by A. E. Moorat
They were there to see its arrival, having relocated to Windsor for Christmas, with Victoria now out of convalescence, and she gasped to see its size as it was carried into the drawing room by no less than five bewigged footmen, then was the subject of much head-scratching, debate and puzzlement among the gardeners, with the head gardener finally deciding that it should be placed in a bucket, while the housekeeper grumbled about the fact that the tree was certain to 'shed its pine needles all over the rug', but at a glance from Albert added, that it was 'most assuredly a festive addition to the drawing room'.
When they had departed, Albert reached to take her hand and for a few moments she enjoyed the feeling of his touch.
So much so that she hardly noticed a footman arrive, who whispered something to the Duchess of Sutherland, who replied in a whisper then excused herself and followed him out of the room. She was far too engrossed in the sheer scale of this grand addition to the drawing room to pay the exchange much mind.
'It is really quite imposing, Albert,' she said. 'Perhaps, my love, too imposing?'
'I asked for the largest one that could be found,' he said, 'but I'm not sure that I expected my words to be taken quite so literally. I fear that somewhere in Europe is missing a treasured landmark.'
She laughed, and was still laughing when the Duchess of Sutherland returned to the room and moved to stand in front of her. Her face was grave and she stood with her hands clasped in front of her, curtsying slightly.
'Yes, Harriet,' said Victoria.
Behind the Duchess was the fir.
('A tree inside your castle...')
Victoria froze.
'I have some most upsetting news, Your Majesty,' said the Duchess fretfully.
'Yes?' she said, her voice small, hardly daring to ask. 'What is it?'
('I see you grieving, miss.')
'It's Dash, ma'am,' said the Duchess. 'I'm so sorry, ma'am-but your faithful Spaniel has succumbed to old age at last. Dash is dead, ma'am.'
XXII
'The code word is sasquatch,' came the voice at the door and everybody crammed into the Browns' tiny cottage was so startled that there was for a moment much confusion and scraping of chairs, followed by cursing and rubbing of craniums, especially from Hudson and Hicks, who had leapt from their seats and, being taller then the others assembled, hit their heads on the low ceiling.
And the reason for this moment of consternation and great upset?
An unexpected visit from the Queen.
Having provided the code word, though it had not been elicited, she opened the door to the cottage (provoking a series of recriminatory looks between Maggie and John Brown the elder, each blaming the other for leaving the front door unlocked) and down the stairs she came, the only word to describe her descent being 'angry', for 'angry' it was, even her crinoline seemed to rustle with apoplexy as she stood facing them all: Hudson, Hicks and Vasquez, Maggie Brown and husband John, Lord Melbourne (upon whom she fixed a most reproachful glare) and young John Brown, who stood with a steaming kettle about to attend to the making of tea.
'Your Majesty,' said Melbourne, leading a great show of bowing and curtsying and touching of forelocks and casting of eyes to the flagstones by all those present, 'what a truly unexpected pleasure, ma'am. To what do we owe...'
Victoria was looking past them all, to young John, who stood staring at her as though rooted to the spot, his eyes wide, the kettle in his hand.
'It was Dash,' she said finally. 'You saw Dash dying. You saw me cry for him.'
John Brown nodded mutely. His eyes shone.
'Ma'am, I'm so very sorry,' said Melbourne, 'this must have come as a terrible shock to you; your fondness for Dash was legendary and a thing of joy for all who witnessed it.'
'Thank you, Lord M,' said Victoria, 'those are very kind sentiments and indeed I shall be mourning Dash, but my immediate concern is for my country. For with this accurate vision of Dash's passing, young John has more than convinced me of his gift. John,' she addressed the boy, her voice soft, 'sit down, please. I need to know more. The vision you had before. That of violence. The men speaking German. Have you had it since?'
There was much shuffling and rearrangement as those assembled made space for John and the Queen to sit, Victoria opposite John.
'I have had the vision since, miss,' he said, 'but with no extra information to add. I'm given very little detail.'
From within her sleeve, Victoria produced a piece of fabric, offering it to Lord Melbourne and indicating that she wished it given to young John Brown, who accepted it.
