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Brimsley walked through the corridors of Buckingham House as though there were a weight around his neck. He didn’t want to have to do this, he wished that there was someone, anyone, else who could take this burden from him. He wished Reynolds were here, he’d know what to do, what to say. As he turned the corner to the King’s Hall he looked outside to see the brightness of the day, it was uncharacteristically bright and warm for the middle of November. The joyous sun almost mockingly shining down as Brimsley stood outside the King’s Chambers.
“How is he today?” Brimsley asks one of the attendants at the door.
“It’s a good day for him,” The young man replies.
“It won’t be for much longer,” Brimsley remarks under his breath. Straightening himself up to attention Brimsley takes a breath and nods to the attendants to let him in.
Brimsley sees the room in shambles, papers strewn about, drawings on the wall, books haphazardly opened and scattered, but this chaos is standard for the King, a prisoner of his own mind. The King is sitting at his desk, examining a tome on the latest astronomical discoveries.
As Brimsley enters the King turns to him and smiles politely, “Good day. I know you, don’t I?”
“Yes your majesty,” Brimsley answers, “I am Brimsley, the Queen’s Attendant.”
“Brimsley, yes,” The King smiles wider at the information, “I remember now. Where is the Queen? Is she with you? I was just reading on these new moons that were discovered and I’d like to share it with her.”
Brimsley with a wavering voice and holding back tears, informs, “Your Majesty, I am here to…to tell you that the Queen is-is,” gathering himself Brimsley looks into the eyes of the King who even in his madness is putting the pieces together and shaking his head in disbelief, “The Queen died last night.”
“no,” George says in disbelief, barely louder than a whisper, as tears start to roll down his face. George can barely hear as Brimsley tells him that Charlotte caught pneumonia and died at Kew. The worlds in his mind, that a moment ago were in their proper orbit, were now crashing into each other. The Heavens had caught fire and he could scarcely breath. George thinks he starts shouting but he can’t hear it over the sound of his shattering heart.
George manages to stand and make his way over to the bed, the bed they shared for the last 57 years. The bed they shared through his madness, through war and rebellion, through famine and disease, through losing his mother and her brothers and three of their children. The bed they shared through love, and joy, and passion. George collapsed to the floor his head resting on the mattress as he quietly sobbed. He was unsure if he stayed like that for minutes or hours or days, but at some point he found his way to the one corner of peace in his universe, a place he only ever shared with one other person.
George looked up at the bed frame above him tears still steaming down the sides of his face. As he tried to calm his fractured mind he felt something in his hand. Turning he saw the face of Charlotte staring back at him, a loving calming smile gracing the face of the woman he loved, His Queen.
“Hello, Farmer George,” Charlotte said with love.
“Charlotte? Are you really here?” George asked. “They told me you-you were…gone.”
“I’m sorry George,” Charlotte melancholically whispered, “I am. I died.”
George begins to hyperventilate as he’s unsure if his madness is giving his grief form or if Charlotte’s ghost is really here with him. After a moment George states with his voice cracking like a plate of glass, “So, my Venus has returned to the stars at last.”
“No my love,” Charlotte responds lovingly before placing her hand over his heart, “I’m never that far. I simply…went over the wall.”
“Over the wall?”
“Yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you with me, But I’m waiting for you on the other side,” Charlotte says softly. “I’m here with my brothers and my parents. Your mother and father are here too, he’s a good man he would’ve been a great King,” her face softens even more as tears form in the corner of her eyes, “and little Octavius and Alfred are here and Amelia also, all still as beautiful as the day we lost them. We’re all waiting for you. Just over the wall.”
“I’m scared to climb it,” George admits with guilt covering each word.
“It’s okay,” Charlotte says taking his face in her hands, “we don’t want you to climb it too soon. Enjoy the garden first. You’ll climb it when it’s your time. Until then I love you so much my Farmer, my Astronomer, my Husband, my Love, my King, My George…Just George.”
George felt Charlotte’s lips on his cheek…and then she was gone.
As George laid under the bed, truly under there for the first time in over five decades, all he could do was silently mutter, “she went over the wall, she went over the wall,” over and over again.