A Flaw in the Blood
““A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” The old Lutheran chorale Albert loved so well. The Prince Consort was being borne into St. George's, Windsor, by the gentlemen who had surrounded him for most of his exile in England—followed respectfully by his son. Von Stühlen had only the barest sufferance for the Prince of Wales, who reminded him strongly of Victoria, but on this occasion Bertie's demeanour was above reproach. There were Lord Torrington, and Sir Charles Phipps, and Biddulph and Grey and of co...urse Disraeli and Palmerston . . . all of them freezing in the chill of that stony place, a welter of black, of shining silk top hats removed in deference; a sea of men. Ladies did not attend funerals; not even the Queen.Von Stühlen stared at the sarcophagus in which his childhood friend—his childhood self—lay rigid and cold. I wish you no peace, he thought; no happy repose of the soul. Albert had gone silently to this grave—he had confided nothing as the most bitter anxiety killed him.MoreLess
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