by A. O'Connor
“What has happened, ma’am?” asked Gladstone.
Victoria stood up. “The Prince of Wales’ condition has deteriorated rapidly. They have asked me to go to Sandringham without delay.”
“But – I thought he was recovering?”
“That was what we were previously informed. I must go, Prime Minister.”
“Of course, ma’am, and I hope the news is better when you arrive at Sandringham.”
Victoria nodded and quickly left the room.
As Victoria’s carriage drove through the grounds of Sandringham to the main house, she was overwhelmed with a terrible sense of foreboding. It was December and it would soon be the tenth anniversary of her dear Albert’s death. It was true what Gladstone had said, that typhoid was the official cause of his death. But everyone in the family knew Victoria had other ideas about that. And, now here she was, nearing the tenth anniversary of her husband’s passing and being told that her eldest son and heir was suffering from the same illness and that he was in grave danger. Victoria knew that she would not have been sent for if the doctors did not think the situation was extremely serious. She could not help thinking that history was repeating itself. That she would lose her son in the same terrible fashion as her husband at the same time of year. As she thought of her son – Bertie as he had always been known to the family and close friends – she could not even imagine him being sick or physically impaired. He was a young man of thirty, a father to five children. He was always so strong-looking and cheerful. Victoria could not imagine a person so full of vitality being struck down so young. But life could be cruel – had the same thing not happened to her husband at a young age? And she had never recovered from the shock of that. And now she was being blamed by her prime minister for not appearing in public when she felt every day was a case of mere survival without her darling husband.
She thought of her relationship with Bertie. How they had become so distant from each other in recent years. As the years passed by, they had grown ever more estranged from each other. She had lived in her court of mourning, Bertie had lived in his court of decadence. There had been nothing in common between the two courts. But, through it all, she had never imagined that anything could happen to him, that he would ever fall ill or that his life could be in danger. She knew how sometimes doctors could get things wrong and how her own family were prone to exaggeration – she could only hope and pray that this was the case.
The carriage came to a halt and she was assisted out. Inside, she was escorted through the vast rooms and corridors of Sandringham.
Her daughter Alice and her husband had been visiting from Germany when Bertie had taken ill. Alice, who prided herself on her nursing skills, had remained to nurse her brother. As she was escorted down the corridor to the room Bertie was in, she saw Alice deep in conversation with Bertie’s wife Alexandra outside the door. Victoria knew she had to be strong for them all. Not only was she the head of the family and Bertie’s mother, but she was also the queen. She knew in this time of crisis she had to show strength.
As she reached the two women she could see they had been crying.
“Mama!” Alice came and kissed her cheek.
“Your Majesty,” Alexandra managed to say as she tried to pull herself together in front of Victoria, but her tall elegant figure was trembling.
“How is he?” asked Victoria. “How is our dear Bertie?”
“We must prepare ourselves for the worst,” said Alice.
“I fear there is no hope,” said Alexandra as she raised her handkerchief to her beautiful face to stop herself from sobbing out loud.
Victoria suddenly felt weak and held on to a nearby chair for support.
“But – this cannot be – it just cannot be,” she whispered. “Not Bertie . . . I had been informed he was improving.”
“He had been, Mama, but then he had a relapse,” said Alice.
“I must go to him at once,” said Victoria.
Suddenly she could hear the sound of groaning coming from the other side of the door.
“You must prepare yourself, Mama, he is quite delirious. Sometimes he is not making much sense. He will not recognise you.”
Victoria nodded. “Take me to my son.”
Alice nodded and, offering her mother her arm, led her to the door and opened it. As Victoria entered the room she could see a group of people gathered around the four-poster bed – doctors, nurses and some of the household staff at Sandringham. With Alice’s support she walked across the room.
The medical staff stepped away from the bed and bowed to her.
Then Bertie came into full view. She saw his deathly white face, his brow covered in sweat, his eyes closed as he tossed and turned alarmingly on the bed.
She let go of Alice’s arm and went to the side of the bed.
“Bertie, my darling Bertie, it’s your mama,” she said.
But he seemed not to hear her as he continued to toss and turn.
“Bertie!” Victoria reached out, took his hand and held it firmly.
He gripped his mother’s hand and looked towards her. “I need to go – I need to go now and see her,” he gasped.
“He’s not making much sense, Your Majesty,” said the doctor beside her. “He hasn’t for some time – it’s the fever.”
On the other side of the bed, Alice took a cloth and wiped Bertie’s forehead as Alexandra tried to suppress her tears.
“Bertie – can you hear me?” Victoria said, squeezing his hand tightly to try and get a response.
“You don’t understand!” he said, his voice rising. “I have to go and meet her now – she’s waiting for me – she’s been waiting for me all this time.”
“Who – my dear? Who is waiting for you?” asked Victoria.
“Nellie – Nellie is waiting for me. Can’t you see? I can’t keep her waiting any longer. I must go to Nellie – I must go to my Nellie now!”
Victoria’s eyes widened in shock. She looked across at Alexandra and Alice who looked utterly horrified.
“I must go to Nellie now,” repeated Bertie. “I must see her – I must see her now.”
Continue reading By Royal Appiontment
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1916 – Now in her seventies, Milandra is one of the wealthiest and most respected women in Dublin. Back in her mansion on Sackville Street, after spending Easter with family, she is astonished to be confronted by a gunman. She fears he has come to rob her, but quickly realises she has been caught up in something much bigger.
Then, as Dublin explodes with the Easter Rising, Milandra’s granddaughter Amelia desperately tries to reach her grandmother who is trapped in her house at the very centre of the conflict. Meanwhile, events unfolding on Sackville Street will unravel decades-old mysteries, secrets that were to be carried to the grave.
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