“I am ready,” Charlotte said.
Agatha followed them to the door—Charlotte, escorted by her brother. Brimsley, five paces behind.
“A Queen’s first responsibility is not to her whim, but to her people,” Agatha heard Adolphus say.
Poor Charlotte. Lectured at already.
“Queens immemorial have shouldered that burden before you,” he continued, “and you shall fare no worse than them. In time you will grow to love your noble responsibilities. It is the natural outgrowth of your noble character.”
Charlotte stopped walking.
“Charlotte?” her brother said.
She just stood there. Agatha tried not to gape.
“Brimsley,” Charlotte said.
He was at her side in a heartbeat.
She turned back to Adolphus. “You will need to find your own way back to Buckingham House. Perhaps Lady Danbury will lend you her carriage.”
“What are you talking about? We have only just retrieved you. Where are you off to now?”
“You sold me off to be the Queen of England.” Charlotte stood tall. “I am off to be the Queen of England.”
On the outside, Lady Agatha Danbury was the epitome of grace and dignity, quietly directing her footman to have a carriage prepared for the German duke.
But on the inside—oh, how she cheered!
Charlotte
Kew Palace
The Entrance Drive
25 April 1762
Charlotte’s feet had barely touched the ground before she was striding away from the carriage. It was time to be Queen.
“Where is the King?” she demanded.
Reynolds came rushing over. She tried to remind herself that he was a good man, that he cared deeply for George’s welfare, but just then all she could see was an infuriating obstacle.
He bowed, then said, “I am so sorry, Your Majesty, but the King cannot see you now.”
“Nonsense. Take me to him.”
“Your Majesty, there is nothing more I would like than—”
“She needs to see him,” Brimsley cut in sharply. “It is her right.”
Reynolds looked torn. “I wish I could—”
But just then another man came running out, wiping his hands on a rag. It was that doctor. The one she did not like.
“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice deep and authoritative. “I am sorry you have bothered yourself to make such a trip. But I am afraid it is impossible for you to see the King.”
Charlotte held her ground. “It is perfectly possible. I want to see him. Where is he?”
“No,” the doctor said dismissively. “Your Majesty would not want that.”
Charlotte had to force herself to maintain her queenly composure. What she really wanted was to go for the man’s throat. “Do not tell me what I want, doctor. Now show me to him, or I shall have my men search the entire palace.”
The doctor’s jaw hardened, and he took a step. It was a small motion, but it was clear that his intention was to block her way.
Charlotte turned to Reynolds. “What is his name?”
“Doctor Monro, Your Majesty.”
“Doctor Monro,” she said, each syllable cut like a diamond. “I am your Queen.”
Still, he did not budge.
And then Reynolds moved between them, turning his back most pointedly on the doctor. “Come with me, Your Majesty. I will lead you to the King.”
“No,” Doctor Monro protested. “You cannot. My work . . . We are at a most precarious point.”
Charlotte ignored him. She and Brimsley followed Reynolds through the palace, past the glorious public rooms, past the comfortable private rooms. Down a long hall they went, finally arriving at a rather unassuming door. Monro followed the entire way, spewing a nonstop torrent of dire warning.
“Someone shut that man up,” Charlotte muttered.
“Do not open that door!” Monro raged.
Charlotte shoved it open.
And walked straight into hell.
There were cages on every surface. Some open, some with sad little animals inside. None big enough for a human, thank God, but what were they even doing there?
And blood. There was blood. Not a lot of it, but splatters here and there, along with terrible yellow stains on the floor.
Chairs were overturned, grotesque metal instruments were strewn about. Whips. Chains. And in the center of it all, strapped into a monstrous iron chair, was George.
He moaned incoherently and his head lolled, his hair sticking to his forehead in sweaty clumps. There were bruises on his body, angry red welts. And he was so thin, so desperately, agonizingly thin.
“Mein Gott,” Charlotte breathed. She could not have imagined. She could never have imagined.
The doctor’s assistants did not see her enter, so intent were they on their work. Even though George had been securely tied to the chair, one was still bracing his shoulders as the other pressed a hot poker into his skin.
George screamed in agony.
So did Charlotte.
“Untie him,” she said, barely able to choke out the words.
The assistants looked to the doctor for confirmation.
“Untie the King!” she roared.
They rushed to undo the knots at his hands. Brimsley and Reynolds worked at the ones at his feet. It seemed to take forever. Charlotte looked around for a knife. Her eyes had just landed on one when Brimsley got the last knot undone, and George was finally freed of his bonds. He burst from the chair and ran to her, sobbing, clinging to her shoulders.
“Everyone out!” Charlotte yelled. “Now!”
Monro and his assistants fled, but Reynolds and Brimsley were hesitant to move.
“Are you sure, Your Majesty?” Brimsley asked. “He is most overwrought. And stronger than you are.”
“I am sure.”
But even as she said it, George was pushing her against the wall.
“No, yes, Farmer George,” he whimpered. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as his mumblings grew incoherent.
Brimsley rushed to her side. “He is too strong. I cannot leave you alone with him.”
“It’s all right. It’s all right.” Charlotte craned her neck so she could look over George’s shoulder at Brimsley. “He is just trying to get away from that damnable chair. Now go! Please.”
He and Reynolds exited the room. Charlotte had every expectation that they would remain five paces away.
“Nobody nobody. I’m nobody but I’ll try. I’ll try I’ll try. I will.” His hands gripped her shoulders, and his eyes were frantic. “I’ll try. I’ll try. Just make it stop. I’ll try. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”
“George, stop,” Charlotte pleaded. This was nothing like when he’d run wildly under the stars. This was a man in pain. He was utterly lost, nearly broken.
“No,” he pleaded. He shook his head fast. Faster. “No, no. I’ll do it, I’ll do it. I didn’t.”
“George,” Charlotte said sternly. “Look, George, it is me.”
His eyes darted all over her face.
“Venus,” she tried. “Venus is here, George.”
Still, he did not recognize her. He clung to her, he pleaded with her, but he did not recognize her.
“Oh, damn Venus,” she swore. “I am Charlotte. I am Charlotte, and I need you to be George again. I need you to try.”
She grabbed his face in her hands, trying to stop the shaking. “You are Just George, and I am Just Charlotte. Come back to me. Please, George. Come back.”
He whimpered. Words came whispering from his mouth, but she could not understand them. Desperate, she grabbed one of his hands and placed it on her belly.