'Do you know who this belongs to, John?' said the Queen, 'whose handkerchief are you holding?'
'It belongs to your husband, miss. It belongs to Prince Albert.'
Victoria touched a hand to her mouth. It was true that the death of Dash had given her a new appreciation of John's gift and that she had been moved from her previously unassailable position of sceptic to something approximating belief, but that did not prevent her feeling shock, surprise, admiration when she saw that gift in action. For how could he know, if not via some psychic power?
A lucky guess? said a little voice-a little voice that could have been Albert, for she felt sure she knew how he would have reacted.
But the tree in her castle? Grieving beneath the tree in her castle? How could John Brown have known?
'Tell me, John,' she said, 'tell me what you pick up from the handkerchief.'
Taking the handkerchief, he pulled it through his fingers, as if to test it for quality. His eyes closed.
'There's great conflict within him, miss,' said John. His voice was small within the cottage, but his audience were rapt.
Victoria found she was holding her breath and let it out. 'Tell me more, John,' she said.
'Your Majesty,' interrupted Melbourne, pushing a hand through his hair then putting his fists to the table in order to have her ear. 'Is this wise?' he said, his voice low. 'Just as the eavesdropper hears no good of themselves, so the psychic tourist...'
She looked at him sharply.
'Possibly,' he amended.
'I need to know, Lord M,' she said, 'I need to know my Albert is all the man my heart tells me he is.'
'He loves you, miss,' said John. 'His love is like a force that he feels within his chest and sometimes he feels it with such ferocity, why, it is like a pain to him sometimes, miss.'
Victoria shot a triumphant look at Lord M, who held up his hands and backed away from the table, pointedly casting his attention towards John, who was oblivious to anything else but that which was in his head, continuing now, 'but there is great conflict within him, miss. I sense a great fear...'
His hands were fretting with the handkerchief. Victoria found herself wondering whether or not Albert would miss it. '...great fear and...doubt. He feels doubt, miss, as though he were being torn in many different ways at once.'
But we are! she thought. That is our destiny; to be torn between our duty to ourselves, our duty to our family our duty to our country, to God. Of course we are torn...
'He thinks of destiny. He fears it. He feels the pain of it with the same passion and strength that he feels for you and his children.'
'His child,' corrected Victoria.
'No, miss, his children.'
Victoria was confused. Her eyes went to Maggie Brown, who addressed John. 'John, love,' said Maggie, 'Her Majesty and the Prince only have one child, a little girl.'
John shook his head no. 'There is another baby,' he said and now he pointed towards the Queen. 'It's inside you, miss.'
All of a sudden Victoria felt frozen somehow. It was as though the world about her receded until there was only her and, at the end of a long tunnel, the young John Brown, his eyes closed as his hands worked at the handkerchief.
'It can't be,' she heard herself say. Her hands went to her belly and in that moment she knew that the boy spoke the truth. So soon! Her heart sank.
'It's a little boy, miss,' said John Brown.
Somebody in the room said, 'Oh my goodness,' and Victoria realised that it was her and that she was having difficulty in catching her breath.
'Are you sure, John?' she heard Maggie Brown say and was grateful for it, the question puncturing the shock that had descended over her in a black cloud.
'Aye, I'm sure, mother,' said John Brown. 'It's a boy, an heir to the throne of England, and it's what he fears most.'
'What who fears most, John?' asked Maggie.
Victoria felt unsteady. Her hands gripped the table edge.
'Prince Albert. I sense that he fears a male heir. He fears it more than anything. For he knows that it is the road to darkness-to death.'
XXIII
Nine months later
A safe house, London
The cabal had met to wet the baby's head, Stockmar and Conroy drinking whisky, Leopold raising a glass of offal and casting a sideways glance at his sister, who preferred tea.
