The Grand Duchess of Nowhere (6 page)

By the time I got back to London, Cyril had already left for Devonport. He had orders for Malta and then on to India. Perhaps our trains had crossed. I’d so hoped to see him again, to reassure him that I hadn’t killed Grandma Queen. I had it all planned. I’d tell him I’d never give up and he’d promise to wait for me until every obstacle had been overcome. Then we’d kiss and perhaps exchange locks of hair. It would have kept me going until we could be together again.

But Cyril was gone, and I was in trouble. Grandma’s report of what had passed between us had travelled faster than my train. She had sent a wire to Pa and the cat was out of the bag.

When I got to Clarence House, Mother was waiting to pounce.

‘So!’ she said. ‘This was your idea of a pleasant visit to your grandmamma? Now we have telegrams arriving every five minutes and one of them I was not even permitted to read. Why? One dreads to think. Has Her Majesty criticised me? Your father seems very ready to. Why? Am I the one demanding to undo vows made before God? Where am I to blame?’

I said, ‘You were the one who chose Ernie for me.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I saw it would never work. It was clear from the way Ernie delayed and dragged his feet that he didn’t want you, but your father would interfere. He would go behind my back. Well,
now let him deal with this unpleasantness. He’s in the library. He wishes to speak to you.’

Of course Pa didn’t at all wish to speak to me but he was under instructions from Mother to bring me to my senses. Poor Pa, squeezed between his mother and Queen, and his wife. It was a little early for a sundowner but there was a distinct smell of brandy about him so I think he’d taken a stiffener or two while he waited for my return.

He had Grandma Queen’s messages before him and, not being sure how to begin, he just quoted from them at random.

Greatly distressed. Marriage sacred. Duty before happiness. Death would be preferable.

I said, ‘I wonder whose death she means? Grandma Queen is seventy-eight and I’m nearly twenty-one, so I’ll just make sure to outlive her. Once Uncle Bertie Wales is King, I’ll be able to have my divorce. I don’t think he’ll prevent it.’

Pa made a noise. It was difficult to be sure but I interpreted it as a bronchitic concession that there was truth in what I said.

I said, ‘And it’s really such a farce. Do you know what I learned just this week? That Grandpa in Heaven’s mama was divorced. I wish I’d thought to mention that to Grandma.’

‘Long ago now, of course,’ Pa said. ‘All dead and gone. Still, least said the better. Who told you about that?’

‘Aunt Louise.’

‘Ah,’ Pa said. ‘Louise. Always a stirrer. I suppose she’s been egging you on.’

I said, ‘Not at all. She’s worried I’ll be sent to a convent. But Pa, the thing is, Grandpa in Heaven’s mother’s divorce wasn’t the end of the world. Coburg still prospered. Grandma still married Grandpa. It sounds to me as though the only person who suffered was Grandpa’s mother, not being permitted to see her children ever
again. But I know Ernie would never be so cruel. He’ll always let me see Elli.’

I wasn’t sure if our conversation was over. I sensed not, but Pa’s eye kept wandering in the direction of the decanter so I poured him a generous measure and myself a smaller one. He cleared his throat.

‘Your mother,’ he said, ‘has brought to my notice the name of Cyril Vladimirovich.’

I said, ‘Yes. I love him. I always did. And he loves me.’

‘He’s declared himself?’

‘Yes. He just doesn’t wish to be the cause of any difficulties.’

‘Bit late for that. We’re now beset by difficulties. What’s to be done? Her Majesty is very disappointed in you. Your esteemed mother is disappointed in both of us. I’m to blame, apparently. Buggered if I know why. If it rains tomorrow that will no doubt be my fault too.’

I said, ‘Are you disappointed in me?’

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Champion girl. One is simply rather feeling the heat of female fury. Cyril Vladimirovich. Hardly know the fellow myself but he always seems rather pleased with himself. Stand-offish. What kind of man is he? Does he sail?’

‘He’s in the Navy.’

‘That’s something. Russian Navy, of course, but still. Is he a good shot?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Pretty basic information, Ducky. I mean, are you quite sure about this? Now, his brother one could understand. Boris. Very well-favoured, so the ladies seem to think. Good value over the port too. He can tell a joke.’

Everyone said that. Boris was handsomer, Boris was funnier. As though one chose a husband like a pair of shoes. Oh, but these have a bow, these have a prettier heel.

