‘Why did they tell you and not me?’
‘I am the eldest,’ said Ernest.
Albert sprang to his feet in sudden anger and Ernest said quickly: ‘No, I’m teasing. It was because they feared it might upset you. They told me to break it to you gently.’
‘They didn’t … kill her.’
‘Kill her! What a notion! She had been ill for years.’
‘They should have told us.’
‘Of course they shouldn’t.’
‘She was too young to die.’
‘She was thirty-two and she was very ill.’
‘She would have been thinking of us at the end, Ernest.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘But of course she would. We were her sons.’
‘We couldn’t have been important to her or she wouldn’t have left us.’
‘She didn’t want to leave us. I am sure she cried and cried.’
‘Everyone doesn’t turn on the tears like you did, Albert.’
‘She loved us.’
‘You were the favourite.’
‘I know,’ said Albert softly.
‘Well, she’s dead and she was unfaithful to our father. That was very wicked and she had to take her punishment.’
Albert was silent. She had been wicked, he admitted; and because of that, she had left them. What a terrible thing wickedness was! Every time he looked at a woman he would think of the wickedness which had separated him from her and had brought her to her sad and lonely death.
‘She lived in Paris,’ said Ernest, ‘which we all know is a very wicked city.’
Albert shivered, but Ernest had jumped to his feet.
‘Come on,’ he said, his relief obvious because his duty was done.
But Albert could find no pleasure in the forest that day. His thoughts were far away in the past with his beautiful mother; he could not get out of his mind the belief that temptation was lurking everywhere and if succumbed to could ruin lives. He would never forget what had happened to his beloved mother who had become a bad woman. Wickedness had its roots in that subject which Ernest found so interesting but which filled him with abhorrence: the relationship between the sexes.
Death was in the air that year. Grandmama Saxe-Coburg did not pay her usual visit to Rosenau, nor was she well enough for the boys to visit her. Duke Ernest was called to her bedside one day and the boys stood at the window watching him and his little party ride away. ‘They say she is very sick,’ said Ernest. ‘And she is old.’ Albert shivered. But one did not have to be old to die. He was thinking of his mother as he had last seen her and now when he thought of her he must imagine her lying in a coffin … dead. And the nails which were driven into that coffin were like her sins.
It was impossible to imagine never seeing Grandmama Saxe-Coburg again; Albert kept thinking of how she had looked after him and had meant more and more to him since his mother had gone.
Each day he waited at the window for a sign of the returning party. He would know as soon as he saw them what news they had brought. Ernest would stand silently beside him while they both watched the road.
‘Perhaps Father will bring Grandmama back with him,’ suggested Albert.
‘How could he if she were very ill?’ demanded Ernest.
‘Perhaps she is not so ill. Perhaps she has recovered. If she comes back I will sing my newest song to her and I am sure she will like it.’
Then they began to talk of what they would do to entertain Grandmama Saxe-Coburg when she came to Rosenau to get well.
And one day they saw their father returning and they knew that he came in mourning.
He sent for Albert and when his son stood before him he laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
‘She was my mother and your grandmother,’ said the Duke, ‘and she has gone from us now. It is a great sorrow for us all. And you perhaps more than any one of us. You were her favourite.’
The tears flowed down Albert’s cheeks; he brought out a handkerchief and dried them.
‘Death is terrible,’ said Albert.
‘That is at least a lesson you have learned, my boy.’
‘Only a little while ago she was well and there was no sign that she was going to leave us.’
‘These things happen, my son. She was not young and she would say that she had lived her life. But I have sent for you because she talked of you particularly at the end.’
‘What did she say of me, Father?’
‘She said she had every confidence in you. She said you had good moral qualities and she believed you would grow into a good man.’
‘It shall be my earnest endeavour to do that, Father. I want to be both good and useful in the world.’
‘She was ambitious for you, Albert. There is not much here for you. You are a second son. A good marriage is what you need. It was her dearest wish that you should marry your cousin. I hope that wish will be fulfilled.’
‘If my cousin is agreeable I shall be.’
The Duke laid his hand on his son’s shoulder again.
‘Always remember that it was the wish of your grandmother – her last wish.’
Albert swore solemnly that he would.
The brothers were going on a journey and they were very excited because it would be the first time they had left Germany.
After the bustle of preparation and many excited conferences they set out with a very small entourage.
‘It’s all I can afford,’ said the Duke, ‘and my brother Leopold will have to understand that.’
At least Herr Florschütz was with them, for lessons would continue as usual and that very useful gentleman did service as an attendant as well as tutor.
It was very interesting travelling through the little German States and visiting relatives en route. The changing scenery was a constant delight to the brothers and they were able to collect many unusual pieces of rock and stones for their museum; stopping at inns was a great novelty and it was an adventure to mix with ordinary people, particularly when they were sometimes incognito and at others those they met had never heard of the Coburg Princes.
What a pleasure it was to be reunited with Uncle Leopold, whom Albert had never forgotten. Indeed Uncle Leopold had not intended to be forgotten. He wrote frequently to members of his family, especially to those whom he considered to be his protégés and Albert was certainly one of these. Although a younger member of the family he had long placed himself at its head and was already busy arranging possible unions for every marriageable young Coburg.
Uncle Leopold, very good-looking, in fact not unlike Albert himself, very careful of his clothes – he liked to consider himself the best-dressed King in Europe – rather vain, wearing three-inch soles on his boots to increase his height, victim of numerous not very clearly defined illnesses, had such an assured high opinion of himself that his nephews felt it must be well deserved. Such was Leopold – warm-hearted it seemed, overflowing with affection, displaying a great dignity and making sure that everyone observed it; the most distinguished member of a family which he had determined was going to straddle Europe. From the moment of the meeting he and Albert were immediately aware of an accord which the less sensitive Ernest could not intrude upon. Albert was Leopold’s boy, and Leopold immediately decided that he was his favourite nephew. There was only one member of his family who could bring a warmer glow to his scheming avuncular heart and that was the little niece now living at Kensington Palace – Alexandrina Victoria.