‘Will she be there?’
‘Her father will be, so I imagine his wife and daughter will be there also.’
***
I would have liked Veronica to see me in my new clothes but that would have to wait, I was anxious to get everything on hangers before it all got too creased.
We took a carriage directly back to St James’s Palace and celebrated my purchases with a glass of claret.
‘I wonder what Veronica would think about me spending so much money on clothes? I think I will just try them on one more time.’
‘Vanity is not a good feature in a man Toby… but I would like to take another look at you dressed in your finery.’
With my new clothes all put away on hangers, we sat down and indulged ourselves with a second glass of wine.
‘Now I must explain the procedures… and let us just pray the weather is kind, especially on the day of the pageant,’ said Thomas as he opened a street map of the route through the city… spreading it out on the table and pulling up a chair for me to sit by his side.
‘The procession will begin here at the Tower,’ he poked the map with his finger, ‘and that is where you will assemble early on the morning of the 22nd of April. You will be walking in front of King Charles along with his other squires and courtiers, you will probably know most of them though he does seem to have collected a few new ones recently.
‘That scabbard,’ he said pointing to my sword, ‘it won’t do. You will have to buy a new one.’
‘I hope you are kidding me.’
‘No I am not, it should match your coat so you will have to buy a gold coloured ornamental one.’
I shook my head in disbelief but Thomas just ignored me.
‘You will carry a lance, vertical in your right hand, and your hat in your left, only the king and the Noble Lords will wear hats during the procession which is scheduled to start at midday.
‘Lord Monck’s army will have already assembled outside the castle on the lawns each side of the Minories, some will lead the procession and the rest will join at the rear behind all the official guests… the Lords and their followers.
‘At midday the King’s Own Cavalry Guards will lead you out through the doors, under the portcullis, and over the moat, you along with his other squires will walk just in front of the king who will be followed by Lord Monck… who as you know is now master of the king’s horse… he will be leading a spare charger for the king. Then James, Duke of York, will be behind Monck and then the remainder of the King’s Guards. The rest will follow in order. Foreign guests first followed by Noble Lords on horseback each with their own personal courtiers. Then finally the rest of Monck’s soldiers joining at the back.
‘The route the procession will take will be along Tower Street, Canning Street and Watling Street and into St Paul’s Square,’ he said poking his finger at the map. ‘From there you will walk down Ludgate Hill to Fleet Street, the Strand and round Charing Cross to Whitehall Palace. That is where I will be waiting to meet you. But now we must go to the armour and choose your ceremonial sword and scabbard. Any questions?’
I had by now given up arguing with him, so I just asked, ‘Why will you not be in the procession?’
‘You may agree that I am lazy, and you would probably be right. But I think it easier for me to say that my days serving the Royal Stuarts are numbered, younger more energetic men are taking my place and I am gradually winding down to retirement. On the day of the pageant, and also the following day at the coronation, I will be hoping to keep a low profile ’
‘But you are not even near to being sixty years old,’ I said. ‘Are you being pushed out?’
‘Certainly not. Remember Toby, I came into the Royal Household as a tutor thirty years ago, and I have no wish to continue with the next generation of Royal Stuart children. I was offered a peerage but turned it down because I have plans for the future, and those plans do not include me sitting in the House of Lords listening to a bunch of old men with over-inflated egos discharging hot air.’
‘These plans… am I to be privy to them?’
‘Not all… but what I will tell you for certain is that you will always be a part of my life. The rest, even I am not sure about.’
‘Do your plans include the church… because I think that is where you are most contented?’
‘How perceptive of you Toby. Yes, I would like to use my latter years serving the good Lord.’
‘Have you ever considered marriage?’
‘Many times, but always to women who were already married.’
‘What will you do for money if you retire?’
He laughed, surprised I think by my question.
‘I have been promised a generous pension, and I do have savings.’
‘Good, and you know you can always use my gold coins, I have no need for them… not yet anyway.’
‘Thank you, but your money purse is safely hidden, and will not be touched until you need it.’
***
Anne’s next letter confirmed that she would be with her parents at the ceremony in April… but even better news was that her father had agreed to let us meet. His only condition being that Anne was to be chaperoned by her mother.
We were to meet in the gardens of Westminster Hall after the banquet. I wondered if this meant that Sir William was finally coming round to the fact that Anne would never consent to marry anyone but me, and that if he continued to exclude me from her life, one day he could lose her completely. Judging by the tone of her last letter, he seemed to have already given up any idea of forcing her into a marriage not of her choosing. I could only hope and pray.
***
Finally the eve of the coronation was upon us. The whole of London town was decked in bunting with flags and carpets hanging from every window. Gravel had been scattered along the route to protect the horses and barriers had been placed at strategic places to keep back the crowds.
Early on the morning of Monday April 22nd all those invited to walk with the King through the streets of London began to assemble on the manicured lawns in the grounds of the Tower. I took my place alongside the King’s other squires… I knew them all, a few very well who were good friends, but there were others who chose not to be seen socialising with me, and would never accept me as one of their own as they all came from wealthy noble families that were aware of my past.
