The Balmoral Incident

by Alanna Knight

  ‘That dog should be in the kennels. Does he not go out and hunt?’

  Mabel always referred to him as ‘That Dog’, regardless of the fact that he had a name. Patiently trying to explain that he was a hound not a dog was something Meg did regularly but without the least success.

  Vince asked: ‘Well, how do you like it, Meg? This will be your home for a month.’

  ‘A whole four weeks,’ she sighed.

  ‘Yes, right until the Highland Games. After that HM leaves for London and there is a general exodus of visitors until next year.’

  Meg was hugging Thane and conveying this information to him. Vince and I had decided to keep a watchful eye on him until he had time to settle in and get used to the terrain around us.

  ‘He might even be mistaken for a wolf,’ said Meg nervously.

  ‘There haven’t been wolves in this part of the world for a very long time,’ said Vince consolingly, but as he explained to me, there were gamekeepers armed with rifles and a strange, huge, grey animal might provide a target, especially a hound of the breed noted for hunting deer.

  We found we were not alone in our fears regarding Thane’s well-being when the gamekeeper Aitken arrived to welcome us. Sternly surveying Thane, peacefully stretched out at Meg’s feet as she read a book, he said: ‘That animal is too big for a house pet, sir, should be kept outside. Could damage Royal property, you know,’ he added with a sharp glance around the room for any evidence to add weight to his remark.

  Vince said, ‘He is used to living indoors, well trained. One of the family,’ he added.

  Aiken grunted and shook his head. ‘Proper place for him is in the stable kennels with the other dogs, sir.’ Frowning, he paused and said: ‘I have strict instructions that he is not to be let run wild, he is to be restricted to a lead. At all times, sir.’ Another look at Thane lying peacefully ignoring him. ‘We’ll have to see if his presence so close by upsets the other dogs. They’ll bark at anything and we can’t have the family’, with a respectful nod towards the castle, ‘kept awake at night.’

  Vince gave a solemn assurance on Thane’s behalf and Aiken nodded but doubtfully. Taking his leave, he said, ‘A word of warning, Dr Laurie. Don’t let HM clap eyes on him. What I mean is that if he were to get a glimpse of such a handsome creature …’ Pausing, he scratched his ear thoughtfully and sighed. ‘We don’t have any deerhounds and well, you know the rest – if you take my meaning, sir.’

  Touching his bonnet he walked away to where his labrador was waiting, chained to the fence. Unleashing it he saluted us solemnly.

  ‘What did he mean by that – about the King?’ I asked.

  Vince glanced at Thane. ‘Come on, Rose, surely you know the royal prerogative. If the King should come and say “That’s a fine dog you have there” then he would expect you to curtsey and say “Please, Your Majesty, I would be honoured if you would accept him as a gift”.’

  Meg who had been listening to this conversation gave a shriek of horror. ‘No, Uncle Vince, never!’ And with a protective arm around Thane’s neck. ‘He’s mine!’ She was suddenly tearful, and Vince said, ‘Don’t worry, Meg, it isn’t going to happen. We won’t let it happen.’

  I was doubtful about that. Word gets around with surprising speed and we were here for a month. Could we possibly keep his presence a secret from the King?

  We had only been in the cottage a few hours and already I could see complications looming on the horizon, especially as next morning I heard a horseman close by.

  Looking out of the window, there was the King emerging from the stables on a handsome stallion, his favourite I learnt, to be entered for one of the national steeplechase events. I thought he gazed intently at the cottage. Was he on the lookout for Thane?

  I shivered. If one was on the lookout for bad omens, a lad had drowned during the salmon leistering in Loch Muick. ‘The river’s swift-moving,’ Vince told us. ‘He stumbled, fell and hit his head. Knocked him out and he was swept away.’

  We went to the window, as the doleful procession carrying his body back passed the stables on a litter.

  An ominous start to a holiday, indeed. I clutched Meg to my side.

