by Rebecca Dean
Before she went to Oxford she had never minded, but Oxford had changed her and she wanted more out of life now than simply being a mother as well as a sister to her younger siblings.
“I’m going to take the dogs for a walk,” she said, aware that the situation couldn’t change while her grandfather was so dependent on her—or that it couldn’t change until one of her sisters stepped into her shoes where Snowberry was concerned. And as Lily was still too young, and Marigold entirely too selfish, that left Iris.
Iris was ideally suited to the role, because all she wanted out of life was to marry Toby Mulholland, the only son of Viscount Mulholland whose family home, Sissbury Castle, was a mere ten miles from Snowberry. The two of them had been inseparable since childhood and though Rose couldn’t for the life of her understand what Iris saw in Toby—who was pleasant, but vacuous—Iris adored him.
Rose walked down the broad staircase into the entrance hall, her thoughts still on Iris. Sometime in the not-too-distant future Iris would be mistress of Sissbury and since Sissbury’s estate was even larger than Snowberry’s, it made sense that Iris should become familiar with estate account books and estate correspondence.
With Fizz and Florin at her heels, Rose left the house, heading toward the belt of woodland closest to the house. If Iris could be persuaded to take over from her, she would be able to combine her life at Snowberry with a life lived in London—and then she could once more become fully active in the WSPU’s struggle for equality with men.
It wasn’t an ambition Iris would understand. All Iris wanted was a country life of children, horses, and dogs—something that was easily achievable and that marriage to Toby would bring. Whereas Rose’s own ambition—to be part of a force for change in the world—was well-nigh impossible when women weren’t even able to vote and a political life of any kind was closed to them.
She dug her hands deep in the pockets of her gored skirt, well aware that all that was expected of her was that, like Iris, she married well; but, since marriage would mean surrendering all independence, it was something she most definitely did not want.
The minute Iris heard the sound of the Talbot approaching the house she hurried downstairs and outside to welcome her grandfather home. To her surprise, Lord Jethney wasn’t with him, which meant she could immediately tell him of how Snowberry had been graced all afternoon by the presence of Prince Edward.
“You will never, in a hundred years, guess who has been playing tennis at Snowberry this afternoon, Grandfather.” She slid her hand into the crook of his arm. “Prince Edward! Oh, he was so nice! I thought him a little young for his age, but that may be because he’s so angelic looking. Buttercup-blond hair and the sweetest smile imaginable. He loved Snowberry. He told Rose he thought it was a cracking house!”
“By that I take it he meant he thought it was first-rate.”
Herbert Houghton was dressed for the glorious weather in a lightweight flannel suit and a jaunty panama hat. He patted her hand affectionately.
“But why was he here? Was he visiting Chanbury Hall or Sissbury Castle and did Lord Reighton or Toby’s father bring him?”
“No. Let’s have tea on the lawn and then I’ll tell you everything. It’s all very exciting, because it began with him almost killing Rose.”
Having so intrigued him, she refused to say another word until she’d asked for tea to be brought out to them on the lawn. Soon the two of them were seated comfortably in cane chairs at either side of a small white-naperied table on which stood bone-china cups and saucers, a sugar bowl and milk jug, a Georgian silver teapot and silver tea strainer.
The earl, a man of equable temperament who was seldom ruffled, waited patiently for the granddaughter who was most like him to spill the beans.
Iris poured the tea and said, “The prince was driving from Dartmouth to Windsor and Rose was cycling down to the village to post letters when the prince took a corner very badly and as Rose veered out of his way he clipped her back wheel.”
“Dear Lord!” Her grandfather’s geniality vanished at a stroke. “Was she hurt?” He rose to his feet, full of anxiety. “Where is she now? You should have told me this straightaway, Iris.”
“Please sit down, Grandfather. Rose wasn’t hurt—at least not seriously. She was winded and she’s grazed her face and at the moment she’s gone for one of her trudges and has taken the dogs with her.”