At midday, trumpets announced the start of the procession. The King’s Own Cavalry Guard were the first to pass through the Tower doors, under the portcullis, over the moat towards the Minories where thousands of Monck’s soldiers had been waiting for hours, lined up six abreast dressed in the new livery of King Charles II. There were thousands in all, some to lead the procession and others to join at the rear.
Charles resplendent on a white charger was wearing a magnificently embroidered golden cloak and a tall wide brimmed hat with brown feathers… he looked superlative, his horse also in matching gold with its mane decorated with silk ribbons and a light-brown horse blanket streaked with gold filigree.
Lord Monck who as master of the horse was behind the King riding a small palfrey, and just as Thomas had told me… he was holding the reins of a spare horse. But what did surprise me the most was that he was the only one out of all the Noble Lords not to be wearing a hat. Like me and the rest of the followers walking in the procession he was without head cover.
James, Duke of York, came next on an Arabian stallion, which brought back memories of my own beautiful horse back at The Hague. The duke was followed by the Earl of Sandwich sitting astride his favourite Dapple Grey Hunter, his retainers walking ahead and all carrying their hats. Lord Sandwich was the first of at least a hundred Noble Lords to be riding in the pageant.
The crowds had been kept away from Tower Hill and Watermark Lane but as soon as we entered Tower Street we were met by multitudes of screaming, cheerin
g people. The noise was deafening and that was how it remained for the whole of the four mile procession.
Women were hanging out of upstairs windows wearing as little as was acceptable without being indecent… many showing as much of their ample breasts as they dared in the hope of attracting the eye of the King. All along the route we were joined by street entertainers: jugglers, fiddlers, tumblers and fools, all adding to the flavour and enjoyment of the day.
The streets were gravelled all the way to Charing Cross and every building large and small displayed flags. I knew that somewhere along the route Veronica and George would be waiting with their girls, and I really hoped they would see me in my new clothes, but I thought it unlikely. We continued down Tower Street walking at a painfully slow pace and then along Canning Street, Watling Street and into St Paul’s Square. I would not have thought it possible, but the crowds were increasing in numbers, now standing ten deep behind barriers patrolled by armed guards. I didn’t think it possible to hear any one person over the noise. When we entered St Paul’s Square I had to shout to be heard when talking to the other squires walking with me.
If I was going to see Veronica at all, I thought this to be the most likely place, and sure enough even above the cacophony of cheering crowds I heard Veronica’s girls call my name. I glanced up at the King high above the crowds on his white charger… he smiled at me and pointed to the steps of St Paul’s. That’s when I saw them, jumping up and down waving flags and shouting my name. Veronica and George were there too, I think she must have been standing on a box as she stood the tallest of them all.
In my right hand I was carrying the lance which I waved frantically, I also waved my hat hoping that they would see me. I also saw many old friends I knew and many others I recognised. I looked again at the King but he was not looking my way, he was too busy waving to Veronica with one hand while pointing at me with the other. I knew then that they must have seen me.
From there we continued down Ludgate Hill, along Fleet Street and the Strand to Charing Cross. That was where the soldiers of Monck’s army peeled off to reassemble on St James’s Square. The rest of the procession, still headed by the King’s Guard, carried on along King Street, to complete the secular procession at Whitehall. A truly magnificent pageant arranged mainly for the benefit of all the king’s subjects and not just the privileged few.
I was met by Thomas… and as I was one of the first to arrive at Whitehall, we were able to choose a prime position on a first floor balcony to watch the rest of the nobility arrive, my mentor pointing out to me who they all were as they arrived.
We saw the two Dukes of Normandy and Aquitaine along with many other foreign dignitaries. They were followed by bishops and barons and other lower order public figures.
It was then I spotted Anne’s father. He was riding a large black warhorse, and looking magnificent in a long coat with jewelled buttons and a sash diagonally across his chest, his groomed beard now streaked with grey, not looking quite as red as I had remembered, his long curly periwig almost perfectly matching the colour of his beard. His two sons Robert and Peter, who I had never seen before, were walking each side of their father’s horse, holding the reins, they too looked magnificent in matching capes.
‘Do you know where Sir William Huxley will be housed while here in London?’ I asked in the hope that it would be somewhere close.
‘I believe they are staying with friends in Hammersmith, so you won’t be seeing Anne today.’
***
Tuesday April 23rd and the day everyone had been waiting for. The day Charles was to be crowned King of England, Scotland and Ireland.
It was eight in the morning when Thomas and I entered Westminster Abbey and already men and women were busy preparing for the big day. Scaffolding had been erected on each side of the Abbey to provide extra seating for up to 5,000 guests… twelve rows high with up to twenty seats on each row. Women were already busy covering the first six rows of seats in red velvet, each with matching cushions embroidered in gold.
‘Ladies will take up the lower seats with the men at the back,’ Thomas said.