  A quiver of fear went through me. It was one I recognise and I would do well to heed. That old warning shaft was never in vain.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The gamekeeper Aiken, whose job I suspected included keeping an eye on us, was being very helpful. If extra provisions were required, a cart went from the stables twice a week into Ballater, and regarding us doubtfully, he added: ‘If any of you ladies wished to be accommodated there would be room, a couple of benches.’

  A nervous glance at our expressionless faces warned more than words that this would be a bone-shaking experience, and clearing his throat he reassured us that a list of our requirements would receive careful attention.

  I smiled and thanked him while Mabel frowned at travel offering possible indignities; Meg and I applauded the idea.

  ‘A day in Ballater. What a delight, shops to explore.’

  ‘And cards to send to Pa,’ said Meg enthusiastically.

  Mabel merely sighed and our glances swivelled with hers in the direction of Lily sitting with downcast eyes intent on mending lace on one of her mistress’s undergarments. If we expected any reaction from Lily, there was none. What were her thoughts? Did she even hear most of the time, I wondered?

  In those first days, the weather was idyllic, with wine-clear air so different from waking each morning to the smoke of a thousand homes in Auld Reekie. What bliss! And we had so much time on our hands, nothing to do but enjoy the mellow sunshine, sit in the garden and read or walk in the pleasant wood full of birdsong.

  On one of our walks by the riverbank, we noticed midstream a tiny island with a monument of some kind visible through a clump of trees. It must have known visitors, although not very recently judging by the condition of the small rowing boat for two people moored and rocking gently at the water’s edge.

  ‘Someone must live there,’ said Meg.

  ‘I think not. It’s probably one of the many stones set up by the King’s mother to mark special occasions.’

  ‘Can we go across and explore, Mam?’ she demanded excitedly.

  ‘Not today, dear, and certainly not with Thane, there wouldn’t be room for him and us.’

  Meg sighed with disappointment. As usual, everything had to happen in her life immediately. ‘Sometime soon, then? Promise!’

  First I had to consult Vince, as I had doubts about the stability of that boat in reaching what was in fact a strip of land like a peninsula in the midst of swirling waters.

  ‘You must promise that you won’t go there without a grown-up, then,’ I said sternly, fully aware that Meg’s fearless approach to adventure might well lead her into danger.

  The matter agreed, I gave it no more thought in the following days as we established a kind of routine with all meals provided via the royal kitchens. A somewhat unvaried menu betwixt salmon from the river and venison from the hills.

  Mabel spent a lot of time in her bedroom where we were made to understand that she was heavily engaged in writing a speech, a vote of thanks to the Pankhursts for coming north to Aberdeen to address the Women’s Suffrage in Scotland meeting. Occasionally she emerged clutching sheets of paper and as she swooned ecstatically over these important speakers I was expected to go into raptures by return at such a privilege.

  ‘Wait until you meet them, Rose, you will know what I mean. They are pure magic, the pair of them.’

  I could hardly believe that I was to shake the hands of my heroines, see them in the flesh, so to speak, just days from now and the only excitement apart from the weeks-away Highland Games, an annual event established by the King’s mother and open to the public who might come to gawp at the royal family. A rare glimpse of them at leisure, with princes and princesses too.

  Meanwhile we were content with our uneventful routine. Meg and I taking Thane for daily walks on a rope un
til out of sight of the cottage. Once in the pretty woods of the estate he was allowed to roam, watched over by those stern sentinels of tall conifers. One could hardly be frivolous; there was something martial and forbidding by such witnesses of Thane loping ahead of us. Nevertheless we were careful not to be in the open areas, the woods protecting us from the predatory eye of HM out riding. Taking heed of Aiken’s warning, I could see endless trouble from that direction but felt certain that we could rely on Thane who would return to our side at the first hint that we were not alone, alert to detecting any sound, human or animal, well before it reached us.

  Vince spent much of his free time at the cottage with us, but he was always on call, should any of the royal household or any of the tenants urgently require him to look at childhood maladies, sore throats and accidental injuries sustained by the estate labourers. Fortunately for him and for us they were much healthier than town-dwellers.

