The Viceroy's Daughters (30 page)

From the moment of her arrival, Baba kept a diary of those historic two days.

I came here on Tuesday evening at six o'clock. I have never dreaded an arrival or visit more and would have given my fortune for the train never to stop. We were met by Ladbroke and an army of photographers. The arrival here was even more dispiriting and the castle is a rather ordinary and ugly example in quite nice grounds. Mr. Bedaux met us and we were shot down a spiral staircase with one very small bedroom, entirely Empire furniture. My heart sank and I wanted to scream and break everything.

Fruity, as best man, was put next to the duke on the ground floor, in a small suite that included a double bedroom with sitting room (occupied by the duke) with, beyond, a shared bathroom and Fruity's room.

Wallis appeared before long [continues Baba's diary]. Not having seen her for so long I had forgotten how unattractive her voice and manner of speaking are. Her looks ensure that in any room of only moderately pretty women she would always be by far the ugliest and her figure is thin, with absolutely no line . . . Wallis lost no time in explaining to me that she lived at the other end of the chateau to the Duke and he called it W1 and W2.

The rest of the party, Mrs. Merriman—Aunt Bessie—harmless old girl who must have had a stroke as half of her face doesn't function and her mouth is squidgways on. Mrs. Rogers—common, ordinary large-boned American. Herman, nice, quiet, efficient but unknowledgeable about what to give to the press, obviously knows nothing of England and world opinion. Mr. Bedaux and Mme. Bedaux are infinitely better than I expected. She is like a borzoi and is not at all common and he is brilliant and very articulate but unattractive. They are very retiring and might be guests. Wallis is paying the cheques. Dudley Forward [
sic
], the equerry very loyal to HRH and Wallis. We sat around and chatted in the library till HRH came in in his shirtsleeves from the office where he was competing with letters, telegrams and presents. He could not look better or be in better spirits. Outwardly he appears just the same as when I last saw him a year ago as King at the Fort.

That evening dinner (I sat between Alan the solicitor [George Allen, the Duke's solicitor] and HRH) went off very easily but one has no feeling of being at a unique occurrence or witnessing a page of history. I feel I'm passing the weekend in an ugly chateau with people (with the exception of HRH) who are unattractive and completely ignorant of what is happening and who I never want to see again. HRH is in marvellous form, obviously happy, much easier to talk to, has made not one allusion to England, family, staff or friends. Walter [Monckton] and he disappeared after dinner with Alan and we carried on desultory conversation till we went to bed. The telephone goes a lot and Herman makes dates to interview the press.

The list of presents is rather pathetic so far, only the Duke of Kent and one or two well-known names. He sees through Wallis's eyes, hears through her ears and speaks through her mouth. So far Kent and Gloucester are the only members of the family who have sent presents or letters.

 

(The Metcalfes had given the duchess an evening bag and the duke a St. Christopher medallion from Cartier. On the wedding day itself Fruity gave him a Cartier watch.)

This morning [June 2] the parson arrived, a gallant fellow called Jardine from Darlington. He wrote and offered to come as he felt that the way the marriage was being treated by the Church, bishops etc was appalling. HRH is so pleased to be having a religious ceremony. We found a chest suitable for an altar, put a lamé and lawn tablecloth of Wallis's round it and with the aid of Mrs. Spry's flowers it looked quite pretty. Cecil Beaton arrived to take photos. Herman Rogers was going to give a list of present givers to the press. Fruity got him to give up the idea. Bedaux, Aunt Bessie, Mrs. Rogers, Fruity and I went to lunch at Sembeaucy, a gargantuan meal. I like the Bedaux more and more, they have done fascinating trips and are very interesting. We fetched a cross for the altar from a local church.

The Reverend Robert Anderson Jardine, vicar of the village of Darlington, near Durham, had volunteered to take the service when he saw the headline: “No religious ceremony for the Duke of Windsor.”

At teatime Walter Monckton arrived; Baba found him charming. What her diary does not mention is that Monckton brought with him a letter from the king saying that although the duke, notwithstanding his Act of Abdication, was entitled to the style and title of His Royal Highness, his wife was not. Monckton had argued against this but, as the king had reminded Baldwin, once a person has become a Royal Highness there is no means of removing the title—and the royal family knew little of Mrs. Simpson save that this was her third marriage.

