Authors: Ben Brown
Location: Buckingham Palace, London
Date: March 25
th
1843
Time: 10:30 a.m.
“But we simply must make her majesty aware of what will happen,” said Sir William Bexley as he paced the corridor. “Things have reached a point where she can no longer be shielded from the truth.”
Bexley stopped his pacing and stared up at the immense portrait of his beloved Queen. His tall slender body seemed to bow under the weight of the decision he had just made. His hands began to run their way through his thinning grey hair, and he let out a loud sigh. Finally, he turned to look at his old friend, Dr Rupert Bartholomew.
Bartholomew stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. “You are right, but she will not take the news well. She loved the prince above all things. Telling her that The Lingering has taken him, and that he must be dispatched, will kill her.” Bartholomew moved to a chair and lowered his old bones into it. “I have had the pleasure of being her physician since she was a child, and I have discovered that she does not take medicine well. She will not accept that her husband is beyond help.”
Bexley crossed his arms behind his back and began pacing again. “My dear, Rupert, we must make her see sense. To do any less would be a neglect of our duties.”
To their left, a large set of doors opened, and a lady in waiting beckoned them to enter. Bexley offered his friend his hand, and he carefully helped him from his seat. The two took several moments to compose themselves, before Bexley led the way.
As they entered the room a doorman announced them to the assembled throng of courtiers. The two men acknowledged the dignitaries and ladies in waiting, before moving towards the regal figure sitting at the head of the room. They drew to a stop and waited patiently for her to address them. Both men knew their place, and neither would utter a word until spoken to.
The Queen sat whispering with a pale looking woman, who sat at her side. For all intents and purposes, she seemed completely oblivious to the new arrivals. Several minutes passed, and finally one of her ladies in waiting cleared her throat. Victoria turned her young face to the two elderly men standing before her.
Bexley’s heart sank at his Queen’s tired appearance. Sometimes he forgot she was only twenty-three, and that she had ruled since she was eighteen. The trials of the past five months had been the hardest of her short reign, yet she had born them stoically. He always found her strength to be the equal of any man’s. Nevertheless, he knew what he had to tell her would test her limits.
Victoria stood and approached them both. “Gentlemen, I take it you have word of my beloved husband.”
Bexley bowed his head and said, “Your Majesty, I feel our conversation is more suited for your ears only. Might I suggest we take our meeting into your drawing room?”
Victoria shook her head. “I rather like the sun in this chamber, the drawing room is frightfully dark. We will hold are meeting here — the rest of you, leave us.”
A low murmur passed among the courtiers. Leaving the young Queen alone with two men was unheard of. For several seconds nobody moved.
Victoria lifted her chin and repeated, “Leave Us! Or do you wish to disobey your Queen?”
One by one the courtiers shuffled from the room. Several of the older women eyed Bexley and Bartholomew with suspicion, but said nothing. Bexley followed the last of them to the door, and then locked it behind them. He slipped the key into his waistcoat and turned back to Victoria.
“Ma’am,” he said as he walked back towards her and his friend. “Might we not take a seat? I feel what we have to say would test the constitution of the strongest of souls. I certainly know my legs are feeling weak, and a chair would be very gratifying.”
The Queen’s pretty face clouded with apprehension, but she quickly regained her regal air. “What a good idea, Sir William, after you.” She gestured towards a number of chairs arranged by the window.
As they took their seats, Victoria gazed out the window at the newly budded greenery of St. James’s Park. “I do so love spring; it is a time of renewal.” She turned her gaze to the two seated across from her. “Gentlemen, do you not feel the same? Spring offers hope of a fresh start.” Her gaze returned to the window. “It is a time when all things are possible. Please, Dr Bartholomew, please tell me all things are possible.” Her voice broke slightly at the utterance of her last words.
Bexley reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Breaking all protocol, he offered it to the distraught young woman. Victoria took it and dabbed at her eyes.
“Your Majesty — Victoria,” said Bartholomew.
Bexley looked at him in disbelief. Such familiarity was uncalled for, but he said nothing.
Bartholomew continued. “I delivered you into this world, and I have cared for you ever since. In all those years have I ever told you an untruth, or sugar coated bad news?”
Victoria looked at him and smiled kindly. “No, you have always treated me with honesty, and you have never tried to shelter me because of my position. Please, Doctor, whatever it is you need to say, do it with the same honesty again.”
Bartholomew rose to his feet and straightened his waistcoat. “Ma’am, I am afraid I have the most terrible news. Your husband, Prince Albert, has the cursed infection known as ‘The Lingering’. I have examined him myself, and regrettably he has the strain which he will not awaken from. He is doomed to become one of ‘The Lingering’.”
Victoria sobbed openly.
The men stared at the other, frozen by millennia of protocols and traditions.
“Should we summon one of her ladies?” asked Bexley uncomfortably.
Bartholomew stared at the young woman, and shook his head. He moved to her side, and perched himself beside her on the seat. A second later he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder.
“Rupert, have you lost your mind?” growled Bexley in a horse whisper.
“Shut up man! Can you not see she is suffering?”
“Of course I can, but, but — she is The Queen!”
Bartholomew shot his friend an angry glare. “She is also a young woman who has been told that her husband is gone. She deserves the same solace as the rest of us.”
Bexley looked towards the door. “But what if someone sees you — it will mean the tower.”
“What rubbish! The door is locked and you have the key. The only people who will ever know of this, are you, me, and The Queen. Now stop your blathering, and fetch her some water.”
Bartholomew comforted the young woman for close to twenty minutes, at which point she finally regained a modicum of control.