  Then very suddenly our halcyon summer that began and ended with cloudless azure skies, with birdsong and bees humming in the hedges, fell flat on its face. Storm clouds roared in and the rain began. And what rain. There was none in our experience to equal this intensity, this Highland downpour, sheets of stinging icy rain which turned our Edinburgh variety into mere drizzle by comparison. Was this the same weather that the late John Brown assured his royal mistress was a ‘moist day’? Moist unto drowning, I thought, desperately clutching a book Mabel had insisted I should read, more for education regarding our suffrage movement than for the pleasure of my favourite Jane Austen.

  While Mabel retreated and remained in her bedroom with an excellent log fire, refurbished by Lily along with frequent trays of tea carried upstairs, Meg and I huddled close to the peat fire and got out sketchbooks and paintbox. Meg’s drawings were to send to Pa. She already showed talent, which she had not inherited from him I thought, as I drew Thane endlessly. So we passed the hours ignoring the rain beating on the windows, and if it ceased even momentarily, opening the door and peering upwards ever hopeful for the merest glimpse of blue in that solid, heavy, grey sky.

  On the rare occasions when Mabel joined us, it was to stare balefully at Thane as if the hours spent in her room and the change in the weather were his fault.

  ‘That dog should be in the kennels with the other animals. It cannot be beneficial to the health of any of us, trapped inside all day and having to breathe the same air as a huge dog.’

  In response Thane gave her what could only described in human terms a look of reproach.

  ‘Is it worrying you?’ I asked. ‘He doesn’t smell, you know.’

  That was true, I rarely bathed Thane or had reason to do so in all our years together. Some mysterious force kept his coat immaculate.

  ‘All dogs smell,’ said Mabel loftily. ‘Take him outside into the rain.’

  I shook my head and asked if Lily had plenty to do to keep busy, since she no longer appeared at mealtimes. When I asked why, Mabel said: ‘She has her meals with the stable lads, as is only right and proper.’

  I wasn’t sure whether the stables quite fitted the description ‘right and proper’ for a young girl who was possibly foreign and a lady’s maid, but obviously Mabel was anxious to spend as little time as possible in her company.

  ‘She is making some new underwear for me – I like lace borders and she is quite good with the crochet hook.’

  As for me, used to a busy life, I had to confess that with thoughts of uncertain weather, mostly rain, time was beginning to lie heavily on my hands. The highlight of each day was Vince’s visit to check on our comfort, play cards and share our miserable glances at the unceasing rain pouring down the windows.

  It continued day after day for a week with determined frenzy, no doubt lasting until Sunday, when it seemed we were expected to venture out of doors in order to go to church.

  Although I was not a regular churchgoer in Edinburgh I felt it would be a relief to get out of doors and see something new. An agreeable change of scene, since the cottage’s four walls were becoming claustrophobic, assisted in no small way by Mabel, whose presence always managed to include some spiteful remark about Thane.

  For Meg’s benefit I was forced to appear cheerful. She never seemed bored trapped indoors, and as a condition of childhood, found pleasure in small things, painting and reading, and talking to Thane as if he had become her human playmate.

  We were to go to Crathie Church by motor car and in answer to Meg’s question, yes, we would see the King and Queen and doubtless some of the royal children.

  Meg was beside herself with delight but Mabel opted out of this, much to our surprise, saying stiffly that she was not of the Presbyterian persuasion. She did not elaborate. Was she, then, a Roman Catholic, I wondered? That idea had not occurred to me as religion had never figured among our limited topics of conversation.

  However, she announced that she would stay and look after That Dog, adding, with an added flash of generosity, Lily might like to accompany us but would, of course, accompany the other royal servants.

  ‘She is most welcome to go with us,’ Vince said.

  ‘No,’ Mabel replied firmly. ‘That would not be proper.’

  Oh dear, such snobbery, and leaving them to argue, I felt irritation rise again. How long would I be able to remain calm and untroubled by Mabel’s presence? She got worse by the hour rather than the day, doubtless due to our close confinement, and everything she did and said now seemed like a barb to me.

