Conversations on Flight – Chapter VII
EXCLUSIVE: Royal trauma at Windsor Castle as Queen Victoria faints during the wake for her late uncle King William IV, leaving more than 50 world leaders without their host, including the Emir of Qatar
Written by Petunia Williams
The week of grief and shock took its toll on the young Queen Victoria two days ago during the wake of her uncle, sources close to the royal family have revealed to The Daily Mail. The new Queen, wearing a black Alexander McQueen dress, looked "emotionally strained" by the duties required of her on the day of the funeral, and slipped away from the wake early in the evening.
"She looked really pale…her bodyguard hurried her away from everyone when her legs began to give out" a source told us, describing also how the Queen was not seen again until later that night when she was physically escorted to her car. The Queen, who had been home-schooled since 2014 after the discovery and arrest of the Hounslow 5, was only third in line for the throne when she unexpectedly became the Queen last week, and was overwhelmed by the responsibilities of the night. According to another source, "the Queen's mother took over without her…it was extra tense with the Emir there too".
She looked angelic.
He would have normally baulked at the analogy, his easy cynicism laying waste to any saccharine trail that dared to weave through his mind – yet there it was. Because there she was. In a pristine white dress, at an ornately set tea table, in the middle of a lush and blooming garden, illuminated by a soft dappled light that danced through the top of the trees. The virginal protector of Albion. The blessed mother of England's green and pleasant land.
It was almost laughable, really.
"The Prime Minister, William Melbourne!" His name was suddenly boomed across the green by the wiry butler beside him, standing stiff like a rod, which perplexed Will as to what arcane rule decreed that one required a shouted announcement when outside, while his own left ear rung slightly from the outcome of it.
The Queen arose from the garden chair with a wide smile, causing Will to chastise himself for thinking he was the sole catalyst for it. Or more particularly, that he should be glad that he was. He gave a short nod from the neck before he could let his exhausted mind take him down a path he definitely did not wish to tread.
"Good afternoon, Mr M!" She greeted him gladly from her place in the centre of the sectioned off garden as her small canine companion leapt up onto his feet.
"Good afternoon, Ma'am." He echoed as he moved away from the serious escort and made his way to her with tired steps, taking up her hand with another bow from the neck.
"Our first proper weekly meeting!" She pronounced with a grin, as in the corner of his eye he could see the butler backing away into the groomed trees, leaving them alone in their corner of the garden.
"Indeed Ma'am, though I must apologize for not being able to schedule it in the morning as it should be." Will looked down at her with a rueful smile. "Seems we're making quite the habit of unorthodoxy."
"Nothing wrong with doing things a little differently." She eased herself down to her chair and brushed down the skirt of her dress, when he joined and took his assigned seat opposite her, crossing a leg over casually as he stole a scratch behind Dash's silky ear. "Anyway, you had important work at Westminster. Lehzen and I have been keeping a watch on Parliament - you've been having a horrible time of it recently, and probably stuck inside for days, so I thought I'd do something different myself and have the meeting out here where you can sit by the flowers. Oh, and have some coffee too." He found her smiling sweetly at him as she gestured to the spread of cups and pots covering the small table, which battled for space against an unidentified black folio.
"That is very thoughtful of you, Ma'am, thank you." He said genuinely, and moved to pour himself a small cup. No doubt he looked as tired as he felt, which was not a particularly good sign. "How was your morning in the end?"
"Very productive." The small Queen enthused, as he took a sip of the blessed hot drink. "We had a photographer in while I went through the red boxes. Hence the dress and everything." She ran a self conscious hand down the skirt of her dress again, which, coupled with the sharp white tailored jacket and delicately bundled up hair, gave her a surprising air of authority.
Surprising.
She was the Queen, Will.
"Yes, Emma mentioned you've taken on Harriet Sutherland as your communications' director." He lowered the dainty cup to rest atop his crossed knee. "Their kids went to day care together. Surprised the two of them didn't raise an army of toddlers while they were there too, she seems like a pretty shrewd egg."
"She's lovely." The Queen poured herself a cup of tea. "We constructed a whole public image for myself, with a permanent stylist and everything. Spent almost the whole afternoon yesterday going through the most wonderful clothes. Racks and racks of designer items, it was all rather daunting really… Mama chose most of my clothes before, you see. But having the two of them ended up being so helpful."
Will couldn't help but let out a sly smile. "Yes, let me guess Ma'am – it was absolutely impossible to choose just a handful of options, so you ended up picking them all."