I said, ‘Ernie’s well-favoured and funny. It doesn’t make him a good husband.’

‘No,’ Pa said. ‘Well, the material point is this: Her Majesty has spoken. There can be no question of a divorce so you must, how can I put this? You must wait on future events. Wait for the watch to change, hmm? In the meanwhile, make the best of a bad job, as have many before you. And you know, with time your feelings may change. Ernie might surprise you.’

I said, ‘Ernie has already surprised me.’

Pa flushed and said there was no need to go into All That.

‘Damned shame too,’ he said. ‘It’s handy having you in Darmstadt. Bloody Russia. I shouldn’t like to think of you ever going so far away.’

He had tears in his eyes, but as it turned out Pa didn’t have to endure my going to Bloody Russia. I didn’t see Cyril again for two whole years, but he wrote to me and little by little his letters grew warmer and more daring. He knew Ernie couldn’t have cared less. I paid a price though for having declared my feelings. Mother ran a very thorough campaign to keep Cyril from me. He wasn’t invited to any family gathering that I was likely to attend and I received no invitations to Vladimirovichi events. But there was a limit to Mother’s powers. She might prevent me from seeing Cyril but not from hearing about him. When the family gathered to celebrate Pa and Mother’s silver wedding anniversary, there were certain people she was obliged to invite. Cyril’s parents, for instance. Grand Duke Uncle Vladimir and Aunt Miechen.

*

The very moment they arrived in Coburg, Aunt Miechen made a point of taking me to one side to give me news of Cyril. He was on exercises in the Black Sea, he was very well, and he always mentioned me in his letters.

‘Darling Ducky,’ she said. ‘What a horrid mess this is. And I should so have loved to have you as a daughter-in-law.’

She brought other news too. Sunny was expecting again.

‘She hardly leaves her bedroom,’ Aunt Miechen said. ‘Quite the invalid. It’s too boring. There’s no Court life at all. We’re all praying she has a boy this time, then we can look forward to a decent Imperial ball or two.’

Sunny’s indisposition may have spared her from hosting Imperial balls but it wasn’t preventing her from testing other powers. Her campaign to have Grand Duke Uncle Paul banished looked likely to succeed. Olga Pistohlkors had had his baby and Uncle Paul had therefore crossed a line too far. He was being urged to leave Russia quietly before Emperor Nicky actually banished him.

Aunt Miechen said, ‘Sunny’s only being so shrewish about it because Paul’s new child is a boy. It’s sheer jealousy. After all the sadness he’s endured, I’m sure nobody thinks any the worse of him for taking happiness where he finds it. Where’s Paul in the succession? Nowhere to speak of. He should be allowed to marry Olga and left in peace. If Pistohlkors is willing to let his wife go, what business is it of Sunny’s?’

I said, ‘It doesn’t augur well for me and Cyril, does it?’

‘Never worry about Cyril,’ she said. ‘When the time comes he’ll do what he wants to do. No son of mine will be intimidated by that sourpuss.’

My aunt has quite often been proved wrong.

Mother said, ‘I saw your tête-à-tête with Miechen. I hope she hasn’t been encouraging you in your silliness.’

*

Pa and Mother’s wedding anniversary celebrations were held at Schloss Friedenstein in Gotha. The guest accommodations there
were better than those at Coburg. When Ernie and I arrived, Missy and Nando were already installed. Missy was waiting for us in the front hall.

‘Thank heavens you’re here,’ she said. ‘Affie’s not at all well.’

Those were her first words to me.

‘Too much hock,’ Mother said. ‘He should go for a good brisk walk. But no one ever listens to me.’

Missy rolled her eyes. I followed her upstairs and went to see Affie at once.

He had the curtains closed. There was deep snow outside and the light hurt his eyes. He was up and dressed but just sitting like a lump, doing nothing.

‘Hello, sis,’ he said. ‘Excuse me if I don’t get up. Bit of an off day. Can’t seem to get going.’

The doctors had prescribed bed rest and milk puddings and absolutely no strong drink. The official diagnosis was nervous debility. Pa thought he’d been Overdoing It. In Pa’s world there were only two conditions men suffered from. Overdoing It and Being in Need of a Strong Dose.

