Diamond Soldiers

by Pinki Parks

  It was some hours later that they returned to the village, tired yet happy, the horses trotting at a slower pace than they had departed. On the green the local people remained, for this was as much a social occasion as it was a sport and today being a day of rest for most they intended to take full advantage of the opportunities afforded them.

  The ladies had retreated to the front parlour of the Duke’s Head, accompanied by Mr. Ramsbottom the curate, and Lady Carshaw who had arrived later in the day. Freddie and Cecil joined them once the formalities were over, and thus it was a merry party who entertained themselves in those most pleasant surroundings, Cecil, finding himself, as if by design, sitting next to Charlotte.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘we were so close to catching that fox, he was just a few yards away, I could almost see the whites of his eyes.’

  ‘It does sound terribly exciting,’ Charlotte admitted, though she still felt uncomfortable at the idea of the hunt, nevertheless it clearly gave Cecil pleasure to recount the events to her, and so she humoured herself by remembering that she was the only person in the room, if not the country, to have the words ‘animal rights’ in her vocabulary.

  The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough as Charlotte sat with the others in the cozy parlour of the Duke’s Head. The curate regaled them with an account of his attendance at the consecration of the new Bishop of Salisbury, and Lord Carshaw made known to the company that his latest visit to court saw the King having increased in size by at least a half.

  ‘You should see the table at Breakfast, it positively groans. There is a pie, much favoured by his majesty containing no less than twenty different sorts of birds, have you ever heard the like?’

  ‘And does his majesty consume the entire thing?’ the Dowager asked in great bemusement.

  ‘No,’ Lord Carshaw replied, ‘he consumes two!’

  The room rang with peels of laughter, and Charlotte resisted the urge to pass comment upon the number of unidentifiable meats in the pie as resembling an offering from McDougall’s back in New York City.

  Despite her moral objections to the hunt itself she had realised that day just how many friends she now had here, and as they sat around the fire regaling one another with stories she thought to herself that she really did feel truly happy to be there.

  ~

  St Stephen’s day soon gave way to the New Year and Charlotte continued to be amazed at the volume of food and feasting which was occurring around her. In New York the Christmas decorations were cleared away almost as soon as Santa’s sleigh had disappeared back to the north pole, replaced by the signs signalling the beginning of the holiday sales, encouraging the whole country to run itself into yet more debt, as if Thanksgiving and Christmas hadn’t been enough.

  But here amongst her Regency friends’ material excesses seemed largely replaced by the simple enjoyment of each other’s company, though on Christmas day itself she had received two particularly fine gifts, the first a black jet broach inlaid into gold from the Marquess of Collingdale and the other a set of the most handsome volumes of Miss Austen’s works accompanied by a necklace which the attached card informed her had belonged to the sender’s grandmother, the former Duchess of Hareburn.

  Charlotte was certainly touched by both gifts, though the first seemed more intent upon winning favour than sentimental affection. The second, however, was a gift which appeared both heartfelt and genuine, and after the hunt she had thanked the Duke for his kind gift, the Marquess receiving only a handwritten note.

  ~

  The events which now followed could fill another volume, as Charlotte attended parties and balls, spent time with her mother and sisters and even made a trip up to town with her sisters where she stayed at the London home of Lord and Lady Carshaw, and attended a ball at Buckingham House, in the presence of the king himself. An account of any of these many events would make for interesting reading, but suffice to say that Charlotte’s life here amongst her Regency friends continued apace, and although she missed her life in New York, and not a day went by when she did not wonder whether they thought of her and missed her, the life she now lived was anything but unpleasant.

  It was now late spring and Cecil had continued to be a regular visitor to Langburn much to Charlotte’s delight. The two had spent many afternoons walking in the parklands, chaperoned at a distance by Ellen and Isabella who at their mother’s request were to keep an eye on whether the young lady was becoming too romantically infatuated with the young Duke.

  Favouring Cecil as a match for their sister over the Marquess of Collingdale the two older ladies made it their business to ignore their mother’s instructions and instead merely observed whether or not the Duke of Hareburn behaved with honour towards their sister, which of course he always did.

