The Prince had come close to death and there was nothing like death for enhancing popularity and as Mr Disraeli commented: ‘To have come closer to death and lived was an even greater achievement than to have died.’
The royalty question had become much less acute.
So it would be very pleasing to the people if William Jenner was gazetted as K.C.B. and Dr Gull was made a baronet.
That was not all. There must be a thanksgiving service, said her ministers.
Bertie had recovered and by the end of February the ceremony was to take place. The people lined the streets to cheer and cry ‘God Save the Queen’ and ‘God Bless the Prince of Wales’. It was very affecting, said the Queen and most fitting and it showed that however much the people were led astray by wicked people who wrote scurrilous pamphlets and disgraceful scoundrels like Sir Charles Dilke who called for a Republic to replace the Monarchy, the people themselves were ready to show their loyalty.
Seated next to Bertie, who still looked pale, and considerably thinner which moved the people deeply, they came through Temple Bar. Behind her on the box was John Brown, looking very handsome and very efficient, keeping a watchful eye on the crowds. ‘I dinna trust these southerners,’ he had told her.
‘Good old Teddy,’ roared the crowd.
And on impulse, her eyes full of tears of gratitude for his survival, she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. It was the right gesture. The crowd roared its approval. The Queen was human. She was a mother rejoicing that her son who had come to the grave was with her once more.
It was very dark in the Cathedral but the service was moving and when it was over they drove once more through the streets.
Mr Gladstone was pleased. This was the sort of ceremony that the people loved and moreover expected from its royalty.
The next day the Queen was riding in her carriage with Prince Arthur, and Brown as usual on the box, when a young man stepped off the pavement and pointed a pistol at her.
It was not a new experience for the Queen although it was some time since the last attempt had been made on her life.
Arthur cried: ‘My God!’ and tried to leap from the carriage; but someone was there before him. The ever-watchful Brown had seen the young man raise his arm and with one bound he was off the box and he had the offender in his grasp.
The Queen could not take her eyes from that stalwart figure on whom she believed she could rely as she could on no one else. What should I do without him? she asked herself. And now he had saved her life.
The Queen lay on her bed, trembling slightly. It could so easily have happened. This was the sixth time an attempt had been made on her life. Could she go on hoping that they would continue to be unsuccessful? How alert Brown was where her safety was concerned! Of course Arthur had tried to seize the man but Brown was there before him. Who knew, if Brown had not been there, Arthur’s efforts might have been too late.
The Prime Minister called. She did not ask him to sit down in her presence. That was a very special favour reserved for a minister who was also a friend. It had never been offered to Mr Gladstone, although Lord Melbourne had arrived at the stage when he took the familiarity as a matter of course and did not always ask her permission. Even on an occasion like this when she had narrowly escaped from death Mr Gladstone put on his speaker-at-a-public-meeting attitude and although he expressed concern at what had happened he was not moved as Mr Disraeli or Lord Melbourne would have been.
The pistol, he told her, had been unloaded and the young man who had pointed it at her was mentally deficient. When questioned he had babbled about frightening the Queen into freeing Fenian prisoners. He was, of course, Irish, and his name was Arthur O’Connor.
‘Those Irish!’ cried the Queen. ‘What trouble they make.’
Later when she heard that O’Connor had been sentenced to a year’s imprisonment she was alarmed. ‘What when he comes out?’ she demanded. ‘Has it occurred to people that he might make another attempt and this time be successful? Could he not be transported?’
As it was the understandably fervent desire of the Queen that O’Connor should be transported, the government offered him the opportunity of leaving the country and paid his passage money so the Queen had nothing more to fear from the dull-witted O’Connor.
There was one who had come out of the affair with honours. This, she said in secret glee, is a vindication. What did Bertie, Vicky and Alfred think now of the man of whom they had been so critical? They had to admit that John Brown had saved their mother’s life and they should be eternally grateful to that good and faithful man.
If they weren’t, she was.
Bertie, however, when she discussed the matter with him, replied that Brown did his duty, he would agree to that; but that was what he was employed for.
‘My dear Bertie,’ cried the Queen, ‘you should have seen the manner in which he leapt from the box and tackled that wicked young man.’
‘Arthur did the same.’
‘Arthur tried to protect me, yes. But Brown was there before him. Why, had the pistol been loaded it could have been fired before Arthur grasped the would-be assassin’s arm.’
‘Before Brown did too, had it been loaded,’ added Bertie. ‘But, Mama, do not let us consider such a terrible possibility.’
‘It is a possibility ever present where royalty is concerned,’ replied the Queen. ‘It has happened to me before and I feel some small consolation in the fact that all those who have had the desire to kill me have been mad.’
‘Pray do not talk of such a thing, Mama,’ said Bertie with real feeling which was touching, particularly as he looked so pale and so much thinner after his illness.
‘My dearest child,’ she said tenderly, ‘I believe you are glad that I have been spared.’
Bertie kissed her hand and the tears came to her eyes. Bertie was really good in many ways.
‘I am going to give good faithful Brown a gold medal commemorating the occasion and twenty-five pounds a year shall be added to his salary.’
‘A very excellent reward for doing his duty,’ said Bertie. ‘And you will let Arthur know how much you appreciate his efforts.’
‘I am having a gold pin made for him.’
The Prince of Wales raised his eyebrows. A gold pin was not very much when set beside a gold medal, the Queen’s effusive thanks and praises, plus twenty-five pounds a year.
As the Prince said to Alix: ‘This affair has made Mama even more besotted over that man Brown.’
Chapter XVII
DEATH, A BETROTHAL AND THE RETURN OF DIZZY
The Queen had grave news from her stepsister Feodora, whose health was far from good.
‘Dearest sister,’ wrote Feodora, ‘how I long to see you. Sometimes I feel that there may not be many more opportunities.’
Such sentiments touched the Queen deeply.
Mr Gladstone thought it was not the time to leave the country. Royalty was enjoying a wave of popularity occasioned by the Prince’s recent illness and the action of Arthur O’Connor.
Both Queen and Prince could have been lost to the nation and since they had not been, they were appreciated. Now was the time to enhance that popularity.
How unsympathetically expressed! How unfeeling! Poor Mrs Gladstone, how could she cope with marriage to such a man! How different was dear Mr Disraeli, who was looking so forlorn these days! She knew the reason. His dear wife was growing more and more ill every day and he knew it.