Once, she, too, would have drank offal with gusto, he thought, now she preferred tea. Tea. He felt a moment of contempt. For over a century she had been fearsome and feared. Now she crawled towards her twilight years, with shame surrounding her. She felt shame because she had been unable to provide a male half-breed of the Baal. Instead she had given them Victoria and their plans to ascend to the throne had to wait a generation, until such time as they had their male heir. Instead of fighting the shame, though, the Duchess had allowed it to consume her, and as a result she was little more than a husk-a tea-drinking husk-barely able to maintain her human self. And she had placed too much faith in her ambitious, impatient comptroller.
Even so. This day was not for lamenting the failures of the past; instead they were assembled to toast the success of the future.
'At long last our kind will sit at the very apex of power,' announced Leopold, banging down his empty goblet of offal, 'A son is born to Victoria and the Baal has its heir: Albert Edward, next in line for the throne of the greatest empire in the world. A half-breed. A child who will be tutored and coached in the ways of the Baal, and will understand and embrace his destiny, who will put in motion the wheels of mankind's greatest catastrophes. Men will suffer and our kind will thrive.'
'Hear, hear,' said Conroy.
Stockmar placed his glass to the table. 'May I ask,' he said, 'to whom the task of mentoring the boy will fall? In most cases one might expect the father-but in this instance...'
'Albert is a good man,' said the Duchess. The room froze. Not only was it rare these days for her to speak. But to say such a thing...!
Conroy sneered.
'My dear, this isn't quite what we want to hear,' said Leopold, humouring her.
'I have spent much time with Albert of late,' said the Duchess, 'and his talk is never of his destiny, or of his lineage. It is of love, and change. These subjects have become dear to Victoria's heart also. Your half-breeds have a conscience, my lord,' she smiled.
'My half-breeds,' exploded Forse. 'Victoria was your issue. You and your useless, philandering Duke.'
'A female, isn't that right?' said the Duchess, 'lacking the power of the male? Yet in Albert we see no evidence of that power. Is the Prince's father, your brother, Ernest, forced into shame as am I?'
'He is not weak.'
'Nor is he strong.' The Duchess became her demon self, and brother and sister glowered at one another for a long moment, then the Duchess lowered her eyes and once more withdrew.
Leopold resolved into his human shape.
'This being the case that Albert seems resistant to his calling, he must be reminded of his duty. Conroy, Stockmar and I shall see to this.'
'What if he is strong-if he cannot be persuaded?.'
'Then with regret, we would have to kill him; Victoria too. It is the only way we can sure that those closest to the Heir serve our interests.'
'You would not!' snapped the Duchess.
'My dear,' said Leopold, coldly, 'I will kill anything-human, half-breed or demon-that goes against the interests of the Baal. Do I make myself plain?'
For a moment, she seemed about to say something, then once again withdrew.
'Before we plan Albert's fate, two more orders of business. Baron...'
'Yes, my Lord,' said Stockmar.
'You are to contact the succubi. Once again they are to be tasked with eliminating the Protektor, Brown. Inform them that they are fortunate to be entrusted with a second chance, and that they must not fail this time. They should be informed that Melbourne is a problem for us also...'
'Yes, my Lord.'
'Now,' Leopold addressed Conroy, 'your task.'
Conroy bristled a little. 'Perhaps, first,' he said, 'we should talk about what I am owed. The powers you spoke of bestowing upon me, so that, I, too, may become one of you.'
'Indeed that was my undertaking,' said Leopold, 'and it shall be so. But, first, this business that must be taken care of.'
Stockmar smiled a little and Conroy regarded him with contempt. Stockmar, he thought, content to be a mere lapdog. Wishing nothing more than to serve. He was pathetic.
He turned to Leopold. 'Then tell me,' he said, 'what is it you would have me do?'
'The Baal needs control of Parliament. As we gain control of the monarchy we need to see to it that the monarchy remains in control. All this will be for nothing if the monarchy were to be weakened by reform. You are to see to it that Parliament becomes sympathetic to our needs and remains in that position.'
Conroy smiled and said, 'And do you have a plan for how this might be achieved? Blackmail? Financial inducements?'
'Both of which are methods that appeal, but neither are as fool-proof as I would like,' said Leopold. 'I have in mind another procedure.'
