Victoria

I would like a grandson.

Drina's with child again?

When were you going to tell me?

I'm a Queen, and to be a Queen I must rule.

Yet to be a wife it seems I must submit.

You have an instinct for what you must hold on to.

I've missed you, Lord M. You always know how to make me feel better.

Someone is pilfering, Mr Penge.

Stop!

What is the meaning of this?

With regular blood-lettings, I feel sure the headache and the weakness on the left side will dissipate.

- I want you. - You have me.

♪ Gloriana

♪ Hallelujah

♪ Gloriana

♪ Hallelujah

♪ Gloriana, hallelujah

♪ Hallelujah! ♪

So by examining the boy's head you will know whether he is of a criminal disposition?

There is a depression here

in the area of causality,

indicating the subject is unaware of the consequences of his actions.

How did you get into the palace, boy?

If I tell you that, I won't ever be able to go back now, will I?

An apothecary's errand boy.

How could he just walk in off the street?

Maybe he... climbed.

Over a wall like a cat.

Like a curious, curious cat who wanted to see his Queen.

- It sounds like a nursery rhyme. - This is serious.

What if he had had a knife?

What if he had stabbed us in our sleep?

What...

What if he had hurt Vicky?

He was just a little boy, Albert.

Even I could have overpowered him in my condition.

The way this palace is run, it's chaos.

Cobwebs in every corner.

The drains are like an Augean stable.

And it's porous.

Well, if it bothers you so much, stop complaining and do something about it.

You are giving me permission to reform the way the palace is run.

Well, if it will stop you ruining my breakfast, then yes.

Let your papa show you how efficient he is.

Well, thank you for coming all the way down from London, Doctor.

I'm afraid the local man's... run out of remedies.

The weakness on the left side suggests a grave disorder.

I must advise complete rest and an absence of stimulants.

The cure sounds worse than the complaint.

I'm not talking about a cure, my Lord.

With a case like this, the prognosis isn't certain.

In some cases, there is a steady decline, while for others things progress more quickly.

May I suggest, my Lord, that you put your affairs in order?

It's most curious.

I have written to Lord M several times and received no reply.

He has not answered my letters either, ma'am.

Could you go and see him,

find out what's the matter?

Yes, of course, ma'am.

Mr Penge, it is your duty to oversee the palace staff, is it not?

- Yes, sir. - Well, can you explain to me why

in all the time that I've been here in the palace,

the windows have not been cleaned once?

Look at them. They are filthy.

Only on the outside, sir,

which falls under the jurisdiction of the Commissioner for Woods and Forests

who perhaps, on this occasion, has been remiss in his duties.

The inside, which is my domain, if you'll permit me...

.. is spotless.

Thank you.

There are more begging letters than usual, ma'am,

some even requesting an audience.

But in your condition...

His nose is quite dry.

Don't you think, Skerrett?

Oh. Yes, ma'am.

I shall write to Mr Bascombe and all the others and tell them that you're indisposed.

Bascombe?

I know that name.

- He wove the silk for your wedding dress, ma'am. - Yes, of course. I remember now.

He managed to put our monogram into the material.

Exquisite.

Well, I shall certainly see Mr Bascombe.

And, Skerrett, can you see that Dash is given a dish of those chicken livers he likes?

Yes, ma'am.

A bushel of sugarplums a month.

Would you say this palace is efficiently run, Brodie?

Why, no, sir.

But that is to be expected.

When you come into royal service, sir, you know the wages won't be much.

But it's a great honour to be working at the palace.

And the perks are plentiful.

Perks?

The housemaids get the household tea leaves, for example.

What on earth can they do with used tea leaves?

They sell them, sir.

There's still a brew to be had in them.

I have brought you a letter from the Queen.

You should have told me you were coming. I'd have arranged all manner of entertainments.

If I'd told you I was coming, you would have found a way to put me off.

Yeah, well, that's probably true.

I have become something of a hermit of late.

The Queen would like to know why you haven't answered her letters.

I've found myself with nothing to say.

I think she would find that hard to believe.

Well, what to tell her?

Tell her there's nothing wrong with me apart from congenital laziness.

How's that?

He doesn't want to play today.

He's getting older, ma'am.

Dash isn't old. Are you?

- Sit there. - Mr Bascombe, Your Majesty.

Oh, yes.

Mr Bascombe.

How can I help you?

Your Majesty.

I come on behalf of the silk weavers of Spitalfields.

We come to implore you to preserve our livelihood from the import of silk from the Continent.

Well, I'm not sure that I...

Look at this silk.

You can see how lustrous it is.

How the warp and weft are separate

but harmonious.

Now, look at this foreign material.

You see how dull it is in comparison?

How crude the colours are?

Yes. Yes, I can see the difference.

I have a son.

Nathaniel.

I always thought he'd succeed me... my loom at Fournier Street.

But if we allow this inferior material to put us out of business, then...

he'll have no profession.

He'll just be another hungry boy on the streets of London looking for work.

But the Government cannot introduce a tariff

to protect every industry threatened by cheaper imports, ma'am.

But isn't that exactly what the Corn Laws do, Sir Robert?

Protect English farmers from the imports of cheaper corn.

I fear you may be oversimplifying things, Victoria.

The two cases are very different, ma'am.

Yes. The silk weavers of Spitalfields do not have seats in the House of Lords.

I wonder, ma'am, if I might make a suggestion.

As the leader of fashionable society,

if you were to make it known that you will only wear Spitalfields silk...

Indeed, ma'am. If you were to preside at an occasion

at which all the guests were required to wear it,

well, that I believe would bring the matter to the public's attention as nothing else could.

An excellent notion.

What about a ball?

Of course, it would have to be soon.

I wonder, ma'am,

given the considerable discontent

among the lower orders at the moment,

whether a ball might be... misconstrued.

Misconstrued, Prime Minister?

I'm thinking of Marie Antoinette, the late Queen of France, ma'am,

who, when the Paris mob demanded bread, replied, "Let them eat cake."

If I were a member of the lower orders...

.. I might blame the Prime Minister,

who supports the Corn Laws that make bread unaffordable, for my misfortunes.

These are difficult times, sir.

Another bad harvest, strikes in the North...

the country is in a state of unrest.

The Chartists claim to have three million signatures to their petition.

This ball of Her Majesty's could not have come at a worse time.

I understand your concern.

Let me speak with the Queen.

The ball must be fancy dress,

so that everyone will have a new costume

made of Spitalfields silk.

And it will be a chance to see so many old friends.

- Harriet must come. - Yes, ma'am.

And I have written to Lord M.

I want to fill my dance card.

Surely you're not intending to dance, ma'am?

And why on earth not?

Oh, Duchess, you cannot keep all the partners to yourself.

If I dance the first two sets with you,

I think I should be allowed at least one waltz with Victoria.

A woman in your condition should not be gallivanting, ma'am.

I believe you have a cold, Duchess.

You have my permission to withdraw.

I was wondering if we could have a medieval theme.

This is Edward III.

He founded the Order of the Garter.

Well, he reminds me of you.

Is it right, Victoria,

for us to hold a ball when so many of your people are starving?

But this is a way of trying to help them, Albert.

I think you have the legs of a Plantagenet.

And I think you would look magnificent in a crown. Don't you think, Ernest?

Well, to the manner born, I would say.

Here are Edward III

and his wife, Queen Philippa of Hainault.

Edward once laid siege to the town of Calais.

But rather than destroy the whole town,

he asked that six of its most prominent citizens surrender themselves to him.

He was going to execute these poor grey-bearded old men

until his wife, the kindly Queen Philippa,

pleaded with him on the life of their unborn child

to spare their lives.