The Cadet Corps was, of course, well to the front on the occasion of Their Royal Highnesses’ visit, and I must say that for the first time I was glad it was so ornamental. My boys looked very handsome on horseback in their white achkans, blue belts, and turbans of white, blue, and gold.
The Maharajah, who was in the prime of life, now suddenly lost his splendid health. He had become very thin, and began to look ill, which alarmed us very much, and we decided to go to England and consult the best specialists. In May, 1910, when we arrived in Bombay, the papers were full of startling rumours about the health of King Edward; we already knew from private sources that His Majesty was ill. Just as we were going on board the steamer the news arrived that our beloved Sovereign was dead. We were filled with dismay and sorrow, and I feared the effect the blow would have upon my dear husband in his weak state. The Maharajah had been so specially honoured with the late King’s friendship that he lamented his Sovereign more as a beloved friend than as a great King.
The harbour at Bombay looked most solemn and funereal with the flags all half-mast high, and as I said farewell to those left behind I felt terribly sad. The voyage was most gloomy, and I remember that every one discussed the fateful Halley’s comet which it was supposed might destroy the earth about the time we should be approaching the coast of Italy. I, woman-like, was nervous at the prospect when I heard it so definitely announced. “My goodness!” I gasped, “we shall all be burnt to death.” The Maharajah turned to me with his loving smile: “What does it matter, my dear? I’ll hold your little hand and we’ll die together.”
As we neared the end of the voyage, we discovered we should not be in time to attend our Emperor’s funeral. The Maharajah felt this very much, as he had been most anxious to be present and pay his last tribute of respect to his beloved Sovereign. When we reached London how sad everything was; although the funeral was over the shadow of loss was still there. The sight of a nation’s grief is overpowering, especially when, as in this case, it is truly sincere.
We stayed at the Hotel Cecil, and my husband received an unofficial intimation that he might go to Windsor and see the last resting-place of the late King. I cannot be thankful enough for the kind thought or sufficiently grateful that we were allowed to pay this last tribute of respect to our friend and Sovereign. My husband and I, my brother Profulla, and one of the A.D.C.s went by motor. It was a sad journey. As I saw the grey towers of Windsor Castle my mind went back to that bright day, years ago, when I paid my first visit there. Time brings changes, and I realised it then. We were received by a dignitary of the Church, whose name escapes my memory, and he led the way to the Royal vault under St. George’s Chapel. We descended a flight of stone steps. A door was thrown open and we entered. King Edward’s coffin was lying on a raised stone slab in the middle of the vault. A prie-dieu stood near it. I knelt down and burying my face in my hands offered up a fervent prayer. My husband knelt too, and as he prayed he wept. It was touching to see the big man grieving for his King. We placed on the coffin the wreath of orchids we had brought with us. I had written a few words in Bengali on the card attached to it, which translated were:
“With tears of sorrow we present you this, our so Beloved Peacemaker. Your work is accomplished.”
The journey back to town was sad. We hardly spoke, for our thoughts were of our dear King in his last resting-place; never again should we see him.
A few weeks later, I received a message that Queen Alexandra wished to see me at Buckingham Palace. The late Lady Suffield welcomed me, and after a few minutes the Queen entered the room.
She was in deepest black, and I thought she looked more spirituelle and lovelier than ever in her mourning. The Queen kissed me and told me to come and sit near her. I felt I could have fallen at her feet and wept as I listened to her simple sad words about her great sorrow and her love for her husband. There was no bitter rebellion against Fate in the Queen’s words, but resignation, hope and perfect faith.