Vastly relieved, her grandfather sat down again, but he was still slightly alarmed. “Who was with the prince?” he asked, thinking of possible repercussions. “Did he have an aide-de-camp with him?”
“He had an equerry. Captain Cullen. David brought Rose back to Snowberry in his car and Captain Cullen walked back with the damaged bicycle.”
Her grandfather stared at her, confused. “David? Did Prince Edward have two equerries with him?”
“No. The prince asked us if we would call him David. It’s a name he prefers.”
Her grandfather had just taken a sip of tea.
He choked on it.
When he could speak, he said, “I think you’re teasing me, Iris. I do hope the rest of your story isn’t a tease as well, because if it is, it’s very naughty of you.”
“Of course it isn’t a tease!” Iris’s nut-brown eyes were indignant. “I think Captain Cullen was rather shocked by the prince asking us to call him David, but he did, and it made things so much friendlier. I partnered David and Marigold partnered Captain Cullen in a game of doubles. Rose umpired and Lily was ball boy. It was tremendous fun.”
“It may have been tremendous fun, Iris, but as I wasn’t here to act as his host, it was also highly irregular.” He frowned, deeply worried. “If it should become known that the Prince, his equerry, and four single young women had spent the afternoon playing tennis with no one else present, it would cause uproar at the palace. I can’t imagine what his equerry was thinking of to have allowed it.”
Iris’s elation ebbed a little. Her grandfather seldom worried about anything, and she didn’t want him worrying now.
“It won’t become known, Grandfather, because none of us—not even Marigold—is going to say a word about it to anyone. And Captain Cullen won’t say anything to anyone because if he did he might lose his position as equerry.”
“Oh, he would. There’s no doubt about that. One hint of this afternoon’s escapade to King George and heads—including Prince Edward’s—would roll. The King is a martinet—even his most intimate friends are terrified of him. I suspect that’s why Prince Edward so enjoyed his afternoon at Snowberry. His tennis match with the four of you would have been a delightful novelty after the rigidly correct behavior demanded of him at Windsor and Buckingham Palace. I remember Jethney telling me what a great pity it is that the princes aren’t allowed to form friendships with other boys their age. It must make for very lonely lives.”
Iris, remembering the expression in David’s eyes as he said good-bye to them, and then the sudden hope that had flooded them when he asked if he could visit again, was quite certain that her grandfather was right and that, as heir to the throne, David carried a heavy burden of loneliness.
She was trying to imagine how it must be, holding a position so exalted that normal relationships were all but impossible, when Lily came running across the lawn toward them, a flaming smile of delight on her face.
“Grandpapa, you’re home!” she gasped, as if he’d just returned from a round-the-world voyage.
She kissed his cheek and knelt down on the grass beside his chair. “Has Iris told you about Prince Edward’s visit? It was so nice his being here. Just as nice as when Rory is here.”
Her grandfather chuckled. “I’m sure Rory will be pleased to hear that. What have you been doing, sweetheart? You’ve got straw in your hair.”
“I’ve been feeding the rabbits and cleaning out the hutches. Where is Lord Jethney? Rose said he was coming for dinner and that you were bringing him home with you.”
“He is coming to dinner and I was going to
bring him home with me, only he’s been delayed. The coronation seems to have thrown the normal running of government into chaos—and there is still nearly a month before it takes place.”
Iris sucked in her breath. “You’re going to find this unbelievable, Grandfather, but I’d forgotten all about the coronation. It’s going to be very weird seeing David in his ceremonial robes. Will he wear a coronet?”
“Will he carry a sword?” Lily asked, equally mesmerized at the thought of David playing such an important role in an event so historic it would have the attention of the entire world.