The duke was shattered. Although the words with which he received the news were temperate (“This is a nice wedding present”) it was a wound that festered for the rest of his life and, more than anything else, poisoned his relationship with his family—in part because he simply could not understand that abdication meant the complete renunciation of former powers and privileges.

Letters and telegrams pour in [continues Baba's diary]. Both Wallis and HRH appear very unrattled. She curtseys to him and calls him “Sir” and rises slightly when he comes into a room. I gather he understood fairly well his staff, Joey etc not coming but took Perry's [Lord Brownlow, one of the duke's oldest friends] backout the worst. Her not being made HRH was much the worst blow. At dinner last night they implied that a visit to America was in the offing and Dudley mentioned Paris in the autumn. Both would be mad.

I've never seen him happier or less nervous but try with all one's might and main when looking at her one can't register that she can be the cause of the whole unbelievable story. One almost begins to think there is nothing incredible, unique or magic about it as they are so blind to it all. Except for the press which one does not see as they are only allowed as far as the gates one might be attending the wedding of any ordinary couple.

The bitterness is there all right in both of them. He had an outburst to Fruity while dressing for dinner. The family he is through with, he will be loyal to the Crown but never to the man (the King). He blames him for weakness in everything. The friends, staff and Perry have also been awful. He intends to fight the HRH business as legally the King has no right to stop the courtesy title being assumed by his wife. Monckton and Allen agree there but let's hope he does nothing.

Wallis had lots to say about staff, Perry and HRH to me. She said it didn't matter to her, but she minds a great deal really and says Monckton has made her sign just Wallis on the documents today. She said that she realised that there was no insult that they hadn't tried to heap on her.

She thanked me effusively twice for having come, and twice said she thought it was so very sweet of me. A scene never to be forgotten, more perhaps than the ceremony: the rehearsal before dinner. A small pale green room with an alcove in one corner. The organist Dupré from Paris trying out the music in the room next door, Fruity walks in with HRH and stands on the right of the alcove, Wallis on Herman's arm comes in—under the tutelage of Jardine, large-nosed, bulging-eyed red-faced little man, they go over the service, HRH's jaw working the whole time exactly the same as I saw the King's all through the Coronation. Walter Monckton, Allen and I watch with such a mixture of feelings. The tune played for “O Perfect Love” is not the lovely one, so I sang it to the organist who wrote it down as easily as I am writing this. M. Bedaux keeps calling Jardine “the Reverent.” For the guests, there were 33 chairs placed in rows, with another 15 in the library from which the chateau staff could watch. All was in place the night before.

 

Although the duke had worn shorts and open-neck shirt to greet all those who arrived on June 2, dinner that night was of the utmost formality, with the women dressed as for a ball and blazing with jewels—Wallis sported a new one, two huge quills, one set with diamonds, another with rubies.

“Dinner. Kitty and Eugene [the Baron and Baroness de Rothschild] and Randolph Churchill came to dine. I sat on H.R.H.'s right with Monckton on the other side who I could not like more. He is devoted to him. No word as yet from the King, Queen or Queen Mary and nothing is settled about the £25,000 a year.” Baba also noted that when Wallis went to bed on this last night before the wedding she shook hands with her future husband, curtsied and said, “Good night, Sir,” in exactly the same way as she said good night to the other guests.

At seven on the morning of June 3 the police took up their places. All road traffic around the nearest village, Monts, was stopped, no parking allowed near the estate and only those with passes let in, although the villagers were permitted to line the avenue. At 8
a.m
., Wallis's hairdresser arrived, carrying flowers; Wallis's hair was set, her face massaged and her nails manicured. As on the previous morning, Baba saw the duke “in dressing gown and tousled hair sitting on the floor going through all the mail helped by Mr. Carter and his old chief clerk,” sorting through some of the hundreds of letters and the thousand-odd telegrams—including one from every member of the royal family.

At 11:47 came the brief civil ceremony, conducted by the mayor of Monts, Charles Mercier, in French with French responses, also rehearsed the night before. After this, the newlyweds withdrew briefly.

