As the tirade of abuse between the two family members reached epic proportions, Stirling managed to excuse himself from Lord Airey who indicated that he should leave.
Hastening down the stairs, he felt elated and at the same time deflated. How could two men place their own needs above those of the country? Would it be bickering and animosity that would infiltrate the campaign east? If that was the case, then he had little hope for them. But that would have to wait. Stirling wanted to run over to see Clementine as quickly as possible. Maybe he might be able to catch her during her lunch break?
Chapter 20
“My dear, Mary, I have to go and you know that. I signed up for ten years. It was the right thing to do. Now, I can send you and the children the Queen’s shilling,” said Rory, studying his wife with a hopeful expression on his face.
“I dunno, luv. Wars are so dangerous. I’ve seen what they done to the living with my very own eyes. The streets of London are riddled with one-legged and one-armed and blind, crippled beggars. Will ye return to me as one of those, Rory? Will ya?”
“Na, I will not.”
“And besides, I don’t even know where this Crimea place is. Why on earth would Englishmen need to fight in a place that nobody has heard of?”
“It is a part of the Russian Empire,” said Rory, proud that he knew exactly where it was.
“Mm, well, that’s even worse. Why are we fighting for the Russians then?”
“No, we are fighting against them for the Turks.”
Mary did not care. “I still don’t want a crippled husband to look after. Three children are more than enough. You know what happens to men with war injuries – they succumb to the demon drink…”
He studied his wife carefully as she vented her frustration. She looked well. Her anger had flushed her cheeks red, but Rory knew that it was the clean country air that did her good and had given her a rosy tint to her face. In the background, two of his children played on a lush green lawn – they looked well and better than he had ever seen them look. Being free from the smog-ridden London air and the rat-infested rookery had worked miracles on their disposition and health. Mary held the newest addition to their family in her arms. She was a girl and they had named her Lucy.
As the departure for the Crimea loomed, he had obtained leave for a few days to say his farewells to his family. At first, the colour-sergeant had refused his request out right but his order had been immediately rescinded by the kind major who had happened to be nearby. It surprised Rory that a person of a different and more elevated class had cared about his plight.
They had spoken briefly afterwards. The major, whose name he did not know but whose face he recognized from his first day of training, had asked him many things about his family. Rory remembered seeing him become all dreamy when he had mentioned his wife and children.
The sight of it had prompted him to overstep the mark and ask whether the young officer was married. He had laughed after that. He had said no, but that he was hoping to soon ask the woman of his dreams for her hand in marriage. The major had patted Rory on the back and wished him God’s speed and expedient travels. He concluded by saying that they would see each other again at the port of Portsmouth on the day of the departure of the fleet.
“Will ya, Rory?”
“What my blossom?”
“Ye haven’t been a listening to me, have ye? Look around ye and tell me what ye see?” asked Mary bossily.
Rory let his gaze sweep over the place. It was a delightful spot close to the south coast and just outside of Lymington and the New Forest. Up high in the sky, the sun shone from a sea of blue. There was not a cloud in sight. It was the perfect late summer’s day. They sat in front of a small cottage with a thatched roof and brick walls. It formed a part of the lands belonging to the lady of the house. Her mistress had generously placed it at Mary’s disposal since the day she arrived on the estate.
The large manor house where Mary worked stood on a hill overlooking the surrounding parkland. It was a building of Georgian heritage. It was very large, made wide and relatively shallow in dimension in an attempt to make it look even more impressive from a distance. It was highest in the centre with Baroque emphasis on the corner pavilions.
The windows were large and repeatedly placed on a grid; this had been partly done when it was under construction to minimize window tax, which had been in force throughout the period in which it was built. Henceforward, some windows were subsequently bricked-in. Their height increasingly varied between the floors, and they progressively began below waist-height in the main rooms, allowing for small balconies.
Internal courtyards stood beside the stables, and the functional parts of the building down the sides, or in separate buildings nearby and hidden by trees. The views to and from the front and rear of the main block were concentrated on, with the side approaches rendered much less important. The roof was invisible from the ground, though domes could be seen from where Rory sat. The roofline was clear of ornament except for a balustrade on the top of a pediment.
Rory had been astounded upon arrival. Not knowing anything about the ways of landed gentry and even less so about nobility, he had made his presence known at the front door instead of down the side where the servants’ quarters and kitchen were located. The butler who had opened the door had been slightly taken aback at the sight of a man dressed in the uniform belonging to a hussar in the eleventh. It was thanks to his appearance that he got a foot in the door. Everything that happened thereafter had been dreamlike and like nothing he had known before.