“He’ll certainly be wearing a coronet. I don’t know about the sword. Although the last coronation was only nine years ago, I can’t remember how King George—who was then Prince of Wales—was robed. I do know that the Prince of Wales takes precedence over all the other peers of the realm, but since Prince Edward isn’t of age yet to be a peer, he can’t wear a peer’s robes. That being the case, I think it highly likely that the King will invest him with the Order of the Garter. There’s no age barrier where that most ancient order of British chivalry is concerned.”
“And if he is invested with the Order of the Garter, what robes will he wear?” Lily asked, enraptured.
“He’ll wear the Garter dress of white and silver with a blue velvet cloak and a big black velvet hat with white plumes.”
“Oh! He will look wonderful. I do wish I was going to be in the abbey to see him.”
“Even if you were, you would probably only get the merest glimpse of him. Very few people have a good view of what takes place.” The tea in the teapot was nearly cold and he rose to his feet. “It’s time for me to have a nap before dinner. Are the two of you coming indoors, or are you going to stay outside in this far too hot early evening sunshine?”
“The present heat wave isn’t too hot for me, Grandpapa.” Lily turned her face blissfully toward the brassy blue bowl of the sky. “I just want it to continue like this throughout the rest of the summer.”
“The farmers wouldn’t like that, sweetheart. We need a healthy amount of rain. We do need weather like this for the coronation, though. It’s the reason blazing June is the traditional month for coronations and why, although King Edward died a year ago, King George is having to wait until next month to be crowned. June of last year simply wouldn’t have given time for the arrangements to be made.”
Iris slipped her arm through the crook of his. “Then let’s hope the heat wave holds,” she said, as, together, they began walking companionably back to the house.
Chapter Six
King George peered at the glass of Windsor Castle’s barometer, tapped the case sharply to make sure that the needle wasn’t stuck, and set it again. The barometer read the same as it had originally.
“The weather’s going to break,” he said bad-temperedly to David. “I daresay it will still be the same on Coronation Day. Rain is the one thing impossible to guard against.” He tugged at his neatly trimmed spadelike beard. It was anointed every morning with lavender water, and David could smell its faint, unmistakable tang. “Come into the library.” His father’s command was as peremptory as always. “There is an arrangement with regard to the coronation of which I have to apprise you.”
David’s heart sank. So far, his return home had gone without a footman giving him the dreaded message that the King wished to speak to him in the library. Dinner, too, had passed off without incident. Since, after dinner, it was his father’s habit to shut himself away with his stamp albums, David had been looking forward to a stress-free—if boring—evening, spent in the company of his mother, one of her ever-present ladies-in-waiting, and his sister.
Dutifully he followed his father down the portrait-laden corridor and into the library where all one-to-one talks with his father took place. As his father seated himself behind his large desk David stood in front of it, his legs astride, his hands clasped behind his back, midshipman fashion. It was what his father, who, like him, had had a naval training, expected.
“It’s a damn nuisance you are not of age to be a peer and so I shall invest you with the Order of the Garter. After all, you can hardly take part in a thousand-year-old religious ceremony in naval cadet uniform, can you?”
“No, sir.”
“And your investiture as Prince of Wales will take place at Caernarvon Castle two weeks after the coronation.”
David blinked. To the best of his knowledge no Prince of Wales had had a formal investiture in Wales since the title was created, way back in 1301. A formal investiture in Wales—and at Caernarvon—would be a very big event—and he would be at the center of it.
He felt violently queasy. He didn’t like having all eyes on him. The coronation was going to be nightmare enough, without his having to endure another horrendous ceremony almost immediately after it.
“And afterward you will begin carrying out public duties proper to your title,” his father continued relentlessly. “When not at Dartmouth, there will be levees to attend and civic and charitable banquets. Never forget how much is expected of you. You were born to a great destiny. Always remember the position that will one day be yours. You will not only be King of the greatest nation the world has ever known, and King of all her dominions beyond the seas, you will also be King-Emperor of India—the brightest jewel in the Crown.”