'And what might that be, my lord?' asked Conroy.
'Revenants, Conroy. You shall be using revenants.'
XXIV
Five weeks later,
the grounds of Windsor Castle
Late December, the night was cold and their breath billowed before them as they walked together, arm in arm: Albert, in his top hat, his leather boots, his tunic buttoned up tight; Victoria wearing her black bombazine dress, over it a long woollen coat buttoned up tight, her bonnet keeping the cold from her head; behind, a respectable distance away, followed two footmen in black leather shoes, white stockings, frock coats and white wigs; in all, the four of them looked like ghostly figures haunting the lawns of Windsor Castle, upon which a low fog had settled, that rippled on the ground like an expanse of foaming water.
Victoria was fully recovered after the birth of her second child, which had arrived on 9 November 1841, born at Buckingham Palace.
'It is a boy, Your Majesty,' Dr Locock, had said solemnly, and he'd proffered the slimy infant for the Queen to see, so that she might inspect that which determined his gender, before turning him slightly and holding him so that the Duchess should also bear witness.
'Oh, Victoria,' said the Duchess. Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes were wet with tears of joy, 'a boy. You have given us an heir.'
'Yes, Mama,' said Victoria, who had expected nothing less; indeed, had been certain of a male since that day in the cottage when John Brown informed her of the impending birth. Or, at the very least, when she discovered that she was indeed pregnant, for it was at that moment that any lingering doubts she had about young John Brown's psychic talents were for ever dispelled.
Which left her expecting to give birth to a son.
While, with a terrible sense of foreboding, simultaneously dreading it. For she had reached for the hand of Albert and she wondered about other things John had said-that for Albert the birth of a male heir would change everything; that he dreaded it above all.
Why?
Because there he was: the male heir, the future king of England. Albert Edward they called him, though he would always be known to them as Bertie.
'How was I this time?' she had asked Albert.
'This time,' he said, 'you were far better behaved. The room was o
nly briefly scandalised by your language. Two arsecheeks and a cocksnot, wasn't it, Duchess?'
'Albert,' chided Victoria's mother, laughing and blushing at the same time, 'I do believe you are a caution.'
Albert took both of Victoria's hands, leant in to kiss her and she inhaled the smell of him. 'And you, Victoria,' he whispered, 'you are a caution, too. For I do not believe that any woman was ever braver or suffered with greater fortitude than that which I have just witnessed.'
He always knew just what to say, she reflected now, strolling with him. She breathed in the crisp air gratefully, enjoying the cold of which she was so fond. Indeed, it was a point of much frustration among the staff, she knew, that she insisted on open windows in her residence and though her ladies never gave voice to their discomfort, she was aware that they begrudged entering the Queen's icy chambers, even colder than the remainder of the Castle-which was saying much.
Meanwhile, Albert, of course, bless him, was far less enamoured of the cold and not so shy when it came to venting his frustration. He was prone to illness, he said, which was true (though Victoria secretly felt the fresh air would do him the world of good), thus preferred the comfort afforded by windows shut firm against the weather and a fire burning in the grate. How frustrated he had been when he first came to live in the household, she remembered, with a secret smile to herself, and had discovered that the simple making of a fire was a far more complicated procedure than he had been used to. In common with many of the domestic systems at court the preparation of the fire was handled by different departments within the house: the Lord Steward's staff were tasked with laying it, while it was the duty of the Lord Chamberlain to light it. Thus, as Albert discovered, much to his chagrin, if the two departments were not operating in harmony-and they never did-the fire might well remain at its ashes, and the Prince Consort would shiver and curse. As a result, he had taken it upon himself to 'bring some order to the house', and had done just that, consolidating the duties of the three departments as well as seeing to it that wastage and needless expenditure was avoided. Needless to say, none of this had won him additional friends at court. Certain of Albert's improvements had involved the cessation of long-held traditions while others had meant stopping privileges and benefits that the staff enjoyed: the distribution of 'used' candles, for example, when the candles were not used at all, but were simply replaced because it was the practice to do so. Not any more. Not under Prince Albert's steely gaze.