The entrance hall in the grand house led to steps up to a mezzanine floor where the main reception rooms were located. Inside, the ornamentation was generous, and to Rory, overwhelming. He could not believe that his wife worked in such surroundings, let alone get his head around the fact that such places existed. The chimneypiece was generally the main focus in all of the rooms he passed. They had been given a classical treatment, topped by paintings or mirrors, depending on the chamber it was in.
Plasterwork ceilings, carved wood, and bold schemes of wall paint formed a backdrop to increasingly rich collections of furniture, paintings, porcelain, mirrors, and artful objects of all kinds. There was hardly any wood panelling as it had fallen from favour around the mid-century. Wallpaper, including very expensive imports from China, was de rigeur now-a-days.
The lady of the house had been courteous to him from the start. After some tea, a rather disgruntled butler had escorted Rory to the basement area or “rustic”, where the kitchens, offices and service areas were. It also served as the spot where male guests with muddy boots entered and came some way above ground, and was lit by windows that were high on the inside, but just above ground level on the outside. A single block with a small court for carriages at the front marked off by railings and a gate graced the outside.
“Ye know that ye can seek employ here. I have spoken to her ladyship. She needs somebody to work with the horses. Ye have learnt a bit about that since joining the army behind my back.”
Rory could not help but notice the last bit. Mary had been furious with him after he had confessed by messenger that he had joined. It had been the only way because neither of them could write and he had not been allowed to leave the barracks at the time.
“I can’t, Mary, and you know that. I am very grateful to her ladyship that ye can work here and all.” Rory swept his arm over their surroundings expansively. “Tis truly magnificent and I am so happy that the children are able to grow up here.”
Mary frowned. “Then why do ye hesitate? It should be no choice for ye. Ye coming here and it’s final.”
“I can’t. I have an obligation to my comrades, my queen and my country. Also, I have a responsibility to…” Rory could not help himself from thinking about the young major who had been so kind to him the other day. He never heard his wife complain that he also had a responsibility to his family. He knew that he did, but somehow, he knew that they would be all right no matt
er what happened to him.
Chapter 21
Windsor Castle stood proudly close to the banks of the Thames. The motte, the stone keep that sat on raised artificial earthworks in the centre of the castle’s grounds, was the first thing that came into sight. William the Conqueror had established the original structure as a bastion in order to control the city of London, this strategically important position on the river and the surrounding countryside.
The castle as it stood that day was created during a sequence of phased building projects that spanned the centuries since their inception around the year 1066. The building was in essence an amalgamation of Georgian and Victorian design based on a medieval structure, with Gothic features.
“Tis magnificent is it not?” said Clementine looking up at the building Queen Victoria had adopted as her principle royal residence from her vantage point, reclining on the rowing boat they had rented for the afternoon.
“Yes, it is. “The building has a certain fictive quality – picturesque and Gothic, as if they are putting on a performance there,” said Stirling, turning his head and taking a break from his rowing.
Clementine giggled. “Well, it should be Gothic. Wasn’t it William the Conqueror who had the first stones laid?”
“Yes, I think it was.”
“It’s as large as a small town. Imagine living in that and having all that space to yourself. Think of all the cleaning that needs to be done. Tis a little grey and dreary, don’t you think? No wonder the queen said that it was dull and tiresome and prison-like.”
Stirling started to row again. Royce and Elizabeth had long since passed them. They were heading for their rendezvous point on a grassy patch close to the village of Bray. It was hard work rowing against the current that sourced on the other side of the country at Kemble.
“The entire thing is divided into three wards – an upper one, a middle one and a lower one. The lower part is where St. Georges’ Chapel is located, in the centre you have the motte with the main keep of old and in the upper part is where the royal residences are,” said Clementine still studying the enormous structure.
“Yes, the debauched King George the Fourth spent a fortune redecorating the place to his specifications when he decided that Carlton House in London, that was no less of a palace, was insufficient for his needs. The man poured vast amounts of money into Carlton House while he was Prince Regent only to have the place demolished and sold off as terraced properties so that he could move into Buckingham Palace and Winsor Castle.”
Stirling shook his head at the profligacy of it all. “That’s not to mention the money he spent sprucing up the Brighton Pavilion. He soon also found that home insufficient a place to reflect his wealth and influence in the world. Imagine him saying they were too small for grand court events. I am happy we have a queen like Victoria. She is far more realistic and a better monarch in all things.”
“But they say the insides are quite beautiful.”
Stirling nodded. “They should be.”
Clementine flashed him a smile in an attempt to soften him up. “Well, don’t you think our monarchs should have residences that reflect their station? Great Britain is the most powerful nation in the world. It just wouldn’t do, to have the queen slumming it out.”
“I hardly call living in newly renovated residences costing the British taxpayer over three hundred thousand Pounds Sterling slumming it out. I hear in order to have his favourite Rococo styles incorporated, King George the Fourth applied his taste to Windsor.”