  With spring came the softening of the weather and the snow, which had lain thick for several months, gave way to the new life of the season. It was around this time that an invitation arrived which caused great excitement in the house, though if truth be told most invitations did.

  ‘Now look at this crest girls,’ the Dowager Duchess said holding a letter up at breakfast one morning as Charlotte was helping herself to kedgeree from a large tureen, a dish she had grown strangely fond of.

  ‘Why, it is the Fitzherbert crest,’ she said, ‘it must be from Maria herself.’

  ‘Or the King,’ Ellen said.

  ‘Don’t speak such naughtiness dear,’ her mother said, ‘I am sure we do not need to repeat scandal at the breakfast table.’

  ‘Do open it mother,’ Isabella said.

  ‘It is addressed to Charlotte,’ her mother said, passing the letter down the table.

  The eyes of everyone in the room, including Mrs. Harlow who had just appeared with a rack of toast, all fell upon her as she paused from eating and took the letter from her sister.

  The letter was beautifully bound, and the wax seal only added to her excitement as she prised it open.

  As she read it silently a smile emerged upon her face such that Ellen reached over and yanked the paper from her hands.

  ‘Ellen, don’t snatch,’ her mother cried, ‘what does it say?’

  ‘It says that Charlotte is invited to a spring ball and to take the air with Maria in Brighton in one month’s time, the ball is to be attended by the king himself, oh how wonderful, I did say you made such an impression upon her the likes of which none of the rest of us did.’

  ‘Well that is just wonderful,’ her mother said, ‘what are the dates?’

  ‘The 18th to the 21st of May,’ Ellen continued to read, ‘Lady Carshaw is to act as chaperone should Freddie permit it, which he’s bound to do.’

  ‘Her mother should also permit it,’ the Dowager said, and then let out a small scream.

  ‘What ever is the matter mother?’ Isabella said, it seemed as if the Duchess had seen a ghost.

  ‘The 19th of May, it is the Marquess of Collingdale’s birthday that day, he is bound to invite Charlotte to dinner that evening. No, you must stay here Charlotte, write to Maria today and let her know you can’t come.’

  ‘Oh mother,’ Ellen said, ‘but the spring ball with the king is on the 19th it says here, do let her go.’

  ‘And spoil her chances of marrying the richest man in the country, I think not.’

  ‘I’m going to the ball,’ Charlotte said.

  A hush descended upon the room.

  ‘Well it’s not possible dear,’ her mother said, ‘the Marquess will consider it an affront if you are not here for his birthday.’

  ‘So, will Maria if she refuses,’ Isabella said.

  Mrs. Harlow was still standing in the corner with the now cold toast in its rack waiting for the Duchess’ reaction.

  ‘We’ll see what your brother says, I do not like conflict at the breakfast table,’ the Dowager said, and went back to buttering a slice of toast.

  On her part Charlotte had no intention of complying with her mother’
s wishes, she still treated much of her life here as something of a game, and annoying the Marquess, who had continued his attempts at seduction as the months had passed, would be an amusing distraction as she looked forward to her trip to Brighton.

  That very afternoon she wrote to Maria thanking her for the graciousness of her invitation and informing her that she would be delighted to accept.

  Freddie sided with his sister and informing their mother that in this case he outranked her and that since Charlotte wished to go to Brighton then to Brighton she would go.

  But unbeknownst to all the household at Langburn Maria Fitzherbert had also dispatched another invitation to her Brighton ball, this time to the estate of Hareburn, near Bath, and for the attention of the Duke therein. Cecil was delighted to receive it and had also replied that same day with similar thanks and gratitude.

  Thus, the stage was set for both Charlotte and Cecil to meet once again, this time away from the great house at Langburn with the Duchess’ beady eye, and the sisters’ chaperoning an ever-constant presence, this time on the fashionable south coast where the great and the good, and the great but less than good, would soon gather for Maria’s ball. The stage was set and the actors assembled.

