Her lover had taken her to see it because, he had said, she must learn what the world was about. She said it was terrible to see the men to be hanged arriving in a cart, and although she had pretended to look she had her eyes shut. She said there were men and women selling gingerbread, pies, fairings and the dying speeches and confessions of others who had recently met their death in this way.
I had said: “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear.”
But she had gone on telling me and, I believed, making it even more gruesome than it actually was.
On other visits to London I had walked with my parents in the Mall, which was delightful, and this fashionable thoroughfare was very much used by members of the respectable nobility. There one paraded and bowed to one’s friends and acquaintances and sometimes stopped and talked and made arrangements to meet at some place. I loved the Mall. My grandfather told me how he had played Pell Mell there several times with King Charles. Nowadays there were flower girls there with their blooms, girls with baskets of oranges, which they proferred to passersby; and one could come face to face with a milkmaid driving her cow and stopping now and then to take milk from the cow so that buyers could be sure of its freshness. Strolling by watching the people was a great excitement to me. I had always enjoyed it.
“You should see it at night,” Carlotta had said to me; and she had described the gallants who went out prowling through the crowds searching for young girls who took their fancy. At night one could see the ladies patched and beribboned and sometimes masked. That was the time to stroll down Pall Mall. “Poor little Damaris! They’ll never allow you to do that.” And when I had said they wouldn’t allow her either she had just laughed at me.
I could never stop thinking of Carlotta for long and here in this city of adventure she seemed closer than ever.
We were all installed in the Eversleigh town house which was not far from St. James’s Palace, and my mother said I should have a good night’s rest for we would be out early the next day to see the beginnings of the coronation ceremonies.
I woke early the next morning, excited to find myself in a strange bed. I went to my window and looked down on the street where people were already gathering. They would come in today from the surrounding country. It was the twenty-third of April, St. George’s Day. The people were very excited. I wondered how the Queen felt. What would one’s reaction be if one were taking a crown which did not by right belong to one. Of course the English would never have a Catholic on the throne. I had heard my grandfather expound at length on that subject. And King James could have retained his crown if he had given up his faith. He refused and lost it, and then we had had Protestant William and Mary, now both dead, and Mary’s sister Anne was our Queen.
The Jacobites would be angry but the mood of the people seemed to indicate that they wanted Anne. Or perhaps they just wanted a coronation.
At eleven o’clock we rode into the streets and saw the Queen on her way from St. James’s Palace to Westminster Hall. She was carried in a sedan chair because she was so troubled with dropsy and swollen feet that she could not walk. She was about thirty-seven years of age, which seemed young to be afflicted with such an infirmity, but she had given birth to so many children and not one of them had survived—the young Duke of Gloucester, on whom all her hopes were set, having died recently—that this had had its effect on her.
Prince George of Denmark, her husband, who was as devoted to her as she was to him, walked before her and he was preceded by the Archbishop of Canterbury.
It was a glittering sight with garter-king-at-arms and the lord mayor and black rod with the high steward of England all in attendance.
The Queen looked calm and surprisingly beautiful in spite of the fact that she was very fat, a condition induced by a lack of exercise and a love of food; on her head was a circle of gold set with diamonds and its simple elegance became her.
We had places in the Abbey and we followed the procession treading our way through the sweet herbs which had been sprinkled on the ground and taking the places allotted to us.
It was an uneasy moment when Thomas Tennison, the Archbishop of Canterbury, presented the Queen to the assembly and asked the question: “Sirs, I here present unto you Queen Anne, undoubted Queen of this realm. Whereas all you that are come this day to do your homages and service, are you willing to do the same?”
It seemed to me that the pause following those words went on for a long time, but that was merely my imagination because I had heard so much talk about the Jacobites.
Then the shout was deafening: “God save Queen Anne.”
The Archbishop had to repeat the question three times after that—for he had to face the east, west, north and south each time he said it.
It was a thrilling moment when the choir began to sing the anthem. “The Queen shall rejoice in Thy strength, oh Lord. Exceeding glad shall she be in Thy salvation. Thou shalt present her with the blessings of goodness and shalt set a crown of pure gold on her head.”
When I heard all those voices singing in unison I felt sure that Anne really was the chosen sovereign and the King Across the Water presented no threat to the peace of the land.
It was sad, though, to see the Queen having to be helped to the altar; but when she made the declaration her voice was loud and clear.
“Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of God, the true profession of the gospel, and the protestant reformed religion established by law …?”
“I promise to do this,” declared Anne firmly.
This was what the people wanted. After all, it was because her father had not been an upholder of the Protestant faith that he had lost his throne.
After that there was the ceremony of the anointing, which was carried out in accordance with the ancient customs. Anne must stand while she was girt with the sword of St. Edward and then she must walk to the altar to offer it there. The spurs were presented to her and she placed them beside the sword on the altar and then she was invested with the ring and the staff.
The ring, my father had told me, was called the wedding ring of England and was engraved with the Cross of St. George. When it was placed on the finger it symbolized that the sovereign was pledged to honour his or her country and offer all the service and devotion of which that sovereign was capable. It is like a marriage, added my father.
