The Queen and Lord M Read Online Free Page B

death chamber at Windsor Castle the King lay breathing with difficulty. The Queen sat beside him, her hand in his. On a table close to the bed was the flag which the Duke of Wellington sent to him every year to commemorate the victory at Waterloo. His eyes kept straying to it.
    ‘Wasn’t at the Waterloo banquet this year, Adelaide,’ he murmured.
    ‘No, William. But it took place on your orders.’
    ‘Great victory,’ murmured the King.
    His eyes had become glazed, and Adelaide, bending closer, knew that his thoughts were wandering again. Dear William, who had been a good husband to her! She had failed him by not producing the heir for the sake of which they had been thrust into hasty marriage, and that was something she would always regret. She loved children and consequently had had to console herself with other people’s. The palaces had always been full of William’s grandchildren of the FitzClarence family. What a devoted grandfather he had been to them even though they had been far from grateful. She was glad that at such a time as this they had forgotten their differences, and several of them were at Windsor now in case he should ask for them.
    ‘Adelaide.’
    She bent over the bed.
    ‘You’ve been a good wife …’
    ‘Don’t talk, William. Lie still. Conserve your strength.’
    The tears were on her cheeks. She loved him and he loved her; and that was strange in such a marriage. He had been faithful to her, which was perhaps because he was no longer young, and he would become furious with anyone who criticised her. Her gentle nature had won the regard which her lack of physical charms might have made impossible. It had been a happy marriage as such marriages go, and it was now nearly over.
    ‘Glad I lived till she was of age,’ murmured the King. ‘Was determined to. I did it, Adelaide. The child will be Queen tomorrow.’
    ‘William …’
    ‘You’re crying, Adelaide. Don’t. You’ve been a good wife. Couldn’t have been better. Wasn’t going to let that woman rule the roost.’ He gave a croaking cackle of laughter. ‘She’ll be mad with rage … Adelaide … She’s been hoping I’d die before … Didn’t I always say I’d wait till the child was eighteen?’
    ‘You did, William.’
    ‘And I kept my word. She’ll be Queen and she’ll know how to keep that woman where she belongs. England will be great under her. Better than old men … Sailors will love a young queen. I know sailors. They’ll fight the better for her than for a mad old man like my father, or for George and for me. Yes, they’ll love a bonny girl …’
    ‘William, don’t try to talk …’ It was useless to tell him this. He had always talked too much.
    He closed his eyes; his lips moved but she could not hear what he said. She continued to sit by his bed. George FitzClarence came into the room and stood in the shadows. George, his firstborn by Dorothy Jordan, the boy whom William so dearly loved, was now full of contrition for all the anxiety he had caused his father.
    ‘How is he?’ he whispered.
    ‘Sinking I fear,’ said Adelaide.
    Somewhere a clock in the Castle chimed midnight. The Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham, the Lord Chamberlain, were in the ante-room, waiting.
    It couldn’t be long now, they assured each other.
    The King’s physician, Sir Henry Halford, joined them.
    ‘He is very near the end,’ said Halford.
    At one o’clock Sir Henry was at the King’s bedside. William’s breathing was stertorous; he was in a coma.
    ‘There is nothing I can do,’ said the doctor to the Queen, who continued to sit by the King’s bedside.
    The doctor joined the Archbishop and the Chamberlain. They talked in whispers of what this would mean at Kensington Palace.
    Two o’clock struck.
    ‘The end is very near,’ said Sir Henry; and at twelve minutes past two William IV was dead.

    As the carriage rattled along the highway from Windsor to Kensington, the Archbishop and the Lord Chamberlain