At ten past twelve, what everyone—the duke included—regarded as the real marriage took place. With Jardine standing by the makeshift altar, which was adorned with pink and white peonies, Marcel Dupré began to play a Bach concerto, followed by a chorale.

Only seven English people were present: Monckton, Allen, Randolph Churchill (the only one in a frock coat, a garment abolished by the duke during his brief reign), Hugh Thomas, Lady Selby and the Metcalfes. Baba sat beside Walter Monckton, soon to become a great friend.

Baba's diary, headed “3.30, 3 June 1937,” continues:

It's over and it's true. I felt all through the evening that I must be in a dream. It was hard not to cry, in fact I did. In the room itself besides the guests already mentioned there were a number of French officials and wives and five members of the press. The servants were in the adjoining room.

The civil ceremony took place first, at which Fruity and Herman R. were present. During that time we sat and waited, talking ordinarily as though nothing unusual was happening and the organ playing from the room next door. Jardine came in first, followed shortly by the Duke and Fruity, who stood two yards from my chair.

 

The duke, in morning coat, dark yellow waistcoat and gray checked tie, asked Fruity to hold his prayer book, given to him by Queen Mary when he was ten and inscribed: “To David from his loving Mother.”

The diary goes on:

Wallace [
sic
] on Herman R's arm came in by the other door. She was in a long blue dress with short tightfitting coat, blue straw halo hat with feathers and tulle and the loveliest diamond and sapphire bracelet, which was her wedding present [her octagonal wedding ring was of Welsh gold]. Jardine read the service simply and well. “Do you, Edward Albert George Christian Andrew Patrick David, etc, take, etc.” His responses were clear and firm and very well said. Her voice “I Bessie Wallis” was much lower but very clear.

It could be nothing else but pitiable and tragic, to see a king of England of only six months ago, an idolised king, married under those circumstances and yet, pathetic as it was, his manner was so simple and dignified and he was so sure of himself in his happiness that it gave something to the sad little service which it is hard to describe. She could not have done it better. We shook hands with them in the salon, I realised I should have kissed her but I just couldn't. In fact, I was bad the whole of yesterday. My effort to be charming, and like her, broke down. In fact, I don't remember wishing her happiness and good luck.

If she occasionally showed a glimmer of softness, took his arm, looked as tho' she loved him, one would warm towards her. But her attitude is so correct and hard the effect is of an older woman moved by the infatuated love of a much younger man. Let's hope that she lets up in private with him, otherwise it must be grim.

 

After the marriage service, the duke entered the salon with tears running down his face. The first of the 250 bottles of champagne was opened and Fruity gave the toast: “Long life to His Royal Highness the duke of Windsor and his bride.” The duke laughed and said: “I didn't know Fruity could make such a speech.” Wallis began to cut the three-tier wedding cake, plain under its carapace of icing; it took her a quarter of an hour, including all those to whom pieces had to be sent. After this, she made a good lunch, although the duke was still so moved he could not eat.

A very nice telegram from King and Queen
*
and one from Queen Mary [records Baba's diary]. We all had a buffet lunch and I took a number of photos. It was easy and gay. All guests left by three and we sat around till we left for the train. She changed into a dark blue coat and skirt for travelling and they left at 6 to motor to Laroche and so to Wasserleonburg [Count Munster's château, where the Windsors spent most of the summer]. Lady Selby, Mr. Allan, Jardine and Walter Monckton came back in the train.

When he knew Wallis was not going to be allowed to be HRH he said he wanted to give up his own title. He has written a letter to the King saying he will not
admit
the fact of Wallis not being HRH.

The hopes are that the King will give him £25,000 which with what he has already got should give him about £60,000 a year. Only an ordinary settlement has been made on her.

 

At home, on June 4, Baba put down her last thoughts:

No one ever knew to what extent Wallis was at the bottom of everything. Baldwin is supposed to say that as a schemer and intriguer she is unsurpassed. My opinion is that she must have hoped to be either Queen or morganatic wife as if she had realised she would get neither she would and could have stopped him putting forward the whole idea. Although I loathe her for what she has done I'm unable to dislike her when I see her. Her hardness I find very unattractive but that is the only outstanding thing I can find to criticise, and yet there might be something more as, except for him, I would never cross the
street
to see her again.