"No!" She denied through her laughter, then gave a sly smile of her own. "Well… Maybe. Yes. But only because it would be a hurtful affront against so many hardworking British designers if I sent anything back."
"Indeed. How magnanimous of you, Your Majesty."
"Yes I thought so too." She replied with comic haughtiness as she sipped her tea with her pinkie dancing upwards. "Anyway…" She placed her tea on the table shuffled up in her chair a little to lean forward to him conspiratorially. "Alfie - my stylist - he said that the majority of them had been offered to him for free! I mean, even though I can pay for it and everything. He said the labels didn't care, because if people see me wear stuff of theirs, it would profit them tenfold cause I'll be a 'trendsetter'." She gave a laugh at herself. "More like a walking billboard, if you ask me."
"But a very thrifty billboard." Will smiled as he nipped more coffee. "Rule One of leadership: Never piss off the tax payers."
"Noted." She gave a succinct nod, when he could see a conjecture pass across her face. "Wait, but what if you need to fund something, something that will really help everyone?"
"Then you'll understand why Parliament is such a stagnant mess." Will let out a tired sigh.
Victoria paused for a moment, a calculating glint in her eye.
"Wars cost money." She stated simply.
"And then some." He gulped down the last of the bitter coffee.
"So how come the Tories are so determined to start one with Qatar?"
Will's eyes felt impossibly heavy as he glanced up to the rarely clear London sky, then back down to the waiting Queen, searching for the words that seemed to float just out of his grasp. "…Because they've been hurt, Ma'am. And not just the Tories either. It may be difficult for you to understand this…being so close to your uncle's family, that is… but for quite few people, the Hanover's were their family too. They were born under the protection of your grandmother, watched when your uncle had to take up the mantle, followed as he fell in love, and celebrated when they were blessed with two healthy boys. They were the home of the nation, the first family of Britain."
"They were my actual family, but I still don't a war." Her voice was low.
"Yes well not many people are as strong as you are, Your Majesty." The compliment rolled off his tongue before he could stop himself. "For the majority, when they are hurt, they lash out. They crave retaliation for their pain and wounded pride – and the Tories, like any well-meaning public representatives, they are just following the strongest current."
"But you're going to stop it, aren't you?" The Queen looked at him with her confident blue eyes, but his own tired gaze could not match it.
"Maybe." He glanced down to his empty cup. "It is still too early to make any critical decision."
"Well I can help you there!" Her face unexpectedly lit up with unbridled enthusiasm as she placed down her cup and picked up the waiting black folio from the small table. "Lehzen and I have been doing a lot of research on Qatar and the whole Arabian Peninsula." She opened up the folio in her lap to reveal pages of neatly hand written notes. "All about the history and the politics - and I've come to a pretty confident conclusion: The Emir is innocent."
"Ma'am?"
"Think about it – why would he want to kill my uncle? They have so much invested in Britain. I mean, even the Shard is owned by Qataris. We've had really good international relations, they're extremely rich, politically stable, and they've even got a US army base right in the middle of their country – it would be so incredibly stupid to order a hit on my family."
"I agree, Ma'am."
"You do?"
"Yes."
"Then why can't we just explain all that to the opposition?" Her small brow creased in confusion.
"Because I do not know who else we can blame." Will offered up honestly with a sigh, then placed his empty cup on the table with purpose. "I do believe the Emir is innocent, for all the points you've very perceptively made, and more - but the problem is, we do not have a strong enough alternative suspect. The usual terrorist organisations are all still silent, and I'm getting no clear answers from intelligence either. All I have is doubt. And when in doubt, Ma'am, one must always delay."
"But that means the Tories will keep attacking you." She gave a frown, and Will tried desperately to be unaffected by her sweet care.
"Nothing I'm not used to already, Ma'am, I assure you." Will gave a weary smile.
"I still don't like it. Especially when I'll be…" Her furrowed brow rose up suddenly with an idea. "I know! I know how I can help. My birthday is less than a month, and we've been discussing parties and events and stuff – including the marching thing; Trooping the Colour. But the whole image of me surveying troops and saluting them - that will just look like propaganda for the people who want war. So it's simple! I'll just cancel it!" She gave a triumphant smile, but Will's chest twisted to respond.
"Ma'am…you can't."
"Why not? You said before I have to be a beacon of calm and hope for the people – I can't be that if I'm seen to support war."
