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“It is, of course!” Victoria felt the slightest lift of spirits. “It has been, I don’t know how long, days, nights since he has slept a little, or not at all.”

“Nor you either, for that matter.”

She dismissed this with a disdainful wave of her small and chubby hand. “I am not ill, he is the one whom you and Sir James must be concerned about. I have been sleeping on that makeshift bed in his dressing room. But he walks about, does not lie down — and he is so thin. Some nights I do not believe he sleeps at all. Nor does he eat! It tears at my heart to see him like this.”

“His gastric fever must run its course so we must be patient. You can be of immense help by doing what no one else can do. You must see that he eats something every day. Even if only gruel, his body must need all the help to fight this disease.” Jenner took the candle from her trembling hand and placed it on the table next to the couch. “You had best sit, ma’am.”

Victoria sat as bid, spreading her skirts wide. Trying to fold her hands steady on her lap, but kneading them ceaselessly instead.

“I saw Lord Palmerston today,” Jenner said. “He was most concerned about the Prince’s health and had what I consider to be a most worthwhile suggestion. I am of course most qualified, but I see no reason that other physicians might — ”

“He has talked to me too. You need not go on.”

“But his suggestion may be a wise one. I would certainly not take umbrage if another physician, or even more, were consulted.”

“No. I do not like Palmerston’s interference. You are my dear husband’s doctor and so you shall remain. This hasty feverish sort of influenza and deranged stomach will soon pass as it has done so before. At least he is resting now, sleeping.”

“The best medicine in the world for him in his condition…”

As if to deny his words the candle flame guttered as the door to the bedroom opened. Albert stood there in his dressing gown, clutching the fabric to his chest, his pale skin stretched taut across his cheekbones.

“I awoke — ” he said weakly, then coughed, a racking cough that shook his frail body.

Jenner sprang to his feet. “You must return to your bed — this is most imperative. The chill of the night alone!”

“Why?” Albert asked in tones of deepest despair. “I know how ill I am. I know this fever, an old enemy — and knowing it I know that I shall not ever recover.”

“Never!” Victoria cried. “Come dearest, come to bed. I shall read to you until you fall asleep.”

Albert was too weak to protest, merely shaking his head with Teutonic despair. Leaning on her arm he shuffled across the room. He was not wearing his slippers, but the long underwear he insisted on using had fabric feet sewed to them, offering some protection against the cold. Dr. Jenner lit the bedside lamp as Victoria saw her husband back to bed. Carefully walking backward, Dr. Jenner bowed and left.

“You will sleep now,” she said.

“I cannot.”

“Then I will read to you. Your favorite, Walter Scott.”

“Some other time. Tell me — is there still talk of war with the Americans?”

“You must not disturb yourself with politics. Let others concern themselves now with affairs of state.”

“I should have done more. That ultimatum should not have been sent.”

“Hush, my dearest. If I cannot read to you from Scott — why then you have always been fond of the writings of von Ense.”

Albert nodded agreement and she fetched the book from the shelf. The memoirs of Varnhagen von Ense, the famous soldier and diplomat, indeed was his favorite. And hearing her read in German seemed to soothe him somewhat. After some time his breathing steadied and she saw that he was asleep. Lowering the lamp she found her way by the light of the flickering fire, in the grate to his dressing room, and to her improvised bed.

The next day was December eleventh and the coldest day of this coldest month on record. England and London were in the grip of the deepest of deep frosts. Here, in this stone castle, if possible the chill and dank corridors of Windsor Palace were colder than ever before. The servants stoked the many fires, yet still the cold prevailed.

At noon Albert was still in his bed, still asleep. Victoria’s daughter, Alice, was at her side when Dr. Jenner came to examine his patient.

“He is sleeping well, isn’t he?” the Queen asked with some apprehension. “This is a change for the better?”

The doctor nodded, but did not speak. He touched his hand to his patient’s forehead before taking his pulse.

“This is a turning point,” Jenner said with an inadvertent air of deepest gloom. “But he is very weak you must remember — ”

“What are you saying? Are you giving up hope?”