I was deeply moved by the ceremony, as one must be, and when the Queen was seated on her chair and the Dean of Westminster brought the crown for the Archbishop of Canterbury to place on her head I joined with fervour in the loyal shout of “God save the Queen.” It was wonderfully inspiring to hear the guns booming out from the turrets of the Abbey and being answered by those of the Tower of London.
I watched the peers led by the Queen’s Consort, the Prince of Denmark, pay their homage to the new Queen by kneeling before her and then kissing her cheek.
We had places at the coronation banquet. My parents had been wondering whether the Queen would attend, for her disability must have made her quite exhausted, but my grandfather immediately replied that she must be there, tired or not. Otherwise those sly Jacobites would be saying she dared not face the traditional challenge of the champion Dymoke.
I enjoyed every moment. I was delighted to be able to gaze on the Queen. I thought she looked very regal and hid her tiredness very well. I liked her husband, who seemed mild and kind and was clearly anxious on her account.
It was after eight before the banquet was over and as the ceremonies had been going on for most of the day, the Queen was clearly relieved to leave for the palace of St. James’s. The crowds cheered wildly as she passed along in her sedan chair.
The banquet in Westminster Hall might be over but the people were going on carousing throughout the night.
My grandfather said we should get home before the streets became too rowdy, as they would later. “If you want to,” he said, “you can watch from the windows.”
This we did.
It was afte
rnoon of the following day. My mother, my grandmother and I had shopped in the morning in the Piazza at Covent Garden, which was crowded with revellers still celebrating the coronation. My mother had admired some violets, one of her favorite flowers, and had meant to buy some, but we turned away, our interest caught by something else, and forgot about them.
As we sat there a young woman went by. She was young and very flamboyantly dressed; but something about her reminded me of Carlotta. It was only a fleeting resemblance of course. She was not to be compared with Carlotta. At that moment a young man walked past and stopped. I realised that he had been following her, that she was aware of it and was now waiting for him to make some proposition.
Of course I knew this sort of behavior was commonplace and that women came out, usually at dusk and at night, with the very object of finding companions, but I had never before seen it so blatantly undertaken.
The two went off together.
The incident had had an effect on me. Chiefly I think because the woman bore a slight resemblance to Carlotta and had brought memories of her. I thought, if she were with us she would not be sitting here looking out. What had she said to me once: “Damaris, you’re a looker-on. Things won’t happen to you. You’ll just watch them happen to other people. Do you know why? It’s because you’re afraid. You always want to be safe, that’s why you’re so dull.”
Cruel Carlotta. She so often hurt me. Sometimes I wondered why she meant so much to me.
Then the thought occurred to me that it Would be a lovely surprise for my mother to have her violets. Why should I not go out into the streets and buy them for her? I shouldn’t have to go back to the Piazza. There were many flower sellers in the streets—even more than there usually were because of the coronation, for they were taking advantage of the crowds to do more business.
I was not supposed to go out on my own. I seemed to hear Carlotta laughing at me. “It was only to the end of the street.”
I should be scolded, but my mother would be pleased that I had remembered.
I was sure that if I had not seen the woman and been reminded of Carlotta I should never have been so bold. I put on my velvet cloak, slipped my purse into the pocket of my gown and went out.
I reached the end of the street without seeing a flower seller, and as I turned the corner I was caught up in a howling mob. People were circulating about a man in a tall black hat and shouting abuse at him.
Someone pressed against me. I was wary and kept my hand on my purse.
A woman was standing near me. I said, “What is it? What has he done?”
“Selling quack pills,” she said. “Told us they’d make you young again, bring the colour back to your hair and cure all ailments, make you twenty again. He’s a quack.”
I stammered: “What will they do with him?”
“Duck him in the river, most like.”
I shuddered. I was made uneasy by the looks of the mob, for I suddenly realised that I myself was attracting some strange looks.
It had been rather foolish to come out alone. I must get away from the crowd, find my violets quickly and go home.
I tried to fight my way out. It wasn’t easy.
“Here, who you pushing of?” demanded a woman with greasy hair falling about her face.
I stammered: “I wasn’t pushing. I … I was just looking.”
“Just looking, is it, eh? The lady’s only looking at us common folk.”
I tried to move away unobtrusively, but she was not going to let me. She started to shout abuse at me.
I didn’t know which way to turn. Then suddenly a woman was standing beside me. She was poorly dressed but clean. She caught my arm and said: “Now let this lady alone, will you? She’s not sport for the likes of you.”
The other woman seemed so surprised at the interruption that she stared open-mouthed at the other, who took the opportunity to take my arm and draw me away. We were soon lost in the crowd.
I was grateful to her. I had simply not known what to do and how to escape from that woman who had seemed so determined to make trouble.
The crowd had thinned a little. I was not sure which end of the street I was at. I thought I would abandon the idea of getting the violets and go home as quickly as possible. I could see my mother had been right when she had not wanted me to go out alone.
