Osbourne House, The Isle Of Wight, 1892.

Sequel to #9 and #20

The footman shuffled into the study. Kurt Hummel was old now, too old for him to want to count the years. His hair, once so thick and lustrous, was now grey and wispy. He walked with a slight stoop, his back worn with years of bearing silver platters throughout the palaces of Britain.

Kurt Hummel, like many of Her Majesty Queen Victoria's household, was thought by many to be far too old to hold such a position. But the Queen was stubborn, and resolute in her desire to never dismiss any member of staff on the grounds of age alone. And Kurt was the last remaining member of the household her husband had first brought with him from Germany, all those many years ago.

The Queen was seated at her desk, the day's newspaper discarded on a nearby chest. It lay open, on a page near the back. Kurt, tea tray in hand, moved to pick it up.

And dropped the tray with an almighty clatter. He fell to his knees, seemingly unable to utter a sound or even support his own bodyweight.

The Queen turned quickly at the clatter, recognising the same stricken grief in the footman's face as she herself had felt the day her beloved Albert had passed away. However, she was at an utter loss as to why such grief had come upon him so suddenly.

She rang the bell, summoning members of staff to assist the old German. She didn't notice the text across the top of the page of the newspaper:

Obituaries

Lord Puckerman, late of Wrothingham Park, Kent.

Sadly passed away early Tuesday last.

A confirmed old bachelor, Lord Puckerman was a close friend of… &c &c.

It was only later, upon overhearing a pair of maids gossiping outside her bedchamber, that she realised that just what had caused the sudden incapacitation of her husband's most faithful servant. She had had her suspicions in the past, of course: everyone had heard the rumours. But it was only now that she realised just how true their love had been.