“Gentlemen, I apologize for my outburst. I meant to distress you not, and your kindness and patience is greatly appreciated.”
Bartholomew got to his feet and re-joined his friend across from her. “Not at all, Your Majesty. Your grief is completely understandable.”
Bexley nodded, but then his face darkened. “Ma’am, we need to discuss what is to be done with your husband.”
Victoria turned to him and placed her hands in her lap. “What do you mean?”
Both men looked at each other, and Bartholomew gestured for his friend to continue.
Bexley returned his gaze to The Queen. “Your Majesty, Prince Albert — your husband — will become one of The Lingering. The matter needs to be dealt with before the public becomes aware of his affliction.”
Her brow knitted with confusion. “Dealt with? I do not understand. Doctor Bartholomew, what is he talking about?”
Bartholomew stood. “Ma’am, may I pour myself a drink? I feel I will need the fortifying qualities of a stiff beverage to say what needs to be said.”
Victoria nodded. “Of course, Doctor, and if you need to be fortified to speak, then I am sure I will need to be fortified to listen. Might you also pour Sir Bexley and I a similar measure of fortification?”
Bartholomew bowed his head. “Of course, Ma’am.”
He turned and headed towards a small table, on which sat a decanter of Sherry. He placed three small crystal glasses on a silver tray, and filled them to the top. A few moments later he offered the tray to Victoria, then to his friend, and finally he took his own. While Victoria sipped at her drink, both men downed theirs in one.
Bartholomew placed both the tray and his empty glass on a table beside Bexley. Then, as the warming effects of the Sherry burned in his belly, he crossed his arms behind his back and began the hardest words he would ever utter.
“Your Majesty, I feel it best I explain this abhorrent disease to you in full. Only with a complete understanding of this nightmarish malady, will you appreciate the steps which need to be taken.
“Back in late September of last year a ship arrived from the Americas — more specifically, Boston. Over two-thirds of its crew and passengers seemed stricken with an illness which no physician seemed able to identify. The infection spread through the port like wildfire, and within a month an epidemic had taken hold of our fair city. The epidemic spread at a frightening speed, and nothing we did seemed to slow it.”
Victoria raised her hand. “Doctor, what of the Americas, how are they fairing against this disease?”
“Ma’am, the infection runs rampant throughout the civilized world,” interjected Bexley. “It would appear that no nation has been spared this blight.”
Victoria turned her gaze to him. “Why had I not been informed of this? I knew a sickness troubled the cities, and I knew that things were dire, but I thought we had things under control.”
Bexley smiled weakly. “Your Majesty, the prime minister thought it best you not be worried. He never dreamed one of your family would be taken by this lamentable disease.”
Victoria got to her feet. She no longer looked grief stricken. She now looked angry. “Gentlemen, I am The Queen! To keep such information from me borders on treason!”
Bexley nodded. “Ma’am, I agree, but my opinions were usurped by the prime minister. Your Majesty, there will be time to lay blame later. And if I am among those with which the blame lays, then I will take my punishment accordingly. That is in the future, but for now you must hear Dr Bartholomew out.”
Victoria returned to her seat. “Pray continue, Doctor.”
Bartholomew took a second to gather his thoughts. “The disease quickly infected nearly all of the poor, and it soon gained a foothold among the rest of the population. By last December, over ninety percent of the population had fallen prey to The Lingering. It seemed that nothing could be done for those stricken. The infected fell into a stupor which lasted for weeks, sometimes months. However, by some miracle, slowly the veil of the disease began to lift.
“On Mass, people started to awake. Most showed little to no ill effects from their brief glimpse into Hell. They were weak, and malnourished, but the disease seemed completely gone. Unfortunately, others were not so lucky.”
Bartholomew looked over at Bexley, and his old friend nodded for him to continue.
He moved towards his queen. “Ma’am, may I sit? My legs are old, and I do not think they have the strength to bear the burden of what I am about to tell you.”
Victoria patted the seat beside her. “Come, Doctor, sit with me.”
He smiled and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He mopped the sweat from his brow as he took the seat beside her. She looked deep into his eyes.
“Doctor, I know that you are deeply troubled by what you have to tell me, but I am not a child. If I am to be The Queen of the most powerful country on the planet, than I must bear bad news stoically. Your words may cause me pain, but I will blame you not. Please, Doctor, tarry no further.”
Bartholomew nodded, and cleared his throat. “While many people have begun to waken from their stupor with no ill effects, others have woken changed. These poor souls still bear the mark of The Lingering. They no longer resemble the living, but rather they are like the walking dead.”
Victoria covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. Bartholomew allowed her a moment to gather herself before continuing.
“I have managed to examine some of these people, and while their hearts still beat, nothing else about them resembles the living. Ma’am, while this is distressing news, it is not the most horrific part of my report. For the most part, these creatures are docile and placid. But if they get the scent, or taste of blood, then they become ravenous beasts. I have the regrettable duty of telling you they have eaten a large number of your citizens.”
Victoria leaped to her feet and dashed to the window. She fumbled with its catch, then flung it open and began gasping for air. In a second Bexley was at her side.
“Your Majesty, might you swoon?”
She waved him back. “Thank you, Sir William, I just needed some air. Please, Doctor, continue.”
Bartholomew wiped at his dry lips, and then continued, all be it shakily. “Once they get the taste for flesh, they change. They are no longer docile and manageable. They become uncontrollable and violent in the extreme. Our soldiers were used to stop them, but bullets, bayonets and swords seem to hinder them not. At least they do not when used on the body. The only way of stopping these things is with a blow or bullet to the head. Anything less just slows them.”