  She was such a disappointment. I had hoped that knowing the Pankhursts she would have fascinating stories about them. Inside gossip, things only told to friends and acquaintances and never made public. But any leads I gave were turned aside. As far as I was concerned I would have to wait impatiently for the day next week when I would meet dear Christabel and Emmeline when they stood on the platform addressing the audience in Aberdeen.

  CHAPTER NINE

  And so we set off. With the car hood over us we swept through the grounds, out of the gates and across the bridge where lining the road a small crowd eagerly watched us, trying to peer in at the windows, hoping this was a first glimpse of the King and Queen.

  Across the road and up the hill to the new kirk which had been dedicated only ten years earlier in 1895. A disappointment in a way and I said I had been hoping for something earlier, a romantic ruin perhaps that had escaped the Covenant. This was Vince’s cue to tell us that there had been an earlier building dating back to the seventeenth century which had fallen into disrepair and become too difficult to maintain.

  This new kirk with its lofty and beautiful setting amid birch and conifers was a fitting piece of Scottish fabric according to Vince who gets carried away on architectural matters. He sometimes, I felt, regretted his choice of medicine as a career, determined to give me a short guide of Crathie Church.

  ‘Much thought was given to the planning of the present building, white granite hewn from the neighbouring quarry at Inver and roofed in terracotta tiles,’ he added proudly. We smiled our appreciation and as we approached, dutifully noting that the central tower with its small spire pointing heavenward was based on native rock.

  Clean and shining on the outside, all was pleasantly cordial within. A semicircular apse with the Balmoral pews on the right, the woodwork – which still smelt new – carried the rose, thistle and shamrock with the monogram of Queen Victoria.

  As we took our places reserved for the royal household, he whispered that the hexagonal pulpit was made of fifteen varieties of Scottish granite. Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll had presented a collection of stones from the sacred isle of Iona which were worked into the granite, and the communion table was also of Iona marble. A rustle of silks and footfalls as, around us, the congregation filed into the pews.

  ‘Over there,’ Vince whispered. ‘That’s a monument to Victoria, Princess Royal, later Empress of Germany and mother of Kaiser Wilhelm, to commemorate her engagement to Prince Frederick William of Prussia in a glen only a few miles distant. She w
as the darling of her father Prince Albert, but alas rumour has it that this was the prelude to a less than happy married life.’

  The congregation rose as the door opened to admit members of the royal family. I am, through force of habit by my career, always conscious of being watched and in this case I looked up and saw the King staring directly across at me. Our eyes met and there was a mere twitch of recognition, for seeing me seated next to Vince and knowing he had an excellent memory, had HM remembered our other encounter in an Edinburgh hotel after he had presided at the opening of a bridge and had Vince as his personal physician in attendance? He belonged to those males who have the ability to strip any attractive young woman naked in a glance as if weighing up her possibilities as a conquest. It had made me extremely uncomfortable. The years had not been kind to him since that meeting; he was larger than life, to say the least.

  We stood for the opening hymn and prayers and as I followed the order of service, I hoped that the sermon would not be as long as had been desired and encouraged by Queen Victoria.

  It was long enough and Meg behaved beautifully throughout but I was rather glad to hear the announcement of the closing hymn.

  The royal party rose and again that rather searching glance from HM as they left. A curtsey from Meg and me. Thanks to the nuns, good manners were part of the syllabus by which their pupils were trained for a woman’s only role in life. Indeed it was what their parents paid for, to catch a husband, although as brides of Christ such skills were wasted on the nuns themselves.

  Shaking hands with the minister at the door, his prayers for better weather had not been in vain, for there was even a glimpse of blue hastily concealed by burgeoning clouds. Waiting for our motor car, Meg spotted a pretty collie dog, chained and patiently awaiting his owner emerging from the kirk.

  Vince laughed. ‘That’s Biddy, she’s the minister’s dog. She has to be patient. Did you enjoy the service, Rose?’ he asked anxiously.