  Chapter VI

  The month of May passed quickly for Charlotte, though she spent much of it looking forward to her coming adventure in Brighton.

  Her mother had finally consented to allow her to go, despite the Duke’s insistence that she would go whether the Duchess liked it or not. An invitation to dine for the Marquess’ birthday had indeed been issued and gracefully declined, much to the indignation of the former who considered Charlotte’s presence at his birthday dinner a right rather than a request. Nevertheless, there was little he could do except to curry the favour of other local women who could be more easily bought than the young lady of Langburn.

  Finally, the morning of the 17th arrived, and the usual morning ritual was enacted with perhaps a little more gusto than normal, for Charlotte, or Melissa, had always enjoyed a lie in.

  ‘Good morning ma’am,’ Emma said as she opened the curtains allowing the spring sunshine to flood the room.

  ‘I’m already awake,’ Charlotte said, ‘I could hardly sleep for the excitement of it all.’

  ‘I wish I were going too,’ Emma said, ‘to think you shall see his majesty too and Maria’s home there, and of course the sea.’

  ‘Have you never seen the sea?’ Charlotte said, forgetting that this was not 21st century New York.

  ‘I have hardly seen anything ma’am, the furthest I have ever travelled is thirty miles from here, and that only to attend my aunt’s funeral. To me Brighton may as well be New York, or one of those other far off places they say exists.’

  ‘Maybe one day you’ll see it,’ Charlotte said as she began to dress herself.

  Lady Carshaw was due to arrive at Langburn at 10 O’clock that morning, they would then begin the carriage drive to Brighton, overnighting at an inn on the way.

  ‘Now dear, Emma has packed everything you need, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes mother, Mrs. Harlow has checked through everything too.’

  ‘Well what about extra dresses? You may want a choice, and you do have the gifts for Maria, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes mother, they are all packed and ready to be loaded.’

  ‘Well what about a parasol, the sun could be awfully warm there, I remember your father going down on …’

  ‘Mother,’ Ellen interjected, ‘everything will be fine, Charlotte will only be away for a week, she isn’t going to the colonies.’

  ‘What’s left of them,’ her mother replied, ‘yes, I am sure everything is in order, but it is a mother’s prerogative to worry about her children, you’ll find out if any of you ever have any, which I must say is looking more and more less likely by the day. Oh, the carriage is here.’

  The arrival of Lady Carshaw brought a welcome end to the conversation, she had arrived accompanied by his Lordship who was due to the meet the Duke that morning to discuss the grazing rights for cattle on the estate.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said as he and his wife alighted from the carriage, ‘I see you’re all set for the campaign’ he continued, pointing at the trunks.

  ‘A lady must have all that is necessary,’ the Duchess said.

  ‘Quite so, well is his Grace inside?’ Lord Carshaw continued.

  ‘I’m here to wave the ladies off,’ the Duke said, appearing at the door, ‘farewell Charlotte, and do give my love to Maria when you see her.’

  ‘I certainly will,’ Charlotte said, embracing her brother.

  ‘Ours too,’ her sisters said, standing in line for their embrace.

  ‘And do take care of yourself dear,’ her mother said, ‘I shall be worrying every day.’

  ‘Well nothing can be worse than spending the night at the Marquess of Collingdale’s place,’ Charlotte said laughing at her mother’s reaction, and the tittering of her sisters.

  ‘Come now Charlotte, let’s leave them to it,’ Lady Carshaw said as the two women boarded the carriage and it made its sedate pace, laden with enough luggage for a passage to India, through the parkland.

  The Duchess, the ladies, the Duke and Lord Carshaw watched its progress until it was out of sight.

  ‘’What an adventure she shall have,’ Ellen said, ‘if only such an invitation would arrive for us.’

  ‘We’ve had quite enough adventure for now I think,’ the Duchess said as they turned to go back inside, ‘I just hope she keeps a level head, Brighton can be quite an intoxicating place you know.’

