The Crown

8. With love

Victoria sat on a stool in the middle of the kitchen as the maids scuttled about around her. Pulling at the odd loose threads that stuck out on the lace of her sleeves. It had been a few days since Victoria had seen the two kiss and nothing had happened. There had been no proclamations of love and affection from either Lord Francis or Lady Niomi. As, each day turned into night Victoria wondered if they would ever admit to it. Looking around her the other maids and servants couldn't care less about what had been going on with the Lord and Lady. Picking up an underskirt Victoria folded it to the best of her ability. While she thought about how much better these dresses and outfits would be on her. The silks were of the most expensive quality , not to be worn on the King's Mistress they deserved to be on someone with beauty and grace. She watched as Mr Gillingham poured the last of his batch of chicken broth into a silver serving dish. wiping the plate of any residue that fell from the ladle before it landed into the dish. Picking it up and placing it on the serving tray ready for the clock to strike six. He turned to find Miss Lillian to serve the dish but she was nowhere to be found.

"Miss Teller. Can you please take this to the royal highness please. He is feeling under the weather says he is on his death bed. But do be gentle he is in a snappy mood." Mr Gillingham states handing her the tray.

"When is he not in a snappy mood." Victoria grumbles and rolls her eyes and takes the tray from Mr Gillingham reluctantly wanting to curl up into a ball and hide.

But, to hear his royal highness is ill made her slightly jump with joy. She had read in the library on her day off about the house Demure family. It had said that the his royal highness had a history of dying from a mutated form of the flu. Due , to their weakened immune systems they are more susceptible to illness and so it is harder for them to fight it off. Usually dying from exhaustion and dehydration. Obviously it put a strain on the household not only losing a royal to this but also hurt the staff. As they ran around all day and into the night all the way through without a break or time to sit. Patience begins to wear thin as they watch the clock. Count each breath his royal highness makes. Each cough , sneeze and shiver could be his last. Running a fever over forty. Each night the staff sat by his bed and never left till the morning.

There was no way his royal highness could survive this. It was impossible. But still every day and night they spent by his side with their eyes on his chest as it rose and fell. On his forehead as another bead of sweat fell from it. On his shivering body quivering and convulsing. What could have caused such a turn of events Victoria wondered as she sat in the servants quarters washing up some dishes. All if a sudden he had turned from making progress to regressing each day with each waking hour.

The clock was soon to strike for poor old King Demure.