We had inhabited a suburban-looking villa on the road to Farnborough during the absence of Sir Redvers, not wishing to disturb the anxious watcher at Government House, and very often we saw the Empress, just as in the old days. She told us the dear Queen was very ill, far worse than the world was allowed to know. My husband had always said the war would kill her, for she had taken our losses cruelly to heart, and so it happened on January 22nd, 1901. The resumed Devonport Diary says:
“A day ever to be marked in English history as a day of mourning. Our Queen is dead. At dinner S. brought us the news that she passed away at 6.30 this afternoon. We were prepared for it, but it seems like a dream. To us who have been born and have lived all our lives under her sovereignty it is difficult to realise that she is gone.
“January 23rd, 1901.—A dull gloomy day, punctuated by 81 minute guns, which began booming at noon. All the royal standards and flags hanging half-mast in the fog, on land and afloat.
“January 24th.—At noon-day all standards and flags were run up to the masthead, and a quick thunder of guns proclaimed the accession of Edward VII. At the end the band on board the guardship Nile struck up ‘God Save the King.’ The flags will all be lowered again until the day after Queen Victoria is laid to rest. Edward VII.! How strange it sounds, and how events and changes are rolling down upon us every hour now. Albert Edward will be a greater man as Edward VII.
“February 5th.—The Queen was buried to-day beside her husband at Frogmore. It is inexpressibly touching to think of them side by side again. Model wife and mother, how many of your women subjects have strayed away, of late, from those virtues which you were true to to the last!
“February 16th.—There is great indignation amongst us Catholics at Edward VII. having been called upon to take the oath at the opening of Parliament which savours so much of the darkest days of ‘No Popery’ bigotry. I think it might have been modified by this time, and the lies about ‘idolatry’ and the ‘worship’ of the Virgin Mary eliminated. Could not the King have had strength of mind enough to refuse to insult his Catholic subjects? I know he must have deeply disliked to pronounce those words.
“August 6th.—Again the flags to-day are at half-mast, and so is the royal standard, and this time, on the men-of-war, it is the German flag! The Empress Frederick died yesterday.” I never mentioned at the time of our visit to the Connaughts at Bagshot, when we were first at Aldershot, a touching incident concerning her. Sir William sat next to her at dinner, and, à propos of a really fine still-life picture painted by her, which hung over the dining-room door in the hall, he asked her whether she still kept up her painting. “No,” she said, “I have cried myself blind!” What with one Empress crying as though her heart would break in speaking to him that time at Camden Place and this Empress telling him she had cried herself blind——! The illness and death of the Kaiser Frederick must have been a period of great anguish.
During this summer I was very busy with my picture of the “10th Bengal Lancers at Tent Pegging,” a subject requiring much sunshine study, which I have already mentioned.
In September, Lord Roberts—“the miniature Field Marshal,” as I call him in the Diary—came down on inspection, and great were the doings in his honour. “How will this little figure stand in history? Will’s well-planned defence against a night attack from the sea came off very well this dark still night, though the navy were nearly an hour late. There was too much waiting, but when, at last, the enemy torpedo boats and destroyers appeared, the whole Sound was bordered with such a zone of fire that, had it been real war, not a rivet of the invader’s flotilla would have been left in possession of its hold. ‘Bobs’ must have been gratified at to-night’s display, which he reviewed from Stonehouse.
“Our Roberts dinner was of twenty-two covers, and the only women were Lady Charles Scott, myself and C. A guard of honour was at the front door, and presented arms as the Field Marshal arrived, the band playing. He certainly is diminutive. A nice face, soldierlike, and a natural manner. With him that too jocose Evelyn Wood and others. ‘Bobs,’ of course, took me in to dinner, and, on my left, Lord Charles Scott took in C. Will took in Lady Charles. The others—Lord Mount Edgcumbe, H.S.H. Prince Louis of Battenberg (in command of the Implacable), Admiral Jackson, and so forth—subsided into their places according to seniority. Every man in blue or red except one rifleman. Soft music during dinner and two bars of the National Anthem before the still unfamiliar ‘The King, God bless him!’ at dessert. Will still feels a little—I don’t know how to express it—of the mental hesitation before changing ‘the Queen’ which he felt so strongly at first. He was very truly attached to her. I was back in the drawing-room in good time to receive the crowd, who came in a continuous flow, all with an expectant smile, to pay homage to the Lion. I don’t think I forgot anybody’s name (coached by the A.D.C.) in all those introductions, but that item of my duties is a thing I dread. I never saw people in such good humour at any social function before. We certainly do love to honour our soldiers. But, all the time, things are not going too well with us in the war!