  ~

  Driving through the English countryside in late Spring is a joy whatever your destination, but the experience was made even more pleasant by Charlotte’s excitement at what was to come. She and Lady Carshaw enjoyed the pleasant yet formal conversation so redolent of the era as they passed along the lanes and byways. From the window of the carriage Charlotte saw attractive villages, with the spires and square built towers of the parish church at their centre, they passed through farmland, and saw the labourers in the fields and skirted around a large industrial town, smoke billowing from the chimneys of its factories.

  The day passed most pleasantly with a pause for refreshment, which the footman accompanying them laid out on a low table, by a little brook.

  ‘It’s so lovely here,’ Charlotte said, as she took a bite of cake.

  ‘England in the Spring is beautiful,’ Lady Carshaw said.

  ‘Are we making good progress?’ Charlotte said.

  ‘We shall be at the inn by the early evening, and then tomorrow on to Brighton,’ Lady Carshaw said, ‘are you looking forward to the ball?’

  ‘More than anything, I wonder who will be there, the King of course.’

  ‘If he hasn’t died from excess by then,’ the older lady said pointedly.

  George IV was well known for the excesses of his court, and his person, Maria Fitzherbert being one such example. His presence at the party would certainly raise eyebrows, given the fact that their relationship was officially unofficial. But these facts would make the entire affair far more interesting, and as they resumed their journey south the thoughts of all that was to come were foremost in Charlotte’s mind.

  By evening they had arrived at the small village of St Mary Allington where an Inn, named ‘The Lion and Unicorn’ awaited them.

  The building was in the centre of the village, looking out over a green, rather like that at Langburn, the bell of the parish church was tolling for Evensong as the two women stepped down from the carriage and into the little parlour at the front of the Inn.

  Lady Carshaw had stayed there often on her journeys to and from Brighton and the Landlady greeted her warmly as the two settled into chairs by the little fire which was burning merrily in the grate, for though it was May the evenings could still present a chill.

  ‘It is so good to see you again Lady Carshaw,’ the Landlady said, �
��why, it must be almost a year since you were last here, travelling back in the early summer months.’

  ‘That it is Helen, I was last down in Brighton for the July regatta, travelling with my husband.’

  ‘And today you have a different travelling companion,’ the Landlady said turning to Charlotte and smiling.

  ‘This is Miss Charlotte Langburn,’ Lady Carshaw said.

  ‘Of the Langburn family? The late Duke?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘Well we are most honoured to welcome you here ma’am,’ the Landlady said, ‘most honoured indeed, and I hope you will be comfortable in our humble abode for the time you spend here with us, if there is anything you need then please do not hesitate to ask.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlotte said, ‘it’s a lovely place.’

  ‘Been in my family for five generations,’ she said, bustling around as the footman took the bags upstairs to the bedrooms.

  An interesting variety of people passed through The Lion and the Unicorn, it was a well-known place to break a journey and in fact just the night before had played host to Cecil, Duke of Hareburn, though wishing to keep his affairs to himself he had travelled under a false name, his hand evident in the guest book, signed ‘F. Collins.’

  The evening passed pleasantly enough with Charlotte and Lady Carshaw taking a pleasant supper provided by the Landlady before retiring early. It always amazed Charlotte how tiring travelling by carriage could be, and today had been no exception. By ten O’clock she found herself yawning and excusing herself, but Lady Carshaw quite understood and the two women bid one another, and the Landlady, goodnight before climbing the narrow staircase to the rooms above.

  Charlotte readied herself for bed and looked out over the village green which was now bathed in the dusky light of a summer evening. Opening the little window, the smell of roses and hollyhocks hit here and she breathed in its scent, life here was so very different from New York. She imagined opening her own apartment window up on the fourteenth floor of her building. Inhaling there would give a lung full of petrol fumes mixed with a smell of fast food and uncollected rubbish, not to mention the noise, which not even the triple glazing kept out. Here though a beautiful and peaceful silence reigned over everything, and leaving the window a little ajar she climbed into bed and fell quickly into a deep and peaceful sleep.