The fate of a nation depended on it.
Twenty minutes later, Brimsley arrived with a handsome dark-skinned man who was introduced to her as the Queen’s brother, Duke Adolphus of Mecklenburg-Strelitz.
“She’s in the drawing room,” Agatha said, unsure of to which man she should address her comments.
They both charged forward.
She held up a hand. “Perhaps I should announce you. To smooth the way.”
She scooted the chair to the side and slipped back into the drawing room, shutting the door behind her.
“Were you going to send tea?” the Queen asked. She was slouched on Agatha’s settee, looking exhausted in that way only another woman who had been pregnant could understand.
“My apologies,” Agatha told her. “I quite forgot. But I must inform you that your man Brimsley is here.”
“So bloody good at his job,” the Queen muttered.
“Your brother is here as well.”
“I will not see them,” the Queen stated.
Agatha cleared her throat, working out how best to proceed. “Your Majesty, I do not pretend to know what problems await you outside. However, I do know that they will not be solved in here.”
“They will not be solved anywhere,” Charlotte told her.
Agatha let out a shaky sigh. “Would you care to tell me what troubles you?”
“Very much. But I cannot. I cannot tell anyone. All I can say is that I have been lied to and betrayed by everyone in this country but you. You are my only friend.”
But she was not. Agatha had not been a friend to Charlotte. She had sold her secrets to Princess Augusta for the price of this house, admission to White’s for Lord Danbury, and now possibly for the succession rights for her son.
She had betrayed Charlotte in every way possible.
“Your Majesty,” Agatha said, taking a seat across from her, “I am not your friend. But I want to be. However, at this moment, I am purely your subject. And I have been acting as your subject. Not considering your feelings. I have made you into a crown instead of letting you have your humanity. And I am sorry.”
She did not know if she would tell Charlotte what she had done. She did not know if anything could be gained by retroactive honesty. But she vowed that she would do better.
“If we are to be friends, we need to start again,” Agatha said. “Because I very much need a friend, too.”
Charlotte stared at her. For a very long time. And then finally, in a voice that belonged to a girl, not a Queen, she said, “You will be my friend?”
Agatha nodded gratefully. “I will be your friend.”
Charlotte took her hand and squeezed it. “This is not the life I wished for.”
“I can see that you are most unhappy.”
“What would you advise me to do?”
Agatha chose her words carefully. “I cannot advise unless I understand your situation.”
Charlotte’s mouth trembled. But her eyes were steady when she said, “I will have your discretion?”
“You will,” Agatha vowed.
“The King . . . He is . . .”
A hundred things went through Agatha’s mind in under a second. None of them was what Charlotte finally said.
“He is . . . ill.”
“What?” Agatha gasped. “Is he dying?”
“No,” Charlotte assured her. “It is not like that. His illness is . . . in his head.”
Agatha’s eyes grew wide. She could not even bring herself to reply.
“Not all the time,” Charlotte hastily added. “Most of the time—or at least most of the time that I have seen him—he is quite sane. But then . . . once . . .” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “It was terrifying.”
Agatha leaned forward. “I must ask. Did he hurt you?”
“No,” Charlotte said, and Agatha thanked the heavens that she did so firmly, and without hesitation.
“No,” Charlotte said again. “And I do not think he ever would. But when he was . . . like that . . . he did not know me. I do not think he knew himself.”
“And no one told you of this before you married him,” Agatha surmised.
Charlotte shook her head, and her voice grew brittle. “It was why they chose me.” She motioned to her face, to her beautiful brown skin. “They thought I would be so grateful for the position that I would overlook his peculiarities.”
“Peculiarities?”
Charlotte let out a grim snort. “That is what Princess Augusta likes to call it. It hardly seems sufficient.”
“I—I’m not sure—” Agatha had so many questions, but how did one press for details? It was probably treasonous just to inquire.
“I have only seen it happen once,” Charlotte said. “I was asleep, and I awoke to him talking nonsense about the stars and the sky and honestly I do not know what else.”
Agatha squeezed Charlotte’s hand. She had no words; a gesture would have to do.
“He was writing on the walls. And repeating numbers. I think he was trying to make sense of some mathematical equation, and then . . . he . . .” She looked up, her eyes pleading. “You promise me. You promise you will say nothing.”
“I vow on the lives of my children.”
“He ran outside and tore off his clothing.”
Agatha gasped. She could not help it.
“He started shouting at the sky. He thought I was Venus.”
“Dear God,” Agatha whispered. “Who witnessed this?”
“Me. Brimsley, although only part of it. And Reynolds, the King’s man. I think he knows more than anyone.”
“What did you do?”
Charlotte gave a sad shrug. “We brought him back inside, Reynolds and I. We washed him, put him to bed. He was so tired. He fell asleep instantly. And then the next day . . .”
Agatha leaned forward.
“He was gone.”
“Gone?”
Charlotte nodded. “He went to Kew. I have not seen him since.”
Agatha tried to absorb all of this. “How long has it been?”
“More than four months.”
“What?” Agatha was not expecting that.
“He has been at Kew this entire time. I remain at Buckingham House. Alone.” Charlotte let out a bitter laugh. “Well, as alone as one can be with a flotilla of staff. And Princess Augusta. Mein Gott, that woman is everywhere.”
Agatha nodded. She had been to the palace. It was clear the Queen had no real privacy. “Is the King receiving treatment?” she asked.
“Yes, there is a doctor. I met him once. I do not like him. I could not tell you why. It was just a sense I had.”
“Is he improving?”
Charlotte shrugged helplessly. “I do not know. No one will tell me anything. I write him letters, but I receive no replies. I can only assume he is not getting better. Surely someone would have told me if he were.”
Agatha sat back, taking a moment to steady herself. What the Queen had just told her— It had the potential to bring down the monarchy. The government. Their very way of life.
“Who knows about this?” she asked.
“His mother, of course.”
Of course, Agatha thought acerbically.
“Lord Bute. Earl Harcourt. But I do not think the three of them are aware of the severity. They did not see him that night.”
“Charlotte,” Agatha said. “I may call you Charlotte?”
She had called her Charlotte before, but somehow it seemed right to ask this time.
Charlotte nodded.
“What do you want?”
Charlotte looked at her blankly. As if it had never occurred to her that her opinions mattered. That she had a voice in the outcome.