The straitjacket of burdens and responsibilities that were his future was so daunting the very thought of it made David wince.
“I shall always do my utmost to make you proud of me, Papa,” he said stiffly, praying to God the interview would come to a close before more unpleasant shocks were lobbed his way.
His prayer went unanswered.
“Because of your new duties as Prince of Wales, your time at Dartmouth is to be cut short.”
David’s heart tightened within his chest. “But I’ve yet to go on my final training cruise, sir.”
“When your fellow cadets set off for North American waters, you will not be with them. You will be being measured for your Garter robes. You will be being measured for your investiture robes. You will be being coached in the part you will play at the coronation. For your investiture the chancellor of the exchequer, Mr. Lloyd George, will coach you in the Welsh language. You will be giving thought to the historic speech you will make. But now,” his father said, glowering at him, “you will explain to me why Bertie was an atrocious sixty-first in his year group and why you, as his elder brother, have not been encouraging him to work harder.”
Even before he began, David knew it was useless explaining that he’d done his best to give Bertie every possible encouragement, but that it had been difficult when rigid rules forbade senior cadets from mixing with junior cadets.
Also, he was too loyal to say that, like him, Bertie found the curriculum massively difficult and that the reason for such difficulty wasn’t their fault. Their fellow cadets had all had the advantage of a preparatory-school education before going to Naval College. He and Bertie had only had a private tutor who had abysmally failed to teach them subjects such as mathematics and science, which they should have had a grounding in.
“House rules mean Bertie and I can only meet up in a far corner of the playing fields and we can’t do that very often, sir. And sixty-first isn’t really so bad—not for Bertie. He really is trying to work harder.”
There was a deferential knock on the library door.
“Come!” his father barked deafeningly.
The door opened and a footman said nervously, “Your Majesty, Lord Esher has arrived.”
The King’s mood changed instantly. Esher was an old and trusted friend and an adviser he relied upon greatly.
“You may go, David,” he said, to David’s vast relief. To the footman he added, “I’ll receive Lord Esher in here.”
Once on the other side of the library door, David hesitated. His mother and his sister would be expecting him to join them, but he was far too emotionally disoriented to want to do so.
The news that he
was to leave Dartmouth before achieving his goal of the last four years—the final training cruise and graduation—had come completely out of the blue, as had his father’s announcement that he would be embarking so soon on what would be a lifetime of public duties. What hadn’t been mentioned were any plans for his further education—plans that must, surely, be in place.
That he was always the last person to know of the plans made for him rankled deeply. How long ago, for instance, had plans for his investiture at Caernarvon been made? The answer, he knew, would have been months and months ago.
Two footmen in brilliant livery, their hair powdered, were standing impassive faced at either side of the library door. As he looked down the corridor he could see at least half a dozen more footmen at strategic points. At dinner that evening two of his father’s equerries had dined with them, as had one of his mother’s ladies-in-waiting. David assumed that there were times when his parents dined without the presence of courtiers, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember them doing so.
At this moment, though, he, for one, wanted to be alone in order to mull over what his father had said and to indulge in the pleasure of reliving his afternoon at Snowberry. Although the presence of footmen would, in royal terms, still equate with his being alone, he wanted to be really alone, with no palace flunkies in his field of vision. At Windsor there was only one place for such absolute privacy.
The roof.
As boys, he and Bertie had often escaped to the castle’s battlements, the excitement of the adventure intensified by the knowledge that they were doing something dangerous and utterly forbidden. It was years since he had made his way up the many staircases and along the warren of passages that led to an access door, but he remembered the way perfectly.
As he stepped out onto the vast expanse of lead he could see, ghostly in the moonlight, the dark expanse of the Great Park and, if he turned round a little, the twinkling lights of the little town of Windsor, lying at the castle’s foot. A little farther away was the silken sheen of the river Thames winding its way languorously east, toward London. In the other direction, far too far away to see, lay Snowberry.