Stirling thought of more things to say on the topic. For a heartbeat, he was taken aback by Clementine’s beauty and her knowledge on the topic as a sunray grazed her cheek. Before he could stop himself, his voice started to trail off again. He had to talk. He needed something to do lest his nerves claim him.
“The terraces were closed off to visitors for greater privacy and the exterior of the Upper Ward was completely remodelled into its current appearance. The Round Tower was raised in height to create a more dramatic statement; many of the rooms in the State Apartments were rebuilt or remodelled; numerous new towers were created, much higher than the older versions. The south range of the ward was rebuilt to provide private accommodation for the king, away from the staterooms.”
Stirling rowed harder and harder with every word. Spending huge amounts renovating the monarch’s residence every time a new one came to power was something he did not believe in. Surely, the money could be spent on more important things. For one, the army needed an organizational overhaul. Not in equipment and uniforms, but in the way it was managed. Thinking about the British army made him think of Cardigan again. His arrest had been cancelled, but only because of Clementine’s quick thinking and the involvement of the press. How could it have come to it? Arrest because of a black bottle in the mess. He shook his head with disgust.
When he saw Clementine staring at him, he reverted back to the previous topic by saying, “By the time George the Fourth died the cost of his renovations had spiralled out of control to one million Pounds.”
“It appears that Queen Victoria and Prince Albert are far more frugal. They only commissioned a few minor alterations and they also had no hand in the fire in the State Dining Room last year – that needed to be repaired.”
“I suppose.”
“And I think that this royal couple deserve a few things. The queen is always busying herself with the plight of her subjects and Albert is doing his upmost with regard to this conflict with Russia. Did you know that it was his idea to impose economic sanctions on the Russian Empire?”
“Yes, I did actually.”
“And that he is trying to reform the British army?”
Stirling nodded.
“So, enough with this republicanism, Stirling. Just because George the Fourth was profligate, it doesn’t mean that all monarchs are bad. And besides, George was a magnificent patron of the arts and he changed the face of London. If it weren’t for him, we would not have Regent Street.”
“A more contemptible, cowardly, selfish, unfeeling dog does not exist ... There have been good and wise kings but not many of them ... and this I believe to be one of the worst. That is what a contemporary said of him when he died.”
“He was the most extraordinary compound of talent, wit, buffoonery, obstinacy, and good feelings - in short a medley of the most opposite qualities, with a great preponderance of good - that I ever saw in any character in my life. That is what the Duke of Wellington said about him.” Clementine eyed Stirling smugly.
“There never was an individual less regretted by his fellow-creatures than this deceased king. What eye has wept for him? What heart has heaved one throb of unmercenary sorrow? ... If he ever had a friend – a devoted friend in any rank of life – we protest that the name of him or her never reached us. That was printed in The Times when he died, Clementine.”
The two of them laughed uncontrollably. For Stirling it was like a breath of fresh air to be around such a woman. Clementine was everything he had hoped she would be and more. She was vivacious, full of wit and she was humorous to boot. The way her face lit up when she vented her mirth was nothing short of magical. She had a way about her that was unlike any other woman he had met. Not even her sister was anything like Clementine.
In that moment, Stirling could not have been happier that the Earl of Leighton had raised her like his son, making her more independent, spirited and educated than the other members of her sex.
Losing himself more and more in the deep silence pervading between them, Stirling found himself counting sheep and other livestock lining the banks of the river on the lush green fields. It was the only thing keeping him sane and calm. It was the reason he had nattered on unceasingly about Windsor Castle and the spending habits of the royals. Frankly, he could not care any less. It was true that he wanted an army reform, but that was about it. His mind was nervously occupied with other thoughts.
They did not have far to go until they came across the beautiful g
rassland that rolled down to the Thames River. For a moment, the tranquil flow of the water distracted him, diverting his thoughts from what he was about to do.
Contemplating the undulating grass, so idyllic and green, so much in contrast to the dominant blue of the river, the seed of an idea started to blossom. In an instant, Stirling knew how he was going to go about the most important decision he would ever make in his life. His mind was set, and he revelled in a clarity he had never before known. Lucidity that could only be born when a man was truly in love heightened the senses to a point where nothing else mattered, and only the notion of the woman for whom his heart beat remained.
After that epiphany, he was content. In that moment, he might have come across as dejected and aloof, but his mood floated on a higher plane. It balanced in the sweet equilibrium of what could be had and what couldn’t, riding the fine line between reality and fantasy where only those people who are truly in love roam, basking in the state of knowing only one thing: that they are truly in love.
A Charming Cavalryman for Clementine_A Historical Romance Novel Based on True Events Page 16