The woman was smiling at me.
“You shouldn’t be out alone on the streets, dear,” she said. “Why, that’s a beautiful velvet cloak you’re wearing. Gives people ideas, see, dearie. Now let’s get you back home fast as we can. What made you come out alone? Who are you with?”
I told her I had come up from the country with my family for the coronation and I had slipped out to buy some violets for my mother.
“Vi’lets,” she cried. “Vi’lets. Now I know the woman what sells the best vi’lets in London and not a stone’s throw from this here spot where we standing. If you want vi’lets you leave it to Good Mrs. Brown. You was lucky you was, dearie, to come across me. I know that one who was after you. She’d have had your purse in no time if I hadn’t come along.”
“She was a terrible woman. I had done nothing to her.”
“Course you hadn’t. Now have you still got your purse?”
“Yes,” I told her. I had made sure to keep my hand on it after all the stories I had heard of the agility of the London thieves.
“Well, that’s a blessing. We’ll get them vi’lets and then, ducky, I think we should get you back home … before you’re missed, eh?”
“Oh, thank you. It is so kind of you.”
“Well, I likes to do a bit of good where I can. That’s why they call me Good Mrs. Brown. It don’t cost nothing, does it, and it helps the world go round.”
“Thank you. Do you know Eversleigh House?”
“Why, bless you, dearie, a’ course I do. There ain’t no place in these ’ere parts that Good Mrs. Brown don’t know about. Don’t you be afraid. I’ll whisk you back to Eversleigh House afore you can say Queen Anne—that I will—and with the best vi’lets you can find in London.”
“I shall be so grateful. They wouldn’t want me to be out, you see.”
“Oh, I do see, and right they are. When you think of what I just rescued you from. These thieves and vagabonds is all over this ’ere wicked city, dearie, and they’ve just got their blinkers trained on innocents like you.”
“I should have listened to my mother.”
“That’s what the girls all say when they gets into a bit of trouble, now don’t they? It never done no harm to listen to mother.”
While she had been talking we had moved away from the crowd. I had no idea where we were and I saw no sign of flower sellers. The street was narrow, the houses looked gaunt and dilapidated as we turned up an alley.
I said uneasily: “We seem to be coming a long way.”
“Nearly there dear. You trust Good Mrs. Brown.”
We had turned into an alley. Some children were squatting on the cobbles; from a window a woman looked out and called: “Nice work, Mrs. Brown.”
“May God bless you, dear,” replied Mrs. Brown. “This way, ducky.”
She had pushed me through a door. It slammed shut behind us. I cried out: “What does this mean?”
“Trust Good Mrs. Brown,” she said.
She had taken my arm in a firm grip and dragged me down a flight of stairs. I was in a room like a cellar. There were three girls there—one about my age, two older. One had a brown wool coat about her shoulders and was parading up and down before the other two. They were all laughing but they stopped and stared when we entered.
It was now brought home to me that the fears which had started to come to me when we first turned into the labyrinth of back streets were fully justified. I was in a more unhappy position now than I had been when accosted by the woman in the crowd.
“Now don’t be frightened, dearie,” said Mrs. Brown. “No harm will come to you if you’re good. It’s not my way to harm people.” S
he turned to the others. “Look at her. Ain’t she a little beauty. Come out to buy vi’lets for her mamma. Feel the cloth of this cape. Best velvet. That’ll fetch a pretty penny. And she kept her hand on her purse too, which was nice of her. She came near to losing it in the crowd.”
I said: “What does this mean? Why have you brought me here?”
“There,” said Mrs. Brown, “Don’t she talk pretty. You two girls want to listen and learn how to do it. I reckon it would be a help to you in your work.”
She laughed. It was amazing how quickly Good Mrs. Brown had become Evil Mrs. Brown.
“What do you want of me? Take my purse and let me go.”
“First of all,” said Mrs. Brown. “We want that nice cloak. Off with it.”
I did not move. I stood there clutching it to me.
“Now, now,” said Mrs. Brown. “We don’t want trouble. Trouble’s something I never could abide.” She took my hands in a firm grip and wrenched them from my cloak. In a few seconds it was off my shoulders. One of the girls grabbed it and wrapped it round herself.
“Now then, now then,” said Mrs. Brown. “Don’t you dirty it, now. You know how particular Davey is. He wants it just as it comes off the lady.”
“I see you brought me here to steal my cloak. Well, you have it. Now let me go.”
Mrs. Brown turned to the girls and they all laughed. “She’s pretty, though, ain’t she?” said Mrs. Brown. “Such a trusting little piece. She took quite a fancy to Good Mrs. Brown, I can tell you. Was ready to follow her wherever she led.”
I turned towards the door. Mrs. Brown’s hand was on my arm.
“That’s not all, ducky.”
“No,” I cried. “You want my purse as well.”
“You did keep it nice and safe for us. It would be a pity not to have it after that, wouldn’t it?”
They kept laughing in a shrill way which frightened me.
I took out my purse and threw it on the floor.
Song of the Siren Page 13
