She was up and down all night giving him cooling drinks.
‘If I get this fever,’ he said, ‘I shall die.’
‘You will not die!’ she commanded. And he smiled at her. ‘Dearest little wife,’ he said, ‘I do not fear death. I only think of how you will miss me and how sad you will be.’
‘Oh, Albert, don’t. I can’t bear it. You are my life. How could I go on if you were not here?’
‘You must, dearest, you must.’
‘I’ll not have this talk,’ she cried. ‘You are here with me, and here you are going to stay. You haven’t got the fever. You’re not going to have it.’
‘No,’ he said, to soothe her, ‘no.’ And he thought: Poor Victoria. Poor little Queen.
For five nights he tossed and turned in his little bed. She had scarcely slept at all. The Queen was desperate because he would not eat. When she tried to tempt him with a little soup, he only shook his head.
One day he seemed a little better and the Queen asked if he would like Alice to read to him. Vicky used to and when she had gone Alice took on the duty. He brightened a little. But when she came and started Silas Marner he shook his head. He didn’t like it. She tried others but he did not want to listen to anything.
The Queen said brightly: ‘We’ll try Sir Walter Scott tomorrow, Papa dear.’
Albert smiled at her wanly.
Then he became irritable.
‘I believe it’s a good sign,’ cried the Queen jubilantly.
His complaints were peevish, which was not like him. The Albert Victoria had known seemed to be replaced by a wild-eyed man.
Alice read to him again and he seemed to enjoy that for a little while.
‘That’s a good sign,’ said the Queen. ‘More like dear good blessed Papa.’
But a few hours later when she was sitting by his bed he said suddenly: ‘Can you hear the birds singing?’
She could not and he added: ‘When I heard them I thought I was at Rosenau.’
She went out of the room because she could not control her sobbing. She knew that he was very ill.
Dr Jenner wanted to talk to her. She looked at him anxiously.
‘Your Majesty knows that all along we have feared … gastric fever.’
Gastric fever! Bowel fever! She knew that these were kinder names for the dreaded typhoid.
‘I know it,’ she said. ‘And now …?’
‘I am afraid that this is what His Highness is now suffering from.’
She felt dazed. Typhoid! The dreaded killer!
‘Vicky,’ he said, ‘Vicky.’
For a moment she thought that he was speaking to her, then she realised that he thought she was their daughter.
‘Vicky is well, my darling,’ she said. ‘Vicky is in Berlin with her husband.’
He nodded. Alice sat on the other side of the bed.
He looked at her and was suddenly lucid. He remembered that Vicky was pregnant again and that he was worried about her.
‘Did you write to Vicky?’
‘Yes, dear Papa.’
‘Did you tell her how I was?’
‘I told her that you were ill, Papa.’
He shook his head.
‘You should have told her that I am dying,’ he said.
All the children were there. Bertie oddly enough was her greatest comfort.
‘Oh, Bertie, what am I going to do?’
‘I will care for you, Mama.’
‘But he will get better. The doctors have been telling me. They never despair with fever. People get over it … often.’
‘Yes, Mama. He has every care. You must take care of yourself.’
‘I tried to take care of him. He would go off. That awful November day he went off because he felt it was his duty. I never quite knew where he went. He was in such a hurry. He said it was so important and when he came back he was too ill to say anything. We could only think of getting him to bed. I’ll never forgive those people who asked him to go wherever he went …’
Bertie had grown pale, but the Queen did not notice that.
She had thought he was a little better. He sat up in bed and arranged his hair, just as he used to when he was going somewhere.
Then she noticed that there was a dusky hue about his face which she had never seen before.
He seemed to be preparing himself – as though he were going on a journey.
She could not bear it. He must not see her distress. She got up and went out.
But she must be with him. She had a numbing fear that there might not be much time left. She went and sat beside his bed.
He was aware of her. ‘Gutes Frauchen,’ he murmured.
All the children came in one by one and kissed him.
She did not know how she endured it, but she controlled her grief because she could not bear that he should see it nor could she bear to leave him.
She bent over him. He looked at her wonderingly.
‘Es ist kleines Frauchen,’ he said, and he smiled and kissed her.
She sat there holding his hand and suddenly all the pain and suffering seemed to fall away from his face and he was the young and beautiful Albert again at whom she had only to look to know that she would love him for ever.
Albert was dead.
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