Charles Finch - A Stranger in Mayfair

“I misplaced my master list of all the bishops’ wives, I’m afraid.”

“He’ll be there with you, of course.” All the bishops of the Church of England had, ex officio, seats in the House of Lords. “She’s going through a terrible time, poor dear, with her father. He’s been ever so ill. We thought we’d try to cheer her up.”

“Are these shoes fine?”

“Oh, I daresay they’ll pass.” She smiled. “Yes, quite shiny, of course. I think Graham had the boots around to shine them five times yesterday.”

“Graham! I haven’t even thought of him today!”

“You’re lucky to have me, then. I congratulated him and gave him the morning off, then told him to come back at three so we could greet you together and hear all about it.”

Lenox frowned. “You can’t give my political secretary the day off.”

“I’ll give him the week off if I like.”

Now he smiled. “You know, I am lucky to have you.”

It was the first awkward note. She handled it by going to the hook where he kept his cloak and taking it down. “You are, of course,” she said lightly.

“Emily Pendle will be cheered by three, then?” he asked, trying to restore the tone the conversation had had.

“It won’t be for lack of trying if she’s not.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then they were saved from truly talking by the doorbell. Kirk’s footsteps echoed down the front hallways, and both of them peered curiously at the door.

Was it a message about Clarke, Lenox wondered wildly? Who was guilty? What had happened?

But no-it was his brother’s reddish, cheerful face that popped through the door. “Hallo, Member for Stirrington,” he said brightly. “You, too, Charles.” At his own joke he laughed loudly. “Imagine, Jane giving her speech in Parliament.”

“I think I’d do a fair job,” said Lady Jane with mock hurt. “Better than some of the gentlemen I’ve heard from the galleries.”

“You would! I don’t doubt it! Only-the figure of a woman-the benches-a dress!” Edmund dissolved into laughter. “It’s exceedingly comical, you must admit.”

“Not so comical as all that, Edmund you great oaf,” said Lady Jane, frowning. “After all, the Queen is speaking there today.”

“It’s true, you’re quite right.” Edmund looked at his watch. “Lord, Charles, we must be on our way. The crush of carriages around Whitehall, you wouldn’t believe it. The Queen’s only an hour away; we should already be seated!”

Lady Jane bestowed a kiss on Charles-still such a thrill, after all this time!-and the two brothers hurried out of the door.

When they were sitting in the carriage together, Edmund asked about Ludo Starling. “They’ve arrested somebody?” He had always taken a deep interest in his brother’s work and liked to solve the crimes of his small village-a missing silver plate, for example, or a stolen horse-using only the evidence in the newspaper. He would bring his deductions to Charles with frankly unbecoming pride and boastfulness.

“The butler.”

“I’ve never liked Ludo Starling, not that it’s here nor there.”

They were in Whitehall now, and it was indeed crowded. The mall from Buckingham Palace was entirely cut off for the Queen. “Oh, bother murders. What are we to do today, Edmund?”

The question was more complicated than it seemed. This was one of those many days in England when a host of old traditions come back to life, and ceremonies with obscure and absurd origins are carried out with the utmost seriousness.

“You and I will start by going to the House-the House of Commons.”

“Won’t it be jammed?”

“Here, let’s go out on foot. It’s crowded. No, it won’t be too jammed. Do you really not know this ceremony? Right at the moment, the Yeomen of the Guard-that’s what we call the Beefeaters when we like to be formal-anyway, those chaps in red uniforms, who get a ration of beef every day-they’re poking around the cellars in case somebody wants to emulate Guy Fawkes and blow us all up.”

“What a relief,” murmured Lenox with a grin.

They were halfway down toward Parliament now, and the crowds were growing denser. “At just this moment an MP-this year it’s Peter Frogg, the lucky blighter-is being taken prisoner.”

Lenox laughed. “What can you mean?”

“In case we try to kidnap Queen Victoria, of course. He sits in the palace and gorges himself on wine and food and makes pleasant conversation with the royal family, generally. Plum job. Then the Queen comes down here in her coach-she’ll be on her way now.”

The Members’ Entrance was crowded with politicians, and a roar of noise was audible even from fifty feet away. The porter, waving away their identification, said, “You oughter have come earlier, for shame, sirs,” and pushed them into the throng of people.

“This way!” shouted Edmund. “Let’s slide through! I made sure we could both be in the Commons! That way we’ll get to see the Queen!”

“Why will we get to see the Queen?” asked Lenox when they were through to a quieter corridor. “And why on earth won’t it be jammed?”

“Most people are in the House of Lords-where they give the speech, you know-or in the Queen’s Gallery”-the hall that connected the Lords and the Commons. “Only a few dozen of us will be straggling around the Commons. Look, here it is.”

They took their place on a green baize bench. Lenox was, to his surprise, rather fluttery in his stomach. “Edmund, how will we see her speech, if it’s in the House of Lords?”

“Let’s talk of other things for a moment-I want to hear about Ludo Starling.”

“But-”

Edmund smiled fondly. “Let it be a surprise, Charles.”

So they talked of Ludo Starling, Freddie Clarke, and Jack Collingwood for some while, pausing occasionally to greet a Member they both knew, or more often one that Lenox knew by reputation and with whom Edmund exchanged a few cryptic words about various bills in the offing for the new session. Strangely enough the room was indeed empty but for a dozen or so men.

Edmund was asking questions about the case when there was a hush. A man in tremendously ornate garb appeared at the door of the chamber, and to Lenox’s shock a gentleman at the far end got up and slammed the door in his face.

“My G-”

“Shh!” whispered Edmund urgently.

Then there was a very loud rap at the closed door of the chamber. Lenox jumped a foot in the air. Edmund laughed into his sleeve.

“That’s the Lord Great Chamberlain,” he whispered. “It means the Queen has entered the building-through the Sovereign’s Entrance, of course, on the other side from ours-and taken on the Robes of State. We slam the door in his face to show we’re independent-that we don’t have to listen to a monarch.”

Another loud rap. “What do we do?”

“Now we’ll go. Wait-the Speaker leads us.”

So they processed down the silent Queen’s Gallery, and through to the red -benched House of Lords.

Suddenly there she was, in her person; Lenox, no great admirer of power, was so enchanted he could barely stand when he saw her on her glorious golden throne: the Queen.

“Bow at the bar!” said Edmund urgently. “We must bow!”

They bowed.

She was a roundish, placid, unbeautiful woman; in her youth she had been not pretty but slim and eye-catching. Now she contained all the majesty of England in her rather waddling gait and intelligent, indifferent face. She had survived half a dozen assassination attempts, given birth to children, and seen empires fall. Whether because of her position or her person, she was captivating to behold.

The speech addressed a number of issues for the Houses to take up. To Lenox’s annoyance Edmund kept whispering questions about the case. These received at best a nod by way of reply, but still Lenox found himself missing chunks of the speech. It was nearly the end when he could concentrate.