Rewards

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He may be next in line to the throne of England, but Bertie is also a sad boy gazing at a model that Lionel won't let him finish until he sings. Until, not unless; Lionel doesn't doubt that Bertie is going to give in.

Perhaps Lionel should be kinder. Bertie just lost his father. But it won't take long for him to sing. He can't wait to get his hands on the little plane, and Lionel wants him to, not just for Bertie's sake. Lionel has been waiting for such an opportunity to observe Bertie's fine motor skills up close.

[]

The grand old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men...

As often happens when Lionel recalls Bertie's title, the nursery rhyme creeps into his thoughts. He must be careful lest he should start to hum it in the office. At home, he's less vigilant.

"Are you using that as an exercise with your pupils?" asks Myrtle. "'And when they were up, they were up, and when they were down, they were down.'" She acts out the words, standing and sitting. "Like you do with Jack and Jill."

"You're brilliant, sweetheart," he says, walking over to give her a kiss.

[]

"Here's your shilling." Bertie sets it down as if he can't risk touching Lionel to put it in his hand. Lionel is too surprised at first to thank him, then doesn't want to interrupt Bertie's train of thought as Bertie accepts Lionel's apology and plunges ahead.

Where did the shilling come from? Did Bertie think of it as he left the car, asking the driver if he had a bob? Or had the King asked someone at the Palace for some cash?

Lionel is itching to touch it, to discover whether the coin is warm from being in Bertie's pocket.

[]

Bertie seats Lionel and his wife in the royal box at the coronation, giving Myrtle the thrill of her life as she dresses in finery surpassing even her wedding gown. Lionel feels self-conscious in silk stockings and is afraid of tripping over his ceremonial sword, but one glimpse of the medal on his chest makes even his toothache diminish.

The night before the coronation, Lionel learned that he would be recognized in the Coronation Honours List for his services to the King, becoming a Member of the Victorian Order. All that Bertie seeks in return is Lionel's smile as he speaks.

[]

Lionel fears that, as King, Bertie will feel even more constrained by decorum. Yet once he has been crowned, Bertie seems more at ease with the notion that he can make the role his own, not trying to emulate his father or his brother.

"Keep everyone out," he laughs to his secretary. "I shall be rolling on the floor doing my speech exercises."

Once they are alone, Bertie orders Lionel to sing with him. When Lionel tells him to waltz, Bertie grabs him and swings him around the room.

He rarely stammers now, but Lionel doesn't point it out.

[]

"Mmmmmother." Bertie's eyes are closed, his face unusually relaxed. "Mmmother. Mother." Then his jaw tightens fractionally. "Ffffffffather. Ffffa-fa- Fuck. Ffffffffather."

"Deep breath," Lionel reminds him, touching his chest to remind him to inhale from the diaphragm. "Where is it getting caught?"

"Here." Grabbing his hand, Bertie brings it up, placing Lionel's fingers just below his jaw. Lionel's thumb brushes his throat, and Bertie's breath hitches. Unexpectedly, so does Lionel's. "It gets tight right in there."

Gently Lionel presses down with a finger, massaging the spot. "There?" he asks.

Bertie doesn't speak. His eyes have closed again, chin nodding, lips curved.

[]

It is Bertie's moment, yet Lionel has never received such friendly praise and acceptance at court, even from friends of the king and hangers-on who have made their disapproval of his origins apparent.

"Thank you, again," says the Queen when she steps back inside. "I've never seen him so pleased with himself."

"A marvelous job," Wood whispers while the BBC technicians pack away their equipment.

"Well done, old chap," mutters Grieg as he passes with Lascelles.

The loveliest welcome comes from Princess Margaret, who introduces her new tutor to Lionel. "This is Mr Logue. He is Papa's friend," she announces.

[]

Lionel witnesses the burdens firsthand. He sees how hard it is for Bertie to spend his days touring the shattered streets of London, talking to people who have lost family members, greeting returning soldiers who have given up limbs in defense of the nation. There are few, thinks Lionel, who would wish for the wealth and prestige of royalty if they understood the sacrifices that came with them.

Bertie's greatest privilege, thinks Lionel, is the ability to demand absolute privacy. When he asks to be alone, his people know better than to meddle. No speech rehearsal will ever be interrupted.

[]

"If I were someone else, would you do all this for me?" asks Bertie, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Of course I would." Lionel waits for Bertie to look up before smiling. "Most of my patients aren't royalty, you know."

"Most of your patients don't demand that you give up dinner with your family to work on speeches. Or make you drive across London during air raids. Or ruin your Christmas."

"You've never once ruined my Christmas," Lionel says firmly. "Serving you is the greatest joy of my life."

"Because I'm the king," scowls Bertie.

"That's not true." And it isn't.

[]

Bertie is in no mood to rehearse the broadcast. "I want to celebrate, like everyone else."

"But afterward there will be congratulations, and all that food." It's not easy for Lionel to cajole, though Lionel, too, has been invited to join the festivities. As happy as he is that the war has ended and his sons are safe, he feels sad. His work with the king may be coming to an end.

Bertie studies him. "You enjoy the practice more than the congratulations," he guesses. "I owe you for all you've done, Logue. We'll just have to keep at it."