was quaking inwardly, wondering what a curriculum was. Surely something horrible since the Baron had devised it.

‘If he is disobedient,’ the Prince was saying, ‘you have my permission to beat him. It is a procedure I have often found myself forced to follow, even though it has invariably been very painful to me.’

Bertie listened to an account of his shortcomings and when his father and the Baron had left him alone with Mr Birch he almost expected him to bring a cane and apply it right away. Instead of this Mr Birch smiled at him and said: ‘Let us sit down and look at this plan of work, shall we?’

‘Is it a … cur …’

‘Curriculum? A very long word for nothing very much. Just a plan of what we are going to do together.’

‘Is it very hard?’

‘I don’t think you’re going to find it so.’

‘I’m not clever like Vicky.’

‘How do we know?’

‘They know.’

‘Ah, but we might surprise them.’

‘Might we?’

‘We can never be sure, can we?’ said the strange Mr Birch.

Bertie laughed suddenly, not because it was very funny but because he was relieved. Something told him that he and Mr Birch were going to be friends.

He was right. With Mr Birch lessons were not so difficult. He had a way of explaining things which made them amusing or interesting.

In the first place he had said that they would take lessons alone. He had not come to teach the Princess Royal. As soon as Vicky was no longer there to show how much cleverer she was, Bertie became less stupid. He found he could give a wrong answer to Mr Birch and not be laughed at.

He told him once how when they were in the gardens years and years ago and Mama had been telling them about flowers, he had asked if the pink was the female of the carnation. They had all laughed at him so much that he had been afraid to ask any more questions. This had come out when Mr Birch told him that he must always ask if he did not know.

Mr Birch listened gravely. Then he said: ‘We all have to learn at some time. It is no disgrace not to know. You must always ask if you don’t understand anything. Never be afraid that I would laugh. There are so many things I myself don’t know. And so it is with all of us.’

Yes, thought Bertie, Vicky did not know everything; nor did Mama; nor even Papa.

He began to look forward to lessons. He ceased to stammer. He no longer wanted to throw books at windows. He was happy.

Mr Birch had changed everything, and Bertie loved Mr Birch.