‘Where will we be?’
‘Right at the top,’ he said.
‘Why so high? I doubt I will see Anne from up there.’
‘We are not here to see Anne Huxley, we are here to see the crowning of the King, and we will be up there,’ he said pointing to the upper most level, ‘on the top row of seats because I wish not to be seen.’
Thomas waited at ground level while I climbed to the top and walked along, checking the view.
‘If we are seated at this end of the row,’ I shouted, ‘we won’t be able to see the ceremony.’
‘We will see him arrive and leave,’ he called. ‘Now come down… we must return to St James’s Palace and dress appropriately for the occasion.’
I thought we were going to the Abbey far too soon, but when we arrived, the place was already more than half full.
This was the first time I had worn my new clothes, and I was hoping that Anne might be here to see me, but I wasn’t even sure she was coming. The Abbey was slowly filling, the most important Lords with their Ladies arriving at the last minute. By this time I was busting for a pee, but there was nowhere I could go. Thomas just smiled at my discomfort. ‘You should not have drank so much before we came?’ was all he said.
Just before the ceremony was about to start I spotted Anne. She was seated right opposite me on the third row from the front, but she was not actually sitting, she was standing waving her arm. I stood and waved back just as the pipers started to herald the arrival of the King. Anne’s mother quickly pulled her down onto her seat where she sat with a broad smile on her face looking straight at me.
Leading the slow procession into the Abbey was the Dean of Westminster, and then the bishops, many who were clothed in gold. Following the bishops came the nobility, some in their Parliamentary robes. James, Duke of York, walked in front of the King, with the Earl of Sandwich behind carrying the sceptre.
There followed a slightly boring sermon and then the coronation. It was at this point that the crown was finally placed on the King’s head and as I predicted our view from high on the scaffolding was partially restricted.
‘That is a new crown,’ whispered Thomas, ‘all the old royal treasures were stolen by Cromwell. The gold melted down, and the precious stones sold to finance his army.’
The master-at-arms three times asked if anyone could show any reason why Charles Stuart should not be crowned King of England… there was an uneasy silence in the Abbey and then the ceremony continued to the end.
As the Royal procession began to move towards the exit, fiddlers in red vests began to play. Unfortunately their music was drowned out by the noise of tens of thousands of people waiting outside, all hoping to get a glimpse of the King wearing his crown. He waved to his subjects as he walked across a blue carpet to Westminster Hall where the banquet was to be held.
My main concern, however, was to find somewhere to relieve myself, and I was not surprised to discover I was not the only one.
Westminster Hall was full to capacity with all the important people I had seen earlier in the Abbey. But I saw not a single soldier.
The King came in with the crown still on his head, the sceptre in his hand.
Once everyone was seated three Lords came into Westminster Hall on horseback. They were followed by the Lords Champion, a man called Charles Dymock. He was dressed in full armour, his horse richly decorated in golden cloth with a plume of feathers on its mane.
According to ancient custom he threw down his gauntlet three times, challenging anyone who dares to dispute their majesty’s right to the crown. There was of course no challenger, and after a small pause everyone in attendance began to applaud.
The King drank to his champion, and then sent him a gold cup. Charles Dymock drank from the cup and rode off, tak
ing the cup with him.
With all formalities completed, there came the feast and a quartet of musicians playing quietly in the background. After the food a larger orchestra arrived to deliver music for dancing.
I searched for Anne the moment I entered the Hall, so I knew exactly where she was, she was sitting with her parents, her brothers having apparently already left London.
I moved slowly towards where they were sitting, stopping at a safe distance to watch and to consider my position. I was agonising as to whether I dare ask Sir William if I could dance with his daughter, but I lacked the courage. Edging a little closer I stopped just a few yards away, watching and thinking… unable to make up my mind. “Should I, shouldn’t I?” and then she saw me and waved. Cupping her hand she spoke to her mother who turned to her husband and whispered something in his ear. He glanced briefly in my direction and nodded. Anne then came running to me, taking me by the hand she guided me onto the dance floor.
I found it hard to put into words just how I felt at that moment in time… certainly worried about the possibility of a reaction from her father, but also overjoyed at being so close to the woman I had loved for so long. I had not seen her for four months but I thought about her every single day. I wanted to take her in my arms, I wanted to kiss her, I wanted to make love to her just as we used to in the boathouse at Noordeinde Palace all those years ago.
‘Come along Toby, let us dance. I hope you have not forgotten all the lessons I taught you. Can you remember this one?’
‘I am sure it will come back to me,’ I said as I glanced around to see who else was joining the line of dancers. I was not in the least surprised to see that King Charles was the one leading the dancing… holding the hand of his latest courtesan, Lady Barbara Castlemaine.
Anne saw me looking at her and standing on her toes whispered, ‘Do you know who she is?’
‘She is the King’s latest lady friend,’ I answered.
‘She is no lady. Only two months ago she gave birth to a baby girl… and her husband is not the father.’
Courtier in the Royal House of Stuart Page 31
