Her Majesty the Queen

“Shame, Tom!” William Berger frowned at the tollkeeper’s outstretched palm. “This is highway robbery!”

The tollkeeper shrugged and silently re-counted Will’s head of sheep. “No getting around it, Will. Unless you are attending to Her Majesty?” He squinted at the large flock, pretending to look for royal guards.

Will snorted. Queen Victoria, having ascended the throne less than three years ago, had not yet graced Telford with her royal presence. Were she to visit, she would cross over the Severn Gorge via the Iron Bridge, same as Will and his sheep, but the Queen - the richest woman in the world - would pay no toll.

In theory, English roads were maintained by trusts which collected tolls to cover expenses. In reality, unscrupulous trust owners would spend collected tolls on everything but the roads. To Will and many others forced to cross the bridge regularly, this was a constant irritant.

Tom stood boulder-like at the entrance of the bridge and announced Will’s toll. As Will dug into his coin purse, he mused that folk like him constantly felt the pinch, and never the reward.

“Her Majesty could take an interest in managing the roads,” Will grumbled, slapping a coin into Tom’s hand, “instead of leaving it to scoundrels like your lord to fleece the farmers.”

“Scandalous!” said Tom, enjoying the exchange.

The tollhouse’s shutters banged open. “William!” cried Daphne, the tollkeeper’s daughter. She leaned deeply over the sill so Will could enjoy her ample cleavage.

“Get back to business, ye daft thing, before you fall out t’ window!” shouted her father.

Pouting, Daphne closed the shutters with another bang, but not before blowing Will a kiss, who grabbed it out of the air and gave her a white-toothed smile.

“Don’t encourage her, ye devil!” scowled Tom. “Half of Shropshire is moony for you.”

Will was, by any standard, a handsome man. Tall and well-proportioned, he had the corded muscles of a farmer but the look of an angel. His clean-shaven face set off a firm jaw and dimples, and thick, dark curls sprung messily from his shepherd’s hat. It was his violet eyes, though, that set so many hearts a-flutter.

Tom could see his daughter still peeking through the shutters. “Why not marry, again, Will?” he asked loudly. “Been near a year since Mary passed.”

Poor Mary Berger had succumbed to influenza during the last harvest and Will had grieved her mightily. He’d resisted his family’s attempts to match him again, but in truth he was lonely and craved a woman’s companionship. Before he could respond, a rider wearing the royal livery sprinted into view atop a sweating horse.

“Away with these sheep!” he cried. “The Queen’s coach is near.”

Even with vigorous prodding by both Will and Tom, the flock moved like cold molasses. The Queen’s carriage slowed as it approached the tollhouse and finally came to a stop.

Mortified, the tollkeeper redoubled his efforts to a comedic degree, but three dozen sheep remained stubbornly on the bridge. Laughter could be heard from inside the carriage, and then a small, white-gloved hand parted the curtains.

“Tollkeeper, you have lost control.” Her Royal Highness addressed Tom, but her merry eyes were on Will.

“A thousand apologies, ma’am,” stammered Tom. “It will take just another minute.” He resumed frantically shooing the sheep.

Queen Victoria twinkled at Will. “I need to stretch.” Abandoning protocol, she opened her own door and beckoned the farmer. “Help me down, sir?”

Will rushed to the carriage to assist the petite monarch. He had never seen a royal figure up close, let alone the new queen. She was young and dainty and plump as a partridge, with huge blue eyes and cupid bow lips. Her regal outfit and bearing were quite foreign to him, but the look in her eyes was not. He returned her frank stare with one of his own and was rewarded with a flush creeping up the queen’s neckline. He placed his hands around her waist and gently lifted her out of the carriage.

“Your Majesty!” cried the head coachman, alarmed.

“We’re taking a pause, Manfred,” said the queen, in a tone that brooked no argument. “I need some air. This man will keep me safe while I stroll the grounds.” She turned to Will. “What is your name, sir?”

Will bent low. “William Berger, Your Majesty. At your service.”

“Mr. Berger will escort me. Please unpack my lunch. I will eat inside the tollhouse,” directed the queen.

Tom hurried into the tollhouse, twisting the sign on the door from “Open” to “Closed.” Will could hear him shouting for Daphne to help clean up.

Queen Victoria calmly slipped her arm through Will’s. “What is there to see in these parts, Mr. Berger?” She craned her neck to look at him.

Noting his sheep grazing peacefully on the other side of the bridge, Will smiled and gave the queen his full attention. “I believe there is a wood down there, your Majesty, and a lovely stream.”

The most powerful person in the world smiled back at him. “Perfect. Show me the place.”

Will held the Queen’s hand protectively as they made their way through the trees. She was light on her feet and even with a full skirt and satin slippers, she had no problem keeping up. When they reached the riverbank, thick with ferns, she sighed at the bucolic sight and gestured towards some boulders in the water.

They spent some moments climbing the largest rock and then sat, side-by-side, listening to birdsong. The queen lifted her gloved hand and rested it lightly atop Will’s. “What a pretty spot.”

Will felt her warmth through the glove and dared to respond. “Not as pretty as the woman who graces it.”

The queen laughed. She turned to Will, blue eyes flashing. “Am I a woman to be paid simple compliments, Mr. Berger?”

“I think you must be a woman before all else,” he replied, searching her eyes.

She dangled her slippered feet inches from the sparkling water. She lifted a foot and waggled it at Will, who leapt from the rock to divest her of her shoes. Tentatively, he touched her stockings. Getting a nod, he pulled at the silk and rolled them neatly off.

Queen Victoria shuddered perceptibly as her toes touched the running stream. “You know, Mr. Berger, in February I am marrying my cousin, Albert of Saxe-Coburg – a very fine prince.”

“Oh, indeed?” murmured Will, who had waded into the water and begun rubbing her feet.

“Yes,” breathed the queen, just twenty years old. “I’m afraid I don’t have much experience with men.”

“You are very bold with me,” said Will, his eyes dark.

“Queens must be bold,” replied the queen, holding his gaze.

Will lowered her feet and placed his hands gently on top of her thighs. “You must tell him what you like.”

Victoria flushed. “I cannot tell him, if I do not know.”

“What!” exclaimed Will. “Never been kissed?”

“I have been kissed,” replied the queen. “But, admittedly, not in a romantic way.”  

Will brushed the queen’s rosy cheek with the back of his hand. “I am yours to command, Your Majesty.”

The young Queen nodded and closed her eyes. He softly kissed the corner of her mouth. She moved her head slightly, so their lips joined. He cupped her face with his hands, and they shared a long, delicious kiss before the coachmen could be heard stomping towards the embankment.

“Lunch, your Majesty! Your meal is served!”

The queen broke the kiss, a little breathless. “Join me for a meal, Mr. Berger. I will grant you a request."

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” replied Will, coming to his senses. “I should like to speak with you about tolls.”