"Of course not Ma'am - and while I stand by what I told you, and indeed am touched that you have taken my words to heart – I fear that if you cancel this very popular and traditional event, it will only be seen as a grave insult to the military." Will attempted carefully.
"How could I insult them?" The Queen sat up straight in offence. "I am a soldier's daughter. I am proud of my father, and of his sacrifice."
"I see that, Ma'am – but I worry others won't. And I cannot let you endanger your public image on my account."
"Why not?" She bristled.
Will gave a sigh and looked at her with tired eyes, as his lips formed into a sad smile. "Because you are the Queen. And I am only a lucky visitor."
"You're my friend too."
Friend.
Will looked down.
He had stolen a few too many whiskies on the night of the Hanover's wake, before he had stumbled upon her. He knew he had been too casual, slipped over the professional boundaries too easily. But the fact was, when was he was around her, he felt something he had not felt for exactly eight years, three months and twelve days. He felt present.
"Yes." He finally looked back at Victoria, his voice low. "And as your friend, I feel I have a duty to protect you. Please Ma'am, you must consider the implications if you cancel the event. I have battled with the opposition before, I'm fine – but I will not have you as a needless casualty."
Her blue eyes softened. "But who will protect you?"
"There is no protection for politicians, Ma'am." Will couldn't help but give a wry smile. "Democracy makes sure of it."
"So all I can do is sit by and watch." Victoria closed her folio and cast it back onto the small table then sat back in her chair and turned to the wall of trees that encircled them. "While they try to tear your coalition apart. While they use my family to inspire a war. While they use my own name to attack innocent people on the street."
Will's stomach tightened. She had seen the news then. A drastic spike in attacks against Muslims, some even streamed online as the jingoistic, racist filth claimed they were taking revenge for their King. And Queen.
But she had to do nothing.
The Monarch must remain a clouded mirror, for others to see just enough of their own political positions reflected in it. Pick only one reflection, and it would be smashed.
He needed to explain that to Victoria. He needed to tell her what her life was now.
But there she sat. Behind a folio diligently compiled notes that she couldn't act on. Looking out over a beautifully manicured garden within walls she couldn't leave. Her electrifying radiance from before had diminished, and he couldn't stand it.
Nothing else for it then.
"I was…" Will took the plunge, folding his leg back over his knee when Victoria finally looked back at him. "…I was talking yesterday to the head of Home Office. He told me about a holy day coming up for him next week. Mid Shaban, I believe it's called. He said it's the day when your fortune for the upcoming year is decided, but it's also about forgiveness."
A light was rekindled behind her blue eyes. "Forgiveness?"
"Yes Ma'am." He gave a short nod.
She shuffled up in her chair, obviously clueing in to what he was suggesting.
"And if I was to visit a mosque, on a purely non-political visit, of course, but just to show my support for my subjects of the Muslim-faith on their holy day – "
" – and maybe hand out a few sweets as is traditional – "
" – of course." She brimmed with a smile as her self-assuredness returned once more. "I can do something."
"Indeed you can, Ma'am…" He couldn't help but let out his own soft smile as he looked over her bright face, illuminated by the prospect of helping others. The heart-stopping beauty of hope. How had she managed to worm her way under his skin with only a few meetings?
He was going soft.
Or a repressed monarchist.
Either way he was a lost cause.
Will folded his hands together in his lap and felt the last of his tiredness evaporate into the clear sky as he looked over the white Queen and found his mind flowing down a long forgotten trail.
"You give strength."
Messages - Mr Robot - Details
R: you got some strong coffee?
R: or strong drink?
M: Please shut up. It's 3 in the morning here. Unless you have something
R: fuck yes i have a HUGE something.
R: and news as well
M: Ha.
R: get your kids ready for news drop out of langley tomorrow
M: That's it? K I've decided you're the worst source I've ever had.
R: i'm your only source
M: I don't need some computer geek reminding me of how shitty a journalist I am. My wife does that enough.
R: just trust me, ok?
R: and buy stocks in gas
NB:
Well now what does all that mean?
But yes watch out there Mr M – you're going down a path that suspiciously looks like it has a pink and sparkly sign saying LOVE nailed into the ground beside it.
But who knows. Maybe it's there to signify the creator's love of signs or just general arts and craft. I can't blame him, I know the feeling.
Anywho thanks so much for reading, hope you're enjoying. If you are, or you aren't, please send a review! Thanks!