brothers and cousins by marriage. But he is coming down to see you at Christmas: you must tell him your concerns then.’
Robert refrained from saying that by then it would be too late – Luoland would either be in flames or it would not, and Lansdowne’s problems with Germany would be insuperable or they would not. He had done what he could. He would take Ponsonby’s lead and talk about lighter matters. He said he could only hope the shooting would be good enough for the King: the foxes had been very lively in the Spring and had wreaked havoc amongst the nesting birds.
Ponsonby said that was not a matter of great concern. The King would get his fill of good bags at Sandringham at the beginning of December when he and Alexandra celebrated their birthdays: he would not be in a competitive mood: His Majesty just hoped to spend some pleasant and relaxing hours with Mrs Keppel, before returning to the bosom of his family for Christmas. Robert was quite taken aback. It was one thing to be friends with a monarch, another to find that friendship used as a cover for clandestine arrangements. It would certainly not be prudent to repeat the remark to Isobel. She was so taken up with the matter of a weekend four months in the future that she seemed to have entirely lost her sense of humour.
‘But I like Dilberne Court as it is,’ he’d protested, ‘shabby and old-fashioned. What you have done to Belgrave Square is the talk of London Society. Can’t you leave it at that?’
She could not. He resented it. He was a busy man. He needed peace and familiarity not continuous novelty. Wherever he looked in Belgrave Square there seemed to be swatches of fabric or reams of wallpaper and strange etiolated young men discussing the advantages of one and the disadvantages of the other. Dilberne Court was even worse. Familiar walls would suddenly not be there at all: what had once been a dressing room was now a bathroom. She had already told him she meant to put the King in one wing and the Keppels in another.
‘Dilberne is a family home,’ she’d said. ‘I simply do not want any of the creeping-down-corridors-in-the-middle-of-the-night behaviour that used to go on in the fast set. There was no way I might simply refuse the Keppels, of course, once you had seen fit to invite the King in the way that you did, but if they are here together, that’s that.’
He said he hoped she might reconsider: he doubted that much ‘went on’ down the corridors these days other than conversation with old friends and relaxation: the King was not a young man, nor an agile one. But her Ladyship would not relent.
‘I will not be party to it, and nor should you,’ she said. ‘To place them near together is to invite the staff to gossip.’
Isobel had been much unsettled, Robert surmised, by Rosina’s sudden return from the Antipodes and her equally sudden departure from Belgrave Square. What exactly had gone on between his wife and their daughter she would not tell him in detail. Enough that Rosina had ‘behaved quite dreadfully’. It had involved Rosina’s ruddy parrot, that much was clear: dreadful bird – and a book Rosina had written while away on the habits of the Australian aboriginals. Robert thought Isobel worried unnecessarily: it was unlikely to find a publisher – who would be interested? He was sorry to have missed Rosina – but she was in good health and spirits enough to defy her mother, and to all accounts well provided for. She would turn up again when she saw fit. He had other things to worry about.
When he had been in Fisheries, he reflected, his family and their troubles had preoccupied him. Now he was in the Colonial Office and responsible for the fate of millions, he had less patience with their problems. Power was a mixed blessing. Great men were seldom sentimental men.
In the meanwhile Ponsonby was talking to him about protecting the Monarch. Now his Lordship had a minute or two to spare, due to the unexpected
Robert refrained from saying that by then it would be too late – Luoland would either be in flames or it would not, and Lansdowne’s problems with Germany would be insuperable or they would not. He had done what he could. He would take Ponsonby’s lead and talk about lighter matters. He said he could only hope the shooting would be good enough for the King: the foxes had been very lively in the Spring and had wreaked havoc amongst the nesting birds.
Ponsonby said that was not a matter of great concern. The King would get his fill of good bags at Sandringham at the beginning of December when he and Alexandra celebrated their birthdays: he would not be in a competitive mood: His Majesty just hoped to spend some pleasant and relaxing hours with Mrs Keppel, before returning to the bosom of his family for Christmas. Robert was quite taken aback. It was one thing to be friends with a monarch, another to find that friendship used as a cover for clandestine arrangements. It would certainly not be prudent to repeat the remark to Isobel. She was so taken up with the matter of a weekend four months in the future that she seemed to have entirely lost her sense of humour.
‘But I like Dilberne Court as it is,’ he’d protested, ‘shabby and old-fashioned. What you have done to Belgrave Square is the talk of London Society. Can’t you leave it at that?’
She could not. He resented it. He was a busy man. He needed peace and familiarity not continuous novelty. Wherever he looked in Belgrave Square there seemed to be swatches of fabric or reams of wallpaper and strange etiolated young men discussing the advantages of one and the disadvantages of the other. Dilberne Court was even worse. Familiar walls would suddenly not be there at all: what had once been a dressing room was now a bathroom. She had already told him she meant to put the King in one wing and the Keppels in another.
‘Dilberne is a family home,’ she’d said. ‘I simply do not want any of the creeping-down-corridors-in-the-middle-of-the-night behaviour that used to go on in the fast set. There was no way I might simply refuse the Keppels, of course, once you had seen fit to invite the King in the way that you did, but if they are here together, that’s that.’
He said he hoped she might reconsider: he doubted that much ‘went on’ down the corridors these days other than conversation with old friends and relaxation: the King was not a young man, nor an agile one. But her Ladyship would not relent.
‘I will not be party to it, and nor should you,’ she said. ‘To place them near together is to invite the staff to gossip.’
Isobel had been much unsettled, Robert surmised, by Rosina’s sudden return from the Antipodes and her equally sudden departure from Belgrave Square. What exactly had gone on between his wife and their daughter she would not tell him in detail. Enough that Rosina had ‘behaved quite dreadfully’. It had involved Rosina’s ruddy parrot, that much was clear: dreadful bird – and a book Rosina had written while away on the habits of the Australian aboriginals. Robert thought Isobel worried unnecessarily: it was unlikely to find a publisher – who would be interested? He was sorry to have missed Rosina – but she was in good health and spirits enough to defy her mother, and to all accounts well provided for. She would turn up again when she saw fit. He had other things to worry about.
When he had been in Fisheries, he reflected, his family and their troubles had preoccupied him. Now he was in the Colonial Office and responsible for the fate of millions, he had less patience with their problems. Power was a mixed blessing. Great men were seldom sentimental men.
In the meanwhile Ponsonby was talking to him about protecting the Monarch. Now his Lordship had a minute or two to spare, due to the unexpected
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