More guests arrived. A buffet supper was served, a string quartet sawed its way dutifully through an hour of Haydn, and Missy smuggled a half bottle of Sekt into the sickroom. Early the following morning Affie shot himself. He slightly missed his aim. As in life, so in death. What did I know about my brother? He went to school in Potsdam, at the Military Academy. I suppose he had friends there but he never brought any of them home. He was meant to marry Elsa Württemburg, but she changed her mind and Affie appeared not to care one way or the other. He rode well, he was a hopeless dancer, he enjoyed a drink, he had no conversation. That’s all I can say. Did he mind being the only boy, did he mind having four sisters? Not especially. I don’t think Affie ever thought about that,
or anything else. Missy thinks he went with girls who showed him a good time. I hope she’s right.

*

Pa asked the menfolk to assemble quietly in the billiard room. Affie’s doctor wished to address them.

Missy said, ‘Why just the men? I don’t see what this is to do with Ernie and Nando? Ducky and I want to hear what the doctor has to say. Affie is our brother.’

Mother said, ‘What did I ever do to deserve such disobedient children? If Dr Moller says this is for men’s ears only who are you to argue with him? I dare say anyway he’d have expected my daughters to be busily attending to
my
needs. And as for your brother, this is so typical of his thoughtlessness. Of all the days to have a mishap with a gun. It’s far too late to cancel tonight’s dinner.’

*

Ernie came back from the billiard room quite shaken.

He said, ‘Things are pretty bad, Ducky. According to Moller Affie’s rather botched things. Better really if you don’t see him.’

Missy and I went in anyway. His head was entirely bandaged. He couldn’t speak. I think his jaw was shot away. We told him we loved him. We told him to buck up.

Chairs, candelabra and floral arrangements were being carried in ready for the anniversary dinner. Mother and Pa weren’t speaking. Mother had told Dr Moller to take Affie away, to Merano, for a water cure. Dr Moller advised that Affie shouldn’t be moved. Pa slumped in a wing chair all day smoking and declaring it to be a hopeless case. At the time we thought he meant Affie’s head wound but looking back I think he meant himself too, and life in general.

Mother had her way. The anniversary dinner was eaten, followed by an hour or two of joyless dancing, and Affie was spirited
away to Merano. Within a week he was dead. We were required to say that he had lost a long and valiant fight against consumption though it was generally known that the instrument of his death was a Rast-Gasser service revolver. He was twenty-four years old. It was all too stupid.

They brought him back to Coburg to be buried. I never saw Pa so broken and grey. Mother too, though I felt less sympathy for her. Affie hadn’t been right for years but Mother would never have it. It was simply a matter of too much hock. Nothing that fresh air wouldn’t cure. And then to send him to Merano, jolting over those mountain roads when he had a bullet lodged in his brain.

What had his life amounted to? He’d never seemed particularly unhappy, but not happy either. Elli once found a frozen chrysalis in the garden at Dianaburg, a grub that would never turn into a moth and flutter out into the world. That was my brother, Affie.

Pa took his grief north to Mecklenburg, to sail. The sea was his consolation. Mother and I took Elli to England, to stay with Grandma Queen at Osborne House.

‘So you may mend some of the fences you’ve broken,’ Mother said. ‘I can’t stay in this house anyway. I keep thinking I hear Affie’s footsteps.’

But at Osborne the broken fences had disappeared and Grandma Queen was all sunshine. Affie’s death wasn’t mentioned and neither was my marriage to Ernie. Elli was declared to be the most beautiful of the great-grandchildren, which was certainly true, and a likely future bride for Georgie and May Wales’s son, David. Grandma Queen just couldn’t leave off her matchmaking.

When Her Majesty moved on to Balmoral in August it was expected we should all go with her, but I couldn’t face it. I asked Grandma Queen to excuse me.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You’ve been too long away from dear
Ernie. I understand. You see, Ducky? You’re learning. Marriage requires
application
.’

Elli and I were about to begin our long journey home when I received a telegram. Ernie was sick. It was almost certainly smallpox and he was being nursed in strict isolation. Elli had been vaccinated, I hadn’t. We set off anyway and when we reached Darmstadt the house was like a mortuary. Everyone spoke in whispers and moved about on muffled feet. A doctor met me at the door and told me Ernie lay at the very brink of the grave.

If Ernie had died it would have changed everything. A widow may certainly remarry, after a decent pause. Even Grandma Queen would have allowed that. And yet I prayed for Ernie to survive. Isn’t that odd? Perhaps I did it for Elli’s sake. And when I was eventually allowed to see him again, when the crisis was over and the risk of contagion had passed, I cried with relief. He was so thin and weak.